#its a good thing i am so thoughtful and end that time before something terrible would happen

[silvvermoon]

lover, not a liar ♡

Aki, your best friend, has agreed to teach you how to suck cock. But you need more than that.

pairing: aki hayakaya x reader

wc: 3.7k

tags: friends to lovers, slightly tipsy sex, dom!Aki, rough sex, blowjobs, pet names (baby, princess), calling u good girl, praise, slight dacryphilia, creampie, fluffy ending ♡

“Aki,” you slur, mouth wet and feeling all too warm from the drinks you’d had earlier in the evening. “Are you gonna show it to me or what?” 

You’re sitting on your knees and staring up at your best friend’s erection straining through his grey sweatpants which is, well, pretty unexpected. And definitely not how you pictured spending your Friday night. Aki’s above you, palming himself softly while you wait eagerly for him to teach you how to suck cock. And seeing him like this makes you feel hot. 

It wasn’t something either of you had planned on or even touched on before. You’ve never even shared a kiss with Aki, not a proper one anyway. You’re friends, platonic friends, and that’s all. But tonight, during your usual pizza and movie catch up, the stress of the week finally caught up with you. The awkward silence from your latest 3-month-long fling has been sitting on your mind all night and you just wanted to toss those thoughts all away. Get drunk, complain to Aki, and get distracted by whatever Netflix has to offer. 

Well, that was supposed to be the plan.

Except you forgot how much you overshare once you get a few drinks in you. And Aki’s not exactly 100% sober, despite him holding his alcohol a lot better than you. You never even did get around to ordering that pizza because once you were feeling buzzed enough, all you could keep saying was “and before he started ghosting me, that asshole complained that my blowjobs were terrible. Too much tongue, not enough suction, fuck. Like come on, I wanted to make it good for him but he never told me what he wanted until after, when he just threw negative fucking feedback at me. It’s so humiliating, Aki. Look at my phone! He gave me a rating like I was his Uber driver. Who does that? Who?”

And Aki had, indeed, taken a look at your phone, winced, and then handed it back to you. “I think you dodged a bullet with this one,” he’d said, “and don’t listen to it. I’m sure that’s the last time anyone will suck his dick for him. Even if he offered to pay.”

You’d snorted, laughed so hard that you almost choked even though Aki was dead serious. “But what if he’s telling the truth? Maybe I am shit at giving blowjobs.”

Aki looked at you then, softly, maybe a little bit tipsy too. “It’s the enthusiasm that counts, knowing that you want this so much is what makes blowjobs feel good,” he’d said, and then “besides, I’m sure you’re not shit at them, I’ve seen the way you eat your ice-cream. That’s some real devotion, right there.”

You giggled again, “Sure, sloppy. With no real technique.” And that was that. Your laughter died into  easy silence and Aki was prepared to switch the show on Netflix, until your tipsy brain got the sudden idea of doing something incredibly dumb.

And later, you blame it on the alcohol, you blame it on the way Aki’s too easy to open up to, you blame it on the way his body is so welcoming and relaxed next to you. Hell, you even blame it on Netflix for having absolutely zero worthwhile anything available to distract you from Aki and blowjobs and thinking of his dick while he’s literally right fucking there. You blame it on Aki’s face, which is clearly a weapon in both seduction and destruction on its own.

Nope, not your fault at all. Never.

And, you know all too well that being tipsy makes you act on things you would otherwise keep locked away in the back of your mind. You wouldn’t have felt this way if you hadn’t felt Aki’s own hot gaze on you when he thought you weren’t looking.

So, here you went.

“Hey, Aki, maybe I could… try it on you?” you smiled, face feeling hot from more than just the alcohol. “Can you teach me how to give a better blowjob? With guidance, you know? I mean, if it’s too weird you can say no.”

Yep. You said it. No take backs now.

“You want me to-” Aki paused, swallowing. And then he looked at you, maybe for a second too long where it felt like he was calculating too many things for one night to have. His cheeks were only a little bit red when he turned the TV off and said “sure, I’ll do my best.”

~

And that’s why you’re here. With Aki. Waiting desperately for him to give you permission to pull down his briefs. It should feel weird, awkward, maybe at least a little bit wrong, but it doesn’t. It’s just you and Aki and the growing heat between your thighs.

“Firstly, you’ve gotta open your mouth,” Aki says, and he reaches out with one hand to cup your jaw, thumbing at your lip. He hasn’t kissed you or anything, simply easing you down to the floor with a pillow to prop yourself up on. You open your lips and let Aki press his thumb in against your tongue, taking in the softness of his skin.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s a good girl.”

You nod, humming. Aki’s voice makes your stomach tighten, the way he calls you a good girl. His fingers feel nice in your mouth, as do the ones threading through your hair, massaging your scalp while you lazily suck. 

“Teach me?” you ask, mouth still full of his fingers.

Aki grips your hair just a tad bit tighter. “That’s what I’m doing, but I need you to be patient for me,” he says, and then “we’re taking it slowly, making sure you know where to touch,” he takes your hand, pressing it to his thigh, “and where to tease,” he says softly, bring your other hand to rest against his erection. You can feel him, so thick and hard beneath the tight fabric. With Aki’s encouragement, you give him a soft rub, just ghosting your fingers over the outline of his bulge, keeping your touch light and without expectation.

“Just like that,” Aki murmurs, and when you glance up at him you can see the blush on his cheeks, eyes heavy. He’s turned on, and there’s something incredibly hot knowing that it’s you doing this to him. Aki’s your friend, yes, but you’d be lying if you said that you’d never been attracted to him.

And you’d be an even bigger liar if you said that asking this of him tonight was purely so you could ‘learn’. 

Aki reaches to pull his briefs down, swatting your hands away as you try to do it for him too hastily. “Slow down, what did I say about being patient?” he says. But your pouting turns to arousal as soon as his cock is out, all for you. Aki’s hard as fuck, his cock incredibly thick and girthy with a nice soft curve that you know would hit all the right places inside you. It’s gorgeous, you think, no, you know. You haven’t seen it before but fuck, you’ve definitely thought about it. At night, when you’re horny and tired and too lazy to look at porn, you’ve wondered what Aki’s cock would look like, feel like in your hands, your mouth, your pussy.

And from what he’s showing you, Aki doesn’t disappoint. His girthy cock is the most perfect shade of flushed pink that you’ve ever seen.

“Open a bit wider for me, that’s right,” Aki whispers, cock twitching when you say an over exaggerated ‘ahhh’ and stick your tongue out. His hips move forward gently, his cockhead resting against your tongue, dribbling small amounts of sticky precum on to your tastebuds. He tastes good; only slightly musky with a hint of salt. Way better than anyone else you’ve had in your mouth. 

“Aki, gim’ mor-“ you try to say around the cock in your mouth, choking off when Aki thrusts in unexpectedly. You automatically open your mouth wider, adjusting to the sudden fullness that’s about to hit the back of your throat. Aki doesn’t even move, just stays like that while your eyes tear up and you try to just breathe.

“I’m impressed,” he marvels, thumb brushing against your lower lip that’s stretched around him. “Just wanted to test your reflexes, pretty girl. Didn’t expect you to take me in so well,” he smiles, starting to rock his hips back and forth. 

You can’t do anything other than force yourself to relax, mind hazy as Aki’s thick shaft fills your mouth over and over again. You can feel the wetness beginning to grow between your own thighs, your cunt slick with arousal just from having Aki praise you for sucking his cock. It’s embarrassing. But it doesn’t stop you from desperately reaching down to rub at your clothed pussy while you continue to give him head. You need to rub yourself just to relieve some of the pressure that’s building in your aching little cunt.

Aki only pauses for half a second when he sees you do this, watches you hurriedly shove your fingers beneath the waistband of your panties to rub at your throbbing clit, and you know he must like what he sees because you feel his cock twitch hard against your tongue.

“Turned on?” he breathes out, which you both know is obvious from the way you’re getting yourself off so frantically. The sound of your slick folds squelching as you finger yourself is even louder than the gasps Aki lets out when he nudges his cockhead against the back of your throat. You choke every time he does that, eyes watering from the lack of air and from feeling so used , but your hand never stops rubbing your clit. No, you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. The alcohol in your system isn’t even what’s making you so forward, it’s the fact that you’re just so fucking riled up from having Aki in your mouth, fucking your throat. 

Aki’s the reason why your panties are stained with a thick layer of your cream. Aki’s the reason why your pussy is desperately clenching around your fingers, pulling them further into your wet heat. Aki’s the reason why you’ve become such a shameful slut who can’t stop touching herself the moment she gets a taste of her best friend's dick.

“See, baby?” he whispers, pumping his cock deeper into your mouth, “you already know how to give a good blowjob, look at you, showing me just how horny you get from letting me use your mouth.” Aki murmurs all this while stroking your hair, his fingers in your scalp so he can hold your head still while he rocks into you.

It’s all so much, your own fingers in your cunt and Aki’s cock in your mouth. All of it feels so good and you know Aki’s meant to be teaching you how to suck properly, how to use your tongue, but now you just desperately want to feel his cock inside your pussy. You mewl around his length, stuffed full and barely able to breathe. All you know is you want him to pound you right now. Nothing else matters. 

“Keep playing with your pretty little pussy for me, okay baby? The view I get from here shows me just how much you want this.” 

And fuck, those words do something to you, because the knot in your stomach grows and you desperately add another finger into your cunt, twisting and rubbing against your sweet spot.

It’s not enough.

You pull back off Aki’s cock for a gasp of air. “Aki-” you breathe, spit soaked lips sore as you speak, “m’ fingers aren’t enough, need more, need you,” you sob. “I wanted to make you cum with my mouth but, I need- just, I need your cock-” you choke off. And it’s embarrassing how needy you are in this moment, but you don’t feel any of it when you’re this aroused. 

Aki grips your chin, soft but firm. “You need me to fuck this princess cunt of yours to make you happy? You want it that bad that you can’t hold out any longer?” you nod in response, still rubbing softly at your own swollen clit. Aki bites his lip, stroking your jaw, and says “Well, I guess you deserve it, since you’ve been such a good girl for me, taking my cock as deep as you can down that pretty throat.”

“Fuck, Aki, please yes that’s what I-.”

It all happens so quickly after that. You don’t get the chance to even say anything before Aki’s picking you up by the waist and urging you onto the couch, spreading your body out on the cushions while he looms above you. Your mouth is still wet with his precum, but Aki leans down to kiss you anyway. He presses his lips against yours for the first time, groaning softly into your mouth while he rocks his leaking cock against your bare thigh. It’s a stark difference to the control he had before when he was fucking your mouth, he’d been easy to talk no matter how deep you took him in, only letting out small gasps every now and then. But now? Aki’s moaning, soft little choked back noises just from kissing you. It’s hotter than it should be, and your only response is to wrap your arms around his back and pull him in for more.

Any other time you’d want to indulge Aki with more kisses, but now you just need him inside you. 

“Aki,” you murmur against his lips, “need you to stretch me out. I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

“You’re still so impatient,” he says, strong hands parting your thighs and pulling your soaked panties down to your ankles. “And you’re this fucking wet from just taking me in your mouth?” he says, swiping a finger through your slick folds, brushing your swollen clit and making you shiver. Your pussy is fully exposed like this, skirt hiked up high above your stomach while Aki settles between your legs, his length pressed up against your soaked pussy. You’re both leaking, and you honestly can’t tell if it’s your own wetness or Aki’s precum that’s making the squelching sounds when his cockhead slaps against your fluttering entrance.

There’s only a fraction of hesitation, Aki looking down at you with heavy eyes, “are you sure?” he asks, and “oh my god Aki, fucking yes,” you tell him. You’re really fucking sure because if he doesn’t keep going, you’re going to explode.

And then he’s pressing in. No prep. You’re so wet that you don’t even need his tongue or fingers to ease the stretch from his cock. Aki’s kissing you while he slowly enters you, giving you time to adjust to the slight sting of the stretch. “You’re doing so well, such a good girl for me,” he whispers, moving down to kiss your neck, nibbling at your sensitive skin there. “Knew you’d end up with more than just sucking my cock, you wanted this,” he finishes, bottoming out with his length fully stuffed inside your cunt. 

You gasp, whimpering into Aki’s shoulder while he nudges his cockhead against your sweet spot. “You knew? I didn’t- fuck, I didn’t plan it like this,” you choke out. The pleasure is hitting you harder now. This isn’t your fingers inside of you, this is Aki . And he’s pretty and strong and gorgeous and seemingly already knows how you like the shallow thrusts against your g-spot. “A-Aki,” you stutter, your body writhing against his while he fills you over and over again.

“You hoped for it though, didn’t you?” he murmurs, slow, shallow thrusts that stretch your tight walls around his length. The sensation is intoxicating for both of you, and your mind goes blank at the sound of his deep voice. Yes. He’s right. You wanted this, Aki fucking you, hidden behind some flimsy pretense of teaching you how to suck him off. He knows, you know, and now you can’t shy away from his lips against your own. You nod into him because there’s no point denying it now. He’s your best friend and he knows you.

Aki kisses you like he’s been waiting for years. And he has been waiting for years. It’s all tongue and teeth while he pounds your pussy hard and god you’re a mess. All you can get out is a gasping “I think I’m gonna cum, Aki, please, I need it rougher,” with your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head when he fucks you harder. You almost cry when the head of his cock bumps your cervix, it’s a mix of sharp pleasure and pain and you love it, your pussy letting out small squirts each time he rams into your cervix. Your hands curl against the fabric of the couch, trying to find some sense of stability while your body is getting pushed to the limit. You’re not even drunk from the alcohol anymore, just all love drunk from Aki’s perfect cock. 

You’re about to warn him, but Aki gets in before you, his voice raspy in your ear while he thrusts into you. “Yeah you’re close aren’t you, baby? I can feel your pretty little cunt clenching around me, so fucking tight for me even after everything I’ve given you.” And his words only make you tighten even more, your walls clinging to his shaft as you start to reach your peak. You cry out, moaning his name pathetically. All you feel is the warmth from Aki’s cock abusing your sweet spot over and over again, distantly, his voice saying “cum on my cock princess, yeah, that’s my good fucking girl,” and the sound of squelching while Aki fucks your gushing heat through the waves of pleasure. Even when you’re coming down, struggling to breathe, Aki keeps fucking you through the last of the contractions, making you twitch as your poor abused pussy gets overstimulated.

Your heart is racing and you’re entirely fucked out but Aki’s still hard, and more importantly, he’s still inside of you. He’s slowed down though, you’re aware of that much. You’re aware of how only the head of his cock is in your entrance and he’s littering kisses across your collarbone while he waits for you to come back to him.

“Was I too rough on you?” Aki speaks into your skin softly. He sounds almost apologetic, lazily thrusting into your heat while you hold onto his broad shoulders.

“No, s’ good, Aki. Felt so good,” you slur, breath hitching when Aki thrusts a little bit harder into you. “Want you to cum inside me, please Aki,” you pout with whatever sliver of energy you have left, and you’re well aware that he’s waiting for you to give him permission to keep going. As rough as he’s been, and as much as he’s pushed you tonight, you know that if you say you’re too tired, he’ll happily pull off of you and go finish himself off in the bathroom. You don’t want that though. Definitely not tonight.

“Yeah?” Aki nibbles at your throat, breath hot on your skin. “You want me to fill you up?” he asks, reaching down to swipe his thumb over your sensitive clit. He’s pumping into you steadily, and having his cock rubbing up against your g-spot while his fingers play with your small bundle of nerves is just too much. You can feel the heat building rapidly in your belly again and you almost want to sob. “I know, I know, but you’ve done so well, just one more for me,” Aki coos, kissing the wetness leaking out the corners of your eyes, and tells you “I really wanna stuff your princess cunt full of my cum, n’ I know you can take it for me, baby,” while he fucks you steady, urging you even closer than before.

“ Oh, fuck - yes, please, need it so bad,” you whimper, your second orgasm hitting you just as hard as the first. Aki’s words draw it out of you, your gushing pussy clenching around his cock while he groans and fucks into you harder, even rougher than before, pumping you full of thick cum. You love the soft moans he makes, but you love it more when he collapses on top of you, pressing his lips into yours and lazily kissing you while his cock slowly softens inside you. You feel full. And when Aki finally pulls out, still trailing kisses and little bites down your throat, you wince at the feeling of his seed leaking from your puffy entrance. 

You’re an absolute mess, and so is the couch.

“C’mere,” Aki says, tugging you up into a sitting position before pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. You’re still dazed, and watching Aki move around the room to grab you a towel and some tissues is all too much for you. When he finally sits back down, he’s spreading your legs to wipe away  the sticky mess leaking from between your thighs. “I’ve wanted to do that for years, you know,” he says quietly, “I’m sorry, I kinda went all out tonight after you asked me to, you know- I didn’t know if I’d get the chance-”

You stop him, reaching out to hold his forearm and keep him steady for the first time tonight. You know you need to say it. “I’ve wanted this too, Aki. I mean, that is why I asked if I could blow you,” you laugh. You want him to know the truth, and you want to lighten the tension he’s holding over himself. Your chest clenches when he cracks a rare smile at you. You can't hold yourself back from tugging him into a tight hug, holding him so close that you can feel his heart beating against your own.

Aki’s so pretty. He’s always been so pretty. And now that you know what he tastes like, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to stop yourself from needing him. Wanting him. They’re the same thing in your world.

Aki sighs and leans in to your touch, pressing one last kiss to your lips. “Shower? I think we both need to clean up a bit, and I promise I won’t try to make you cum again once we’re in there.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” you smile. You feel so warm, being held by Aki. Your body feels wrecked but god, it was so worth it.

[starshinegazer]

Shoutout Sunday

I just wanted to collect some of the most memorable Astarion fanfics I've read so far and to give them and their authors a big ol' shoutout. These are some of the fics I strongly suggest others to check out, if you haven't yet.

Also, please feel free to comment and recommend your favorites as well! And, if you know of some of these authors on tumblr, lemme know, so I can add them too :) I'm not too good with words, so I'll be slapping some of the authors own words as descriptions (for now). Oh, and do be mindful of tags etc etc... Here goes, in no particular order:

Pieces Still Stuck In Your Teeth by howlsmovinglibrary (@wetcatspellcaster) "The Vampire Ascendent has crossed a line. Eleven years after making the biggest mistake of her life and losing the man she loved, tiefling wizard (now Archmage) Rosalie decides it’s time to put this Astarion in the ground for good. Hopefully, both her head and her heart are strong enough to see this awful task through to its end."

An Honest Lie by howlsmovinglibrary (@wetcatspellcaster) "Astarion and Rosalie think they understand each other perfectly, but they have each fallen prey to the other’s mask. As they both go forward with their adventure, will either of them dare to be honest?"

A Crooked Touch by eyes_of_the_lamb "If you want to read a story where Astarion is sweet from the start and Tav is here to fix him, this isn't the one. If you want to read about two terribly broken men spending a good long while making each other worse before they make each other better, this might be for you. If you thought the in-game romance was a little too easy and it should have been ten times more painful and difficult to convince Astarion he's worthy of love, this is definitely for you."

Perfect Slaughter by Imagineitdear (@imagineitdearies ) "Tyrus, a low-born drow with aspirations for necromantic wizardry, finds none of the hospitality he expected from his new noble patron, Cazador Szarr. Quickly he loses his life and future, his hopes and dreams—only to find something new to fight for in the unlikely arms of Cazador’s least favorite spawn."

A Novel Experience by meanboss (@meanbossart ) "Initially just an epilogue for my own game campaign with my big meaty dark urge drow, turned whole story which I accidentally deleted and am now reuploading, my bad LOL

Hope you enjoy!"

Carving Through The Dark by skitter "The realm is safe and the story is over.

Wren and Astarion descend into the Underdark in search of a new purpose, and learn a few things along the way. Namely, that healing isn't linear and sometimes love takes the long way round."

Blood In The Weave by gingealish "There is no need to breathe, but I miss it all the same. The suffocating silence, the desperate darkness have encapsulated me for I don’t even know how long; It could have been tendays or years. I’ve long since accepted my punishment, stopped trying in vain to crack the seal of my tomb against the onslaught of panic and hunger. Now I lay here, thinking of the friends I’ve lost, the lover who turned on me, and how to finally get even.

Astarion is the new Big Bad Evil Guy. Spawn Tav is rescued by a familiar face. "

When He’s all but Forgotten How to Love Again by bg_brainrot "You saved Baldur’s Gate almost 300 years ago. You died 150 years ago. On a new life now, you find that memories from your past lead you to a specific silver-haired man. Who was he, and why won't he leave you be? tldr; An Elf-Tav reincarnation story where Tav dreams about Astarion in their nightly reveries and eventually seeks him out once they reach maturity. Things definitely totally go well."

More Than Any Words by mataglap "They have saved the city and possibly the world. All is great and everyone is happy... except Astarion has been banished back into the shadows, and Tav is stuck in an uneven battle with his own oath. He's losing the fight. He knew he would from the moment he fell for Astarion. But he can't lose yet, not before they find a way for Astarion to walk in the sun again."

Inexhaustible Oil by homeward_bound "This is the absolute opposite of a redemption fic. A post-canon, fall-from-grace, "I can make you infinitely worse" kind of story, in which there is no simple happy ending. But there's mystery on the way. And dragons. True love, even. So if you're fine with that, come aboard. It's going to be a wild ride."

[keeheauxtales]

🔞 clip it & ship it MDNI

inspired by: x x x x

pairing: Keeho ➞ fem!bodied reader

content warnings: masturbation (featuring the use of a certain toy), [LOTS of] dirty talk (I’m gonna end up hitting a record in the number of ellipses (…) I use 👀) there will likely be hella grammatical inaccuracies, and I'm trying so hard not to give a fuck.

POV: Keeho sends a special video message… after you sent him a very special picture!

“I woke up hard as fuck… thinking about… fucking you…” Keeho groans, squeezing his hardened shaft while his wrist glides up and down his length in between everything he says. Dark, hooded eyes take a quick glance up at his phone gripping his other hand, making sure the camera app is recording what he wants it to.

“Then…” Keeho licks his lips before continuing, “you send me that pretty pussy that I love and miss so much… fuck…” He rolls his eyes behind his eyelids, simultaneously rolling his hips upward meditating on the half-naked photo you spontaneously sent him just moments prior.

“I wanna kiss you… wanna taste you… I want my fingers inside so bad…” Both you and him know how much it drives you wild whenever his fingers are even on you, let alone inside you. And to be fair, it does something to him too, hearing those pleasurable sounds escape from between your lips. The mere thought of it – as well as the absence of it at this very moment – causes him to subconsciously recreate some of those same moans himself.

He curses into the air several times before his attention returns to the device that’s been capturing his every move. “You see how hard I am, baby..? F-fuck – you see what you fucking do to me?” Keeho’s pitch rises with just about every word uttered, and surprisingly for him, his dick gradually does the same damn thing, and with precum for added effect!

“This dick wants to fuck… into you so deep… and hard…” Keeho begins to thrust up into his hand, matching the pace with the breathy delivery of his words. “Damn it. Want you… Need that pussy around me, baby…”

“This is not gonna be enough, shit!” He spits out before sitting up in his bed. Opting to put the phone down, he quickly gets up to retrieve the only thing he consistently uses other than his hands whenever you're not around – his fleshlight.

“Fuck, there it is," Keeho proclaims before he's back on the bed, repositioning the angle of his recording. He spits on his hand, resuming its position on his dick to lubricate it. He blindly runs his middle finger along a vein that's made its focused appearance onto the video. His thumb then brushes against his balls, and the rapid set of whimpers that escape startle him. A few moments are spent with his entire hand groping his nutsack, causing him to begin grinding into the air.

Keeho managed to gain some clarity on his surroundings, grabbing the pocket pussy in a slightly hurried state. The air he was humping was quickly replaced with the toy sucking in his member with terrible ease. “This feels so fucking good… Not near as good as you, though… Definitely not as warm… or wet… Oh fuck…” He immediately pushes the toy up and down his now leaking cock harder and faster for more friction.

“I wish you were here, babygirl… grinding and bouncing that tight, juicy cunt on me, oh god… Fuck, I miss you so fucking much!” His hips thrust upward a bit aggressively as he grunted out the end of that confession, and he’s not sure how much more he can take of this before he releases.

He takes the quickest of pauses to raise his shirt up past his chest, the hem captured by his teeth before proceeding his fucking into the fleshlight. On camera, the sight of his glistening, golden skin and his nipples that appear to be almost as hard as his throbbing, slicked dick even turns Keeho on.

After several deep, muffled moans leave his mouth, he lets go of his shirt completely, his pecs keeping it up and out of the way. “Babygirl… I’m so close… Yeah… I’m gonna cum… Do you think you can cum with me, baby?”

Something about the fact that he can only imagine what this particularly pleasing sight of him this close to his climax could be doing to you and your wellbeing absolutely fucks him up. The way you could be dangerously within striking distance of that knot in your stomach bursting urges Keeho on immensely. Since he was your muse, he desperately wants you to be his in this moment.

“Please, cum… Yes, baby; cum for me while I nut in this… fucking… pussy… Oh my god, yeah babe… Yeah… fuck!!” Your name being ejaculated as he shot off into his fleshlight, soiling the toy like it was your hole personally.

Keeho let the moment linger for a while, eyes shut the entire time his orgasm washed over him. He was still breathing heavy when his eyes did open, the toy hole having long since neglecting him – unlike your penetrable wetness probably. He picks it up and gives it a look before angling it – and the mess he made on it – toward his phone.

"You see this shit, angel? You got me losing my fucking mind. This," he tilts the phone downward, showcasing the wet spots on his thighs and bed sheets, "is what you do to me."

[ilsolefiesta]

random astrological jam

just some absolutely random thoughts I had today while working:

♥ the strongest "mothering mother" I've ever seen is the 4th house Leo Sun with Cancer IC. we all know how lionesses protect their cubs. this quality goes to extremes when one of the most family-oriented signs rules the family house... my aunt has this placement, and she is so passionately devoted to our family. sometimes, she gives me the vibes of Dominic Toretto. we also laugh about how she can change the subject of literally any conversation to her daughter. - the weather is getting worse. - my daughter once became ill during such weather... - wow, his sport skills are amazing. - you know, my daughter used to be a captain of baseball team when she studied at school. - I think there's something wrong with my stomach. - you even have no idea what terrible diarrhea my daughter once had. (her daughter is around 30 already...)

♥ people with strong mutable placements, how often do people tell you that you seem taller than you actually are? or they thought that you were in fact taller than you are?

♥ having Cancer ASC and/or the Moon in the 1st house, along with Scorpio Sun, really creates an "angel in disguise" impression. people with these placements look SO DAMN innocent but then you begin to know them better...

♥ it’s so funny how strong Leo placements can be so obvious in their “godly” self-perception, to the point where you can't even be angry with them. my friend has a Leo stellium (Sun, Mars, Mercury). it was my birthday, so we were planning to have a party at a restaurant. she was the only one who arrived late, and it took her more than 30 minutes after the planned time. and the first thing she said when she arrived wasn’t “happy birthday” or “sorry for being late” etc. it literally was:

- just look at me. I look so damn gorgeous today, don’t you think so?

I thought I was going to die laughing.

♥ aspects of Mercury with Uranus/Chiron can make a person having a rhotacism or some other difficulties with pronunciation. for example, my former classmate and I both struggle with the letter "R" in our speech. however, my Mercury and Uranus form a trine, so people usually don't even notice it unless they are trying to listen for it intentionally. on the contrary, my classmate had a square between them. sometimes it was really hard for people to understand her.

♥ I believe that even though Capricorn ASC people may have other strong placements, they look their best wearing minimalistic clothes. like they are so self-sufficient that the rule "the simpler, the better" works for them 100% of the time.

♥ maybe it has another name in English or I misspelled it somehow (please let me know if you know what it's called). but I haven't seen any articles about Doryphory/Doryphoros and the Charioteer of the Sun in English. however, it's very popular among post-Soviet astrologers.

if you don't know, here's the idea: the Sun is the King, and Doryphory is its supportive power, like a squire. it's the planet that comes before the Sun. check it out. it can, together with the Ascendant, reveal the first impression from you. on the other hand, the planet after the Sun - the Charioteer - can show what you're remembered for in the end.

for example, my Sun is in the 1st house and the first planet behind (clockwise) is my 12th house Mars. I’m always told that I look like self-collected, confident go-getter at first glance. however, Mercury which goes after Sun usually leaves people feeling that I am overthinking and a little nervous. my sister’s Doryphory is Gemini Mercury (harshly squared, however). sometimes it really seems challenging for her to stop talking. she looks like such a chatterbox. however, people usually remember her for her good looks. her Sun is followed by Venus. as for my grandma, her Doryphory is Moon and the Charioteer is Mercury. she is the most prominent example of someone who often says or does something emotionally and then thinks about whether it was the right thing to do or not. Thank you for reading! Have a nice day! Picture credits: Pinterest

[lavendertales]

SEÑORITA: Chapter 9**

pairing: Javier Peña x Murphy!f!reader

summary: you get Javier to open up about his life in Colombia. meanwhile, when Steve invites the whole lot of you to brunch, it becomes tough to keep your relationship a secret, especially when Javier's confession burns on the tip of his tongue.

word count: 7k

series warnings: reluctant friends to lovers, lots of playful banter, mutual pining, slow burn, secret relationship, filthy smut; lots of flirting, love confessions, mirror sex, cunnilingus & fingering, some dry humping , cockwarming, lil bit of praise kink & gentle dom!Javi.

A/N: so hiiii yes I am not dead, I am just not really posting anymore but I will see this story through. idk if this is as good as I'd hoped, but I do hope you enjoy it nonetheless 💕

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

series masterlist | AO3

There’s loud screams all around him. Smoke, screams, and the unmistakable scent of death and despair, all around him.

Someone’s screaming for him. Saying his name on a loop. Javier, Javier, Javier. Followed by Javi. Then a toe-curling help me and please, and then—silence.

A silence so loud his ears are ringing and pouring blood.

Except when he looks around him, there’s blood everywhere.

Blood, mass destruction, and an impending sense of doom that no matter how far he runs, no matter what lies he tells, it never leaves him. It is then, in that very second as he’s looking down at the bloodied and bruised face of a woman he once thought he could be with and save, Javier realizes that sense of doom will never leave him. He will remain forever locked in its harsh and cold grip, forever followed by the inevitable shame and guilt, doomed to drown in them.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “’m sorry—I’m—I couldn’t—“

“Javi. Hey. It’s okay. Can you hear me? Javi. It’s me.”

His name on a loop, pronounced so carefully and sincerely, so rich with care and an almost soul-crushing sweetness, awakens him at long last. He’s disoriented as he looks around, his temples and forehead dripping with sweat. There’s a hand gently resting on his chest, steadying his heartbeat, and it’s then that Javier’s eyes come into focus and they see your face. And then slowly the realization that he’s no longer in Colombia, no longer surrounded by pain, comes into focus as well, and that he’s in his bed, next to the most wonderful woman he’s ever known.

“Are you alright?” you ask, gently rubbing his chest through the t-shirt.

“Yeah. I’m definitely better now.”

He cracks a reassuring smile and so do you.

“Nightmare?” you ask next.

Javier nods, rather hesitantly. “I was back in Colombia. In Bogota.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Upon noticing the hesitation on his face, you’re quick to add, “It’s okay if you don’t want to though. I don’t have to know everything about your past.”

Something about that feels oddly endearing; Javier hasn’t met anyone who has been as kind and understanding as you and for every genuine word you throw at him, for every gentle caress of his hand or his cheek, he feels his chest impossibly lighter, as if all the pain he has been carrying with him for the past few years is beginning to wear off at long last.

Though his tongue aches for verbal release, Javier isn’t certain that he wants to burden you with the horrors he had witnessed and done in Colombia. You are far too tame to handle such harsh realities, even if you clearly expect the truth and nothing but it.

“I did things I’m not proud of,” he lets out in a coarser than expected voice. “Terrible things. Either for information or out of… helplessness or desperation.”

You don’t say anything; you adjust your position so that you face him clearer, even in the darkness, and let him continue.

“I’m no saint, by no means. I guess sometimes I thought my actions were justified because the end result would be good. But it rarely ever was.”

And before he knows it, Javier is telling you the chapter of his life which he deemed closed some time ago, from start to finish: he tells you about him and Steve and how they worked together; he tells you about working with the most gruesome group in all of Colombia in order to get to Pablo Escobar; he tells you about Helena and how he cared about her and how he got her traumatized simply because he pushed her too much for information; he tells you of all the people he threatened, shot, of all the plans he made and failed, how he got the so-called promotion in Cali and how it meant that Steve was the one who ended Escobar eventually. By the end of it, it’s nearly morning and you’re cuddled at his chest, listening to him breathe and caressing his cheek.

“I appreciate you opening up about this,” you murmur. “I know it can’t possibly be easy.”

“It is. It feels easier with you.”

You smile, chastely kissing his lips. Javier’s chest rises and falls with each additional shaky breath he takes as he forces his mind to collaborate with his mouth in order to get out those pesky three words that have been pressing on his conscience for weeks now. Yet the way you kiss him tenderly and sweetly, as if to reassure him that he’s safe and sound from any harm in this world, it shuts him up real good.

His mother once told him that when he’ll meet someone special, he’ll know it and he’ll know just what to say and when. He was still a kid at the time and he dismissed his mother’s words, but now he feels them to be truer than ever.

“So if we were in Colombia,” you say suddenly as a smirk graces your lips, “would I be one of your girls?”

Javier turns to you, faintly amused. He cocks an eyebrow at you, his interest visibly peaked.

“What?”

“Would I be one of many girls that fall at Javier Peña’s feet? One of the lucky ones who get to go to bed with him?”

Something aches inside Javier as you pose that question. It’s a playful one and while you have no ill intentions behind it, it dawns on Javier that the idea repulses him on a certain level. The idea of you being just another pretty face to add to that seemingly endless list of conquests, another forgettable name on there… he doesn’t want that.

Especially not when the reality could not be more farther from the truth.

“No,” he responds, shifting closer to you and removing a strand of hair from your face. “No, absolutely not.”

You smile, somewhat confused. “Why not?”

“Because you’re—better. You’re—you’re everything, you—“

His heart starts pounding, his throat feels beyond dry and it feels as if there is a huge ball of fire in his chest, waiting to burst at the slightest movement.

“I—what?”

Tell her. Tell her now.

Tell her you fucking coward!

“We should get some rest,” Javier mutters, stroking your hair and coaxing you into his arms so that you fall asleep as soon as possible. Once you do, he finally exhales, still burdened and haunted, but much more secure in his decision to finally come clean to you tomorrow, no matter what.

Except that when tomorrow comes, Javier receives an unexpected invitation.

“You free in about two hours?” Steve’s voice asks through the phone, and Javier gulps out of instinct.

“Yeah, think so. Why?”

“How would you feel about having brunch with me and Connie?”

He falters, and it’s as if Steve can sense the hesitation on his part because he’s quick to add, “Hopefully my sister’s gonna be there too. Also Sylvie and her boyfriend Zack, they’re coming too. You know, my sister’s friends.”

“Right, yeah, I think she mentioned them at some point.”

“Yeah. I thought a nice friendly meal would do us all good. What do you say?”

Javier meets your face from the corner of his eye and notices the question written all over it. He shakes his head briefly, a little “I’ll handle this for us” sign, and resumes his conversation with Steve.

“Sounds nice, I’m in,” he tells Steve.

“Great. Just gotta call my sister now. Or hope to get in touch with her at least.”

“Just call her, I’m sure it’s gonna be fine.”

The moment he hangs up, he stares at you with the same guilty face he’s been having whenever Steve’s been around lately.

“You need to go to your apartment,” he tells you in a grim voice.

You frown. “Are you kicking me out?”

Javier makes a face. “No, of course not. But you need to go to your apartment because your brother’s gonna call you and you need to answer the phone.”

“I could be sleeping in. It’s Sunday, after all. I could’ve been out last night. Hell, I could’ve been with somebody. Maybe I was with Dean and we—“

“Okay, stop.”

You try not to smile seeing the bothered look on Javier’s face. Instead, you inch closer to him and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Aw, honey, are you jealous of Dean?” you peck his lips.

“I think we’ve already established that I was. But not anymore. I’ve got you, and he can go suck a lemon for all I care.”

You scoff, kissing him again, utterly enjoying the sensation of Javier simply melting into your arms, into the kiss you share.

“You really should stop with this because if you don’t, we’re gonna be stuck in here for the rest of the day, spent and sweaty,” Javier warns, to which you cock an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, so what did my brother want?”

“He invited us to brunch.”

“Us?”

“Well, me. And he should be calling you any moment, so if you could go to your apartment and answer the phone, I’d really appreciate that.”

“But I could be—“

“Please. For me?”

You roll your eyes, sighing. “Fine. You’re lucky I’m sweet on you.”

Javier presses a kiss to your cheek, stroking your hand.

“But we need to set up some ground rules for this brunch,” he tells you sternly.

“Rules? For what?”

“We said we’re not gonna tell Steve about us until we’re ready, and we’re not really there yet, so no sitting together, no touching, no looking at each other unless absolutely necessary.”

“Don’t you think that makes it more suspicious?”

“Hopefully not.”

You chuckle. “For someone who used to be a bad boy, you sure like setting down rules.”

“I’m just saying—okay, just—just go upstairs.”

“Ooh, yes, sir.”

He knows you’re joking; he knows you’re teasing him, especially in that falsely impressed and sultry tone of voice, and yet a part of him still twitches at the thought of you being so willing, so malleable and needy for him.

It’s a thought that will never leave his mind—or his body.

The little bistro Steve chose—aka claims, because everyone knows Connie is the one who actually picked it—for the brunch is quite cozy: floral arrangements adorn the outside windows, little lights hang from the walls on the inside, and plenty of people buzzing and chatting, completely immersed in their conversations.

If he were honest, Javier preferred if the two of you showed up at this brunch separately—although in hindsight, that would probably raise more questions instead of burying them for good. But he still has a knot in his throat even when you assure him that nobody’s going to bat an eyelash and that they will all think you coming together here was nothing more but an act of convenience.

“I’m telling you, it’s fine,” you sneakily squeeze Javier’s hand. “Could you at least try to look less constipated? Just—you know, for at least an hour or two.”

Javier frowns at you, taking a deep breath and taking one last, long look at you, as if he’s trying to memorize every single detail about you. You crack a smile.

“It’s going to be fine,” you reassure him. “You care far more about Steven’s opinion than I do. I don’t care if he finds out.”

“I kind of do.”

“I know you do. And it’s so sweet. But so what if he finds out? I mean… what’s he gonna uncover? That his little sister is in the healthiest and best relationship she’s ever had?”

“With his friend and partner whom he particularly asked not to fool around with his little sister.”

“Javi, we’re not just fooling around.” After a pause, you continue somewhat concerned. “Are we?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“Then you shouldn’t worry this much.”

It’s quite astounding how fast you’re capable of calming Javier down with minimal effort. But it works, and when the two of you enter the place and take your seats at the table, greeted by the rest of the party, Javier breathes a little easier. He avoids Steve’s eyes as he shakes hands with Zach and Sylvie, guilt weighing on his conscience like the heaviest boulder. He tries his best in remembering your words that this isn’t about Steve, it’s about the two of you and your newfound happiness, but alas, he remains just a little bit stiff throughout brunch as conversation starts flowing between all of you.

On the brighter side, Javier smiles to himself seeing you and Steve engaged in conversation, laughing with each other. You’re sitting side by side to your brother, which means Javier is right in front of you and gets to notice the two of you mending your relationship.

Then he thinks again of how hopelessly in love he feels with you, how he has been for the past several weeks, if not more, and how it’s all happening behind Steve’s back. Maybe you were right, though; maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for Steve to find out at last. He’d find out that his little sister is happy, and that his best friend is content, at peace.

Would that be so bad?

And then he feels your foot rubbing against his, sneaking its way up, just in the slightest; he inhales a sharp breath, giving you a death stare, and he gets his answer.

Maybe it would be so bad.

“I hear you finished writing your book?” Sylvie asks you, redirecting Javier’s attention to the subject matter.

“I did,” you proudly say. “I need to do the final editing, run it by someone, but I’m pretty confident it’ll be out by next year. At least that’s the hope.”

“That’s so damn cool,” Zach says in between mouthfuls.

“Truly amazing,” Connie adds.

“I’m so proud of you.”

Everyone turns to look at Steve, who’s got the brightest smile on his face and his glass raised up. They all follow suit with the gesture, toasting your accomplishment as you stare at your big brother.

“Really, I am,” Steve goes on. “I’ve always been. Always thought you’re amazing. Much cooler than me.”

“By miles.”

The table laughs.

“But it dawned on me that I never really told you this. So… I want you to know that I am very proud of you, every day. And I love you.”

“Thank you. And I love you too.”

“Here, here!���

 The conversation begins to flow easily afterwards: Connie shares Olivia’s latest endeavors and how she started walking; Zach and Sylvie talk about their relationship and how it is to live together, to which you make a tasteful joke about her pretending to still live with you as well and how you and Zach basically share Sylvie; then Steve talks about work and how he enjoys it, being similar and yet different than what he used to do in Colombia. Javier remains silent during this portion, sipping on his black coffee and pretending not to feel your leg sliding up his.

“What about you, Javier?” Sylvie asks.

“What about me what?”

“How do you like it at the precinct?”

“It’s okay.”

You eye him briefly, affectionately rubbing your leg on his shin, concealing a smile as you see him squirm in his seat.

“Javi’s having a bit of a tough time adjusting,” Steve intervenes.

“It’s police work. It’s what I know, and it’s what I do.”

“It’s what gives you nightmares.”

Everyone at the table turns towards you, the same surprised look on all of their faces. You shrug, ignoring Javier’s deadly stare.

“And you know this how?” Steve asks reticently.

“By talking. By asking and by actually getting to know people, Steven.”

“Let’s move on, shall we?” Javier suggests.

“What do you mean?” Steve resumes, focusing solely on you. “I know people, I talk to them.”

You take a deep breath, maintaining a neutral tone even if your pulse increases rapidly.

“You refer to Javier as your best friend, but besides work, how much do you really talk to each other?”

“We talk.”

“Sometimes too much if you ask me,” Javier adds.

“Point is, he is my best friend.”

“Really? Did you know that he has night terrors? Not nightmares, terrors. And not every night, but he has ‘em. He mumbles and groans in his sleep, sometimes cries or even screams. He apologizes over and over to dead people, to you and to Connie.”

“Oh, Javi…” Connie mumbles.

“Do you know how I know this?”

There’s a lightbulb moment happening inside Steve’s head, and it is perfectly legible on his face as he stares at you, then at Javier, who gulps. Steve says your name, still processing, and it is only then that Javier stands up abruptly, his eyes shooting right at you.

“Can I talk to you for a minute? All the way over there?”

You raise your eyebrows, quite surprised, but nod and follow Javier all the way to the buffet table. You notice the little crease between his brows, the way he purses his lips and you can tell something’s making him uncomfortable. Suddenly the thought makes you feel guilty.

“Javi, I’m sorry if I crossed a line—“

“You thought at brunch would be a good idea to rub your leg against me? With your friends and brother right next to you?”

You furrow your brows, even more taken aback. “Okay, not where I thought this conversation was headed,” you confess.

“Tell me.”

As much as you’d like to deny it or pretend like it doesn’t affect you, Javier’s demeanor is getting through to you in ways you wouldn’t have thought possible; the way he’s being so adamant about his request, his voice low and husky—

“I thought it would be fun, yes,” you shamelessly admit.

“You gotta stop it because otherwise I might excuse us again and fuck you in that bathroom.”

Speechless, you stare at him, mouth ajar and heart pounding in your ears. You find yourself incapable of saying anything for the next few seconds, and even more shocking, you find yourself seriously debating Javier’s words.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking about it,” he says.

“Don’t tell me you’re not,” you chuckle.

Javier huffs, frustrated to the point of taking his own words into consideration.

Except he is trying really hard not to be that kind of man and be more respectful and wary.

“Gotta be honest, I thought you were gonna be upset about me saying you have nightmares,” you mutter.

“No, I’m upset because you were rubbing up against me with your brother right next to you, and I can’t keep going like this. So either you tell him about us, or I do.”

You stare at him incredulously. “Wait, seriously? You wanna tell him?”

“I need a clear conscience. And I really need it so next time I fuck you, I won’t feel so guilty.”

You chuckle, stroking his arm. You’re fully aware that the gesture hasn’t gone unnoticed by the four people who are most likely still staring at you two, but all of a sudden, you no longer care. Javier is right; just as he doesn’t want to deny or hide it anymore, neither do you.

So when you return to the table, the perfect comeback is hatched from your brain.

“Sorry about that,” you smile, turning straight to Steven.

“What’s going on?”

“As I was saying, do you know how I know all of those things about Javier?”

“Don’t say it.”

“I’ve been spending the nights at his place. Every night for like three months now.”

Connie and Sylvie are the only ones smiling, except the latter is sipping from her cup of coffee with utmost interest.

“Three months?” Steven repeats. “So you chose to sleep with my best friend to what? To prove a point, to—to laugh in my face?”

“Neither. Actually, it did start as a way to get back at you. But as it turns out, he’s great in the sack.”

“As advertised,” Javier adds.

“And you wanted to skip brunch today,” Sylvie whispers to Zach, who’s watching the exchange as speechless as Connie.

“Don’t—“Steve shakes his head.

“Oh yeah, he’s fantastic. Knows his way around a woman’s body better than she knows it. I’m talking about waves and waves of endless pleasure.”

“I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Actually, I think I might too. We haven’t really been careful, you know? It’s been a lot of sweaty, rough and yet so passionate—“

“Okay, stop! Why are you being like this? Both of you!”

You exchange a glare with Javier, both of you smiling at each other.

“Like what? Wild, unhinged?”

“Kind of, yes!”

“The way you’ve been treating me since I was 15? Which I haven’t been in years, by the way.”

“Please tell me you were using some form of birth control though.”

“Ew, shut up! Would you calm down already? We’re both responsible adults, we know what to do. Besides, we’re not just sleeping together. We’re going on dates and spending time together and… we like each other.”

“We’re not just fooling around,” Javier adds, unable to look away from you. “I’m in love with her.”

You stare back at him, ignoring Connie’s soft oh my God in your vicinity, even Sylvie’s I fuckin’ knew it towards Zach.

“Javi, it’s okay, you don’t have to—“

“I love her, Steve. And I did keep my promise to not fool around with her. What I can do is promise to keep her safe and treat her with respect and care.”

It dawns on you that this is the first time you’ve heard Javier say those words, and realizing he also hasn’t said them since his last real relationship. It’s a huge milestone in both your lives, and the fact that Javier chose this moment to confess makes you realize how much he must care about you.

“It’s true,” you add. “I—I love him too. I have for quite some time.”

“I fuckin’ told you,” Sylvie smiles. “I told you, and I knew sooner or later—“

“Not now, Syl.”

“Right, sorry. Continue.”

“Honey?” Connie presses her hand to Steve’s shoulder. “Don’t you wanna say something to them?”

“I’m really sorry, guys. I never wanted to… to treat you this way, to push you even further, sis. I guess I was just afraid that what Colombia did to me and Javier would be too much for you to handle. I know Connie got overwhelmed at some point. Rightfully so. But after all, I had her to come home to. Javier was… alone, and burying his problems in alcohol, cigarettes and random women. Relationships were out of question for him, and I saw what Colombia did to him overall, what all of that did to him. I didn’t want any of that for you. I obviously want you both to be happy, that’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I see you guys now being so happy with each other… it makes me happy.”

“We’re sorry we didn’t tell you earlier,” Javier says. “I guess we needed some time to figure things out ourselves.”

“Doesn’t matter now. Point is, I know my sister, she’s an amazing woman, and I—I missed the angle where that might be something good for Javier. Which it clearly is. And clearly he was full of shit when he said you’re not his type.”

“Just out of curiosity,” you intervene, “what exactly is Javier’s type?”

“The usual sexy, sultry woman.”

You raise your brows, to which Steve panics. “Not that you’re not! I mean, not that I think you as my sister are sexy… okay, this is weird, let’s move on.”

“Yeah, let’s.”

“I meant, you’re more the next door girl kind of woman, I suppose, and Javier usually went for the ‘right in your face sexy’ kind of a woman.”

“Relax, I know. I’m just teasing you.”

“Yeah, it’s what you do best.”

Everyone laughs, with Connie affectionately rubbing Steve’s arm.

“But listen, as glad as I am that we are talking about this and being open and mature about it, please do be safe, okay?” Steve says, and you make a face. “Also I know this goes without saying, probably—hopefully—but please don’t have a baby just to spite me.”

“Steven—“

“Please, I’ve learned my lesson, I swear. I promise I’ll be good! I’ll stay out of your relationship, just don’t—“

“Steven!”

“I’m not totally ready to be an uncle. I need to mentally prepare myself for a baby that’s half Murphy, half Peña.”

You roll your eyes. “Would you relax? We are not there yet. We may never be there. I don’t know. I don’t know what the future holds for us, but for now we’re good the way we are. Plus he’s teaching me Spanish too.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“But don’t worry, we only do it when I get a full sentence right.”

Seeing the scandalized look on Steve’s face, you burst into laughter, and the rest follow suit.

“I’m kidding! Oh my God, it’s so fun messing with you.”

“Something is seriously wrong with you.”

You can’t help but share the laughter with the rest of the company, never quite managing to capture Javier’s eyes in your direction, not even on the way home. It only hits you the weight of the words that had been hastily, yet calculatedly, been spilled at the brunch table among friends and family once you get the inside of his apartment. You look around, finally allowing the day’s events to hit you, and then you turn to look at Javier, a warm smile gracing your face.

He confessed to everyone present that he loved you, standing up to your overly protective older brother.

“What’s going on?” Javier asks.

It somehow still surprises you that he’s able to capture the concern on your face, even when it’s not there. You’re not concerned this time around. Quite the opposite; you’ve never felt more at ease and more impressed by a partner. Granted, not that you had many serious relationships in the past, but this right now with Javier, it has so much potential to be something grand that it astounds you.

“About what you said before,” you start, your heart thrumming in your ears. “At brunch.”

Then it hits Javier as well. He inhales deeply, steadying himself.

“Right. So here’s the thing,” he clears his throat. “I’ve only ever said those words once before, and as we know, it didn’t end very well. Okay, in all fairness, it wasn’t paradise city from the beginning, it was more of a masked—that’s not the point. Anyway—“

You conceal a chuckle, staring at him with anticipation and a warmth that exceeds any expectation.

“I’ve only said those words once,” he resumes, “and I did mean it at the time. But I wasn’t really… in love when I said them. It didn’t feel like it should. But now, I think for the first time in my life, I feel those words the way they should feel. I thought I’m the kind of guy who doesn’t do relationships because I suck at them and there was never any time back in Colombia but… I think I just needed to find my match.”

You take his hand into yours. “Javi…”

“I’m serious. I’ve never met anyone so witty and funny, so—so badass. Frankly you could probably kick my ass and I’d be hella turned on.”

You don’t stifle the hearty laugh that escapes your mouth this time, and it triggers the same reaction out of Javier.

“The point I’m trying to make is… I meant what I said. I didn’t just say it to shut Steve up. I—I do love you. The best that I can, which I don’t think is near enough to what you deserve, but… I’m trying to do better, to—“

You cup his cheeks, kissing him tenderly. Javier blinks surprised at you, and his flustered face with his big brown eyes is so sweet it weakens your knees.

“You’re doing just fine, Javi,” you reassure him. “Are you kidding me? You’re so attentive and sweet and—and I love you too.”

Javier blinks in surprise again. Somehow it slipped right by him that you could reciprocate his feelings, hence why he’s rendered speechless for several seconds.

“What uh—I mean… you do?” he finally asks.

“I do. I love you. I should’ve said it sooner, I think, after you turned my story into a book. That’s… kind of when I knew. I guess I chickened out.”

“You chickened out? Why?”

You sigh. “Because… I never said the words before.”

“Wait, you never said ‘I love you’ to someone?”

You shake your head, slightly shuddering. “Well, you know my dating history and patterns, so none of those boys stuck around long enough for me to actually develop real feelings. And there was never any real connection between us. All we really had—“

“Ah, okay, I can—I can visualize what you had.”

“Aw, honey, are you jealous?”

“No. Just… not really a fan of picturing you have sweaty sex with some douchebag.”

“How about if I have some sweaty sex with a very good man?”

Though his interest visibly peaked, Javier still gulps at the notion of being referred to as “a very good man”. It’s the lie he’s told himself countless times back in Medellin and Cali and Bogota, and the same lie he operated under with the hope of excusing his horrid choices. But to hear now as something factual, something that someone as wonderful as you actually believes in…

“You could,” he finally says, stepping closer to you.

His hands roam around your waist, teasing from the small of your back; shivers run down your spine, prickling your skin.

“Is this how you were with the women back then?” you dare ask.

“Why the sudden interest?”

You shrug. “Not sudden. I’m a writer. Everyone has the potential to be an interesting character. Besides, I find the Javier stories fascinating.”

“That so?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, that Javier isn’t really around. All he was good for was some fast and rough outlet for release and… not much more.”

“So I take it that dominant, needy Javier is gone?”

He raises his brows, chuckling at the way you’re sneakily handling him. A part of him still fears this power you hold over him, but a bigger part of him is thrilled even by the still of your hand, let alone the way you’re capable of handling him.

He’s never had that, he realizes; he’s never had a woman meet him right where he’s at, handle him like a pro and then some more, and he enjoys it far more than he would’ve expected.

“I meant gone as in… gone on a vacation, not dead.”

You smile, teasingly playing with the hem of his shirt.

“That what you need now?” Javier teases.

“I want whatever you’re comfortable with giving me.”

That’s what ultimately sets him off. So when he finally kisses you, it’s rugged, needy and asserting dominance, but there’s also something very tender in the way Javier is holding you, pulling you into his body. Javier’s sole focus right now is exposing more of you to him, feeling you as close as humanly possible; therefore, he doesn’t tell you just how affected he is by your choice of words. He doesn’t tell you that this is the weakest, yet strongest he’s ever felt. If someone were to ask him how he feels, he’d easily reply “disgustingly happy”, words which he never used before.

He doesn’t tell you any of this; he lets actions speak louder. Calloused fingers, accustomed to manhandling and roughhousing, caress and cup your ass. With each passing second, the kiss you share deepens further, his pulse quickens and his jeans become more and more constricted. Never mind that it’s the middle of the day, in broad daylight; Javier wants—needs—to marvel at every inch of you, exactly as it is.

“Whatever you want from me,” he tells you through a shuddering breath as he slowly undresses you, “it’s yours. Anything.”

Javier surprises himself at how malleable he finds himself to be, caught under your spell, but he does not care one bit. When you look into his eyes and see his blown out pupils, you know he means it. You feel his words to be true.

You smile as you close your eyes and pull him in for another hasty kiss, stumbling your way to the bed. Javier strips you slowly, stealing kisses down your body while a breath catches in your throat. The sun shines right through the big windows on this crisp fall day, so there’s nothing to hide. It’s only when Javier’s hands finally pull down your panties and expose you to him that you notice you’re facing the mirror hanging from the wall of his bedroom. You shiver and on cue, Javier’s hungry eyes look up to meet yours. He smirks—because of course he does, son of a bitch.

“It’s a great view, isn’t it?” he murmurs, tentatively licking a stripe up your pussy.

His eyes don’t leave you when you sneak another glance at the mirror: it’s not huge, but big enough to fit your naked body and Javier’s head right between your legs. No good words cross your mind, even if your mind is in overdrive, begging your mouth to release some form of verbal speech. Your knees buckle and your heart beats rapidly when Javier takes his first taste. It feels like the first time he’s ever done this, though it’s really old news by this point. Recently you thought Javier’s existence is limited to one place and one place alone, and that is in between your legs, based on how much he loves spending time down there—whether he’s snug inside you or eating you out.

“Watch how gorgeous you are when you come on my tongue,” you hear Javier’s voice, lustful and dark.

“Presumptuous, aren’t we?”

You laugh a little, but it quickly fades when you feel two digits moving slowly in and out of you, a tongue collecting the slick gathered in your most sensitive spot. His nose nudges your clit, his whole mouth is seemingly buried in your pussy, and all you can do is moan helplessly, let one of your hands grab a handful of his hair and keep your eyes locked on the way your body curves and aches at his mercy. God, he’s so needy, so eager to please you and to give you orgasms; almost like this is his purpose in this world.

“Does it feel good?” you hear his husky voice.

His fingers feel like they’re splitting you open while you nearly fall apart in his mouth, and at the same time it’s not enough. It drives you insane.

You nod frantically, locked in the same trance of watching yourself getting ate out by Javier.

“With words, señorita.”

Oh fuck. You hadn’t expected that, certainly not the reaction it triggers out of you.

“Yes,” you exhale. “It feels so, so good, Javi.”

“Good. Touch yourself.”

Though your mind is in a haze, you’re able to follow his instruction. Your hand bolts to your clit, rubbing in circling motions. That, paired with his fingers pumping in and out of you and his mouth like a hot furnace devouring your pussy, it doesn’t take that much longer to get you to where you desperately need. Seeing you like this, being able to make you feel this way, it’s all getting to Javier too; he’s gotten so hard by this point it’s borderline masochistic how much pain he’s voluntarily taking in, so he unconsciously starts to rub against the edge of the bed. The friction is so good, but nowhere near enough. It’ll have to do for now, he thinks. He needs to get you off first.

A moan is harshly ripped from the back of your throat, your legs jerk and nearly trap Javier between them as pleasure jolts throughout your body. It’s electric, overwhelming, and simply unmatched. It’s too much all at once, to look in the mirror and see how painfully needy you are for this man, how beautifully fucked out you look in at this very moment. You notice his hips, desperately humping the bed, unbeknownst even to himself.

Javier pulls out his fingers, only his tongue remaining on your overly sensitive area, the strokes of it now gentler. You tug on his hair to make him attentive, and when he looks up, you see his face contorted in a mixture of delight, pleasure and neediness. And just like that, your body aches again, only this time for something more.

“Ah fuck,” Javier groans in his fast attempt to dispose of his clothes. “Didn’t notice I was—“

He sighs right as you smile, taking in the sight of a naked Javier, all in broad daylight for you to savor. He’s so hard now it almost pains you, so when you make a motion to get to him and stroke him, Javier nearly swats your hand away.

“Why not?” you ask with a pout.

“Because it’s gonna be a fucking miracle if I last more than a few seconds and I wanna be inside you when we come.”

You raise your brows. “We?”

“What did I tell you in the beginning that you’ll always have from me?”

“At least two orgasms.”

“I live up to my words.”

He’s wrapped the condom around his cock, now crawling in between your legs, the place he has claimed as his own and by far the most incredible place he’s ever resided in. He’s done this plenty of times before now, it’s nothing new; and yet, this very moment which reeks of anticipation and desire, this single moment in time when his hand is curled around his cock, guiding himself to your already soaked entrance, Javier wishes he could freeze it, keep it to himself forever.

When he slides right at home, deep inside you, you both moan in tandem. And it is the most damnable, beguiling and intoxicating sensation he’s ever known.

Probably because you’re not just another girl passing through his life and his bed. You’re not another random face or a number to the list of women he’s been with.

You’re the woman he loves, the woman he’d take a bullet for if he had to, the woman he’d move mountains for.

“Javi?”

You have this ability to bring him back with his feet to the ground whenever he tends to wander off, and Javier is nothing if not grateful for it, particularly now.

“Can you move? Please?” you plead and it’s so sweet he could come just from that.

Javier chuckles, the sound resembling that of a madman—and he supposes he is one, in a sense.

“Keep lookin’,” he instructs, a little bit of his Texan roots slipping in his tone as he starts to roll his hips. “Want you to watch how good you take me. How—beautiful you are when you take me.”

The grip you have over his shoulders tightens as his hips pick up a moderate pace, pounding into you with a mixture of greed and love. The more he sinks into you, whispering sweet nothings and giving the occasional order, the more you feel pressure building inside your belly. You do as he says, watching your body writhing beneath his in the mirror, and you shudder. His back covers a lot of the frame, so you mostly notice him from behind, pounding into you, and your nearly limp body underneath, taking him as he is giving himself to you.

The sensation of having him atop of you is stellar, something almost like it was meant for you and you alone; Javier’s stealing the occasional kiss from you, his hips more erratic with each additional thrust and his mouth whispering that he’s so close, so fucking close.

“D’you see?” he manages to get out through a wicked smile. “See how—how fuckin’ good you look hmm?”

“Yes—yes, I see it—“

“Mhm—good girl. My good fuckin’ girl.”

Javier loses any train of thought, be it rational or not, and when his orgasm finally hits, it’s all too much and too sudden, and when he can’t stop cussing or thrusting furiously into you, you cup his cheeks and tell him a simple “I love you”.

And he lets go, almost violently.

He’s struggling to catch his breath when he feels you spasming around him, and there’s pride to be felt even when he’s dumbfounded that you came almost at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you make a face at him trying to regulate his breaths. “I was kinda hoping… I’d last longer.”

You kiss him sweetly, gently, still feeling him ache inside of you. “It’s the sexiest thing,” you murmur.

“Having the endurance of a teenage boy?”

“No, the idea that someone needs you this desperately they can’t hold themselves in one piece. I love that. And I love you.”

Javier pecks your lips. “I don’t think I’ll get used to you saying that.”

“You should.”

“I love you too.”

You stay snugged up like that for who knows how long, while the sun rays beam down on your naked bodies. And then it starts to get dark, and you’re on Javier’s lap, slowly riding him and kissing him, aiming for nothing in particular but intimacy.

previous | next

tags: @pedrostories @psychedelic-ink @milkymoon2483 @ifall4dilfs @casa-boiardi @fallenkitten @jenispunk

[cat3ch1sm]

I was wondering if you would do more writing for L. Would you write a NSFW with Dom!L including bondage?

⛪️~ hello, @incivilminds <33 here is your request!! I have done you so dirty dawg like this is actually so old… forgive me plsplspls💔💔💔💔 also GODDAMN this is long as shit what

also yeah, i haven’t been writing a lot for L lately, my bad y’all 😭 i will def be writing more death note soon

*＊✿❀ nsfw ahead! fem!reader,❀✿＊*

It probably hadn’t even been a week since you had been captured, although it felt like it had been months. Vaguely, you recalled your wrists being wrenched behind your back mercilessly and a blindfold being tied roughly around your eyes. While you struggled vehemently against the chafing handcuffs that had been so harshly slapped around your wrists, someone, a man, had told you that you were under suspicion of being involved with Kira. Next thing you knew, you were tied up in a small, empty room, still unable to see or move with your body bound to a terribly uncomfortable metal board-like thing.

For a long time, you were scared out of your mind. For hours on end, you’d been interrogated by a garbled voice coming from somewhere in the room, and you hadn’t been able to give anyone any information. You were hardly allowed any bathroom breaks, and you were only given the bare minimum of food and water to keep you alive. However, despite the small amount of time you’d been captive, the situation you were in felt more hopeless every second. You were sleep-deprived, mentally drained from all the questions every hour of every day, your body was aching like hell from the position you’d been in for what seemed like ages, and you were always thirsty or hungry. On a number of occasions you’d fainted, only realizing it when you were awoken by a stern voice from some audio device in the room.

When you heard the familiar click of the microphone in the room, you had just begun to drift off again- sleeping was really all you could to in this predicament, and you weren’t really getting much of that either- it was hard to do so when you were literally tied to a board at 90 degrees and being watched every single second. And you already knew whoever had you captive now was tired of you asking to go to the bathroom every two seconds.

“Y/N.”

The stoic but demanding tone of whoever was speaking was something you were used to by now- but realizing that you were probably about to be interrogated ruthlessly again by this mechanical voice was almost too much, especially alongside being deprived of most of your senses for so long like this. You couldn’t find it in yourself to respond, instead barely lifting your head from its loll on your chest.

“Good. You’re up. Now, tell me what you know about Kira.”

This again. You could almost feel your sanity slipping through your fingers.

You replied with an inaudible murmur, not even really knowing what you were saying yourself.

“Speak up. I can’t hear you.”

This time, you didn’t respond, and dropped your head again, an overwhelming sleepiness suddenly coming over you. Today, you just weren’t up for it- you couldn’t care less what anyone did to you.

There was an unexpected silence for a few seconds- you’d expected the voice to resume its distorted badgering the second you failed to reply. But when the voice sounded again, its tone wasn’t as stony as it had been previously.

“You seem tired. How are you doing?”

Before you could stop it, a dull, bitter laugh burst from your throat. “How am I doing?” Your voice was raspy from lack of hydration and to speak by itself hurt your throat. “Don’t patronize me.”

More silence. For a second you’d thought maybe you’d made the voice mad, but what it said next surprised you. “Watari. Get the girl some water.”

Next thing you knew, there was shuffling beside you, and then a hard object at your lips. You could feel the cold air from it flowing on your skin, and then Watari tilted the cup towards your lips, signaling you to drink. However, you kept your lips tightly shut- you didn’t want to accept any formalities from whoever was behind this.

Watari tried again, but this time you moved your head out of the way quite violently, feeling your hair dip into the water before your head hit the side of the cup, knocking it from Watari’s hand and spilling the cold liquid all over your body. It brought you a little pleasure to know that you were being an inconvenience, and now there was a mess to clean up. Besides that, now you might be allowed clean clothes.

Silence from Watari. You wondered if you’d made him mad.

“Ryuzaki, the girl doesn’t seem to be cooperating.”

You were a little surprised by Watari’s voice. You’d thought he was a man on the younger side, but instead he sounded rather elderly. You shuddered to yourself.

“Yes, I can see that,” came the tiny little voice through the speakers. It sounded like his or her teeth were clenched.

Ryuzaki. So that was your captor’s name. Even if you did get punished for your difficult behavior, at least you’d come away with a little victory.

“Feel free to depart, Watari,” Ryuzaki spoke again, the crackle of the feedback echoing through the room. “I’m going to come down there myself.”

He was coming down? You weren’t sure if you were anxious or eager. Perhaps he’d finally finish you off.

“Ryuzaki, are you sure?” Watari questioned.

“She can’t see me,” Ryuzaki replied coolly. “It’ll be fine. By this point, she needs a change of clothes, anyway- the water in fact contained a light dose of a chemical that would make the girl’s mind a little weaker and relax some of her tension, perhaps draw the truth out of her- and I can’t have it spilled on her clothes like it is now.”

Chemical? Draw the truth out of you? Any regrets about rejecting the water drained from your mind the instant Ryuzaki said that. Another tiny victory.

“Go ahead, Watari. I’ll be down shortly.”

Watari complied, and soon you heard footsteps depart from you and eventually vanish.

It was a little while before you heard anyone else again, and you waited anxiously, back aching against the cold, stiff board. Was he going to kill you? Or were you just in for more interrogation? At this point, you’d much rather Ryuzaki just end your misery. Even one more question and you’d go mad.

Despite your rising anxiety, you couldn’t ignore the pull of sleep weighing down your eyelids and blurring your vision. It had been ages since you’d slept properly, and even the small intervals of sleep you managed to get were constantly disrupted by the crackly voice over the intercom waking you up to ask you the same set of questions. Because of this, while waiting for Ryuzaki, you actually began to drift off- but just as you were about to really fall asleep, you heard footsteps echoing throughout the room.

The sound snapped you back to alertness, making you jolt. The footsteps grew louder and louder, growing closer, and then they stopped right in front of you. You froze, body completely stiff- Ryuzaki had arrived. However, he didn’t speak, which only made you more nervous.

After a few agonizing minutes, you at last heard a voice, allowing you to relax a bit- but it wasn’t much. However, the voice did surprise you- it was a young man, much unlike the crackly sound you’d been hearing for the time that you’d been here. There was a raspy edge to it as well- you could say confidently that it certainly wasn’t an ugly voice. In fact, it was sort of comforting in a twisted manner- it would have been worse if it was an old man watching you this entire time.

“Mr. Matsuda, Aizawa,” Ryuzaki commanded, “turn off the cameras and the audio.”

What?

The two men Ryuzaki had addressed seemed to have a similar reaction as yours. “Huh? L- I mean, Ryuzaki, that’s nuts! This is an interrogation!” came a protesting voice rather loudly through the microphone, the feedback making you flinch. It sounded like a much younger man’s voice, younger than Ryuzaki.

There was a brief pause before another, more mature-sounding voice came through the speaker. “Yeah- Ryuzaki, we trust you, but is that something you really want to do?”

“I want to talk to our suspect alone.” Ryuzaki continued calmly, unfazed by either of the men’s protests. “Matsuda, please turn off the camera and the audio.”

This couldn’t be good at all. Now you were almost certain Ryuzaki was going to kill you. Why else would he want the audio and video off? He couldn’t possibly be letting you go.

Matsuda sighed. “Okay, Ryuzaki, if you say so.” There was a click, soon followed by a second one, and the feedback finally silenced.

You let out an involuntary whimper through your gag. Now you were really alone, and with the blindfold you only had your fate to ponder. Was this it?

You felt Ryuzaki move closer to you, and you bit down on your gag, anticipating his next move- but to your surprise, you felt slender fingers grasp your blindfold and undo it, the metal headpiece falling from your face.

Instantly, you were blinded by the light, and a series of shapes and light exploded in front of your eyes. Flinching, you automatically shut your eyes again, completely overwhelmed with sensory input given you’d been blindfolded for days on end with no break whatsoever. You didn’t even get to see your captor’s face. However, you still felt when he removed the dirty gag from your mouth, the foul taste of the rag damp with your saliva finally leaving.

You couldn’t help the giant gulp of air you took right after Ryuzaki removed the gag, having had a lot of your airway obstructed for almost a week. For quite a while, you just coughed and gasped, making up for lost breath while Ryuzaki simply stood a short distance in front of you and watched.

When your coughing spell finally ceased and you were able to see for the most part, you at last slowly lifted your head from its loll on your chest- coming face to face with your captor at last. And to say the least, you were rather caught off guard.

He was fairly tall, a height you would expect for a man about the age he looked, but that was about the only thing conventional about him. You’d thought it would be a more refined man, polished and cold and calculating, like the head of an organized crime group. However, you were instead met with a pale face with wide, sunken-in gray eyes, a pallor over his entire body and his black hair wildly arranged all over his head. Along with that, he had on a mere white T-shirt and baggy jeans- and no shoes!- rather than the more debonair attire you’d expected him to wear. Pretty much everything about the man was in contrast to what you had thought him to be, and you couldn’t suppress the shocked expression that came across your face.

Ryuzaki tilted his head at you upon seeing your expression. “Surprised?”

You said nothing, instead recoiling back against the metal board. No matter what he looked like, this was still your kidnapper who had held you hostage for five days.

“No need to look so nervous.” Ryuzaki shrugged nonchalantly. It was as if he’d done this a million times. “I’m not down here to harm you.”

“You aren’t?” It just popped out. You didn’t know you remembered how to speak words other than the same mantra of “Yes,” “No,” or “I don’t know” in reply to Ryuzaki’s endless interrogation questions.

“Your enunciation is surprisingly good for someone who’s had a gag in their mouth for the past several days,” Ryuzaki remarked casually, his eyes drifting from yours down to your lips. He placed his hands behind his back and slowly circled the metal board you were bound to, inspecting you closely. Revolted, you shrank against the metal as much as possible, trying to avoid his scrutinizing gaze.

Finally, Ryuzaki came back around in front of you. “Your tense body language would suggest that you’re rather wary of me.” He paused, inching closer to you still. “I’m not surprised.”

“No shit,” you managed, giving the detective the most beseeching glare you could.

Ryuzaki tilted his head at you. “Well, it’s nice to see you still have at least a bit of fight in you, hm?” Then, all of a sudden, he brought his face directly up to yours, his wide gray eyes burning into yours and startling you. You recoiled as much as possible, but found yourself unable to break away from his gaze. “Now, tell me- what? Do you know? About Kira.” His voice was just a low hiss, and you felt your heart pound in your chest and your breath speed up. Determined not to give him the satisfaction, you retorted, “I told you already- I don’t know anything.”

Ryuzaki pulled back after hearing those words, his expression going back to it’s normal stoic self. He didn’t say anything for a moment.

“Alright. Since you don’t seem to be cooperating, I suppose I’ll have to take on another tactic to get you to talk.” Ryuzaki turned away and vanished around a corner for a moment, and for a brief moment you felt scared that he was going to pull out something like a knife or a taser to torture information out of you. But when the detective reappeared, he had something you definitely weren’t expecting him to come out with.

“A vibrator?” you sputtered, unable to contain your disbelief. Ryuzaki didn’t seem rattled by your outburst at all, only fiddling with the device in his hand before looking back up to address you.

“I assume you were expecting me to emerge with some… torture device of some sort. But when it comes to these things, I find pleasure is a much more effective method of interrogation,” Ryuzaki explained, approaching you with the vibrator. “Since you won’t talk, I’ll just have to make you. Now, stay still for me so I can get these clothes out of the way.” Ryuzaki kneeled to the ground and picked up a knife, making you jump, but he addressed you again. “Don’t worry. I just need to take off your clothes without undoing your restraints.”

This helped your nerves a little bit, but not really. Still, you figured it wouldn’t be a good idea to fight him while he had the knife so close to your skin. Ryuzaki held you around the waist with one hand to keep your body still while he dragged the knife down the raggedy white garment you had on, slicing the cloth in half and allowing it to fall from your body effortlessly. You flinched when you felt the cold air hit your skin, but as your body was exposed, you noticed something odd.

“Ah. Judging by the look on your face, I assume you’ve noticed that you’re a little… messy between the legs.”

You looked up at Ryuzaki abruptly. You were indeed unusually wet, despite hardly being aroused- although even when you were you normally weren’t this wet. “What did you do?”

Ryuzaki’s tone was indifferent, as always. “I had a feeling that when I gave you the chemical in the drink that you spilled that you would resist. However, I was prepared. When you were asleep earlier today, I managed to give you the aphrodisiac anyway.” He paused for a second. “However… I think I may have given you slightly more than what was needed to stimulate your erogenous zones, so forgive me.” Ryuzaki bent back down so he was on his knees on the ground with his head level with your crotch. “I’ll ask you one more time, Y/N, before I touch you. What do you know about Kira?”

You bit your lip, legs squirming a bit, but didn’t reply. Ryuzaki waited for your reply, but when he saw that you weren’t going to offer him anything, he turned the vibrator in his hand on and brought it to your exposed clit, making you let out a whimper and try and close your legs.

“Ah, ah, ah- no use in struggling. Your legs are bound, remember?” Ryuzaki reminded you airily, circling the vibrator around your clit lightly. The pleasure making your knees weak made you almost glad that you were leaned against the metal board- his aphrodisiac had been very effective, apparently, because even though Ryuzaki was being quite gentle you were already wriggling and moaning.

“This vibrator does have higher settings, you know,” Ryuzaki informed you. “And I must want you, I can do this all day.” He had the ghost of a smile on his face when he said this, and you knew he wasn’t bluffing. As if to make a point, he hit a button on the vibrator, and you instantly felt when the vibrations increased, your breath hitching as your back arched. “There’s no point in denying that you know anything about Kira, so why don’t you just skip the hassle and tell me what you know?”

You found it difficult to respond with the sensation from the vibrator taking over your senses, but you still managed to say something. “He- isn’t from Japan. He lives in- ah!”

Ryuzaki pressed the vibrator harder against your sensitive clit, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Don’t bother lying. I conducted an experiment aged ago that verified that Kira is in fact Japanese. Try again. And it would be appreciated if you didn’t lie this time.”

Your breathing was heavy and your body flushed, your juices spilling out onto the tips of Ryuzaki’s fingers. God, you wished he hadn’t drugged you, because the pleasure was already almost overwhelming. “Fuck- fine, he is Japanese.”

His tone was hard. “Didn’t I just tell you that I know that already? Why don’t you share with me identifying details about his identity. Try his age, appearance, birthday, or the school he goes to. Are you not a high school senior? Have you noticed anybody that stands out in particular?”

You scoffed. “Why would Kira be in high school? What high school kid has time to commit mass murders like this?”

Wrong answer. Ryuzaki turned up the vibrator higher still and dragged it down your dripping slit until it was positioned at your hole. Slowly, he slid the top of the vibrator inside of you with a very wet sound and began pumping it agonizingly slowly, up and down.

You felt your legs immediately begin to tremble, feeling your own arousal slide down your thighs. With every thrust of the vibrator you let out a whimper, squirming like crazy but unable to escape as Ryuzaki placed one hand on your thigh to still you a bit. Your whole lower body throbbed with arousal and pleasure.

“Ah- please, Ryuzaki-“

“Please? Please, what?” Ryuzaki queried, seemingly not affected at all by how needy you clearly were. “Do you want to orgasm? Is that what it is, Y/N?”

You whimpered and nodded, still squirming and moaning with the vibrator moving inside you. Ryuzaki kept his pace slow and steady, making sure to drag it out as much as possible. You didn’t know how this could feel so amazing and yet awful at the same time, your peak just within reach but escaping every time you were close enough. And you knew that Ryuzaki knew this.

“I’ll let you come all you’d like if you just give me the information I want to know,” Ryuzaki told you plainly. “I’m listening.”

You didn’t want to give Ryuzaki the satisfaction, but god, did the vibrator feel absolutely amazing going in and out of your soaking hole like this- and the aphrodisiac just made you more needy.

“Oh… oh, fuck, mmm, okay- please, Ryuzaki, stop moving the-“

“Oh, is the pleasure too much for you? You are indeed very wet…” Ryuzaki finally paused his movements with the vibrator, and despite the ache you felt in your entrance for more, you were finally able to answer Ryuzaki properly for the most part.

You let out a shaky breath, legs shaking. “I don’t know his first name, but his last name is Yagami. We’re the top students in our class, and one day when we were studying together he told me he was Kira.”

Ryuzaki paused for a moment. “Hm. You don’t seem to be lying this time.” He peered up at your flushed, glistening face before looking back down at the vibrator moist with your juices. Muttering to himself, he said, “Hm, I was right- I did dose you with too much of the aphrodisiac…” Regardless, he slipped the vibrator back inside of you, making you let out a broken moan as he pumped it in and out. “Good girl. Now answer one more question for me.”

You were trembling again, your walls squeezing around the vibrator. Your thighs were wet and sticky now as you nodded, trying to stifle the lewd sounds leaving your lips.

“Alright. How does Kira kill?”

This question made your heart skip a beat- revealing the answer, depending on what Ryuzaki did with it, could be very incriminating and have major implications for mankind as a whole. You hesitated, and Ryuzaki noticed, stopping the movements of the vibrator yet again.

“Go on,” Ryuzaki prompted, waiting expectantly. The vibrator was just centimeters away from your throbbing sex, and you could hear the vibration from beneath you.

Shit. Were you really so desperate that you’d give away something like this?

Apparently so. You wanted to blame it on the aphrodisiac, but you knew you couldn’t do that this time.

“You… won’t believe me, but… there’s something called a Death Note. Whenever you write someone’s name in it, that person dies. I don’t really know all the details, but… that’s how he kills.”

Ryuzaki seemed actually startled by this information, but he didn’t question it, so he knew you weren’t lying. He quickly covered up his surprise with his usual mask of indifference, waiting a few moments before speaking again.

“Oh. Alright, then. I’ll have to retrieve more details later, but for now that will suffice. You seem to have given me all the information you have.”

You didn’t reply, but your back was arched, your pelvis close to L’s head.

Ryuzaki looked back up all of a sudden. “Oh. Right. I suppose it’s only fair of me to let you orgasm.”

You were relieved, as the ache in your pussy was becoming too much to bear. To your surprise, though, Ryuzaki turned the vibrator off and set it on the ground beside him. But before you could be confused about it, he leaned straight down to your sex, the tip of his nose resting just above it, and began to slide his warm tongue along your clit, stopping in between licks to plant sucking kisses along your dripping cunt.

Your legs weakened instantly, and you rode Ryuzaki’s tongue as best as you could strapped to the metal board. The heat and wetness from his mouth felt better than you could have ever imagined, and as you approached your climax, your moans faded into whimpers and broken whines of Ryuzaki’s name. He wrapped his lips around your swollen clit and sucked it slowly, gently, and slipped two slender fingers inside of your sopping hole as well, pumping them back and forth like he did the vibrator.

You came mere minutes later, legs quivering violently and breathing heavily. With a moan of Ryuzaki’s name, you finished in his mouth, spilling from the corners of his lips and running down his chin as he peered up at you through his unkempt black hair. He licked all of your cum off of your thighs, running his tongue up and down the length of your thighs and making you shiver at the feeling.

When Ryuzaki was done, he pulled away from your aching and overstimulated cunt before getting back to his feet with the vibrator in hand while you were still trying to catch your breath and still your trembling thighs.

Before you could react, the detective leaned in and kissed you gently on the lips, letting you taste yourself on his lips and tongue. You shuddered as you felt your own cum slide down your chin, and Ryuzaki pulled away. “I appreciate you giving me this information. Watari will be down to provide you with a new garment shortly. It may be a while longer before I allow you to leave, but this will be quite helpful.”

And with that, he was gone before you could even answer.

[blu-ish]

Just finished reading and gosh I love this so much. (lemme write an essay about it lol)

LONG ASS POST HSJHSJSH

She is so testing Sonic, using his own morals-- his own PROMISES against him. Because if Sonic says she and Kit can have a second, even third chance... everyone's gonna follow along because he's Sonic. If I was the villain I would use that against the hero too.

He's just gonna end up bringing everyone down with him BECAUSE he believes, because he thinks its the right thing to do.

But here's the thing, he knows its complete bullshit, I 100% got that vibe. He understands somethings up, that it's too easy, hell after experiencing Surge's meltdown while trying to drown him while electrocuting him, there's no way that didn't leave an impression on Sonic about her. (along with a few internal burns lmao)

It's the same thing with the whole Mr. Tinker (Eggman) incident, sure he really DID lose his memory, but Sonic AGAIN forces his ideals and morals onto everyone else for the sake of believing he could turn it around, and his actions affect everyone. (Gawd, Sonic and his problematic savior complex coming to bite him in the ass hsjhsjs it's so good im sorry)

He refuses to change that "second chance" mindset. He's not changing it because of ONE or even TWO bad times that it didn't work out in his favor. Even when they break his trust.

And Surge HATES it, she hates how stupid and naive Sonic is for believing all that, so she's gonna use it against him. To make him a hypocrite, to prove he isn't Mr. Perfect.

Sonic continually emphasizes how some of his friends tried to kill/waste him once or twice before, just to prove his point. But here's the thing, sure Sonic had some role in how they changed but most of that CHANGE was made by THEM not HIM. He can't force them to change, they did that on their own.

Knuckles realized he was being tricked, so he CHOSE to help Sonic and Tails. (He is the guardian of the master emerald after all, that's his JOB, he wasn't just beating Sonic up for the hell of it.)

Shadow's memory was altered, he was grieving, a traumatized kid who was just dealing with Eggman so he could watch the planet explode even if he went down with it. But he wasn't doing it for the hell of it either, he did it BECAUSE he thought his dead sister WANTED him too, to get revenge for her death. Shadow was always kind, he was kind to Rouge, Amy reminded him of Maria, Sonic was there to SHOW him he had a choice, to remind him the world was worth saving, instead of destroying it. EVERYONE helped, not just Sonic. Shadow CHOSE that. (even if he eventually FORGOT thanks SEGA lol)

Surge doesn't have that, she doesn't have the genuine motive to change and I don't think she ever will. (or that she necessarily needs too but I could be wrong ofc) Kit is following her, because he was brainwashed into it yeah (So has Surge into hating Sonic), but that's all said and done, its not "reversable" that's their genuine feelings now-- as awful and terrible as it was for Starline to do that to two freakin kids.

Now she want's to know where she came from, she wants to know the truth, and she's again, following someone's orders to do so. But that's HER choice, she doesn't CARE if it affects others because she feels that no one cares enough about her or Kit to find them after they lost themselves anyways.

But her ultimate goal, is to prove Sonic WRONG, to END him and his "I can do no wrong/everyone likes me" attitude. I for one am hyped to see where they take this next.

[adyophene]

what if husker is only still a drunk bc alastor keeps him around booze? like he tried to be sober before the hotel but failed bc where alastor put him. and so now he thinks he can never get sober and it's what keeps him from heaven

also ur really cool

also it's like very late and I'm sleep deprived so sorry if this doesn't make the most sense

We actually think sorta alike! (and thank you!)

I'm gunna pop my reply behind a readmore, cause it ended up longer than I anticipated! Sorry if it doesn't make a whole lot of sense, I too, am chronically sleep deprived! ♥

I have two theories on exactly this premise. One that is more what I imagine, mainly cause its simple, and even a bit silly, which is that, judging by what Mimzy says, it could just be that Alastor has had Husk bartend for him for a long time, and as a bit of a creature of habit, dragged him along to the hotel just because he wanted him there! That he knows the guy, knows he's good at his job, knows he's loyal despite everything, thinks he's entertaining to annoy(or that they're somewhat friends, depending on what 'word of god' you go with from the creators) and maybe even knows about that soft heart that Husk hides behind all the hissing.

The second theory is a bit darker/less charitable to Alastor, based on a few thoughts I had during my recent rewatch of the series. I started with the pilot, and noticed how dramatically Husk reacts to being offered just a generic cheap booze, and then how intensely drunk he starts off during the series proper. Like how we see in Al's initial commercial, where he actually blacks out completely. Or during some early dialogue where he's slurring he words a lot more than in later episodes? It did kind of strike me as either a 'binge drinking after not drinking for a long time' or maybe a 'get blackout drunk to not have to deal with being there' thing. Either way, being caused/facilitated by Al. While I've seen a lot of people discredit Alastor's motivations in 'wanting to see demons reach for redemption, and then fail miserably' as just being a front to a greater purpose, I think that both can be true. I think he's got a reason he's there, but also that he just really enjoys fucking with people.

I think he added the bar as an extra temptation to any hotel residents, but then also potentially to mess specifically with Husk and put him in an environment that would be both a good influence on him, and a terrible one. Literally put him in a place where he could have a support system if he wanted it, but be surrounded by one of his worst vices the entire time. Also, since Al and Husk are supposed to know each other quite well, I could see Al dragging Husk to the hotel because he'd know how stupid Husk would find the whole thing. Although, my theory would be less that Alastor providing booze is the reason Husk can't be redeemed, and more that Husk's self loathing is the reason he feels like he can't be redeemed. I think we'll learn about some shitty things he's done in S2, while at the height of his gambling addiction, and that he just doesn't/can't/won't come to terms with. Or something like that anyways!

Did that make any sense? I hope so. I don't usually write stuff like this.

[dreamsy990]

SPONTANEOUS MINI REVIEW BECAUSE I REALIZED THAT I HAVENT FUCKING TALKED ABOUT FRAGMENTARY PASSAGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ok so. i actually really liked this one!

so uh. if you witnessed that incredibly long thread i made yelling about kh3 you will know that i. am not a fan of the look of modern kh. i think its kind of uninteresting compared to the delightfully cartoony style and just generally i dont like more realistic looks to games that already had a unique visual identity.

so im here to say that i think it works for 0.2! im a good way through kh3 and i dont think it works well there and ill get to that when i eventually review that game but. in 0.2 i think the new style fits the more dark tone very nicely, and the enviornments are absolutely gorgeous. like i came out of ddd thinking absolutely nothing could top symphony of sorcery in terms of world design and was proven wrong. the realm of darkness is my new favorite kh "world". for my mutuals who havent played kh, look at this!!! its absolutely gorgeous

and the environments are actually my favorite thing about this game. besides being beautiful, theyre also delightfully trippy and unsettling. theres a section where you have to climb up a seemingly never ending staircase, and every time you reach what you think is the top you hear aquas worst thoughts. a lot of the areas are twisted, destroyed versions of worlds seen in bbs. its very dark (fitting, for the realm of darkness) and honestly its a treat to just walk around admiring the view. the visual storytelling is as good as kh ever gets.

i briefly mentioned aquas thoughts a minute ago so ill bring them up again, her commentary adds a lot to the desolate atmosphere, and this game really feels like a character study. it shows her desperation, her worst thoughts, her hope despite everything, and its just genuinely good. i havent been able to say that about khs character writing since like. days. its GOOD.

i am. not a fan of bbs' writing. i think its got a good underlying concept with absolutely terrible execution, and it makes me wonder at times if the things i like about it were intentional or not. but this game takes the best written character of bbs and gives her more depth than they ever could before. i can say with confidence that aqua is one of the best characters in the series, and a lot of it is because of this game.

the tone here is very gloomy, but thats not really a complaint because the game is so short. the depressing atmosphere isnt too much to bear because youre barely in it for more than 2 hours. and i think that run time is EXACTLY long enough. it goes for exactly as long as it needs to tell the story and still give a moment to breathe.

as for gameplay. im not the biggest fan of the updated system. i like to think im open to change with kh's combat. i think the command deck has potential and the card system in com was fun and i actually liked days' panel system. but something about the way this new version of the system feels to play is just. unsatisfying. hits dont feel like they have any weight to me, and spells feel inconsequential despite being more grandiose than ever. its just not as good as it was before, and like its a sort of half assed replacement of reaction commands. the way they incorporated style changes into it was okay, but again its not as satisfying as it was in bbs. but maybe it was just satisfying in bbs because the rest of the combat there sucked

tldr, the things i care about in a game (writing and visuals) were fucking spectacular, but the gameplay definitely had room to improve. also if i ever have to fight a darkside again ill throw up and cry! 8/10, though im tempted to raise it to a 9 for the environments alone

[garfinkelstingle]

magic and maybes | draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader (implied slytherin!reader but only once i think)

warnings: swearing; implied mentions of verbal abuse; this is not in chronological order, but i do think it makes sense this way (especially if you've listened to the song); angst

word count: 5,2k

summary: based on “wendy” by maisie peters; loving draco is like something out of a fairytale. but not all of those always end with happily ever after, do they?

a/n: oh my!! hi!!! my first full-length fic in over a year!!!! so exciting!!!! this came to me while listening to wendy (which you should defo listen to if you haven't yet; the whole album is too good!!) and i just sort of rolled with it. i will never understand why i keep coming back to draco, but i just do. i have never written anything like this, and i certainly have never written draco like this, but the song called for it!! and also, let's be honest, this really matches draco better than it would most other characters. oh and i put it in the warning, but please beware that this is not written in chronological order. it's supposed to showcase the rollercoaster of relationship that reader and draco share, and i thought this was the best way to do it! let me know if you like it, it would really mean a lot <3 happy reading babes

masterlist

rolling like a stone / laughing like a kid

She had never seen him like this before.

Correction: She had never seen him like this before in front of people that weren't just her. Because this is the only way she had ever seen him, really seen him. She knew the charade he kept up, could see right through it better than anyone else. And if you took all of that faux meanness and excruciating ass-ness away, this is what you would be left with, what she's been left with all these years that she's known him. A silly kid, rolling around in the grass, holding his stomach laughing, eyes glistening with tears and shining brighter than any star ever could.

This is how she saw him, always, and how she hoped she would get to see him forever. This, and nothing else.

calling like the future / closed up like a fist

It was always the same. He always did this, and she swore that one of these days she would hex him into oblivion for it.

"What do you mean I can't come with you? We've been planning this for months; I told my parents to make plans without me and they have. What am I supposed to do now?" They had been at it for close to an hour now, going back and forth, nowhere close to having this argument reach its conclusion.

Usually, she didn't mind backing off. He was stubborn; she knew that. This wasn't something she had discovered only recently. She had known him for longer than she hadn't, so she was acutely aware of this quality of his. It didn't surprise her, but that didn't mean it didn't annoy her, either. So she'd just let it slide and move on—one of them had to.

This time, however? She wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm not responsible for you and how you spend your time," he provocatively stated, his eyes ablaze with fury that nearly matched hers. How dare he? As if this was in any way, shape, or form her fault.

"You have got to be kidding me! You were the one who invited me to spend Christmas break at your house! You were the one who wanted me to meet your parents! You were the one who made all these grand plans, and now you just blow me off the day break starts and talk about responsibility?" She couldn't believe him. She really, truly, couldn't.

Except that, maybe, she should. This wasn't the first time Draco blew off their plans. In fact, it wasn't even the second or the third. But he usually had a not-so-terrible reason for it, and the worst thing he had ever cancelled before was a Saturday in Hogsmeade or a picnic by the lake. This, however? This was huge, a plan that had been set into motion during the summer, when they had sent their owls into a frenzy, corresponding through multiple letters a day and vowing not to spend another break apart. She had told her parents before she boarded the train to take her back for another year at Hogwarts, that she would spend the Christmas break with her boyfriend and that they should take that trip to the sea they've been dreaming of forever. And since they did just that, and she didn't feel like ruining their holidays as well, she would now have to spend hers at the dingy castle, with people she barely knew and couldn't care less about.

She didn't even need him to change his mind at this point. While the reason he was giving her sucked, she was sure the real reason didn't—even if he wasn't planning on telling her. What bothered her so much was his refusal to just simply apologize for screwing up and leaving her hanging. If he would just say that he was sorry, she'd let this go. But she knew him well enough by now to know that the chances of that happening were non-existent at best.

"I will not apologize for your lack of a backup plan," he said, with a voice so cold that she could feel actual shivers run down her back. "I will see you after break is over. Merry Christmas." And with that, he turned around and made his way back to the castle, without even sparing her a backward glance.

And all she could do was stare after him, seemingly frozen in place, with tears flowing down her cheeks freely, and wonder if this was what loving someone was supposed to feel like.

lost my page when you kissed me

She hadn't meant to fall in love with him. They had been friends, or at least something very close to it. Draco believed that only people who had nothing else to their name cared about having friends, and she somewhat agreed with him. Friends were feeble; people came and went. There was no use getting attached to them, not when you couldn't ever be a hundred percent certain that they wouldn't just up and leave one day.

But he—he was something else. They had known each other for years, attending the same balls thrown by both their parents and their associates, riding in the same train compartment on their first trip to Hogwarts, reading the same books side-by-side on their common room's couch. They were put in each other’s orbits due to their inescapable proximity, yes, but they were welded together by baked goods that they would steal from the kitchen and share in some dark corner of the too-big houses they would be dragged to, shy smiles and squeezing of hands followed by it's okay, you're not alone's, two a.m. conversations in front of the fireplace in which they discussed whatever books they just finished reading and, sometimes, maybe even more. That's what made her the first person he would say "good morning" to at the breakfast table, and what made him her preferred potions partner. Nothing more and nothing less. They weren't friends, but they were each other's person. Whatever that meant.

It made sense, and it worked, and neither of them needed more. Or so she thought. Because when Draco kissed her after one of those infamous two a.m. conversations and told her „You just looked too pretty not to kiss", after she asked him why he would do something so ridiculous, she came to realize that maybe they were wrong. Maybe getting attached to someone wasn't the worst thing there was. It couldn't be. Right?

i know the girl you want / it scares me

He was scared. He was scared, but so was she. The future was uncertain and terrifying. It didn't make sense on a good day and was simply revolting on a bad one. So much could go wrong at any given moment in time, and not knowing when or what could happen made it sometimes feel like, maybe, life just wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

And when you add love to that equation? You're pretty much just signing off on a death sentence. Draco knew that, and so did she, but unlike him, she believed it to be worth it. Love was never something she saw herself needing, or even wanting, but now that she had it, she was certain it was worth all the heartbreak it might possibly entail. Draco, however? He still didn't trust her enough to let his walls down completely, to give her the power to destroy him and believe her when she said that she would never, ever do that.

She loved him, and she was certain that he loved her, too, but she also knew that he might never be able to let her know that himself. And she knew that he expected that to be enough, that her own knowledge would suffice her and that she would survive without his confirmation, and maybe she could. She just wasn't sure if she wanted to. Spending your time with someone who was emotionally closed off to everyone around you and made them feel like they were replaceable was one thing, but spending your life with someone who was emotionally closed off toward you and too proud to tell you that the one person he could never replace was you? She wasn't sure if she was strong enough for that. She doubted she ever would be. And that terrified her more than anything else ever had before.

pretty like a girl / vicious like a man

He was beautiful. She had always found him inexplicably beautiful; his was the kind of beauty poems were about, a beauty that ran so deep and was so intricate that she sometimes wondered if he wasn't put on this world solely to be admired and stared at.

Even now, when his face was laced with fury and his knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping his desk, he was still beautiful.

She wasn't even sure what they were fighting about now, stopped paying actual attention to the ugly words leaving his mouth. Instead, she was questioning her judgment. She had always found him beautiful on the outside, just as everyone else did, but unlike them, she had also always considered his soul to be beautiful, too. And yet here she was, target to his livid shouts and insults, wondering if maybe that was just another thing that she had been terribly, terribly wrong about.

give up like a ghost / leaving halfway through

It was moronic at best, really. They had spent a fortune on these tickets and had been excited for this game for months now. So, the fact that they were now letting it all go to waste? It was pure idiocy.

Especially when you looked at the why. He was being a child, a petulant little toddler who got upset at the idea of giving his girlfriend of nearly four years a kiss in public.

And the worst thing is that she hadn’t even been upset because it hadn’t surprised her in the slightest. She knew Draco, knew that he liked keeping their PDA to an absolute minimum, and she didn’t mind it in the slightest. Or, well, not enough to be actively affected by it. So, when the kiss-cam panned to their faces, she blew it a kiss and winked for good measure and went back to talking to Draco about how pathetic Potter and his friends looked standing there on the very far side of the stadium, most likely not even able to see the scoreboard. She had moved on, and so had the camera, but for whatever reason, Draco didn't.

Instead, he started huffing and puffing about Salazar knows what, getting upset at her for what, exactly? For respecting his need for privacy? For not pushing him to do something she knew he wouldn’t be comfortable with doing, even though she really wanted to? For, once again, putting him first and foremost? Is that what he was trying to punish her for? Because he certainly didn’t seem to be able to put it into words, storming off like an actual imbecile instead, leaving halfway through the match.

And of course, she had to follow him like the ever-loyal girlfriend that she was, trying to catch up with him and calm him down, even though she was seconds away from losing her bloody mind herself. She was sick and tired of his juvenile behaviour, was just so exhausted with having to put up with his shit instead of just enjoying herself, and yet it seemed as if some invisible string kept on pulling her in his direction, not allowing her to choose her own needs and herself, ever.

She wondered if he would ever grow tired of this pretence of his, or if this was what being with Draco Malfoy would entail, forever. She didn’t want to believe it, but it became harder and harder with each passing day. Maybe this is who he was, who he always would be.

But maybe it was just a matter of time before he would finally give it all up and be who she has blindly believed him to be all this time. All she could do, it seemed, was to hope that she wouldn’t be the one to give up, first.

if i'm not careful we'll be married

"Do you ever think about the future?" His voice broke through the quiet reverie they had both found themselves in. She was used to him being the first one to speak up after a long beat of silence; he didn't find it quite as peaceful and tranquilizing as she did. Not that she minded, though. She liked his voice, and she liked talking to him even more. To say that the question surprised her, though, would be an understatement.

Putting the book she was currently reading to the side, she snuggled further into him. The fireplace was providing a fair amount of heat, but the chill seemed to be inescapable in the Slytherin common room. It was also just very nice to be able to have him hold her close like this, even if the only reason he did so was because it was far past midnight and everyone else was already fast asleep.

"Sometimes, yeah," she said. "Do you?"

"Yeah." She didn't expect him to elaborate, so it stunned her when he did. "I see us. You and me, together. Married. But not like them. Like us. Does that make sense?" It did. She knew exactly what he meant. Not like them. Not like his parents, who didn't love each other in the slightest and could barely stand each other most days. And not like her parents, either, who cared deeply about one another, at least as much as you could care about someone you didn't choose to marry. They found a way to be friendly and cordial, mainly because they didn't want their daughter to grow up with parents who were constantly at each other's throats, but it was still far away from the real deal.

Were they the real deal? That's what Draco was implying, wasn't it? That if they would get married, it'd be because they loved each other. He's never even said it, she thought. And he hadn't. But he's said this now, hadn't he? And that should be worth more than any stupid three words ever could be, right? Because he wanted to marry her, really marry her, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. It rarely happened for people of their status, so she should be beyond delighted that it was happening to her. Plus, she loved him, too, and unlike him, she hadn't been afraid to say those three words. Marrying Draco was what she was supposed to want; finding out that he wanted to marry her, too, was supposed to be the greatest news she's ever heard. So why was there some nagging part of her brain that knew that saying yes would be the worst thing she could possibly do?

"I know what you mean," she said. She had never lied to him before.

you want me / you're sure

Blaise Zabini was flirting with her. Then again, Blaise Zabini flirted with everything that had legs and a mouth he could kiss, so it did nothing to impress her. It did, however, do its damage by making Draco furiously jealous. After all this time together, she prided herself in being able to read him like a book. Him storming off like a petulant child made her think that, in this instance at least, even a visually impaired person would be able to deduct the fact that he was (unreasonably) upset.

Sighing, she made out to follow him, annoyed that she had to make yet another excuse for her friends. It shouldn't be her job to smooth things over every time his tantrums killed the mood at a get-together, and yet it seemed like part of the "Dating-Draco-Malfoy" package.

She found him at the lake, the same way she always did. She wondered if there was any specific reason he chose this place to run off to , but she doubted he would tell her even if there was. Some secrets just weren't worth the effort of trying to figure out.

She expected him to be upset with her, to accuse her of leading Zabini on and whoring herself out to him—Salazar knew it wouldn't be the first time. It used to upset her beyond measure. There would be a good amount of crying and screaming on her part; calling him a pretentious douche, telling him to screw off if he really thought so little of her. It always ended the same: he would storm off, eventually, and disappear for a good few hours. Then, he'd come back, without something even remotely close to an apology, and tell her he wasn't mad anymore. She knew what he really meant when he said it: I expect you not to be mad anymore, either. And even when she was, she was usually too exhausted to keep on fighting. After a while, she decided there wasn't even any point in being upset in the first place. Draco was who he was; she knew what she was getting into. Or so she kept telling herself.

This time, however, seemed different. She was sure he could hear her approach him—he always did. So why wasn't he turning around? Why wasn't he yelling at her and making her feel as if the affection of others was her fault?

He stayed quiet until she finally reached him and made to stand next to him. "I don't like it when others try to make a pass at you," he said. She waited a beat, wondering if he was going to add anything else. He did. "I know I have no right to be upset with you." This was new. It surprised her. So much so that she wondered if she might've misheard. "It's not your fault Zabini has no respect for boundaries, or anyone else, for that matter. I just... it's paralyzing, sometimes. Realizing that you could leave me for someone else at any given moment, and there's nothing I could do about it. I want to be with you. I know I'm not always good at voicing it, but I do. I'm certain. That's why I get upset. Because it terrifies me."

She took his hand in hers and gave the back of it a soft kiss. This was possibly the most vulnerable he had been with her, ever. She understood him; of course she did. Didn't he know that she was just as terrified? That a life without him in it didn't seem to make any sense whatsoever to her? She loved him, and now she was sure that he loved her, too.

Nothing else mattered.

lose the world that you live in / pretend that it's what you wanted

“This isn’t okay, and you know it.” Maybe she did. Maybe she knew that this wasn’t right, that this wasn’t how it was supposed to feel like. But it’s all she’s ever known, and sometimes it felt as if this was all she’d ever want to know. Because when it was good it was great. It was all she could ever want and then some, and she honestly didn’t think she would ever find anything better than it.

Draco wasn’t perfect, but neither was she. She had her flaws just like anyone else, so to expect him to be something she herself couldn’t be? That seemed unfair and illogical at best.

“Look, you don’t get it, alright?” And she didn’t. None of them did. Not her mother or her father, not her friends or his. They were complicated and messy, but they were right. Right for each other, right in all the ways that mattered. She loved him, and he loved her. If there was anything in life she was sure of, then it was that.

“You can’t let him treat you like that.” That’s what it always boiled down to. Every fight she ever had about him—and there were probably too many to count—always came to the same conclusion: She shouldn’t let him treat her like that. But what did that even mean? No one would ever treat her the way he did. No one would ever look at her as if she was the reason they got up in the morning, as if she hung the moon and the stars in the night sky. No one would ever be able to make her feel like she was the thing they lived for, someone they’d die and kill for in the same breath.

So, what if he’d yell at her and insult her and make her question her worth sometimes? He’d never allow her to question herself out loud to him; he’d make sure to show her how important she was to him. And Salazar forbid someone else dared to say the wrong thing when it came to her—he’d made sure it’s the last thing they’d ever say.

Maybe she knew it wasn’t okay, what they were doing. There were a million words to describe their relationship, with toxic and unhealthy being the prime examples. But no relationship was perfect. Why should theirs be?

it's a life i could have, i know

They were invited to someone's birthday. She didn't even know whose, just knew to wear "that green dress that makes you look like actual royalty". There also had been a promise by a certain someone that the dress would later be carefully taken off, and that there would be some... not so careful actions afterwards. It was the prospect of that that kept her from making up some excuse as to why she suddenly had to leave this awful and hollow house and curl up with a book and one of Draco's sweaters in her bed.

The party in itself wasn't awful; on the contrary, it was lovely. The music was played by a live orchestra, and the entire house was decorated in different shades of blue and silver. There were white roses everywhere, and the food was exceptional, too. But she didn't know anyone here except for Draco; she didn't even know the birthday girl. She was a couple years older than the two of them, and from what she understood she was the wife of a son of a business partner of Draco's father. Or something like that.

She was currently standing in a corner all by herself, with a champagne flute in hand, trying to find Draco in the crowd. He had snuck off some time ago, claiming that he had to make the rounds or else "my father is going to chew my ear off about it", convincing her that it wasn't necessary for her to introduce herself tediously to every single person he would have to shake hands with. He wasn't wrong, but somehow standing in her lonely corner appeared to be an even worse fate.

Eventually, she locked eyes with Draco and gave him a small smile. She knew it was pointless to beckon him to her; he'd just shrug her off. Instead, he sent a quick wink her way, before turning back around to speak to whatever important person he was speaking to right now.

This could be my life, she thought. Going places with Draco, having him wink at her from across the room, promising to take her dress off at the end of the night and make it all worth it. This could be the rest of her life. She could see it, could see herself be one of the important men’s wives, gossiping away in some lonely corner just like hers, on their fifth or sixth flute of champagne already, trying to hide the hollow look in their eyes. This could be it. It was nothing like the life that she had wanted for herself all this time, and yet it didn’t seem to bother her nearly as much as it should.

throw your rocks / scream that you hate me

She didn’t even know how long it’s been. All she knew was that her mother had been up twice to tell her that she was this close to hexing him away from their property, and that she had begged her just as often not to.

“He has every right to be upset,” she had said, and could feel the bile rise in her throat at the bitter taste of the lie. Because no matter how often she told herself just that, it didn’t sound any more truthful to her ears than it did the time before. Yes, maybe Draco was allowed to be upset. She certainly was. But standing below her window, completely wasted, and throwing rocks at it, whilst yelling profanities at her? No one should have the right to do that.

And it wasn’t as if it was her fault, either. She had given him a choice; she shouldn't have had to do that. She hadn’t even meant to. It was supposed to be clean cut. She was supposed to tell him that it was over, that it should have been over a long time ago. If he still couldn’t tell her that he loved her after five years together, chances were that he never would. And she was just so tired of not hearing those words.

But she had looked him in the eyes and something—something made her believe that maybe, just maybe, he would realize that she was worth so much more to him than his pride and that being with her was worth more than being whoever he kept on pretending to be.

She should have known that her stupid, childish hope would be the death of her.

So here he was now, screaming that he hated her, that he wished that he had never met her, that being with her had been the greatest mistake of his life. And what if he wasn’t wrong? Would things had been different had she been different? Would he have been able to tell her how he felt if she had been more like Daphne? Would she have been able to leave him sooner and protect her own heart had she been more like Pansy?

It was driving her mad, the never-ending question of “what if?”, and yet her silly mind didn’t seem to be able to put an end to it. Because no matter how awful being (or in this case not being) with Draco may have been, it was still the most magical time in her life so far. And she didn’t even doubt for one second that the rest of her life might have been just as magical, too. Except that there was only so long a person could survive on magic and maybe’s, before eventually having to put an end to the madness and realize that the whimsical dreams weren’t anything other than nightmares hiding behind a pretty façade.

She loved Draco, loved him with her entire being, loved him more than she could ever imagine loving or even wanting to love anyone else. But, somehow, along the way, she had come to realize that just because she couldn’t see ever loving herself even half as much as she loved him, it was still enough to realize that leaving him was the only way she could ensure that she wouldn’t lose herself completely.

So, when her mother came up for the third time, this time with her father in tow, she didn’t fight them when they suggested to call the authorities to remove the Malfoy boy from their property. After all, just because Peter never wanted to grow up, didn't mean Wendy couldn’t.

i could love you / wait 'til you're ready

It was the little things more than it would ever be the big ones. She knew Draco, knew that the only way she could expect big romantic gestures from him was if someone were to put him under a spell, which is why she came to appreciate the small gestures and hold them as close and dear to her heart as she possibly could.

It was the little enchanted paper cranes that would hold little love notes of “your hair looks pretty today” and “how lucky I am to be dating the smartest witch in this castle”.

It was how he would lend her his robe without a second thought when he would see her rub her hands together in a fruitless attempt of warding off the cold, even though he had adamantly tried to convince her to wear a jumper underneath.

It was how he would press a kiss on her temple first thing in the morning, without fail, every single day, no matter if they had fought the previous evening or not, letting her know that he wasn’t going anywhere.

It was how he would rub her feet at the end of a long day in Hogsmeade, knowing that her boots were a size too small but that she loved them too much not to suck up the pain and go out with them anyways.

She loved him, and whilst she had no problem with telling him just that, he had no problem with showing her, either. And maybe he wasn’t lying when he told her that he just needed time, that she ought to just be patient, that sooner rather than later he would feel ready enough to say it, too.

The question wasn’t whether she could wait or not; she knew she could.  The question was whether she loved herself enough to know that she shouldn't have to.

forever 20

Twenty.

That’s how often she had said it, and how often he had stayed quiet. And every time he hated himself just a little bit more because he knew that with every time that she would say it without hearing a reply, he would get closer to hearing it for the last time.

And now here he was, stuck at twenty, forever, because he knew her well enough to know that it was over, really, truly over, with no one to blame but himself.

The worst thing was that for every time she said it, he had wanted to say it tenfold, had wanted to shower her with those words until she grew sick and tired of them. Had, on the worst days, wanted to just grip her by the shoulders and shake, shake, shake her and tell her, over and over, that he loved her, that he had loved her all this time and would love her for all the time to come.

But he never did, and now she was gone beyond his reach and as much as he hated it, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that, maybe, this was the best thing that had ever happened to her. The best thing he had ever done for her. And that had to count for something, right?

[swordfright]

What do you think is your most controversial dsmp take?

I got this ask a while ago and I've been wracking my brains trying to come up with something, but honestly...I don't think I really have many hot takes? At least, not ones that I'd consider controversial. Most of my controversial takes are about fanon/how the fandom interacts with the source material, which I assume isn't what you're looking for (but BOY DO I HAVE A LOT OF THOSE.) I also have likes and dislikes when it comes to duos and shipping stuff, but that's subjective obviously and more opinion than lore interpretation.

I guess if you put a gun to my head, I might say these are my most controversial Actual Lore Takes, but they're not all that interesting imo:

The experiments in the revival lab happened AFTER c!Dream's incarceration, not before it. My understanding is that most people interpret that sequence as occurring prior to the incarceration because...why would c!Dream let himself be locked up, relying on his knowledge of the book to be his life insurance, if he hadn't tested the damn thing out yet?! This logic tracks, but I think you could also flip it to argue the opposite: that he also could have conceivably waited to fully test the book until after escaping. During the run-up to the Disc Finale, c!Dream was incredibly busy with the fallout from Dethronement + Exile + Manburg related stuff etc, as well as busy preparing for the confrontation with c!Clingys, plus arranging the staged finale with Punz. The guy was busy as hell and he was also like...still kinda in the midst of a manic episode. Also, keep in mind that while the book was his life insurance for the finale and its immediate aftermath, he had no idea that c!Sam was going to betray him. Considering all that, I don't think it's inconceivable that c!Dream may not have had time to thoroughly test the limits of the revive book beforehand, and he likely didn't realize quite how vital his knowledge of revival would become during his incarceration period. So yeah. I'm open to either interpretation, but I am partial to the possibility that the Vikk and Lazar necromancy montage happened after the prison era. And the exact date/location of the lab are never specified either, which makes me even more open to the post-prison necromancy option. Not a hill I'd be willing to die on, but a hill I like to sit on and admire the view from.

End of Las Nevadas is the weakest stream of the Las Nevadas series. I found it narratively unsatisfying, and not in a clever way. I don't hate that stream, I think it had some really interesting moments, but overall I'd say its messaging was convoluted and the tension was pretty poorly mismanaged. I'd be willing to go on about this if you want, but I think a lot of other folks have probably already articulated it better than I can. Oh, I'll add that I also have complicated thoughts about c!Slime as a character. Don't hate him, don't love him...but I am puzzled about the role he was presumably meant to play in the story vs. the role he actually ends up playing. I could go on about this in detail but it's late and I'm sleepy.

c!Quackity has very simple goals and motives, but his pursuit of those goals is oftentimes way more convoluted than necessary, which ends up making him read as a more complex and dynamic character than he really is (I like this btw!) Another way to put it would be that Q is not a terribly complex character in terms of motivations and ambitions (dr3 has rly good meta on this btw), but he does tend to needlessly complicate his own life and the lives of the people around him in pursuit of simple goals. I think one of his big failings is that he sees violence as an easy solution to his problems but in reality it just creates more problems for him. It's like he keeps failing some sort of foresight check, over and over again. Take the formation of Las Nevadas, for instance. Most of the country's members were intimidated/threatened into joining, not because they're people Q particularly wants to hang around with, but because they're people Q sees as either strong (i.e. they are capable of contributing to LN) or directionless (i.e. they're in need of an owner a leader.) Quackity doesn't really forge alliances, he just...buys people, basically? And then he's shocked when this backfires. His relationship with Purpled is the most obvious example of this, but also LN as a whole: in LN5 (?), Quackity's angry and offended and hurt that only a tiny handful of people show up to the opening ceremony, even though by all accounts the reason the turn-out isn't bigger is because the server has by this point become a chaotic and violent place where anything can happen to anyone for any reason and most inhabitants feel safer sticking to their own turf...and that atmosphere of chaos and violence is something Q has ostensibly contributed to, even before Pandora. c!Quackity creates a country that no one is truly loyal to, inhabited by people who are closer to employees than allies...and then his solution, when he realizes nobody really gives a shit, isn't to try recruiting people in a more equitable way, it's to bioengineer a slime army. That is insane. That is an insane way to solve your problems. In no way is bioengineering a slime army a normal or well-adjusted solution to any conceivable problem. This is what I mean when I say he's a relatively uncomplicated character who complicates everything - he's constantly jumping through hoops of fire to avoid changing his behavior and taking any kind of accountability whatsoever.

I have tons more takes but they're mostly about silly subjective stuff and/or fanon, so I'll leave that for another day if anyone's interested.

[richardlawson]

The End

After a few years away from that particular couch, I started seeing a new therapist at the end of last year. It had been long enough, I sagely determined, after I was felled by a series of really nasty panic attacks—one happened while I was doing a Q&A on stage with some filmmakers. They didn't notice, nor did the audience, nor (most importantly) the publicists. But it was happening. Me contemplating running off stage, into the Soho afternoon. It was a terrible feeling, and eventually feeling terrible starts to be a drag, so I found, after a fair amount of searching, someone new.

He is in his late 50s and has a kind, open comportment. He's much more giving and lean-in-and-nod than my last therapist, a sort of prim and watchful gay guy who retired to Florida. I like this new gay guy, I think. Or, I am warming to him. At first, I thought his platitudes and constant quoting of various people were corny. But I have resisted such sentiment for so long, and lack of sentiment hasn't cured me, so maybe I should try the earnest stuff. He has me meditating for one minute a day. The panic attacks went away.

For a little while, anyway. They've been creeping back, when I least expect them, and when I most do. I am afraid of what I am afraid of, I hate what I hate, I feel increasingly indifferent to what I love. Winter hardens care. Do I like movies anymore? Do I like a play, seen on some chilly Saturday afternoon? Maybe it's just seasonal. Or it's media malaise in a time of such austerity. They're trying to lay off the best people while the worst people watch, safe as houses. They're trying to take the whole thing apart and replace it with nothing. I have worked in my business for 16 years, well over a third of my life, and for the first time it now feels truly dire and terminal and like I need to start making other plans for what to do with the rest of my time here in the waking, working world.

Something I talk about a lot with my therapist is inertia—I use the word constantly. Why can't I just, why can't I just, why can't I just. I know something's in me, latent under my lazy skin, but it never makes its way to the surface. At least not yet.

Which causes panic, this stasis. I am scared of the drugs that might help, and am resistant to other concrete life changes that might make this better. (I like a glass of wine too much; I'm a fan of my vape.) I have tried avoiding things, I have tried not avoiding things.

I guess it's not circumstance, really. I have panic attacks when I'm home at night, Andrew asleep in the other room, me watching some murder show or YouTube video (same thing) and suddenly a feeling hits me, the conviction that a blood clot or some other lurking thing is making its way up my body and that this is my sorry, lonely little nighttime end. Here it is, the moment when I'm carried off, when I disappear, when I slip away into nothing.

My parents just finished a cruise, a lifelong wish fulfilled, in South America, hooking around Cape Horn and then exploring the fjords and inlets of Chile. All the reports were good. They had the best time. I had worried about my mom itching for her work email, about my dad being newly 90 years old and maybe feeling exhausted by all the activity. But it seems they managed well. They saw Patagonian cities, they saw mountains rising out of the sea, they saw the shy, retreating edges of glaciers, so quiet and demure in their dying. My mom sent us pictures and I thought most about the glaciers, those last cracking murmurs of a time before. When I was in Alaska for a wedding, years ago now, we went to a park of some kind and the visitor's center that was once built over a glacier then stood cantilevered over dry land. The ice had crept much farther up the mountain, winking goodbye.

How awful. And yet, in the depths of my hypocrisy, I relish an unseasonably warm day. Whatever lifts me out of winter, I guess. Whatever can drag me out of the feeling that everything is indeed going to ruin—a career, a life, a liver, a future. My best friend moved out of my neighborhood recently, which is sad. But it also affords us the opportunity to explore new territory, to find backyard bars with good deals where we can huddle in forgiving late-winter winds and make uneasy escape plans, where we consider what parachutes could ever be made of.

It's not always enough, of course. I too often have nights, far too late, when I go pacing around the living room, circling the coffee table in a weird sort of marching step in my underwear, shaking my hands to get the dread to go away. My new therapist has urged me to find what centers me. To think of all that is known and steady.

I try to gather myself and remember the people I have, arrayed across the planet. Andrew, in restless sleep down the hall. My sister in her Los Angeles canyon, surrounded by trees. I walk the room, knees high and somehow defiant, chest straining with worry. And I see my parents, on a boat at the tip of the world, dreaming of lost things.

[peaches2217]

Perhaps some 🤒 for Luisley?

🤒 - Needing to be looked after

Overstimulated

~~~

The click of the front door opening, muffled though it was through the walls of his bedroom, brought Luigi out of his self-induced trance. That would be Mario. Back so soon?

When there was no call of “Weegee, sono tornato!”, the dread fluttering within Luigi’s stomach beat its wings even harder, exacerbated by the perpetual overstimulation that buzzed throughout his limbs and core. A silent Mario was rarely a good thing. That usually meant he was angry or deeply saddened or so thoroughly baffled that he had to retreat into his thoughts to make any sense of his own feelings, and given the context under which he had left the house…

What did he say? Was he upset? Those thoughts tumbled through Luigi’s head in a maddening rush, and as terrified as he was of the answer, he needed to know. As unusually light footsteps padded towards his room, he cocooned himself beneath his blankets, as if their soft fabric could cushion the blow of whatever he was about to hear, and steeled himself.

“Ch-che ha detto?” he called out to his brother. “Era… arrabbiato?”

The voice that responded was not Mario’s.

“Ah! There you are!”

Luigi’s blood froze within his veins.

He tossed the blankets aside and sat up just as the door was thrown open, and the sudden slam of wood against wood sent a jolt through his body that made him clap his hands over his ears. The all too familiar figure in the doorway, his bold chartreuse and white and gold standing in stark contrast to the cottage’s cozy interior, jolted as well.

“Commoners’ abodes,” Peasley muttered beneath his breath, eyeing the door with a mix of contempt and bemusement. “Why must your doors be so ludicrously lightweight?”

The disdain in his eyes might normally draw a chuckle from Luigi — he could practically see Peasley storming into the office of Toad Town’s primary contractor and causing a scene, because how dare the great heroes of the Mushroom Kingdom be given a home constructed of anything less than marble and solid gold — but today he flinched away from it. 

This wasn’t happening. Surely this wasn’t happening.

Remembering all too suddenly the state that he was in, Luigi dove beneath the covers once more. Maybe he hadn’t been seen. Maybe he could still save face. Maybe the fabric could swallow him whole and put an end to this nightmare before it began. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“What am I doing?” Peasley repeated, his tone thick with mock-offense. “My love, what wouldn’t I be doing here? Is it not one’s most sacred duty to tend to their loved ones in times of need?”

His voice came nearer as he spoke, and beneath his shroud of cotton and down, Luigi gulped. His pulse throbbed in his ears, his heart threatening to rip through bone and sinew right out of his chest. “Please don’t worry,” he said, though his voice shook far more than he would’ve liked. “I— I’m sorry I couldn’t make it today! It’s just, y’know—”

“‘Shroom fever’, correct?” Peasley drew the question out, his voice calm, but laced with something that sounded like amusement.

He didn’t buy it. Immediately Luigi’s throat tightened, and he inhaled sharply, willing himself not to start tearing up.

He expected his blankets to be pried away any moment now, for Peasley to expose his unkempt, lying face and see him for the great big mess that he truly was. The mattress dipped beside where he was curled into a pathetic heap, and his muscles tensed, preparing for the worst.

But it never came.

“Yes, that’s what the red one told me.” The amusement was still there, but now it sounded softer, more affectionate than accusatory. “I must say, he’s not too terribly convincing a liar. He would have held no qualms in seeing me to your bedside if you were ill, but he couldn’t give me a good answer for why this time was different.”

Luigi winced. He hasn’t considered that.

“You can’t tell him what’s going on,” he’d pleaded to his brother half an hour earlier, arms hugging his chest tightly in a futile attempt to stave off the effects of sensory overload. “Just, like… tell him I’m sick. Tell him I’ve got shroom fever or something!”

Mario, though sympathetic, had been disapproving. “He’s gonna have to know eventually. Come on, you know as well as I do that it won’t change anything.”

“But what if it does? What if he thinks I’m pathetic?” 

“Then he never deserved you in the first place,” was Mario’s response. 

Of course, that answer brought Luigi very little comfort. He felt bad enough when this happened, when his oddly-wired brain decided for no good reason that all sensory input was suddenly a thousand times more overwhelming than what he was used to, that getting out of bed was just too great a struggle as a result. For it to happen on a day he was supposed to meet up with the love of his life? The thought that he might lose said love for something so pathetic as this? Luigi couldn’t even begin to comprehend the ease with which Mario suggested that might be okay.

Peasley chuckled now, the sound resonating from deep within his chest. “Your fraternal devotion to one another will never cease to amaze me. No matter my insistence, I couldn’t drag an answer from him. He merely said that my right to know was entirely up to you.”

Frustration and gratitude grappled for superiority in Luigi’s mind. Of course Mario would never go spilling Luigi’s business. But he would have allowed it just this once, just to save himself some heartache.

If he was going to lose Peasley’s respect, he would have preferred it to happen from a distance. He didn’t want this front-row seat to his own undoing. The air beneath his flimsy fortress was hot and stale, and he felt sweat beading at his hairline.

“…It’s nothing,” he finally attempted, meekly.

“Hmm. Well, it’s something to you, and thus it’s something to me.” A rustling of fabric, and then the lightest of indents in the mattress next to his head. Peasley’s hand. “Do you mourn, my love? Might this be the anniversary of some tragedy? Or perhaps you’ve lost something dear to you?”

Not yet. Even thinking as much constricted Luigi’s airway once more, so he shook his head in response.

Peasley hummed again. “Might this have to do with your condition, then? Your anxiety, or your… awe-tee-sum, was it called?”

“Autism,” Luigi corrected automatically, and instantly he flinched at his own haste. “It’s… it’s nothing, I promise. It’s dumb.”

“Ah. So that’s a yes.”

Peasley still didn’t move. He sat perfectly still, his hand never once inching closer, an invitation that Luigi was welcome to accept or decline as he saw fit. He wanted nothing more than to reach out into the still air and take that hand, hold onto it with all his might, have some sort of solid proof that he wouldn’t be abandoned in spite of his brain telling him such an outcome was inevitable.

“…What else did Mario say?” he ventured instead, because Peasley had never been the sort to keep his hands to himself, and he had a sneaking suspicion his elder twin had something to do with that, too.

“He said I would do well to speak quietly and refrain from touching you without your permission,” Peasley confessed, “lest I would have scooped you into my arms the moment I heard your voice.” Another chuckle, and this time Luigi almost had the heart to join in. “I confess, I still don’t quite understand. But I would like to help. Will you acquaint me with your struggles, my dear?” 

Acquaint me with your struggles. Now this was the phrase that bounced about Luigi’s skull, because it made no sense whatsoever. They were supposed to be on a date together. They were supposed to be out and about, enjoying food and nature and being a normal couple (as normal a couple as a human nobody and a Beanish prince could be, anyway). But instead Luigi was cooped up at home, too overstimulated to function like a regular personal, and Peasley had every right to be upset with him for balking on their plans and being a waste of oxygen and organic matter.

And for some reason only the Star Spirits could attest to, he wasn’t. Literal royalty sat at Luigi’s side, addressing him with fondness and requesting understanding of his inadequacies. 

That was reason enough for Luigi to untangle himself from his blankets and pull them down, just enough to peek up and ensure the creature beside him was, in fact, not some fantastical fabrication from deep within his own fantasies.

“There you are.” Deep brown eyes beamed at him, revered him as a god among men, and for a moment Luigi felt that maybe he really was. “I feared I might not get to see that beautiful visage at all today.”

A swirl of conflicting emotions bubbled up within Luigi: confusion, joy, sadness, shame, filling every crevice of his body and compelling him to act. Hesitantly, he pulled the covers all the way down; the shedding of those protective layers made the buzzing in his limbs intensify, and the fresh air sent a chill through him, but breathing it in felt refreshing, even renewing. He filled his lungs, reached out, and accepted Peasley’s invitation at last.

The prince’s hand was pleasantly cool to the touch, and just as he had hoped, its stable presence calmed his racing heart. He tightened his grasp and tugged in order to pull himself up and scoot into an upright position. His head spun and his mouth was dry, but Peasley was here, and he would at least hear him out, and the loving gaze he fixed Luigi with gave him the courage to explain.

“Sometimes,” he began, “I… I mean, half the time, n-nothing’s wrong, everything’s fine, but for some reason the world is too loud and too bright a-and everything… hurts. It’s all just…” He balled his free hand into a fist and clenched as tightly as he could, and that at least lessened the buzz in the corresponding arm. “...too much.”

“Is that so?” Peasley said. There was genuine curiosity in his tone, sympathy in his eyes. “And today is such a day?”

Luigi nodded. “And I-I promise I tried fighting past it today. I didn’t wanna let you down, but…”

“Let me down? Luigi, I would never ask you to exceed your limitations for my sake.”

“But my limitations are—” He swallowed as well as he could, given his tongue felt woolen in his mouth. “Don’t you think it’s… don’t you think I’m kinda… kinda pathetic?”

The question gave Peasley pause, and where Luigi half-expected a denial, he was given only silence. But this silence wasn’t tense or uncertain; Peasley touched his index finger to his chin and cast his eyes aside, lips puckering and brows furrowing, the charmingly goofy expression of a Bean deep in thought.

He was… he was actually giving it serious consideration. And somehow that made his answer mean so much more than an immediate reassurance would have.

“…Not particularly, no,” he ultimately decided. “There are days where even I, skillful as I am, don’t feel quite up to par, and oftentimes there’s no good reason for it. Would you think less of me for such a thing?”

“Wha—? O-of course not!”

“And I think no less of you in turn.” Drawing Luigi’s hand to his lips, he pressed a tender kiss to his knuckles, his well-moisturized lips soft against the tight and dry skin.  “Thank you for teaching me more about yourself, Greenie. I loathe to see you struggle, but I’m grateful that you would share those struggles with me.”

Once more Luigi’s heart raced, but no longer with fearful anxiety. Was this really possible? He was so certain he’d ruined Peasley’s day, so certain the repercussions would haunt him for years to come, and yet here he was, showering him with love and accepting him at one of his lower lows.

This wasn’t happening. Surely it wasn’t happening. 

But it was, and the relief and gratitude and affection that flowed through his perpetually overstimulated body made Luigi want to slump forward, fall into Peasley’s arms, wait out the unpleasantness in the safety of his embrace.

At the same time, the thought of so much physical contact… he shuddered and relaxed his balled fist. Maybe holding hands was as much as he could manage today. But suddenly the thought of being alone again terrified him. “Will— will you stay? I-I don’t know where Mario’s at but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind—”

The smile Peasley flashed was both pleased and knowing. “Oh, rest assured, he’s not too far. He said he’d remain in the living room while we spoke.” Leaning in, he added beneath his breath: “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been listening in all this time. You know you have an excellent brother, do you not?”

At that, Luigi laughed, a mousey but authentic laugh. “You have an excellent brother” was Peasley Code for “Your brother has implicitly made threats against me that could have him declared a war criminal in the Beanbean Kingdom because he cares far more for your well being than his own.”  Mario trusted Peasley and the two were good friends, sure, but he could get… rather intense when it came to his beloved little brother’s heart.

“Sorry about him,” Luigi whispered back.

“Rest assured, I’m happy for it! The more people looking after you, the better.” Peasley leaned back once more and stood, but he didn’t let go of Luigi’s hand. “Would you like some water?” he asked at his original volume. “And perhaps some lip balm? You’ve been licking and smacking your lips this entire time, you know.”

Luigi’s tongue darted between his lips automatically at that statement, and he realized Peasley was correct; not only were his throat and mouth still dry, but his lips were cracked. A bad habit of his, admittedly, and one he was never conscious of until someone else pointed it out. “Please. But—” He paused then, because making requests of a prince still didn’t feel quite right.

Thankfully, he didn’t need to make the request. Peasley gave his hand one more tight squeeze before dropping it and answering the silent question aloud.

“I’ll be only a moment,” he promised as he backed out of the room. “Nothing in all the world could convince me to leave your side, my love. You have my word.”

And though he still trembled in discomfort as his boyfriend took his leave, Luigi relaxed against the headboard, closing his eyes and sighing softly, because he knew it was the truth. Come hell or high water, full-functioning days or overload days, he knew now more certainly than ever that Peasley had no intention of abandoning him.

And he had to admit, that was a nice feeling.

[lifblogs]

Lula/A Good Name

Week 8 Alt. Prompt: Lula @summer-of-bad-batch Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 2586 Summary: Crosshair watched the bomb go off by Wrecker's head on their last mission, and now he sits by his bedside, riddled with guilt. He's dying to do something good for his brother, so Crosshair goes on a little shopping trip, Hunter and Tech following along. A/N: I have been in a weeks-long mental health episode, but I am glad I wrote this. Maybe I'm back to writing. Guess we'll see! READ ON AO3

Wrecker writhed in his bed, moaning, and Crosshair squeezed his hands more tightly together, mouth drawing into a firmer line. If anyone looked in they would think by the tensing of Crosshair’s muscles, the hard set to his face, his eyes, that he was in physical pain as well.

He supposed watching Wrecker felt like that. There was an ache in his chest, and already he could feel the sore, brooding tension in his shoulders and neck from endlessly watching over him.

Crosshair knew Wrecker’s injuries were due to some mistake, some statistic that could happen to anyone in Wrecker’s position on the battlefield, that mistakes did happen.

Still, the sinking pit in his stomach, the monster gnawing at his chest, shredding him, its venom infecting his veins, told him that this was his fault. His.

After all, wasn’t Crosshair supposed to watch every single member of his team, battlefield terrain permitting?

He had had an eye on Wrecker, had watched the bomb go off near his head, had watched his helmet be ripped off from the heat and pressure a mere moment—less than the blink of an eye—before the fire and shrapnel hit. Crosshair hadn’t been able to see then, his view overshadowed by the raging flurry of orange-white flames where he knew his brother’s head was. He knew he had reacted quickly, that he’d called for a medic, that he had shot down any enemies trying to take advantage of the break in their line, had informed the rest of the squad…

Crosshair had been told by Hunter, by everyone that he had done the right thing, that he was a hero.

Crosshair didn’t feel like a hero. He felt utterly helpless.

That’s what he had been up on his perch. Helpless. Was he a hero to not be able to reach Wrecker himself? Did heroes hide and watch while their squad was out facing the real fight?

Over half the time plans did end up calling for him to be down in the dirt with them, for his armor to get as scuffed and marked up as theirs. And he knew his job was important, and he was kriffing good at it. Still…

Why did he feel so terrible about this?

They had often done training for field medicine, Hunter was a little too good with his acting sometimes, making everyone’s pulse kick up for a bit as their bond and instincts kicked in, and other times there was getting injured from training. He knew these kinds of things happened, had seen plenty of regs with scars. But Wrecker? He wasn’t meant for this, was he?

Apparently he was, because he lay there, tossing and turning in his bed in the medbay on Kamino.

Training didn’t prepare you for the gore, the sounds of pain, the screaming. At the time they had all thought their training had been tough, but now he realized it was mere child’s play. This wasn’t Hunter making his eyes go blank and his breaths slow to almost nothing, body going limp, as they pretended to patch him up. This was something real, something they hadn’t been trained for.

Wrecker mumbled something, and turned his head, giving Crosshair an excellent view of all the heavy bandages that covered up a horror story of pain.

Crosshair’s throat ached. The now-unending helplessness that hadn’t ceased since the bomb went off near Wrecker’s head tugged at Crosshair’s tear ducts.

Wrecker winced.

Crosshair wished he could get someone to give him more pain medicine, but he’d already checked so many times he was bound to get himself kicked out of the medbay soon. Besides, Wrecker was pumped full of pain meds. His injuries were just that painful, that ruinous, that not all of it could be mellowed.

The others of the Bad Batch checked on Wrecker, of course, but Crosshair stayed with him the longest, even when Hunter insisted he get rest, or at least have some water, something to eat.

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair!

The anger sizzling across that anguish in his gut had him growling quietly as he rose to his feet, hands clenched into fists.

What could he possibly do?!

Crosshair paced, thinking about Wrecker, trying to think of the good, what he liked, what he loved. And so often his eyes drew back to his bed, to his suffering.

He remembered what the whole squad had been told by one Kaminoan, that it was possible Wrecker would not be the same, might even be childish after due to the damage to his head. Crosshair wanted to respect that, and—

He paused, an idea flaring bright in him, his fists relaxing slightly all on their own.

Could I…?

No. What if…?

Do it. Just in case, just do it.

Crosshair wasn’t much of a talker, yet he said to Wrecker, “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.” He tried to add you’ll be okay, but even the first word tripped him up.

He sighed, and gave Wrecker one last look for now.

He will be okay. I’ll make sure of it.

Crosshair left, guilt haunting his footsteps.

“Why are we here again?” Hunter asked as the Marauder set down on a landing pad at a busy port next to a flourishing tourist shopping center. The streets were full of color, full of so many lifeforms that Hunter wasn’t even sure he knew the names of all of them. The suns were shining, lighting up a lavender sky.

“I told you,” Crosshair said, “I have an informant here.”

Tech glanced at him, then Hunter. Hunter shrugged.

“And we can’t come along?” Hunter pressed again.

“No.”

Behind Crosshair’s back, Hunter gave a few hand signals to Tech, and Tech nodded. Crosshair almost turned in time to notice, but when he looked back Tech was looking at his datapad again, and Hunter was lounging in his seat, legs out in front of him, arms crossed.

“I’ll be back,” Crosshair said before heading off the ship.

They waited a total of thirty seconds before following after him.

To Hunter’s surprise Crosshair wandered, he talked to intimidated citizens at stalls selling all kinds of colorful toys.

Hunter motioned for Tech to keep following Crosshair. All three of them stood out in their armor, but if they hid in the crowds right, Crosshair would have no idea they were there. Hopefully.

Hunter now looked the way Crosshair had gone before crossing the busy street, towards a stall Crosshair had stopped at. He looked at the plastoid purple toy Crosshair had inspected, but it was taken from his hand by the stall-owner, an almost-pinkish colored Ithorian.

“Can I help you?” she asked via translator collar, not seeming too open to Hunter being at her stall, though she had seemed friendly enough with Crosshair, or perhaps cowed, was a better way to describe it.

“The other man in armor, what did he want?” Hunter asked.

She put a hand on her small hip. “Look, I’m here to sell toys, not talk to weird-looking clones.”

Hunter put his hands on the stall, leaning forward. “Please, what did he say?”

She shrugged, and Hunter was certainly impressed that she wasn’t the least bit intimidated by him.

“I sell toys. What do you think he wanted?”

“All right, my apologies,” Hunter said, stepping back, almost bumping into a family of grans. “So sorry,” he murmured to them, feeling out of his element amongst all these civvies.

He turned on his comm, speaking just with Tech as he looked ahead, “Where is he now?”

“Farther down the street. At another stall.”

“What is he doing?” Hunter asked.

“Clearly he has taken an interest in children’s toys, or his informant sells them. Though if the first were true I’d be rather confused. Perhaps he needs more excitement with his target practice.”

“Let’s let him be,” Hunter said, stepping aside to let a small Selkath girl with a stuffy bigger than herself pass. “We’ll meet up, and head back to the ship.”

“Oh, I think he has found something,” Tech exclaimed, just as Hunter turned to go back.

“What is it?” Hunter asked.

“He is handing over credits now. Wow, that is far too steep a price,” Tech said.

“I don’t need the personal commentary.”

“Right. Crosshair is now being handed a… Oh my. How strange.”

“What is it, Tech?”

“A tooka stuffy.”

Hunter stood with his limbs limp from the utter confusion. This was so out of character for Crosshair, so unthinkable, so strange that Hunter wanted to race down the street and interrogate him.

“We should get back before he knows we were following him.”

“Ah, about that. Too late.”

“Tell Hunter I said hi,” Crosshair said through Tech’s comm.

Now Hunter sent a signal to Crosshair. “How long did you know?”

“The whole time. What, you think I’m a sniper who wouldn’t know when he’s being watched? Your little sneaking around was cute, but you could do better. Armor stands out in a crowd.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“At least I wasn’t stalking—“

“Excuse me?”

“You were stalking me.”

“Not my fault you’re being weird.”

“It’s for a good reason.”

“This is quite nonsensical,” Tech chimed in. “We can all talk once we’re back on the ship.”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Crosshair hissed.

Hunter started heading back, telling himself he’d be fine if he didn’t know why Crosshair was acting like this, but the truth was, he was dying to know what would make Crosshair of all people buy a stuffy. Maybe he did need to liven up target practice.

Once they were back in hyperspace, Tech and Hunter turned in their seats to face the stone-faced sniper.

“Well?” Hunter asked.

“Didn’t you hear when I said I wouldn’t tell you anything?”

Tech sighed. “We’re on your side,” he pointed out. “You don’t need to have your shields up.”

Crosshair’s toothpick flicked up, like he had just bit down on it hard.

Hunter’s brows drew low.

The quiet on the ship that followed was uncomfortable, yet Hunter kept it up, knowing Crosshair probably felt uncomfortable too.

“Why a tooka?” Tech asked. “There were so many to choose from.”

Crosshair shrugged, almost angling himself towards them, the tooka stuffy out of sight as it rested in his rack. “I thought it looked nice. Seemed… huggable enough, I guess.”

Hunter gave Tech a grateful look, knowing getting the small details out of someone was often easier when starting questioning, and sometimes those tactics were needed with Crosshair. Hunter tended to forget and just went head to head with him.

“I like the colors,” Tech commented.

“Yeah. The, uh… the red’s nice, I guess,” Crosshair admitted, leaning back in his seat, maybe getting more comfortable. “How much more time till we’re back on Kamino?” he asked. 

His foot started tapping, his face was all hard lines.

Hunter thought just maybe he was starting to put the picture together, but since he wasn’t sure yet, he kept the soft smile off his face. Though the warmth of it bloomed in his chest, nonetheless.

Crosshair fiddled with his firepuncher in his bunk on Kamino, the stuffed tooka resting by his hip. He’d chewed through five toothpicks already, and thrown two of at Hunter.

Wrecker had been put under for yet another surgery, so he couldn’t give him his surprise just yet.

Again the helplessness crawled in, it tugged at him, dragging him down, making it almost difficult to move. His chest ached, digging a deeper and deeper hole in him.

“I’m sure Wrecker will be out of surgery soon,” Hunter said. “He was already under when we got back.”

“What could they be doing this time?” Crosshair hissed.

“According to the medbay records—” Tech began.

“Are you even supposed to have those?” Hunter asked.

“Strictly speaking, no. As I was saying, this is slated to be quite a long procedure as they are trying to save his eye.”

Crosshair hung his head, barrel of his rifle cool against his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, wondering how Wrecker would even handle all this once he did wake up.

Even in his own pain, Crosshair kept to his silence, and he waited.

Crosshair squeezed his hands tightly together, mouth drawing into a thin line. The white of the medbay surrounded him as he sat by Wrecker’s bed, willing his body to utter stillness, to draw from his great wealth of patience.

Wrecker’s color looked better than last he’d seen him, and he wasn’t writhing in pain, face pulled into a grimace from it. Wrecker hadn’t been allowed visitors after his surgery, but Tech and Hunter had snuck him in with few questions asked, and Crosshair had placed the tooka stuffy under one of his arms. He had given up on stealth then and ushered the others in.

Now the three of them waited for Wrecker to wake up. Crosshair had wanted to do this privately, at first, but he realized having Hunter and Tech silently supporting him meant a lot. It meant a lot to him that they seemed to understand his need to help Wrecker in some way—any way he possibly could. Besides, Wrecker was their brother too.

Hunter almost put a hand on Crosshair’s shoulder, but a quick glance had him pulling it back.

Tech was busy looking at the machines Wrecker was hooked up to. Crosshair occasionally did the same. He understood most of what he saw on them, not through training, but by having grown up an experimental clone, having been hooked up to many machines himself.

Wrecker grumbled, and he turned his head.

His eyes seemed to almost open, but he groaned now.

Kriff, was he in pain? Crosshair stood, ready to get a Kaminoan in here and demand he be given an opioid or local anesthetic, something! Then Wrecker said, voice a bit muddled, “Ow.”

“Hey, Wrecker,” Hunter said, tone gentle.

Wrecker turned to the sound of his voice. “Sarge?”

“Yeah, I’m here. We all are.”

“What’s…” Wrecker shifted his right arm, hand drifting close to the tooka stuffy. “What’s this?”

He opened his eyes, body moving slowly as he grabbed the stuffy. He blinked against all the bright light as he held it up.

“A tooka?” he asked, sounding as high as Crosshair hoped he was (from pain meds, of course).

“Yes,” Tech said. “It’s…” He turned to Crosshair, clearly not sure if he was allowed to say this part. Crosshair gave him a gentle nod. “It’s for you,” he finished.

“For… me?”

“Who else?” Hunter asked.

“Stop, I can’t think. Ow.”

“Are you in pain?” Crosshair asked, feeling like an idiot for even asking.

“Only a little,” Wrecker assuaged.

He squeezed the stuffy, then left it against his chest. “Hmm.”

There were quite a few minutes of Wrecker coming back to himself, and Crosshair didn’t say much, now almost blushing at the silly thing he’d done for his brother.

“Lula,” Wrecker eventually murmured in between drinking water and eating a ration bar (all in slow sips and bites, respectively).

“What?” Crosshair asked.

He lifted up his tooka stuffy, a gentle joy in his eye, a small smile on his face. “I’m gonna name her Lula.”

Crosshair’s guilt faded away, like it was washed clean by the breaking of a storm, a cooling rain, and his muscles relaxed. He almost smiled, but would always deny it thereafter. He placed a toothpick in his mouth, and leaned back, eyeing Wrecker and his stuffy.

“Lula’s a good name.”

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s3 episode 11 thoughts

dare i say it… new favorite episode?

whatever expectations i had, they were blown away. usually the episode after a two episode arc feels weird and stiff, but this? this hit every box on a checklist i didn’t even know i had.

i’m bouncing off the walls right now. i'm pacing my room and mumbling to myself while gesticulating wildly. i am filled with an energy that caffeine has not ONCE given me. and it's called "your character, that is so near and dear to you, got an episode dedicated just to exploring their inner life and workings and belief system and faith in God and the world". try it if you get a chance.

so let us begin. let me give you my verbatim notes, so you can watch the excitement grow.

oh boy! oh boy oh boy! i am excited! and i know by now to not expect any real continuation from the last episode, but i’m still excited because the last two were so good! and this one is like… good omens? with a kid that can start the end of the world?

wow. never have i thought to myself, how would mulder and scully handle biblical revelations? but here i am. wondering it.

hope the kid is chill. hope he has good vibes. mulder will like him anyway because he’s actually a huge softie but still better if he’s got good vibes.

we open on a sermon. the priest or pastor- depending on the denomination- whatever his title is, he is talking about faith. saying that miracles are real. and now he’s shaking and moaning. is this one of those churches?

OH HE’S BLEEDING from between his knuckles like some sort of blood wolverine. people are looking at him, thinking, what is going on? and this is something i am also wondering. maybe it was fake though…. little capsules in his hands, maybe???

he’s dabbing off his makeup now. as a man enters his dressing room. saying that some people really do believe. but he’s being weird.

and then this guy escalates to murder. and when he touches this pastor he’s burning up??? huh??? a firebender?? in pennsylvania??

THE INTRO WAS DIFFERENT AGAIN THIS TIME. WHY DOES IT CHANGE. i have come to know these beats VERY well!! they are like a heartbeat to me. you cannot simply alter them as you see fit!

scully looking at the body of the dead pastor/priest, talking about how it looks like rope burns around his neck. mulder crouching VERY close by.

HEHEHEHEHE mulder is like “he was bleeding from his hands like the crucifixion” and scully goes “stigmata?” heheheheheeeee i’m blushing

(talking about belief systems is apparently a way to my heart? like c'mon, tell me how you understand the universe and which elements you surrender to knowing that you will never comprehend. you look cute while doing it)

no wounds on the hands, though… so mulder licks the blood. and i froze JUST as scully makes this horrified face... i’m CRYING. yes, it is fake blood, and yes, he has some on his lips and teeth, and yes, its adorable. but what a risky move!

ohhh he was wearing a sugar pump sort of thing! yum yum. couldn't be me, i'd be slurping that.

so mulder has been tracking religious murders related to stigmatics (excellent word!)

scully’s talking about how certain people believe at any given time there are 12 stigmatics in the world. and they represent the 12 apostles. and i’m blushing terribly.

nods solemnly. i am learning a lot about myself through this show.

scully you are so preeeeetty. 

okay, cut to elementary school in ohio. kevin is blowing spitballs. his teacher is bullying him into doing math on the board. when all of a sudden, his hands start bleeding!! and we see that he has the holes!!!

he’s in the nurse’s office still when mulder and scully show up. damn how did they get to ohio that fast… OHHH they had put out an FBI alert and maybe this happened more than once.  yes, this is exactly what is explained mere moments after i made the initial comment.

so it happened BEFORE, and they assumed it was an incident of abuse, but it wasn’t proven. still, his dad was institutionalized after saying Kevin was chosen by God. okay! things escalated. 

scully is talking to the boy. she feels his forehead and says he feels feverish. okay doctor!! and she says he is very brave. queen. smart and kind.

mulder is meeting kevin’s mom. explaining that he might be in danger from a religious fanatic.

oh! the thermometer in his mouth broke. straight up exploded. hope that was fake mercury in there.

they’re going to put kevin back “into the shelter” which i feel like would make him an easier target for a serial killer?? but on the off chance it WAS his mom, it would make him safer. so mixed feelings here.

mom yells at the teacher, teacher says she loves her job, and mulder has this excellent smile. then waves scully out to leave. it was kinda funny to me for some reason, the waving her out. quite domestic. 

mulder thinks the kid did the cuts to himself to get his father back. hmm. not buying it. so they go to talk to kevin's dad. 

dad claims the forces of darkness have been watching kevin. in the great war between good and evil. he’s really talking to scully and he says they just “come full circle to find the truth”. she says dude idk what that means?? and he says “you will” okay... i’m creeped out a bit!!!

kevin is back at the children’s home. telling a bunch of other kids scary stories. and he seems to be explaining a scary guy who is walking into the building as the storytelling goes on. just as the scary guy enters, all the kids leave. scary guy is looking at the wounds on kevin’s hands!

soon after, mulder is with the group of children who saw the guy. we learn here that mulder is 6 foot 1. which is very funny. 

kevin was abducted by the fellow it seems he was describing before his arrival!!! and his mom seems to blame scully. she looks really upset.

they see the drawing that they think does not look like a real person, and kevin’s mom is like it’s owen, who did the yard work. 

so it’s owen time. he’s carved noah’s ark and he has kevin. but he says he can’t let him go home. because it isn’t safe. he refers to himself as kevin’s guardian angel. hmm. that makes me suspicious.

owen grabs a shotgun when a car pulls up. but the agents get him to put it down and scully is on a quest to find the little dude. and he was there… but now he isn’t?

so owen says God asked him to protect kevin. 

OH ANGRY MULDER IS GONNA QUOTE SCRIPTURE AT YOU!!!!! now give him some DAMN ANSWERS!

owen is like, well YOU believe, don’t you scully, because you have that necklace on. he’s calling her a BAD CHRISTIAN??? the audacity….

then owen gets up and JUMPS OUT THE WINDOW??? and runs away??? somehow??

(mulder jumped down from the porch to chase owen, and his big coat floated around him like a cape... i giggled)

now where did this dude go...?

kevin made it home!!! he’s yelling for his mom. she doesn’t seem to be there, but someone rang the doorbell. and we only see a quick glance but it LOOKS like the killer!!! 

who burns off the doorknob with his firebending!!! so yes, it is the og killer from the start of the episode! he comes in and asks for kevin. saying he knows he’s here.

mom, now would be a good time to roll up with a gun. 

he picks up a family photo and sees kevin in a picture then checks the closet to see if he’s in there but kevin is in the hamper. and the hamper is bleeding!!! dead giveaway. 

but owen rolls up just as the firebender guy opens the hamper, and starts fighting for him!! so kevin is making a break for it!!!

he runs and runs and RUNS INTO MULDER!!!! scully is telling him that he will be okay.

they only find dead owen. no firebender.

and kevin asks scully if she was sent to protect him… she does not seem to know what to say because. do you mean like by the government... or jesus?

autopsy time!!!! she’s talking into the voice recorder like always. it always gives vlog energy. anyway, his body looks very much alive. despite the very much dead thing. 

mulder interrupts this. and scully asks him to SMELL the dude. he obliges. with only a smirk!

scully says he smells a bit… floral.

OMG!! OMG I RECOGNIZE WHAT IS GOING ON HERE. they talk about it in the brothers karamazov, how a holy body is said to stay intact and even smell good when it ought to be decomposing. so the real question is: is she imagining it?

i mean, she is the body expert. so i’d want to say no. but also, this dude was playing with her head. so it’s hard to say. i'd think she would identify the body correctly no matter what, but a little smell hallucination thanks to the power of suggestion cannot be ruled out in any situation.

AND SHE TALKS ABOUT IT!! apparently it is something you learn in catechism. okay, well i just picked it up from that summer i got through that book, but we all learn somewhere. mulder is like “you’re serious?” and i feel he should be encouraging this open discussion rather than ridiculing it. AND SHE STARTS NAMING SAINTS IT HAPPENED TO!

mulder is saying that those things didn’t really happen, and i’m not taking this from alien man.

mulder has transitioned into listening mode now. OH! SCULLY! she says:

“isn’t a saint or a holy person just another term for someone who’s abnormal?”

“do you really believe that?”

“i… believe in the idea that God’s hand can be witnessed. i believe he can create miracles, yes”

“even if science can’t explain them?”

“maybe that’s just what faith is”

YES! YES I AM CHEERING AND JUMPING UP AND DOWN. we were owed a scully-centric episode, and never did i even THINK we would get something so aligned with my interests that we’d start exploring her religious beliefs and how that intertwines with her faith in science and her work. that sounds like something i’d write a fic for because it’s hyper specific to my interests. but no. this is CANON!

mulder is saying that she shouldn’t get swept up in these things (and how ironic that the roles are reversed! it’s exquisite. we’ve found his weak point, he’ll believe in anything but a Christian God)

scully is lost in thought. taking a deep breath. steeling herself.

pause. it’s a scene change. but mulder has a pencil in his teeth. it’s adorable, really. he takes it out to write something.

they pulled prints from owen’s neck!! burned right onto the skin. and they found who did it!! the man i was previously calling the firebender, his real name is simon gates, one of the south’s wealthiest men, arrested 3 years ago on a DUI. 

so then he went to israel, and this is how i learned of something called “jerusalem syndrome”, where people come back from the holy land with religious delusions. i have not heard of this before. but it could be a motive. except for the whole burning fingerprints into necks thing. i'm unfamiliar with any sort of place turning you into prince zuko.

okay, so someone saw kevin with his mom the same time he was seen with a social worker??? doubles?? twins??? ghosts??

kevin and his mom are on the side of the road with a broken down car, when who pulls up but SIMON!!

she asks what he wants and he says “i think you know”, then kevin makes a break for it.

now. can an old man outrun a child? children have small legs, but boundless energy.

BUT HE’S RUNNING?? AND ANOTHER KEVIN GETS OUT OF THE CAR??? to talk to his injured mom. then running kevin DISAPPEARED!!! AND MOM HITS THE DUDE WITH A CAR!!!

sadly, it wasn’t out of excellent aim that she hit him, but rather because she had her face smacked into the ground by simon and was concussed or something similar. she drove into a ditch. 

NO!!! KEVIN IS SAYING SHE DIED BECAUSE OF HIM. DEATH??? I JUST THOUGHT WE WERE DEALING WITH CONCUSSION HERE?

i guess it can be a quick trip from one to the next. but i'm sad for poor kevin.

scully is near him, telling him she promises she won’t let simon hurt kevin. OH LORD, YOU GOT HER PROMISING THINGS, SMALL CHILD.

he doesn’t want to go back to the shelter. and she says he doesn’t have to. are they going to take this small child for a bit….?

she avoids mulder’s gaze when telling him she wants kevin to come with them, saying she is not getting personally involved, but like mulder is gonna complain having a kid around. 

(he actually didn't seem to have his typical instincts kick in today. how curious...)

and turns out simon rented the car under the name of one of the devil’s disciples. yikes!

so creepy simon is watching this go down despite being hit by a car. 

back to the motel. scully is running kevin a bath and sees he has a big scratch on his side. from the crash… or?

mulder is fake pouting. “you never draw my bath” JCHDJSBJSND

she’s freaked out because she knows that cut was NOT there before. OH? is it the jesus spear thing??

she is busting out her theological training- he could be in two places at once, like st. ignatius! and mulder is talking about how it was all a metaphor, that bible. mulder, if you are dismissive ONE more time...

OH, I GASPED AT THIS NEXT PART. HOLD ON I NEED TO WRITE THIS DOWN:

“how is it that you’re able to go out on a limb whenever you see a light in the sky, but you’re unwilling to accept the possibility of a miracle, even when it’s right in front of you?”

“i wait for a miracle every day, but what i’ve seen here has only tested my patience, not my faith”

“well, what about what i’ve seen?” 

UGH. how PERFECT is that dialogue!!! how brilliant is that exchange!!! why is what she has seen less believable than his x files and aliens and beasts? he spends so long looking to his own stars that he’s forgotten others can form constellations as well. and how often does the narrative favor him, his thoughts running like a prey animal, chasing and chasing any sort of lead. why can’t she have something that cuts her to the quick just as deeply?

sure, science is great, science is the building block of her reality. but you can’t change the way you grew up, either, the pattern recognition, the fear of the divine. and she’s never had trouble balancing the two, we just haven’t had a reason to see them interact before, because she generally compartmentalizes the day to day world and the spiritual- and how many of us can say we do the same? probably most, if we believe in anything at all. but then it comes straight to a head- and after she has been through so much as well, losing her dad, her kidnapping, her coma, losing mulder and her job (which luckily came back), losing her sister forever- is it selfish to want there to be a caring force out in the universe?

but on the flip side, that means that there is real and genuine evil, forces of the devil and hell- unless you think it’s poetry, like mulder does. but wouldn’t that explain all the suffering she’s been through? the horrific things this job has showed her? and wouldn’t it be worth it in the end to go through that all if you know it was to be defeated?

okay i just spend so long typing that up the screen went dark. SORRY SORRY I’M COMING BACK I PROMISE!!! I JUST GET EMOTIONAL.

NOOO! a weird noise was heard, so mulder kicks down the now locked door where kevin was supposed to be taking a bath. AND THE WINDOW WAS MELTED OPEN!! so scully basically comes face to face with the evil that must be real if miracles are as well. oh! i’m eating this up.

but she promised him he would be safe! so this is not looking good!

she wants to go talk to his father again. and mulder doesn’t want to, but she is NOT taking no for an answer. 

kevin’s father is not coming up with an answer. the doctors have increased his meds and he’s very foggy. 

she asks again about the full circle to find the truth thing. and she runs out, in a daze.

mulder gets a call that there has been a simon spotting, but she doesn’t hear; she’s pointing at a recycling bin, saying that it’s arrows that form a circle. she thinks he’s at a recycling plant; he thinks he’s at the airport.

mulder asks if she thinks she’s the one that was chosen to protect him. and she says she doesn’t know; her voice cracks as she says that if she’s wrong, she’ll meet him at the airport. OH! religious burdens, the divine pressure of fate. he watches her leave, looking troubled.

at the recycling plant- and simon IS there, saying kevin has to die, for everyone, so the new age will come. and his hands are bleeding again. all the others were false.

SCULLY AMBUSH!!! but simon is taking him into a recycling chopper. AND HE DROPS HIM IN!!! we see chopping occur!!! but it was SIMON AND NOT KEVIN THAT WAS CHOPPED!!! kevin caught himself on the ledge!!!! she pulls him up.

he says he knew she’d come, and they hug so so so tight, and she places a kiss on his head when she’s holding him, and i’m gonna cry like a baby

when they’re getting him around to leave, she says that maybe she’ll see him again sometime, and he says that she will.

and scully looks like she’s crying- i don’t think she is, but she puts her head in her hand- mulder comes in and asks if she’s okay. she says she thinks so, and he holds out her jacket to put on. it might have been the most tender thing i have ever seen. he says they need to go make a statement; she asks him to do it alone, she has to go run an errand.

again, she mostly avoids his eyes. but he agrees, and goes to make the statement alone. he doesn't press.

AND SHE GOES TO CONFESSION???? FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 6 YEARS??? she starts talking about not being able to discuss something with mulder. she asks about miracles; if she was seeing things when it comes to saving kevin, or if she was imagining them. 

she doubts herself because mulder didn’t believe them!!!!!!!!!!! and usually he believes without question!!!

maybe they weren’t meant for him, maybe they were meant for YOU, he says. and she asks if this was to bring her back; he says “sometimes we must come full circle to find the truth”

and it makes her afraid!!!! that god is speaking but no one is listening!!!!

WHO THE HELL WROTE THIS EPISODE. NO. NO, HOLD ON I’M GONNA LOOK THIS UP. 

KIM NEWTON. KIM. YOU ARE THE ONLY PERSON WHO GETS ME ON THIS PLANET. NO ONE ELSE DOES.

wow okay. i’m going to be pacing my room about this for 100 years. there are going to be think pieces about this, from me, for the foreseeable future. i’m losing my MIND.

i don’t think i could have cooked up a more perfect episode if i had tried. something centered on scully entirely (mulder has had his fair share of attention), something about faith, something where she questions what she holds close and why she holds it close and what it means that she does so at all. what it means for there to be human good and human evil and divine good and divine evil. how god speaks to people and how we listen. or hear things that he didn’t say, like simon did. 

holy FUCK i literally could not think of anything better. and i have SO much to say. i already SAID SO MUCH, too. like i’m seriously bouncing off the walls right now. whatever love i had for scully before just quadrupled- and who knew this was even possible??

for things to be reversed, for mulder to try and talk her out of a belief, how bizarre that must have felt to him, and how cold it felt. how he just couldn’t see it, how his not being able to see it drove her to doubt herself, how she must doubt herself already, but that sprung everything to the surface. how she doubts that god would use her. and use her for good. 

but still, despite his lack of understanding, despite his trying to get her to think rationally- he is there for her, even if he doesn't get it, even if he could have done better. the way he held her jacket while she processed everything, the way he didn't question her needing time for herself. somethings are best left unspoken.

lord, i’m gonna have to stop there because if i don’t. i just might never shut up ever ever ever. and i still need to proofread all my raw notes, and i’m sure i’ll think of something else to say.

i started this episode AN HOUR AND A HALF AGO LMAOOOO i just had SO much to pause and observe and say which is NOT a complaint in the slightest. 

wow. new fave episode i think. i’ll have to add it to the list. 

please let me know what you thought- are there any other scully truthers out there who lost their minds over this? did you like the episode? is it disliked and i'm strange for going on such a ramble? did you have trouble reconciling faith scully and science scully? personally i don't, but i could see how some people might. did you find mulder too dismissive? or did you think he was trying his best? some combination of both? did scully protecting that kid make you emotional? please, spill EVERYTHING. i always want you to spill everything, but now so even more than usual.

[makeyoumine69]

Hello! Congratulations on 200!! Can you do knife play and rough sex please? <33333

Thrill

● Pairing: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

● Summary: Patrick takes you to his family vacation house.

● CW: Knife play in its truest sense(!), hard prone sex, oral (f&m), possessive behaviour, Patrick has a filthy mouth and some more.

● Wordcount: ~4.1k (I know I am terrible! 🙈)

● A/N: So, this is the longest thing I ever wrote about Patrick. Thank you so much for this ask! I hope you like it!🥰

Also, I want to thank @ladyalexandranna @jacktorrancekinny @sosweetcupcake for brainstorming with me over this fic!💗

● Useful links: │BWC Masterlist│ │Main Masterlist│

It was the longest day that you thought would never end as you were in the middle of a party in Patrick’s friend's fancy vacation house; his name was Timothy Bryce, as you could remember and he was the only interesting person Bateman knew, besides you of course.

Drinking another glass of wine, you quickly glanced at a group of people standing close enough to you so you could hear them talking.

“Did you see who Patrick came with?” A good-looking woman asked her dark-haired friend, fumbling the necklace with a finger as she seemed to be anxious. 

“Not really. But I am curious about what happened to Evelyn.”

“I heard they broke up… Bateman literally tore her heart into pieces.”

“Ohhh, what a poor thing.” A brunette laminated before she turned her gaze in your direction, looking over your back.

When you were about to spin around and check what was the object of her attention, you bumped into a solid male chest and almost right away, you felt the enveloping scent of expensive masculine perfume.

“Drank too much, sweetie?” Patrick crooned in a cute tone, wrapping your waist in a second.

“N-no, you just showed up so suddenly,” frowning a bit, you shook an empty glass in front of his eyes. “You’re lucky I didn’t stain your suit.”

With a soft chuckle, Bateman pulled you closer to whisper: “Let’s sneak out of here, Sugar.”

“Wasn’t it you who persuaded me to come here?”

“Yeah… I know,” he murmured, tickling your earlobe with his hot breath. “I just want to show you something…”

“What is it?” You rejoined, looking up to find his eyes glowing with an undisguised thrill.

“What an impatient girl…” 

“Say what you want to say, Patrick.”

Bateman smirked before he pecked your cheekbone, stroking your shoulders as if he wanted you to relax. “Just wanna take you to a really luxurious house.”

Stunned by his sudden offer, you quickly looked around, tagging a ruthless lock behind your ear. “Your friend won’t be offended?” “I don’t think he will even notice us leaving.”

With a soft smile on your face, you placed a glass on the table nearby as you knew him too well–that was not a suggestion to visit his house; it was a statement, so you didn’t really have a say in that. 

After a while, Patrick’s limo was taking you further and further away from Timothy's cottage by the second. Trapped in your thoughts, you pressed your cheek against the cold glass as you were watching the scenery outside the window changing so fast.

“You never told me you have a house…” 

“Well,” Patrick gasped, turning in your direction to hold your hand. “It’s my family vacation house where we used to spend a lot of time. But since my parents have divorced, all those days are left in the past.”

“Oh…” biting your lip a bit, you faced him. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know…”

“It’s okay, Sugar.” Grinning cocky, he shifted his palm to your hip, moving further to its inner side.

Excited by his unexpectedly frank touch, you covered his palm with yours as you felt yourself getting wetter with each second, but you still had one very pointed question.

“Who is Evelyn?” You asked abruptly, watching his face change into a tense grimace. 

“Why do you ask?”

“Just heard someone talking about you two,” you sensed his grip tighten on your hip with your words. “Patrick, you don't have to say it…”

You heard him laughing smugly in response as he hugged your shoulders with his other hand. “Well, if you really want to know,” he got closer to your neck, nuzzling against it a bit. “Evelyn is my ex-fiancée.” 

“I got it,” you stated, running your fingers through his perfect hair. “Thank you for… For being honest with me.”

“Of course, (Y/N),” he took you by the chin to lock his brown eyes with yours. “How could I not be open with you? You’re the only person I can really trust.”

Damn Bateman, what a devil–you scoffed to yourself, admitting his amazing ability to play around with all the words he was saying. To be fair, you expected any reaction from him to your question but not this; especially when he pulled you into a sweet kiss, sucking your tongue as you allowed him to.

The rest of the way to the vacation house, you both kept in silence as you pressed your head against his broad chest, playing with the fabric of his fancy coat while Patrick was patting your shoulders and your back. What an unbelievably strange harmony—you concluded, remembering the aphorism about a calm before the storm. 

Soon, you arrived at a beautifully constructed house with a large yard, which had a magnificent garden planted.  Amazed by the open view, you were looking through the window like a child who saw the snow for the first time. 

“(Y/N), are you thinking?” Patrick joked as he already got outside the limo and was waiting for you to follow.

“Sorry, I’m just so fascinated by the beauty of this house,” the fact that you couldn’t hide your emotions made him so proud of himself and you didn’t really mind. “Can’t take my eyes off of it.”

“I bet,” he gave you a hand to help you move out. “I wonder what you will say when we get inside.”

Finally, you stepped on the ground and as a true gentleman, Patrick offered you to walk arm in arm with him and you couldn’t refuse this sweet gesture. A cool breeze was blowing around you as you were walking on a stone path that led to the main door.

As soon as you walked inside the house, Patrick helped you to pull off your coat and asked in a sweet tone: “Sugar, are you cold?” 

“No, I’m fine,” you smiled at him before you looked around. “This house is as huge as it looks from the outside!”

“You can say that, huh,” he hugged you from behind, pushing you a bit to move forward. “Let’s proceed to the main area here–the living room.”

Grinning, you were totally tempted to know what the walls of this house had prepared for you. Switching between looking to the left or to the right, you were following Patrick and your heartbeat was rising with each step you made as you couldn't figure out what he was up to yet.

“Well, here we are,” he declared, his extremely masculine voice sounding even deeper. “You can make yourself a small tour of the house, while I’m setting up some things.”

“Which things?”

“Find us a drink, for example,” Patrick chuckled, gliding his hand against the expensive brown-leather couch. “Go wherever you want, you have my permission.”

That was really weird, no mistake. 

Humming to yourself, you clicked your tongue and decided–right now you were not in the mood of solving any puzzles, so you just nodded to him before you left the living room as you were on your way to new adventures.

You didn’t remember how many rooms you’d already seen, there were a lot of them for sure. When you were about to come back to Patrick, you noticed a heavy door made of some dark high-quality wood; you could almost see your reflection on the doorknob. 

As soon as you entered the room, you looked for a light switch, tracing your hand against the wall. Once you found it, you made a loud gasp at the picture that had opened up to you–plenty of animal heads were looking at you from the opposite side of the room, causing your blood to freeze in your veins. 

It seemed like you accidentally got into the hunting room or maybe the study? Along with the hunting trophies, you saw a lot of different weapons: knives, rifles, daggers, and…even a sword?

Puzzled, you were thinking about to whom all of this stuff belonged as you came closer to have a proper look. You couldn't remember Bateman saying anything about him being into hunting, but maybe his father did—because this type of free time was quite suitable for people of high society. Reflecting on all these things, you didn’t notice your finger sliding against the handle of one of the big hunting knives. When you spotted a beautiful engraving on it, you squint your eyes in order to read it, but almost right away you were caught like a bratty baby whose curiosity led it into the trap.

“Aren’t you afraid you might cut yourself?” Bateman’s raspy voice sent shivers down your spine.

“Oh! I was just looking and…” you spun around to see Patrick standing in the doorway with his arms crossed on his chest. “Well… I wasn't supposed to touch it.”

For how long was he standing here, and how did he sneak up so quietly that you didn’t even hear a sound to detect him? Sneering, Bateman pushed off from the doorway, his dark eyes tracing all over your shaking frame as he must have been already so aroused. 

“Are you gonna join me in the living room or have you suddenly decided to become a huntress?”

Embarrassed, you moved towards him to peck his cheek before murmuring: “Sorry, daddy. I hope you will forgive me for this little lapse in judgement?” 

“Mm-hmm,” he muttered, giving your butt a brief slap. “I need to think about it. But now, I want you in the living room. Is it clear?”

You nodded in agreement as you moved to the door, leaving Patrick behind your back, so you couldn’t notice him taking exactly that knife you were touching before.

Once you reached the living room, you immediately saw a lighted fireplace which made the entire atmosphere so cozy and warm–you felt your heart melting from the heat it was radiating. Then, you found a glass of red wine which was waiting for you on the coffee table. Taking a sip of the tasty liquid, you placed yourself on the leather couch, watching the flame dancing like it was alive. 

“Enjoying the drink?”

“I’m not an expert on wines, but this one tastes amazing,” you looked up at him before you froze in place. “Patrick, w-why do you need that thing?”

With a devilish smile on his face, Bateman was twirling a knife in his hands as he was slowly getting closer to you; the way his brown eyes were burning with an animalistic bloodlust made you feel a terrible drop in your stomach.

“Relax, Sugar,” Patrick let out a small laugh as he took pleasure in the look of fear you had mastered. “Those weapons definitely got your attention, didn’t they?”

“I… I was just curious, nothing special about i-it.” You hiccupped a bit, feeling an uprising panic inside your chest the closer he was getting.

“Do you like the feeling of danger?” he crooned in a provocative but seductive tone before he reached your place. “When adrenaline is rushing the blood in your veins, hmmm?”

At this moment, a sense of reality drowned in the theatre of madness and you didn’t even notice yourself breathing heavily with your heart beating so fast–he could hear it without a doubt.

“Okay… Now it’s not funny at all,” your voice cracked into a whine as you were going to break away from him, but he stopped you with his grip on your neck the second you tried to do it. “P-Patrick, your words were sufficient. You don’t have to do this...”

“Do what?” Bateman was shamelessly playing on your nerves cause he was so good at it and as a result he could sense the artery on your neck pulsing really quickly. “Do you want to know more about this knife?”

With that said, Patrick pressed a blade to your cheek in a way that didn’t hurt you, but you could feel the coolness of the metal on your skin. Gulping, you looked up at him, watching his fingers going up to your chin and then, he traced them along your lips, forcing you to open your mouth as he slipped his thumb inside of it. Suckling it with a true devotion, you were attempting to soothe your breathing as you were scared to get a cut.

When Bateman pulled his digit out, he drew near to kiss your neck but before he did it, he heard your muffled babble: “Tell me… Tell me more about it…”

Grinning against your skin, he left a notable wet hickey on your bare shoulder as he proceeded his way with the knife, going down to your cleavage. “This knife was exclusively made on my orders, from high-quality steel to the imported wood for the handle. The perfect combination of an extra sharp blade and a special decorative wooden handle.” 

With each word he said, the heat of his body became unbearable to resist as you felt your nipples tense so hard–Patrick wouldn't miss it for sure and soon, you ended up being sprawled on the coffee table, panting and trembling from how he was using the knife, slicing your clothes here and there.

“D-daddy,” you sobbed, fidgeting in your place as you sensed the cold metal gliding over the inner side of your hip. “I’m scared…”

“Don’t be, Sugar. Just stay still if you don’t want to get hurt,” he sneered in a hoarse voice, pulling on your black tights to slice them without hurting you. “Mmhm, I forgot to say–I gifted this knife to my father, so it’s his favourite one from his extensive collection. The fact that you chose exactly this knife turned me on so much…”

Closing your eyes, you wailed in response as at last Patrick cupped your pussy, rubbing your blushing clit with the thumb through your damp underwear; for a moment you even forgot about the blade pressed against your thigh as your body was desperately yearning for more.

“So, I was right when I said that being in danger excites you? Such a nasty risky girl, huh?” Bateman taunted you before he planted a sloppy kiss on your mound, going lower to your little nub and then, he cut your panties, throwing them away like useless trash. “Once I entered that room I could smell your arousal in the air, you're a dirty little slut!”

“T-that's not true! Auhh-Patrick���” 

“C’mon, baby. We are not at school,” he ran his fingers along your moist folds. “And I am not your teacher, you don’t need to hide your perverted vices from me…”

When you looked down to see him pressing a handle of the knife against your clit, you immediately suddenly cried out, leaning on your elbows: “Pat...Patrick! What… What are you doing?”

“You don’t see?”

“S-stop…Mmm-hm….”

“Do ya really want me to stop?” Mocking you, Patrick pushed the handle harder as he was massaging your clit with the tip.

These suddenly blissful sensations made your toes curl and your peaks were painfully tight, just like your whole insides as you felt the building tension in your lower belly.

“Your thirsty pussy certainly needs more,” he growled from watching your slickness running down the handle. “Much more…”

Biting his lower lip, Bateman placed his one hand on your cunt to spread your folds for better control as the thing he was going to do next, was totally destructive to your already clouded mind.

Almost with no resistance, he stuffed your little hole with a handle, fixating you in one place as you were jolting all over the wooden surface of the coffee table and moaning wildly like never: “O…G-God, a-ahhh…Daddy, this… this is…”

“Too much for you?”

“A-aww, y-yeahh,” you had to shush yourself with a palm from the friction the handle was making. “I…”

Paralyzed, you were falling down into oblivion the moment you felt him lapping at your throbbing clit besides the stretching penetrative feeling he was giving you with the handle–these things were pushing you over the edge insanely fast like a high-speed train. Twitching erratically from the intensive tremor, you clung to the wooden table top until your knuckles hurt. Arching your back like a tensed string, you were desperately catching the air between your moans, as all this time Bateman was licking and sucking on your pulsating nub, extending your delirious orgasm, while fucking your roughly with the handle. 

Little drops of sweat were running down your face, when Patrick finally let you come back from your high as he left your body almost breathless.

“And what would you say about that?” panting, he briefly fixed his hair and only then, he pulled out the handle as he was going to clean it up. “According to what I saw–that was not too much for you.”

With all the strength you have left, you got up a bit to watch him licking your wetness off the handle. “No comments from me…I guess.”

His loud chuckle echoed in your head before he demanded: “Get yourself on the couch, we’re not done yet.”

Gulping, you thought he must have been joking, but when you looked into his dark eyes–you had no doubts about him being so damn serious. With shaking knees, you stood up and moved to the leather couch; Patrick was watching your every step as he was undoing his suit. Still quivering, you took the same place you had before, feeling yourself uncomfortable from the endless wetness between your legs. 

“Sugar, look at me…” he purred, coming close to you as he was stroking his fully erected cock. “I’m not gonna face fuck you now, since you were a good girl last twenty minutes… But next time, I will ruin your mouth and your throat and I won’t stop even if you beg me. Understand?”

“Mmhm.” You muffled, giving him a foggy glance. 

“Use words, slut.”

“Yes, Pat… Daddy,” you watched him smirking in satisfaction and then, Patrick got his leg on the edge of the couch, still having a knife in his other hand. “What do you want me to do?”

“Now it’s your turn to taste me, babe,” he pulled you closer to his groin by the back of your head, shoving his dick into your warm mouth. “A-argh…Yes, just like that…”

You mewled against his hot flesh, grabbing on his hips for support but almost instantly, Bateman removed your hands and squeezed your cheeks.

“No-no, I said to taste–not to touch.” His whisper sounded more like a feral growl as he brought the knife right next to your face once again. 

Trembling, you swallowed hard and looked at the blade that could cut you at any second, feeling your heart about to jump out from your chest. Meantime, Bateman displaced his palm onto your swollen tits, pulling down the upper part of your dress to have a better access to your very sensitive nipples, pinching and rolling them painfully between his long fingers.

“Mmmm-hm.” You mewled, feeling his cock twitching in your mouth whenever you tensed your lips around it as if you were sucking your favourite ice-cream. 

“Fuck, Sugar…You’re making daddy feel so good…”

Once you adjusted to the lack of the air in your lungs, he suddenly broke away from you, putting a knife on the floor nearby. Without saying a word, he manhandled you to turn around and lay flat on the couch, with your face pressed against the leather material. When you tried to lift your head, you were harshly pushed back and then; you felt his weight covering your little body. Fuck, Bateman was so powerful–he could easily pin you against any surface he wanted to, leaving you no chance to make any resistance.

“A-awww, Daddy… please! It’s so fucking deep, aa-ahh…” You cried out beneath him as he bottomed you out completely in one smooth thrust.

In return you only heard his low growl, flesh-meeting-flesh sounds bounced against the walls of the living room and there was nothing left for you to do but to be a good girl for him, accepting him the way he was. 

Leaning on his fists, Patrick was pounding into you so briskly–you could felt each vein on his beefy shaft as he was literally fucking you into the couch.

“Patrick…Aaamh!…” Moaning, you turned your head to the side, looking down on the floor and spotting the knife on it.

Right away, Patrick noticed the direction of your gaze and grumped into your ear, giving your butt a hard slap, which would definitely hurt for a while. “My little bitch didn’t get enough of knife games?”

“N-no…I…I just, uu-uaah….”

“Can’t hear you,” he laughed and leaned down, taking the knife in order to press it against your throat. “Do you forget how to speak?”

“I’m…So f-full, mmmhm!”

“Oh, come on!” he slammed into your cunt till his heavy balls, coaxing something incoherent to erupt from your mouth. “I’m fucking your pussy, not your brain…”

Harshly, Bateman pulled on your hair, forcing you to look into his eyes as he was railing you raggedly, making your whole body rock whenever his solid hips were meeting yours. It felt so crazy, being fucked by him like an animal with a knife gliding against the delicate skin of your neck…and yet, you could sense the upcoming rapture in your gut as you couldn’t deny–you liked this man and all the things he was doing with your body cause you were probably as insane as he was.

“Fuck! I’m so close, Sugar… I wanna cum into your pretty mouth,” he blurted out, breathing furiously as he was trying his best to last longer. “Get on your back.”

You heard a knife fall on the floor with a loud thud, when you were changing your position and then, Patrick set himself on his knees over your face, almost straddling it. With a slight push, he buried himself in your mouth, yanking on your hair as he was desperately cresting his high. 

“My perfect b-baby, sucking me so well…” Patrick looked down at you, groaning so loudly as the picture of you devouring his thick cock with such innocent eyes, drooling so badly from how vigorous you were bobbing your head–pushed him over the cliff, making him completely lose his mind. “A-hhh, (Y/N)!”

With closed eyes, Bateman moaned your name as he was spilling his warm seed into your throat and you almost choke on his beefy girth, clawing at his hips. When he slowly pulled out of you, leaving a string of liquids which was extended from your mouth till the blushing tip of his cock, you could feel his body shaking from the tremendous release–his cum was dripping on your tits from your chin as you couldn't swallow all of it and that sensation irrevocably turned you into a ruined sobbing mess.

Huffing, Bateman got his hair out of his face before he spun around in a half as his fingers found their way to your overstimulated pussy once again.

“D-daddy…It feels…So g-good….a-awww!”

That was the last thing you pronounced as you inner walls began to spasm so hard, Patrick had to press you against the couch with his weight as he was finger fucking you in a perfect rhyme, hitting all the right spots inside your cunt. Wrapping your neck, he leant over to your face to kiss your lips, tasting himself on it and consuming all the nasty sounds you were making as you were trembling uncontrollably in his brawny arms.

Later, after you both cleaned yourselves, you were lying on the couch, covered with a blanket which Bateman brought you some minutes ago; it was so warm and soft, you nearly purred from the pleasant feeling as you were totally naked cause you didn’t want to get dressed yet. 

Resting on your elbows, you looked at Patrick who was standing near the fireplace and smoking his favourite cigar. Unlike you, he was wearing a white t-shirt and grey pants, which were perfectly outlining the shape of his tight ass.

“I can’t imagine what your father will say when he knows you took his knife…” You sighed sadly, rolling on your belly.

“He won’t say anything at all.”

“Why?” “I’m gonna borrow this knife from him,” he grinned as he turned in your direction, puffing on his cigar from time to time. “Coz I don’t know when my sugar baby will decide to play this game once more…”

“Me?!” you nearly squealed, getting up on your knees. “That was your idea!” “Really?” he crooned in a teasing way, admiring the view of your exposed body as the blanket slipped down a bit from you moving.  “You know what? Next time, I don’t mind if you use this knife on me. I've got some shirts I don’t really like–you can slice some of them.”

The last thing you remembered before you fell asleep was him rumbling about the modern techniques of making different weapons and that one day, he should definitely take you to the shooting gallery. Simply irresistible man…