#Single Review: Body In The Mirror

[essenteez]

𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 choi san 18+

"if i'm the bad wolf, you have to the moon. cause no one makes me howl the way your body does."

"The release came too fast, too powerful. The pleasure seemed to be ruining. It made you subconsciously try to push him away, to slow his actions down but no use. He was unmoved. And at that moment, you realized the meaning behind his name “mountain”. It wasn't just a name. It was a warning."

☾ synopsis : ever since your boyfriend has gotten his new tattoo - beautiful moon phases climbing up his spine - you always fail to keep your composure when looking at it. it draws you to touch it, drag your fingers, nails, tongue... however, the worst mistake you made was letting san see your poor self-control. now, he makes sure to always use his new card in this game of "who gives up first."

☾ pairing : san x f!reader

☾ genre : smut, one-shot

☾ warnings : explicit language, teasing, ass slapping, unprotected sex, thigh riding, fingering, commands, dick riding, big size, f! struggles to take it, mirror sex, back scratches, missionary, rough sex, penetration, breeding.

☾ words : 4k

NOTE : When I saw his back and the tattoo during mama performance, trust me, the sounds I made were inhuman. I will never recover from this. The power he bias wrecked me that moment should be studied :,) this piece is my ode to this tattoo

You failed yet again.

The temptation painted your sight in red while your willpower was at its lowest. In crushing defeat; saying goodnight to your dignity, you reached out your hand and dragged your finger down your boyfriend's naked spine.

You gulped quietly at San’s defined back muscles, now tensing under the touch of your sharp acrylic nail.

You began tracking the lines of his new tattoo. The moon cycle. Nine separate arts spread from his neck down to his slim waist. The work was beautifully done, impressive, and constantly begging you to touch it.

“You're really a fan of my latest whim.” He purred leisurely, stretching like a cat on the bed.

“Whim?” You chuckled. “You planned this tattoo for months.”

San looked so relaxed, laying on his belly as if he was waiting for a massage service. But you had a better idea.

The book you initially wanted to read was finally tossed aside. Positive reviews really made you curious. The plan for this evening was to indulge in the literature and find out if the recommendations were not bullshit.

But then your boyfriend decided to visit you in the late hours just to take off his shirt and spread his whole body on your bed. Apparently, he was tired after dance practice, so he quickly took a shower and went straight to your apartment.

Yeah, right. You had known him for years, and you knew how tired San looked like. The San that was now laying beside you had a lot of energy to spend. And there was no dance practice on Fridays.

“Not true! At first, it was supposed to be drawn only for the awards, you know, part of the lore? But I really liked how it looked. And the decision to make it real was sudden!"

“Fine.” You smiled at his cute indignation. “I'm happy that it's real, actually.”

“Why is that?”

His head rested on his hands, facing away from the spot where you sat. You used that opportunity of being out of his sight and of his guard being down.

The wickest giggle escaped your chords, “Cause now I can do this.”

You leaned over his lower back, right beyond the first tattoo of waning crescent moon. He twitched at the touch of your tongue, shamelessly climbing up his bare spine.

“Fuuuck, baby.” He whined somewhat relieved, as if he waited for that exact move of yours.

Not caring that you probably danced to his tune, you were now making your way back down with slow and juicy kisses. San’s whole body began waving at the tingling sensation. His body temperature rose rapidly. You could feel it through the thin skin of your lips.

Every single tattoo had its lines carefully traced with your tongue and then adorned with an invisible mark of your mouth. San was yours, all yours to enjoy.

Your boyfriend loved it with every fiber of his body. You could tell by the way he subconsciously hummed the melody of pure bliss. You could see it by how his sun kissed skin covered with goosebumps and how his body rose and fell from deeper and faster breathing.

You repeated the route a few times before reaching for his neck to bury your face in it. Inhaling his intoxicating smell; a mixture of soap, shampoo, and pheromones, you caused your own mind to spin.

Touching, kissing, and smelling that man was enough to make the muscles around your entrance grow tighter. You felt yourself getting incredibly wet.

“Baby…” He gasped when your teeth softly grabbed his earlobe.

His desperate pleas made you inhale sharply. You would have given him the heads of his enemies just to hear him whimper like that again.

“Hmm?”

“Promise you won't leave me grinding my dick onto your sheets like that.” Oh, his needy whines were truly to die for.

Your eyes wandered down his glistening spine right onto his shaply bottom. Slight circling movements of his hips made the cockiest smile crawl onto your mouth.

“So impatient.” You hummed.

His plump asscheeks had your head in the whirl. You needed that ass moving like that between your legs. Your cunt cried sweet tears when your head filled with the vision of San using his trained pelvis to thrust his way inside you.

You groaned in his ear, pleased at the sound that his sin worthy cheek made at the abrupt contact with your hand.

“You little shhhhit.” He hissed in full arousal at the sudden surprise and now the prickling skin.

“Oh apologies, my moon prince.” You pouted with fake guilt. To ease his abused ass, you grabbed a handful of his flesh and gave it a proper massage.

Using this opportunity, you pushed him more and more against the mattress, and you went back to teasing his neck, ear, and temple.

“Moon prin…ah fuuck.” He had no chance to ask you to elaborate on his new nickname. The new, deepened friction between his hardening cock and your satin sheets sent electric waves up his body. It reached all his nerves, which woke up just to act stupid from all the delightful stimulations.

San shifted his head to your side. The pillow traces on his cheek made you want to kiss it. But you focused on his hazy eyes and parted lips, drying up from needness.

“You're cruel, you know?” He whispered.

You laid down next to him, face to face. Obsessed, your hand never let go of his ass, groping and squeezing the plum. You stopped pushing his pelvis down. However, San kept grinding, now deeper and more aggressive.

“Look who's talking.” You teasingly licked his lips. “I had plans for this evening but you stormed into my room, exposing your beautiful chest, broad shoulders and slutty waist while wearing these black thin shorts.”

His smirk said it all.

“You're well aware that the outlines of your thighs are enough to make me drip, yet here you are.” You scoffed in frustration. ”And now that damn tattoo…”

San shifted to lay on the side, chest against chest with you. You were pulled closer to him by having your waist embraced by his strong arm, the other slid under your head to stop you from leaving.

You had no chance to react when your night dress got pulled up your hips. In a brutal way, your thong got ripped off you. There was not a chance to say anything since he immediately pushed his knee between your rubbing thighs.

“You're right.” He chuckled, feeding on your loud gasps. “I just love to see you struggle to contain yourself around me.”

San didn't have to do anything to have you grind on his thigh. You craved his touch, from the softest to cruelest, all over and inside your body

“San, ah.” You whimpered into his lips as you felt him purposely tensing up his muscles underneath you. The enhanced lines rubbed against you, making every cell in your body vibrate.

You put your hands flat on his chest. His heart beat so fast, chasing the pace of your pulse resonating in your head. No language could ever explain how much you needed him. Only your eyes could show him. Only your heat, wetness could make him feel it, and you were absolutely soaked, so much you heard squelched noises getting louder with every grind. Your shame was gone. All that mattered was a release granted to you by this beautiful man.

Your lips were brushing, noses rubbing, you breathed each other's air. The teasing, who gives up first and kisses the other, built up the tension to the point it was palpable. But the need to indulge in your taste made San lose the duel.

At first, he gently bit on your lower lip as if it was a fruit, and he wanted to see if it was ripe enough to be fully devoured.

“Pure sweetness.” He murmured with a low tone.

The moment your lips interlocked, San became braver with his actions. He stroked his hardness against your soft womb but it was your taste, scent, your closeness, the way your eyes shone and your pussy called for him that brought him to the edge of losing control. He swallowed your moans and let go only when you couldn't catch a breath from the crushing bliss.

“You're so loveable, (y/n).” He spoke as much as his own problems with breathing allowed him to. He was so hard it almost hurt, and you were so… “So touchable, irresistible. And so damn fuckable.”

“San-” You were close. His arm around your waist tightened, resulting in him fully controlling the speed of your movements.

“You'll be a good girl for me, won't you?” He growled into your lips. “I also planned this evening, you know. To pump you full, to the brim. To sit you down on my cock and watch you struggle to take it. I need that tattoo scratched with your nails. You hear me?”

The ecstasy chased you, but it was his words that tipped the scale. The fog covered your sight, and the sensation made your head fall back.

“Let's prepare you for the ride, shall we?”

San made a space between your drained folds and his wet, sticky thigh, and he slid his hand. His two digits found your entrance without a problem. Feeling them entering you, switching from stimulating your clit to pushing your sweet spot, you were done.

“Oh fuck, fuck yes.” You cried, banging at his broad chest.

San lips attached to your exposed neck, sucking, nibbling on the sensitive skin. That did not disturb him to finger you as his life depended on it.

The release came too fast, too powerful. The pleasure seemed to be ruining. It made you subconsciously try to push him away, to slow his actions down but no use. He was unmoved. And at that moment, you realized the meaning behind his name “mountain”. It wasn't just a name. It was a warning.

And you moaned that name, whined it while tossing and turning in the arms of its owner.

“Hmmm yeeees. Cum for me… cum cum cum cum.” He led you right into the void of madness.

Waves of pure bliss hit you one after another. He pushed you slightly onto your back and hovered above you. His fingers kept reentering your walls ruthlessly. The pace fastened. San needed to fuck the last ounce of orgasm out of you. He had to see you desperate for more. And you gave that to him, you gave it all.

When your trembling began to fade, he finally withdrew his long fingers. They left your slit with a pop sound as your walls did not want to let them go.

“Mmmm, so satisfying.” He cooed with a smug look on his face.

You were soaked, dripping down on your freshly changed sheets. Only San could bring you to the state like that. Only he was able to work you out.

And he knew it too well. That was why he savored your taste on his tongue each time, collecting your essence from his digits as a reward. This was his ritual with you, and he felt like pulling the knife at any man who would try to take his place.

It was a little embarrassing to cum this hard from a foreplay. He could see it in your face. Oh, he would enjoy holding it against you later, then having you challenge him just so he could prove you the point yet again. Perhaps you wouldn't be this defeated with another man. And that thought alone stroked his ego in all the right directions. The cruel prince had awakened.

While he let you catch a breath, he sat down and took care of his shorts all wet from you and his own precum. They landed next to the shreds that once was a thong.

Nonchalantly, San went back to tower over your recovering body.

“Such a good, good girl you are, (y/n). You make me want to brag about you everywhere I go.” He focused on your lips. “And I think I will. You deserve a big kiss, baby.”

You quietly sobbed at another touch of his lips on yours. San grabbed your jaw to keep you in place so he can fully immerse in you. You grabbed onto him. Arms around his shoulders, legs embracing his waist.

“More.” You whispered weakly, breaking the kiss. “Please.”

With a merciful smirk, San embraced and secured your back. He had no trouble picking you up and sitting down with you in his arms.

“It's your call, baby.” He gently kissed your neck. “I'm all yours.”

It was your turn to move.

His cock deliciously throbbed between your legs, hard and swollen, tip tinted purple. San was more than ready. His eyes demanded you ride him until you were both sweaty messes. He clearly told you what he planned for tonight.

You gave him a few slow strokes and massaged his peak, which he awarded you for with impatient curses. Depending on the position, his length as well as width could be too much for you sometimes.

But you, adjusting to his size, was what he lived for. The tight embrace of your wall required a lot of self-control to not combust immediately. You were a challenge he would never fail to accept.

You raised your hips, teasingly sliding his tip up and down your slit. You trembled anytime it brushed your entrance.

“I know you can take it.” He encouraged you with this annoying amusement in his voice. Oh, how weak you were for this arrogant man.

Placing his hands on your thighs, he gently caressed them, drawing soothing circles with his thumbs. San began to watch the show as you welcomed him inside.

“Of fuck.” You hissed at the stretch. Supporting yourself on his shoulders didn't help. You sucked him in on your own.

The air abruptly left his lungs as your pussy graced his manhood with the first silkiest hug tonight. He wanted to act tough, intimidating with his cocky smile, but you felt like heaven.

San fought hard. You whetted his big appetite. He wished he had taken the matters in his hands, but he couldn't just pin it to you. Also, where was the fun in that? He preferred to watch you cry and struggle as he sunk deeper inside your warmth, inch by inch, without mercy.

“Shit, you're sooo tight.” He gasped out at how you began working on suck him dry.

Possessed with pleasure, San waited until you got more comfortable with his size. And the moment he felt you loosened and the relief ghosted your face, he knew he could push into you fully.

You shook on your whole body when he moved his hips up and finally reached his goal.

“Ruude.” You whimpered, feeling absolutely intoxicated all stuffed like that.

While you tried to gather your thoughts, San released your breasts from the night dress and buried his face in their plush. He inhaled the pure scent of your bare skin. You smelled sweet and spicy, exactly like your personality.

“You know me. I like being rude.” He smirked. “And I know you. You like it too.”

He was right. The struggle was real, but even that provided you with indescribable bliss. And now, when you engulfed him fully, the satisfaction was out the roof.

San firmly put his hands on your hips and moved them without a word of warning.

Waves of delight washed upon you when his tip swept over your sweet spot, “Waaait, I- ne-ed to aah!”

But he didn't listen. He couldn't stop, not with you taking him so well, not when you were dripping all over his thighs.

Under his control, you felt him reach new depths with every grind. Setting the pace, he didn't need to lead you anymore. The fullness you felt was driving you crazy. You put your head on his shoulder, hands on his back, and you rode him, deep and starving.

“If I'm your moon prince. Then what does that make you? My moon?” He asked out of nowhere as if he wasn’t just penetrating the deepest corners of your womanhood and making you lose your senses.

You couldn't answer. You could not form a single word.

“Hmm?” He was stubborn, despite swallowing his own moans. “Are you my moon?”

You mumbled something. The force his dick rubbed on your sweet spot took away your ability to think, let alone speak. You felt every beat in his veins. But San needed you to play along.

A juicy smack landed on your ass, “Are you?”

You mustered a little will to answer his demands, “Ye-es.”

He kissed your collar bone gently, which clashed with the treatment you received somewhere else.

“Then let me howl at you the whole night.”

With these words, his arms embraced your waist and shifted your whole weight onto himself. You were lifted up a little bit, enough so he had space to pound on you as freely as he could.

San began claiming you, rough and madly. His hips moved underneath you while his eyes studied every emotion on your face.

“Look at yourself.” He breathed out. “Look how cute you are, melting around my dick like that.”

Ah, yes. The mirror in front of your bed.

San never failed to remind you about it when you were getting intimate. He never failed to use it as a tool.

You didn't hang it there to watch yourself getting demolished. There was really no other place in your room to put this big mirror you bought on a very beneficial sale. But ever since you brought San in your apartment, the reflection stopped being associated with only checking your appearance.

You raised your half shut eyes at your face. You stared at how pathetic you were and how much you didn't care about it. You watched your features contorted in delight when San reached deeper and now was hitting your cervix unforgivably. You heard your own cries from the power, tears rolling down your cheeks. It felt so good, unearthly good.

The moment the frequency of your walls’ spasm grew, he sat you down on his cock again, burying his whole face in your neck. Now both your bodies rocked back and forth.

“It's too much.” You pinned your nails into his back and dragged them against his skin.

San cursed between hisses, making you look at the marks you just made. There was no blood, but the lines were getting bright red.

The was something about the way his wide back muscles moved while holding you tight, fucking you mindlessly. You focused on the tattoo that started it all. It worked on you like a flame on a moth. Every little thing pushed you closer and closer to the point of breaking. The way his body felt under your touch, how it moved with one goal - to have you scream.

He smelled like a late summer day, despite the outside weather being cold. The sweet sound he moaned into your ear made your whole existence buzz.

“I can't hold it anymore.” You informed him breathlessly. “I'm about to cum. But I can't…I can't…”

That position, despite allowing him to penetrate you the deepest, tended to exhaust you. San could tell it, by the way your movements slowed down compared to your need for release. Gladly, he had more strength than enough to take care of you.

He, himself, needed you to sob his name as he took you like an animal. San had nothing against slow, passionate sex but with you, it was simply impossible. You occupied his mind every second of the day. There were many nights he spent alone due to tours and busy schedules, sleepless nights, spent on quietly moaning out your name as his drenched cock throbbed in his hand. So when he finally had you in his arms, he let all the hunger out. San couldn't get enough of you. Calling it addiction would've been an understatement. You were his object of worship.

With the sudden overflow of motivation, he effortlessly changed your position that would allow him to give his goddess the finish she deserved. Your weakening body was laid down on its back. His pride did not slide out of you, even for a moment.

“Baby...” You called for him, but all you received was a glance, a momentary view of his eyes that were like the ones of a wild wolf.

San pulled your hips up to fuck you in the most suitable angle. His firm grasp kept you in place. The next goal was to set the pace that was going to have you cumming in seconds.

His elastic pelvis graced you with powerful yet skillful thrusts. His tip attacked your sensitive center, not letting it rest. You got even wetter, slicker to the point he didn't feel when he was going in and out of you.

“San, I'm…” You gasped, not able to make a sound. The control over your body belonged to San.

You broke beneath him.

The extreme heat accumulated in your abdomen exploded, flooding you from head to toes. Your sight blurred, heart pounded in your chest. The loud cries from the indescribable pleasure overcame any other sound in the room. There was no way to stop the severe trembling. It was too much. He was too much for your fragile, sensitive body to handle all this differently. You shattered into small pieces around him. And you would do it again and again.

San leaned above you with his hands on both sides of your head. You saw the sweat dripping down his neck and chest, and it drove you insane.

“My balls prepared a nice load for my moon.” He grunted with trouble. “And you will take it all. Every drop.”

His command, like a charm, had your cramping walls grab onto the base of his cock, their fast pulse forcely ripped the orgasm out of him.

“Ah fuck, fuck, fuck fuck!” He whined, shooting his rich load inside you. You accepted his throbs and spasms like a reward, with pure bliss.

San took his time, sliding in and out, painting your walls in white with his essence. Loud curses and moans leaving his throat were a reminder that you absolutely belonged to him.

“Fuck baby, the way you tighten around me when you cum...” He groaned, melting over the satisfying sensation. “Paradise.”

You embraced him with so much appreciation and love when he laid on you, forbidding him from exiting you.

He looked at your closed eyes and their teary corners. He studied your parted lips that he wanted to kiss constantly. You were so perfect, all wasted like that.

To calm you both down, he leaned to the side and began caressing your neck with lazy smooches. Your quiet, adorable little moans in response to his affection made the blood rush in his veins again.

“More.” He whispered desperately in your ear. “I need…more.”

He paid closer attention to your bare breasts. They called for him, bouncing slightly as he began to move his hips in circles. Your erected buds hardened, caught in his skillful lips. Body decided for you. It yearned for him once more.

“Baby…” You entangled your fingers in his black hair, feeling him slowly thickening inside you.

“There is still so much I wanna do to you. I'm so horny for you, baby.” His raspy, sultry tone was enough to make your pussy flutter. And he felt that with every ounce of his being. There was no better feeling than your desire for him.

The art on his back crossed your spinning mind. You found the culprit of this insatiability.

“Damn you, tattoo.” You giggled. “I really wanted to read that book tonight.”

He lined up his face with yours and gave you that well-known, disarming smile with dimples that had you and all his fans go weak in the knees.

Little did you know, the tattoo you were now cursing wasn't his "latest whim". The moment he saw your eyes shine at the drawn one, he immediately decided to have it forever engraved on his skin. Now San had his own little trick to keep your full attention on no one else but him.

@nateezfics @hazysan 💋

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez hard hours #atiny #ateez choi san #choi san #ateez san #san oneshot #san ff #san smut #ateez ff #ateez oneshot #san moon tattoo #ateez mama 2023 #san × reader #san x y/n #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #choi san smut

[deandoesthingstome]

Forest Fantasy

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x Reader

Summary: There's a new hotel in town. It can't possibly be what it's advertised as, can it?

Word Count: 6.5K

Warnings: 18+, NO MINORS, cunnilingus, p in v (missionary and doggy style), monster fucking (right?).

A/N: I was considering waiting until Oct, but it's a fucking Super Moon tonight so let's gooooo.....!!!!!

When The Fantasy Hotel opened up in town, you scoffed at first. "What’s with this name? What kind of depravity is this? Why can't folks just fuck in their own homes?" you thought to yourself. “At least they have someone to fuck. Why must they flaunt their relationships in my face this way?”

But then you heard the whispers. The suggestions. The innuendos. A few of your online friends, who know you'd been through a dry spell for some time now, had been asking if you'd given any thought to trying it out and you were...confused. They wouldn't say outright what they'd heard about the place, but curiosity got the better of you. 

You opened the incognito browser and typed the hotel name and were...shocked. Shocked at the images and the rave reviews. This hotel wasn't strictly for couples. As a matter of fact, it was designed for singles. And you shut your laptop quickly, convinced this wasn't for you and worried what your anonymous, online friends must think of you. You broached the subject delicately, so as not to offend in case maybe they didn't really know what they were asking about.

MNstrluvr: Come on. You've read the fics. You've liked and commented. Are you really saying you weren't into it? The idea of it?

sendmeanangel: I was sucked in by the phenomenal writing. You know me. I read anything if it's told well, descriptive, immersive, get you out of your head.

darkgothnightengale: This is THAT. But IRL. You're fucking lucky they picked your town to open the first one. You HAVE to try it and tell us how it is!!!

sendmeanangel: Have you seen the prices?

darkgothnightengale: We chipped in.

sendmeanangel:...

MNstrluvr: Come on! We're dying to know first hand from someone we actually know. Please. For science!

It took a few more gentle prods and pokes, with promises of no jokes unless you gave specific permission. And under NO CIRCUMSTANCES were your friends allowed to post anything that even vaguely alluded to the fact that you were trying the place out. Private DMs and Super Private Chat Room discussions only.

Your visit was booked. You opted for a brief stay only. Two hours. You couldn't bring yourself to book a longer stay and the theme you selected was one that allowed for less than full evenings. It was also the only slot available on the day you were able to ask off work. 

You showered and primped, pampering yourself with your favorite body wash and lotion, knowing how good it made you feel to be fresh and clean and smelling delicious. You checked your clothes and your makeup in the full length mirror by your apartment door, opting not to change for the fiftieth time since stepping out of the shower. A few final items stuffed into your travel satchel and the large floppy hat on your head you'd bought specifically to hide your face as you made your way into the hotel and you were off for your adventure, trepidation buzzing around your insides and threatening to derail your purpose.

Your friends had paid and you figured you were already past a normal hotel refund window, so paying them back would mean picking up a few extra shifts on top of your already hectic university schedule. Besides, you didn't want to disappoint them. They were so curious to know if the stories that were starting to pop-up on Tumblr did any justice to the experience. You really couldn’t imagine this was anything more than some extremely well put together costumes and perhaps use of silicon implements, which had you really wondering about sanitation, but whatever.

The cab pulled up at the hotel entrance and a petite woman with a pixie cut stepped forward to open the door and help you out. She gave a warm smile with no hint of derision or teasing about the hat as she welcomed you sincerely and led you through the front doors, depositing you at the registration desk.

"Enjoy your stay!" she beamed at you, with a conspiratorial wink before heading back out to, you assumed, await the next guest.

You called out a thanks after her, then turned to the front desk attendant, who welcomed you by name.

"You have the only check in slot at this time," he answered your unspoken question with a kind smile. "We stagger arrival on purpose to ensure privacy for our guests. Especially first time visits. We have you booked in the Deep Forest Suite for the next two hours, and it looks like you requested the basket add on. That will be waiting for you in the room. Since it is your first time, we just need you to sign a few waivers and I'll run through the hotel safety rules for you. A copy has also been sent to your email, if you want to check them during your stay. But also, rest assured, your host is well versed and knows exactly how to keep you safe. You are in good hands here, I promise."

Every word spoken carefully and with respect, every inflection designed to put your worries at ease. If you had butterflies going in, you'd never know it now. You had taken notice of the lush and inviting lobby, dark wood furniture covered in rich velvet, chandeliers and wall sconces casting a warm glow around you. There was nothing menacing or untoward, nothing like you had expected, even after seeing the interior photos online. You'd experienced marketing ploys before. This wasn't glue disguised as milk or fries on toothpicks to stand up straight in the box or a long angle shot of the tiniest pool ever. Everything so far was exactly as depicted and you were impressed.

Then you remembered the photo of your host and had to swallow hard. You had assumed it was a doctored image, maybe some unique lighting to draw attention. But if the decor was real, then maybe he was too. The rules were oddly specific for an experience with a guy in a costume.

Maybe everything you had assumed about the nature of this hotel was wrong. 

"Everything okay?" the clerk asked with a furrowed brow. "Is there something worrisome about the rules?"

"Oh. No. No everything is fine. I'm just..." you trailed off. Nervous wasn't the right word. Nor were you embarrassed, as you thought you would be. The door attendant, the desk clerk...neither had made you feel anything but welcome and safe and not self-conscious at all.

"It's perfectly reasonable to feel a little apprehension your first time. If it makes you feel better, you should know: you actually can opt out at any time. We do have to retain a portion of the room fee, but a partial refund is available. Should you change your mind."

"That's nice to know, thank you. I think I'll be okay."

"Then let's get you to your room,” he clapped his hands together with a mirth. “427. Elevator is down the hall and there are directional signs, but I'm happy to escort you if you'd like."

"I think I'll manage, but thank you."

As he placed the key in your possession and sent you on your way, the reality sunk in a little deeper. Weighed down by the heavy iron key in your hand as you rode the elevator to the fourth floor and stepped down the hall to your room, you could no longer deny what was about to occur.

You were headed into the wolf's den.

The door unlocked with a satisfying click as you turned the iron key. You were transported to a lush forest setting when you stepped into the room. Or as close as you could get indoors, anyway. A carpet of deep, soft green lay on the floor beneath your feet, and you immediately slipped out of your shoes to feel the cool material on your skin. It was impossibly silky, smooth, and comforting.

Large potted fir and pine plants lined the walls and stood in corners. At least a few held miniature deciduous trees and some with limbs stretching across the ceiling. You finally let your eyes fall on the chunky, four-poster bed, the legs, head- and foot-boards crafted of smooth finished logs you might find in a high-end cabin or ski chalet and covered in a thick feather mattress wrapped in luxurious blankets and piled high with pillows.

A picnic basket sat prim and proper on the coffee table nestled between two plump, overstuffed chairs and you had just reached out to peek beneath the deep red cloth when the door closed softly behind you and a throat cleared.

"I hope I haven't startled you."

You turned and gasped as you took in the sight of one of the largest, and, for lack of a better description because your brain was starting to fail you, manliest men you'd ever set eyes on. His photograph might have been deceptive, but only because it didn't do him justice. He wore a thick, blue cable knit sweater and dark gray cargo pants that seemed to mold around his thighs. He was barefoot, which surprised you a little, but then who were you to judge at the moment?

You caught his smirk as you lifted your gaze to appreciate the rugged beard and full head of chocolate curls that framed his face, offsetting mesmerizing blue eyes.

"I'm Walter," he offered you his hand as he spoke your name with a gentle growl. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You're not..." you stopped yourself, suddenly embarrassed at how eager you'd found yourself. "Forgive me. That may have been a rude way to start."

"It's okay," he chuckled. "This isn't the form you signed up for, but I've found it more enjoyable to at least meet in this state. If I bounded in here all claws and snarls, we wouldn't have a chance to speak first. And I prefer to have at least a quick chat, if that's okay with you."

"It's fine," you whispered, your throat dry though your mouth was watering.

Walter stepped past you and reached a large mitt into the basket to pull out a bottle of water.

"Would you like to talk with me a bit?" he asked, offering you the bottle. Your eyes lingered on the basket, though, curious what else might be in there. The amenity said “Fantasy Basket”, so it could have just been a riff on the hotel name, but still, you had assumed…

“Did you not get a chance to peek before I arrived?” he asked as you took a sip of water.

“No. Do you know what’s in there?”

“I do,” another chuckle, deeper and darker than before. “Do you want to know now, or later?”

“We don’t have a lot of time, do we?” you asked, suddenly aware and mentally kicking yourself for thinking you didn’t need more than a few hours to get the lay of the land. Literally, you snorted at your internal joke.

“Something funny?”

“Lay of the land,” you replied with a grin and as he laughed with you, you caught sight of his canines. They seemed a little longer than when you saw them in his first grin. At the moan that slipped from your throat, he darkened again.

“That it will be.”

You gasped and squeezed your thighs, clenching at the reverberation in his voice. Something had changed from even just the moment before when he’d entered the room. Aside from the physical appearance, you sensed a shift in the air, something wavering in the ether around you. A heat crept from your core to your cheeks, through your spine and settled into your chest. You were breathless.

“How do we…um, how does this start?”

“We’ve already started, haven’t we?” he replied, a little mysteriously. “Sit with me?”

What made you drop to the floor beneath you instead of onto the comfortable looking seat, you couldn’t say, but here you were resting back on your heels as you took another drink of water from the glass bottle in your hand.

“I was going to suggest the chairs, but if you prefer the ground, I’m happy to say I do too.”

Walter stepped forward and lowered himself to the ground beside you, one knee splayed wide and almost touching yours, the other knee bent with an elbow draped over it as he leaned toward you. You could swear you caught him sniffing the air.

“I don’t know what to say,” you spoke with caution, suddenly overwhelmed. The day was just becoming a series of flip-flops in your mind as you imagined yourself, sometimes bold and determined to experience what you could, then timid and nervous as the reality overcame you. Once at ease and open, now shy and reserved.

“That’s okay,” Walter replied. “The better for me to begin.”

Why did that sound like such a familiar phrase? You took another drink and nodded for him to continue.

“I’d like to continue our time together by undressing you, one way or another. You have a choice, which you can leave to me if you’d like. I can do it now, in this form,” he paused, cocked his head to one side, then the other as he cracked his neck. “Or I can shift, in your presence or not, and do it that way.”

What did he mean by “shift”? Surely, he must mean change. As in undress and don a mask. But then you remembered his teeth, somehow longer. And you thought about the subtle way the atmosphere seemed to shimmer and transport you and you wondered if he really did mean “shift.’

“That sounds like two choices,” you whispered and caught his grin, canines even longer than before.

“Perceptive. I like it. Need a few moments?”

“What happens after I’m…I mean, I know what happens, I guess… but just, like, how…” you trailed off, not really sure what you were asking.

“We’re playing a game here, really. That’s all. It can be as simple or intricate as you’d like, though, you’re right. Our time is ticking away.”

“You do it.” You rushed, barely letting him finish his response. 

“Here or…?”

“I’ll close my eyes.” The thought of watching his shift, though intriguing, also made you wonder if it would make you more nervous than you already suddenly found yourself again. Maybe it was better to just jump in and get started, as much as you were also enjoying speaking with Walter in his human form. 

“Why don’t you take the basket into the bathroom? Pick out whatever intrigues you for use and come out when you’re ready. I’ll shift before you return. Sound okay?”

You nodded and he helped you to stand, then handed you the basket and gently urged you toward the bathroom door. Before he let go of your arm, he stepped in close, slipping his hand over yours and pressing it to his chest as he tugged you toward him. 

“Do you mind if I give you one kiss this way before we meet next? You can say no, but it’s nice, I think, a good way to gauge your interest.”

Did he somehow think you weren’t interested? How had you hidden the drool from him? You’d been too quiet, clearly. Mesmerized by everything that had happened already in such a short time and you’d lost your voice, unable to truly communicate your desire. You were ruining everything, obviously.

“I’d like to kiss you very much,” you admitted, peering up into his eyes, which you now noticed were not the 100% blue you’d originally thought. Was this man really about to change shape? Did it matter? It didn’t matter in the least as far as how well he could kiss you, because while you were contemplating the genetics of the man in front of you, he was leaning down to capture your lips in what started as a chaste, closed mouth peck that grew steadily more intense as you felt his free arm slip up your back to settle a hand against the nape of your neck while yours slipped around his waist and urged him closer, as if you were guided by some unknown force. You felt his tongue lick along your bottom lip and you opened your mouth to him as if you’d known him your whole life.

With your hand still pressed against his sternum, you could feel his heart beat faster as each second passed and the kiss grew more heated. When he pulled away you actually whined.

“I’m glad to see you are interested,” he teased with a grin before he spun you toward the door again and pressed you inside. “Now hop on in and don’t take too long. I want to treat you for as long as I can.”

The bathroom was just as sumptuous as the main room. A dark tiled shower took up one entire wall of the room and you couldn’t tell if the color was black or just the deepest forest green you’d ever seen. Instead of a curtain or sliding door, a glass panel separated the shower from the rest of the room with an opening opposite the brass water valves to step in. What you imagined must be a rain shower head jutted out from the ceiling. You didn’t want to waste any more of your precious time, but wondered if there’d be any left to enjoy this shower when all was said and done. The rest of the bathroom fixtures and amenities would have to wait for inspection, since you needed to pay attention to your basket. You set it on the veined marble counter and finally lifted the cloth completely off. 

Only the cloth wasn’t exactly a cloth. It was a cape, tucked neatly on top of a few more bottles of water, a small loaf of bread, some cut cheeses and fruit in a covered bowl. And that was it for the tame picnic items.

You pulled a short, white peasant dress trimmed in lace and a red apron with black satin ribbon criss-crossing the front out of the basket, along with what appeared to be a pair of black fishnet stockings and thought of Walter’s comments. Were you expected to change or only if you wanted this part of the experience? Finally, you noticed a few heavy leather straps and as you pulled them from the basket you realized they must be meant as restraints, but for whom? You or him? You also noticed a distinct lack of silicon implements.

You heard a rustle of some sort outside the bathroom door, reminding you that Walter was waiting and time was fleeting and you really needed to make a decision about how you wanted to enter the room again. Walter had suggested you take the basket with you. And he was going to be … different when you saw him again, wasn’t he? And you had asked him to undress you. Maybe he anticipated that undressing would be … vigorous. What if this costume was meant for that? You had brought a change of clothes but didn’t think you’d be leaving here with one less outfit in your already sparse wardrobe.

Your mind made up, you stripped quickly and donned the outfit, amazed at how simple the apron was to slip over your head, then pull the satin ties tight with your own hand. You always imagined an intricate article of intimate clothing like this would take so much more effort. Maybe it would be something you’d feel comfortable and confident enough to do outside this hotel someday.

For now, you were drawn back into the moment with a thud on the door and a low growl that sounded like “Come out.”

You finished dressing, wrapping the cape around your neck and drawing up the hood. You still weren’t wearing shoes, so you could feel the ground through the wide gaps of the fishnets as you stepped back into the room, picnic basket on your arm. It felt different. More uneven. Crunchy leaves crackled beneath as you stepped onto what now felt like real grass, fading to dirt, fading to ground littered with pine needles and dry leaves. Ferns peaked out from the tree trunks. And a supermoon shone overhead.

This was not your room. It was on the other side of the bathroom door, to be fair, but this was not the room you’d stepped into 20 minutes ago. And yet, how could it be anything but? A twig snapped to your left and drew your attention as you realized you didn’t see Walter. You’d thought he’d be right outside the door, waiting for you, maybe in a chair, maybe on the bed. But you didn’t see him, only his clothes folded neatly on the table where your picnic basket had been. Suddenly, you felt a rush of air next to you.

“What are you doing here, little one?”

You had a hard time deciding what to focus on as the words were spoken. The actual choice of the words themselves, which harkened back to that story that drifted through the tendrils of your mind, whispering “You know me?” Or the rough, low way those words tumbled from him, hungry and full of want. Was this the game?

“Your voice sounds so strange, Walter. Is everything okay?” you asked, plucking the words from the cobwebs in your head.

“I think I just swallowed some water wrong.”

You took a deep breath and turned, ready to catch him, ready to see. He was glorious and you were awestruck. It took a few moments of taking in the sight of his body, arms slightly elongated, up on the balls of his feet, hair that looked like chocolate silk covering his body but not in a way that you couldn’t see the tone and definition of his skin underneath, nose and mouth pulled forward, ears up. Ears up.

“Walter, what big ears you have,” you cooed, reaching up to touch them, though waiting for the assent in his eyes. When you could see he would allow it, you brushed your fingers along the back side, then scratched a little in the crease where they met his head and he closed his eyes for a moment. His eyes.

“Walter, what big eyes you have,” your voice a bit lower, sultry, as if the confidence you’d lost earlier had found its way back to you. He opened them and you’d have sworn sparks flew as his deep blue eyes pierced yours before you saw him drag his gaze over your face, down your neck, back and forth between your breasts, unfortunately still covered. He must have felt the same because he didn’t linger on the clothes, but when he reached your thighs, clad in the black hose he snarled, baring his sharp teeth. Sharp teeth.

“Walter,” you teased. “What big teeth you have.”

“The better to eat you with, my dear,” he growled and pounced, swatting the picnic basket to the ground before lifting you by the waist and hoisting you over his shoulder. He only needed a few steps before he could toss you back onto the plump bed. Your cape hood dropped off your head and your dress skirt hiked up a little, but not like it mattered. 

Walter was between your legs, nudging your thighs wide with his own as he folded himself over you, arms caging your head. With a snarl, he began to nuzzle down your neck, sniffing along the way.

“You smell good,” he grunted as he drew a paw over your chest. “Smelled you from the moment I walked in the room, but I wanted to be closer. Like this.”

You peered down towards his hand and noticed the sharp claw of what should be an index finger drawn back and ready to slice through the black satin down your breast. The apron draped to your sides as easily as you’d put it on, practically one handed, and it was gone now. You didn’t really care if the white dress met the same fate as the apron, but the cape was quality. Surely there was no need to ruin it. You reached to untie the bow at your neck just as Walter sliced easily through the front of the dress. The rip as he reared back and grabbed a side of split fabric in both hands to finish the job was satisfying. 

Since you’d decided to just leave off the bra and panties for the sake of time, you were now left like an unwrapped package on the bed, intricately woven stretchy black thread the only thing sitting between you and Walter. Your chest was heaving and so was his. And since he was now up on his knees instead of bent over you, you had a chance to glance away from his face toward his hips and you had to bite your lip. 

He was huge. Like, possibly not gonna fit huge. He must have seen the hesitation on your face.

“Don’t worry,” came the sound as he dropped back off the bed, knelt on the floor, hooked his arms under your thighs, and tugged you to the edge of the bed. You felt his nuzzle against the skin of your belly, the warm, wet air of his exhale trailing down your side, into the crook of your thigh, and finally settling right on top of your cunt. He was so deft as he slipped a finger into your slit, then cut the thread between your legs as he pulled the finger free, widening the hole to give him greater access.

The noises you made could absolutely be interpreted as nothing other than consent, but you wanted to make sure he didn’t stop, as the contract said he could if he had any doubt about your permission. There could be no doubt.

“Please, don’t stop. Put your mouth on me. Make me cum.”

There was the slightest of huffs, as if he was smiling the briefest of victory smiles, before his assail began. It was measured, it was slow, it was a thorough gathering of information. It was infuriating. As you were about to open your impatient mouth and remind him that the clock was ticking the minutes away, like the insufferable bitch she was, he shifted tactics.

Every little nuance he’d taken note of, every amount of pressure and length of lick that produced some desired effect was now fortified. This was the only thing he did. And at a brisker rate, as if he’d calculated the pleasure you’d derived at the low speed and determined the exponential pleasure you’d get from the real speed. 

They had not put mathematical genius in his bio, but here you were getting eaten alive better than anyone had ever done it before. And you dared say, maybe after. This could get expensive.

When you couldn’t take it anymore, when you were afraid the remaining time had to be expired because you kept awakening from mind bending bliss to find him still lapping and sucking at your pussy as if he just got started and how long had it been, my gods, you grabbed hold of the curly hair around his head and tugged as you begged.

“Stop. Stop,” you were breathless. “Walter, please stop. It’s so good. It’s too good. I don’t want you to stop but we have to stop. My time must be up, I have to go.”

His laugh wasn’t cruel, but it was sinister “We have time. Don’t worry. I made sure.”

You didn’t dare look at the clock. Your gaze was locked into his anyway, whites of his eyes replaced by a deep, lustful red. He held your stare while dragging his tongue and snout along your heated skin.

He slipped an arm under your waist, tugging your torso in one direction as he stepped a hind leg up to nudge your hips in the other. He settled in between your legs once he had you parallel to the edge of the bed. You threw your arms over your head as he caressed your outer thigh, coaxing it around his waist while bending to savor the scent you'd released for him. When he was satisfied, he moved again to climb over your body.

You were aching for him, arching into the heat radiating from the closeness of his form. As you reached for his neck to pull him even closer, you realized why he'd kissed you before the turn. It would be awkward now to put your mouth on his. The shape didn't lend itself to an easy slotting of lips against one another, though you yearned for the recent memory.

As if he could sense your desire, he leaned in and nuzzled against your neck, behind your ear, then along your throat. He pushed your chin up with his muzzle to bare your pulse to him and then he nipped.

You whimpered at the sensation and even as he licked to soothe it, he did it again, a little harder, just shy of breaking skin.

"Please," you begged, eager to feel the power, though you knew it was strictly forbidden and you trusted he did as well.

His growl was full of bravado, as if he was proud to have you begging him to break the rules.

"You wanna get me in trouble?" Walter grumbled in your ear as he ran his paws up and down your body, dragging his claws carefully over your skin. He snarled when they snagged on the stockings and looked to you for approval before he tore them away from your legs completely.

"If you can't bite me, then at least mate me," you pleaded, knowing full well he couldn't do that either but you were too far gone to care. It would at least get him thinking about sinking his cock in you one way or another.

He reached for the drawer of the heavy wooden night stand and produced a few foil packets, dropping all but one on the bedside table and handing you the last, prompting an eyebrow raised in question from you. His response was measured, as if he struggled to control something deep inside.

"You have another choice to make," he began with a low rumble as he sought understanding in your eyes. "I can't mate you directly and I'm sure you know that. I have access to...toys, equipment that would allow you to feel that sensation, but it won't be me. If instead, you're willing to use protection with me, I will gladly fill you up."

If he wouldn't go bare, so be it. He wiggled his claws as you attempted to hand him the packet, sure you'd make a debacle of trying to sheath the monster between his legs.

"Just to be safe, you'd better do it. These are pretty sharp. That ok?" he grunted at you in question.

You nodded and scooted out from under him, up the bed so you had a little leverage. He kept a knee on the mattress as he stood tall from his other hind leg still on the floor and waited for you to tear the package and roll the condom down his cock.

"Is there anything special I need to do to make it fit?" you asked, vaguely aware of how ridiculous the question sounded but eager nonetheless to get past this part and onto the one where Walter would be deep inside you, filling every inch, stroking every wall. You'd already seen the size, but forgotten your initial trepidation thanks to the glorious head he'd given you.

Surely, no standard drugstore rubber would cover it. His huff was kind, and you could swear you saw the twinkle of a smile in his eyes as he answered.

"We bring them in special. They're designed for a ... more substantial, and sometimes even exotic, need. But if you know how to use one, you know how to use them all. Still alright?"

You nodded with a smile, and set to work, letting the heft and feel of his member draw you back into your haze of lust and desire now that logistics were out of the way. You worked the rubber over his girth and found yourself imagining what it would be like to have him split you in two. You couldn't wait and he could tell.

"So eager," he grumbled as he grasped your shoulders and eased you onto your back.

You thought about trying to tame your excitement, but to what end? For a brief moment the thought that you surely didn't have much more time left flitted through your mind and then you let the excitement and anticipation take over.

"Please take me now," you begged and captured the side of your lower lip with your teeth as you once again pictured the incoming pleasure.

"If anything feels uncomfortable, you can tell me to stop," he murmured in your ear as he lowered himself over you. "Say 'woodsman' and I stop. Understood?"

He pulled back to find your reply and when he had his confirmation he didn't hold back any further. As if no time had passed between when he had coaxed so much moisture from your core and now, you were still dripping for him when he grabbed ahold of his thick member and placed the tip at your entrance.

Any other man would have slid in easily, but Walter wasn't any other man and he knew it. Once the tip breached your aching pussy, he carefully nudged a knuckle alongside, pressing in and loosening the way. You spread your legs wider for him and willed your walls to relax, though they wouldn't.

Remembering what he said during the exchange about the condom, you pulled a hand off his shoulder, down his furry chest, and in between your bodies, reaching for the spot where you were connected. The growl he let out when he realized what you were doing was invigorating and spurred you on.

You watched him bend his head down so he could take in the sight of you stroking him a few times before you began to massage the folds at your entrance. You let your fingers tease your clit and when you couldn't stand it any longer, a time which you were sure had already passed, you split your index and middle finger and gently coaxed your opening wider.

As he felt the ease, Walter sank ever deeper until he was bottomed out and pressed as far in as he could. You saw stars, immediately, and loosened even more, coating him with warmth and juices that helped his movements.

In another time, with another man, that may have been it. Most men, if they even took the time to draw an orgasm from you through the missionary position, would collapse in almost relief as soon as you came, spending their load and ending the night then and there.

But you'd already established Walter was no mere man. He took your sigh as his cue to help you feel that way again and again. And when he couldn't tear another orgasm from you in this position, no matter how hard he pumped or how high he got your legs over his head, he pulled out and flipped you to all fours and slammed back in from behind, eager to wrench at least one last shout of pleasure from your lips before he spilled his seed in the condom and sent you to your belly with a slap on your ass as he withdrew from you entirely.

"Am I charged extra for that?" you mustered the energy to ask once he'd returned from the bathroom. You peeled one exhausted eye open to see he was back to his human form, though still completely unclothed and you wondered if anyone was lucky enough to enjoy that experience as well.

"Sorry?" he asked, a quizzical look on his face.

"Does this place charge by the volume? Was there a limit to the number of orgasms allowed? I imagine it has to be like the extra mini-bar charges they tack onto your bill when you check out of any other hotel, right?"

His laugh was deep and infectious. It reverberated through the room and your chest as he climbed into the bed beside you with the bowl of cheese and fruit in one hand and the bread in the other.

"We don't have a limit. You can have as many as you want. Care for a snack? Get your energy back?” Walter took the time to feed you small bites while your boneless body slowly recovered.

"We have to be so far over my time limit. Am I about to turn into a pumpkin now?" you asked after swallowing a final bite of bread.

Walter laughed again and it warmed your heart. Maybe he was just a really good actor, but nothing so far had rang false, so why would he try to fake this? He thought you were funny.

"No, nothing so drastic. But if you do want to rinse off before checkout, you should get a move on. I could carry you if you're still not up to moving just yet?"

You nodded, and as if you weighed nothing, Walter lifted you from the bed and deposited you in the shower cabin, away from the shower head while he fiddled with the water faucet. Once the steam began to rise, he pulled you in with him and helped you lather up and rinse off, careful to keep your hair away from the spray as best he could. Then he dried you off with a fluffy towel and helped you dress in your extra set of clothes, before tucking the cape in your bag with your original outfit.

"It's part of the basket fee," he answered your unasked question with a ridiculous wink. "If you book it again, they'll give you a discount, but you'll have to remember to bring it with you."

As you stepped out of the bathroom, the room again appeared as it did when you first entered what felt like hours ago. Surely more than two. Walter could sense your confusion.

“The hotel has some special features we don’t actually advertise,” he offered, as he pulled on his pants. “We use them at our discretion, but it means you get an experience unlike others. This room, for example, truly can transform into a deep forest. And I like to stretch the time here, especially for newcomers. When you walk out into that hall, it’ll be two hours since your arrival. We’ve been here for longer though. But do me a favor, wouldja? Keep that to yourself?” 

You nodded and smiled, appreciative of his special treatment, then took one last look around the room to make sure you hadn't forgotten anything. Walter walked you to the door and gave you a final kiss goodbye.

“I do hope everything was to your satisfaction. Hopefully, you’ll come back sometime,” he grinned at you as you stumbled backwards down the hall, not wanting to turn away from his gorgeous face. You were absolutely going to figure out a way to pick up some extra shift and make your way back to this hotel again if it killed you.

Bonus Edit: Absolutely GORGEOUS headers made for me by my wonderful friend in fic @geralts-yenn:

Everything HC Taglist: (as always, let me know if you want on or off)

@sillyrabbit81 @mayloma @geralts-yenn @raccoon-eyed-rebel @fvckinghenrycavill @kebabgirl67 @beck07990 @itsrubberbisquit @sweetdreamsofgelato @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @alexakeyloveloki @marantha @aireraume @angelmather1 @lizzystuffsthings @enchantedbytomandhenry @omgkatinka @littlefreya @avengersfan25 @just-chirpin @thesaucynomad @valacirca @henryownsme @summersong69 @foxyjwls007

Special tag: @kittenofdoomage (cause sometimes you love my stuff and this one's a monster fucker lol!)

Werewolf!walter only (if you asked on the teaser):

@ellethespaceunicorn (hope this is okay! Tag me in whichever HC character werewolf you end up with!) @juliaorpll78 @martha-oi @cardierreh15 if you asked and aren't here, Tumblr won’t let me tag you. Sorry!

#walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall x reader #werewolf!walter x reader #walter marshall #werewolf!walter #spoopy season #forest fantasy #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #could be a series #who knows? #mine #deandoesthingstome

[thevirgincherry]

RIGOR MORTIS !

ft. og4 leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. las plagas!reader, he kills you, technically snuff ig but wasn’t intended oops, gore, canon-typical violence, reader is infected and out of it so she can’t really consent, dub-con, non-con, p in v, choking/asphyxiation, strangulation

note. god im plagued by writers block and it’s killing me it’s like walking on shattered glass rn. umm please ignore any mistakes, not very fond on this but haven’t posted in a bit :3 um it’s quite short. rbs are always appreciated :3 instead of asking for a part 2 please just tell me something nice.. feedback is really appreciated <3 comms are open! info in my pinned :3

Leon seeks refuge in what looks to have once been a humble abode. Now only a shack wearing a shroud of all things dead and rotten remains. Foetid water has soaked him to the bone, it seeps into the thick leather of his combat boots, leaves his socks soggy. He really hates that. Leon can handle cerebrospinal fluid leaving a sticky film on the toe of his boots, the blood caked beneath his fingernails is something he considers normal, but wet socks are a total inconvenience, it’s a shortcut to trench foot.

The hollow skulls of small critters occupy the corners, the cobwebs have cobwebs, the air is stagnant and stinking. Not of rot, but of sickness. A gaping wound crawling with infection, bacteria settling in the crevices of his mind, squirming like fat, juicy maggots—

Crack!

It’s a man, he was a man, now he’s a boneless lump of flesh, his spinal cord snapped under the weight of Leon’s boot. His yellowed teeth glisten under the golden warmth of a single lantern. Leon’s defence is choreographed at this point, a swift kick to intercept an impending strike, then his boot makes mincemeat of their brains.

When he takes a step back to review his current affair, it’s not so bad, certainly not Raccoon City. Leon would take a million murderous Spanish grandparents over a single zombie. Zombies are plain nasty, not a single limb intact, oozing pustules that peel back to reveal purpling flesh infested by larvae. They’re fuckin’ ugly. Slow and bloated and ugly. A sight no human being should see.

On the wall, there’s a shattered, grimy mirror. Leon sees the ghost of a boy staring back at him. Unwashed hair hanging limp, cheekbones carved out, his skin alabaster like the blocky lettering stitched into his uniform. R.P.D. it reads, muddied by blood and guts and chunks of vomit. All the good shit. He hasn’t grown into his body yet, the steel of his gun is cool on his temple and he’s young and these are all important things to know. In his arms is something small and lightweight, a bloodied little girl, leading him to a pyrrhic victory.

The floorboards groan under the weight of a pair of feet that don’t belong to him, the threat isn’t imminent. You don’t charge at him, no, it’s shambling he can only describe as zombie-like, dragging your bare feet like it hurts to lift them off the ground. Like you’re waterlogged and ready to pop.

You were pretty, he’s sure, a real looker. You’re pretty now, just not in your entirety. Strings of reddish muscle keep the fatty flesh of your right tit hanging on for dear life. Like an Amazonian woman. There’s no rot, no sign of decay, simply an act of self-mutilation.

Now, some might call him a pervert, but Leon’s a self-proclaimed iconoclast. And you, swaying from side to side in your torn linen nightdress, the skeletal pendant of Los Iluminados around your neck like a disfigured cross, draped in a veil of white that’s close enough to holy - it’s worth ruining. Santa Maria di Plagas or whatever.

He realises a few shattered bones have you walking funny, circles you easily and heads into the room you exited. The bed sheets are rumpled in unrest, he sits, there’s a hairline fracture between the two of you. The lantern light bares all, the white of your dress becomes gossamer-thin, he makes out your shape beneath the blood-soaked cloth that moulds to the shape of your torso, the smooth dip of your waist, a soft sinkage where the fabric clings to your belly button.

Leon has seen far worse. Can you blame a guy for getting hard at the sight of a real girl? In his line of work, he’s neck deep in pounds of flesh that spew pus and gore from each virus-clogged abscess. The layer of dirt on your skin does not deter him, that tit hanging by a tissuey thread, swinging back and forth like your necklace is child’s play to him. ‘Cause Leon’s a real man. The princely type.

(He’s anything but. One girl’s knight in shining armour is a monster under the bed for another. It’s not like you can complain, you’re quite the monster yourself.)

Hang in there Ashley. He’ll be there soon, but he’s got to do this. This is completely and utterly necessary. Hunnigan doesn’t need to know why he’ll be unreachable for a good thirty minutes or so. Less probably. ‘Cause your body is hot, clammy with fever, and that means your pussy is even hotter.

Something… Something… Plagas… Something… Lord Saddler…

Your mumbling is constant. Leon will have to do something about that. You gnash your teeth at him when you approach, held back only by the sluggishness that comes with, like, brainwashing cultish parasites.

“Sorry, sweetheart, no entiendo.” Leon loops a worn piece of rope around your neck. Ain’t that handy? Found it hung on your assumed-to-be father’s tool belt. Used for leading curly little lambs to the sacrificial altar. He strokes the underside of your chin, and you bare your teeth like a wild dog, albeit slowly. A late reaction. No fair, it’s like someone’s knocked you around already, who got here before him?

Getting his dick out at a time like this in a place like this, it’s not smart. Sneaky bugs could use his urethra as a water slide. A menacing minibeast might latch onto his balls pincher-first. However, needs are needs, and nothing gets in the way of Leon’s dick, not even a kidnapped First Daughter could stop the force of nature that is his boner.

With ease, he pushes you onto the ground. Not the bed. If you behave like an animal then he’ll have to fuck you like one. Plus, Leon’s not quite sure he trusts those sheets, at least the rusty nails on the floorboards are visible to the naked eye. Tetanus won’t be a nasty surprise, just a momentary lapse in judgement.

Your body contorts when he pulls the rope, back taking on a feline shape, spine bending inwards and your hips up. Puppetry is easier than it looks. The hem of your dress lifts to reveal your leaking chasm of a pussy. Better than nothing. Not like he’s eating it either way.

One hand on the rope, the other on his belt buckle, he lowers his jeans enough to pop his dick out. “Stay still, honey.” He instructs, but it’s like talking to a brick wall, or to a person who doesn’t understand a lick of English.

Leon chokes you with the rope. “I’ll only be a minute, sweetheart,” he coos, a tender kiss that he regrets merely seconds later placed on your shoulder.

He grips the base of his cock, the fat tip is red and leaky, precum bubbling like your foaming mouth. Leon’s too hard. His dick is totally upright, the soft curve pointing towards the ceiling, a thumb comes to press down on the tip, using it to guide himself into your pussy.

“Oh, there you go, honey, yeah, there you go.” His hold on the rope loosens, still firm enough to keep you in place, but now at least there’s oxygen flowing to your parasite-addled brain. “You feel that?”

Leon’s dick stretches you to the point of no return. He’s broken you in. Better off him than any of those grotesque old men. You’re a virgin surely, so it’s very considerate of him to fuck you before you die. No one should die a virgin, that’s cruel, it’s inhumane.

You thrash wildly, grunting each time his hips smack into the fat of your ass, he can’t tell if you’re enjoying it— You better be fuckin’ enjoying it. Know how risky this shit is? Fuck, what if you had a mutated cunt or something. Jagged teeth waiting to clamp down on a big fat dick and tear it straight off. He really needs to start thinking with his brain and not his cock. The thing just doesn’t shut up.

When he cums, the rope is tight around the column of your neck— It would be your hair, but he fears it might fall straight from your scalp in nasty, matted clamps. Your body rears like a wild Mustang, he gathers the rope and it wraps around his fingers until your back is flush to his chest and you grasp for something, anything— Eyes rolled so far back he can see the milky whites, and then he gives one last tug to make sure you’re stuck in that state. Mid-orgasm. Eyes in the back of your skull, back arched, pussy dripping with his load. Cute. He wishes rigor mortis set in right now so that you don’t fall slack into a heap of red and white when he lets go.

Leon leaves by barrelling out of a window like a true gentleman, the microscopic shards splinter your skin. He takes that pendant with him, tucks it in his back pocket, could be useful at some point in time.

It’s only when the blood in his veins runs black and viscous does Leon notice something is severely wrong. His blood flow slows to a halt, clots forming in every important artery. Mucousy black sludge leaks from his nose. An intense pain cuts through his senses with deadly precision, a surge of discomfort that has him kneeling over, hands on his knees in a clumsy attempt to steady himself.

His hands clasp around Ada’s neck— The rope. He pulls it tighter and tighter to get closer and closer. Her voice is distorted by the fog that clouds his brain, it creates a hazy barrier, mutes the world around him. A knife lodges in the meaty flesh of his thigh, he topples backwards when her knee makes contact with his groin.

“That bitch gave me crabs.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He brushes her off. “I said, uh, Lord Saddler almighty.” Leon’s heard that enough times to repeat it back to her rather fluently. Nice save.

“Right,” Ada says, unconvinced.

#leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic

[leonw4nter]

The Cotton Candy Haze Mirrors The Warmth Of Your Gaze

RE2R!Leon x F!Reader

Coming back home from working 4 shifts in a single day for the fifth time this week, you went home looking and feeling like a hot mess– ponytail looking like you got into a fight and lost, eyes sunken in with dark bags underneath them, and pimples breaking out in several spots in your face and back. Despite how much your body craved a deep and restful sleep, you couldn’t give yourself that because grad school, especially medical school, won’t pay its own tuition along with living expenses. Juggling 4 odd jobs, along with working overtime for the sake of getting extra pay is really taking a toll on you: you’ve been cranky lately and you haven’t found proper time to be studying for the upcoming board exams, resorting to bringing all your books and notes in your bags so you’ll have time to read in case you’re free while still at work. Hell, you haven’t even found time to take Leon on dates due to how hectic and overwhelming everything is; you’re certain that the last time you and Leon spent some quality time cuddling together was three months ago. An icky guilt seeps into your weary bones, especially since Leon’s also taking up some jobs on the side to help with your expenses and along with his police academy’s costs but he still manages to make you meals, remind you to drink water, and drive you to wherever you need to be. With a frustrated groan, you fumble through your bag to look for your keys but unfortunately you couldn’t find it and deduced it to your forgetfulness, having left it at the bowl by the door back inside.

“Fucking hell,” you bitterly hiss. You were just about to knock at a neighbor’s door for the spare key you handed them but then you suddenly remembered that you haven’t had the chance to give them an emergency spare key yet since you were procrastinating on it, much to your disadvantage now. Exasperation causes tears to flood your waterline, your vision going blurry as you reach to contact Leon to tell him that you’ve been locked out but you forgo it, thinking that he’s probably had a long day as well and that he doesn't need another thing to be bugging him. You sink down by the door, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweatshirt before taking your notes out to start reviewing again since you’re free and waiting for him to come home. A few minutes pass and you hear the pad of footsteps nearing you. Swiftly, you place your notebook back in your bag and sling it over your shoulder, getting up and dusting your legs before seeing Leon’s kind smile beaming down on you like the first few rays of the sunlight on a new day.

“Hey, baby.” you softly mumble as you place a kiss on his cheek.

“Hi,” he says as he pulls you in for a quick hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Got locked out. Forgot to bring the keys. I also didn’t ask the neighbors for the keys since I didn’t give them spares yet,” you quietly admit. You look down at your feet, shame creeping in. “Leon’s had a long day and here you are, worrying him even more. Great job, Y/N. Real girlfriend of the year,” you glumly think to yourself.

“Oh– I forgot to tell you this too but I already gave the spares to the neighbors. You’ve been really busy lately so I decided to do it instead,” he says. “Sorry about that. It just slipped from my mind.”

“No. It’s fine, it really is.” you say with a tired yet genuine smile.

Leon fishes out his key from his backpack before slotting it into the keyhole and unlocking the door, opening it and letting you head in first. You slip out of your work shoes, placing your bag on the couch and collapsing right beside your things with a loud sigh.

“I’m so tired with everything,” you loudly groan as you cover your face with both hands and proceed to groan a little more. Leon walks over to the back of the couch, wrapping his arms from behind you and placing comforting kisses to your hair.

“Tell me what’s going on. I’m just going to sit here and listen,” he softly whispers as he lightly pats your shoulder.

With a deep sigh, you ramble on about everything that’s bothering you. Tears prick your eyes again and there’s more than one occasion to your voice breaking. He stays quiet, arms still wrapped around as he nods to whatever you say, occasionally pressing his lips into your head as you vent about whatever.

“I can’t afford a review center and I don’t have time to study before the board. I’m going to fail, Leon. I won’t end up somewhere,” you finish. You recline back into his touch, feeling like a ton of bricks has been lifted from your shoulders. Leon unwraps his arms around you for a bit, walking over to your place on the couch before pulling you in for a more proper hug as he delicately sways you from side to side.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s fine,” he softly mumbles. “You’ve been working and studying so hard. I can see all the effort you’re putting into making sure you reach your dreams and trust me, you will pass the board. You make time to study each day and I can see that you’ve got the drive to succeed, you can do this. Believe in yourself as much as I believe in you and your capabilities, okay?”

You sniffle, hugging back and staying silent for a bit before your shaky and slightly squeaky voice speaks up, the sound slightly muffled since you buried your face into the comforting scent of your boyfriend’s sweatshirt.

“But Leon, there’s more people who're smarter than me and they’re going to pass and I’m not going to. What if I’m not enough?” you say, which causes Leon to pull away from the hug and cup your cheeks in between his big and calloused hands.

“You’re going to pass. You’re smart, you’re my smart girl. There’s no way you’re not going to pass, okay? You will be a licensed nurse and you will reach your dreams. You’re more than enough for this and for me. Don’t let anyone and anything tell you that you’re not enough because you are. More than you’ll ever know.” He finishes with a small kiss to the tip of your nose before moving to your lips. Your own hand climbs up to lightly wrap around his wrists, maintaining comfortable eye contact.

“I’m sorry,” you softly tell him, your words coming out like a whisper.

“For what?” Leon says with a surprised smile. “You didn’t do anything wrong, love.”

“Yes I did, Leon.” you bashfully respond. “I haven’t been giving you much attention lately. You also do many things for me like driving me to school and doing my laundry but I don’t find the time to repay you. Just earlier, I got you worried because I was sitting just right outside the door when you already have a lot on your own plate. I’m just adding to that list of things that keeps you up at night and–”

Leon cuts you off by placing his index finger against your lips to shush you before gently moving you to be laying on his lap as he plays with your hair and scratches your scalp in the way he knows you love.

“Nope. I understand that you’ve gotta give a hundred percent of your attention to your studies, especially that your future job concerns human lives. I’m just doing my job by being here for you as your number one fan and making sure you still take care of yourself. I’m busy too but you’re not bothering me or causing me more stress, just the opposite actually. Now just lay on my lap and let me make you feel a lot better, yeah?” he softly says as he continues massaging your head, prompting your eyelids to drape over your eyes as you sigh in satisfaction.

“Unless you wanna have dinner first–”

“No. Let’s just stay like this for a bit.”

He continues to rake his fingers through strands of your hair, his fingers gently scratching your scalp and applying a good amount of pressure to your temples in order to effectively massage them. Most of the time, it’s you who’s giving Leon scratches and massages but it feels great to be at the receiving end of some pampering and loving from your boyfriend. He stops for a little bit, your eyes flying open to see Leon reach over to get a blanket to wrap you in it. Snuggling into the blanket, he continues his soothing ministrations to your head. You swear that if you were a cat and Leon was petting you in this way, you would purr so loud.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

You finally finished taking your board exams about a month ago and ever since then, you would eagerly open up your laptop or phone just to look at whether or not you passed. Each time, your fingers would wobble and your palms would sweat to the point you frequently wipe them on your pants so your phone wouldn’t slip out of your grip. Your thoughts would shift between the confidence that you passed since you reviewed and studied and practiced so much and the fear of failure, the icky feeling of being a failure with no direction in life eroding at the happiness you built for yourself but luckily Leon was always there to keep those crusty, self-deprecating tendencies at bay.

“You passed!” Leon practically screeches. With quivering hands he shoves his phone back into his pocket and lunges at you, almost toppling over the tables as he wraps you around in one of the best hugs he’s ever given you.

“Huh? What?” is all you could muster in this state of shock and surprise.

He pulls away and opens up your laptop, going straight to your email and the school portal where they released the list of passers. Sure enough, your last name is listed.

“My girl is going to become a licensed nurse!” he shouts with the proudest, most vibrant smile you’ve ever seen him smile. 

Tears of pure, unadulterated joy spilled from your waterline and flowed down your cheeks, a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins whilst also feeling relief at the fact that you passed. Now it’s your turn to lunge at Leon, springing at him and tackling him with your arms tightly enveloped on his larger frame as you jump up and down, toppling over into the couch and hugging him even tighter due to the renewed sizzle of joy running through your person. After a few moments of laying on top of each other and smiling and pressing kisses into each other’s face, you get up and phone friends and family to tell them that you managed to pass the boards. Leon called up his own friends Ethan and Chris to tell them of your results, sending pictures. You hear Leon and his friends giggling on the other side of the room, squealing and giggling like school girls. His face, the tips of his ears, and neck are flushed a vibrant pink the more he talks about how proud he is of his girl. Many times he showed the email and your name on the passers list to his friends, cheers and congratulations being the reception whenever he did, much to his massive delight. Finally, you finish up phoning friends and family and go to Leon, pressing a passionate kiss to his soft baby lips upon his soft baby face. He could feel you grinning against him with each gentle smack; Leon quite never figured out if the beauty of your lips was more of their softness or their association with whatever words you spoke, which always pulled him under a spell he didn’t wish to surface from. You pull away, gazing deeply into eyes painted a soothing blue watercolor hue and not wanting to break this moment of peace, the sensations feeling intimate in a way more than the physical contact of bodies.

“I’m so proud of my girl. My smart, amazing, lovely, sweet girl who will be a nurse soon,” he softly whispers.

“I’m proud of myself too, Leon. Thank you for supporting me, helping me out, and being there for me when I needed you most. I couldn’t have done this without you,” you sincerely thank him.

“You’re a strong independent woman, Y/N. You don’t need anyone to get you somewhere because you carry yourself with an air of confidence and independence but I’m very thankful and lucky you let me in your life.”

“Gosh, Leon. You’re going to make me cry but thank you. I mean it so much. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“So… should we eat out? I’ve got some change to spare.”

“It’s on me. I’ve been saving up, I have a surprise for you but it won’t hurt to celebrate my Y/N’s passing.”

You smack his chest playfully, the blond laughing at his little joke.

“You made it sound like I died!”

“Oops. Looks like it might result in a grave misunderstanding.”

“God, let’s just get ready for dinner.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Leon's POV

I took her out to dinner that night, picking out a nice Korean grill for us to dine in since she enjoys Korean grills so much. Nothing felt more satisfying than seeing all her efforts pay off; all those readings and memorizations giving her the success she rightfully deserves. Right now, I’m seeing her devour her entire plate and in the blink of an eye she’ll get up to get seconds but I don’t mind; seeing her eat good food and indulge makes me feel happy. I feel satisfied, as if I don’t need to eat because her happiness is enough to keep me going for days on end. We’ve both decided to keep working some more jobs to be able to have more savings to add in our accounts so we could afford to move into a better place, probably nearer to Raccoon City since I’m going to be stationed there by next month. She doesn’t know this but I managed to prepare a little surprise for her, which is a 2 day camping get-away; deep in the forest, surrounded by trees, the stars shining above us, and the cold weather. She deserves a little break, we both do, so I planned this. I’m free for the next few days too so this is going to be perfect, I’m grinning just at the thought of it.

“What’re you smiling about?” she asks, but it comes out sounding a little difference since she’s got some food in her mouth.

“Nothing. You look beautiful tonight,” I respond, which isn’t exactly a lie. The buzz of glee just gives her this glow that makes me want to get on my knees and worship her like the goddess she is.

She gets back to eating, doing a little happy dance every now and then. She’s also insisted on feeding me, making sure I finish at least 3 plates because “one can never be too full”, which I appreciate since she just wants me to eat well and I want to have the energy to walk her around town tonight.

After dinner, we took a walk around town. I stopped by at a flower shop, getting her flowers as one of my many little gifts. It feels tempting to tell her about our little camping getaway coming up in a few hours but I want to build up an element of surprise and blissfully catch her off guard. The evening gets cold and a little quiet so I shrug off my jacket, draping it over her shoulders and making sure she’s all warm and toasty.

“You good?” I ask her.

“Yeah. Thanks,” she shyly says as she huddles into my jacket even more. I advised her to bring along a coat since the night could get a little chilly but she refused. As long as the cold won’t bother her and make her feel ill, I don’t really mind because I like seeing her in my clothes and having the smell of her perfume on my things. We take a few more strides, a comfortable settling between us as we walk hand in hand and go wherever our hearts desire. I turn my head and steal a lengthy glance from her; the delicate breeze sends her hair flowing smoothly like a poet’s ink and quill, the fine strands woven from spacetime and starlight as the streetlight’s luminescence bounces off; her body is absolutely perfect, worthy of all praises and respectful admiration with curves that mold in my hands just right but her genuine beauty is from within her heart; God, she’s captivating. She looks at me and I promptly look away, keeping my gaze trained on something else as heat is concentrated on the apples of my cheeks. I can hear a twinkling giggle from her, followed by her fingers pinching a cheek as she giggles even louder.

“You’re too cute, Leon. Gosh, you’re so adorable! You’re like– the most puppy-looking person I’ve ever met and I love that!” she squeals.

“Baby, my cheeks are hurting.” I say in a small voice.

She pulls her fingers away, gently running a hand over where she pinched and gave the spot a peck.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I know you can’t get enough of me.” I quip, followed by a wink.

“You’re not wrong but you’re one cocky person,” she says but a smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

“I’m your cocky person.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

A day later.

Hours ago, I woke her up at 4:45 AM so we could get ready. Of course, she was a bit disoriented because I didn’t say anything to her but after I told her about my little surprise, she practically launched from the bed and got ready immediately. She slept early last night– slept very soundly too, not a single noise rousing her from sleep. While she slept, I carefully slipped out of bed and packed everything we needed, her things included. It was kind of difficult, having to pack things quietly and move them to the car without causing much thudding but I managed to get it done in 3 hours. After several rounds of double checking everything and making sure there was nothing I left out, I finally made my way back up to our apartment and locked the doors to retire for the night. I could barely sleep due to the rush of giddiness coursing through my person but I forced myself to; after all, I’ll be the driver and it’s going to be irresponsible if I don’t.

Now, she’s sitting in the passenger seat with a blanket draped over her lap as she quietly drinks in the view that speeds right past the window. Everytime I see her and she innocently looks right at me, I feel a little antsy and nervous, having to feel around in my pockets and try to calm myself down. In an hour or two, we’ll get to the spot and then finally set our camp up before we start preparing the ingredients we’ll be using for cooking. The campsite we chose is a little more secluded, right by a lake that’s unfortunately too cold to safely swim in but that doesn’t take away the charm of the entire spot. The release of the board passers coincidentally going before the day of the trip I planned is a perfect coincidence, making this whole thing a celebratory trip for her but I want to add another thing to celebrate later so for now, it’ll stay as another secret.

Finally, I pull up at our spot and park the car. We carry our supplies and set up grills, our tents, and a spot to keep all of our food and drinks and utensils. We finish early so we set up the inside of our tent, placing a comfortable blanket on the floor so the bumpy and rigid ground doesn’t cause any of us back pains the following morning. All afternoon speeds past us as we spend the hours cuddling, Y/N saying something like how the weather is “perfect cuddle weather”. Soon, it’s nighttime and we finish up with everything: dinner, a quick towel bath (since the showering in this weather would get us both sick), so now we’re just sitting by the bonfire and huddling close.

“Thanks, Leon. Thank you for all this. A celebratory dinner was enough but I guess you decided to outdo yourself,” she says as she leans her head on my shoulder.

“This is nothing. Besides, you deserve this,” I say.

We sit in silence for a little bit before she speaks up again.

“We should celebrate some more wins in life, y’know. Even the little things, we should celebrate it one way or another. It doesn’t have to be this grand,” she tells me.

“Yeah. You’re right, we should celebrate wins in life,” I agree. This is it. “You’re a big win in my life, Y/N, and I want to celebrate you everyday.”

My hand slips into my pocket, my fingers feeling the velvet of a tiny box holding my promise of the world and forever to Y/N.

I can’t imagine ever growing old without you, nor do I desire to.

If all goes well, we’ve just given ourselves another reason to be celebrating.

NOTE - Woke up today to see that in a month, I've managed to hit a hundred followers!!!!!!! LET'S GOOOOO!!!!!!!!! Srsly so thankful for everyone who decided to follow me and read my fics, I love you and wish you well. I didn't expect to reach a hundred this early into my writing journey so this is so cool. I also told my mom that I write now and she seems supportive so I'm really happy with that. I guess this fic functions as a hundred-followers-special now :)) That's it and I hope you really enjoyed this fic. Again, thank you for the hundred followers!!!!! I couldn't have done it without you &lt;3!!!

The chain dividers are made by @cafekitsune , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

#leon kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x y/n #fluff #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy fluff #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #re2 #resident evil x reader #rebhfun #biohazard #resident evil 2 remake #resident evil 2 #re2make #leon kennedy x you #resident evil leon #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy fluff #leon resident evil

[sanjoongie]

Bouncy~ Topaz's Version

A/N: Flurry @flurrys-creativity had two ideas, we divided and conquered. This is hers: Bouncy

Pairings: Kim Hongjoong x Reader (f)

Genre: pwp, smut, MINORS DNI

Au: Idol Au, Stylist au

Trope: established situationship

Word Count: 1,275

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Warnings: angry!hongjoong, mean dom! hongjoong, bratty sub! reader, crotch rubbing, fingering (f receiving), pussy slapping, edging, orgasm denial, degradation kink, katoptronophilia (mirror sex), choking (f receiving), spitting (f receiving)

Dedication: @mejuii & @downtoamagicalland my beta readers extraordinaire

Hongjoong held an electronic personal fan towards his face as he reviewed his performance of their first stage of bouncy. Everything seemed fine to his critical eye, until his part of the chorus. It was painfully obvious that his dick was on full view for everyone in the audience--and whoever watched the performance online or on tv--and he felt his anger rise. 

Hongjoong shoved his fan at San, ripped his hat off and began to purposely stride towards the changing rooms. San called after his hyung but Hongjoong was single minded in his purpose. Mingi was in the middle of dutifully returning the chains around his neck before Hongjoong slammed the door open with a loud crack. He barked for Mingi to leave you two. Mingi’s eyes widened, he cast a cautious glance towards you but ultimately left after gauging the fury on Hongjoong’s face.

“Was it your plan to let everyone and their grandma see the imprint of my dick on national television or are you just that horny you couldn't wait to see it after the show?” Hongjoong spat out, eyes burning with anger.

“Ho-hong-ju-joong!” You stuttered, unable to piece your words together. 

You should be rising to his anger. You should be apologizing. But all you can see is the glory which is angry Hongjoong. You’re not scared--you’re turned on.

“What is it then? You planned to humiliate me? Or you needed my dick? Because I can certainly provide that for you right now,” Hongjoong continued his haughty tirade. 

You found yourself dropping to your knees immediately. Suddenly the apologies were coming. “I’m sorry. The pants and jacket were a combo. I must have been so focused on sewing your vest to the jacket that I--”

Hongjoong gripped your cheeks harshly between his thumb and hands, effectively shutting you up. “No excuses.”

“Hongjoong,” You whimpered and you could feel the goosebumps that covered your body now. 

The moment of change hung in the air. You could feel the intensity. Either you promised to do better or…

“I can make it up to you,” spilled out of your mouth before your brain could catch up. You grabbed two handfuls of his pants, silently promising to steam them later with the creases you made.

“Oh, you can make it up to me, can you?” Hongjoong’s dangerous, kitty cat smile pulled the corner of his lips upwards. 

Your eyebrows furrowed prettily for him and he knew he had you hook line and sinker. “Open your mouth for me, kitten,” He purred.

You dutifully did so and he gathered some spit in his mouth and let it drop slowly to your waiting tongue. You swallowed it and stuck your tongue out again to prove it. 

“Good girl,” Hongjoong purred again, making you shiver.

His eyes took on a hard edge again and you whined. “I think your little mishap deserves a punishment, don’t you think?”

“Hongjoong, please,” You resorted to begging immediately, “I--”

“I should walk right out of this room and leave you wanting more,” Hongjoong said with hooded eyes.

“No,” You whined. You’d pout if the grip Hongjoong had on you would let you.

Hongjoong’s grip on you adjusted from holding your jaw to gripping the back or your head. He pushed your face against his cock, the imprint he was so angry about getting harder from the adrenaline after performing and also the adrenaline from this confrontation. "Is this what you wanted, kitten? That desperate for some dick shoved in your face that you'd stage a tiny act of rebellion to drool over the imprint of my dick on tv?"

When Hongjoong stopped rubbing your face into his crotch, you took the opportunity to gently mouth said imprint. Fuck the repercussions of spoiling the pants, you were too far into the current headspace to care. With your lips covering your teeth, you put pressure on the head of his dick, eyes big and looking to be called a good girl again.

Hongjoong felt his heart melting at the complete submissive attitude you were taking with him but he wasn't satisfied with simply letting you get away with making him a performing eye candy on tv. So he used his grip to raise you off your knees. He turned your body around so that the two of you were looking into a full length mirror. With a cold expression, Hongjoong had no trouble undoing your pants and shoving his hand unceremoniously beneath your underwear. When the pad of his fingers skimmed over your throbbing clit and found how wet you were, a fierce expression replaced the cold one. 

“Kitten, are you getting wet from all my anger or all the degradation?”

You watched your reflection lick your lips nervously. “Please be mean to me,” You dared to whisper. 

And so Hongjoong followed your instructions to the letter. He fingered you without intent or a goal in mind. He simply tortured you with pleasure that would not come to an end. Your whimpers and whines were like music to his ears. His middle finger eventually found your hole but only went a knuckle deep but his thumb continued to strum at your clit. 

Even after he instructed you to strip off your pants and underwear, your eager face fell when you realized he just wanted to be even more mean to you. Hongjoong held one of your legs up to spread yourself but it was simply to slap your swollen clit and degrade you further with sharp insults. 

“Such. A. Greedy. Slut.” Hongjoong slapped your pussy after each utterance of his words. And yet your hips bucked to receive the stimulation. 

“I’m such a greedy slut for you, Hongjoong,” You found yourself moaning, “I wanted to see your dick on stage. I wanted everyone to see it but know that no one else could touch it. That’s my dick!”

“Your dick, hmmm?” Hongjoong hummed into your ear. He began to diligently suck on the slope of your shoulder and up your neck, making hickies that you would never successfully cover with simple makeup. Others would know you had hooked up inside the dressing room but you were in no position to stop it. 

“It’s mine!” You whined brattily.

“Do you think you deserve this dick, kitten?” Hongjoong cooed. 

His fingers cupped your neck, fingers skimming the delicate skin there. He could feel you swallowing against his palm. A quick nod from you was all that it took, before he was putting pressure around your throat. The small noises you made as Hongjoong began to finger your aching cunt while choking you pleased him immensely. You were so desperate for him, he couldn't blame you, honestly. 

When he let go and you gasped for breath, he removed his hands, but not before giving your pussy one more generous slap. “I think I’ve punished you enough, Kitten.”

You whined when he let go of your leg, and even more so when he took a step away from your body. “Hongjoong?!” You said his name in distress.

Hongjoong folded his arms over his general chest. “Yes?”

“That’s it?” You couldn't help but wonder. 

“I don’t think you deserve this dick quite yet,” Hongjoong announced. “Now clean yourself up and help me change into my casual clothes.”

You went about the motions but mentally you were still staring at yourself in the mirror as Hongjoong abused your pussy. Perhaps you could message him later about fucking you in front of a mirror, roughly so, with the choking. You wanted to squeeze his dick while he squeezed your throat. 

You just wanted to be a good girl for your Hongjoong.

Taglist: @hijirikaww @mingsolo @flowerboykun @stardragongalaxy @starillusion13 @flurrys-creativity

honorary suffer with me braincell tag: @thelargefrye

#kvanity #kwritersworldnet #pirateeznet #cultofdionysusnet #ateez smut #kim hongjoong smut #atz smut #ღatz #topaz's work #hongjoong smut #reader x hongjoong #flurry aka your worst tumblr moot

[dulcewrites]

could you do some austin angst where he cheats on the reader with olivia while filming and they have a baby together and a little later on they are co parenting austin’s single but when the reader drops their son off at austin’s house she tells him she’s going on a date and he gets jealous and then whatever ending u want

Strangers by Nature

Pairings: austin butler x reader (wc: 1.4k)

Warnings: mentions of cheating, austin being messy and possessive

Requested: yes (thank you I like this idea) . This lowkey took a different turn than I thought I would but I think it’s pretty good so I hope you enjoy it as well

A/N: I don’t know why some my personal ideas about what to write make austin a little… toxic? It could be me projecting to find something wrong with him lol. I want to write more about him but I am someone who normally stays away from reading/writing about real people myself. Anyway [insert disclaimer about me not knowing austin, this being fiction, and people needing to be respectful and understand boundaries when writing about real folks]. Also I was slightly inspired by the “when you’re 40, and I’m 50 we’ll be back together” scene from Elvis (2022).

timeline clear up: austin is 31, you’re 29 in 2022. You guys were together for around 9 years in 2020 (when he cheated). You had your son in 2016 (so he is 6 in 2022, he’s a cancer sun with a leo moon lol)

You keep going over how the conversation will go in your head. What he is going to say, and what you’re going to say in rebuttal. Maybe you shouldn’t even tell him about the date? The car ride over to Austin’s place is filled with thoughts being so loud you feel a headache coming on. The only thing competing with your loud thoughts is Mateo’s loud singing.

Well, at least you can say the private school music classes are paying off.

Once you get in the driveway. You for a moment, leaning your head against the steering wheel to take a moment to breathe. You and Austin have been coparenting for two years now, and the drop offs are still not easy.

“Mommyyyyyy, go in,” Mateo starts to whine.

You sigh and give him a smile in the review mirror before getting out. As you take him out of his booster seat, he whispers in your ear.

“Daddy said he’s gonna teach me guitar.”

You raise an eyebrow. Sometimes you resent it; how Austin gets to be the fun, artistic parent that connects with Mateo on that level. You don’t have an artistic or creative bone in your body, it’s the reason why you work in software development. Mateo is fascinated with what his dad does. Hell, you were fascinated too when Austin and you met.

“Sounds fun baby.”

You grab his bag and walk him up to the door. You watch as he happily bounces on his feet to the tune of the doorbell, waiting for Austin to come to the door. The door swings open; Austin’s attention instantly go down to Mateo, and he picks him up into a big hug. There is something special about watching them interact; two peas in a pod.

Austin and you share a less than graceful side hug. It’s more him putting his arm around you, and you trying not to be awkward about it.

“We need to talk,” he whispers in your ear. Well, that’s cryptic.

You and Austin often don’t have long unmediated conversations about things outside of Mateo because it always ends in someone getting their feelings getting hurt. It’s hard to swallow that there was a time where he was your best friend. The person you told everything to.

Despite the confusion, you followed him into the house towards the kitchen.

“Buddy, why don’t you go put your stuff away and we’ll call you down when mom is about to go.”

Mateo takes off to his room. There’s a beat of silence before Austin starts.

“So, how are you?” his smile is breezy, and his tone is light. Too light.

“I’m fine,” you reply slowly. Did you really need to come in for this? He could’ve texted.

“The funniest thing happened last week,” he says, leaning against the kitchen island. “Matty came up to me and was like ‘daddy, I have a secret’.”

Mateo is in this phase where he thinks everything is a secret. If he must use the restroom, it’s a secret. If he wants to wear blue instead of red, it’s a secret. He saw a lizard at recess. A secret.

“And he then he says, ‘mommy is doing something special on Saturday’,”

Your stomach drops into your ass. Not your baby being the person who rats you out. How did he even know? Oh god, do you talk that loud on the phone? This is not how you wanted this to come out. Then you remember, you’re an adult. Who cares what Austin thinks?

“Well, now that you mention it,” you try to sound as nonchalant as possible. “I do have a date tomorrow.”

The last first date you went on was with Austin… in 2011. You haven’t been “on the market” since your late teens. To say you’re nervous about the whole thing is putting it lightly. The last thing you need is Austin browbeating you about it.

“Now that I’ve mentioned it. You’re joking right?”

“I was going to tell you,” You quickly reply.

And you were… sometime soon. If it wasn’t today or tomorrow, it would’ve been sometime next week. He doesn’t have a right to be mad or to be giving you the look he is right now. As if he’s betrayed by the fact you would want to date. You should’ve been expecting this. Dr. Shula, your family therapist, said dating was going to be a tricky thing for you two to navigate.

You honestly thought he would be the first one to take the plunge. But maybe that’s your resentment talking.

“Are you doing this to punish me,” he huffs. “I say I want to make us work, and you go and do this.”

You always knew Austin regretted what he did, and that all he wants is for things to go back to how they were. It’s just something you’ve always shot down. Sometimes you wondered if he says it because that’s the “right” thing to say after you cheat.

“Because I got the hint when you didn’t come to any premieres.”

And there it is. He said he didn’t mind, but you knew better. The biggest moment in his career, and he was alone. A part of you did feel bad every time you declined. Or when you offered sending Matty there, and making it clear you wouldn’t join. But now having it thrown back in your face made your blood boil a bit.

Why would you want to go and pretend to be happy about a movie that basically ruined your relationship? Be around the person who helped him fuck it all up.

You were ready to be there for every premiere, talk to him about every interview, cheer him on about this role that meant so much to him. He’s the one that changed that.

“You really don’t get it do you?” you ask with a cynical chuckle; you can’t help but laugh. He’s never going to get it because despite the ups and downs you had over your relationship, you never broke his trust the way he broke yours.

“I thought… I thought things were turning around after I came back,” he says, sounding defeated.

Your shoulders drop and let out a sigh. He’s talking about when he was sick after filming. When you came and stayed with him. It was the first time the three of you were in that house together since early 2020.

“Austin, you know me better than that. If you need help, I’m not going to turn my back on you,” you try to sound sympathetic. You hadn’t seen Austin like that in long time. That low. “You’re the father of my child. You’re wellbeing matters to me.”

“So, that’s all it was. You 'taking care of the father of your child'.”

You can’t look him in eye for too long. He knows it’s more than that. You know it’s more than that. But you don’t know if you’re ready to say that again. Ready to put that much faith in him again.

“Look, I know this isn’t want you want,” you lean over and grab his hand. “But you need to let me do this.”

The next part is implied. Let you do this and then you can make up your mind. Maybe you’ll be ready to try again. Maybe it will be the risk you you need to take to get over him.

“You know you’re it for me right,” he squeezes your hand. “We’re gonna come back together after we figure this out.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. That’s the scary part; he might be it for you too, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You wipe your face, and try to pull yourself together before calling out Mateo’s name.

You say your goodbyes to him before sending him back to play then turn to Austin.

“Stay safe. If anything happens tomorrow, you call me immediately,” Austin’s voice reminds you of how he talks Mateo when he really needs him to listen.

“Ok dad,” you joke before surprising both yourself and him by pulling him into a hug. Despite how you two go at each other, you don’t enjoy seeing him upset. It doesn’t give you the satisfaction you hope it would.

“I love you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. He loves you. You simply hum in response. Is love always enough?

#this is more sad that I thought it would be :/ #austin butler fic #austin butler x reader #austin butler x oc #austin butler imagine #austin butler x black!reader #black!reader #elvis 2022 #my writing #requests

[reality-liver-n0]

This is going to be my worst post to date (in my opinion)

But after the anguish and turmoil that has hit Balalaika fans after her appearence in the latest chapter like her lack of muscle/strength that we know she unleashed on Rock, the fading of her scars, and other things I decided to investigate myself to see how much she changed.

The majority of these pictures are from the anime. Sad, I know, and hopefully once I find the direct panel from the manga that mirrors it I will edit or add more to this post.

I will start this by saying that Anime Balalaika is an absolute fucking unit. Like reviewing the pictures I realized that she's built like a very beautiful Russian tank and that is really the best description here.

Do you see what I mean? It's most likely the coat but still, it has to touch her shoulders to even drape.

Although, it depends on the scene as she can be like this too

Her shoulders are less defined and aren't quite as cut as the top ones but her muscle is there at least.

Above is the Virgin Rock as physical comparision

She's obviously fucking built way beyond his physique and she knows it. She corners him in or crosses her arms while his remain at his side as he tries to be unaffected. And honestly, kudos to him. He stood pretty strong in this scene and I think he knew he had to do that to even try and talk on her level.

I mean we've seen what happens when he doesn't. Disclaimers ahead, Rock is in for a rough ride. I on the other hand, laughed my ass off when I took these screenshots.

Also, here is what I personally think went through Balalaika's head in each scene and the progression of it.

% Anger Level - Annoyance

Jesus Christ, he's on this bullshit again. Sounds like one of those family dogs I keep having to put down.

% Anger Level - Frustrated

Maybe if I make it clear I'm pissed right now he'll have some sense left in him. If he says one more word I am going to make him the hood ornament for the car.

% Anger Level - Hostility

Just looking at this cigarerette is giving me an idea. I could just throw him like I could with this. Sooner or later he'll be stepped on; fire dying out.

% Anger Level - Rage

I'm certain his face will never change in his casket

With one strike I could gouge his eyes out. Maybe then he'll see justice.

You've sealed your fate Rock. Now you'll suffer the death of a true hero.

(Woohoo! 🎉You passed the slideshow and now I'll do my commetary. Here's a Boris photo as a reward.)

This is the face he wanted to make right when Rock started talking.

Anyway, I must have forgotten just how Balalaika threw Rock since I took those screenshots. I knew that she did it but somehow forgot that she did it with one arm. Or at least how much power she put into flinging him like a ragdoll. LIke she fucking lifted him in the air with one hand and with a single move had him on the hood in split seconds.

Here's a funny picture I caught mid-shot as well

His feet aren't touching the ground. He's fully straight as if he didn't have have a second to take it in, meanwhile his hands are just open and it's like he forgot he was even alive. No doubt, he had a vision that when Balalaika even reached for him that she just punted him to the afterlife.

Meanwhile, I cannot imagine the raw terror Revy must have felt seeing this happen.

She is scared as hell here. Keep in mind that this entire exchange she can't see Balalaika's face or Rock's. Both their backs are to her until Balalaika throws Rock. Still, I doubt that she really could've seen him past Balalaika's frame. Meanwhile, she's probabaly just processing that Balalaika's strong enough to do what she just did. Most likely she already knew she has a lot of physical power, I mean look at her, but this is the first time she's seen it and it happened to the worst person possible.

I can fully say that Balalaika is a fucking beast in hand-to-hand combat with the body to match it. And this is only focusing on her throwing Rock! She already snapped a neck by this point. Rock saw that and again, he does have some courage or maybe stupidity to even do this since he saw that with his own eyes.

Revy hasn't. And I don't think Rock told her, at least not until he knew they were back in Roanapur and safe. He was still traumatized by it too so chances are he is suffering some recurring nightmare of it. To top it off, this event alone was so visceral in his mind that he draws a direct comparaision to Chang, symbolizing how truly helpess he was.

With all that out of the way here isthe recent manga depiction of Balalaika

(no comment needed)

Here are the earlier depictions of her in the previous chapters. All the thanks to @crystallinee-waters and @progmanx for the posts concerning the chapters and the usual girlboss stuff 💅

Love you two for that

In conclusion the only explanation for this is that Chang used his CIA connnections (Eda) to tamper with the latest chapter to make himself look cooler. And I guess he had enough mercy to include Rock in that upgrade too, for whatever reason.

Hero of the chapter was definitely Le Majeur

Homegirl got sacraficed by Balalaika to the gays

Which will probabaly be another cursed post sometime in the future with the Holy Trinity (Balalaika, Revy and Le Majeur)

✊ They're staying strong and holding down the series' reperesentation of the ABC Mafia

(😔 not canonically tho only Le Majeur has officially come out, or got outed by her comrade. But then Revy saved her ass and definitely did not hear anything and now does not knows what Le Majeur really is.)

A homosexual 🌈

Okay. I think I'm finally done with this, and I went off the rails by the end but this post now exists so I will return to my secluded hole 🕳️

(Forgot to add buff Revy too, so here she is)

She can be both happy and mad but she's still jacked af (and silently judging you at all times because of your gayness)

#black lagoon #revy #balalaika #rock black lagoon #le majeur #Sign the petition to bring back B's muscles #Interact with this post to show your support of this worthy cause #Long ass cursed shit-post #Revy hates everyone equally #Including gays which includes herself #Obviously #analysis

[orivaa-kun]

YOU'RE SO MEAN | JJK Oneshot | Nanami x Fem OC

word count: 3k warnings: mature (18+), smut, fluff, angst, oral s*x, f*ngering summary: Nanami x fem OC have fun in the car while waiting for Gojo to finish his meeting with Jujutsu higher-ups. 😉 inspired by this music mix on YouTube - "POV : Nanami Railed You In The Car While Waiting For Gojo To Finish His Mission {VO} [Slowed]" Link: YouTube

Rena leans her head against and looks out the window, eyelashes fluttering in a quick series of blinks as she gazes up at the night sky. Satoru would at least be another hour – maybe less if they were lucky. Slow r&b music lowly hums out of the car speakers, with lyrics hinting at or plainly discussing sex, love, and relationships. Rena doesn’t focus on it too much; it was just music, after all.

She glanced back inside the car and over at Kento, who was currently typing something into his phone.

It was as if he could immediately sense her gaze. “You good?” He muses as he finished typing and sending his message before connecting his phone to the charger beside the gear shift. He adjusts the review mirror to see Rena’s eyes.

“Mhm, fine.” Rena exhales in a tone that’s a bit performative. Even she notices it after the phrase has already left her mouth. Well, she couldn’t deny she was bored.

“Hm…” Kento trails off, taking a long look at Rena’s expression through the small mirror. All of a sudden, he opens his car door and steps out of the driver’s seat.

Rena furrows her brows in protest, “Where are you going?”

Kento closes the door behind him and opens the back passenger door opposite to Rena’s side before slipping in and closing the door. He sits back and stretches his legs out a bit now that he’s in the back seat with Rena, his left knee nudging her right as he stared directly at her.

Rena is genuinely confused, “What is it?”

Kento doesn’t break eye contact, “Nothing. Just seemed like you needed something.” Kento’s expression is completely neutral and void of emotion – outside of his eyes, that is. His eyes are full of interest, care, love, lust, intrigue… perhaps even obsession. His gaze is filled with everything that he felt about Rena.

Rena looks back at Kento with an equally straight expression, “Does it look like I need something?” She plays along, feigning slight annoyance.

“Yes, it does.” Kento rests his arm around Rena’s headrest, fingers gently brushing a few loose curls from the brunette’s face. His gaze follows his movement of the other’s hair before refocusing on her eyes.

Rena pauses for a moment then huffs out a single chuckle, breaking her gaze with Kento to roll her eyes, “Are we doing this right now?” She questions in a lower voice, before finally reuniting her eyes with Kento’s.

“You tell me,” Kento replies in his smooth, sultry voice, bending over to move his mouth closer to Rena’s left ear, “are we doing something in this car right now, Rena-chan?” He coos, just above a whisper.

He knew just how weak and sensitive her ears were to his voice. The words Kento spoke, though completely normal, flutter low, past her abdomen and awaken something primal in her. Rena turns her head so that she faces Kento, lips brushing over his at their close proximity, “What does it look like I need?” She asks, blinking up at Kento.

“Hm…” Kento plants a brief but passion-filled kiss on Rena’s lips, then backs up a bit, assessing her now flushed cheeks and straight, focused expression. Kento takes a good look at Rena’s face, cupping her cheek with the hand he didn’t have around her headrest, “Well, your cheeks are bright red like a rose…” He kisses her again, then his gaze and hand both snake down Rena’s body, the skin-tight black bodycon shirt and equally tight, black mini skirt.

Kento squeezes the top of Rena’s exposed thigh before moving his hand inward and up, easing her legs open towards him. He looks back up to meet her eyes, “It makes me wonder how sweet you smell.” Kento closes in on Rena’s ear once more, “To answer your question, it looks like you need me to make you feel good…”

Kento begins to rub slow, gentle circles over her clothed clit with his index and middle fingers, causing Rena’s mouth to fall agape with a quiet but deep inhale, then a slow exhale. She allows her eyelids to flutter shut.

“Will you let me do that for you, baby?” Kento breathes deliciously into Rena’s ear.

Rena only whimpers in reply, solely focusing on the perfect friction Kento was creating between her legs. She softly grunts in confusion when the motion suddenly stops, and opens her eyes to find Kento taking a good whiff of the fingers he’d used on her clit, “Mm… You smell good enough to taste, Rena… Tell me, baby, can I eat it?” Kento asks, already sinking to the floor of the SUV in front of Rena’s knees, holding her gaze all the while.

Rena looks down at Kento as he moves between her legs, nodding furiously at the other as she was already aroused beyond belief, “Yes.” She submissively moans out in a tone much softer and higher pitched than her normal voice.

“That’s my good girl.” Kento praises, massaging his hands around and behind Rena’s hips before quickly jerking them forward so that she sat on the edge of the seat.

Rena gasps in surprise to the sudden movement, watching as Kento pushes one of her legs up beside her chest with one hand, and hooks her other leg around his shoulder with his other hand. The tight fabric of Rena’s mini skirt rolls all the way up her thighs in this position, and Kento finally breaks eye contact – using his free hand to slip Rena’s panties to the side and admire her pussy.

Kento brushes his fingers in the wetness between Rena’s folds and uses it to slicken her clit. He begins to gently rub it in circles again, “You’re so damn perfect, Rena – always so wet for me.” He praises, glancing up to study the look on her face.

Rena looks down at Kento with a wildly turned-on expression and moans helplessly, mouth agape and panting heavily at the pleasure Kento was already beginning to give her.

Kento replaces his fingers with his mouth and begins to suck, lick, and slurp Rena’s pussy, and her head rolls back for a few seconds with a breathy moan, relishing in the pleasure the blond was giving her with his mouth. She focuses her eyes back on Kento once more, running a hand through his hair as she watches him eat her out.

“Mm, you taste delicious, baby,” Kento muses in between sucking each of her now swollen pussy lips, “so sweet.”

Rena shudders at the wet sounds of Kento sucking and slurping her up and pushes a strained groan from her lips – clasping her hand over her mouth after realizing how loud it is.

Kento chuckles as he licks her clit, and the vibrations make Rena’s hips jerk up a bit as she moans into her palm. Kento gazes up at her, heatedly, “Careful, Rena… You want Satoru to hear you, too?” After a while, he eventually stops teasing her and begins to offer practiced, upward licks to Rena’s clit. He made sure the strokes of his tongue were small and gentle, just the way she liked.

Rena removes her hand from her mouth at the sudden change of pace, “Fuck—yes, Kento…” she moans out, already able to tell that she was going to come quick if Kento keeps this up. Her fingers tug at his blond locks and she ever so slightly pushes his head even further between her legs.

Kento keeps this pace up for a while, until he hears and feels Rena’s breaths deepen and pick up in speed. His hand immediately finds hers and interlocks fingers with hers, beginning to flick his tongue a bit quicker over her clit. He looks up to meet Rena’s gaze with a knowing look when her hips slowly begin to lift from the seat of the car, offering herself even further to Kento’s mouth.

Rena moans shamelessly at her approaching climax and Kento coaxes her with a low hum, as if to say, ‘Yes, Rena… Come for me.’ Her breath hiccups in her throat before she does, and she moans out a high-pitched breath, body convulsing in waves as Kento continued to lick her through the high of her orgasm. But he doesn’t stop when she comes down from the initial high. He continues to prod and lick her overstimulated clit even faster, causing Rena to gasp and moan even louder. She pushes her leg out of his grasp and squeezes Kento’s head with her thighs, hand even attempting to push him back in protest.

“Ah—please, Kento, I can’t…!”

Kento squeezes her thighs with his hands, locking her in his grasp as he continues to devour her clit and send her to new highs.

Rena’s body continues to jerk even harder as Kento refuses to stop, and she cries out embarrassingly loud moans, one after the other, “Fuck, Kento, you’re gonna make me cum again!!” She couldn’t care less who heard her, at this point.

“Mhm…” Kento hummed out affirmatively, already knowing this of course. Rena could see his now red face and the exposed veins in his forehead as she continued to squeeze the life out of his head with her thighs, though Kento didn’t seem to mind – he only continued his assault on her clit.

Rena feels the strong surge of another climax approaching and reaches for Kento’s head, then stops herself, then reaches for Kento’s head again, then decides to clasp her hands over her mouth – sure she was about to release a moan so inhumanly loud she can’t even imagine. The wet sound of Kento’s tongue licking at her drenched pussy only drives her crazier.

Tears fall from the corners of Rena’s eyes as she almost screams into her hand when she comes for a second time, continuing to moan loudly and helplessly ride her orgasm out until Kento finally removes his mouth from between her legs with a deep breath. He retreats with one last kiss pressed to the inside of her thigh, revealing just how drenched his lips and chin were with her wetness.

Kento moves up to cup both of Rena’s cheeks in his hands and kisses her long and deep as his fingers begin to wipe her tears away. Rena could taste herself on his tongue and the sheer nastiness of the fact made her moan. He breaks the kiss for a moment, “You crying f’me, baby?” He pecks Rena’s lips sweetly, almost apologetically as he continues to wipe the last of her tears, “You’re so perfect, Rena, coming twice for me…” He rejoins her on the stretch of backseat, sitting right beside her and admiring the mess he’d made of her in just ten minutes.

Kento’s right hand goes suddenly goes to her throat and his left smooths over her clothed breast and slips between her legs once more, his middle and ring fingers immediately finding and sliding into her wet hole before abruptly fingering her at a quick and harsh pace. His lips are at her ear again, “…But I think you can give daddy one more, hm?”

Rena audibly gasps at the sudden stimulation, and Kento applies pressure to the sides of her neck with his hand, careful not to choke her too hard as she groaned out in a ridiculously loud and pathetic tone, “Kento, please… please, I can’t come again…!”

Kento abruptly stops his fingering, but presses his thumb to her swollen, abused clit, “Now that’s not the answer I was looking for…” It’s almost a crime how cool and collected his alluring tone is, compared to the mess that was her voice.

Rena’s hips jerk and she cries out, body already betraying her as her hands grasped Kento’s thick forearm. Everything inside her immediately misses the sensation of him fingering her; she wishes he would start again and pleads, “I’m sorry, daddy! I’m so sorry, I can come for you again – just please, don’t stop!”

“That’s right,” He nearly sings, beginning to move his fingers again, this time setting a pace that was even harsher, “you’re a slut for it, huh? A greedy slut who only cares about coming when you start to feel good, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, daddy, I’m your slut!” Rena moans in a shaky tone, feeling drool begin to form at the corner of her mouth. Kento was absolutely driving her crazy, “Please let me cum!!!”

Kento simply laughs at her pathetic cry, more than satisfied with her shameless begging and the complete mess he’d made of both her mind and body. His mouth finds Rena’s ear once more and he breathes hotly into it, nibbling at her earlobe when he finally decides to reply, “I guess I’ll give you what you deserve…” At the last of his words, he begins to curl his fingers up towards her abdomen as he fingers her and pushes his hand up and down at an aggressive, rapid pace. Kento knew just how to reach Rena’s spot and in seconds she was a hot, moaning mess.

Her hands move from his arm to Kento’s face, and she pulls him in for a lazy, sloppy kiss as she orgasms for the third time tonight. A wave of tiredness immediately washed over her, but she reaches down to stroke her hand over the bulge in Kento’s suit pants.

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head after he breaks their kiss, “That’s for when we get home.” He releases his hold from Rena’s neck, admiring the smooth length of it. He brushes the back of his fingers over the soft skin there and then wipes the tears from her flushed cheeks once more, “You better rest while you can, baby.”

Kento pauses, then smirks, mind returning to their session that had just ended, “You brat,” He chuckles, “always resisting my commands…” Kento presses his forehead to hers in a more serious tone, “I control how many times you cum, got it?”

“You’re mean.” Rena pouts, beginning to regain her composure as she finally came down from her high.

Kento chuckles again, “I’m sorry, Rena,” He apologizes halfheartedly, offering her lips another short peck, “but that doesn’t answer my question, baby...”

Rena rolls her eyes and sighs, but with a small smile on her lips, “Yes, daddy, I got it.”

Kento sits back, continuing to admire the other as he clicks his tongue three times and brushes his fingers through a few of Rena’s curls, “That attitude just won’t do, but I’ll teach you a lesson, later.” Suddenly, he begins to move around her, fiddling with her seat and then the windows, “Here, lay back for now and get some sleep. I’ll crack the windows so you can have some fresh air.” Kento removes his suit jacket and tucks it around her shoulders. He finally stops when Rena lays back into her seat and asks her an honest question, “Need anything else?”

Rena only slips her hand from beneath Kento’s jacket to reveal her middle finger pushed in his direction.

Kento laughs, quickly kissing it then her cheek before turning to open the backseat door and return to the driver’s seat. But Rena’s hand catches his arm before he can do so.

“Thank you, Ken-chan.” She smiles warmly at him, more than satisfied.

“You’re very welcome, Rena-chan.” He meets her smile with a smirk, offering her a quick wink before exiting the car to return to the driver’s seat.

Rena allows her eyes to shut and falls into a deep slumber almost immediately. It was obvious she was far more tired than she’d let on.

*

Satoru doesn’t return for another 30 minutes or so, but Kento doesn’t mind. He simply rests his eyes for a minute with his hands tucked behind his head until he hears footsteps and the thump of the front passenger door open.

“Ya-ho, Nanamin!” Gojo grins brightly at Kento as he quickly eases into the car.

“How did it go?” Kento asks, dropping his hands back down before holding a button beside the gear shift so that the car started.

“As well as things could.” Satoru mused, “The higher-ups still want a few students to help with the efforts overseas, but I’ll be the real judge of that. Plus, we already have a lot on our hands in Tokyo, so…” Gojo is interrupted when Kento presses his index finger to his lips and points his thumb towards the backseat of the SUV.

Gojo glances back, quirking a brow in a bit of surprise as he saw Rena fast asleep, “Ah. We can talk later.” He pauses, glancing between Rena and Kento before smirking, “You gave her your jacket?” Satoru speaks in a quieter yet amused voice.

Kento smirks, “Well, it was me who put her to sleep, so I figured I’d be nice.” Kento begins to back out of the lot.

“Nanamin…!” Satoru says just above a whisper, eyes widening with intrigue, “Sounds like you were busy while I was away.” Satoru can’t help but chuckle, which elicits a soft but annoyed grumble from Rena who stirs in her sleep.

He turns back to look at her, whispering his apologies, “Sorry, Rena-chan!” Gojo glances back at Kento, “But it’s not fair, though, Nanamin. You’re so mean to us all except for Rena-chan!”

Kento smirks as he turns onto the main road, picking up the speed smoothly so he would not disturb Rena’s nap. He huffs out a short laugh, “She’d probably tell you the opposite.”

#nanami #kento #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami x oc #nanami kento x oc #kento nanami x oc #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento x you #jjk smut #jjk angst #jjk fluff #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk fanfic #jjk fanfiction #jjk fandom #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

[numinousmysteries]

Dancing the Tandava (9/10)

[on Ao3] @today-in-fic

Princeton, New Jersey 1993

On the drive up to Princeton, Scully listens to Mulder and William discuss classic science-fiction movies and their 21st century reboots. She wishes she could share their easy connection but her shock and disbelief intervenes. It feels unfair that William has this intimate knowledge of her as a mother but she knows so little about him. He is the product of her body and years of her nurturing and yet she feels a gap separating herself from him that she can’t quite bridge.

William is intelligent, kind, and curious. He’s soft-spoken and patient, but confident with a sense of humor. He’s exactly the type of young man she’d be proud to have as a son thirty years from now. The DNA test she ordered and reviewed herself proves William is her son and Mulder is his father, which means that at some point in the future, she and Mulder get together. And, since it seems like they’ve been parenting William as a couple, they manage to stay together. It’s a possibility that intrigues and terrifies her.

On the highway, she closes her eyes and tries to imagine Mulder as her husband and William as their grown son. As William describes the expanded universe of Star Wars prequels and sequels to Mulder who peppers him with questions, she can see the three of them naturally easing into these roles. But she and Mulder have never even kissed, let alone done anything that would result in the conception of a child. As much as she finds herself drawn to Mulder, she can’t imagine this single-minded man leaving his quest behind to live a quiet, domestic life.

“Scully, can you believe this?” Mulder asks, calling her back into her body. “George Lucas bastardized the entire metaphysical beauty of the Force with these, what are they called, William?”

“Midi-chlorians,” Williams says from the backseat.

“Midi-chlorians,” Mulder says, shaking his head dismissively. “You sure you want to go back to the future? It sounds pretty grim.”

“It has its ups and downs,” William says. “There’s someone I want to see.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mulder asks, flashing William a grin in the rearview mirror.

“My friend, Hannah. I mentioned her,” William says shyly. “I just miss her I guess.”

Scully peeks in the mirror and sees a blush spreading across William’s cheeks. He may have Mulder’s nose and lanky frame, but with her light coloring he can’t hide his embarrassment any better than she can. She turns to smile at Mulder and finds he’s already giving her a toothy grin. He’s proud of his son, she thinks, and she’s starting to feel pride bubble up within herself.

***

A flash of their badges grants Mulder and Scully access to the building that houses Princeton’s physics department. Scully catches William smiling, clearly impressed by how willingly the building’s security guard yields to his parents’ authority.

As soon as the elevator opens to the floor of Bellona’s office, they hear a man and woman arguing. Mulder raises a hand to hold Scully and William back from stepping forward so they can listen without being noticed.

“This is insane, Samita,” the man shouts. “Why would you want to give up the research you’re passionate about to work for the government on something so secretive they can’t even tell you what it is?”

“That’s exactly why I need to do it,” the woman responds. “This is the cutting edge of quantum research. What I learn on this project could revolutionize the entire field. It could be detecting dark matter, or even finding ways to utilize it. We’re making such small steps now, imagine if we could take a giant leap forward—what we could possibly learn if we had unlimited resources.”

“Resources from the military-industrial complex! You came here to unlock the mysteries of the universe, the origins of why we’re all here. And now you want to leave to work on what’s most likely a weapon that could kill millions?”

Their argument continues but their voices are lower now and Scully can’t hear what they’re saying. She looks to Mulder but he’s just as focused on trying to make out what Bellona and his wife are discussing. Scully wonders what line of questioning they’ll actually take once they get to Bellona. Knowing Mulder, he’ll probably come straight out and ask if he has plans to craft a time machine thirty years from now.

“I’m not going to let you hold me back,” Shah cries out. Her shout is followed by the sound of a door slamming.

Ballona huffs and heads toward them in the hallway. He’s a slight man with dark hair and glasses. As he makes his way to them, Mulder whispers to William, “Is that him?” and William nods.

“Dr. Bellona?” Scully says. “We’re Special Agents Scully and Mulder with the FBI and we have some questions for you.”

“Samita,” Bellona calls back. “Your friends the feds are here!”

With an exasperated sigh, Shah reopens her office door and comes to meet them in the hallway.

“Dr. Samita Shah,” she says, reaching out her hand to Scully. “How can I help you?”

“You don’t know them?” Bellona asks incredulously. “I assumed these were some of your government pals.”

Shah glares at him with ice in her deep brown eyes.

“Are you working on a government project?” Mulder asks.

“I’m considering it,” Shah says guardedly. “I was offered a contract by the department of defense. Are you here on their behalf?”

“No, Dr. Shah,” Scully says. “We’re actually here to speak with your husband.”

“Well, this will be a quick conversation,” Bellona snaps. “No, I’m not interested in collaborating with you.”

“Dr. Shah, do you know the nature of the project you’ve been asked to assist on?” Mulder asks. “Or where you’d be stationed?”

“I haven’t been fully briefed yet, no,” she says. “But I’d be working at Camp Hero on Long Island. It’s an older military base that’s being recommissioned for this project.”

Scully freezes and locks eyes with Mulder. She can see William looking at her wide-eyed in her peripheral vision.

“We need to visit that base,” Mulder says. “Would you be able to get access?”

Shah squints. “I believe I could. Let me make a call.”

She turns around and walks back to her office, leaving Mulder, Scully, and William with Bellona in the hall.

“Dr. Bellona, are you familiar with the Hindu god Shiva?” William asks. Scully looks at him nervously, unsure where he’s going with this.

“You’re better off asking Samita than me. Her family is Hindu,” he says. “But I’m familiar with the broad strokes. Lord Shiva is one of the religion’s three primary deities. He’s known as The Destroyer, but he’s associated with creation as well. You’ll often see him depicted dancing the tandava, a brisk choreography that has the power to create or destroy the universe.”

“I’m sorry,” he pauses. “Who are you? And what does this have to do with me and Samita?”

“Um, my name is William,” he says. “I’m…assisting on this case.” Bellona gives Mulder and Scully a questioning look but they don’t dispute William’s claim, so he goes on. “Is there any connection you can think of between Shiva and your research? Or with the project Dr. Shah is working on?”

“No, not really,” Bellona says. After a pause, he adds, “Well, in a very abstract sense, the tandava mirrors the dynamic movement of particles in quantum mechanics. Heisenberg even said quantum physics will make more sense to those who’ve read the Vedic texts. But, in practice, no, there’s no link.”

“What about if you were working on a particle accelerator? Would it be relevant then?” William continues.

“I suppose you could make the leap to connecting an accelerator’s capability to recreate the original conditions of the universe’s formation to Shiva’s role in the cyclic creation, destruction, and re-creation of the universe, but it’s quite the leap. And even the world’s largest particle accelerators haven’t even been able to confirm, yet alone re-create, the existence of subatomic particles such as the Higgs boson that are essential to that theory. Besides, it would take a real megalomaniac—or someone with nothing to lose—to want that kind of power for himself.”

Someone with nothing to lose. The words echo in Scully’s mind. “Dr. Bellona, could you give my colleagues and I a moment?” she asks.

“Sure,” he says. “I’ll go check on Samita.”

Once the three of them are alone in the hallway, Mulder turns to Scully and asks what’s on her mind.

“William, you mentioned in the car that Bellona and Shah aren’t still married in 2023, right?” she asks.

William nods.

“And have you heard of a Dr. Samita Shah working in the field? She already has an impressive resume and it’s hard to believe that she wouldn’t be leading a world-class quantum mechanics lab thirty years from now.”

“No, I’ve never heard of her. And I do follow this stuff pretty closely,” he says.

“Then I wonder if something happened to her at some point, something terrible that led Bellona to become the very type of megalomaniac he’s describing. With the advantage of an additional thirty years of advancements in the field of quantum physics plus a far more powerful particle accelerator, he could be dangerous.”

Mulder and William both stare at her and she can see them processing her theory.

“So you think Bellona, in 2023, either sees himself as a modern-day Shiva or is trying to harness Shiva’s energy to destroy the world?” Mulder asks tentatively. She realizes it’s typically the type of theory he would posit but the pieces are starting to fall into place. Besides, the results of the DNA test can’t be denied.

“I do,” she replies. “And I think our best hope for stopping him is making sure nothing happens to Dr. Shah.”

“How can we do that?” Mulder asks. “What do you think happened to her?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “It might have to do with William, or Camp Hero. There must be a reason he appeared when and where he did.”

“I think we all need to make a trip to Camp Hero,” Mulder suggests. Scully and William nod in agreement.

They hear a door open and Shah and Bellona return from the office.

“Okay,” Shah says. “I spoke to my contact at Camp Hero and I can go up and meet with them today. I didn’t ask about bringing any visitors, but I can try to get you in.”

Mulder, Scully, and William follow Shah and Bellona downstairs. “Follow us,” Shah says before they separate and head to their cars.

Scully trails behind Mulder and William, watching them walk in step. Nearly equal in height, their strides match and their mannerisms are almost perfectly mirrored. The doubts she had about William’s origin are evaporating, even if she didn’t have concrete DNA evidence to prove his parentage. She’s desperate to know what changes in her life over the next thirty years lead her to becoming the mother of this bright young man—and Mulder’s partner in more ways than one. Learning that information, though, she knows, won’t replace the experience of living through it all. Her only hope of getting to see firsthand what the future holds is to ensure William’s safe passage back to his version of 2023, even if it means having to say goodbye to him now.

***

As Shah’s guests, Mulder, Scully, and William get a much warmer reception at Camp Hero than they did on their first visit. As they drive through the gate behind Shah and Bellona’s car, Mulder smirks at the guard in his post. Scully smiles but keeps her eyes focused in her lap in embarrassment.

They follow Bellona and Shah to a squat, square building next to a taller one that’s capped by the radar dish. The walls of both buildings are tagged with bubbly graffiti letters and it appears as if the site hasn’t been active in years. Except for a few military vehicles, the parking lot is abandoned. Weeds poke through gaps in the pavement.

A uniformed man in his 50s greets them at the door. He’s stocky and solid, built like a refrigerator, with a thick, but neatly trimmed mustache.

“Dr. Shah, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says. “I’m General Jenkins, we spoke on the phone. You’ll have to excuse the desolate atmosphere around here. We’re just starting to get the base up and operational again, but we should have everything you need to begin your work.”

They follow Jenkins through a concrete hallway with a lingering mildew smell. Switch boxes and rusted-over equipment line the walls. Jenkins leads them to an unmarked door that he opens by keying in a four-digit code. Inside are rows of workstations with computers, but no people.

Jenkins guides Bellona and Shah to one of the desktop computers, booting it up to demonstrate something to them while Mulder, Scully, and William survey the scene.

“That’s the door I came through,” William says, pointing to a thick, metal door with a round vault closure at the other end of the room. “There’s a tunnel behind there.”

“The Phoenix III tunnel,” Mulder says. “That must be the entrance to the wormhole.”

Mulder and William glance at Scully, waiting for her to debunk the theory. In light of everything she’s seen, though, and as much as she doesn’t want to admit it, Mulder’s explanation makes more sense than anything else she can think of.

“Any idea how we can reopen the wormhole?” William asks.

“There must be a localized disruption in spacetime,” Scully thinks aloud, trying to reconcile her understanding of the laws of physics with William’s unbelievable appearance. “Two, actually. One here caused by whatever military technology—”

“Extraterrestrial technology,” Mulder interjects.

“—whatever technology they’re using, and one at CERN in 2023 that Dr. Bellona created with the large hadron collider. If they’re both activated at the same time, the wormhole will open and William, or whoever is in the tunnel at that time, will be able to travel between the two locations.”

“Bellona is going to try it again,” William says. “I just remembered he said he was doing a ‘test run,’ so it must have been for another experiment, possibly even a more powerful one.”

“Then we have to get them to activate the time tunnel here,” Mulder adds.

“But how?” William asks.

“Dr. Shah,” Scully says. “They want her to work on this project. She can ask them to demonstrate the technology before she commits.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Mulder says.

They agree it’d be best for Scully, as a scientist, to appeal to Shah and ask if she’ll go along with the plan. She takes a deep breath, then goes to pull Shah away from Bellona and Jenkins. Without explaining her time travel theory—she doesn’t want the other woman to think she’s insane—she manages to convince Shah to request a demonstration from Jenkins.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting to see,” Jenkins says after listening to Shah’s request. “I’ve seen the technicians run the experiment a few times and it just looks like gibberish on a computer screen to me. Of course, we can’t declassify any sensitive information until you’ve signed the necessary paperwork, but if you want to watch a technician press a few buttons on the computer, be my guest. Let me get our technician.”

Jenkins leaves the room and returns a few minutes later with a tall, thin man with a goatee. The man nods at William, who gives him a look of recognition in return.

“You know him?” Scully asks.

“He was here the night I turned up,” he says quietly to her.

“How can I help?” The man asks.

“Whatever experiment you were running the night William appeared, I need you to recreate those exact conditions and repeat the coordinates,” Scully instructs him.

“I just push the buttons,” the goateed man says, resigned, and takes up position at one of the desktop computers.

“And I’ll go in the tunnel,” William says.

“No one goes in there,” Jenkins barks.

“Sir, with all due respect,” the technician says. “I think it’d be in our best interest if he does go. He’s the one I told you about who turned up here the other night? If your concern is maintaining the secrecy of the project, I don’t think you’d want him hanging around.”

Jenkins nods. Scully thinks that it ultimately doesn't matter whether the technician truly cares about William’s return or only in hiding any evidence of time travel. Either way, their only chance of getting William back where he belongs is getting him in that tunnel.

William heads toward the vault door and Scully instinctively walks beside him. Even if she can’t understand or explain how he came to be, she’s suddenly acutely aware that she doesn’t want to lose her son. She feels the need to hold him in her arms and protect him.

When they’re directly in front of the door William turns to her and says, “You have to convince Shah not to work on this project. She has to stay at Princeton or else something will happen to her and it’ll send Bellona down the path to destroy the world in 2023.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” she says.

“Yes, you can, mom,” he insists, taking her hands in his. “Explain to her that she isn’t going to find any answers here. These researchers only want to use her for her abilities and then they’ll dispose of her to keep their work secret. You and dad told me you’ve seen things like this over the years. Shadow government projects with no respect for human life. I have a feeling that’s what’s going on here. She’ll listen to you.”

“I’ll try,” she says, squeezing his hands. Even though his eyes are as blue as her own, she sees so much of Mulder in his gaze—his desire to believe, even in her, and the trust he puts in her.

William lets go of her hands. He twists the vault door open and peers into the darkness.

“Wait,” Scully hears herself say the word before she thinks it.

She feels both William and Mulder’s eyes on her now. Mulder crosses the room to stand beside them.

“What if something goes wrong and you end up not returning to 2023…or never existing at all?” She steps closer to William and grabs onto his hands again. “I don’t want to risk losing you.”

“Mom,” William's voice catches in his throat. “It’s going to work. You figured everything out yourself. I need to get back. I’ll see you…in the future.”

She takes him into her arms and hugs him tight, closing her eyes to allow the smell and feel of him to surround her. Her son is brave and loyal like his father. For the first time since she saw him, she senses a deep bond between them that transcends time and logic. It’s an instinctual love like she’s never felt before. Like a birth she has no recollection of, she feels a physical pain as their bodies separate and she releases him from her hold.

She watches as Mulder hugs him next, knowing the link between them is just as strong. “You’ve got this, buddy,” Mulder says to his son, tapping him on the back before letting him go.

“We’ll see him again one day,” Mulder whispers to Scully, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. His weight feels warm and safe against hers, and she eases into him.

“I can’t wait,” Scully murmurs. Despite her fears, she smiles. Tears stream down her face as William disappears down the tunnel.

#xfiles #txf #xf fanfic #msr #xfiles fanfic #x files #the x files

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 1

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Chapter 1: Honey, This Mirror Isn't Big Enough for the Two of Us

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Series Summary: You've recently taken on the customer-facing responsibilities of the small-scale cannabis bakery you and your late husband ran out of your apartment, which introduces you to occasional customer, Dieter Bravo. A friendship is sparked when you realize you have something in common: you've both died. What Dieter doesn't tell you about his near-death experience, though, is that it foretold his life with you.

Word Count: 6.2k+

Content / Warnings: alternating POV, death, sitting shiva, stitches / scars, cannabis, edibles, drug use, alcohol use, haunted mirrors, spooky stuff, verbal argument, face slap, cheating, sexual grieving, a dick named Glenn, meet cute

Notes: Chapter title from "Honey, This Mirror Isn't Big Enough for the Two of Us" by My Chemical Romance. Hey friends! I have a couple things right off the bat: (1) the reader has a name (Louella/Lou/Lua) and has scars and tattoos, but no other physical descriptors; (2) I'll be trying to release new chapters on Saturdays.

[ Tag List ] [ AO3 ] [ Title Song ]

When people ask what it’s like to die, you’re supposed to tell them it’s terrible, even though it isn't. Like leaving a shitty yelp review for a restaurant when you actually really loved the food, but you have a vendetta against the owner and their staff.

Death Louella F. Rating: 0/10 Scary as fuck. Not in a cool, vintage way like Bram Stoker’s Dracula, but in more of a can-you-believe-people-cream-their-pants-over-this-shit way like Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight. Ugh. They sent me away at the door and wouldn’t even tell me why. RUDE!!!! I would rather die than go back.

It’s only polite, after all. If everyone knew that it fucking rules to be dead, nobody would stay here in these decaying bodies, on this doomed fucking rock floating through space. So, when your good friends (like good good friends) ask, you give them the inside scoop.

Death Louella F. Rating: 10/10 The single most magical thing to happen to me during my existence in the mortal realm. Truly ethereal. I only had the 1 hour trial, and I wanted upgrade to the forever package, but my dad forced me to return to my meatbag (BOOO!). Can’t wait to do it again. Absolutely TO DIE FOR!!!

That’s why, now, when your just ok friend Kourtney comes over on the last day of sitting shiva in your apartment, and she asks you what was it like to die? in the same cadence she asks how's your mom?, you don’t tell her the truth.

You don’t tell her than every waking moment you’re alive now is torture because you don't understand why you weren’t allowed access to the club. Why could Ethan go, but not you? What could you possibly have left to do that doesn’t include him?

Instead, you give her a wane smile and joke, “Oh, ya know, I had better shit to do, so here I am.”

Her big sky blue eyes soften and her shoulders slump when you tell her this. Then she threads her blonde eyebrows together and gives a sympathetic frown, “Oh, honey.”

No matter how many times you try this line, everyone responds with pity. You need some new material. Kourtney wanders off into the kitchen before you can respond.

When you look around the living room from your vantage point on a sitting stool, you briefly notice that all of the other visitors are gravitating towards the kitchen, too. Then the opaque black stain that looks like a black hole in the middle of your otherwise pristinely white carpet catches your eye. You tilt your head as you study it, wondering how it can be so impossibly dark.

“Are you ready, Lou?” your father-in-law, Adam, asks you from across the room.

You lift your gaze and look around at the other sitters, realizing they're all staring at you expectantly.

“Yeah, yep,” you finally respond, then get to your feet. They follow suit.

After gathering their belongings, Ethan's immediate family crowds around your apartment's entryway to bid their farewells. His mom and dad tell you that they’ll call you in a few days to check in on you. You believe it. Unlike everyone else that promised you’d “talk soon,” Adam and Sarah mean it. 

"If you need anything, and I mean anything at all, please don't hesitate to call us," Sarah tells you, then scoops you into a great big hug. When she pulls away, she holds you by the shoulders and stares at you with tears pooling in those brown eyes that break your fucking heart. You look away when you say goodbye.

Your stepson, Ben, literally scoffs when you tell him to call you if he wants to talk about it. Which is just like a 16-year old to do. When his mom is distracted, fussing over your stepdaughter, you try to level with Ben.

"Listen. I know. I know people just say that. My dad died when I was 16, too. It fucking sucks. And I get it. So if you wanna talk to someone who knows which shade of 'this fucking sucks' you're going through, I'm your guy."

This time when he responds, the snotty tone is gone. It's replaced by a morose veil over his eyes and he just nods, "Ok."

The 12-year old, Talia, saves your phone number and tells you she’ll send you snapchats.

Even though you iterate these comforting half-promises to communicate in the future, when you tell Ethan's kids you’d “talk soon,” you don’t mean it. They don’t, either. But that’s alright. You never thought the too-little-too-late maternal bonding would stick, anyway.  

Once the last mourning visitor leaves, and door clicks shut, you deadbolt it, and you’re... alone. It's surreal. Moping around the silent apartment, you reorganize things to your liking, collect sitting stools, and tug the fabric off the mirrors. You're stunned momentarily after each reflection you unveil.

The person you see is a stranger. Your skin is very Bride of Frankenstein, stitched together with pieces of tattooed corpses. Just over a week ago, your body was twisted and mangled, but doctors slapped you back together in time to bury your husband. Briefly, you consider covering all of the mirrors again until you're farther along in the healing process, but decide against it. What the fuck does it matter, anyway. 

For at least five minutes, you're anchored in front of the spare bedroom door, its key pinched tightly between your thumb and index finger. You locked it last week to keep nosy visitors from poking around during shiva. God only knows what kind of shit they would stumble upon, considering how out-of-control Ethan was towards the end. Not to mention the deep freezer filled with bulk amounts of flower and cannabutter.

There are two huge mirrors in the room that you want to uncover. But this room is- well, was- his space. On most days, he spent hours in there, isolating, listening to music, hanging out with friends, or whatever else. Not like you'd know, since it was just another club you weren't invited to join. A deep sense of foreboding infiltrated your psyche when you covered the damned things, and it somehow feels worse now. 

A fuzzy, uncomfortable buzzing starts under your skin as you stare at the old brass door knob. You’re just about to say fuck it and try again later when something clatters from inside the room. Your hands work on their own accord. They slide the skeleton key into its slot, then turn the knob and push the door open. It swings back on its hinges with a groan and butts up against the doorstop with a thud.

The room is neat and clean, like it was a week ago, but you immediately notice two things that make your hair stand on end:

The picture frame

The mirrors

When moving into this apartment, Ethan insisted the 4x6” ceramic picture frame be transported on your lap from the dumpy apartment in Bushwick. His little brother, Benji, gave it to him for his birthday the summer before he fell through the ice. The photo depicts a 12-year old Ethan with his arm around his little brother’s shoulders, both smiling from ear-to-ear as they hold up the fish they caught off the dock of their childhood home in Eagle Bay, NY. 

One bare nail stands erect on the navy blue wall. That’s where it was hanging when you locked the door last week. But now, the picture frame is propped up by the easel back in the middle of the shiny hardwood floor.

It doesn’t make sense.

On the westernmost and easternmost walls, the matching set of Regency era mirrors, which hang across from one another, are uncovered. Their intricate bevels are illuminated by the fading sun, casting shadows into the mahogany frames. The bedsheets you covered them with last week are crumpled on the floor beneath them.

“Why are you covering the mirrors?” you asked your great-grandma, watching her from the doorframe of your parents’ room with curiosity. Her paper-thin skin drooped over the hills and valleys of her hands, shifting over bones and blood vessels as she secured a white cotton bedsheet to the full-length mirror with clothespins.

“So his spirit doesn’t get trapped inside,” she explained simply.

You shake the memory from your head.

They’re just mirrors.

Ignoring every cell in your body that screams at you to get the fuck out, you take a few cautious steps forward, then pick the picture frame up off the ground. The pad of your thumb rubs against the smooth finish of the white ceramic. An ache radiates across your chest as you stare at the young boys with their matching smiles, backdropped by tall pines and open waters. Suspended in time, happy and carefree in their favorite place.  

Now they’re both fucking dead.

The urge to cry tingles at the back of your throat. You look up at the bare nail sticking out of the wall across the room and march towards it. A shiver of warning runs down your spine as you walk past the antique mirrors. You mount the frame on the wall in its place.

But then you’re frozen.

Spiders are crawling around inside your spinal column, spinning webs, exploring every inch. And, it’s fucking insane, just childhood memories fucking with your head, but you swear you feel eyes on your back. A shudder racks your body. You look straight down at your feet, holding all of your concentration steady on them as you turn around towards the door.

The buzzing in your bones intensifies. Instinct engrained in the folds of your brain for a millennia, since homo sapiens were hunters and gatherers, urges you to look up look up look up because someone is watching you. Hunting you.

Fighting your seized muscles, you make yourself take one step forward.

Adrenaline floods your bloodstream and spurs you into action without thought. Your feet carry you past the mirrors, out of the room. The spiders mobilize, scurrying inside your spine, making you nauseous. As your trembling hands fumble with the doorknob, your eyes betray you.

They flick to the westernmost mirror.

And just barely… you think you see someone staring back at you.

“What is this?” Anika’s Bulgarian accent is the first thing Dieter hears as she shakes him out of sleep. His response is to roll away from the nuisance and pull the white duvet over his head. She jumps off of the bed and yanks the blanket away from him in a series of furious tugs as she hisses, “No. No sleep. Get up.”

When she succeeds in retrieving the whole blanket, she throws it on the floor by her feet, exposing Dieter's naked body to the megawatt afternoon sun. The intrusion sets him off, and he groans, pinching his nose in response to the headache throbbing in his eyes and nose, “Fuckin’ a, Annie, what?”

Sitting up, eyes still closed, he grumbles, “What could be so fucking important-“ he cracks open an eye, throwing his palm down against the mattress in frustration, then sees the headline displayed the iPhone she's holding in front of his face. 

LEAKED: DIETER BRAVO PARTYING WITH INSTAGRAM MODEL

He squints as he reads it again, then snatches the phone away, scrolling through the short article on the tabloid magazine DIRT’s website.

The Cliff Beasts 6 star, Dieter Bravo, was spotted with Instagram model, Lilly Stokes, getting hot-and-heavy at several LA nightclubs late last night. Reportedly, the duo were heavily intoxicated, seen taking shots and snorting lines of illicit substances. In the photos obtained by DIRT, the disheveled Bravo, sporting a half-buttoned floral shirt and jeans, can be seen groping Stokes, dressed in a hot pink slip dress and stilettos, as she straddles the actor in a roped-off section of Aspect’s VIP lounge. This scandal is surfacing amid rumors of Bravo’s marriage with Anika Bravo being strained to the breaking point. Dieter and Anika met in 2020 during the filming of Cliff Beasts 6, a film made infamous by the hit documentary Beasts of the Bubble. The couple tied the knot in 2021, immediately following their escape from Clifton Hotel. In one of their only public appearances together, the newlywed couple raised eyebrows when they brought fitness guru Kate Ridley with as their date to the Beasts of the Bubble premiere. Since then, the Academy Award winning actor has been under fire for alleged infidelity and drug abuse, as well as displaying bizarre behavior, such as his appearance on The View in September, when he told host Meghan McCain that he “hopes hell is real so (her) dad burns there forever.”

As promised, the article includes a slideshow of photos depicting him and Lilly making out in a booth at Aspect the previous night. Dieter tosses the phone to the side, and all he can do is shrug, staring up at her with cold eyes, “Whaddya wanna know?”

They sit here like this for a beat, frozen in their stubbornness. As if he doesn’t know the question on her mind.

She blinks, swallows hard, and crosses her arms in front of her body. Then finally breaks and asks, “Is it true?”

As if she doesn’t know the answer.

He grinds his jaw back and forth, considering the consequences of what he’ll say next. She stares at him.

Fuck it.

“Yeah,” he admits to his wife, averting his gaze as he runs his fingers through his hair, “Yeah I fucked her.”

Anika rears back, then slaps him across the face, gritting her teeth together as she growls, “FUCK YOU!”

His cheek stings as her palm jerks his head to the side. He deserves that.

Sure, he could have lied, but there’s no use in denying it. There he was, caught on camera with Lilly's tongue down his throat and his hands up her dress. From there, they stumbled into the bathroom of the club. He gave the bathroom attendant $200 to guard the door. Then, he snorted coke off her perfect tits, bent her over the granite top sink, and fucked her speechless.

The bathroom attendant won’t be speechless, though. Dieter is sure that for another $200 from any number of tabloids, the gangly, pasty skinned kid would unzip his rubber band lips and tell all. 

"Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do, Annie!? You won't fucking touch me!" the cords of his neck stick out as he leans forward barks this into her face.

"Don't deserve to be touched," she spits, narrowing her eyes as she inches so close he can feel her breathe, "Leave me alone all the time. Do you know how lonely I am, Dieter? What kind of man leaves me alone all the time?"

"Fucking AGAIN with this. Really? Every fucking time I come home, it's all I hear," Dieter stands up out of bed and stomps over to the closet, Anika hot on his trail. He starts mocking her, using an exaggerated Bulgarian accent, "Oh I'm so sad, you leave me alone in this big house with all this money, oh nooo!," then he turns on his heel to scoff in her face, "Get over it, for fuck's sake. It's tired."

Her shoulders sag. He knows he went to far. He’s being mean. Cruel, even. But he can't stop. His father’s anger, flooding from his hindbrain through his mouth. 

"It's how I feel, Dieter," she squeaks, big brown eyes filling with tears. He starts digging through drawers of the built-in dresser for boxer briefs, then stuffs his legs into a pair. She sobs, "I didn't know it would be like this. So lonely."

"Yeah?! Welcome to my FUCKIN' LIFE!" he screams into her face, then rips a shirt off the hanger and pulls it over his head before storming off.

You sink down into your purple velvet couch and turn on the TV. Fresh-out-the-shower damp hair sticks to your cheek when you rest your head on a black and white checkered pillow. In an attempt to take your mind off what you thought you saw in the spare bedroom earlier, you flip through various streaming services for a distraction. However, your attention is drawn to the shiva candle dwindling down on the fireplace mantle.

Each time it flickers, dread seizes your heart. You hold your breath and watch it, unblinking, until it steadies.

It happens again.

And again.

Your eyes flit to the opaque black ink stain in the middle of your carpet, only for a moment. But it's long enough. When you look back to the candle, the flame is gone. Black smoke curls and dances in celebration around a glowing orange wick.

He’s gone.

This fact creeps into your consciousness slowly, but surely. The same way the cold settles into your bones when the temperature is below freezing. It starts off fine, maybe a little brisk, but manageable. Then your nose, fingers, and toes start to feel frosty. Before you know it, you can't stop shivering, and can't even remember what warmth felt like.

Hugging your knees to your chest, you squeeze every ounce of oxygen from your lungs. Your brain prompts you to inhale. The breath comes as a shattered gasp, and your chest heaves, but the well of pain is too far underground. The tears don't come. You’re unable to tap into it and release the pressure that's been building for nine days. You're about to fucking explode.

Your gaze shifts to the window. It’s dark outside. You try to decide who to reach out to for support. Each person you consider would come over and sit with you as they awkwardly make conversation. They would probably try to talk to you about Ethan, or tell you about how their friend’s cousin had a husband croak on them and they did abc, then xyz, and voilà! They’re cured!

And you just can’t with that shit right now. You don’t want to be pitied. You want to have a normal conversation. One where you aren’t expected to cry and talk about it. You want to be how you were before.

How you were before, but without him.

“Whiskey neat,” Dieter tells the bartender without looking his way.

When he glances up into the mirror behind the bar, he sees the version of himself that Anika hates the most. Mop of curly brown hair stuffed under a baseball cap, sunglasses covering half his face, wearing sweatpants and whatever t-shirt he happened to pull off the hanger before heading out the door.

“Airport Dee,” her lip would curl up and touch the columella of her nose, “I don’t like him.”

“Airport Dee means Working Dee, which is better than Broke Dee, right?” he would try to reason, meeting her eyes over his sunglasses, tugging her closer for a kiss goodbye.

She would arch a brow and back away from him, her sneer firmly in place, “I like Home Dee the most.”

The last few times he left, he didn’t even say goodbye. He thinks that maybe Airport Dee isn’t the version of him she hates the most anymore.

His phone buzzes. He pulls it out of his pants pocket to see the text from his wife.

> ANNIEBABY: > If u get on the flight, we’re done

An amused laugh trickles from his throat. The bartender, a handsome, tall, blonde man with terrific posture, slides a coaster in front of Dieter, then places the lowball glass on top of it. Just in time. Dieter picks it up and swallows it in one go, then tells the bartender, who’s foolishly walking away, “Another.”

The bartender turns on his heel and raises a well-kept eyebrow at Dieter, who responds by reaching into his wallet and slamming a $100 bill onto the bar, advising, “This is your tip if you keep ‘em coming and don’t fucking look at me like that again.”

“You got it, boss,” the man responds as he grabs a bottle of bourbon and flips it upside down over Dieter’s cup.

The phone starts buzzing again, but this time it’s his publicist. He picks up with a cheeky, “Darlene, it’s been ages, what in the world could you possibly be calling me about?”

“Just wanted to call and let you know you’re making my life a living fucking hell today,” she volleys the same faux-sweetness back to him.

“Welcome to the club,” he mumbles.

“How’s your wife?”

“Terrible, she’s leaving me,” Dieter drops this bomb, then tells her, “Hey, I’m boarding a flight for the, uhh- the screen test thing, I’ll call you later.”

“Dieter, don’t you fu-“

He hangs up and puts his phone in airplane mode. Morphine was such a good idea.

Instead of the all-consuming anxiety that typically accompanies one’s name trending on Twitter, all Dieter feels is an overwhelming sense of fuck it. That’s what morphine is good for, after all. Not for all the time, though. Just emergencies.

He imagines a bottle of MS Contin but instead of the prescription label it just reads EMERGENCY OBLIVION.

“Having a rough day?” the bartender asks, looking from the discarded phone to Dieter’s smiling face as he leans against the bar.

Dieter giggles and shakes his head, “Fuck off, you don’t care.”

“I- I care,” the bartender frowns, then pushes off and stands up straight.

“You don’t. Not really. You’re just nosy,” Dieter grins with a shrug.

He downs the whiskey, slams the cup against the bartop, then points to it. The bartender refills the cup and fucks off. Dieter sighs with satisfaction and floats into the abyss.

About mid-way through your third vodka cranberry, you start to feel more comfortable in your skin.

A short-statured man hangs his winter coat on the back of the barstool next to you and sits down. A green knit cap hides any indication of hair on top of his head, although a trimmed beard hints that it'll be dark brown if he has any. When he looks your direction through thick rimmed glasses frames, you meet his honey brown eyes and you smile.

Granted, it’s not a smile you really mean, but he’s cute and he sat right next to you at a bar that has plenty of other open seats, so, you’ll play the part.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” he inquires, gaze trailing up and down your form.

You shake your head, “Not at all.”

“Thanks,” he gives you a wide smile, then flags down the bartender and orders a drink.

You sit back and look up to the flatscreen TV playing the Knicks game, pretending to care, watching the teams dribble a basketball from one side of the court to the other. Back and forth, back and forth. It seems so fucking pointless.

“You a Knicks fan?” he asks, following your line of sight to the TV.

“Hmm?” you blink, then realize you are furrowing your brow up at the game as if you’re interested, “Oh, no. I don’t give a shit.”

This makes him laugh. He shows you those pearly whites again, then extends his hand to you, “I’m Dante.”

“Louella,” your hand meets his. It’s warm and sandpapery. His thumb rubs against the back of your hand as you shake.

You ponder what this stranger’s hands would feel like on other parts of your body. What it would feel like to forget, just for a while, that Ethan’s hands were the last ones to touch you. What it would feel like to forget that he’ll never touch you again.

“That’s a really pretty name,” he comments, not letting go of your hand, not ceasing the movement of his thumb on your skin. A tingle trickles down the middle of you and produces goosebumps across your flesh.

It’s the only enjoyable sensation that has managed to rise above the soul-crushing emptiness of the past week and a half. Your skin aches and yearns for more.

You try to stretch your smile wide and make your eyes sparkle as if you’ve never heard that before, “Thank you, Dante.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” he lets go, then leans forward against the bar.

Your eyes flick from his thick lips to his honey brown eyes and you nod.

“Dieter fucking Bravo!” Glenn hollers at his longtime friend as Dieter approaches the well-dressed table.

Friend might not be the right word. Enabler is probably closer to the truth. His nasally voice booms across the dining room, earning a few disgruntled stares from the highbrow patrons expecting a quiet lunch on the Upper East Side. 

Dieter offers a nod in the general direction of the outburst, then pulls out the chair perpendicular to Glenn and plops down, picking up the menu as he scoots in his seat.

A peeved, but incredibly handsome, waiter comes to the table and pours ice water in a glass for the new arrival, “Welcome, sir. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Whiskey neat,” Dieter answers, then dismisses the waiter's presence as he glances around the room through tortoiseshell Ray-Bans and tells Glenn, “You finally got your wish. Anika is filing for divorce.”

“About fucking time,” Glenn guffaws and claps his hands together, “Was it the thing with the uh, what’s that broad’s name, Bailey?”

“Lilly,” Dieter corrects.

“Lilly,” Glenn repeats, “Irregardless, congratulations, my friend. Welcome to the divorcee club!”

Dieter’s face scrunches up in disdain at the enthusiasm as he mutters sarcastically, “It’s an honor.”

“We should celebrate,” Glenn winks. 

He knows Glenn well enough to know that "celebrate" means "go on an alcohol and drug binge so outrageous, you'll be trying to chase that high for a year." And, fuck, that sounds like a slice of heaven. The last time he "celebrated" with Glenn was pre-COVID. They were awake for 2-days straight, going to nightclubs, stripclubs, country clubs, whatever. It was a blast.

He thinks it was, at least.

“I don’t have to go back to the studio ‘til Wednesday, so I’m game,” Dieter gives a small grin, then rubs his hands together.

The waiter returns with Dieter’s drink and takes their order, then talk of celebrating recommences. Glenn leans over, trying to be as discreet as his voice can manage, “What kind of stuff ya looking for?”

Dieter ponders this, leaning back in his chair as he rolls head on his shoulders and sips his drink. The first thing that comes to mind are these "special" baked goods he gets sometimes when he’s in New York. The guy hand delivers them, and they were better than any pastries he’s eaten otherwise, “straight” or not.

“Doesn’t matter. I just want to get out of my fuckin' head. I’m gonna see if I can get some of those edibles we got last time. The pastries, what’re they called?” Dieter snaps his fingers together trying to jog his memory.

“Cookies?”

Dieter scoffs and shakes his head, “You think I don’t know what a fucking cookie is? No, it was like a donut.”

“Like a…” Glenn screws his face up and shrugs, then takes a sip of his old fashioned, “Like a long john?”

Idiot. Dieter pulls out his phone, clearing notifications from the Lock Screen from his lawyer, Darlene, and Anika, then sends a text message to Ethan.

< ME: < In NYC. Want what I got last time, can u do that?

“I texted the guy,” Dieter advises, then briefly looks at the last message he received from Anika. 

> ANNIEBABY: > My father was right about u

He ignores the sharp stab in his chest at this remark, remembering how hard it was to convince her dad that he wasn’t a piece of shit. Just as he’s about to hide his phone again, it buzzes.

> ETHAN NYC: > Idk what you got last time. $150/ dozen pastries. $100/ 2 dozen cookies. $50/ 4 brownies. Have to pick up here now FYI, in downtown Brooklyn.

< ME: < Ok. Surprise me. 12 pastries, 24 cookies, 12 brownies.

> ETHAN NYC: > You got it. Should be ready by tomorrow afternoon. I’ll text you the address when they’re ready.

“Alright, edibles won’t be ready 'til tomorrow, but it’ll be worth the wait,” Dieter announces to Glenn, who’s also fucking around on his phone.

Glenn nods, then looks up around the room and back to Dieter, leaning in as he asks, “So you wanna go do a few lines in the bathroom, or what?”

Once the second-to-last order has been picked up, you pour yourself a glass of wine. It's noon, which you consider a socially acceptable time to start drinking.

You turn the stereo on and start prepping for the next day while you sip wine and sing along to the music on your baking playlist. Aside from getting fucked by Dante in the bar bathroom the other night, baking is the only thing that has taken your mind off of the fact that Ethan is dead. 

It's the stupid little things you wouldn't have expected that sting the most.

His prescription refill reminders dinging on your phone. Leftover takeout from the day before the accident starting to emit an unacceptable odor. A package arriving yesterday from something he ordered online. You stare at the nondescript cardboard box now, as it sits next to the stack of outgoing pastry boxes, and wonder what's inside. 

All of these things and the deep ache they cultivate... but you still haven't cried. Everything feels so far away, like it's not real. Is this normal? Are you broken? 

You swallow the remaining wine in your glass and refill it. 

There’s a buzz on the intercom. You pad over to the screaming box, holding your wine glass by the stem as you press the DOOR button.

A knock sounds on the door a minute later, so you turn the stereo down from a roar to a murmur. You open the door to reveal a broad, relatively tall, tan-skinned man. Pillowy lips fold in a frown and he narrows his dark eyes at you. His age shows in the creases of his face and the sparse grays in his patchy facial hair. 

“Hi,” you greet the unrefined, but notably handsome, stranger, “Come on in.”

He does so cautiously, furrowing his brow with confusion as he peers around the apartment like a frightened animal, and you explain for the 8th time today while extending your hand to him, “I’m Louella. I’m Ethan’s wife.”

“Dieter,” he meets your hand and shakes it, avoiding eye contact. When he turns his head to the side to examine your kitchen, you catch a glimpse of his profile and feel the urge to run a finger down the center of his aquiline nose. 

“Ohhh!” you exclaim as your face heats up, “DEE-ter! Not DIET-er. It’s your name! That makes sense.”

He runs a hand through his mess of curly brown hair, “Yeah.”

When he does this, his knit sweater pulls up over the waistband of his jeans and exposes his bellybutton. Your eyes fall on the soft section of his broad body and you suddenly can’t tell if your mouth is dry, or if you’re drooling, but you swallow hard, and- is it fucking hot in here?

“Sorry,” you shake your head and feel the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck as you make your way over to the kitchen counter, “I just, um, I haven’t really met any of our clients in person. I thought maybe you were someone on a diet? I don’t know. Ethan had all kinds of weird fucking code names for people.”

“I didn’t know Ethan was married,” Dieter comments as he pinches one nostril closed and sniffs, then rolls the sleeves on his sweater up to his elbows. His jaw is clenched like he’s grinding his teeth. He’s practically fucking vibrating. 

This dude is coked the fuck up.

“Technically, he’s not anymore, because he’s dead,” you nod, then clear your throat and try to move on to the next subject as you fidget with your apron, “But yeah, I’ve always done the baking, so it’ll be just as good. I just can’t drive. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

His head jerks back and he unleashes a booming, bright laugh that brings an actual smile to your face, “Did you… did you just yadda yadda the fact that he’s dead?”

“Mhmm, yeah,” you laugh nervously. Your entire head is lit ablaze up now as your attention is drawn to his gorgeous smile, “This is like the tenth time I’ve done this today, I’m a little desensitized to it.”

His cheeriness disintegrates as he realizes he's laughing about your recently deceased spouse. 

“I’m-“ Dieter’s mouth gapes open and he tries to generate a response. You meet his glossy eyes, and notice now that his pupils are blown out so wide over the dark brown irises, they appear black. They remind you of Ethan. The black ink stain on your carpet.

And they’re filled to the brim with that annoying fucking look. Pity.

“Don’t- don’t say you’re sorry,” you sigh, real smile waning into one that’s painfully forced, then gesture to the stack of boxes on the counter, “Just pay me and you can be on your way.”

Dieter climbs into the backseat and sets the pastry boxes between himself and Glenn. He can’t shake the puzzled look from his face. Glenn lifts the cover off one of the boxes and grabs a brownie as the driver starts off down the street.

“What?” Glenn asks with a mouth still full of brownie. His dilated eyes search Dieter’s face, narrowing with suspicion.

Dieter frowns as he scratches the scruff on his chin, then snaps his head back and forth, cracking his neck, “That was weird.”

“Why? Did he hit on you or something?” Glenn’s words form around the food in his mouth. Dieter’s lip curls in disdain at the homophobic implication. He swears Glenn forgets that Dieter is not straight sometimes.

“No,” he scoffs and turns to dig a pastry out of the box in spite of the cocaine buzzing through his veins, suppressing his appetite.

When he bites into it, he finds it’s exactly the one he was trying to think of yesterday. Apple Danish. His shoulders wiggle and he groans in delight as the flaky crust gives way to apple filling inside. He swallows and clears his throat, “No, it wasn’t even him, it was his wife. The guy died.”

“She hot?” Glenn asks, not looking up from his examination of the remaining brownie.

Dieter nods as he chews, raising his eyebrows to indicate fuck yeah.

“How’d he die?” Glenn questions. His eyes are flicking all around the backseat of the town car, knee bouncing at lightspeed to spend some of his amplified, god-like energy. Dieter can tell he does not give one single fuck, he just wants to move his mouth.

“Didn’t ask,” Dieter takes another bite and throws his head back, groaning “Fuck, that’s good.”

Glenn shoves the rest of the brownie into his cavernous mouth and nods in agreement, “Good call.”

“But, she just casually mentioned that he died,” Dieter shakes his head and swallows the pastry.

“Weird,” Glenn comments in a disinterested tone as he grabs for a bottle of champagne waiting in an ice bucket by his feet.

Dieter licks his fingers and shakes his head again, “That’s not the weird part.”

“Then what the fuck is the weird part?” Glenn snips, growing impatient, all red-hot edges, fueled by cocaine and alcohol.

It wasn’t the off-putting way you spoke about your husband’s death. Or your apartment filled with a haze of loneliness so palpable it felt like someone was squeezing Dieter's heart.

Glenn wipes the brownie crumbs off his hands onto the seat of the car, then passes two champagne flutes to Dieter, who pops the last bite of Apple Danish into his mouth and takes the glasses. The unmistakable champagne POP! makes both the men flinch. Glenn fills both of the glasses that are shaking in Dieter’s unsteady grip. A substantial amount overflows onto the floor of the vehicle.

Dieter takes a swig of the bubbly, then explains, “When I OD’d, before they revived me, I saw her. It was like a memory, man. But it wasn’t, because it didn’t happen yet.”

He thought maybe the wires got crossed with someone else and he got the wrong memory. Fuck, he doesn’t know how it works. In the moments of clarity during his near-death experience, he knew, somehow, that he was seeing the future. His future. Each time he looked back on the experience, though, he grew more unsure.

But you opened that door into your apartment, and it was like déjà vu. High ceilings, purple crushed velvet couch in the living room that reminded him of Prince, pastry boxes stacked on the white granite countertop in the kitchen that looked made for a chef. It smelled like vanilla and pastry crust. 

Louella. One of your bare arms looked torn to shreds, tattoos once cohesive now crudely pasted back together, ribbed with newly formed scar tissue. Your smile, the real one, occupied your whole face.

"Weird," Glenn responds. He's scrolling through Twitter on his phone, not even listening.

There was more, though. 

Waking up in your bed, morning light spilling onto the two of you like a spotlight, his fingers tracing the map of scars up your leg.

Holding your hand while walking down the icy, snow-dusted sidewalk outside your apartment building. 

Kissing you in front of an ordained minister, cheers erupting from the crowd of spectators. 

Louella. Who the fuck are you? 

[ Next Chapter ]

#dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo #pedrostories #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #psychomanteum

[darklordazalin]

Azalin Reviews: Darklord Ivana Boritsi

Domain: Borca Domain Formation: 684 BC Power Level: 3/5 skulls Sources: Ravenloft (3e), Domains of Dread (2e), Secrets of the Dread Realms (3e), Domains and Denizens (2e), Realm of Terror (2e), Gazetteer 4 (3e), van Ricthen’s Guide to Ravenloft

Ivana Boritsi is the second Darklord of Borca, usurping her mother, Camille Boritsi when she committed matricide via the traditional Borcan means – poison.  In 740 BC the Grand Conjunction caused Borca to absorb Dorvinia, her cousin Ivan’s Domain. Currently, Borca is ruled by these poisonous noble cousins, but today I am only going to address Ivana’s descent into Darklordom.

Camille wanted nothing more for her daughter to mirror her in every possible way. An admirable goal. What parent would not want to see their legacies carried forward in their heirs? Installing hatred in one of the Bortisi bloodline should not be a difficult task, yet Camille failed to mold Ivana into the man hating daughter she desired.

The young, influential Ivana desired the experience of ‘true love’. Bah. Overrated dribble best left in fairytales. In her search, she found Pieter – a poetic and musician. He, however, showed no interest in Ivana, so naturally she took to pursuing him like a relentless zealot.  He, like the gloriously vain artist he was, only took interest in Ivana when she expressed interest in his art. And so, Ivana became one of the first groupies in Ravenloft…

Camille, seeing her daughter find ‘true love’ in this musical hack, decided to demonstrate to Ivana just how horrible all men truly were. She pretended to be Ivana and came into Pieter’s bed under the cloak of darkness. When Ivana discovered them together, she was devastated. Camille quickly convinced Ivana that Pieter had seduced her and Ivana should kill him for it in the Boritsi fashion.

Ivana saturated her body in a powerful poison that did no harm to her, but allowed her to kill Pieter with a single kiss. Camille had finally obtained the man-hating, poisonous daughter she always dreamed of. Ivana, however, did not see her revenge complete until she mother suffered the same fate as her lover and with Camille’s last breath, Ivana became the Darklord of Borca.

Now, her body is permanently seeped in poison. Ivana is in her 60s, yet appears no older than 18. A gift bestowed upon her by our tormentors, allowing her to stay young and beautiful without the curse of undeath. There is, naturally, always a price for their gifts and though Ivana may give all appearances of the innocent and beautiful young woman, part of her true nature is revealed by the unnaturally and sickly shade of blue that stains her lips and fingernails. Though Ivana hides these blemishes beneath lairs of makeup, I would not be surprised if she was able to convince the Borcans that blue lips and nails are the latest fashion craze.

When she succumbs to mortal slumber, Ivana’s horror is revealed – she appears as if she died from poison – swelled face, protruding and blackened tongue, and the pallor of a blotted corpse. Perhaps this is why she ensures the death of any lover she takes for fear they may see her as she truly is.

As a ruler, Ivana is more interested in funding her lavish lifestyle and manipulating countless courtiers for her to seduce and destroy. When Borca absorbed Dorvinia, Ivana was more than happy to let Ivan take over the political concerns of their realm.

5e Version

In van Richten’s Guide to Ravenloft, Ivana’s story has changed in some ways and remained the same in others. In this version, both of her parents earned her scorn. Her father for favoring male heirs over herself and her mother for successfully seducing Pieter from her. After Camille’s betrayal, Ivana created aromatic toxins and killed all of her brothers for the crime of being favored by her father and her mother for seducing Pieter.

When her father lay on his death bed, he named Ivan Dilisnya as his heir. Now, of course, Ivana assumed this was because he was a petty man…but perhaps killing everyone with poison in a rather unsubtle means clued your father into your true nature, Ivana. Though, Ivan is a rather poor choice as an heir as well. With his final word, Ivana released another toxic gas and killed her already dying father and their countless servants. A rather pointless act, but it earned her a Domain and the taint of poison beneath her skin.   

#ravenloft #darklordreviews #azalin rex #ivana boritsi #borca #ivan dilisnya #poison loving nobility #know its been a while since i posted one of these. been struggling with real life stuff.

[o-craven-canto]

Ea, Our Second Chance (10b)

10b. Eucytobionta (part 2/3, unicellular diversity)

(Index) (< 10a. Eucytobionta, cell structure) (> 10c. Eucytobionta, biotechnology)

(original link)

« The diversity of microscopic life was, and still is, overwhelming: from day one, each drop of water and grain of sand revealed a bewildering variety of forms. No more than on Earth, of course; don't think for one moment that we fully understood the complexity of our mother world when we left it. We're still making new discoveries from the few experimental models we brought over. Nevertheless, this represented the perfect opportunity to test out the new kind of science we were going to build. » – dean Sofia Torres, Tabula Rasa

I. Kingdom Monokarya (etym. "one kernel"). Unicellular, never colonial. Usually very small (<20 μm); only protonucleus (almost certainly secondary loss of paranuclei; polynucleate kingdoms do not form a clade). Usually flagellate, at least at one stage. Mostly endoparasites, within fluids of multicellular organisms (lymph, hydromuscular liquid); a few intracellular species. Outside of hosts they form capsules highly resistant to dehydration, heat, and radiations. Representative genera: Ankylococcus, Myoecia, Nesokaryon.

II. Kingdom Pogonocyta (etym. "bearded cell"). Unicellular, frequently colonial. Usually have superficial cilia or flagella. Often have two protonuclei, which they exchange in a form of sexuality not synchronous with reproduction (which occurs by fission or sequential fragmentation). Often very large species (commonly >0.1 mm with >20 paranuclei, Titanopogon reaches 8 mm in length); may have structures such as ciliate wheels, funnels, traps, stylets, articulated "jaws", etc. to feed on smaller cells, as well as visual organs and permanent digestive vesicles. Eyespots may have developed from endo-symbiotic unicellular algae. Smaller species may form clonal colonies via incomplete fragmentation, e.g. Petrovella. A few aerial species are known (most within genus Uranocyton). Representative genera: Hekatokaryon, Hylonectes, Nanognathus, Petrovella.

III. Kingdom Ostracophyta (etym. "tile-plant"). Unicellular, rarely colonial. Rigid polyhedral shell, apparently formed by crystalline sulfonamide impregnating the cell net; pseudopodia emerge from gaps, usually regularly placed, sometimes at the vertices of the shell. Macroscopic needleweed ("Hyalophyta", e.g. Arslanophyton). In the colonial forms (e.g. Endolithus), the shells may fuse and trap sediment forming stromatolite-like structures, pseudopodia may connect cell bodies. Usually phototrophs or mixotrophs (= energy from both sunlight and organic matter). All major forms of frostblight (white, purple, mealy, etc.) are ectoparasitic Ostracophyta with invasive root-like pseudopodia, but do not form a single clade. Representative genera: Arslanophyton, Astrapocyton, Endolithus, Phytopachne.

IV. Kingdom Colloplasmi (etym. "glue-form"). Unicellular, almost (?) exclusively colonial. Lobate cells, able to move by circulating cytosol through the lobes. Adhesive cell envelope, apparently rich in glycosyl-sulfonamides, which may form a common matrix for colonies. Sometimes mineral particles are incorporated (origin of Lithobionta?); mushroom-like, coral-like, or grass-like colonies both in water and on land, with specialized fruiting bodies. Often the colonies liquefy or "evaporate" when disturbed or damaged (special toxic cell morph in Ceratoides). Saprotrophs, herbivores, carnivores; unconfirmed case of a Cordyceps-like neural parasite. Representative genera: Ceratoides, Danaë, Eidocarpus, Xanthoplasma.

V. Kingdom Lithobionta (etym. "stone-life"). Multicellular. Forming pumice-like porous mineral structures; "living boulders". Representative genera: Lithobius, Pliniella.

VI. Kingdom Haematophyta* (etym. "blood-plants"). Multicellular. Photosynthetic organisms with zinc-based pigments; "red plants". Representative genera: Corynetes, Hypogaea, Tomophylla, Tribaculum.

VII. Kingdom Fuscophyta (etym. "dark plants"). Multicellular. Photosynthetic organisms, methanogens; "black plants". Representative genera: Cystophyton, Dendrocystis, Nepheloecia.

VIII. Kingdom Enantiozoa (etym. "mirror-animals"). Multicellular. Mostly motile chemoheterotrophs; Ean "animals". Representative genera: Akkadia, Dendrocephalus, Prosopogyrus, Semaphorus.

* Named "Erythrophyta" in other publications. The two names are to be considered synonymous, when defined as "the most exclusive clade including both Maurophytum purpureum and Corynetes corynetes".

– Vikram Jariwala et al., "Preliminary notes on Ean "eukaryote" diversity", Xenobiology Review, 14 (38 AL)

#speculative biology #speculative evolution #xenobiology #alien life #my work #ea our second chance

[glindaupland]

The Phantom of the Opera | Seoul, South Korea | 조팬텀 x 손크리 Review 4/6

October 13, 2023 - Matinée

The Phantom of the Opera | 조승우 Jo Seung-woo

Christine Daaé | 손지수 Sohn Ji-soo

Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny | 송원근 Song Won-geun

Carlotta Giudicelli | 이지영 Lee Ji-young

Final boss of ticketing, Jo Seung-woo! The last one I snatched out of the four in one single ticketing after an hour of suffering. He's a pretty big actor who sells out shows quickly and has also been in dramas and movies. By the time you make it into one of his schedules' seating charts, the seats are all grayed out. So I had to keep refreshing and playing fucking whack-a-mole with the single color specks for any released seats that would pop up. One time I even even made it all the way to confirming payment and it said someone else took it. I actually thought I was about to turn into the Joker. But I am stronger! I won! And after seeing his performance in person? It was worth the fight.

I'll start this off with this tweet:

Shoutout to the guy next to me that was in shambles crying through his binoculars I hope he lived. Admittedly I did get teary-eyed myself! Which is quite an accomplishment even if it wasn't full blown tears like when seeing Ju-taek because I thought I was immune to this show after so long! But this is like uber sad pathetic wet cat man. My seat was actually a great unobstructed view with lots of space in the aisle. The Charlotte is so small that absolutely any view here is a good one especially if you have a pair of opera glasses/binoculars. Also I was safe from the piercing screams of the ballet girls! Hurray!

Hannibal Rehearsal

I really thought "I'll only use my binoculars for the major scenes with the trio because it's too tiring to hold them up", but that was a lie because I loved observing the supporting cast and ensemble too much. This time I watched for the smaller details like Christine quietly singing along to herself on the side while Carlotta was singing 'Think of Me'. Both Christines do it, but I remembered to look for it this show :') Kim Ah-seon had been clearly still recovering from being sick the previous performances, but I think she finally had her strength again this show. I love how elegant and dignified she is and her strong line delivery

The Mirror

Hearing Raoul's voice made the Phantom shoot a dark glare towards the dressing room door. Then, with the slightest smirk, he invited Christine into the mirror. Is somebody proud they managed to swipe the girl from the pretty young rich boy tonight? Ha

First Lair | POTO / MOTN / STYDI

Even if he's like...the most sad sewer creature-y of the Phantoms he's still got his charm okay! His voice isn't very strong, but I think he was able to handle it well enough during my show. He sounds older than he is actually is to me. How do I elaborate without making it sound backhanded? Even though he struggles in some areas with his singing, I think his vocal color is still suited for the energy his Phantom has. I'm just going to have to hope you understand me 😭 Whatever he lacks in that department, he certainly makes up for it in acting. It seems like he never stops onstage, like he's always making so many little choices at every moment. So it was a bit hard to keep track of everything he did because he was constantly doing something and was really immersed. I liked the sort of dreamy delivery of the beginning lines like the whispered way he sings "어둠...속에 - in the darkness". Halfway through the song he seems to build a little more enthusiasm seeing how open she is to him. He used more soft hand movements to act out certain parts of the lyrics like both his ear and then his body when he sang 들어, 느껴 - hear it, feel it". It's like really wanted to paint a clear picture of his mysterious beautiful dark world of music for Christine. I liked when he did a gesture with his hands like energy bursting free when he sang his big note in “네 영혼 다시 태어날 순간 / The moment your soul will be reborn” (let your soul take you where you long to be). This version of the line is unique to his Phantom. He smiled a lot and although he had a bit of a slight odd nervous energy, he still managed to maintain eye contact with her most of the time. Once he finally held her, he rested his head on her shoulder and whispered his words into her ear. 👀 He looked really worried and tried to catch her when she fell. After putting the cloak on her, I think he went to touch her, but stopped himself feeling a bit nervous. He put his hand on his chest instead to finish his final note

"Fake it til you make it" was working so well until it wasn't. Whatever confidence he built up during MOTN...bye. He's a little scary at the end when he shrieks out the 'Curse you!' and an extra 'No!' But most of all he's just really sad. When he asked her "what did you hope to see?" while chasing her, his voice sounded hurt and there was fear in his eyes. Like why, why did you have to be curious when I actually had it under control somehow? He slid slowly to the ground in defeat halfway through the song when he began the crawl. He eventually stopped making an effort to cover his face on his way toward her. Maybe he was so destroyed he didn't have the energy to. I liked how natural his acting felt here. It was tragic without being over the top. But I felt this about a lot of his choices in general

All I Ask of You (Reprise)

What a sad little man, completely a wreck. He covered his ears pleading "그만 제발 그만 크리스틴 다에 ! - Stop, please stop, Christine Daaé!" There should be a Christine Daaé name drop counter for Jo Phantom. He loves to say her name!!

Why So Silent? / Notes II

Taking focus away from the main roles for a moment, André is sooo extra stressed by this point. He fumbled the score when the Phantom tossed it to him. He does this every show, but this time I only just noticed him quickly doing sign of the cross during Notes II when they were opening up letters. He got super jumpy Also, Firmin and André start laughing to each other and making silly gestures making fun of Piangi when the Phantom starts attacking him in his note, but as soon as he addresses them, oh it suddenly really wasn't funny anymore!

The Point of No Return

Somebody help this man he already got jumpy simply just hearing her start to sing. 🤭 JSW Phantom seemed like the weakest one here across from Christine. He’s writhing terribly and gripping himself He was startled the most when she was close behind and he began to tremble. But when Christine finally touches him he moaned a little. It wasn't very loud, but it definitely was there and he threw his head back. His hands reached up to his face as he looked up before he finally held hers. This proposal was a mess. He got down on one knee at one point, but then he got too freaked out and shot right back up again as if he realized it was too vulnerable of a position to be in. When he was unmasked, he didn't scream and it was actually really heartbreaking to me. Like I do love a good scream, but ouch. His face dropped and he froze in complete shock looking like he'd been stabbed in the heart. His eyes darted around for a moment seeing everyone watching him like a trapped animal. It took him a moment to snap out of his daze and run off with her.

Down Once More / Final Lair

After throwing Christine, he almost looked regretful like he realized he was too hard, but then tried to push forward. Because he was fueled by anger, he didn't hide his face away as much like usual. It was still clear he was very actively disgusted by it. He touched his face for a moment after he let go of her and then immediately wiped his hand on his thigh. This performance he was actually able to look into her eyes when giving her the bouquet instead of looking down in shame. When he picked up the mirror bride to toss her he sang his lines into her ear in a whisper and actually very gently just plopped her on the ground instead of throwing her. I love this weird little detail I won't lie...it was kinda cute and silly that he had to hop a little to reach Won-geun's neck with the lasso haha. It's not supposed to be cute but I find it cute okay. He covered his ears while crying when she was coming over to him before the kiss :( After the first kiss it looked like he put his face in her shoulder for a moment, but still didn't have his hands on her. He seemed to give in a little for a second, but then took her hand off his head, looked at it for a moment, and gently wiped it with his sleeve like he couldn't let her have his filth taint her... When he approached Raoul with the candle, he could almost barely be heard whispering "Raoul de Chagny..." slowly in a chilling way before releasing him and turning away. I think he harbors the most bitterness towards Raoul out of the Phantoms. He's the most insecure one, and Raoul is everything he'll never be. He fell and pressed his head into the ground roughly while shaking when he screamed for them to leave him. And his scream was so painful and raw I don't know how he lets that out. He stayed like this for a while before he crawled clumsily and quickly towards the monkey in desperate need of any kind of comfort. He put his forehead head against it, closed his eyes tightly and held it so closely while he sang Masquerade. Christine came back and he tried to fix his hair and clothes before going to her I think SJS Christine was a good match for his interpretation of the Phantom because of how unconditionally compassionate she is. He was very fragile and she's very caring and gentle. I think she really did view JSW Phantom as her guardian and guide and had a very pure deep kind of love for him. Maybe not romantic love, but it was very strong either way. She watched him closely in the boat as she left, but he was facing the other way gripping her veil, repeating her name over and over. He turned at the last moment and called out "Christine Daaé!" one more time to her running over to take in the sight of her one last time. His final lines are actually different from the other Phantoms. It only just hit me the other day that they're the same as the lines from the original production in 2001-2. No idea why it took me that long to make the connection, but I found it interesting enough to note!

I really want to do musical promo time, but I really don't think what's on youtube does him justice. So let me just say his 2019 Jekyll/Hyde + Sweeney Todd and his Hedwig? Incredible. There's a reason for that ticket selling power he has and I say that completely unbiased!

Also lol at the person in front of me on the plane to Seoul that was watching his movie 'The Classic' because I was like "oh hey it's you I'm seeing you in a few days"

#i love u pathetic little wet cat man #the phantom of the opera #오페라의 유령 #조승우 #손지수 #송원근 #cho seung woo #jo seung woo #sohn ji soo #song won geun #poto korea #poto #poto review

[frodo-with-glasses]

For the ask game:

Frodo - kiss

Faramir - mirror

Eomer - fire

Gimili (and Legolas) - salt water

Kiss

OH HECK YEAH HOCKEY ANNA YOU KNOW WHAT I L I K E

(And what I like is platonic displays of affection through Physical Touch)

See talking about this topic is great because for the vast majority of kisses involving Frodo in this book, a) he is the recipient of said kiss, and b) the one doing the kissing is Sam. 8-D

THIS is why Frodo and Sam own my brain. Not only is their friendship crucial to saving the world—not only is it a beautifully gut-wrenching reflection of what it’s like to love someone with mental illness, which is an intensely familiar and poignant thing to me—but they’re also just so openly affectionate and vulnerable and sweet with each other, and confident and secure in that bond without embarrassment, and it’s demonstrated in so many ways including but not limited to kisses and IT’S SO HECKIN’ CUTE (and also FEELS)

Le Evidence, for the court’s review:

Sam weeps on Frodo’s hands at some point when they’re climbing the Emyn Muil, but the narration specifically points out that he does not kiss them, which makes me insane because it implies that such a thing was a possibility to begin with and Sam actively decided against it

Sam kissed Frodo’s forehead when he was out cold with Shelob’s poison and Sam thought he was dead (which is utterly gut-wrenching)

Sam kissed Frodo’s forehead again in the Tower of Cirith Ungol and tried his best to sound cheerful as he said “Come! Wake up, Mr. Frodo!”, trying to put a brave face on the less-than-ideal circumstances of Frodo having been captured, stripped naked, interrogated, and scourged with a whip just moments before

Sam kissed Frodo’s hands twice while they were climbing up the side of Mount Doom—one instance of which was specifically because Frodo begged him for help to resist the temptation to grab the Ring (I didn't draw these and darn it I probably should have)

And lastly, of course, Frodo kisses Sam’s forehead at the Grey Havens before he leaves for Valinor, which will never not shatter my heart into a million pieces in the best way possible

I could scream about literally every single point in this list forever and a day. I could scream about how kisses on the hand used to signify service and fidelity to a superior in Ye Olden Days, and how that relates to Sam considering kissing Frodo’s hand but deciding against it. (Did he think it was a bit too forward? Did he figure his loyalty was already implied? Was it just too early in their friendship, and he wasn’t ready to be that vulnerable—thus forcing himself to stop crying and playing it off like “where the heck is that stinker Gollum” a few seconds later? Maybe it was some combination of them all? I don’t know! Am I losing my mind?? Probably!!)

I could scream forever about Sam thinking Frodo is dead, and the raw agony that it is watching him grieve, and the way that that kiss on the forehead is (at least what he thinks) a final goodbye. I could scream forever squared about the fact that the forehead kiss happens as he’s taking the Ring from Frodo’s limp body.

See, in Sam’s mind, there’s no contradiction here. The Ring was Frodo’s burden, and now Frodo is gone, so out of love for him and duty to the world at large Sam is taking on that burden and honoring Frodo’s memory by doing so. BUT ON ANOTHER LEVEL. THERE’S A HUGE AND EPIC CONTRADICTION. Because the Ring is a thing of evil and malice that has only ever switched hands through murder or theft or unhappy accident, until this upstart little bundle of hobbits had the NERVE to pass it on in LOVE and HONOR for each other, and here is Sam taking on this thing that has been coveted and lusted after through the centuries by people far more powerful and important than him, and he has the gall to imply that he doesn’t actually care about the Ring at all right now; all he cares about is his friend that he thinks is dead. LIKE WHAT AN EPIC SCREW-YOU TO SAURON. HOLY COW. SAM IS THE BOSS and he literally proved it just by loving Frodo more than he loved the Ring.

I could scream forever about the moment in the Tower when Sam tries to wake Frodo up like it’s just another day in the Shire. They are in the middle of Mordor. Frodo was just interrogated and beaten. Sam is hungry and parched and exhausted. There’s danger all around them, and if all goes well—not poorly, mind you, well—they’re going to walk into far worse. But darn it if he isn’t going to try his darnedest to throw some light into this bleak situation, because Frodo needs comfort, and Sam is the only one around who can give it.

Also he’s probably far less embarrassed to kiss Frodo now, while he’s awake, ‘cause he’s already done it when he thought Frodo was dead, and that’s incredibly cute.

Also also, this happens while he’s cuddling a still very very naked Frodo. Which. I. Wow. I’m still in awe. 🤣🤣 You literally cannot get more vulnerable and comfortable with another person than that (short of things getting Very Much Not Platonic). Tolkien really looked at every single silly inhibition we have built up around friendship and went “that sign won’t stop me ‘cause I CAN’T READ”

If I had a nickel for every time Sam kissed Frodo’s hands on the slopes of Mount Doom, I’d have two nickels, and that would not be nearly enough money to make me stop screaming about it. I just. The tenderness, the exhausted attempts at encouragement, the way Sam helps Frodo fight temptation through love and gentleness and affection and the way Frodo begged for Sam to hold his hand and then Sam immediately goes above and beyond. They’re both utterly spent and exhausted. All they have left is the task in front of them and each other. Sam’s lips are dry and cracked from thirst, but he continues to put Frodo before himself, and I will never ever be over that.

And I could scream forever squared—no, cubed—no, forever to the power of itself about the kiss goodbye at the Grey Havens. Of all the things it means, the gratitude and love and grief and joy and pain and victory and hope that’s all wrapped up in it. Frodo very rarely uses Physical Touch as a love language. That’s Sam’s purview. Frodo is much more a Words of Affirmation kind of guy. But at some point, the words run out—and even if you had enough of them to say what you feel, the whole world could not contain the books upon books you could fill—so you fall back on the very first way each and every one of us learned to perceive love, when we were teeny tiny and wrinkled and brand new and someone held us close; and when we felt the warmth of their body and the safety of their arms and heard the heart beating steadily in their chest, our brand new little brains knew that we were loved.

At some point, Frodo’s words run out, and he returns the love and affection he’s been given in the same way Sam has always given it. One small gesture, and it says leagues more than ten years of Words ever could.

One kiss—and absolutely everything has been expressed that could be.

This is why Frodo and Sam are ultimate friendship goals. Until I write a bromance that has the same casual intimacy and extraordinary vulnerability that these two have, I will forever consider myself a mere grasshopper to the galaxy-brained genius that is Tolkien. Until I myself have a friendship on that level, I will always feel I have something to learn. Until I surpass the Master, I am but his humble Student.

Basically Tolkien—despite being Incredibly British—really came out here and said “it’s cool to kiss the homies, actually”, refused to elaborate, and left, and I have never stopped screaming about it.

WORD ASK GAME!

#word ask game #frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #lord of the rings #lotr #my writing #this is of course the same reason i love reading your stories about eric and casey LOL #i just *clenches fist* love those bois #EDIT: added links :-3

[gay-dorito-dust]

Asexual reader x jason todd or alternatively a quiet sensitive shy reader who has anxiety…. Or just all of that together :3 also, when people write a shy anxious reader they tend to make them book nerds, and I like books but I haven’t read many so I wouldn’t say I’m a book worm, so… maybe not a huge book worm reader :3 I’d like Jason to read to me tho :3 thank you! It’s cool that you’re ace too!

Kinda shitty ending, couldn’t think of anything good even for a fake book but enjoy I guess.

There were once a time where you did everything in your power to avoid the man they called Jason Todd. To you he was intimidating just by his sheer size alone with how he towered over you and automatically you assumed he was nothing more then a muscle headed, misogynistic dickhead who adheres to unhealthy masculine societal norms. He made your body go into into a fight or flight stance so that you could rush towards the nearest exit if the occasion if inklings of hostility were to ever to arise.

However these were be proven wrong later down the line where after helping you in making a doctors appointment after noting the tense body language, the almost robotic responses that he assumed you must’ve practiced in your head on more then one occasion before picking up the phone, feeling particularly confident in your abilities; Until you punched in the number that was before Jason decided to take over in order to elevate you of the pressure. It wasn’t until then that you began to see Jason for who he really was, now finding comfort in him then you did before and even found yourself staying close to his side whenever you went out late at night; being all too aware of how dangerous the streets of Gotham could get.

He was unbelievably patient with you whenever you backed out on outgoings mere moments before in favour of being in the comfort of your hastily built apartment, dressed in your favourite pair of sweatpants and hoodie; Jason would only follow your lead without a single complaint falling from his lips before changing out of his attire into something more comfortable before joining you on the couch afterwards claiming that he didn’t feel like going out anyways.

“Whatcha got there sweetheart?” Jason asked as he stepped into the apartment he found himself spending more and more time in, removing his jacket only to place it onto the back of a nearby chair as he stripped himself of his boots and gear before putting on a pair of drawstring sweats and a sleeveless hoodie from one of the drawers of your room that he always kept when he was too tired to make it back to his own place; thankful of the fact that your pace was within walking distance. “A book.” You stated from your place on the couch as though it was obvious, clutching the aforementioned book against your chest. It was a book recommended by a friend of yours who was an avid bookworm and considering how picky they were towards what they deem was worth reading, they held this particular one in the highest regards.

It wasn’t anything original nor astounding in terms of writing or premise but you guessed the pacing was something to take note of if you were a novice within the writing industry; other then that the story and characters were incredibly complex and had taken you on many false leads and dead ends that once you finish it the pieces would finally click in your head. “I can see that,” Jason’s voice brought you out from your internal review of the book to see him now sitting next to you on the couch, looking over your shoulder; using his fingers to push the book away from your chest to see the cover, “I just wanna see what could possibly take your attention away from me.” He teased lightly as he took advantage of your stunned silence in peeling the book away from your grasp so he could read the blurb.

“The accursed mirror is a fictional tale following the journey of a mercenary who’s soul is trapped within a mirror after an unfortunate death. It seems as though the mirror has more in mind for him as traumatic events of his past come back to haunt him.” He looked over at you before back to the book, already opening it to the first chapter, “mind if I read it aloud?” You didn’t say anything other then wordlessly make yourself comfortable against Jason’s side, head tucked in the junction between his shoulder and the underside of his jaw as his the hand not holding the book rested at your side; pulling you into his lap where his breath made the hairs on the back of your neck stand. It wasn’t intimate by any means but it was more or less out of a necessary need to be comforted, to be within safe hands even in the walls of your own home and Jason was the one you thrived comfort from.

Jason chuckled at this but didn’t add anything else other then kissing the top of your head before bringing his chin to rest against your head as he tucked you further into himself before beginning the first paragraph of the story. “Waking up within a mirror was the least of Gerald’s worries. It was how he got here that concerned him most. He wasn’t bleeding out on some nobleman’s floors as he was supposed to be looking into the eyes of the person who bested him at his own game as the life drained from his skin.” Jason’s voice was enriching the written literature that you found yourself in able to stay awake long enough for him to finish the page never-less chapter. So much so his words became muffled in your ears as you practically melted into his arms, eyes heavy with sleep while he continued, completely unaware of the sleeping person on his lap.

“Gerald once though he was bound for greatness but now that all seemed nothing more then a distant dream belonging to that of a child’s and he was no child…he hadn’t been in a long time.”

#dc imagines #dc imagine #dc x you #dc x reader #jason todd x gender neutral reader #Jason Todd x asexual!reader #Jason Todd x you #Jason Todd x reader #Jason Todd imagines #Jason Todd imagine #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood imagines #red hood imagine #Batman imagines #batman imagine

[dutchdread]

Hi I'm not sure if you already answered this before, but do you like the ending of Rebirth? And how Aerith's death was played out? Why do you think Aerith's spirit lingered after her death? Was it to help Cloud cope or to make things worse for him? Sorry so many questions? 😅

There's a lot of questions but that's ok, as long as people don't mind that I probably won't get through them all since the long responses tend to take A LONG time to make, and I do actually have a life and hobbies, then people can keep sending em. If I really get overwhelmed I'll just close the inbox since I do prefer to write stuff that I can reuse. Which is sort of the case here, because yeah, I have addressed the ending, and no, I was not a fan. Really should make a single comprehensive review tbh.

Link

As for why Aeriths spirit lingers, it's hard to say, it's hard to even say if it is her spirit, we can't even be sure if every Aerith we see post death is the same Aerith, or even is Aerith in the first place. Could Clouds mind coping and making something up. Could be an vision imparted by Sephiroth, could be anything, although I do think that Nanaki recognizing her in the ending cinematic is strong evidence for her actually being present. Now if that means her being present as a spirit, or present in another world, I could not tell you. I could not even tell you if there is a real difference between "existing in another world" and "being in the lifestream". That's the problem with making your story too convoluted, you are no longer able to effectively "read along" with the story, so you just have to accept whatever happens. There is no feeling of "ohhhh, so that's what's going on, duh", you instead get a sense of "ok, if you say that's whats happening I'll take your word for it". It's extremely unsatisfying, like bashing a puzzle into place with a hammer, sure you solved your complicated puzzle, but the only reason I was interested in the solution was because I though it was something clever that I should have been able to figure out myself. The one thing I can say is that despite all the grief Aerith gets from certain parts of the fandom (some of which deserved, some not) she's not intentionally trying to make things worse for Cloud. If Aerith is really there in body or spirit, and is fully able to exercise her own agency, then it's because she thinks that doing so will ultimately be for the best. She might be unsure of what to do, she might think that acting as though everything is alright is what is best for Clouds psyche, I don't know, but it's certain that she wants to help. My gut instinct is that this mirrors Aeriths attitude in the sleeping forest, she's realizes how messed up Clouds psyche really is, and is trying to unburden Cloud best she knows how. In the OG she tells him to go take care of himself and she'll go take care of Sephiroth, and here she takes a similar "it's all good, don't worry about me, I'll go stop meteor, you just go after Sephiroth ok?" attitude. The biggest question is why she specifically asks Cloud NOT to go after Sephiroth originally, but does an exact 180 here, but it could still be argued that the core of the message remains the same "don't take too much on your plate, you just focus on what you can focus on, and leave the rest to me". Hope that satisfied you, hard to answer things that are still this uncertain.

#ffvii #ffvii rebirth #aerith gainsborough #cloud strife