#*city edition oops

[stargirlbryce]

"What blinds an oracle, Bryce Quinlan?"

[hirookouji]

an aomine and murasakibara matchup wouldve been cool to see tbh...

[id in alt]

[exandriacityshowdown]

Round 3 Poll 10

Aeor: Aeor was a pre-calamity flying city known for its anti-god sentiments and military aggression. It was destroyed in the war, and its ruins landed scattered on the inhospitable islands of Eiselcross. The Mighty Nein explored the ruins extensively during the Weird Magic arc towards the end of their story. In recent years, artifacts dug out of the ruins have been traded around Exandria, including sentient automatons Devexian, FRIDA, and Fresh Cut Grass of Bells Hells. 

image is from the postcard merch by pretty useful co

Westruun, Tal'Dorei: Westruun is a large city in the centre of the Tal’Dorei Republic. During the Chroma Crisis it came under attack from the black dragon Umbrasyl, and the barbarian tribe the Herd of Storms. It is the hometown of Pike Trickfoot, and Vox Machina spent a lot of time here.

image is a screenshot from the legend of vox machina. thanks owed to the wiki

[tracle0]

~ Intro page ~

Howdy! I’m Trade, a 22-year-old writer and aspiring conservationist from the UK. I can often be found hunched over my sketchbook, walking in the wilderness, or travelling to whichever county I can find volunteering opportunities in. 

This blog is primarily for any odd interest I have, although I angle it as a writerblr the most. You can find my art and occasional writing under the #trade-marked tag on this here blog. Following this are the current, past, and future WIPs I have. Please enjoy!

-

Prophet story (title pending) (in progress) - when a prophets brother is possessed by a god-killing sickness, a race begins to preserve or destroy the last relics of dead divinity, and refuse or give forgiveness for errors of the past. Featuring the complexities of brotherhood, the thin line between “prophet” and “schizophrenic”, a divine and glorious anger and a desperate attempt to reach someone who may already be lost to you. Tagged under #prophet wip

The Spiders Song (complete!) - With a devastating plague wrecking a kingdom and a city, a group of semi-experienced people try and retrieve a cure in time to save their homes - and try not to kill each other on the way. Featuring enemies-to-friends, a patron-based magic system with gods who have no problem getting involved in their servants lives, the exact lengths you would go through to save someone you love, and a funny little ghost.  Tagged under #tss 

The Crows Death (sequel to TSS) (on hold) - after retrieving the cure and escaping a cruel gods clutches, peace should be assured to our weary adventurers - until the crowned prince of Glalis is kidnapped and held as a sacrifice, leaving the rest of the team to try and track him down and save him before it’s too late. Featuring the gruelling process of confronting and recovering from trauma, a blood-feud so old that no one can remember why or how it started, intense contemplation of mortality, and a budding and doomed sapphic romance. Tagged under #tcd 

Short story collection (in progress) - a group of interlinked short stories, based in the TSS world, following the only servant to the Spider to ever escape their god, and the process they underwent as a child to adjust to the real world. Featuring adoptive parental figures, an extreme skew on how the world works, a secret our servant has to learn to keep to themselves, and a constant lure back to a manipulative and cloying god, who waits only a short walk away from this new haven. Tagged under #atlas 

Necromancer WIP (title pending) (developing) - the next generation after TCD. When the next necromancer is finally born in one of the highest and richest levels of Glalis, the kingdom seems to be fully recovering and back to normal - until a second is discovered in the lowest, poorest part. This spare servant is taken from her community to the palace, and starts to notice the discrepancies between where she was raised and what these privileged elites seem to have. Featuring strong class conflicts and ties, young children trying to make sense of a complex issue, an exploration of privilege and magic in deprived societies, and characters carried onwards from the previous stories because it’s my book and I do what I want. Untagged.

Ghost WIP (title pending) (developing) - a young girl is marked as the new bearer of the ghost crown, which is already bad news, made worse by the fact she’s still alive. Featuring a begrudgingly made father figure, a reverse heist, a race against bounty hunters to stay alive, and a corrupting and powerful heirloom, calling for one girls head. Tagged under #ghost wip 

Colour WIP (title pending) (developing) - when a rare purple mage is found living in isolation with her paranoid parents, she is taken under the wing of a blind red mage, and able to learn about her magic whilst staying connected to her roots. Featuring a magic system that merges Waterbending with the colour wheel, intense political and class divides, and an mentor/apprentice plot of some sort. Untagged. 

Death is a Silvertongue (complete!) - a mute Silvertongue tries to balance the guilt of manipulation with the responsibility of using their ability correctly - and then blows up a factory, adding a ghostly crowd to their conscious. Featuring intense platonic love, dabblings with faith, recovery, and me having a lot of fun with the extreme limitations of British Sign Language in America. Tagged under #dias 

[everliving-everblaze]

(via fintan-pyren)

once Fintan got burned at the stake in the 1600s

[luludeluluramblings]

Conner Kent's Obsession with Smalltown!Reader

A/N: I saw a few people liking the Superfam stuff and finally went nuts attempting this Conner bit. I tried. I tried so hard. I added dialogue. I'm used to the YJ Conner, but this is my attempt at Comic Conner. If he's OOC, oops. Yeet. (I attempted to research, I swear.) Might edit this some later.

A/N: I write Reader with an accent. One, cause that's how I talk. Two, cause I like it like 'dat.

A/N: I'm also almost done with Part Seven, but I'm adding dialogue to that too to make the breaking point a tad bit more impactful. I've never really written dialogue before.

Warnings: Slight Yandere themes. Romantic Yandere. (Very subtle.)

Conner’s run-ins with Reader always seemed to piss Tim off. Especially after Tim started researching into Reader. He would occasionally always beg Tim to invite Reader to hang out. And, he would find himself rejected every single time. Before it was probably due to Tim being dramatic. Now, he certain of this, it's because Tim dramatic and jealous overprotective.

On other occasions, he'd just by pass Tim, leaving him to his cases (and creeping) so hecould sneak and bother reader. They’re kinda cute, in his opinion. Of course they call him a big city boy and said he clearly lived off of his daddy’s money. Which was only kind of wrong. But, they way they said it made his a trail of heat crawl down his spine.

After some time had passed, he knew that Tim and the other members of the family were suspicious about him coming to the manor so much. He never tried to hide his reasons There was no point in hiding behind weak excuses. He respected the Bats too much to even think he could fool them. Plus, lying to the Bats was a good way to get stabbed with a kryptonite knife. Even though they had made it pretty clear that they disapproved of him coming around so often, He was still going to keep visiting. Could they really blame him? It wasn’t his fault he was enamored so easily. 

He kept his distance just a bit. Like he was silently (commanded) requested. He could tell he made the newest addition to the family a bit uncomfortable. And, he understood. The clone thing was kinda freaky after all.

Well, at first he had assumed it was because he was a clone. That would make any normal person feel a bit weird. But, then he heard them keep call him that nickname. City boy. The way it rolled off their tongue and how often it was said was clearly a sign. They weren’t bothered by the clone thing. They just didn’t like his personality. He could fix that. That wasn’t that hard. He was adaptable.

So when he approached them again, for the million time, he tried to play up the cool and collected act. Going as far as to emulate the Batman. Which, surprising made the ice break. When they laughed at him.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

"No, seriously why are you acting like that?" You're still giggling at how hard he was trying to play up the serious act. Cause that's all it was. You don't doubt he could genuinely be serious for a moment, but this wasn't one of those moments.

"I'm just letting you see a different side of me, is all." Conner replies, trying to keep it up even though he had been quickly caught.

"You mean the imaginary side, city boy? I didn't realize you liked to play pretend." Another teasing snort. God, how you needed that laugh.

"I'm not pretending."

"Yeah, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yeah."

"No."

"Yes, you are. Don't be lyin' to me now. Or, Imma start gettin' upset."

"Okay, okay... How could you tell?" He conceded after a moment. The way he scratched the back of his head suited him much more than that little Oscar performance he was putting on a few seconds prior.

"I'm observant." Comes the mock arrogant reply. It was hard to give him a cold shoulder when he just made you laugh so genuinely in the last few weeks.

"Oh, look who's playing pretend now." The snark on his tongue doesn't have any heat, but it does bring you some relief. A bit of much needed normalcy.

Maybe it's the fact that the loneliness has slowly crawled into your chest and burrowed it's self deep in that hollow part of you, but it's easy to let your guard down around him for once. You had noticed his efforts to get to know you before, and maybe you let those preconceived notions cloud your little head. But, there was no need for them anymore. The twinge of glee he sparked was enough to burn them away and make you pause before you would rebuild those walls of yours.

"Are you saying I'm not observant?"

"Yep."

"The audacity!" The outrage nothing more than a sham. A simple way to fill the air between them. Cause even if the talk was small, just the hint of it filled something in you. That didn't make your curiosity fade, however. "But, seriously, why are you impersonating Bruce? And in his own house, no less."

The brief silence that washes over you both has you already regretting this. Had it really so long since you've had a proper conversation that you were this out of practice?

When he finally speaks again, it is gives you relief and more regret.

"I just wanted to finally get your attention."

Well, doesn't that make you finally fit in with the rest of your family?

Your tongue brushes over your teeth in an attempt to get the lead coating that made your words weigh heavy in your mouth off of it.

"I'm sorry, Conner. I- I've been smallminded haven’t I?"

"No, I get it. The whole clone thing is freaky." He starts, a light flush on his cheeks. He wasn't expecting an apology, and especially one so soon and so heartfelt.

"Oh, yeah, that... Really it didn't have anything to do with it. I kinda just thought you were a typical concrete jungle flirt. Momma warned me about men like you." You try to hide your sheepishness by adding humor to your voice, praying he catches your sincerity under all the different layers.

He catches something, judging by the beaming smile Conner gives you.

"Really? I had hoped it wasn't, ya know, that."

"Nah, nah. It wasn't. Still, I am sorry." You assume silence is about to befall the pair of you again, but he doesn't let it happen.

"My family owns a farm out in Kansas, you know?" The cheeky grin on his face screams that he's going to be getting his revenge in the form of mild bullying.

"No!" The resounding smack of your palm hitting your forehead nearly echoes in the halls. "I feel even worse now."

"So much for being observant, little detective."

"I never claimed to be no detective. But, I might be more... oblivious then I initially implied..."

Now, it's Conner's turn to guffaw at you.

"The audacity."

"Don't you throw my words back at my. I can't handle it." You can't help by click your tongue. There's hardly any annoyance from your words. "I really misjudged you."

"It's fine! I figured you might still be adjusting to Gotham and the whole Wayne lifestyle. Tim mentioned you're from a pretty small town when I started bugging him about you." He's clearly playing up the charm, but you let it work on you.

"More like I'm still suffering from culture shock." Slowly, you can feel this conversation starting to shift to something deeper than surface level. Things that haven't been allowed into the open air start to ripple underneath.

And, he takes that chance to draw it out.

"Still?" Empathy mixing into his tone. Those icy blue eyes looking incredibly warm. You'd never really taken the time to look at him. Sure, you knew he was attractive. Hell, everyone that seemed to show up at the manor was attractive. But, now you were finally looking at him. Too focused were you in taking in his appearance for the first time, that you completely missed the way those eyes shined with opportunity and desperate want.

"Yeah, still. It's... different."

"Different as in the food's a little weird or different as in the people are a little weird?"

"It's all a little weird, and it's... kinda... lonely?" You can't help the wince. You really don't wanna trauma dump on someone who you had initially misjudged. He didn't deserve that.

But, as he moves closer you can't help it. That desolate part of you longing for comfort when you haven't had it in such a long time and the way he's giving you all this undivided attention when you can barely catch Alfred in the halls these days fills that acute craving in your gut.

"Lonely?" God, the concern in his voice doesn't make you want to cry, but it does make you want to choke

"I... I think it's not here that's different. I think it's me that's too different." The way he sucks a breath in after the words leave your mouth makes you want to backtrack immediately. "I'm so sorry. God damn, am I mess right now."

"No. No. No. You are fine." The reassuring words oddly sound more like a purr, but they capture your attention all the same. "I get it. I really really do."

Why does he have to give you such a disarming smile. He's practically beaming at you now. There's a festering tension blooming around them like spores.

"You are really not helping me fell less like a jerk to you now." The click of your tongue attempting to defuse the budding blooms.

"Hey, if you're feeling guilt... you could, maybe... let me take you out for dinner sometime? Just to make it up to me."

After a stunned moment of thought, you finally find the words to reply.

" Honestly, I'd-"

"CONNER!" Tim's sudden interruption sends the words crawling back down your throat.

"Tim." He calls back in a cool greeting, but he strangely doesn't step back from you. Which is nice. You haven't had anyone close to you other than Dick and a few of your remaining friends at Gotham Academy. And Damian, Cassandra, and Duke get a bit huffy, or in Damian's case murdery, when they are within an arms reach of you.

"Sorry, am I interrupting anything? Conner and I had plans for the day." Tim's pleasant voice sends a wave of unease over you. He's not staring at you when he speaks. Just Conner. It's annoying how he's ignoring you despite you being right. In. Front. Of. Him.

But, then he does finally look at you and his dark grey eyes soften ever so slightly. You're not too mad. Clearly he's exhausted, judging by the bruises under his eyes. There's still a slight reflection in them as he's gaze meets yours, despite how dry the appear. Probably from looking at a computer too much.

"You really shouldn't bother with this guy. He's not worth it." The words are clearly meant to be joking. Casual banter between two close friends. But, you can't help thinking they come off a bit strong.

Conner seems to bristle at them, but he does brush them off.

"That's right, we are hanging out today. Can you blame me for getting distracted, though?" That cocky smirk of his is back, and he actually touches your shoulder. It makes you feels warm, but like a prize at the same time.

All Tim seems to do in response is twitch, but giving nothing away. His grey eyes going steely as they drift to Conner's hand.

When the moment finally passes, Conner lets his hand fall. You can feel it grazing down your back as he pulls away. Slow, like he's trying to strike a match and light something inside you.

"I'll see you later, sweetheart. Just think about my offer and get back to me on it!" Conner calls out as Tim storms behind him. Both heading in the direction of the library.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

As soon as their in the Batcave, Conner can tell he probably pushed it too far. Not that he has any regrets. He finally got somewhere and confirmed all of his previous theories about Reader. They were so adorable apologizing to him, and so deliciously sweet about it too.

He should've realized Tim was watching them, though. Dude was a creep. He maybe his best friend, but he's still a damn creep.

As expected, the rest of the family is also giving him the patented Bat-glare when he sees them. But, as he stated, he has no regrets. He's not stupid enough to stick around, though. He saw Jason loading a suspicious looking green bullet into the chamber of his gun. And, while he knows Tim wouldn't kill him, he's not so sure about the rest of them.

He's confirmed what he's wanted, what he's already suspected. They're absolutely perfect for him and ripe and raw.

[makeyoumine69]

Spit In My Face

— PAIRING: Sugar Daddy!Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

— SUMMARY: Fashion Week is in full swing in New York City and Patrick Bateman doesn't miss the chance to show you the world of luxury and beauty. So, he invites you to attend the fashion show with him. Through the chain of events that unfold there, you will see a new side of Mr. Bateman that you never knew existed.

— CONTAINS: Angsty romance, smut, toxic behavior, gaslighting, cheating, misogyny, hurt/comfort, seduction, swearing, flirting, sensual kisses & touches, jealousy, implications of self harm & panic attacks, (almost) character death, oral sex (reader receiving), fingering, rough sex, finger sucking, spanking, biting, manhandling, choking, orgasm control, dry humping, nipple play, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, body worship, Daddy kink, Praise kink, pet names, dirty talk, Service!Dom!Patrick Bateman being an asshole (again).

— WORDS: 21k (oops)

— SONG REC: ThxSoMch - Spit In My Face

— A/N: Hey guys! It took me a year to finally finish this and I decided to post all the parts together since most of you probably forgot what happened in the previous ones (I'll delete the old posts). I did some extra editing before posting and I hope you like it and I'm happy to get back to writing and soon I'll be rebooting the Cupcake series as I've already started working on prequels. Love you all!

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST];[SERIES MASTERLIST].

Fashion, grace, money, wealth, these were the words running through your head as you rode in the taxi, and you couldn't believe Patrick had just convinced you to go to the goddamn Dior boutique. Not to mention the upcoming fashion show you were going to together, which was an actual nightmare for you and your nervous system.

“I really can’t understand. Why me?” You asked Bateman, turning in his direction to see him looking through the window, with his headphones on. And of course, he didn’t hear you. 

All you could do was give him a shy tap on the shoulder. You heard the loud beats of rock music as he opened one of his ears and turned to face you. "What?"

His slightly annoyed intonation almost discouraged you from repeating your question. "I'm just wondering why you decided to invite me to this fashion show when you have much better options." 

You watched him frown, and before you continued, you already knew what Patrick was going to say: "Cupcake, I've told you several times. I want to show you the beauty of being rich. I bet you've never seen so many fabulous people in one place."

Sighing a little sadly, you fixed your coat to distract yourself from the burning anger in your chest. "I've had enough of the rich snobs in our company and…I’m not a fan of all these 'luxurious’ things, you know…”

With a small chuckle, Bateman removed his headphones completely, quickly checking his haircut in the window's reflection. 

"Of course you're not. How can you be a fan of things you can't afford?" He stated before trying to hug your shoulders, but when he saw your intense expression, he just gently put his palm on your knee.

"Money is not happiness," you cast a serious look at him, brushing his hand away from your leg. "Can you call yourself a happy man?"

Perplexed, Patrick knitted his eyebrows, as if your question had caught him off guard —you have never seen him so lost before and that was really strange. Fidgeting in his place, Bateman was certainly about to replay something when you heard the raspy taxi driver’s voice:

“We’ve arrived.”

"Thank you!" You responded before quickly getting out of the cab without waiting for Patrick to pay for your ride.

Obviously, you were upset and pissed off because of his endless snobbish dialogues about rich people, money and how much his regular suit cos—tnone of this really interested you, would he ever understand that?

As soon as you were outside, you felt a stiff wind blowing through your hair, ruffling it and making your mischievous locks cover your face. Quickly, you brushed them away and raised your eyes to the beautiful sign that read "Dior" in large letters; so stylish, so plush—just the way he liked it.

"Are you going to stand here forever?" Bateman scolded behind your back, his loud footsteps forcing you to spin around. 

"I'm so amazed, I can't even move," you sarcastically sneered, staring at the window of the boutique. "The aura of richness has just overwhelmed me."

"How witty," Bateman almost applauded you, his lips curling into a cheeky grin as he came closer, his muscular arms wrapped around your waist. "Come on, let's go inside." With a light push on your back, he induced you to move forward, his arms never left your little form. 

When you finally reached the entrance of the store, Patrick gallantly opened the door in front of you and looked at you from above, his eyes glowing with an unfamiliar tenderness.

"Much obliged..." You stammered as he somehow managed to grab your ass, stroking it and squeezing your buttock a little through your coat. Embarrassed, you turned to face him, but Bateman just smiled in his usual smug way. 

"My pleasure." He murmured in your ear before letting you go.

Once inside the boutique, you heard someone greeting Patrick with undisguised excitement:

"Mr. Bateman! It's so nice to see you again!  Welcome to Dior, we are so happy to help you."

'Again, huh?' You chuckled to yourself, turning your gaze to a side and wondering about the number of his visits and how many girls had been here before; Bateman’s face changed almost immediately as if he noticed your reaction.

“Thank you for the warm welcome, Mr. Graham,” you could definitely hear some tense notes in his tone. “You look great as always!”

The guy let out a little giggle; he seemed to enjoy the compliments as much as your yuppie boy. “Not as perfect as you!” he pointed his both index fingers at Patrick, and now was his turn to grin from being praised. “How can I help you?”

“Uh, I need a dress for…” he paused before staring at you, his eyes gliding over your completely relaxed expression. “For my good friend, but she doesn’t really know what she likes,” ‘good friend, with whom he slept almost every day. Nice shot, Bateman.' “Don’t cha, baby?” While saying that, Patrick groped your cheek, pinching it a bit.

Mr. Graham, who was supposed to be a local stylist, gave two of you a suspicious glare, and only then did Patrick understand what he was doing, pulling his hand away as if it had been burned. 

"Well, if the young lady doesn't mind, we can try something to your taste, Mr. Bateman," the stylist confirmed, examining you like a statue. "What do you think?"

"Great idea," Patrick exclaimed, pulling you into his arms to take off your coat. You almost fell into his embrace, whimpering as he 'accidentally' touched your boobs, squeezing them gently. 'Fuck, why should he be so obnoxious?' "I can't wait to see my Cupcake in one of these beautiful dresses." He whispered before leaving a tiny peck on your neck.

"That's very sweet of you, but..." you murmured, looking into his hazel eyes. "I don't think I'll fit into those dresses."

"Don't worry, honey." Bateman winked at you and gave you a quick slap on your butt to nudge you toward Mr. Graham, whose smile widened the longer he watched the two of you together.

“Please, follow me.”

Trying to distract yourself from all the bad thoughts, you just did what you were told and moved along countless hangers with new dresses. The further you got away from Patrick, the more insecure you became, and that strange feeling made your whole body shiver like from a cold shower.

“So, which color do you want to try on first? Maybe something dark?” the man asked you, sliding his hand across the beautiful fabric of some dress nearby. “Dark blue or dark red…Or even black?”

"I really like the black color, it goes with almost everything."

Mr. Graham chuckled amusedly and handed you a black cocktail dress, which of course was very short. Apparently Patrick didn't like long dresses or skirts, you already knew that, but that didn't mean you were happy about it.

“Mm-mh, and I think this one can fit too,” he gave you another dark blue dress before adding. “I still recommend you to have a look at our new collection, maybe you’ll find something interesting.”

“Maybe you’re right,” you sighed and smiled sincerely for the first time of the day. "Those amazing dresses I saw when we just entered are from a new collection?"

“Yes, Miss.”

"I'll check them out. And… thank you, Mr. Graham." Excited, you smiled again, and then you strolled away, a pile of dresses in your hands.

Once you reached the place you had been before, you heard multiple voices—one of them definitely belonged to Patrick while another one seemed to be unknown to you.

"What are you doing here?" You peeked out from behind the hangers to see a beautiful blonde girl, her face literally glowing with enthusiasm. "I'm so glad to see you, it's been a while." You didn't even have to look to know what she did next as the loud pecking sound echoed in your ears as if you had been hit with something hard.

The blonde left a small kiss on Patrick's cheek before he replied. "Good to see you too, Meredith."

“Are you here alone?”

“Mm-mhhm,” Bateman looked around and when he didn’t spot you, he added almost emotionlessly. “Yeah, you can say that.”

An instant pain burned in your chest, causing your hands to cling to the dress you were holding. Breathing heavily, you were about to send everything to hell and just leave, but for some reason, you decided to listen to their conversation, maybe you would learn something else about yourself being nothing but an empty place.

"So, are you going to the fashion show this weekend?" She asked cautiously, as if testing his line.

"Sure," they looked into each other's eyes for a while. "You know, I never miss things like that."

The way she giggled, forced you to close your ears from cringe, but that unpleasant sound kept bouncing in your head.

"Do you have a date or not?"

"Why do you ask?" Bateman retorted in a stern but concerned tone.

"I just... I thought maybe we could go together?" Flirtatiously, she pulled him closer, pretending to fix his coat.

"I'm sorry, but the answer is no." Frowning, he quickly took her hand away.

Ashamed, she stepped back and stalled. "You could just say you already have someone to go with and…"

Patrick scowled in irritation, cutting her off. "I'd still say 'no' even if I didn't…"

"Miss, did you find something you like?" Mr. Graham's sudden voice made you jerk and drop the super expensive dress with a thud.

It felt like all eyes were on you at that moment, and you didn't really know what to do other than quickly pick up the dress and act naturally. “God, I’m so sorry…I can be so clumsy sometimes!” You apologized, trying to ignore Bateman’s intense gaze. 

"Don't worry, Miss… it's not a problem!" The stylist assured you, matching his words with reassuring gestures.

"I'll pay for everything,” Patrick pronounced it so calmly and with absolute confidence, as he moved in your direction. “Have you finished?” 

First, you cast a confused glance at him, and then you looked at Meredith, her mad stare of disbelief almost making you laugh. “I think so,” you murmured, watching him getting closer. “I even got some of the new collection.”

“Ahh, is it so?” he teased, standing face to face with you. “Come on, let Daddy see what you’ve got.”

With that said, Patrick leaned over to your lips, and you let him pull you into a deep kiss, which was pretty surprising—your own behavior almost scared you, as you didn’t even care about people watching you making out. Deftly, he grabbed your waist to lift you up, but your audible protest compelled him to stop.

“Pat-Patrick…” you whispered against his mouth. “P-please, don’t forget where we are…”

“I know, I know,” he snickered softly, hiding his face in the curve of your neck. “I just missed my Cupcake so much.”

With a dull grin on your face, you pulled away from him to look into his dark brown eyes. "Really?" After you asked that, you glanced at the blonde girl behind his back, who was now talking to a middle-aged woman, probably the assistant.

“Time literally stopped for me when you left.” 

'What a beautiful flattery.'

After a while, you changed into the next dress because all the previous options didn't get Bateman's attention, even though you really liked them. You were struggling with a clasp when you heard him whine in anticipation.

“Baby, did you fall asleep in there?”

“Almost ready!” You blurted out before fixing the dress straps on your shoulders.

And then you walked out of the dressing room to the circular runway, and yes, this boutique had a special VIP area with a fucking runway.

"Finally, my favorite style," Patrick flattered, sitting in the leather chair and holding a glass of mineral water with a little lime. "Mm-mm, this dress outlines your tits so perfectly, not gonna lie, I like it."

A bit humiliated, you were constantly fixing the hem of the dress as it was too short for you, especially when Bateman was looking at you so vigilantly, making you feel yourself like a picture in some art gallery.

"Baby, turn around and…" he paused, crossing his long legs and pressing a finger to his lips. "Stop crawling! Square your shoulders and straighten your back!"

You turned around, unable to hide your sadness. "I… I don't feel comfortable in this. It's too short," you glanced at his annoyed face, wondering if you should continue. "I'm almost naked!"

"But that's the point!" Patrick tilted his hand to the side and was silent for quite a while, clearly thinking about something. "You know what, Cupcake?"

“What?”

"I'll be honest, this dress is amazing, but… unfortunately not on you," he scoffed before taking a sip of water. "It's not a problem, honey. Just take it as motivation to be better."

Biting your lip, you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't try to hide your pain and resentment, but your voice sounded dejected anyway. “Of course… keep pretending that you didn’t expect this…”

Humming to himself, Bateman squinted his eyes and leaned on his knees. “Expected what?”

“That these slutty dresses wouldn't fit me,” you glared at him, your body was yearning to get rid of this dress as quickly as possible. “Goddamn, I have enough of this…I hope you enjoyed this little performance!”

After saying that, you turned around and went back into the dressing room. Trembling with rage, you didn't even care what would come next as the searing flame of injustice overtook your mind. No way would you allow anyone to treat you like that.

"Shit!" You cursed as you attempted to undo the fucking clasp on your back, but it didn't seem to work. 

"If you keep pulling like that, you'll tear it apart for sure," his unexpectedly gruff baritone shot through your back like an arrow. "Let me help you."

"No!" You almost screamed, turning sharply to face him. Your chest rose and fell so abruptly that you thought you would choke on the air.

Sneering, Bateman gently extended a hand as if you were a wild beast he planned to tame. “Cupcake,” he was getting closer, forcing you to walk backwards. “Tell me…what’s wrong?”

"What's wrong?" You kept stepping back until you suddenly bumped into the wall behind you. "Maybe you should ask yourself first?"

"I think you should stop pouting or you will get wrinkles," he tried to be nice to you, but it only made you more upset. "I don't think either one of us wants that to happen, am I right, honey?"

“Stop it, Patrick…”

“Mm-mhh, it’s just Patrick now?” You didn’t even notice that his massive figure was already towering over you, pressing you a little against the wall. “No ‘Daddy’ anymore?”

Possessively, Patrick strived to cup your face, but you flinched away from his touch, coaxing a warning growl to break from his perfectly shaped lips.

 “Can you just leave and let me change?”

“Jesus, (y/n)...you’re acting like a stubborn child!”

Panting, you leaned your hands against his firm chest to push him away a bit. "Do you really think I'm in the mood…after all the rude things you said?"

He chuckled, looking at you from above and giving you a feeling of being so small compared to him, you almost stopped breathing. “Rude things?” laughing again, Bateman trapped you between his arms as he put them from both sides of your head. “I always say what I think, there’s nothing special about it…”

"More likely, you always think only of yourself," your voice wavered, and you found it hard to breathe, as if he was sucking all the oxygen out of the air. "Let's just skip this, if you still want me to go with you..."

“No, I don’t need you to do me a favor.” Patrick shushed you with a finger, pressing it against your lips, leaving you trembling like a leaf. 

“And I don’t need your help!” You tried to break away, but he kept you in one place. 

“Oh, is that so, honey?” he crooned in a sweet tone, rubbing his nose against yours; his seductive aura was almost intoxicating, it was corrupting your mind stronger than anything else in this world. “Honestly, I just wanted to help you undo the clasp but now… now, I want more than that…”

With no delay, Bateman covered your mouth his heated one, wrapping his brawny hands around your quivering frame and spreading your legs with his knee. Suffocated, you didn’t react, feeling his hard bulge brushing against your mound—a muffled moan of sudden pleasure pierced through your bonded lips, sending chills down you spin; your cute reaction didn’t surprise him, but Patrick couldn’t hide his satisfied grin as his hands were already pulling down the straps of your dress. 

And only now, you desperately clawed at his shoulders, weakly pushing him back, not understanding that your attempts to fight him were only putting gasoline on a fire, encouraging him to sprawl you against the wall, pinning your hands against your head.

"P-Patrick!" The way you almost screamed his name made you both tremble with ravenous lust as you looked into each other's eyes, not really knowing if you wanted him to let you go or hold you forever.

Growling quietly, Bateman continued to move along your longing body, forcing you to hook your hip around his loin, so you could grind against his hard groin. “Feeling good, darling?”

'No, not good...no!'

“Yes-s! Mmm-mh…Daddy… ahh!” Oh God, that was the end. 

"Baby," he murmured in your ear, thrusting his firm thighs into yours and shamelessly groping your bottom. "Daddy doesn't like to see his sweet Cupcake upset."

"Maybe...n-next time Daddy will think more before he talks." You stammered from the beat of your heart. 

“Do ya want me to bite this little sharp tongue?” panting, Patrick punctuated his words with rough smacks on your butt, which could be surely heard outside the dressing room. “I’ll teach you how to behave.”

Smoothly, Bateman pulled down the top of your dress, letting your breasts to bounce out from it, and the next second his greedy mouth was already sucking on your taut nipple. 

"Mmm…Gosh." You arched your back as the last vestiges of your self-control seemed to disappear along with your ability to resist this man.

Switching between your engorged peaks, Patrick didn’t stop rubbing against your mound not even for a moment, your throbbing pussy was about to explode at any second. Thirsty, he tugged on your tip with a squelch, enjoying each little whine you made, but he still needed more.

“Turn around,” he urged briefly, licking his lips in hunger as he watched you bent over in front of him. “Oh-fuck, I can smell your sweet arousal… mmm,” snuggling into you, Bateman left a wet hickey on the back of your neck before he started to move down, peppering your exposed skin with hot sloppy kisses. “C’mon, Cupcake, spread your legs for me.”

As if hypnotized, you obeyed and before you even noticed, his long fingers were teasing your sensitive clit trough your so-fucking-wet panties. Clinging to the wall, you were about to moan when you sensed his big palm on your chin, his hot breathing was mercilessly burning the delicate skin of your throat while his rock-hard bulge was still pressed against your ass.

“Aa-aww, Daddy….mhm.” You muffled against your own hand before turning around to give him your most innocent look–he read it almost right away.

“So, you need my help?” bastard! – you almost said it out loud, but Bateman was faster as he slid his thumb into your mouth, and you started to suck it like medicine you couldn’t live without. “Ahh-look at ya… Such a little slutty girl, can’t function without Daddy’s finger inside her dirty mouth…”

Twitching under his massive weight, you could only think of his skilful digits playing with your pussy better than you ever wished for, damn you were already so close but it seemed like Partick's endless craving spurred him on to tear you apart completely.

With no words, Bateman knelt behind your back to pull up the hem of your dress, and soon you had to compress your lips so tightly, as loud nasty sounds were about to erupt from your fiery chest when he finally moved your underwear to the side and his plump lips covered your feverish cunt. 

“Oh-mmmy God,” tensed like a string, you didn’t know if you wanted to cry or to laugh, or all these things together from how his masterful tongue was pushing you over the edge. “Mmm-Patrick-” you suppressed another moan when he bit one of your buttocks before spreading them wide open to push two fingers inside your blushing pussy. “A-aah-Daddy, I’m so close… p-please!”

Patrick only purred something incoherently in response, as he continued to lick your engorged folds and pumping your tight hole with his experienced digits. His persistent ministrations made you totally lose your mind, and now you didn’t understand were you begging him to stop or to NEVER stop. 

When your legs shook in his grip, you heard his raspy snarl: “Not yet, Cupcake…Not yet!”

'And he just stopped, holy hell.'

Your miserable sobbing bounced against the walls of the dressing room as the coil in your lower belly was yearning for its release, it was literally itching so hard you were ready to scratch the wall with your nails if it could help you a bit.

“(Y/N), you can’t even imagine how much I want to leave you just like that,” Bateman hissed, and then you heard the unzipping sound which caused your knees to buckle. "But I want to get all your stupid thoughts about acting like a brat… out of your head!"

Abruptly, Patrick put your legs together and the next second you felt his leaking tip between your legs, brushing against your soaked folds and making your squirm from ecstasy. 

'This man have no barriers, he can reduce me to pieces so easily, like no one else, and I am sure he likes it.'

A small drops of sweat were running down his forehead as he watched his beefy cock slipping back and forth with a sleek sound; your overstimulated pussy was literally on fire.

“P-please…” You whimpered, bending ever lower to give him a better access to your spasming cunt. 

“If you want to cum, you have to move, slut.” Groaning, Bateman stood still with his hands wrapped tightly around your hips. Mesmerised, he watched you grinding on his huge dick as you desperately chased your release. At that moment, your languid, heavy breathing was all that mattered to him.

Shivering erratically, you almost crested your high when Patrick harshly grasped your throat and pressed you against the wall, possessively he began to smack his cock against your clit, each slap he made was taking your breath away.

“Tell me, Cupcake…” he grunted against your neck, brushing his swollen tip along your throbbing nub barely sensible. “Who do you belong to?”

“You…Only y-you...”

Bateman squeezed your neck with blatant dominance and demanded in a low voice, "Uh, not quite convincing…try again."

“Aa-aww! I… I belong to you…Daddy!” You cried out through your pressed palm when he sped up the tempo, slapping your pussy with nasty wet sounds.

With a devilish smirk on his face, Patrick had to hold you still as you cummed so hard, gushing on his dick and fidgeting around the wall. Multiple waves of pleasure were washing over you like a waterfall, leaving you completely exhausted, you didn’t even have any power to moan. 

And soon, you became limp in his powerful arms, allowing him peacefully patting your head as he praised you. “You can be a good girl when you really want to,” Bateman kissed your temple, fixing his pants. “But still, you could just let me help you with this fucking dress.”

“You can help me now…” You replied, hungrily catching the air.

Smugly, Patrick eventually undid the clasp on your dress, not missing the moment to leave a red mark on your shoulder blade as he sucked on your soft skin. “Speaking about dresses. Since my favourite one didn’t fit, you can choose whatever you want…I don’t really care.”

You sighed, smiling ironically to yourself. “Great!”

Bateman didn’t stop smirking even for a second, he was so pleased with himself that he didn’t notice your sarcastic intonation, he just ignored it, as usual. “Come out when you are ready, I’ll wait for you in the hall.”

“What for? I can pay for this myself.”

His cheesy titter unpleasantly cut your ear. “I don't want you to starve, babe,” you cast an angry glance at him, but he only stroked your cheek before adding: “You only need to be an obedient girl, and I'll give you as many gifts as you want.”

“But I didn’t ask...”

A sudden ring of his mobile phone got his attention, so he hushed you with a finger before quickly going out from the dressing room, leaving you alone with your inflaming rage.

Snorting tiredly, you mentally screwed him a million times in a row, changed your clothes and tried not to even think about eavesdropping on his conversation with whoever it was. As you left the dressing room, you heard the echo of his voice from nearby.

“Jesus, Evelyn! I’ve told you already, I can’t take the time off work.”

At that moment, you could swear your legs weren't listening as they led you straight to the source of the sound. With your heart beating, you halted near the dressing room when his voice suddenly fell silent, and the next second the curtain was carelessly pulled aside so that your frightened eyes met his furious ones.

'Oops!'

Annoyed, Patrick stared at you with his hands crossed on his chest. It was too late to run now, so you stood still and heard him saying:

"Are you lost?" With a cocky grin, he picked up his briefcase and stepped closer to you.

"No...I mean, yes. Probably," your cheeks burned from the inside as the strong feeling of embarrassment hit you like a truck. "I was just looking for you and..."

"Aha," he crooned before towering over you, grabbing you possessively by the waist and leaning down to whisper in your ear: "Do you know the proverb 'curiosity killed the cat'?"

"I haven't heard it since I was a kid," you confessed, swallowing hard as you watched him taking the dresses from your hands, the mysterious grin never leaving his face. "Sorry, I really didn't mean to eavesdrop."

“I’m sure you didn’t.” Haughtily, Patrick winked at you, and that was really confusing because his unpredictable mood changes were the most difficult puzzle you had ever known.

“You don’t even want to see which dress I chose?”

"Not really, I'll see it tomorrow anyway," his voice sounded more stern now. "Unless you change your mind about going with me.”

He cast a challenging glance at you, but before you had a chance to reply, Bateman walked past you and gestured for you to follow. Slightly disappointed, you went after him and soon you made it to the hall where all this shit started.

"So, did the young lady find something to her taste?" The stylist asked as soon as he saw you coming. 

"Yep," Patrick let him pick up the dresses and put them on the big table next to the beautiful leather couch on which Bateman kept looking in disgust and you didn't even know why. "(Y/n), c'mon, point with your finger to which dress you like?"

The way he cooed to you was absolutely stunning. Sometimes it seemed like he could read you like an open book, and that only made you feel insecure.

"I think this one." You replied with a shy smile.

"Nice, very nice!" Mr. Graham exclaimed before calling for an assistant to pack your dress. "That will be 2800 dollars, sir."

Satisfied, Bateman hummed to himself and pulled out his wallet. "Do you take credit cards?"

"Of course!"

All the while, you were pretty shocked by the price for just a piece of fabric. Frowning, you didn’t even realize you were saying it out loud. "2800 dollars, for this?"

Everyone, including Patrick, turned to look at you; the stylist was seriously confused and he just mumbled: "Excuse me?"

"Huh, don't worry," Bateman chuckled and handed him his platinum AmEx credit card. "She just can't believe I finally bought her a dress of your brand. Am I right, dear?"

When Patrick glanced at you, you felt a cold breeze run through your body—he must have been really angry. "Mmm, yes! I have been dreaming about this for so long."

Even though you were not an actress, your words sounded more than natural. Both men smiled at each other and proceeded with the payment procedure.

All the way back to his apartment you both remained almost silent. Patrick continued to listen to the rock track he had paused on before going into the store, looking at you from time to time when you didn't see him, his hand fidgeting with the hem of your new dress that was lying on your knees. Yet, you couldn't believe he'd just bought you a dress that cost more than your monthly rent. You hated to owe someone, but now you felt like you did, and it was killing you from the inside...because you didn't ask him to get you that dress, you didn't ask him for anything, and still he was trying to push you into the world of luxury where you would be a stranger forever.

'Bullshit.'

"(Y/n), what's on your mind?" His sudden question caught you off guard, and you almost bit your tongue. Why did he even ask, when it seemed he could read your mind?

Fidgeting in your seat, you turned away from the window and gazed into his brown eyes, now filled with an unrivaled enigma. "Just thinking about how to survive all the challenges you have set for me."

You heard him laugh softly, and before you could continue, he hugged your shoulders and snuggled into your small frame, the heat his body was radiating melted the cold shell you had been building up since the moment he decided to 'help' you in the dressing room.

“Challenges?” Patrick rejoined, nuzzling against your neck as he pulled your collar down a bit. 

“Yes, Patrick,” you were trying to hold yourself as much as you could, not giving him more weaknesses to play around. “You know how much I hate all these fancy things which are made only for rich people.”

Bateman only purred something incoherently against your skin, tickling it a bit. “Cupcake…I think you need to relax.”

“Relax?”

“Yes, baby,” he tugged you closer, his nose was nearly rubbing against yours. 'Goddamn!' “Relax and take it easy.”

"Stop, stop, stop..." you pushed him away a bit, forcing his headphones to slide down his head completely. "You've reminded me almost every day...that I'm not from 'your world', that I'm just a mortal who can't afford to buy fucking clothes that cost a fortune...and now you're telling me to just relax?"

Patrick huffed and rolled his eyes. “(Y/n)...don’t even start this conversation again.”

“You’re such an…”

Despite the fact that the partition in the cab was closed, it seemed as if the taxi driver heard your loud voice, and the next moment he opened it to ask you if everything was all right.

When you said that everything was fine, he started to drive again and you clenched your palms into fists, feeling the embarrassment and anger fighting in your mind.

"You're ashamed of me, aren't you?" You wondered without looking at him. 

The way Bateman exhaled was not a good sign. "When you make such scenes—yes, I am." 

Sighing, you pressed a hand to your forehead. Damn, he was affecting you so badly and you hated yourself for it, for being so weak next to him, so vulnerable...you were literally losing yourself.

His apartment looked perfect as always, so clean, so posh, but there was something strange this time as you walked across the living room and saw a large bouquet of white roses on his kitchen island.

"Mmm, such beautiful flowers!" You approached them to inhale their scent.

"Yeah," he stated from behind, placing your dress on the back of his white couch. "I bought them for you."

Stunned, you broke away from them as if you were pricked. “For me?”

"I'm not going to repeat it," Patrick blurted out, walking into the kitchen to grab a glass and a bottle of super expensive whiskey. "Besides, I don't think it makes any sense now."

'Excellent.' 

Without asking, Bateman set a glass on the bar counter in front of you as you took a seat near it. Still frowning with irritation, he poured some red wine for you, and when you were about to thank him, he just strolled away. The situation was rather unconventional, to say the least, and you didn't really know what to do, maybe just leave?

"Patrick, I think we both need to cool off a bit...right?" you sipped at your wine, waiting for his answer, but he continued to ignore you. "I'm going to finish my drink and probably go home."

"Whatever." Was all he said, standing with his back to your face, clearly thinking about something. 

Upset, you stifled a sad gasp and took the glass before getting up. When you reached his white couch to have a look at your dress for distraction, you suddenly heard his challenging voice:

"You want to know who Evilyn is, don't you?"

Paralyzed, you almost choke on your wine. After coughing a little, you turned to see him standing near the coffee table with his hands in his pockets. This was getting serious.

"I don't understand, why do you ask?"

Patrick chuckled loudly and shook his head in disbelief. "Stop acting like a fool, Cupcake. I know you want this, I can even feel it," his face grimaced a bit dangerously while his eyes were getting darker by the second. "You've wanted it since we left the boutique, that's why you started acting like a bitch."

Trembling with burning rage, you squeezed the glass, almost breaking it. "I'm not in the mood for scenes, you know," you countered, not even noticing that you took a few confident steps toward him. "When I leave, you can bring Evelyn, Courtney, Meredith, whoever… and confront them for as long as you want!"

"Or maybe we can all have some fun together, huh?" he drawled the last words, enjoying the sight of your angry expression. "There's plenty of me to go around."

Scowling, you wanted to spit in his face, or slap him, or both. But instead, you just smiled and that was a little unexpected for him. "You're sick, Patrick. And I feel really sorry for you."

After saying that, you turned away from him to pick up the dress – you wanted to leave this place as soon as possible, so you even forgot about the glass in your hand.

"Of the two of us, you are the one who really needs some grief," his voice hurt you like a slow-acting poison, it was excruciating. Before Bateman returned to the kitchen, he added, "Evelyn is my fiancée, and has been all along. What an unpleasant surprise?"

A loud sound of broken glass echoed through the living room as soon as you heard his last words. It was a real miracle that the wine didn't splash onto the luxurious fabric of his white couch, but you didn't really care at that moment, with your heart beating so crazy in your chest. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and stood still, not hearing Patrick's footsteps behind you.  

'Damn, that glass must have cost a fortune.'

"Cupcake..."

"I know!" You cut him off, raising your trembling hands in the air. "I'll return the money...just tell me how much it costs?"

'Don't cry. Please, don't cry!' But you did, and when you felt his warm hand wrap around your forearm, you tried to push him away, yelping:

"Give me...give me something to clean the floor!"

"(Y/n), calm down! You're bleeding." 

"What?" you gasped, opening your eyes wide before looking down at your feet to see blood running down your ankle as a sharp piece of glass sank into your soft skin. Only then did you realize you were injured, a sharp pain hitting your brain like a lightning strike. “Oh, God…I thought it was w-wine…” You stammered as that was the end point for your nervous system.

With no more waiting, Bateman carefully took you in his arms to lift you up. Sobbing, you let him carry you into the bathroom and sat on the edge of his beautiful black tub. Gently, he removed your shoes and stretched out your bruised leg to assess the damage.

"Is it that bad?" You asked him in a shaky voice, trying not to look down at the wound. 

"No, but it would be better if you stopped flinching." He insisted, releasing your leg and going to the sink to get antiseptic, tweezers, bandages and cotton pads. 

As Patrick knelt before you, holding a pair of tweezers, time seemed to freeze for you, but then you screamed from the itching pain as he carefully pulled the shard of glass from your ankle.

"Mmmh," you mumbled through your palm when he pressed a cotton pad soaked in antiseptic. "Shit…I am so clumsy and reckless..."

"You are," Bateman murmured as he wrapped a bandage around your leg. Every move he made was very gentle and accurate. "But still, you are mine."

"No, I'm not," you struggled to free yourself from his grip, but his hands held your leg very tightly. "We both know that's not true..."

Shivering, you peered down at him as he remained on his knee beside you. Almost immediately, his hazel eyes locked with yours, mesmerizing as always. "Why is it always so difficult with you?"

“Ask yourself.”

The moment you attempted to get up, you almost fell on the floor, but Patrick caught you in his arms at the last second.

"Patrick, let me go..." you pushed him into his chest to get some distance, but he didn't even move. "I will leave and forget everything that happened between us. Just like you wanted!"

"I never said I wanted to!" he growled, holding you closer so you could almost feel his fast heartbeat. "Why can't you just be a good girl and accept what I give you?"

"Oh, you've already given me enough, believe me!"

Annoyed, Bateman just shook his head before pressing a finger to your lips, silencing you and taking your breath away. 

'No, no, no. Not again'

You swallowed hard as you felt his thumb slide up to your cheek to wipe away your salty tears. 

'Stop.'

"Cupcake."

'His voice, his scent, his brawny body.' 

"Look at me," Patrick whispered sweetly, and you felt yourself going limp in his strong arms, so you obeyed and let him kiss your temple. "You're driving me crazy and I hate it...because I'm so fucking obsessed with you!"

One sharp breath and his lips were on yours, forcing your hands to claw at his jacket, but Bateman only pulled you closer, deepening the kiss as his wet tongue played with yours. Panting against his mouth, you couldn't help but run your fingers through his soft hair, making it look so messy, but Patrick didn't care. Slowly, he lifted you up a bit to set you down on the sink opposite his bathtub, peppering your neck with little pecks.

"Daddy."

Just one simple word could turn this man into a savage beast, you knew it, but you couldn't stop yourself as your inner nature yearned for him and it felt like you were meant for each other, two broken souls finally found each other.

"Cupcake." He kissed your lips briefly before moving down to your cleavage and unbuttoning your shirt, his hot breath tickling your bare skin.

Everything about him was so intoxicating that your clouded mind refused to function at all and now you couldn't hear your inner voice begging you to stop. 

Quivering, you arched your back a little to give him better access, and immediately you heard him growl against your collarbone as he finally undid your shirt. Patrick didn't even bother to remove your bra - he just pulled it down, revealing your taut nipples; he licked his lips at the sight of them and then his greedy mouth was already devouring one of them.

"A-awwww," you mewled, hugging his shoulders as you literally melted under his touch. "Mmm, please!"

"Please what?" He looked at you, twisting your hard peak between his skilled fingers. 

"I..." you hiccupped from the way Bateman spread your legs as he nestled into you with pure possession, groping your hip and licking your neck. "I... don't know... Gosh!"

This was pure madness, what was consuming your mind, with every kiss he made, breaking all your barriers, the more you tried to resist it, the more it hit you back. Panting, you threw your head back and felt your eyes begin to water again as his strong hands caressed your trembling little body. Never in your life had you felt so lost. Never.

"Relax, sweetheart," Patrick mused into your ear as he slid his palm between your legs. And of course you were so shamelessly wet that you could flood his floor. "I got you."

"I can't, a-aah..." You sighed, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Yes, you can," Bateman planted another sloppy kiss on your neck before grabbing your hand to press it against the hard bulge in his pants. "I couldn't stop thinking..." he paused, drinking in your stifled moans as he gave your clit a few slight rubs. "Do you think about me, Cupcake? I know you do..."

"Mm-mhh," your hands roamed desperately down his broad back, fumbling with the smooth fabric of his suit. "And I...ahh-I know you don't think about me..."

A loud whimper fell from your lips as he shoved two fingers into your dripping pussy, almost causing you to bump your head against the mirror behind, but he prevented it by wrapping his hand around your neck.

"You're mistaken," his low groan echoed against the walls of his bathroom, sending shivers down your spine and coaxing your inner muscles to spasm around his fingers as they mercilessly rammed in and out of your throbbing cunt. "Because you know nothing about me," Patrick curled his fingers to stimulate your most sensitive spot, gritting his teeth as his aching cock was about to explode with ravenous desire. "Now be a sweet girl like you always are and..."

"Owwww!" you screamed in sharp pain as he accidentally pushed on your wound. “It hurts!”

"Fuck, I forgot...damn it!" He cursed and removed his hand from your leg.

Seizing the moment of his confusion, you slipped out of his embrace and nearly ran for the door, and thank God it was open, because when you heard his almost furious groan, your heart skipped a beat:

"Come back!" 

"No, it can't be like this," you leaned against the door, holding out a hand defensively. "Not after what you said..."

Trembling, you watched him breathe heavily through his red nostrils, his wild gaze seeming to burn you alive as his self-control was about to snap. Scared, you weren't sure what to expect from him next, so you decided to leave this place right now, while it was still not too late.

Quickly, you walked into his living room and grabbed the damn dress, trying not to think about the broken glass and spilled wine. To be fair, you thought Patrick was going to chase you or threaten you with punishment, but none of that happened as he stayed in his bathroom. It was suspicious, but you would think about it later. 

As you were about to leave, you walked past the open door to the bathroom and told yourself to just go and not look back. But when you reached the front door, you froze and sobbed - your heart sinking while your mind was waving a red flag.

'Just leave, please!'

Huffing, you turned and walked back to the open door. The scene you saw was not what you expected, it simply broke your heart - Bateman was standing still by the sink, leaning on his hands with his head bowed.

"Patrick."

"You're still here?" He asked without looking at you.

"I'll go with you tomorrow...but I'm not doing it for you," your voice wavered, but you didn't allow yourself to sound weak. "I just wanted to make that clear."

And then you left him alone in his super luxurious apartment on Manhattan's Upper West Side. No matter how hard you tried to hold back your tears, they kept slipping down your cheeks. Even when you were in the cab on your way home, your soul was still aching because it seemed like the wounds he made couldn't be healed.

When the night came, there were only a few windows with lights on, and Patrick's bedroom window was one of them.

Irritated, Bateman lay on his bed while a blonde girl sucked him off, bobbing her head up and down at a fast tempo. There was no denying that she was trying her best to give him as much pleasure as possible, but he felt nothing, literally no emotions – only the dark void inside his mind.

"(Y/n), you're doing everything wrong...not the way I like it!" Patrick grumbled, pulling on the girl's hair.

"Who?" She asked confusedly, looking up at him. "My name is Meredith, in case you forgot, honey."

Bateman just laughed and carelessly pushed her down, forcing her to continue. "Shut your fucking mouth and suck my dick. You stupid whore!"

Meredith was making too many noises which annoyed him so much as he was trying to concentrate on dreaming of you—your beautiful face, your innocent sparkling eyes. Although this girl was very pretty, definitely 'his type', there was not a single trace of you and he thought he would never reach his high.

"Mmhm, Patrick…Maybe you will fuck me already?" 

"Maybe," he sighed, watching her laying on her back with undisguised excitement, but then he frowned in a weird disgust. "No, get on your knees. I can't see your fucking face."

"W-what? What's wrong with you today?Ah!"

Angrily, he slapped her hip and rolled her onto her stomach. Without any preparation, he bottomed out, closing his eyes and thinking about the way you twitched every time he thrust inside you. Speeding up his pounding, Patrick finally felt his orgasm building up inside his body when she suddenly moaned. "Oh, yeah! Daddy, it feels so good!" 

That was not even rage, it was something beyond that. Brutally, he squeezed her neck, almost choking her, and growled near her ear as he leaned down. "Never call me that! Understand?" he yanked her against the bed, still clutching her throat, and only when she was on the verge of asphyxia he released her, fucking her harder and gritting his teeth. "Fucking bitch, you should thank me for not killing you."

Camera flashes never stopped clicking in front of your eyes, you almost thought it was impossible to hide from them. They were literally everywhere, as were the countless supermodels and rich yuppies who looked at them without shame, their hungry eyes ready to eat them alive.

"Hey, are you trying to get lost or what?" 

With a soft gasp, you stopped and turned around to see Patrick's irritated face as you walked through the huge hall, every part of which gave you strong vibes of luxury lifestyle.

"I don't think you'd notice my absence anyway," you replied, walking straight until his arm wrapped around your waist, causing your lungs to spasm from the sudden lack of oxygen. "Patrick?"

"Listen to me," he pulled you closer and leaned down to your ear, whispering in a serious tone. "There are a lot of bad people here who came for more than just fashion."

"Even worse than you?"

He scowled, but continued. "Much worse, believe me."

"Don't pretend you care," you tried to walk away, brushing his hand aside, but he tightened his grip. "Get off me!"

"You're too naive and innocent. I don't want you getting into trouble while you're here with me." Tensed, Bateman stroked your back to calm you down a bit as he noticed the people around starting to stare at you.

"That's very sweet, but I don't need your 'protection'...I'm pretty sure you came here for the same reason as all the other yuppies." 

"I didn't ask for your opinion, okay? Let's get to our seats," he said possessively, easily cradling you in his arms, covering your small frame like a cocoon. "We have the best seats, by the way. Right next to the runaway."

"Amazing," you murmured as he led you through the endless crowds. "Not a single model will escape your gaze."

"That's right."

Frowning, you were about to slip out of his grip when suddenly someone ran into you, stomping painfully on your feet.

"Ouch!" Your loud whimper caused Patrick to turn in your direction, but then he froze as he looked over your shoulder at the blonde girl who was immediately apologizing. 

"Oh God, I'm so sorry..." the familiar voice hit you like a bolt of lightning. "I can be so clumsy," she touched her forehead before locking her lost gaze with Bateman's. "Patrick?"

That was Courtney. There was no doubt it was her, especially when she smiled at him so brightly it could easily outshine the Sun. 

"Hello, Courtney. It's so good to see you!" Patrick crooned gallantly, his arms finally releasing your shivering body. 

But even if a few minutes ago you wanted him to take his hands off you, now you were feeling a bit upset that he actually did.

"How could I miss this?" She asked flirtatiously, completely ignoring your presence. "Where are your seats?"

"Yeah, where are they?" You blurted out abruptly, making them both almost jump. "I just don't want to interrupt your sweet conversation and..."

You almost hissed from the sudden pain as you felt his firm hand on your ass, pinching your buttocks. His face didn't change, though, as he continued to grin haughtily, his eyes never ceasing to roam over Courtney's pretty body. With slight irritation, Bateman approached your neck and whispered in your ear how to get to your seats, then nibbled briefly on your earlobe as a sign of his displeasure, but you didn't pay any attention.

"Thank you, Daddy." You uttered the last word in the most disgustingly sweet way you could and strolled away without looking back. No matter how much you wanted to, you just couldn't.

Patrick wasn't lying—the seats were really so close to the runway that you could probably see every little detail on the models' clothes.

After about fifteen minutes, it was getting dark, which meant that the show was about to start. You fidgeted in your seat, trying to find a comfortable position, but it just didn't work, your butt was still sore from Bateman's pinch.

As soon as you remembered him, you heard his voice as he moved across the seats to reach his place. Patrick grinned at you smugly as he sat down next to you, crossing one leg over the other and fixing his hair.

"You must be very pleased with yourself, Cupcake?" He asked mockingly.

You scowled and pretended not to understand what he was saying as the music turned up really loud: "I can't hear you."

Patrick just chuckled softly, put a hand on the back of your seat and moved closer. "I said you look so beautiful today."

'God, what a jerk.' 

"Can't say the same about you."

"Uh, such an angry little kitten," Bateman laughed, looking at you from under his beautiful lashes. "I don't think I'll survive this."

"You really think I care?"

And then the show started, unfortunately not allowing you to finish what you were about to say. As expected, the models looked gorgeous and the clothes they were wearing were absolutely amazing—you had to admit that. Although you tried your best not to notice the way Patrick was staring at the girls on the runway, you had to claw at your skin when one of them winked at him without any shame.

"This is the grace I've been telling you about," he bowed closer to you to make sure you heard what he was saying. "The perfect example of feminine beauty."

You smiled ironically and replied without looking at him: "The real beauty begins when the boys come out."

Your sudden statement elicited a muffled groan from his chest, but Bateman simply nodded and turned away from you. From that moment on, he was almost silent, and it was a little strange, but as the male models appeared on the runway, you stopped analyzing and just enjoyed the handsome men walking back and forth in front of you. Everything was fine until one of the models found your eyes in the crowd and smiled at you. And of course Patrick wouldn't miss it.

"Do you like him?"

"W-who?" You stammered, feeling his warm hand on your knee.

"The model who just walked by," he murmured, stroking your exposed skin under the hem of your dress, sensing the way you tensed under his touch. "Maybe you should go talk to him after the show."

Shit, you couldn't believe he meant it or... you just didn't want to believe it?

"I'm not like you, Patrick," you chastised, feeling so damned angry as his words cut painfully through your heart. "You sometimes forget that not everyone is like that..."

"Like what?" Bateman scoffed with a raised eyebrow.

"You know what I mean." You added with a teasing smile and turned away from him, but he immediately grabbed your face, forcing you to squeal from the unexpectedness. 

"No, I don't," he scoffed, pushing on your jaw. "C'mon, Cupcake, tell me."

The surrounding darkness came in handy in this situation, not to mention the fact that almost everyone was focused on watching the show, so Bateman felt pretty confident knowing that no one would notice your little fight here.

"Get off!" You hissed, wrapping both your hands around his wrist in an attempt to pry it away.

"Awww, look at those little hands," he pulled you closer, so you could feel his hot breath on your trembling lips. "You are so small and yet so brave. It fascinates me, I won't lie."

You froze for a second as his words caught you off guard. Blinking several times, you didn't even notice that his large palm was now gently stroking your chin, moving up to your cheek and ending this little intimate moment by pressing lightly on your half-opened lips.

Actually, that was the worst thing he could do at that moment, because his illusory softness and tenderness hurts like hell. It was like a sweet candy with a sharp blade inside.

Just as you realized how close your faces were, you tried to pull away, but Patrick's grip was too tight. Fixing you in place by your chin, he captured your mouth with his, hungrily relishing your taste, your shiver, your muffled gasp against his lips. Bateman tested your limits so masterfully that every little move he made was as precise as his side profile. Slowly he wrapped one hand around your neck while another was already resting on your waist, the kiss you shared was something more than just physical contact, and you let yourself sink into the flow of emotions, closing your eyes and letting him kiss deeper. You almost moaned, but the surrounding music of the show drowned out any obscene sounds that tried to escape your swollen lips.

His strong, warm tongue danced along yours, not even giving you a chance to take the lead, so you just opened your mouth wider and let your noses brush together, forcing your hearts to beat in a crazy rhythm.

God, this man was the darkest curse... the most delightful blessing.

After a few seconds, the people around started applauding so loudly that you had to open your eyes just as the lights came on. The strange delusion that was like a white veil behind your vision began to fade, and only then did you and Patrick realize that you were both staring at each other, your mouths still pressed together.

A second, two seconds.

It seemed as if you were both waiting to see who would break away first, and as soon as you heard someone coughing behind your back, you pulled away from Patrick's strong arms, but you knew that you only managed to break free because he let you.

"Patrick! I thought I wouldn't see you here!" A familiar female voice echoed from above and you didn't even bother to turn around to see another bimbo Bateman was hanging out with.

Shit, what if she saw what you were doing?

At first you thought Patrick would pretend he didn't know you or something, but instead Bateman smiled smugly and put his hand on the back of your chair.

Annoyed, but still as majestic as a lion, he looked up at the blonde and said quickly: "Hi, Meredith."

Her face turned into a sad grimace, though she pretended that Bateman's indifference didn't upset her. Obviously, Meredith was outraged and needed someone to take her anger out on. 

With a haughty grin, she scoffed and almost stepped on your foot. "I don't understand, how can a man like you go out with someone like... her?"

Damn, that was such an obvious insult that it didn't even trigger a single emotion, you just gave her a deadly stare when you finally met her little eyes and you could swear that you saw a trace of fear in them.

"I asked myself the same question," you muttered suddenly, getting up from your seat and looking at Patrick, whose perfect eyebrows now frowned, especially when he understood what you were you doing—he squeezed the back of the chair until his knuckles turned white. "Have a nice evening." 

With those words, you quickly walked away, and you were so damn glad that Bateman decided not to follow you, because with every step you took, your eyes got more and more watery. 

"How did she even get here? Ugly people like that should stay at home to avoid traumatizing anyone." Meredith hissed as she watched your little figure moving away from them. "Who is she?" 

Patrick chuckled, then did his classic move of parrying the question with his natural charm. "Oh, you're so mean," he muttered as he watched the blonde take your seat next to him. Playfully, Bateman pinched her nose and they both started to giggle, no matter how disgusted he felt himself right now, he wouldn't admit that your sudden leaving made him sad. "Such an angry little bitch."

You couldn't remember how you found your way to the ladies' room, but as soon as you stepped up to the sink and looked in the mirror, you scowled and clenched your fists from the sharp pain in your chest. 

"I... I hate you so much!" You hissed in a trembling voice, not really knowing who you were addressing, yourself or Patrick, who was probably already taking the blonde bimbo to his place.

His womanizer nature was not a secret, so why did it hurt so fucking much? 

Depressed by your weakness towards this man, you wanted to smash the mirror to stop seeing this sad face covered with tears, but you heard someone coming, so you just froze in place with your trembling hands in the air. A model walked past you and accidentally bumped your shoulder.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" She squealed and opened the fauster to wash her hands.

Even though you understood that she didn't do it on purpose, it made you so mad that you almost ran out of the bathroom, loudly slamming the door behind you.

The moment you realized that you couldn't remember how to get out of here made all your insides cramp like a spring, and you thought you were just going to fall to the floor from a sudden fear of being lost. 'Fuck, not now, not now!'

Quivering, you looked around, searching for... Patrick? But instead of him, you could only see an endless number of beautiful models strolling here and there. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath to calm yourself, but when that didn't help, your legs seemed to give way, and you slipped against the wall until you rested on the floor. This panic attack was nothing compared to the ones you had before, your heart pounding painfully against your chest as if trying to burst through it. Things got worse when you felt the lack of oxygen as you literally suffocated with panic and your body burned from the inside out.

The group of models stood by and noticed your small, shivering form, rocking back and forth with your hands wrapped around your head. 

"Hey! Are you okay?" One of them approached you and crouched down beside you, trying to help you up, but you refused.

"Don't touch her, Lizzy! Maybe she's on drugs. Let's go already!"

"No, wait... she clearly needs help," the models looked at each other, one of them trying to pat your shoulder to calm you down, while her friend tapped her foot annoyingly. "Are you in pain? Did someone hurt you?"

"N-no," you finally mumbled, opening your eyes to see that not only two, but many of these girls were already gathered around you. "I— I'm fine, I'm sorry... I'm just..." 

Lost.

Jesus, that was so embarrassing that the words just stuck in your throat like a lump, and now you felt like a little girl who got lost in the big mall when she decided to run away from her parents. 

"What's going on here?" That voice made you almost faint. "Get away!"

A bit roughly, Bateman pulled the model away from you and leaned down to your shivering form.

"HEY! We were just trying to help!"

"Go away! All of you!" He turned and barked at all the girls watching the scene. "Get the hell out of here, there is nothing to look at!"

Your head was spinning, at first you couldn't even believe it was him, hiding you from everyone with his broad, tall figure, as if he was trying to… protect you?

"Cupcake? Cupcake, look at me," his worried cooing made you submit, making you want to believe that he was really concerned about you. Gently, he cupped your face and stroked your slightly disheveled hair. "What happened?"

At first, you didn't say anything — you were paralyzed, mesmerized by his brown eyes, which were gliding desperately up and down your body, checking every little part of it. 

"Who did this to you?"

'You did.'

But he would never know.

"You came," you replied briefly. "Why?" 

Patrick frowned at your answer and let out a tired sigh. "I've been looking for you since you left, because this place is huge, and I didn't want you to get into trouble, but," he paused and brushed your tears away concisely. "But it looks like I'm too late. God, you're so reckless," he shook his head and stood up.

As soon as Patrick did that, something clicked in your head, and you didn't even notice that you were already on your feet as you snuggled up to him and buried yourself in his arms with a deadly grip.

"Please, don't go!" You begged in a trembling voice, hugging him tighter. "Don't leave me!"

Shocked, Bateman didn't know how to react, his arms dropped motionlessly, but then he carefully placed them on your back, drawing invisible lines along your spine. 

"I have to get our coats. You came here in your coat, did you forget?"

Blinking several times as you looked into his eyes, you replied softly: "Yeah… I did."

Patrick couldn't help but smile adorably. "Wait for me here, (y/n). I'll lead you outside, you'll feel better there." He explained and distanced himself from you. "Don't go anywhere! Got it?"

You nodded, and only then did he walk away. Without even looking back, he disappeared into the crowd.

Bateman was right, once you left the building your condition improved, and you could finally breathe in the fresh air, filling your lungs with the oxygen they so desperately needed. A cool wind blew into your face, making you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the emotions you were experiencing right now — the fact that Patrick had come for you, that he was looking for you, left you with no choice but to stifle a loud scream that you wanted so bad to let out.

Bateman remained silent, standing a short distance behind you, puffing on his cigar and watching the smoke rise from it.

"Has this ever happened to you before?" His question came out of nowhere.

You shrugged, but didn't turn around. "Yeah... it happens sometimes, especially in crowded places."

Bateman didn't say anything, but you could feel the tension between the two of you. Without a rush, he moved closer to you, watching you hug yourself — the difference in your sizes made him gulp, but he didn't dare touch you. Not yet.

"Why didn't you tell me then?" He whispered above your ear before smoking his cigar.

"Because it doesn't matter."

"It does."

"No!" You blurted out and turned round to face him. "It… doesn't."

The way he looked at you was enough to make you hold your breath and take a small step back, but the next moment you were already trapped in his sturdy arms, the sharp smell of snuff filling the air around you as he blew off several rings of smoke.

"You're not going anywhere now." His voice lowered, and you closed your eyes from the astonishing sensation of being caught in his strong hands, feeling his hot breath on your face. 

"Patrick," you gasped and hugged him back, surprising him for a second. "Thank you for... for everything."

A loud cacophony of laughter and rumbling got your attention and you looked over his shoulder to see Meredith and her friends coming towards you. She seemed to spot you even faster than you spotted her, and now her eyes were bloodshot red.

"Can you," you stammered, feeling ashamed. "Can you kiss me?"

What the hell was going on inside your head?

Anyway, you didn't have time to reflect on this, because Patrick wasn't the type of person who needs to be asked twice. The moment his soft lips met yours, the ground under your feet seemed to disappear, so he had to hold you with both hands, not caring that his expensive cigar fell down. Even if you would blame yourself for that, all you could think about now was his strong hands sliding along your small form, outlining your curves as you let him do it, while he used his wet tongue to make you go limp in his embrace.

Sneakily, Patrick admired your beautiful face with his half-open eyes, probably not even realizing how much you meant to him, how deep you were rooted in his soul. But did he even have a soul in the first place?

When you broke the kiss, you didn't see Meredith or her friends anymore. Bateman noticed you were looking for something, so he turned to look at the direction of your gaze.

"Cupcake?" He was confused when he didn't see anyone. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Uh, yeah! I just thought I saw a familiar face," you lied, trying to act natural. "I... I should probably go home."

Patrick gave you a suspicious glance, still holding you in his arms. "Actually, I don't want to leave you alone after what happened."

"What do you mean?" you asked, a little disappointed. "I said I'm fine."

"Shhh," he pressed a finger to your lips, and you felt the smooth, cold leather of his glove. "I know you like to be bratty, but now isn't a good time. You really scared me."

Sighing, you dropped your head and covered his hand with both of yours. "I'm sorry, I... I didn't want you to see me like that."

To be honest, you didn't want anyone to see you like this because you hated looking weak in front of people. Especially in front of people like him, because it would automatically give him another trump card to play around with.

"Let me take you home." Bateman mumbled briefly, fixing your hair and then rubbing your neck to relax you.

"Aren't you afraid you'll have a heart attack coming to my place? It's not like your apartment in Manhattan."

He chuckled and pinched your cheek, leaving you confused and offended.

"Of course it's not," Patrick grinned and poked you in the nose. "I don't have any expectations."

You frowned and tried to push him back, but he only pressed you closer, nuzzling your neck and leaving a small hickey on it for which you were not ready — your muffled whimper made him sneer even louder.

"That's a pretty exhaustive answer," he didn't even allow you to say anything in return as he kissed you again, but this time much more passionately. "I'll get us a cab."

This man was like a hurricane that tossed everything around and no matter how many walls you built — he would break them down, one after the other, because nature couldn't be stopped. It seemed that you were completely disarmed against your own nature, because it was calling for him, it was pushing you into his possession, and you were already so tired of fighting these feelings.

There was something special about New York at night, when millions of lights were shining like diamonds, reflecting on the water of the Hudson River and taking your breath away with the feeling of being so small in such a huge city, where the numerous soaring skyscrapers were almost touching the sky.

Tiredly, you closed your eyes, sighed, and leaned on the armrest of the car door, watching the scenery change behind the window. Patrick listened to the music, as he always did, his hands stroking your knee from time to time, but you could hardly feel it, since you were completely overwhelmed by emotions, feelings and thoughts. It was hard to believe that even after all that had happened, you still let him take you home, knowing damn well that he wouldn't just stay in the cab when it stopped at your place. 

Just as you entered your apartment and turned on the lights, you heard his slightly nervous chuckle and little comment.

“Mmm, it's pretty clean here.”

His words almost made you choke. “Did you really think that my place would look like a dump just because I don't live in Manhattan?”

“I didn't mean that.” Bateman murmured behind you, following you carefully down the hall. “Where can I put my coat?”

“Why do you ask? I don't remember inviting you here,” You took off your coat and put it on the rack next to him. “Aren't you afraid your coat will stink  of poverty?”

Patrick couldn't help but chuckle in a husky voice. “You're funny, Cupcake.”

'And why did I trust this man at all? What was so special about him?'

You didn't say anything, only a thin smile ran over your tired face as you turned around and saw him putting his coat over yours. After that, you continued to walk to your small kitchen, and as soon as you reached the table next to the window, your eyes began to search for something.

“Did you lose something?” He asked, leaning against the wall and hiding his hands in his pockets.

“N-no,” you stammered, as if he had caught you doing something bad. God, he was embarrassing you in your own apartment! “Just … It's been a while since I've had guests.”

Patrick hummed something incoherently and crossed his arms over his broad chest, then moved lazily to the kitchen counter when something caught his eye while you were busy gathering all the stuff on the kitchen table — including some books and various papers from work.

With undisguised interest, Bateman picked up the medicine to take a closer look at its name. “Don't you know these things can cause addiction?”

“What?” You turned to see him examining your sedatives.

“How long have you been taking them?” He asked again, his perfect eyebrows knitted together now.

You sighed tiredly and walked over to him, holding out your hand. “Not too long. Now give it to me, please.”

“I can bring you much better medication than this, since it obviously doesn't work,” he stated in a stern voice, without looking at you. “Because the panic attacks are still kicking your pretty ass.”

His words made your jaw clench, but you didn't even try to snatch the medication from him, instead you just let out a soft groan of annoyance, crossed your arms and rolled your eyes.

“That's very kind of you, but I have to decline your offer.” You replied, watching him shake his head in irritation. “Besides, you can only get those pills with a doctor's prescription.”

Patrick just shrugged and put the pills back on the kitchen counter.

“That's not a problem,” he quickly straightened his red tie before stepping closer to you. “I have one of the best therapists in the city.”

“Uh-huh, and the pharmacy you go to is probably one of the best, too?”

He grinned. “Sure, I usually get my meds from the one on Broadway.”

“Good for you.”

You started to saunter away from him, but his hands caught you faster than you could react. The next thing you knew, Bateman was holding you tightly against his tall, broad frame, looking down at you with obvious concern.

“Cupcake,” he murmured in a sweet voice, tracing a finger along your cheek. “I just want to help.”

Damn, this man only had to touch you a little bit and you were already lost in him. 

“Patrick, you don't have to. I—” You didn't have a chance to finish your sentence because your lips were sealed by his. 

Completely defenseless and vulnerable — that was how you felt right now, and it seemed as if he could feel it as the kiss grew deeper and more intense with each passing moment. Cautiously, you rested your hands on his shoulders before sliding them down to the lapels of his suit, fumbling with the soft material and feeling the ground disappearing beneath your feet.

'It's already too much.'

Only when you were both breathless did Patrick decide to break the kiss, but his arms were still wrapped around your waist, as if he was afraid you would disappear like a mirage. 

“You were involved in all this because of me," he paused and leaned down to you again, letting your noses rub against each other. This little physical contact made your heart flutter. “And you really made me worry.”

Bateman said it so quickly, as if he wasn't even thinking properly at that moment. Embarrassed, you shrugged a bit in his arms. No matter how hard you tried to believe this man, all you could think about now was whether you were trapped in his other manipulative, mind games.

“I’ll be fine, I promise,” you put a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating fast under your fingertips and the next second you pulled your hand away as if you got burned. “Anyway, it’s late already and you probably have some more interesting stuff to do.”

His soft chuckling was annoying but pleasant to hear. “You’re not quite hospitable, aren’t you?”

Eventually, he let you go and stepped aside, unbuttoning his jacket — that scene caused your pulse to race. 

“What are you doing?” “What does it look like?”

You crossed your arms and sighed. “Patrick, I really appreciate your help and… the show was really cool, but I doubt I would ever go back to that place again.” 'Damn it, did I actually say that?'

After Bateman removed his jacket, he carefully put it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs and tucked his sleeves. 

“You’re welcome,” he beamed with a cocky smile. “I thought you would offer me some tea, coffee or something?”

“I doubt I have anything good to your taste,” slowly, you turned away from him, as an unpleasant feeling of shame struck you right through your chest. “Mmm, I can only offer you mineral water but it’s not Apollinaris.”

“Oh, dear,” he crooned and suddenly hugged you from behind. “I didn’t expect you to have Apollinaris. Honestly.”

Gasping barely audibly, you covered his arms on your waist with your own arms and cocked your head to meet his brown eyes and for God’s sake, why did he always look so tempting, so captivating, so… magnetizing?

With a sharp breath, you managed to avoid another kiss he planned to pull you into, and it coaxed a low growl of disappointment to erupt from his half-opened lips which were so intended to collapse with yours. 

“Patrick,” you gulped when he nuzzled against your neck, leaving small wet marks along your sensitive skin. “Please, stop. Let me just bring you some water and I want to relax a bit, after… after everything that happened.”

It was kinda unexpected that Bateman decided to let you go as easy as that without even trying to overpower you like he always does.

“And what do you do to relax?"

“Hot bath.” You responded without looking at him. Annoyed, you stumbled past him to grab the meds he was inspecting a few minutes ago, and then you opened the fridge to take out the bottle of mineral water. As soon as you started to pour the water into the most beautiful glass you had, you noticed his persistent stare, which made you almost spill the water onto the kitchen counter. “What?”

“These pills are no good for you, (y/n),” his anxious tone was very unnatural, you didn’t even remember him sounding like this ever before. “Stop being stubborn.”

With a small thud, you put the glass on the table next to him and replied a bit aggressively: "I don't think they're worse than coke."

At first, Bateman just gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into fists, but then he took a quick sip of the mineral water, trying as hard as he could to play cool.

“Thanks.” Was all he said and that was actually not the reaction you have expected.

There was an awkward silence hanging in the air for some seconds and none of you wanted to continue this conversation, but once you tried to move his hand (that was wrapped around your forearm), his low voice engulfed you like a hot steam.

“Cupcake, I just want to make sure you won’t do anything bad.” “W-what do you mean?” You frowned in confusion and glanced at his hand before you raised your eyes to his perfect face. “Patrick, I suffer from panic attacks… not the things you're thinking of.”

“Then, go take a bath and I’ll leave after that.”

“But I’m not a child,” the more you were trying to resist him, the more your body was yearning for his touch, his large palm on your back was enough to make you forget how to breathe. “You don't owe me anything, this is my problem and I’ll handle this, just like I was doing it before.”

“To be fair, your behavior only shows how immature you are,” he crooned and traced a long, sensible line along your spine. “But, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt since you’re overwhelmed.”

At some point, you found yourself tired from trying to convince him to leave you alone, so you just nodded and quickly took your sedative before heading to the bathroom under his attentive gaze. After all, even if you even attempted to make him go away you would fail because compared to him you were so small and weak — Patrick had power over you in all ways, and he knew that. 

You were trapped in your own flat, what nonsense.

In a few minutes, you were sitting in the bath and letting the warm water bring you some relief, just like it always did. Affected by sedatives, you didn’t even remember whether you closed the bathroom door or not, but being honest, you didn’t really care, because even if Patrick came here he wouldn’t see anything new. 

The bitter aftertaste of what happened made you feel like shit, and you really didn't know how to find a way out from it. As if it was not enough for you to be dependent on Patrick (you owe him a lot of money), now you gave him more weaknesses that he could potentially use against you. 

'Excellent!'

Hugging your knees, you burst in tears — salty tears that were falling into the water, leaving small circles on it. Before now, you didn’t even realize how devastated you were. You closed your eyes for a second and you drifted off almost instantly, and with each passing moment, your body was submerging into the water more and more.

Meanwhile, Bateman was sitting on the little couch in your living room, which he suddenly found pretty cozy, though he checked if everything was clean enough before he dared to take a seat. Did he really think that people outside Manhattan used to live in dirty, trashy apartments? Well, maybe he did, since he didn’t even remember when was the last time he was in such places.

Ever since you left, Patrick had been fighting the temptation to go through your things to find something interesting, which he would of course use for his own interests. But instead, he picked up one of your books from the coffee table, and as he did so, a small piece of paper fell out. Squinting suspiciously, Bateman leaned down to grab it, only to almost crumple it when he saw your handwriting —  the paper was completely covered with your notes, and they were all the same phrase — "If I want to be loved as I am, I have to be willing to love others as they are." Patrick couldn't count how many times you had written that, but each line he read evoked something strange in him — the unraveling feeling that urged him to rip the paper, to crumple it. Is it compassion that he was so afraid of?

Closing his eyes for a moment, Bateman took a deep breath and put the paper back in the book, no matter how much he wanted to destroy it or forget what he had just read. After that, he checked his Rolex and noticed that it had been quite a while since you had left. Slowly, he got up from the couch and went to the bathroom. His 'sixth sense' had never failed him before, so he decided to rely on it and check on you.

Patrick didn’t knock once he noticed that the door was not closed, he just stepped in, looking for you.

“Cupcake, are you—”

A chilling shock swept over him when he saw only the top of your head above the water. Without a second thought, he ran across the bathroom and knelt down beside the tub to pull you out of the water, and the moment he did, you began to cough, clinging to his arms and desperately gasping for air.

“Pat-Patrick,” you were shaking so badly, so he had to hold you in one place, pressing you against his solid chest. “I don’t know how that happened… I… I didn’t want this I—” “Shh, (y/n),” Bateman cooed at you in order to calm you down, but he wasn't any less scared than you. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

Trembling, you looked up at him — your eyes so red from tears, your heart beating like a broken alarm-clock. “I think I ruined your suit… I’m so sorry!”

Appalled, you tried to break free but Patrick didn’t let you move, his strong arms were holding you like tight ropes. Damn, he was so angry — he could sense his blood boiling inside his veins, forcing his jaw to clench in a silent growl. He was so fucking mad at himself. 

How could he let this happen? 

As this question ran through his bewildered mind, he froze in fear. He didn't know if he was talking about letting you nearly drown in your own bathtub or letting you take roots on his broken soul. Maybe that was the reason you two had bonded, two broken souls seeking for something that would stop their pain, something that would bring them freedom from a burdened life. But how could he help you when every day he was fighting his dark side, the side you didn't know about yet? The side he wished you would never meet.

Never.

"God... I'm so stupid." You cried out, interrupting his train of thought and bringing him back to reality. 

"Shh," Bateman husked, cupping your face. "Stop talking!" He sighed and looked into your blurry eyes, breathing so heavily that it was almost painful. "Just don't say anything right now."

Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe the sedative had a side effect on you, but as soon as he tried to pull you out of the tub completely, your hand slipped down his chest to his groin — your sneaky fingers instantly playing with the buckle of his belt, causing a shaky groan to escape his lips. Dazed, you moved your hand lower to feel the outline of his thick cock getting harder under your touch, but as you were about to unzip his pants, his firm hand stopped you, confusing your cloudy mind and inducing you to raise your eyes to meet his. He could swear no one had ever looked at him like that — so innocently, yet so sinfully. 

"Cupcake, you don't want this," Patrick murmured, removing your hand. "Trust me."

"I do want this!" You replied in a trembling voice, pouting like a child.

"You're so fucking lost right now, you just don't understand," he manhandled you out of the tub and you almost punched him in his beautiful face, but Bateman paid no attention to your attempt to hit him. "Towels, where are they?"

Huffing, he lifted you up, and only then did you calm down, wrapping your hands and legs around him as securely as you could, like you were afraid of falling off the roof of the skyscraper. 

After you pointed at the bathroom counter, Bateman carefully moved towards it to take some big, white towel and wrap it around you — he was drying you off so gently and attentively, it almost made you cry again. 

Emotions were overtaking you.

Patrick didn't even say a word when he was done, he just got another dry towel and swaddled you in it like in a cocoon before carrying you out of the bathroom bridal style. Somehow, he managed to find the way to your bedroom, but once he saw your bed, he scowled and remarked: “Jesus, this bed is so small.”

“I love my bed.” You murmured in reply, hugging his neck and pressing yourself closer against his warm body.

Bateman couldn't help but chuckle in amusement, giving you a brief forehead kiss and sitting you down on the bed. As soon as you lost physical contact with him, you leaned on your elbows, watching him turn around and walk away.

“Patrick! Please, don’t go!” 

Your words echoed inside his head like the most sacred plea, they made him stop and looked in your direction. “I need to remove my clothes since they’re pretty damp,” he checked himself, with a visible disgust on his face. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Be a good girl, and just wait for me here, okay?”

“Fine.” You mumbled and took the plushy bunny which was resting on your bed next to you.

This scene made him chuckle before he left your bedroom. Now you were completely alone with your thoughts, they didn't wait a second to start eating you from the inside again. With your eyes closed, you lay on your back and began to count.

One, two, three…

What if he lied saying that he would return? Gosh, you wanted him to leave the moment you came here, so why were you getting so upset thinking about him leaving you alone just as you asked him for?

Four, five, six…

The inner voice kept reminding you how many times Patrick has hurt you, how many times he made you cry, how many times you felt like a toy in his hands. You gritted your teeth, pressing your hands against your head to stop thinking.

Seven, eight, nine…

How many times have you promised yourself that you would break out from this circle of lies, pain and suffering? 

“Stop it!” You whimpered, shutting your eyes as firm as you could until the tears started to form.

Ten.

“Stop what?” His voice—it was like a lifeline, like a light in the end of the tunnel, it was everything you needed here and now.

The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was his almost naked form, namely his toned tiddies and his mouth watering V-line, not to mention his perfect abs and the small trail of hair below his navel.

“For one second I thought you would just leave.” You looked into his hazel eyes, which were partly covered by his messy, brown hair.

“In wet clothes?” He giggled and stepped closer to your bed. It was so hard to ignore the bulge in his tight white underwear, but you tried your best not to stare at it. “Feeling better?"

“Yes, I think y-yes,” you swallowed hard when Bateman sat on the edge of your small bed and drew an invisible line across your ankle. “Can I… ask you for something?”

“You can try.” His voice got lower, sending shivers down your spine.

Panting, you uncovered yourself, putting the towel aside and letting him admire the view of your beautiful body, a pleasure he gladly took, his thirsty eyes roaming all over your curves, especially your full breasts and your inviting neck.

“What do you want, Cupcake?” His hand slides up to your hip, teasing the sensitive skin and making you gasp from need. “Tell me.”

“I need you,” you bit your lower lip, frowning from how embarrassed you were. “I n-need you more than ever.”

With no rush, Bateman bent down to your belly to press a brief kiss which elicited a soft moan to fall from your shaky throat. “Show me where you need me.”

You were about to lost it at any second, as the mind-blowing passion was crashing over you like a fucking tsunami, and you didn’t even know if you would survive this. 

Could that be the moment of no return for both of you?

Stifling a moan, you took his big palm and guided between your opened legs—the sound of his fingers sliding along your oozed folds made you arched your back and you thought your heart would break out from your chest. Your heavy breathes filled up the room, and once you felt his hot lips on your mound, you nearly squeaked, creasing the sheets beneath you.

Patrick was enjoying every second of this moment, savoring the taste of your skin, reveling in all your little salacious noises when he encircled his arms around your legs and swiped his tongue over your throbbing clit.

That was the last drop of your resistance and you couldn't control it anymore, throwing your head back and mewling sensually: “Mmhm, Daddy…! You make me f-feel so good.”

“Are you sure you want this?” His sudden question pierced through your head like an electric pulse.

Gulping, you got up a bit to look down at him, his cheeks, neck and shoulders were already flushed, his hair was disheveled and his eyes were as dark as night.

“Yes,” you responded shortly, feeling a tight knot forming inside your lower abdomen just from being so close to his face. “Taste me, Daddy, please… I want to get lost… in you.”

“I see,” he said, hovering over you for a moment to grab the plushy bunny, then handing it to you with a mischievous grin. "Little girls always keep their favorite toys close?”

As soon as you held the bunny, Bateman got back to his previous position, fondling your hips here and there, then he kissed your inner thigh and put your legs together before bending them and pressing against your chest.

“Stay like that.”

After saying that, he brushed away his wavy locks, spit on your pussy and made several, barely sensible, strokes along your bundle of nerves, his sturdy arms were holding your legs to fixate you in one place as his ministrations were making it hard for you to stay still.

“Awww, P-Patrick,” you keened and squeezed the plush toy in your hand, feeling so dirty yet so high from the way his wet tongue was painting various ornaments on your taut lower lips. “I’m gonna faint…”

“Mmm,” he moaned against your feverish little bud before he took it inside his mouth, sucking it so deliciously that your eyes rolled back into your head, your inner walls were already spasming. “You’re my sweet little Cupcake.”

“Yes! Yes, please!”

Slurping at your soaked cunt, Bateman let you rest your legs on his shoulders and pull on his brown hair as you wanted to bring him even closer, moving your hips towards his face. God, you were such a wet moaning mess and when he shoved his long fingers inside of your dripping slit, you lost connection with reality and ascended to the apex of ecstasy.

His fingers were moving inside and outside of you like a clock-work, so smoothly and fast, since he knew your body so perfectly, it was quite simple for him to find your spongy G - spot. Once he started to stimulate it, your toes began to curve and your whole body was jolting as if you were hit by the eclectic shock.

The moment of your orgasm was as astonishing and relieving as a sip of water in the arid desert. But even after you cummed, Patrick didn’t stop eating you out, fingering you harder, so your juices were gashing around your sweaty bodies, the sheets beneath you were already wet and you didn’t know how you would live tomorrow when he leaves you.

“Mmmmh, I’mma cum again, D-Daddy!” You whimpered, squirming around the bed and pressing the plushy bunny against your face as you were on the verge of tears – overstimulation hitting pretty hard.

Bateman only growled in response and stuffed your soaked pussy with another finger, rhythmically swirling his hot tongue around your throbbing tip while his sneaky hand traced up along your shivering body to grope one of your breasts and pinch your engorged nipple.

“Ahhh—GOSH…! Pat...” Your voice cracked as you cummed so hard all around his face that your wetness was literally running down his chin. But he didn’t care, because the only thing that mattered for him was bringing you as much pleasure as he could.

Even when he was panting heavily against your abused cunt, and he almost couldn't feel his fingers anymore, he continued to lap at your cleft. By that moment your legs were looped around his head and you couldn’t stop twitching even for a second, with each lick he sent millions of tingles to your lower belly.

“Daddy, it’s t-too much… I can’t take it any longer.” You felt so goddamn sensitive, and your body was like jelly at this point.

“C’mon, babydoll,” he groaned in a raspy voice after he pulled on your clit with a nasty squeal. “You can give Daddy another one, can't you baby? For me, please?"

This time Patrick buried his tongue as deep inside your womb as he could, licking you from the inside out. He repeated the motion, making you climax countless times in a row, until your little frame couldn't bear it anymore. Soon, you drifted off with a smile of joy on your face, holding the plushy bunny close to your chest. Long time ago that toy was your only friend, but now it seemed like you have become a toy yourself. But unlike the plush bunny, it was obvious that you weren't the only toy for your owner.

Why did it hurt so good to be alive?

You heard a faint voice calling you and asking for help, but no matter how hard you tried to follow it and find it—all you could see was darkness before your eyes. Scared, you moved along the dark alley, surrounded by shadows, shivering from the abnormal cold, and for a second you even thought you were already dead. But when the voice called you again, you finally realized that it was your inner voice, but it sounded so sad, even compared to your darkest days.

"How did you end up like this, (y/n)?" Your own reflection spoke to you, each word cutting through your heart like a dagger. "You're so pathetic and weak, what would Mom and Dad say if they knew about your 'successful' life in New York?"

Frowning, you closed your hands around your ears to stop this madness, but the more you tried to ignore it, the louder the voice became in your head.

"Look what you've done to yourself! Do you really think he cares about you?" 

"Leave me alone!" You yelled at your shadow copy and ran down the alley, but there seemed to be no escape.

"Wake the fuck up! Bateman is just using you for his own needs, and you let him treat you like a fucking toy. Being in debt to him is not an excuse!" You could hear it even with your ears closed and there was nowhere to hide.

"SHUT UP!" You sped up, the cold air hitting your face mercilessly, but you didn't care. "Get out of my head!"

God, it was so fucking absurd to argue with yourself.

Perplexed and scared, you suddenly realized that the faster you were running the louder your inner voice was getting, bringing you a sharp headache as if a million needles cut into your brain at once. It hurt really bad.

“Patrick! Patrick, where are you?” You cried out as the darkness was clouding around you with each passing second. “Please, I need you…” A single tear slid down your warm cheek when you felt your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen as though you were drowning. “Pat-Patrick…”

Slowly closing your eyes, you let the void consume you, which actually brought you some relief, because now you were free from pain and sorrow, reveling in the sweet space of non-existence.

A loud gasp bounced against the walls of your small bedroom, signaling of your eventual awakening. Panting, you sat on the bed only to see Bateman’s sleepy form next to you—he was sleeping like a baby, laying on his back and sniffling from time to time. Shocked, you were trying your best to regain your composure and steady your heavy breathing, not even noticing that you were drenched in sweat. 

Quietly, you slipped out from under the covers to find yourself completely naked, so the next thing you did was find something to put on. Subsequently, you rushed inside your small bathroom and saw Bateman’s clothes drying off on the battery—the memories of the recent events flashed across your mind like a slow-motion movie. First, you were taking a bath—which was still full of cold water—then you nearly drowned but Patrick came in time and literally saved you. The next flashbacks made you lean on the sink and hold back your breath—his eager mouth on your cunt, forcing you to lose your mind and cum again and again until you eventually drifted off. 

Jesus Christ.

Embarrassed, you quickly opened the water and washed your face several times until you cooled down a bit. After you regain your composure, you fasten your terry robe and head to the kitchen as you were so starved that you even had a stomach ache. 

New York was already awake, and the sun was high above the horizon, shining so brightly in the windows that you had to close your blinds and thank God it was Sunday and you didn't have to go to the office because your head was spinning due the aftereffect of your sedative pills. Speaking of them—once you saw the jar with pills on the kitchen counter you threw it into the rubbish without any second thought, yet you didn’t want Bateman to know that he had an influence on your decision. When you closed the door to the kitchen, you accidentally slammed it harder than you should have, and it cracked so loudly that it sounded like a bundle of dishes broke at the same time.

"Damn it!" You cursed to yourself, pressing a palm to your face, certain that the noise would wake Bateman up.

Panicking a bit, you retreated to your bedroom and as soon as you stepped in you saw the man of your dreams stretching out and yawning so adorable, that for a moment you just froze in your place, not capable of taking your eyes off from Bateman’s disheveled hair and his broad chest.

With a low growl, Patrick pulled the blanket away and finally noticed you. "Woah, Cupcake, was that you?" The man chuckled, casually flexing his muscles as he looked at the mirror next to the door where you were standing. "I thought something had exploded outside."

Abashed, you quickly adjusted your robe from his piercing gaze. "Sorry, I can be really..."

"Clumsy?" Smiling broadly, Bateman leaned back against the headboard and crossed his arms. 

"Yes, clumsy," you tugged with your fingers, briefly glancing down—damn, he seemed to be the only person who could embarrass you so easily. "Well...do you want anything?"

"Hmmm, let me think," Patrick hummed before he thoughtfully pressed a finger to his plump lips. "I probably have something on my mind," Bateman gave you a mischievous grin when he saw your curious look and smoothed his golden brown hair. "How about a morning blowjob?" Your instant reaction was a mixture of anger and embarrassment, which made the man's face look even more smug. "Relax! I'm joking." 

Of course he wasn't joking—you knew it and couldn't stop yourself from rolling your eyes and crossing your arms over your chest. "I'd pretend I didn't hear that," you said, finally looking away from his sturdy body. "How about breakfast?"

"That sounds really good."

Shocked, you took a moment to think about the possible options you could cook for him since you didn’t really expect him to give you a positive answer. “I can offset you with a scrambled egg and some fresh orange juice.”

With a satisfied grin, the man slowly got up from your modest bed and stretched his muscles again; he was definitely making it on purpose. “Oh, that’s nice,” he almost groaned when he cocked his head to one side then to another. “I can’t say the same about your bed, Cupcake… you should change the mattress if you want to keep walking with a straight back.”

And though Patrick was lamenting, you could say he said it almost affectionately—as if he really cared about you, yet you brushed this conclusion off as fast as your heart was pounding right now when the man got closer to you; his tall, massive frame towered over you like a mountain.

“I also would like to have a shower, if…there’s such an option,” Bateman smirked and briefly traced a finger along your cheek, coaxing you to close your eyes for a second and revel in the soft sensation of his touch. “Did you sleep well?”

A sudden question that fell from his lips like a suffocated gasp, a tender stroke on your shoulder and you were already melting as Patrick knew what he was doing, every touch, every glance of his brown hypnotic eyes was deliberate and smooth, leaving you no chance but to surrender to his demand.

“Yes, I slept like a baby, though I can hardly remember the things that happened before I blacked out,” you lied with an embarrassed smile. “You can have a shower and use whatever soaps and towels you’ll see.” Thee more you talked the more his lips curled, especially when you allowed him to bring you closer into his embrace. “But don’t expect anything extraordinary.”

“I won’t, I promise,”  the man chuckled and playfully pinched your ass. “Sleeping beauty.”

With that, Patrick walked past you, leaving you alone for a moment, giving you a chance to pull yourself together. And when you seemed to relax, a thought of his clothes that had been left in the bathroom popped up in your mind. ‘Oh God, I forgot!’

Nervously, you rushed after Patrick into your bathroom to see that the door was already closed, implying that he was inside and probably naked, though you couldn’t hear the sound of flowing water. Embarrassed, you coughed quietly and knocked several times.

“Yeah?” Bateman’s muffled voice echoed through the door. 

“Patrick, I…” a short pause turned into a breathless gasp. “If you’re not already in the shower, may I come in?”

After a moment, the door in front of you opened and you saw Patrick wrapped in a white towel. “Something wrong?”

“No,” you giggled nervously and sneaked inside the bathroom to quickly grab his clothes. “I just wanted to iron your…suit and stuff, while you’re in the shower…” Quickly, you hovered his garments over your arm and walked past him, hoping he wouldn’t ask any questions, despite his surprised expression. “I’m so sorry for dumping your clothes yesterday.”

With these words, you deftly avoid his grasp as you knew he’d definitely try to make you embarrassed even more. “(Y/n)!”

“Take a shower. I’ll make you breakfast as I promised.” 

This time, the man didn’t try to catch you or follow you, thankfully. So, you could safely make it to your living room where you set an ironing board and put his shirt first to iron. Wrapped in thoughts, you didn’t even notice how carefully you were ironing his clothes, you couldn’t even remember doing the same with your stuff but maybe you were just scared of ruining it since everything he wore was utterly expensive. ‘This suit probably costs like my monthly rent.’ Sighing, you put the shirt aside when you heard the water flowing sound and your mind instantly gave you an image of Patrick’s naked body, enveloped in steam and slightly flush from the heat. ‘Damn, I should stop or I'm gonna ruin something.’ When it was time to iron his tie, you ran your finger along the smooth red fabric, draped in beautiful intricate patterns—you couldn't deny that you had a thing for his ties, for all of them—you smiled to yourself before bringing it to your lips, you could still feel his cologne on it. This tantalizing scent was driving you crazy, it fit him so perfectly as if it was made specially for him, but even if that was true, you wouldn’t be surprised at all, regarding how rich this man was. The moment you finished ironing his pants, you seemed to hear his voice coming from the bathroom. ‘Perfect timing.’

Slightly tensed, you stopped next to the door. “Patrick? Did you call me?” When he didn’t reply, you became even more stirred, so without really caring about seeing him naked, you opened the door and stepped in. “Patrick?” Since your bathroom was much smaller than his, you bumped into his massive frame, squealing in surprise. “Oh God, sorry!”

“Oh, Cupcake,” he wrapped his hands around your shoulders before carefully cupping your face. “I hope you didn’t break your nose against my firm chest?”

Frowning, you gave him a dead glare but he only snickered back. “What happened? Why did you call me?”

“Do you have an extra toothbrush for me? I’ll buy you another one and…”

You stopped him halfway and removed his hands to stroll to the sink and opened the cabinet above it. “Here. There’s also a razor if you need.”

Smirking, Bateman sneaked behind you and pressed his wet body against yours. “Do ya think I need to shave?” He rubbed the mirror from steam to check himself, sliding a hand along his chiseled chin.

“I…I don’t know…I just thought in case you need to, the razor is here.”

“Mhm…” he hummed and before you knew it he nuzzled against your exposed neck, forcing you to gasp and stepped back right into his embrace, just like he planned it. “Does that tickle, Cupcake?” 

‘Dear Lord, please give me the strength to survive this.’

Staying still, you just swallowed hard and let him continue to attack your neck, which he did with precious care before, but now, Patrick also used his mouth and teeth, and that was already too much.

"I think you definitely have some stubble," you laughed, trying to turn it into a joke. But as soon as you tried to walk away, he pulled you back into his strong arms, and that was not funny. "Breakfast Patrick, I have to make breakfast, did you forget?"

"Not really, but I need your help."

"Help?"

The man gave you a devilish smile before lifting you up and sitting you on the bathroom counter, not even giving you a chance to protest. Then Bateman took the shaving cream, checking the brand name skeptically, but then averting his eyes, probably thinking it was better not to know. With deliberate, calculated movements, he applied the cream to his cheekbones, moving up and down his face. The sight was something you never thought you'd find so damn hot that you didn't even make a sound, just watched him carefully prepare to shave.

"Have you ever seen a man shave, darling?" Patrick asked in a cheeky tone, surely noticing the way you were staring at him.

You shook your head. “No,” you shamelessly checked on him, following the little buds of water slipping down his torso. “God, this is such a silly question, don’t you think?”

Instead of answering, Bateman flexed his muscles while watching in the mirror and missing the way you rolled your eyes. “Well, now you finally have a chance.” The man winked at you and grabbed the razor. “You know, I really like your place, it’s pretty clean.”

“You already said that.”

“Oh, did I?”

“Yes,” you crossed your arms and turned away just the moment when the man started to glide the razor against his jawline—you thought the blade would become blunt because his cheekbones were too sharp—his every action was smooth and skillful. “That was the first thing you said when we came in.”

“That only means that it’s really very clean here.”

Huffing, you fixed your robe and cursed to yourself, ‘Why does he always have to be like this?’

Opening the faucet, Patrick cleaned his face after the last stroke of the razor. “Can you check here?” 

Confused, you gave him a questioning gaze when he turned halfway, pointing at the apex of his jaw. Sheepishly, you touched his freshly shaved skin, feeling a slight prickly sensation. “I think it’s still a bit stubbly.” 

“Aha,” Bateman acknowledged and quickly took your hand in his big one, briefly kissing the top of it and giving you the razor. “I told you, I’d need your help, Cupcake.” “How do you even do it yourself?”

“The razors I use are much sharper than this one, honey,” he chuckled but once you placed the razor against his skin he stopped moving. “Just be careful.”

The last phrase struck a chord inside your chest and you even stopped for a moment to take a deep breath before you eventually began to shave the rest of the stubble. All the while, Patrick would glance at you attentively, his hazel irises like hypnotizing spirals, so you forced yourself to stay focused on the razor and the patch of his skin still covered in a shaving cream.

“You have such soft skin,” you mumbled mostly to yourself but you were sure he heard it. “It’s so pleasurable to touch.”

“(Y/n),” he suddenly called out your name in a stern voice. “I think we should talk about yesterday.” “No…”

"Listen to me," he grabbed the hand that held the razor and pushed it to the side. "You should stop taking that sedative."

“It was just an accident.” 

“You could die, Cupcake…”

"I...I know...I owe you for saving me," you finally stated, releasing your hand to finish shaving him. "But let me take care of my life."

“Ouch.”

“Oh my God! Did I hurt you?” You jolted in panic, almost dropping the razor as if you were hit by the electric shot.

“Yes, you did,” Bateman glided a palm along his now perfectly shaved cheeks. “With your words.”

Letting out a sad sigh, you put the razor into the sink next to you and reached for another towel for him as you watched him washing his face. The more you kept silent, the more palpable the tension was getting in the air and after a brief moment of contemplating, you decided that the best option now was just to go to the kitchen and cook.

“Toothbrush is here.” You murmured and got up from the bathroom counter, about to leave but Patrick stopped you. 

First, you glanced down at his grasp around your wrist, then you raised your eyes to meet his walnut ones, now they were absolutely dark and demanding. Inch by inch, the man was getting closer, soon you could feel the fresh scent of your soap on his wet skin as he pressed you along his broad form, one hand rested on the small of your back, while another snaked beneath your robe to outline one of your hard peaks, which were visible through the fabric.

“Pat-Patrick…”

“No more ‘Daddy’ again, huh?” he whispered into your ear, playing with your stray lock. “Do you remember how many times you called me like that last night?”

‘No! I don’t remember, I shouldn’t remember this, I…’

“...your sweet voice sounded so good with all these little dirty pleas, ‘Daddy, don’t stop, mmhm-please!’ Uhhh, that was really something,” Bateman crooned against your neck, forcing you to step back until he trapped you between his massive body and bathroom counter. “Got you.”

There was nothing to say more, once his warm mouth latched on yours, the urge to deny him fading with every second of the kiss, especially when Patrick savagely sucked on your lower lip and drew his tongue across it as if asking for permission to slip inside.

Gasping, you instinctively inclined your head to the side for a moment and the man used it for showering your delicate neck with little peeks which then transformed into wet, red marks. This sweet torture could last forever if you suddenly didn’t press your palm against his naked chest in a determined way.

“We can’t,” you protested when he got down to kiss you again. “You’re engaged, don’t you think it’s so mean to…cheat on your fiance?”

The man couldn’t hold back a scoff. “What does that have to do with anything? You owe me, Cupcake, you owe me a lot.” 

Annoyed, you made an attempt to push him away, but you obviously failed as Patrick was too strong, looming over you like a mountain. “If you mean the last time—I already thanked you and moreover, I didn’t ask you to do it, you know?” You watched his face changing into something more impish, the corners of his lips curled up as if everything was happening according to his plan. “You always decide for me…maybe it’s time to stop?”

Bateman chuckled. “Maybe it’s time to finally open your eyes?”

“Are you…really telling me this?!”

“You owe me a pretty big sum of money,” the man suddenly turned the conversation in another way. “And we had a deal…” Carefully, he trailed his finger along your cheek like an artist admiring his most precious creation. “Do you think I’d be so patient with your bad attitude to me if I were not really into you, hmm?”

The last words made you swallow hard and turned away for a moment, as you were on the verge of tears. Did he really just confirm that there was some kind of affection for you from his side?

“I…I know I owe a lot of money, but believe me, I’ll back them soon,” you removed his arms from your waist but the next second, Patrick placed them on the bathroom counter behind you from both sides, not allowing you to go away. “Please, believe me.”

“I don’t need that fucking money,” Patrick barked and unexpectedly gripped your shoulders, but when he noticed the glowing fear in your eyes, the man loosened his grasp and cupped your face. “I need you. Both your body and soul.”

Closing your eyes, you wanted to sink through the ground. “You want me to do things that you can’t buy with money…” you declared with a chilling coldness in your voice. “Other women are okay with being your toys, but I’m not. Now, let's finish this conversation, it won’t lead to anything.”

A tired sigh broke out from Bateman’s broad chest and for a second he even thought to let you go and turned over the page of the story of two broken souls, who met themselves so suddenly. Maybe now was that exact moment he was waiting so long, the moment to open the cards and confess, even though Patrick could hardly believe it would work.

"You don't seem to be listening to me at all," was all the man could say. "And that's not surprising, since no one really listens to me. Because...uhh...because no one really cares about what really bothers me…" He let you go and stepped back. "And you...I thought you were the only person who...who actually tried to understand me and act naturally."

"Patrick..."

He raised his hand in an eloquent gesture to let him continue. "You probably did it all because of the debt, but...I'll be honest, sometimes I made myself believe that you weren't acting like this just because of the money."

"Is this another manipulation?" You asked bluntly, holding back your tears. "How could I believe you after all the things you did to me? How many times did you treat me like a puppet that you no longer wanted to play with? And not to mention that you turned out to be engaged!" You grabbed your head and leaned against the bathroom counter, massaging your temples. "This is already too much."

The man huffed and cautiously approached you. With a soft, feathery movement, he touched your hands and pulled them away from your strained face. "At least you seem to care that I'm engaged," he said abruptly, moving you closer so that your head was now pressed against his massive chest. "I know it's overwhelming, (y/n). But..." the words suddenly stuck in his throat like a lump. "You're not alone in this." Patrick urged curly, running his large palm along the crown of your head before resting his chin on it, inhaling the scent of your soft hair. 

‘Not alone’, you repeated inside your head and looked up into his brown eyes, which were now so stern and contemplative—you have never seen them like that before. This man, oh God, this man was such a mess, he was making you lose the ground beneath your feet with his sudden confessions, but in the end, actions spoke louder than words, even though you wanted to believe him and sink into the strong feeling you had towards him—you simply couldn’t allow yourself to get lost in him as you would burn out like a match.

All the while you were standing like that, Bateman was hoping you would say something in return, but when you didn’t, he just released you from his embrace without saying a thing. Overwhelmed by emotions, you left the bathroom and let him finish his hygienic routine in private.

A bit later, you didn’t even remember how you cooked a breakfast for both of you, the only thing you did remember was his positive comment that it tasted pretty good. You couldn’t help but smile, though your plate still stood untouched. Patrick noticed that, but didn’t make any comments about that.

“To be honest, I really didn’t expect it to be that nice,” he chuckled and finished his glass of mineral water that he didn’t really like. Quickly checking his Rolex, which he wore right after he took a shower, he added, “I’m afraid it’s time for me to go. Can you please bring me my clothes?”

“Sure.” You raised up and quickly strolled to the iron board where his suit and shirt were waiting to be presented to their owner. “Here, I ironed them for you.”

Bateman froze in shock for a moment. “You…ironed them?”

“Uh, yes, but I did it very carefully, I know everything you wear is utterly expensive,” you gave him his garments and he started to examine every thing with meticulous attention. “I…I thought you wouldn’t like to go outside in rumpled clothes.”

"That's… that's very sweet of you, Cupcake. Really…" he replied, his blush barely noticeable to anyone but you. "Thanks…thanks for everything."

“You’re welcome.” You murmured shyly, crossing your arms over the chest and watching him getting up from the table and walking to your bedroom to dress up.

Moments later, you both were standing in your small hallway, Patrick fixing his tie and coat, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

“How do I look?” He asked nonchalantly, putting on the headphones of his Walkman.

Slightly upset, you leaned against the wall, your eyes gliding up and down his elegant, tall silhouette; the way the dark blue trench coat sat on his broad shoulders made you almost gasp in admiration.

“Perfect as always,” you stepped closer to adjust the collar of his shirt. “You’re like a Vogue cover which came alive.”

Fluttered, Bateman smiled and caught your hand to place a kiss on top of it. “And I always believe your compliments, they are so…sincere or…” he paused and looked into your eyes. “...or I’m just fooling myself.”

His usual chuckling now was less happy and it stirred something inside of you, so when you got up on your toes to kiss his cheek, Patrick took it like another chance to be intimate with you. With unhidden tenderness, the man pulled you into his arms to seal your mouths with a soft but passionate kiss which brought some unexpected relief for both of you.

“You know, I…I really appreciate your courage to be open with me,” you suddenly confessed when he broke the kiss, still holding you close. “It’s just that I need some time to think over things and…my life is such a mess.”

"Oh, you don't have to tell me that," Bateman sneered ironically to himself. "Since I know who made your life so messy," he stopped you from saying anything else by pressing his finger to your lips. Then the man slowly leaned down so that your foreheads now touched in the most intimate way. "Promise me you won't take those pills again."

"And you promise me you won't say things like no one gives a fuck about you," you gripped his arm, rubbing his firm bicep under the soft fabric of his coat. "Because I do give a fuck about you, even though I don't really like it."

"We'll talk about...us. That's the only promise I can make right now."

"Us?"

"You heard what I said," he pinched your nose, just like after the fashion show. "I'll call you today and Cupcake?" He leaned down to whisper in your ear, accidentally brushing his nose against your neck. "You're always on my mind, but I still haven't decided if it's good or not." The way he used your words to tease you brought a broad smile to your face, but the next time, all joy faded as the man stroked your cheek one last time before stepping aside to check himself in the mirror. "Hope to see you soon, darling."

With that he closed the door behind him and as much as you hated saying goodbye, you hated the moments like that, when you couldn’t control yourself as your emotions peaked, causing your knees to buckle and you stopped yourself from falling down only because you managed to lean on the nearby wall. The whole thing about your relationship with Bateman was one big mistake, as you would never find yourself belonging to this world—your meeting was a joke of fate—no less to say. Although you knew it, your heart was like a rebellion who refused to listen, to obey, to accept the truth that there were no chances to turn this situation in a way that would help these relationships to become healthy and normal. ‘Normal, huh? Do yuppies even know such a word?’ Laughing ironically to yourself, you got up and went back into your kitchen to wash the dishes. The sight of Patrick sitting here with a glass of water in his hand was still so fresh in your mind, but now you began to doubt if that really had happened. 

All day later, you couldn’t sleep, you couldn’t eat, waiting for his call but he never did it. It was not surprising after the shit that man had done, but today you were really hoping he would keep his word. But your hopes were broken to pieces again, in the most brutal possible way because you really decided to give it a try and believed him.

When the night came to New York City, you were standing in your living room with a cup of freshly brewed coffee, thinking about what would you do next and trying to think less about what Patrick was doing right now…and even less about with whom he probably could be. ‘...with Courtney or maybe with his fiance, Evelyn?’ You snickered sadly to yourself and finished your drink. Coffee was supposed to help you to keep awake but instead it only made you even more sleepy, so you didn’t even realize how you fell asleep on your little couch while putting down the notes of how today’s day had gone in your diary.

The next moment you were awakened by the sudden doorbell, which caught you off guard and even scared you a bit as you didn’t wait for anyone. Quickly enveloping your robe, you got up and saunted to the door to look at the peephole—you would lie to yourself if you said you weren’t expecting someone specific, but when you saw nothing but flowers, your heart skipped a beat. 

With one swift motion, you opened the door and an unknown guy instantly greeted you with a polite tone. “Good morning, miss (y/n),” he then handed you a big bouquet of red and white roses—it was so heavy you could barely hold it. “Uh, can you please put your sign here?”

Confused, you pressed the flowers to your chest to see the man’s face. “Are you… are you sure it’s for me?”

The courier only smiled and giggled. “Of course, but you can check the address, if you want,” the man showed you the paper with the order details. “We make no mistakes, miss, that’s why our service is the best around New York.”

“I see,” you responded and put your signature on the place he pointed you. “But, can I ask you who sent me this?”

“There’s a card inside if I’m not mistaken,” the courier replied and with that he put the paper inside his bag. “Have a good day, ma'am.”

“Thanks.” 

With that, you closed the door and somehow proceeded into your living room where you put the bouquet on the coffee table and began to look for the vase for it. When you managed to find it, you poured some water and placed the flowers into it, then you remembered the courier’s words about the card and the next second you were already leafing through the flowers. Soon, a small white card caught your attention and when you picked it out, the first thing you noticed was two beautiful letters—P.B. in the end of the text which said: 

“Good morning, my sweet Cupcake, 

I’m sorry I didn’t call you tonight, I was extremely busy and didn’t really have any free time, but I hope this little gift would cheer you up a bit. What do you think about going to a yacht club these weekends? I’m looking forward to hearing from you soon. 

Utterly yours, P.B.” 

Your hands began to shake the moment you finished reading, but you managed to regain your composure. Driven by the unbridled happiness inside your chest, you leaned down to inhale the sweet scent of flowers—God, it felt like a dream. And speaking of dreaming—you were still so sleepy that after you finally calmed down, you decided to come back into the bed and nap a little bit longer. The sheets were still smelling of him, coaxing you to rub your face against the pillows and imagine him being here with you and somehow, you finally realized how deep this man was rooted inside your heart. ‘Utterly yours…’ You kept replaying these words inside your head until you drifted off to another dream, but this time, it was not a nightmare, but a heaven where Patrick was only yours, and you were his only one.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[hwaightme]

Both

THIS IS 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI FOR STAR’S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut)(masterlist) (taglist)

❤️‍🔥 pairing: husband!seonghwa x gn!afab!reader ❤️‍🔥 genre: smut, fluff, pwp, established long-term relationship ❤️‍🔥 summary: all work and no play makes seonghwa a needy boy; your husband wants you. now. and he will use any means necessary to get you where he wants you. being in the office is not a problem when you are one message away... ❤️‍🔥 wordcount: 8.6k total ❤️‍🔥 warnings/tags: semi-edited, hwa duality, businessperson!reader, mention of offices/presentations/corporate culture, nonidol!hwa, married but permanently in honeymoon phase, two people very in love, petnames, mutual respect, trust and adoration, seonghwa is smitten, reader wears heels, words crazy+drunk used ❤️‍🔥 taglist: at the bottom of the fic ❤️‍🔥 a/n: spiralled into ponderings with @byuntrash101 (ily), and my fingers slipped. oops. any notes, asks, reblogs appreciated <3 much love!

❤️‍🔥 taglist: sexting, praise, petnames (love, darling, my love, pretty, gorgeous...), consent is king, unprotected sex (consider before you deliver), mating press/missionary (vanilla but make it spicy), 69 (blowjob+eating out), creampie, cumeating, slight spit kink, sprinklings of body worship, possessive terms (my/mine), light overstimulation, implied aftercare

“How do I look?” you called out to your husband, who was sitting behind you on your shared bed, feline in the way he was leaning back on his arms, regarding you through half-shut, curious eyes. 

Unlike you, he had the day free, but even so decided to go through the motions of a morning routine with you, though finalising it with a considerably less formal outfit. Dressed in a black sweater and matching black trousers, Seonghwa had stated that he was going to go out to get some fresh produce from the market while it was still early, and the rush of crowds did not plague the city just yet. Patiently, he was waiting for you to be ready to head out to work, and he, to comfortably support the home front for today. 

“Hm, you look like me having to come to work with you and me having a blast telling waves of potential suitors that you are off limits.” He responded as a matter of factly. Nevertheless, you caught a cheeky grin in the mirror as he scanned you up and down with the intensity of a burning sun.

“Oh … Hwa, what if I want the attention? And what are you going to do about the stakeholders I’ll be speaking to, hm?” You asked him coyly, finally managing to get your second earring on and tapping it with your manicured finger for good measure.

“Something tells me that I’ll have to step in and act like security.” 

You chuckled, taken aback, pleasantly lightheaded because of Seonghwa’s early morning flirtations. With one final once over, he smoothed the bed sheets on either side of him and rose up to step right behind you, placing both hands under your suit jacket and on your waist, leaning closer and closer until he could place a soft kiss on the side of your neck which, thanks to your hairstyle, was exposed to the attention. 

The sleek, deep navy suit was an elegant number, peaked lapels on the single-breasted jacket perfectly pressed, the wide-legged trousers perfectly guiding towards the heels - pumps in a nude beige, and the white asymmetrical short-sleeved shirt underneath all combining to create perfect harmony. You had chosen elegance over daring energetic appeal today, picking pearl-based jewellery which, upon inspection, was exactly how you had imagined it would be with the outfit. A delicate balance was struck, and was reminiscent of how your husband was gingerly manoeuvring over and around you, until he appeared to have had enough with stalling.

Seonghwa’s arms lazily slid forwards, wrapping a little tighter around you, while his head moved to nudge you towards himself with his chin, until he could rest his head on your shoulder comfortably. Initially wishing to pry yourself away given how little time you had left if you were to make it to the office at a reasonable time, your hands rushed to his own, but as your husband began to sway side to side, blissfully taking in the image in the mirror, you left them there, admiring the priceless scene, and the way in which his hands fit perfectly over yours, the rings matching, another sign of your union completing the masterpiece in the reflection.

"Come on, Hwa, I’ll be late at this rate."

"What's it got to do with me, ma'am? I finished getting dressed fifteen minutes ago, was sitting here, all good and ready for you-" ignoring the word choice, you persisted:

"Because a certain someone was hogging the shower-"

"I told you, you could join." heat flushed to your cheeks as you caught Seonghwa’s less than innocent expression, making you remember exactly why you were not planning to get into any intimate shared space with this alluring schemer before work. Planting a feather-light kiss on your sensitive skin, he was threatening to make you lose track of time entirely. Attempting to wipe the action from immediate perception, you focused on the sensation of tugging on one of your earrings, anything to ground you and to return you into the headspace of the meetings you had scheduled and been booked into for the day, along with the details and key takeaways for each one. 

You had always been a fighter in the professional world, and this was one of the many things that Seonghwa adored about you. Having met at a networking event, that was the side of you he had come to be acquainted with first, and had fallen head over heels for. A sublime intensity that came with the passion you had for your work, a fire that ignited when you planned ahead, led teams and managed international ventures were so beautifully contained within you and formulated the intricate maze of your psyche that Seonghwa could not help but want to drown in it, and spend eternity observing you in action. He himself had stepped away from the strict and rigorous structures of the corporate world, instead preferring to offer independent consultation services, but to see you flourish, and to be there for your journey and to have you unconditionally support his decisions and experiments too was nothing short of a blessing. Perhaps the one side effect, a tiny challenge that came with having you as his life partner, his love and his spouse is mornings like this, when you were in the process of escaping for work, driven and ready for battle, your armour being one of the stylish suits of impeccable quality that you took great pains to keep pristine. And the more you did so, the stronger was his desire to see if he could ruin just one, at least one, perhaps the one you were wearing right now. Despite the fact that he had seen you in such garments more times than either of you could possibly count or remember, it made him more drawn to you and involuntarily seduced than he would ever dare admit. Seonghwa’s grip on your hips inadvertently tightened as gaze flashed upwards, settling on the reflection of your perfectly plump, tinted lips in the mirror. 

“Besides… As you know, I was making sure that the adjustments were all fine and the overall outfit would be fine for the quarterly review meeting,” you recalled your last-minute concerns over whether the selection was reasonable for meeting persons from the executive office, even though you were not sure if you even had outfits in your job-related arsenal that would not be appropriate, “You could have helped by the way.”

"I did! I gave the fit the Seonghwa seal of approval, but now... honestly am regretting it because you look illegal..."

He turned his attention back to the delicate skin around your neck, planting a couple more kisses with mischief glowing in his eyes. You giggled as his breath left a ticklish sensation and you nearly knocked your head with his in an attempt to shy away.

"And how do you think I feel, leaving you at home like this?”, you let your gaze settle on your husband, a ghost of a smirk revealing itself on your lips, “I need to brush up on my cat fighting techniques, mister handsome, and maybe learn how to teleport" Put him in a rag and he would still look spectacular. Like this, in a relaxed, casual outfit that ideally matched his dark locks, highlighted the broadness of his shoulders and the jawline models would be jealous of, he was heavenly - something which you never failed to remind him of no matter what he was wearing. It was almost a shame that you had to leave for work instead of admiring this beauty for the entire day and an eternity more. You bit the inside of your cheek, banishing less than safe for work ponderings from your mind.

"Woah, Y/N, fighting for me? That's kind of - I do not think I should say what I am thinking."

"You’re being awfully cheeky this morning!" You lightly slapped the back of his hand and spun around, coming closer until only a mere couple of centimetres separated you. "What else can a kitty do with her claws?"

"I mean... my back has no complaints." He speedily responded, tightening his hold on your waist and attempting to capture your lips with his. But at this point, you had gotten good enough at reading Seonghwa to move away at the last second, resulting in a loud smooch right against your jawbone, followed by a purposefully childish whine, "Oh darling you are being a tease."

"Naugh- ty- Seonghwa, no kisses. I took too long to line my cupid's bow. I'm not about to let you ruin it." 

You tried to wiggle away, wondering if your suit was actually creaseproof as the assistant at the boutique had advertised, but he was having none of it, now grabbing your hands and swinging them side to side. With his prior seductive aura having subsided after your decisive, playful rejection, Seonghwa’s glances were in many ways boyish, permission-seeking. The most miniscule hint of a pout made its way to his lips as he peered what had to be directly into your heart and intertwined your fingers together, stopping the motion.

“Y/N…”

“Keep this thought in mind, lovely, will you be able to?” you purred, amused at your husband’s slow blinking, reminiscent of an affectionate cat.

“Of course,” you dodged another attempt by him to nuzzle into your neck with a soft, melodic laugh, and pulled Seonghwa to follow you out of the bedroom, “Ah, careful,” he rushed to block the door frame, chuckling at your eagerness to get to the hustle and bustle of your day, even though just a little while ago you still were retaining that light nervousness, likely overthinking every interaction that was not even likely to happen. After all, this was a job only you could do, and it was something that you did better than anyone else. You owned what you did, and everyone knew it.

As you grabbed your keys, and were about to bid farewell to your husband before starting your commute, you sensed his energy shifting to that of scheming. 

Seonghwa had a trial to face, and it presented itself with how stunning you looked in the glimmering golden light of the early morning, and how your every step almost sent a shiver up his spine. Wherever you were, he always managed to find you in one sweeping gaze, whether you were on the other side of a room or a few steps away. One of a kind, captivating, the world turned around you whether you would agree with Seonghwa or not. It was a simple fact. And here, in your apartment, where it was just you and him, it was impossible to ignore how his vision was occupied by you, and only you. He was consumed by the effortless charm you radiated, and when you caught him staring, how you lifted one shoulder and responded with a cheeky grin - a gesture of faux coyness. He clenched a hand hidden behind his back into a tight fist until his knuckles turned white, mutely regarding your final preparations before you would disappear behind the door. His thoughts were far away from what he had planned to do today, cursing how you had teased him and blaming routines - your husband would have preferred to take you and himself apart right here right now, unravel the tension that was so obvious he could almost taste it. He bit his lower lip as you leaned down to shift your footing in one of your heels, and barely suppressed a hiss as you glided back up, the pace of the motion highlighting how your curves were complemented by the suit. You were enticing, and watching your back Seonghwa could not help but remember the sensation of running his hand across it, caressing your body, guiding it as you turned into a goddess in the dimmed lights of your shared bedroom, connected with him in every way possible. You smiled at him as though you were not aware of the lustful darkness that began to consume his mind, lips tantalising, dangerous, his favourite heavenly nectar. This was unbearable.

It was impossible to ignore the searing gaze that seemed to have never left you since you had first returned it in the mirror, and was the last thing you experienced as you shut the front door. You kept the radio in your car silent, afraid that your thoughts would be louder than the music either way. Your husband was up to something, determined, and focused on you. And it was beyond exciting. This undercurrent of energy that was eternal, and ran through anything and everything he did was one of the multitude of reasons why you loved him. He was enigmatic, and yet so easy for you to explore. He had opened himself up to you so readily, revealing the edges of his vibrant soul that was so unparalleled and high octane that you swore that after meeting him, you ceased to breathe oxygen and could only ever inhale the adoration he provided. He was a dreamer, an ideator, a man devoted to the search for happiness, and that balanced you out so perfectly - it had only been a month when you had decided for yourself that Seonghwa was the one for you, and you would never let go. He was an eternal surprise, an enigma that was as soft and lovely as a cat, but wrapping itself around you like a serpent, slow and sensual. You wondered, as the day commenced and you were pulled into your first meeting, then another, just what your husband had crafted in his beautiful mind palace.

It did not take too long for the plan to reveal itself. Fortunately, because you did not enjoy facing unknowns. Unfortunately, it was in the middle of a meeting with some rather senior people. On the brighter side, you had proposed a five minute break before continuing the session so you had at least a couple of breaths to re-compose yourself, but other than that… it was only you, the phone that you were squeezing so hard in your hand that it could break, and the daring photograph blaring on the screen, setting you on fire. You had exchanged a couple of messages with Seonghwa prior to the meeting, his responses being cryptic and dizzyingly abstract, but nothing could have prepared you for the surprise.

Your other hand quickly found your thigh, gripping onto it so that you would not break your stoic disposition with a shaking leg, and you glanced side to side to make sure that the colleagues next to you had not returned to the room yet, and the others were preoccupied with their own devices or were deep in mundane conversation. So, this was what he was so enthusiastic about down following the morning antics. Clearly, you had not been passive enough for him to dismiss your glances in his direction - if you were to be honest, you had been eyeing him up and down from the moment he intentionally walked into you while changing, making you wonder how it was possible for you to want him more and more with each passing day, rather than feelings of attraction and enamourment subsiding with marriage and with sharing all the ups and downs. Instead, both of you were each other’s paradise, and that presented itself in all forms of desire. As you regarded Seonghwa’s form in the picture, lightly biting your lower lip as you tried to think of how you could respond to it, you could only be amused by how he knew exactly what buttons to press, and how to reignite what you had tried to pause earlier this morning - simply as an attempt to retain your sanity for handling paperwork and handshakes.

Resting on the chair that was in your bedroom, he made sure to accentuate his impeccable form, and how his long hair suited him so spectacularly. He had changed outfits - just for you, and that made you want to devour him all the more. Your precious husband who looked like sin. The vibrant beige jacket, which appeared almost brown in the sensually dimmed lamplight, hung freely over his upper body, revealing a tastefully bare abdomen, and consequently, the lovebites you had managed to leave above his heart and towards his collarbones after a particularly intense night a couple of days ago - they had only now begun to show signs of fading. Towards the very bottom of the picture you could spot the edge of a matching pair of trousers, black belt intentionally loosened to make your imagination run wild. A centrepiece, his black silver necklace and a perfectly paired earring, were the icing on top of the cake, their shimmer beckoning you. It was impossible to choose what to focus on; the head tilt, the elegant hand on which he was practically resting his head, how one leg had been thrown over the other - confident, in his element, so very Seonghwa that it made you hurt; and want him. Desperately. You shut your eyes and rolled them as you imagined the smirk on his face as he sent the image, knowing exactly what state he would pause you in, and hurl you into. When your husband was in the mood, it gave him an additional thrill to either catch you off-guard completely with bold advances and compliments, or fluster you until you were melting in his arms. And you did not mind one bit; that was your time to let go, to give up your stresses and iron grip and let all strains snap and become threads with which Seonghwa could pull at your very essence, praising you for how well you could follow his guidance, and just how perfect you were for him. You did not notice how your thumb was merely hovering over the keyboard until another message slid into view, and you barely suppressed a gasp, again looking up to make sure no one was watching you.

“Missing you, your taste, your everything, darling,”

This was the last straw, as you almost forgot what meeting you were in, where you were, how you were supposed to behave. You jolted upright, standing straight and excused yourself with a bow of the head, pointing at your phone - with the screen turned towards you. It was easy enough to get out, and storming down the corridor until you were out of everybody’s earshot, you pressed onto the call button, only to be met with a deep chuckle after a single ring. You could envision him still sitting on the chair, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling as he toyed with your passions, beckoning you to race home to him. He knew you couldn’t until the day was officially done, and that was part of the fun. It only meant that when you were to finally open that front door, you would be more than ready to give yourself up to his tender love and care.

“Park Seonghwa, what do you think you are doing?” you hissed, pressing the phone right against the side of your face as your foot tapped an abstract rhythm on the carpeted floor.

“What do I think? I think I am talking to you right now, what about you?” he replied, purposefully feigning obliviousness.

“Hwa, the photo… the damn message....”

“Oh! That… yeah, it’s nothing special, really, I just did not send you any in quite some time, so thought I could spark… something,” he paused, indulging in your shallow breathing before finishing the sentence.

“Well you sparked something alright. Seonghwa. Or should I say, my demon of a husband?” you raised an eyebrow as you were met with a silence on the end of the line, but not long after, a sweet, resonant hum of agreement.

“Mm, what a title. Is that how I am making you feel, precious? Are you missing a certain something too?”

Missing. What exactly did both of you imply the other was missing? The word was laden with ambiguity and promise, imagination running wild from the emphasis that Seonghwa had placed on it, lifting it onto a pedestal, above rationality and stability. Inhale, exhale - you counted your breaths, knowing that in a minute you had to be heading back to talk numbers, strategies, even though only your husband would be on your mind.

“I-... yes, damn it,” you mumbled, lashes fluttering as a shiver ran up your spine.

“Mhm, I see… Now, don’t be shy, tell me, what is it that you are missing, what do you feel?” if there had been any hope of you remaining focused on work for the rest of the day, it was most certainly wiped now. You were mesmerised, clinging onto Seonghwa’s voice as though it was your only salvation in the midst of a storm. Quickly, you were losing all sense of your surroundings, too focused on his breaths, his sigh when he was obviously displeased with having to wait for your answer, and finally, his subtle command:

“Don’t be shy, tell me what’s on your mind,” you could not bring yourself to even part your lips, eyes darting to what you could see through the blinds into the meeting room. Your senior colleagues were still lethargic, unfocused, scrolling away or engaging in idle chatter. Maybe it could be advantageous, but judging by the heat that began to rise over your body you would definitely struggle stringing words together with eloquent cohesiveness. Seonghwa. The devious man. Your favourite drug. Your worst and best addiction.

“Perhaps you might need a little… inspiration… yes?”

“I…”

“...wouldn’t mind having you right on my tongue, writhing, falling apart…”

“Park Seonghwa-”

“I want to taste you. Want to keep you close for a long…” he paused, indulging in your electric silence, “long time, warm my cock while keeping you in a tight embrace, kissing you until we cannot breathe… how does that sound?”

“G-good…” you struggled to mumble out, wondering why your knees were transforming into jelly. The coolness of the wall against which you decided to lean provided some illusion of support.

“Your turn,” his tone turned more commanding and that did not go unnoticed. You bit your lower lip, not caring if that was going to smudge your lipstick. Nothing mattered, “I didn’t spare any details,” he waited. You remained frozen in your own thoughts, thousands of desires darting around your mind, but none being brave enough to escape and reveal itself to your husband. Perhaps for the better:

“Please don’t make me beg,” he must have heard you stifle a sound that was far too inappropriate to ever be heard in the workplace - the airy laugh that you were met with over the line was downright sinful, and made you curse your job. You needed him. Needed the release he was so readily offering. 

“Or do you want me to pry your dirty little secrets out of you until you are the one begging?”

A shaky inhale, an equally shaky exhale. You uttered his name, in a low voice only he had ever heard. Simultaneously hostile and tantalising. He now knew that he had you hooked.

“Mm… fine. Please, my darling. Please, tell me all those precious filthy musings swimming around in that delightful brain of yours,” you clenched the phone tighter in your hand and crossed your legs. You knew you had no time, despite easily imagining the position that Seonghwa was in, where he was and how lost he was in a lascivious dreamland. Eyes glossed over, lips wetted with his own spit, tension building in his core which he refused to unwind. Without you, at least. With a sharp intake of cold air, you steadied yourself. You were not about to reward demands with treasures. 

“Now, what would be the fun in that?”

“Come on… Y/N, I-”

“Be good, and you might just find out.” you cut him off, offering a fake smile to a colleague who walked past you. You needed to come back. Immediately.

“So you will be heading back on time today, right?” he was daring you, but at the same time it was easy to notice the notes of desperation. Untouched, riled up, overwhelmed. Needy. Just how you loved him.

“Hm… I do have a couple of things I could do…” who were you kidding? You had already gone through the fastest route home in your mind.

“Is that refusal I am hearing?” you heard him shift in his seat, the image of him leaning forwards to put an elbow on his knee so vivid that it was as if he was before you. 

“Not at all, love, not… at all…” giving up due to your growing distraction, you let your husband have at least a little bit of hope. Clearly, the words worked wonders as with newfound vigour, Seonghwa bid you farewell.

“Then see you soon, Y/N darling.”

Soon could not come soon enough. You were glad no one could see your leg shaking under the table, and that you were well-practised in discreetly checking the time. Teasing, tugging you along to follow his game, striking you out of the blue and opening the door to the world that only you two shared. You would be lying if you said that you were thinking about anyone else while debating with an executive, or when you were brave enough to point out a blatant assumption that was used to support a projection earning yourself a few pointed questions. But nothing compared to the blaze that caressed your skin, spurred you on and made you feel alive. Your favourite deviant, seductive god, king of your heart and keeper of your soul, he gave you control just as much as he could take it away. Wiping away anxiety, he left anticipation. Erasing doubt, he left a blooming confidence.

And with that feeling and darkened gaze, you were racing against the clock, accompanied by the sound of your soles clicking against concrete, accelerating away from the skyscrapers that housed your professional victories and into winding tunnels. You mutely cursed at every delay and every pause in your commute, but nonetheless made it home in record time, astonished by the vista of the setting sun which you normally could not catch in the winter months.

---

The jingling of the keys alerted Seonghwa of your presence, and he set his phone screen down onto the kitchen table, turning to perch himself on the doorframe. He crossed his arms, a ghostly smile on his lips. Aside from going through the regular domestic chores he had planned for himself - a feat in his far from concentrated state, he had decided to be a little more forward with his demands, much to your shared excitement. This, of course, began with his appearance, or rather, a casual exposure of himself in a way you had always encouraged him to do, loving his body so genuinely that it translated into an unparalleled self-appreciation for him. At the same time, that meant that in moments just like this one, he could use your infatuation with his mind and his physique against you. All for a little bit of harmless fun.

He was right, as always. The moment you lifted your head and were about to announce your arrival, a breath hitched in your throat and words died on the tip of your tongue. Hair loose, bangs neatly falling to frame his face, and that damn jacket with a leopard print inner lining, casually thrown over his bare upper body, befitting him so well that you needed to give yourself some time before choking out a quick, feeble ‘I’m home’ and kicking off your heels. He grinned, outwardly innocent, pretending to ‘just be happy to see you, when in fact his imagination was already beginning to forgo every article of clothing you had on. Scanning your form, Seonghwa could not help but bite back a groan. Since the moment you had left this morning, he wanted you back because he wanted you. On the bed, on the table, on the counter, he did not care about the mess. In fact, if there was to be a mess, he would be all the more satisfied. His skin was burning worse than if he were to have a fever, and every moment that passed while you were going through the regular after work motions was pure torture. 

As you finished washing your hands, and were about to tiptoe past him, likely to set your bag aside in your home office, he stopped you with one, quiet utterance.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day…”

Your heart was pumping an unsteady, deafening rhythm, and your hands were on the verge of shaking. Nothing was stopping you from simply giving in… except maybe an inkling of rebellion that clung onto you. He already had you in his hold, mouldable to whatever form he wished for, but if he was to play the long game, so were you. 

“Mmm… don’t know about that. Missed the memo,” you huffed, wasting a little too much strength on forcing the phrases. Rushing past your husband, you headed to your office and pretended to be taken by both your bag and the miscellaneous stationery left on the desk. 

You heard Seonghwa stalking behind you loud and clear, hyperfocused on his catlike steps, but remained rooted to your spot. Taking every item out of your bag, painfully slow, you were rapidly succumbing to the vision of your husband taking you apart. Gorgeous tanned skin, which you knew he was purposefully flaunting to you, intoxicating plush lips which were so vivid in your mind you could almost taste them, and his skillful hands… which just so happened to now be hovering over your waist. You clenched your jaw when they found purchase on your hips, and almost guided you to stand up and be pressed right against him.

Heat was rolling off your stunning lover in waves, and it was downright unbearable to have your back be connected to his toned chest. Seonghwa had no plans of letting you go. He pulled you closer, until you could practically trace his half-hard cock with your ass. He sighed at the contact, air softly passing over your skin, and let his lips trace a broken line upwards to your ear.

“That won’t do at all…” he flexed his arms as his hands roamed your body, “Fortunately, I know exactly how to show you,” you completely blanked, “what a good husband you have.”

As he was about to toy with the buttons at the top of your shirt, the one on your jacket having been long undone, you sprung into action and stopped him, barely suppressing a smirk as you turned your head and spotted a dash of confusion in his glossy eyes.

“I do have a wonderful husband, indeed. Too bad he does not know how to behave properly,” using the moment you slipped out of his embrace, and sauntered towards the door. Seonghwa was left in shock, starved and needy, having been thinking about you, you and only you all day. But his composition returned just as rapidly as it had faltered. You slowed down before reaching the door, as if being pulled back. 

Seonghwa was, indeed, magnetic. Lithe, agile, he reminded you of a panther, slinking across the couple of metres that separated you. You were aching to rip off the beige two piece right where he stood, and involuntarily darted your tongue between your lips, much to your husband’s amusement. He was not quite as gentle this time, grabbing a hold of you until you were chest to chest and securing your position by pressing on your lower back. His breath tickled your face; your hands snaked under his jacket, running over exposed skin, worshipping every part you could both see and visualise. 

“Really, Hwa. So eager,” you mumbled, brushing your lips over his, testing the waters and seeing a lustful, desperate storm clouding his dilated pupils.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered against your cheek, leaving a tentative peck. You dared to glance at him, poking his nose with your own.

“You’re acting out… disrupting me at work… sending such dirty things to me… calling me to tell me how you want me… is this to be rewarded, my love?” a shudder rolled over Seonghwa’s body, resulting in him planting more feverish kisses over your face, moving towards your jawline and finally across to your ear, nipping it.

“How could I ever behave when I need you, and you are looking like this…” his fingers caressed the collar of your shirt, scalding hot, “and are wearing my favourite perfume…” he inhaled, as though he was drunk off your scent - it was nothing more than what had come to be your signature, a bouquet of notes that defined you, but soon enough turned to being another way in which you occupied Seonghwa’s senses. 

Both of you subconsciously moved towards the door, getting impatient. Fingertips mapped the hickeys with violently cautious touches, and Seonghwa swore that if he did not act now, he would go mad. It was ridiculous. You were his life partner, a person to whom he had committed with his entire being, and yet with every passing day his desire for you kept on growing and he was falling deeper and deeper in both love and lust. With you in his arms he was a man lost at sea, blanking out, spiralling and devoted to passion. A big difference between your time dating and your married life, however, was that he did not have to hold back on his own wishes anymore, being as explicit as he was comfortable with, knowing that you would do the same, and no matter what, pleasure would be mutual and adoring. And, he needed it. Seonghwa needed you now. His hand moved on its own accord to cup your face and guide it towards his own. Millimetres apart, he set you ablaze along with him.

“...please…” spilled out, a feeble plea. Seonghwa’s eyes were darting all around you, trying to get some kind of answer, permission, anything. You nodded. And the thread holding you two back snapped.

The kiss was messy, animalistic, far from the calm lover with whom you shared your daily life. Seonghwa did not give you a chance to breathe, instead pushing his lips against yours with the ferocity of a starved man. Unparalleled sweetness graced you as his tongue slipped inside, and he eagerly revisited the movements he found most entrancing, his occasional rough and low growls sending you into a frenzy. Your muted whine spurred him on, and he pushed your entangled forms out of the office, and into the bedroom, the door to which had been left open.

One nip, another, it was as if he wanted to mark you as his everywhere, teeth leaving a pleasant blend of satisfaction and a dull pain to spread from your lips and shoot straight to your core. You began to push off his jacket, a request which he readily accepted, leaving him constrained only by his bottoms. Seonghwa would not give you any false advantages, speedily tugging your jacket off you. His erection was pressing into your thigh, and you could not resist grinding against him, eliciting a delicious groan.

 Soon enough, your shirt and bra hastily joined your jacket on the floor, while Seonghwa spared no time in kneading one of your breasts, while feeling the air with the other in an attempt to reach the switch on the floor lamp, growling into the kiss when he missed the first couple of times and hand to open his eyes. You broke away from your husband, resting your palms on his abdomen and admiring just how pretty he looked in the warm, dimmed light that washed over the room in a flash. So it was that kind of night.

“...Want to see you…” he mumbled as he pressed his forehead against yours and locked your lips together once more, guiding you backwards towards the bed. When your legs hit its edge, he hooked his strong arm around you, a quick “careful,” escaping him.

“Let’s get this off, shall we?” gliding a finger on the inner side of the trouser waistband, he waited for you to comply. It did not take much time for you to get rid of the remaining clothes, and be left only with the full awareness of just how wet you really were.

You pressed your legs together, only for Seonghwa to inch his knee and push it in between, forcing them back apart. It was times like this when you realised that he really could read you better than you could read yourself, and any gesture, thought or fantasy, was his as much as your own.

“You’re so beautiful, no need to hide from me,” he scanned over your body, and you felt like you were on fire, melting into him. While your husband’s eyes were glazed over with lust, within them they still held so much love that your heart could burst. “Ah, wait a minute,” you watched as he removed his bottoms, and with a hiss, let his hard and leaking cock spring free. His low chuckle was music to your ears, “now we’re good.” 

“Mhm… oh Hwa… I really did make you wait…” you lowered your gaze to his cock, finger tracing a line down his stomach and stopping right before its base. He sucked in a shallow breath, nuzzling his face against yours to hide how close he was to being pushed completely over the edge. Patience was a virtue, and he barely had any left. “Let me take care of you, hm?” you suggested, trying to move to the side to gesture for Seonghwa to sit down on the bed. He remained still, and whispered against your cheek:

“No… I wanted to do that- ah-” your leg brushed against Seonghwa’s sensitive cockhead, pulling a gasp out of him.

“Then I have an idea, if you’re with me on this. Lie down for me?” pulling away, you switched where you were standing, and tilted your chin to gesture at the bed that was now in front of you. Seonghwa peered around his shoulder, and back at you, a soft, tiny smile, albeit a meek one, dancing on his lips.

“Baby you’re doing too-”

“Shush, we can make each other feel good,” promptly following Seonghwa, you were now hovering above him, playing with his necklace. 

“I love you,” he said breathlessly, making the side of your mouth curl into a half smile. 

“I love you too.”

“Now I’m craving something sweet,” you lightly slapped his chest and shook your head in an attempt to hide your amusement.

“Oh stop it…”

“I think I’ll go crazy if I don't have you sitting on my face in the next few seconds.”

“Can’t have that happening.”

You adjusted positions, and once you had your back facing Seonghwa, he pulled your hips towards him to lower your pussy over his face. Carefully, you leaned forward, relishing in the sight of your husband’s impossibly stunning body, every muscle a work of art. After finding a comfortable balance, and waiting for the initial shock of Seonghwa tasting you to turn into a continuous thrum of pleasure, you spat into your palm, and wrapped the hand around his cock. His thighs tensed in response and his grasp became tighter as he rolled his tongue over your clit.

Mirroring him, you teased his cockhead, and only then proceeded to take his length into your mouth, relaxing your jaw and moving slowly to ensure that he would not reflexively buck into you. You flattened your tongue, dragging it along the shaft and spreading spit and precum. You took him deeper until he hit the back of your throat. With hollowed cheeks you began to bob your head at a leisurely pace and not caring for the mess you were making at the base of his cock, clear liquid running down past the corners of your swollen lips.

Seonghwa produced a muffled noise, unable to stay completely focused while you were driving him towards his high, but not breaking contact. He sucked on your clit, making you whine while deepthroating him. Your eyes were starting to water as you wanted more, always more, and you reached to fondle his balls, pausing to get some air. Strings of saliva and precum momentarily connected you still, and the lewdness of the scene was downright pornographic. You were relentless, addicted to this man whom you had the exclusive ability to call your husband. You were the one who knew how to take him apart and put him back together. 

The wanton sounds of Seonghwa devouring your pussy stimulated you further, and the coil which had been growing tighter with every pass of his skillful tongue was ready to snap and release. A hint of a trembling sensation passed through your legs, and you sped up your own motions, your hand jerking off the base while you swirled over his tip in preparation to take him fully again. 

Seonghwa dipping his tongue between, in and out, and through your wet folds had you seeing stars, and you grinded against him. He gripped you tighter so that you would not be able to instinctively squirm and lift yourself upwards, and circled around your aroused clit, sucking it in between his lips and returning to fucking you with his tongue. His vision was clouded, he was in a daze, unable to process anything anymore, except the static fuzziness in his brain and how delicious you were.

He used up what little attention he had left on your clit, and repeated ministrations had you tipping over the edge and shuddering in his hold. Seonghwa remained buried between your legs as your climax hit you, and held you to prevent your hips from leaving him, and continued to lap at your sopping heat, catching your release. You moaned against his cock, freezing in place and letting your husband chase his high by bucking his hips upwards and using you. In no time, he was painting your mouth and your throat with thick strings of white, falling back onto the bed while you followed to try and swallow as much of his release as you could. Cum and spit was dribbling down your chin and his shaft when you were finished, and once you, with Seonghwa’s help, were laying on your side and face to face with him the unmistakable glistening fluid on his face made you love him all the more. One kiss, another, you tasted yourselves on each other’s lips, choosing to make your lungs scream rather than let go.

He was so beautiful. His loving, electric gaze - a permanent feature of his expression when it came to you. Everything about him was a reason to adore him. You brushed away a strand of hair, one which had stubbornly stuck to his forehead, only for Seonghwa to take your hand in his and plant a soft kiss on its back. You giggled, enjoying the contrast of this intimate, but lighthearted moment as opposed to the passionate exchange earlier. This was how he was, and you would not want him any different. 

You took your time regarding him, and he did the same to you. Blissful, overflowing with a want for more. His lips were on yours again, and you deepened the kiss by bunching his long inky hair in your hand. Every reaction, every gasp was your favourite music. Seonghwa rolled over and positioned himself between your legs, arms on either side. Hair perfectly framed his elegant features, and the shadows cast shapes akin to a painting you would see at a gallery. He was a masterpiece. 

“Lift your hips for me,” you followed his request, wriggling into position while he lifted himself up to take your legs and bend them towards your torso, “thank you, my love… such a pretty pussy, all mine,” the dirty talk came naturally to him, and it was not your first time hearing it, but nonetheless had you biting the inside of your cheek.

Still sensitive, you whispered his name when he glided his hardened cock between your wet folds. Coated in slick and cream, Seonghwa met no resistance and bottomed out in one stroke. Your loud moan prompted words of praise and adoration, and he was certain that nothing could ever be better than this. 

“Ah- just perfect-” you watched his face contort , eyes threatening to roll back as he started to thrust into you. 

You could barely form words, sinking into the pillows and peeking at Seonghwa through half-lidded eyes - the most you could muster. All your senses were filled with him, and you swore you were going to fall apart at any moment. Grateful for his arms supporting your legs, you physically couldn’t resist the drowning pleasure, instead trying your best to keep up with his cock drilling into you, failing whenever it brushed over your sweet spot.

“H-hwa-”

“Mm?”

“Kiss me,” you pleaded, making him push your legs further apart and crawl a little ways over you until his orbs, near black in the dimly lit room, were boring into you.

You intertwined, overlapped, transposed into something greater than yourselves. Sharing the same air, you panted in time with your lover and captured his lips with yours over, and over again. His body was so close to yours, that you could feel his necklace brushing over your chest, occasionally touching your neck. Seonghwa filled you to the hilt, the slight stretch turning your moans into barely audible mewls.

“Please- h-harder- I l-love your cock so mu-uch-”

Seonghwa cursed under his breath, drunk from your choice of words, and with one final kiss curled over you and quickened the rocking of his hips to a brutal euphoria. You were on the verge of melting, bodies turning agonisingly hot with each passing second. Your hands searched for his wrists, weakly wrapping around them for some form of support. Carnal; you were infinitely turned on by how instinctive his reactions were. You could not care for anything in the world, words turning to a garbled mess and moans loudly echoing in your husband’s ears. 

“F-fuck, you feel so good I’m-” he was fisting the bedsheets, ruthlessly pounding into you, the slapping of skin against skin and your sounds making him fall apart. 

His pace faltered as he came, legs shuddering, voice breaking as he unleashed an airy and high-pitched moan, but he still continued to thrust while he filled you with his warm load. He pushed his release deeper inside you, breathing heavily and pressing you more and more into the bedsheets. The squelching was downright filthy, but you wanted to capture every drop and threw your arms around Seonghwa as much as you could given your position, simply so he could be flush against you. He hissed through gritted teeth as your walls began to clench around his aching length, prompting aftershocks from his orgasm.

“Hwa-a, I’m coming, I- don’t stop please-”

“Come for me, love,” his gentleness, even in such a feverish moment, was your undoing. The thread you had been clinging onto snapped.

Your head fell back against the pillows, and if it wasn’t for Seonghwa’s form securing you from above, you knew you would be arching off the bed, uncontrollable. You called out his name like a mantra, and in your ecstatic haze could sense him slowing down, helping both of you ride out your intense climaxes. Vision spinning, you did not dare move, instead transforming into a pliable doll for Seonghwa to rearrange. Shakily, he let go of the bed sheets and sat upright, tapping your legs to relax. Lazily, you stretched out, heart still racing, and barely registered the dip of the mattress next to you. 

When you turned, your husband was there, head resting on his hand, propped up by his elbow. He was studying you with a small smile, and when he noticed you were more present, leaned in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Hello,” it was almost unbelievable, just how honey sweet he could be in a matter of seconds, making you more shy than during sex. This made you all too aware and critical of your current state, and you turned your head to search for something to cover yourself with, until you heard a sigh escape your husband, “It’s like I’m dreaming. You’re so enchanting.”

He fell fully by your side, draping an arm over your upper body and gingerly massaging your hip. It was rare for him to not rush to clean both of you off, but you were not complaining about this kind of moment of closeness. It felt raw. It felt real. You got to fall in love for the nth time. Seonghwa’s face was rosy, blushed, and he was just barely steadying himself, but even then, was not letting go of you, choosing to retain all physical proximity in favour of going about routines. HIs cum is smeared over your folds, was dripping onto the covers and had smeared across your inner thighs, you had remnants of spit and release on your face, and yet he was still looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. His one and only. 

“Not too sore? Shall I run a bath?” He poked your nose with his own, grinning when you ran a hand over the side of his face.

“Mm… I’m fine. But a bath would be nice. Can we…”

“Want me to join?”

“Mhm. Want you to give me a head massage.”

“Ah, of course, at your service-”

“Come on…” you chuckled at his joke and trailed off, pausing to stare deep into his eyes, musing everything and nothing all at once.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

“Just thinking how you should send me pictures more often,” a hint of darkness flashed in his eyes; mischief, future schemes formulating themselves. You traced past love bites, ran a finger over his plump lips which were equally as red and swollen as yours, you bet. 

“Mm, you changed your mind I see. None of that ‘I am at work’ anymore, then?”

“Maybe you should be the one who is worried now,” you shot back with a smirk.

Seonghwa sat up, swinging his legs over to the edge of the bed, but turning back to give you one last adoring look before launching into a routine long-familiar to you. In no time, you would be taking careful sips of water while waiting for the bath to fill, and your husband would be telling you to stay put, having returned from the clouds and back to finding it unbearable to have clothes on the floor and creasing. Your heart swelled. He was everything at once, flipping switches, changing from one second to the next while still being his gorgeous self. Before, it had made you confused, flustered. Now, you just loved him. There was no other way to put it. You got to see every curve and edge, and always discovered something new. 

“I’ll be impatiently waiting.”

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[thesummerpetrichor]

𝓥𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓸 𝓰𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓼

Dads best friend!Javier Peña x afab!reader

Summary: For years he’d lived in your head like a distant memory. Something too good, too far away to attain. You shouldn’t be so hurt he’d left his old life behind, but how could you not be, when you had been such a big part of it? But you can’t hold a grudge. Not when he’s standing in front of you– doing everything to prove he’s not a stranger.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI you will be blocked. Mentions of DEA, dads best friend trope, morally questionable relationship, minor angst, chunky age gap [reader is in her 20s Javi is in his 40s], banter, lotsa sweet moments, explicit language, explicit sexual content, couch sex, inebriated sex, cigarette and weed smoking, alcohol, dom!javi, sub!reader, pet names [cariño, baby, babygirl etc.], dirty talk, major praise kink! [lotsa good girl action iykwim] some over the clothes action, grinding, fingering, unprotected P in V [ do better!!]. Let me know if I missed anything!! <;3

Word count: 12.8k oops

A/N: Oof this took longer than I thought it would but I’m so excited for you to read it. Javier is the man of my dreams here 🥺. lotsa porn for you nasties. morally questionable relationship fr but it’s fiction so we’ll forgive Javi. I hope you darlings enjoy! Mwah 💗

Masterlist

Swinging in the backyard

Pull up in your fast car

Whistling my name

Open up a beer

And you say, "Get over here

And play a video game"

The last time you saw him you remember all but tackling him to the ground as he walked through your front door. He had bought you a special edition copy of your favourite Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale, and DVDs of ‘film noir’ movies– the kind your dad didn’t like you watching. You spent the days reading as he smoked cigars by your pool, and you remember your father joking about his ‘bad influence’ as he poured you drinks in the evenings. 

That was several years ago, and now all you had left of him was a hazy memory of that distant summer, a fading image of his golden eyes glittering in the setting sun, and your copy of “The Little Mermaid”. That had been the last that he’d visited you– before his work got in the way, before he decided he’d rather stay in Bogotá than come home. 

Your life had gone on, and while every year you wondered whether he’d make his grand appearance, as you grew older you came to terms with the realisation that it would just be you and your old man lounging on the patio on those treasured, warm, golden evenings. At university you were pursuing those dreams you always wanted to, the ones your father wasn’t so keen on you chasing, the ones you’d confess to him when he would drive you around the city–  to that faraway ice cream place no one else would take you to. 

He was all cigarettes and whiskey and secret promises.

“He’ll literally kill us, it's midnight.” It was too late, he was grabbing his keys and jacket, and despite your better judgement the thought of the fairy lights by the beach as you walked with your mint chocolate chip cones had you giggling as you followed him out the door. It was your 18th birthday. “He doesn’t need to know now, does he, cariño?” 

He’d telephone your father once in a while, you knew because your house would fill with laughter only invoked by one culprit. You wondered what adventures he was on, were they like the ones he’d tell you as you sat by his side till the early hours of the morning? You wondered if he even remembered– remembered you. 

But now you were in Bogotá, in the sweltering June heat, suitcase in hand, scanning the crowd for a face you barely remembered. You were scared, stupidly so, worried that your physical proximity would do nothing to mend his distance. You worried he wouldn't see you as he did before, wouldn't remember your inside jokes, your mischief, how you’d beg him to take you to that dance bar because your dad didn’t like you going alone. That he had somehow morphed into someone you couldn't recognize. You felt hot all over once again, and this time no thanks to the summer sun. 

Your head turned left to right, and you spotted among the crowd families reuniting, couples kissing hello, young people returning home, lone travellers, lonely travellers, and in the hustle bustle a black leather jacket walking briskly towards you. He looked older, and tired, but his eyes still sparkled the way you remembered, still turned golden when they met the sun. From the distance he spotted you, and you watched expectantly as his furrowed brows relaxed into a calm, almost surprised expression. You felt a little short of breath, felt suddenly larger than life, as he neared you, your mind spinning and hoping, praying that he was still the man you knew. 

“What have you done with my cariño?” 

He was looking down at you with that same smile. Everything about him was really the same. He still smelt like tobacco and cedarwood perfume, still wore the same leather jacket, the same faded, button up shirt– with the first two buttons undone. In a moment you felt your mind's eye reconstruct those waning images of him you once cherished, from the dells of memory. And now you saw him vividly, reclining in his chair, sipping his whiskey, leaning on your porch, hair falling in his face in soft curls as he lit his cigarette. 

He was a lot more handsome than you recalled. 

“Hi” You were smiling so wide your face hurt, and despite the years of his absence there was a familiarity you found comfort in, a sense of belonging, and maybe naively… longing. His hands moved to grab you by the shoulders, and he stepped back to get a good look at you, almost examining how time had passed. “Lookat’ ya, university girl now huh, smart cookie?” The way he looked at you had your heart pitter pattering– with so much pride, and gentleness, and adoration. 

Without any hesitation he pulled you into his chest, wrapping you up in his arms, holding your head against him. Waves of calm washed over you, an immediate reassurance you were desperate for. It was his non reluctance, his lack of worry, the way he brought you into his arms like nothing else mattered.  With a heavy sigh you collapsed into him, all the uneasiness you felt before melting away as you melted into his touch. He felt warm, and strong, and like you’d remembered. 

He was everything you’d remembered. 

You felt yourself relax. It had been a long day, a long time getting away from your father, who, despite the fact that you had been living alone for years now, had called you about a thousand times – reminding you to take all your things, to be careful, and importantly to not get into any trouble. 

If there was one thing everyone knew about Javier, it was that he was trouble, trouble, trouble. 

He was still smiling when he gently pulled away, still looking at you with the same enthusiasm. He was happy to see you. He chuckled as he let go of your shoulders, and you felt your chest swarm with butterflies when he grabbed you by the hand and twirled you around, and in typical Javier fashion produced a white lily from his shirt pocket, and tucked it behind your ear. 

“Welcome to Bogotá cariño” 

You felt your cheeks heat. For as long as you could remember you pretty much idolised him, and the longer you didn’t see him the more distant and adored he had become.  You had worked that distant memory up so much, the memory of that fateful summer, that he’d come to be a symbol of fear and dread in your head. At least until that moment.

You felt silly for ever thinking he’d be different. And there he was, standing right in front of you, putting flowers behind your ear. You mumbled a soft thank you, securing the lily, which was inadvertently an excuse not to meet his overwhelming gaze. 

“Your old man give you a hard time on the way up?”  

You laughed as you rolled your eyes. If there was one person who knew how much of a stickler for organisation and responsibility your father was, it was him. “He gave me an entire list of things to not do”. Javier’s deep baritone joined your laughter, and he shook his head in faux irritation at the mention of his best friend. 

Reaching down for your bags he leaned beside your ear, and you felt your heart race when you turned your head ever so slightly to meet his gaze– at that glimmer in his eyes, his mischievous smile, and raised brow. 

“Well, he’s no fun now, is he?” 

And with that he was heading towards the exit. 

—

I'm in his favourite sundress

Watchin' me get undressed

Take that body downtown

I say, "You the bestest"

Lean in for a big kiss

Put his favourite perfume on

Go play your video game

“He says I'm like you, y’know?” You leaned your elbow on the open window, knees to your chest as you sat curled up in the passenger seat of his car. His eyes were on the road, but his attention remained on you, and you were instantaneously reminded of your trips to the pier, your mint chocolate chip ice creams, and innocent secrets. 

You felt warm and fuzzy inside, and your eyes wandered the beautiful Colombian city –the colours, and the smell of summer flowers, and food as it wafted out of the mom and pop restaurants you passed. 

“Yeah, you a troublemaker?” He glanced at you momentarily, just in time to catch you rolling your eyes. “”M not, but he thinks Dora’s wreckless for wandering around without her parents.`` His laugh was hearty and he had that smile, that tilt of his head you were sure had all the women around him swooning. You felt your cheeks heat at the thought, especially when he chided you. “Cariño” he dragged out every syllable of that treasured pet name, shaking his head, and raising his brows in your direction, teasingly. “Okay.. maybe I like to have a little fun, but I’m still not like you.” 

Letting out an exaggerated gasp his head whipped towards you. “Fuck’s that supposed to mean?!” Your head was buzzing, he's still the same, the same. 

“I’m good.” He rounded the corner, and you couldn’t help but wonder who else had been in the passenger side of his car, getting this view you so cherished. You didn’t know why you cared, or why you were even wondering in the first place. It wasn’t any of your business, but somewhere deep down it made your heart ache. 

“I know you are honey.. Thought your dad was gonna’ have a fuckin’ heart attack when he called me.” You could only imagine. The poor man. The thought of him persuading Javier to convince you to stay with him for the sake of his peace of mind making you giggle. 

“Can you blame him? It was either you or Maria, and somehow you're the better of the two evils.” When you decided to come to Bogotá you originally planned to stay with one of your  close friends from university. She had offered you a room in her apartment for as long as you needed. The both of you had applied for the same summer program, and were looking forward to spending your vacation together. That was before you confessed that a certain somebody also lived in Bogotá. A somebody you weren’t initially keen on meeting again. Somebody you had planned to avoid at any cost during your stay. 

You weren’t really sure why– if you wanted to keep him away out of spite, or convenience, or fear, but all you did know was that when Maria had practically forced you to ask your dad to give Javier a call you were nothing short of petrified. She would not let it go, even said you’d regret not meeting him, better yet staying with him after how much you’d talked him up in the time you knew her. She was so confident she placed a bet you’d give up her house for his in less than forty eight hours. 

“I’m a cop, I’m the obvious choice here cariño” His confidence was charming. He was deceptively charming. 

“Yeah. A terrible one.” 

“Was a little shocked you wanted to see me..” sometimes you really thought he could read your mind. Not just in that moment, in fact he had a habit of hitting on right whatever you were thinking about, whatever was bothering you, things you felt you couldn’t tell anyone else because they wouldn’t understand. You were not sure if and how you wanted to respond, and if you did honestly whether he would know how much the whole situation had preoccupied you. 

“Strictly practical. Wanted to see if you remembered me..” 

“‘Course I remember you, been haunting me like a little ghost since I last visited..”. you thought you might just explode at his teasing. You asked yourself if he was being truthful, if he truly thought about you, about how he’d up and left. 

“You’re the one that disappeared into thin air!” Undeniably, despite the laughter and banter there was a tension in the air– floating between the two of you heavy and low. But what was he expecting?  

Thankfully, the car came to a slow and gradual stop at the side of a small side street, where you spotted a small glass door over which flowers blooming from the floor above had been cascading. “Where are we?” 

“Mint chocolate chip”  One hand on the wheel, the other grabbing his keys, he looked at you as he spoke, so matter of factly it made your heart flutter. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “No pier, or fairy lights though, and no thrill of running from your papa.” 

He remembered. 

Heart bursting with love ache, you weren’t really sure what to say. As if he had anticipated your fears he seemed like he was coaxing you into your natural rhythm. Reminding you he wasn’t some stranger whose house you were staying in out of convenience. That you knew him, and that he knew you, remembered you. 

“Thank god for the last one..” The memory fluttered between you two– the same thoughts, hovering between your heads. He was opening the door, taking a quick check of the traffic. You stayed put, finding your bearings. With one hand extended he beckoned you towards him, offering his arm when you hopped out the car on wobbly feet.  “Oh hush, you loved it, cariño. And he knew, I told him the next day.”

With locked arms you crossed the street, and as if no time had passed you had squished yourself to his side, and had smacked him against the shoulder lightly at his admission. “What?! Traitor!” 

“I handled it.” He sounded quite impressed with himself, and when you tilted your head and locked eyes with him you noticed how he looked quite impressed as well. You pressed your cheek against his arm, the leather of his jacket brushing against your warm cheeks.

“You were always the fun one.”

A large ‘OPEN’ sign stared you blank in the face, that was until Javier had gently tucked a finger under your chin, and delicately directed your eyes towards him. “He’s your dad, ‘s not supposed to be the fun one..” he softly remarked, his smile remained, and you felt nothing but warmth, and comfort from his presence. 

The moment fell naturally, and he reached forward to pull the door open for you, letting skip ahead of him and into the store.  “Feels like my 18th all over again.” 

—

It's you, it's you, it's all for you

Everything I do

I tell you all the time

Heaven is a place on earth with you

Tell me all the things you wanna do

I heard that you like the bad girls

Honey, is that true?

“You're the boss Peña, give me the word, and it’s done.” You caught Javier’s reflection in the mirror as you sat down to get ready. Fresh out the shower it took about three seconds for the summer heat to get back at you. He liked to keep his place freezing, and at times like that you could only be grateful– the cool air soothing your scorched skin. 

Carillo, Murphy– you could recognize the voices as they bounced off the wall, the same men you’d met when they barged into his home unceremoniously at six in the morning. You would have preferred to meet them in actual clothes rather than your pyjamas, and maybe outside instead of infront of your concerningly large cup of coffee, but they seemed to be used to finding unexpected guests in Javier’s apartment early in the morning. 

Regardless of the fact that they’d interrupted your quiet breakfast with Javier, they were really nice people. Carillo’s wife even sent some snacks over with him the next time he visited. One because she wanted you to try the local food, and two because “Javier had nothing in his kitchen.” 

“I will. soon as that dick Stechner gets out of my fuckin’ way” reaching to put you necklace on you watched as Javier moved out of your field of vision for a quick moment, returning with a glass filled with ice and an ashtray. What were they talking about? You never really asked about his job, you'd tried to talk him out of it many times, but he never budged. One day he hated it, one day he didn’t. 

What he was like at work was a point of endless curiosity for you– he just seemed so different. If you were being honest he seemed like an asshole. In the few times you’d seen him interact with his partners he’d barely cracked a smile, trading in his joking and teasing for curt jabs or looks of disapproval. He also admittedly liked ordering people around, telling them what to do. His phone rang about five thousand times a day, and each answered call was punctuated with an air of control, indifference, and the steady and constant confidence of a man who knew what the hell he was doing. And did not like to be questioned about it. The only people who seemed to break the ice were the two he was speaking to at that moment. 

“Javi, think this one through, don’t be fuckin crazy.” The voices drowned out as you put your attention back to getting ready. Maria was right. By the time you called her the evening of your arrival you had abandoned all plans to escape Javier's home for hers. She was in hysterics, endlessly pulling your leg over the whole situation. Your overthinking, your panic, your regret, and most obviously your complete infatuation. 

She had picked you up the next morning, and had impersonated you the entire ride to the university. You hoped that you didn’t sound the way she said you did when you spoke of him, that you weren’t all heart eyes. It only made you worried about what you sounded like when you spoke to him. 

With your bag tucked under your arm you grabbed your shoes off the floor, heading towards the dining table. “You got work this evening?” you were hoping he didn’t. His eyes lifted off his work to watch you shuffle around the small kitchen.  Opening the fridge you grabbed a bottle of chilled water, and leaned against the closed door as you spoke. 

“Depends if they call me in, they’re tracking some radio signals so we’re sitting tight till then.” He was leaning back in his chair in absolute exhaustion. Knowing that his day started around seven thirty, and never seemed to end, you didn't blame him. The few days you had been staying at his place he’d join you for dinner and be right back to work in a second. This job of his pretty much consumed him, and judging by his commitment you understood why he had no time for anyone or anything else. The guy was practically married to his job. His job and his co-workers, that is. You wouldn’t be surprised if Murphy and Carillo’s wives were envious of how much quality time Javier got to spend with their husbands. 

“So you’re staying up until they get back to you?” You didn't mean to sound so perplexed, but you were. Mostly at how unpredictable his hours were. Did he really want to leave the quiet, laid back life at home for whatever this was? He crossed his arms over his chest, and spoke to you in between puffs of his cigarette. 

“Yes, cariño, I'm in my forties, dont got a bedtime.”  The man could barely keep his eyes open, and when he lifted his glass to his lips you felt a little better about ditching him for your fun night out. Of course you wanted to sit with him, have him talk about everything under the sun, like he used to, but you didn’t want to be another thing he had to worry about. 

You barely got to speak to him outside meal times. If he stayed home, safe to say he’d be preoccupied, and if he didn’t it would be just you, and the white noise in his empty apartment, like it had been for the past four nights you had been there. 

The man looked like he needed a cup of tea. You reached for the kettle, pushing it on and leaning against the closed fridge door. “They tell you that at the old people's home?” Grabbing your buzzing phone off the counter you moved towards his surprisingly organised kitchen drawers, in which there was little besides some tea bags, coffee beans, jam, canned fruits and bars of candy. That combined with the eggs, bread and milk in his fridge came to make an almost comical representation of what most people would consider a bachelor's desolate pantry. 

Your eyes shifted to the illuminated screen of your phone, an unread message staring back at you. 

Maria: Leaving in five &lt;3

As you took the bubbling kettle off the burner you made a mental note, reaching for a cup, and a tea bag from the unopened box of earl grey you were pretty certain Javier did not buy for himself, rather became the owner of thanks to one of the nice old ladies who lived opposite him. 

“Somones in a mood today huh?” It was then you realised he had abandoned his work to watch you trudge around his kitchen barefoot in your little party outfit, one hand rested on his chin, one leg crossed over the other as he leant back in his wooden dining table chair. 

The teabag bobbed in the steaming water a couple of times, before you were pulling it out and tossing it in the trash. You grabbed his blue mug by the handle– some generic, machine made ceramic devoid of any personality, something you’d probably find in a show home. It looked like it had always been sitting on his kitchen shelf, only seeing the light of day every once in a while when he ditched his liquor cabinet for the coffee machine on the far end of the counter. Knowing him that wasn’t often.

“I'm kidding .”

“Well cariño I was thinking we could go to the dance bar tomorrow, but now I guess I'll have to stay home and rest my old knees.” He looked so surprised when you placed the mug in front of him, rested on a white paper napkin. It was almost like he had expected you to make it for yourself. The chair made a slight squeak against the floor as you pulled it back and took a seat, pulling his glass, now lined with the slight golden residue of whiskey, towards you. He was still surprised, a little taken back even, but not in offence, rather a tender, grateful smile tugged at his lips. 

“Since when do you dance?” With your focus no longer split between tasks you turned back to the conversation at hand. Making sure to emphasise you remembered just how uncharacteristic Javier’s little suggestion was. 

He took a sip of the earl grey, leaning forward and letting his shoulders fall ever so slightly. The glimmer of a distant memory played in his eyes as he met your gaze.“I don’t. But you do.” Your little reminiscence played in the back of your head like a movie reel, the soft sound of music from the dance bar by your house hanging in the air. As if transported into a distant dream you could see clusters of people twirling and dancing with the beat, like little ghosts behind Javier as he spoke. 

“And who am I going to dance with” When you said those words out loud you meant for them to sound a whole lot more utilitarian than they ended up sounding. Whether it was hope, or some odd suggestion you were in no mood to unpack where from deep in your subconscious that had come. All you could wish for is that he didn’t notice. 

“Plenty of people at the bar who’d love to dance with my darling.” And there it was, that answer you dreaded, delivered with that signature smile, with that warm, twinkling light in his eyes. “You don't have work tomorrow?” unable to bear the thought you moved along to more practical matters. 

He was already halfway through that cup of tea, and like his body was in the middle of some sort of spiritual cleanse you could see him resurface somewhat coherent and with eyes that weren’t half as dead as they were two minutes ago.“‘S friday, need the time off. Besides, I'd kick myself if I didn't make good on your time here. These fuckers still gonna be around when youre gone.” Sometimes you wondered if he was talking more to himself than he was to you. 

You felt a little buzzing in your purse, and you rummaged through it to find your phone. A text from Maria reminding you you needed to leave. “Yeah, you're gonna sit at the bar like a senior citizen while I have some fun?” 

Rising from your seat you searched the room for the last of your things. Notwithstanding the lack of time he had put into making the place home there were still small elements of him scattered throughout that little two bedroom. The fresh flowers in a glass vase on his centre table, framed pictures and art he’d been collecting over the years, small artefacts he’d brought back from his travels. It was so odd, the whole place stood suspended somewhere between home and a place far from it. Familiar yet distant. 

“Hey, they’ve got great drinks.”

He finished the last of his tea, and you picked up his mug and set it in the kitchen sink, running it under the tap water for a quick second to rinse it. Truth be told, you just wanted to sit and chat, and if half heartedly doing the dishes was going to give you a few more minutes with him you’d take it.“Don’t get too excited old man, I'm not driving us home.”

“I can take a few cariño, ‘m not like you.” You travelled to where you’d dropped your heels. 

“Slander.” pausing momentarily in the middle of putting on your shoes you lifted your head to find him looking back at you. His eyes had seemingly followed you all the way behind him, and he was still smiling. Had you not had one hand on his couch holding you in place you just might have tumbled over.  

“You be careful tonight, and don’t walk anywhere alone, especially if it's past ten. I know you– can't even read a damn map, so no wandering around, call me.” It looked like he had already given up on you, one hand rushing to his face to rub his tired eyes, the other plastered to the table. He was shaking his head the way he did when he caught you sneaking out your house one summer. 

“I’ll think about it.” of course you were going to call him, you didn't need an excuse. But you liked to see him all agitated, bossing you around like you knew he liked to do. With everyone, that is.

“No no, you're gonna call me when you get there, and you're gonna call me when you leave, and you're gonna tell me exactly how, and with whom you're gettin back.” You were already at the door, hoping to escape him, but he was yelling your name in that exasperated voice, and you heard him shuffle from his seat to stand up– catch you and drag you back in case that was necessary. 

“But-” Turning to meet his peering form over the wall of his living room you parted your lips, attempting to protest, playfully, but still protest, but he wasn't having any excuses. 

He was doing that thing where he looked at you with his soft eyes, slightly downturned, and the look could convince you to do just about anything, made you feel like you’d rather die than let them down. Anybody else’s nagging would have got you on your last nerve, but you only felt warmth, concern and care when he did it. Hell he could throw you off his roof and you’d still think the same. 

“No buts, no excuses. Thats final” You giggled, half because he sounded so much like a boring old man, and half because he was now leaning against the wall, with the top buttons of his shirt undone, and his hands on his hips, hair dishevelled from when he’d combed his fingers through it. 

“You sound like him..” With brows raised you looked at him expectantly, taunting him with your teases, and you nearly jumped out the door when he walked towards you, ready to grab you back to him as you escaped. Any insult was better than being compared to your dad, especially in this context. “Don't you say that, cariño” He was laughing, and you were laughing, and his otherwise quiet apartment building was now singing with an uncharacteristic gleam, a glow, a gaiety. 

Your shoes clicked against the floors as you scurried away, turning one last time to see him leaning against his door frame, shaking his head as he watched you skip into the night. “I don't make the rules old man”. You heard him chuckle behind you as you ‘sing songed’ your words, your heart fluttering when you noticed he waited for you to get outside before he closed his front door. 

–

It's better than I ever even knew

They say that the world was built for two

Only worth living if somebody is loving you

And, baby, now you do

“Thought I told you not to wander around alone, cariño.” You jumped, but it was too late, he had wrapped you up in his arms, and you were pressed up against his chest, and his voice was a low whisper in your ear. And you were dizzy. The alcohol in your system only partly responsible for your petrified squeak, wavering voice, and the way you swayed gently in his embrace. But when he kissed the top of your head ever so gently you could only giggle, recognising that warm hold, that faint smell of whisky on his shirt. 

“Psycho, you scared the shit outta me.” He was laughing when you turned around, exhausted, defeated almost, but his eyes were gleaming in the moonlight, and you felt yourself all but swoon at the way he was looking down at you.  “You’re lucky I'm the only psycho you ran into” Grabbing your face in his hands each word he spoke was punctuated with hyperbole, and a teasing disbelief. Your own hands shot up to grab his, and your cold palms thawed at the touch. You were sure you felt your heartbeat in your throat when his thumbs brushed the swell of your cheeks, you were sure he could feel the way they grew hot under his rough hands. “Just came out for a smoke, don’t go into cardiac arrest now” your fallen cigarette crumpled under your foot when you stepped on it, and in the midst of your eye roll you watched as he stepped back to look at you in faux disapproval. 

“Look at ya’, terrible.” He motioned his head towards the trampled butt on the ground below you. “Me? Terrible?” When you closed the distance between the both of you you stepped on it again, hearing it crush under your shoes, and shoved his shoulder playfully, poking his chest with your pointer finger. “Drinking on the job again old man?” Then he laughed again, this time at your playful yet truthful accusation, and the sound made you feel lighter than a feather. How could one person be so charming, so charismatic, at one in the morning? Like he was divulging a trade secret he raised his brow. “Keeps me awake.”

The blaring music in the club was muffled in the distance as you walked towards the steps of the church in front of you, the quiet and empty street echoing your footsteps. He walked beside you, kept you close on that pleasant summer night. When you turned your head your eyes caught a group of men huddled by a small food stall at the side of the street, hunched over some beers, smoking cigarettes. In the crowd there were two familiar faces. Steve was dressed casually, Carillo and the others in military fatigues. You wondered why he wasn’t walking in their direction, but judging by the look on their faces you concluded there would probably be a better time to do so. Besides, you weren't complaining, he was enough, he always was. 

They shot you a half hearted wave, and two strained smiles from across the road. 

Taking a seat you pat the stone ground beside you, watching as he looked around, almost willing someone to come into sight, one foot on the steps leading up to the cathedral entrance, wringing his hands. “What’re you doing here anyway?” You wondered what he had done that evening, but you knew you were better off not asking. You were glad to have bumped into him, and the last thing you wanted to do in your giggly half tipsy mood was have him explain something you were sure would keep you up at night. Not when he had that look on his face, his work look. 

“Waitin’ on an informant, but someone fucked up and well, we’re back at square one.” he was still searching the street when he bent down to sit beside you, so close your knees bumped. 

You felt your heart race a little when he pulled out what looked like a joint he had rolled moments ago from his shirt pocket, when he leaned back on his arm, lit it and looked up at the sky as he took a drag. You wondered if in your little emotional panic, your worry of his disappearance you had blocked out the memory of his striking, handsome face. You wondered if he had always been this beautiful, this captivating, everything he did set you on fire, the way he carried himself. 

“Smoke a lotta weed for a DEA agent.” 

He turned his head towards you, letting it fall lazily in your direction, and his hair fell in his face the way it did all those years ago, and he shot you that smile that felt like home. “Been a long day cariño”. He was looking back to the sky, but your eyes didn't leave him. He looked so tragic in the moonlight, half lit by its platinum glow. You weren’t sure if it was the liquid courage, or the fact that his shoulder looked more inviting than ever, or the fact that a cool breeze just blew by, and you shivered as it brushed your shoulder, but you leaned your head against him, and you felt your tummy erupt with butterflies when he placed a lingering kiss to your forehead. It was forbearing, and merciful, and you wondered if he had somehow noticed your girlish fawning, your silly admiration, and your heart dropped momentarily, but was soon resuscitated by his soft laughter. 

“Remember those cigarettes of mine you'd steal back in the day.” The breeze had picked up, and it’s cool was far more jarring when it kissed your hot cheeks. “‘S’not stealing… you knew.” you closed your eyes, and let yourself get lost in that comfortable memory. “yeah , could've told your papa” He was looking down at you, but you kept your eyes ahead, too intimidated to meet his gaze. 

“Didn’t” 

“Should’ve” His voice was a mumble beside you, and you found yourself thinking about your dad for the first time in a while, and you were instantly reminded the man you were so taken up by was his best friend, and almost twice your age, and saw you as nothing more than his buddy’s daughter. You stiffened against him. 

He took another drag of his joint. “If he was here right now his blood pressure would be through the roof”. A cold breeze tickled your skin, and he rubbed your shoulder gently and despite the murmured chatter in your head you couldn’t help but melt into his touch. 

“Darling, I can't believe you've been out this long.” He was laughing, and his horrible impression had you in a similar state. Conflict bubbled in your chest, each word slipping past his lips reminded you of your relationship, of your dad, and what he would think if he could peek inside your head, at your little thoughts. You felt guilty, but how could you hold that feeling? Not when he was shaking with joy beside you, not when he had his arm around you the way he did, not when you were tucked into his side, shielded from the winds. 

“You smell like a dingy bar” It felt so natural, your regular routine, the way it had always been, when your dad would say something funny, or outrageous, and the both of you would have a field day. It was well incorporated in your repertoire at that point, but the years apart had the memory sitting on a shelf in your brain, collecting dust. You remember when your dad made a terrible joke the day of your senior prom, and the two of you refused to let it go the entire evening. Javier had a vocabulary of his favourite phrases, and so did you, and you couldn’t help but pull them out every once in a while. 

“How am I going to survive you?!” You spoke in tandem, each letter dragged out with faux frustration, an uncanny similarity to your dad’s tone ringing in the air as your blended voices formed a familiar melody. It hung between you as he laughed heartily, and you wanted nothing more than to frame the moment, keep it tucked away where it would be yours, only yours forever. The starry night, a twinkling sky above you, the chirp of the crickets,  and perhaps your most treasured person, holding you against him. 

You wondered why he left, why he left you behind. Did he feel the same as you did in that moment? Was he happy to be there? To have caught you on your night out? After he’d called off his wedding all those years ago he’d become a rarer sight. You were too young to remember, and it wasn’t long after your parents got married. Growing up in your little town you’d heard he always had a reputation with women, but you never believed a word of the neighbourhood chatter. 

They were not the same person– the guy everyone talked about, and your Javier. While you’d never give him a break from the teasing, bringing up all the times you’d run into women in the streets, asking if you’d seen him, you could never really imagine him as the man everyone made him out to be. He was reckless, sure, and impulsive, and insolent, and a hardass, but he was also gentle, and thoughtful, and gallant.

At least he was to you. 

As if he could hear your thoughts, and they were so loud in your head you wouldn’t be surprised if he could, he broke the silence. “I wanted to come back cariño, but-” 

“But you couldn’t, I know '' There was no point going over what had happened and why, and while you incessantly wondered you knew it was a fruitless exercise. It was just how he was, he liked to up and leave, disappear, keep his distance, and you wondered if that had anything to do with you. But you didn't want to kill the moment, more for yourself than for him. 

“Glad you decided to come, cariño” It was like he was trying to convince you, of what exactly you weren't sure, but he sounded so earnest, so true.. and you felt deep down he was trying to make amends for his absence. Not just from you, but from the life he left behind. Were you an exception? Or a way to right his wrongs? mend all that had been pushed aside? You didn't know, but you’d worry about that later.

The winds had picked up, and the sky was gleaming, and for the first time in a long time you felt at peace. 

“I like it here, it's nice.” When you spoke he was almost surprised, but your words seemed to only widen his grin. He squeezed your shoulder gently. 

“Me too baby, me too.” 

— 

Singin' in the old bars

Swingin' with the old stars

Livin' for the fame

Kissin' in the blue dark

Playin' pool and wild darts

Video games

He holds me in his big arms

Drunk and I am seeing stars

This is all I think of

“Looks like they knew you were coming.” You swivelled the bar stool in your direction, hopping up on the seat. It was early in the evening, around seven, but the music was already going, and there were people on the dance floor, moving to the beat of retro spanish tunes. Javier took a seat beside you, still in his suit from work, shirt haphazardly tucked into his dress pants, tie loose around his neck. 

“Why?” the bartender placed your drinks on the counter, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the fact that he’d stuck to his whiskey on the rocks. “They got the oldies on”. You were giggling, and while he wanted to pretend like he was far too tired to care about your antics he couldn’t help but crack a smile. There was a charm to it– catching a break at the end of the work week, the tranquillity of the weekend enveloping you like a safety net. One of you that is. 

Friday night was busy at any joint, buzzing with nightlife, food and drink. Somewhere along the way you’d gotten up from your seat and headed to the large empty space in the middle of the bar, where tables and chairs had been cleared to create a somewhat makeshift dance floor. Javier was right, while he sat sipping his whiskey you found plenty of dance partners. 

It was all easy, getting passed from one person to the other as the group formed a large circle. It was like you had disappeared into the crowd, bodies moving left to right in the dim green glow, only occasionally giving you a glimpse of the man sitting at the counter– face rested in his palm. Ask him to dance. These urges of yours were momentary, little private lapses of judgement that would only remind you of what was just not possible. 

When he’d take you out back in the day he’d have some minor injury to blame for his lack of participation on the dance floor, and when he didn’t he was “a terrible dancer” or “had too many drinks”. After a while you stopped asking. You realised you’d never really seen him dance. 

You had grabbed the hand of a stranger, letting them twirl you around– Javier was looking in your direction. For how much fun he liked to have you had come to recognize hardly any of it involved other people. Weddings, birthdays, barbeques. He was there. However, you’d always felt he looked at it as an obligation. A hi to the bride and groom, a bouquet of flowers, some meaningless small talk and he would disappear out the door. When he stayed it was solely in the company of a few familiar suspects– your dad being one. While he was often the subject of conversation, he was a pretty reluctant conversationalist. 

It was hot, and muggy, and if someone asked you where you were in the room you surely couldn’t place yourself. Forcing yourself out of the chatter in your head you looked up, noticing finally that your partner hadn’t changed in the past 10 minutes. 

He was looking down at you quite sweetly, he was actually quite handsome, your age, but he didn’t have a white button up on, didn’t have that sideways smirk. He wasn’t Javier. And unfairly, for that reason alone you didn’t want him. But who were you to say no to pretty green eyes, soft, delicate looking light brown hair, a black button up that wasn’t very buttoned up. Neither of you had the confidence to speak up, so you let him sway you side to side, one hand firmly planted on his chest.

You wondered what he really thought of you, if after this little visit he’d be more compelled to come visit, at least spare you a call. Would he disappear once again? Call your dad once in a while and ask him to deliver some impersonal message like ‘say hi to her for me’? You wished you could care less, but you knew you couldn’t, and something inside you told you he knew too. 

A firm arm wrapped around your waist, spinning you in the opposite direction, faces turned to motion blur as you turned on your heel. “Looks like a saved you, cariño.” He was twirling you, holding your hand in his and pulling you into his chest. He hadn’t really saved you but at the same time he had. He could pick you up from a field of lilies and drop you in a medieval torture chamber and he’d still be your knight in shining armour.  

What the fuck are you doing here? You wanted to ask, but you held back. You wondered what had prompted him on the dance floor. Did he think some weirdo wouldn’t let go of you? Had seeing you dance with someone else accomplished a task years of your coaxing couldn’t? You turned back, but the stranger had already disappeared, and Javier was directing your gaze towards him. 

As you had always suspected he was a great dancer, and he sure as hell liked holding you close as you moved along the dance floor. The songs ran over the decades, and he’d often sing lines to you– smiling and pulling you towards him. He looked so handsome, lights reflecting off his face, his smile tired, but earnest, and wide. You almost couldn’t keep up. 

“Danced your energy away?” Picking up the pace once again you twirled around him, unwilling to give in. “No! Why? your back needa rest?” You watched him laugh– shake his head and grab you by the hips. “Sure you didn't cariño.. Can't keep up with an old man?” Voice raw from yelling over the music, you pulled his leg. “Think I heard your knee pop.” His raised brow only aroused suspicion. “Oh really?” Before you could even respond his arm had hooked under your thighs, and his hand was on your back and you were being lifted into the air. “Oh my god!” Your own arms flung around his neck, both your laughs floating between you as he spun around. 

It felt different and not because something in his head had dragged him out onto the dance floor. The way he was looking at you, the way he just couldn’t let go. It hurt your heart more than anything you’d ever experienced. The pain was conflicting– the love ache and the hurt. Did he know how much he meant to you? Did he even care? Something in your heart told you he did but you chalked it up to innocent hope. 

The music slowed down, and you heard emerging from the stereo a familiar tune. 

You’d hum it all the time, so much so it would drive your father nuts. In the kitchen, while doing chores, sometimes as you read by Javier’s side. On the weekend when you woke up early to help cook breakfast it’d be the first song on the playlist. You recall how he’d watch you dance around the kitchen, truth be told rather ungracefully in the mornings– spatula in one hand, kitchen towel in the other.They played it at some wedding once, and your friends had bounded to the dance floor with you just to ensure you didn’t miss a note. You were running so fast you all but collided with him, and he had to catch your falling form as you stumbled towards your best friend, shouting a quick “sorry” as you bounded in her direction.  

He remembered. 

Words were useless when you looked at him the way you did. An expression of surprise, confusion, realisation, all at once, a smile tugging your lips, your doe eyes gazing into his soft brown ones. And his arms were around you, and you were pressed against his warm chest, and you were gently swaying to the beat of the music. 

“Looks like they knew you were coming.” 

It felt like a blip in time, but it would’ve been hours. People came and left, all around you groups of twos and threes and tens, but you stayed, and he stayed. Smiling down at you, holding you tight. You were a little light headed from it all, feet fighting the urge to take a little break. You just couldn’t let go. 

Plopping down on the bar stool you let your cheek hit the cool marble of the counter. Your legs felt like wet noodles, trembling when you finally sat down. You weren't really sure where Javier went, but it felt like an eternity he let you lay there with your eyes closed. Every second was one hundred times longer when he wasn’t holding you. His arm was firm around your waist when he finally helped you out of your seat. You realised he’d been standing only about two metres away the entire time. 

“Let’s get you home, ‘s late.” He had picked your shoes up from where you’d abandoned them, his own blazer draped over his arm– the one you weren’t hanging on to. With closed eyes you let him lead you out into the night, all your weight firmly supported by his broad shoulders, your stumbling feet only stabilised when he tucked you into his side. 

Unintelligible to anyone but him, and muffled by your yawn and cheek pressed against his upper arm you slurred your words as you spoke. “Past your bedtime?” 

He chuckled to himself, placing a soft kiss to the top of your head, his voice a faint murmur– the last thing you really remember hearing.  “Yes cariño, past my bedtime…” 

—

It's you, it's you, it's all for you

Everything I do

I tell you all the time

Heaven is a place on earth with you

Tell me all the things you wanna do

I heard that you like the bad girls

Honey, is that true?

“You been drinkin’ my whiskey….” He was leaning on the table, waving the glass you left out in the air, holding it between two of his fingers. He wasn’t upset, rather looked quite amused. You rubbed your eyes, making out his smile from a distance.  “Couldn't sleep.” Peering into the room you were staying in you were sure he saw your blankets bunched up on the bed where you had been tossing and turning for hours. Your eyes caught the clock on the wall. 

1am. 

It had been a long day. Being assigned to a new supervisor proved to be a real curse. He was quite a piece of work. Patronising, condescending, everything in between. If that wasn’t enough he rejected your proposal, and asked you to submit a new one in two days. God knows you had a lot on your mind. 

The kitchen cabinet swished when he opened it, bringing you back to the present. “God, you really are like me huh?” He still had his jacket on, but judging by the look on his face he needed a drink first. The couch dipped as you threw yourself on it, and you turned over its back rest to watch him move around the kitchen. 

“I had like one shots worth, with like a whole glass of water, so not like you.” Curled up under his plush throw blanket you sank into the cushions, eyes following him as he sat down beside you. With a deep sigh he leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index. “Fuckin’ hell” 

“Long day?” He picked up the joint he’d just rolled from the side table, groping for the handle of the drawer to grab a lighter. “Can say that..” It was just another night for him. You were lucky you heard him pull up outside, and had got yourself to look somewhat presentable so you could see him at least once that day. Granted that involved nothing but putting on a bralette. 

Maybe it was the fact that it was late, or that you had such a shitty day, or that you just couldn’t help yourself anymore, but you leaned against his chest, snuggling into his side as he took a drag. “I would try and talk you out of this job, but I think I've exhausted all my arguments..” You twiddled your fingers, just wanting to melt into him and disappear. 

“I don’t think there’s anything else I could do.” You shivered, his fingers tracing shapes on your upper arm. “Couldn’t do whatever it is you’ve been doing…” redirecting your gaze from your lap you looked up at him. “Sometimes it feels like I can’t either” He was looking ahead, voice low and rumbly, and just what you needed to hear. 

“You’ve got time, got one’ve my lifetimes ahead’ve you” He pulled you closer, head resting against yours. “Don't say that” You poked his side lightly, hearing him chuckle beside your ear. “Oh yeah, now those jokes gettin’ to you?!” 

Stewing in a comfortable silence you let yourself ease into his embrace, willing your mind to shut up for the time being and enjoy his company. The way he was holding you– so much more delicately than he ever had before had your heart clenching. “Tell me your day was better than mine.”

His words cut through the chilled air, and your heart soared at the thought that it even mattered to him. “No, sucked.” to anyone else you would have responded with a simple ‘it was good’, some white lie to avoid further questions, but you couldn’t lie to him, he’d figure it out one way or another. “My supervisor’s an asshole..”

Nothing was more comforting than the kiss he placed to the side of your head.“‘m sorry honey” He offered you his joint– seemingly having deserted his agenda of being a good influence in favour of apparently celebrating your mutual disappointment. You felt your cheeks heat. 

“I've never smoked before.” 

Gasping comically he whipped his head towards you. He tapped your nose with his index, pinching your cheek and giving you possibly the most suspicious look he could muster. At least he tried, because his smile peaked through the interrogative exterior. “You little liar.” The gesture had you jumping to defend yourself. Shifting to meet his drooping eyes you almost knocked him over as you plopped on the couch, letting him wrap his free arm around your waist to steady you. “No, promise!” You leaned your forehead against his, your eyes gazing into his in an attempt to convince him. Despite his disbelief you were indeed telling the truth. 

“Oh really? Been drinkin’ too, trouble.” his hand snaked up the nape of your neck, cupping your jaw. It was then you realised just how close you were to him. Your eyes flickered to his lips momentarily. When you realised he had beat you to the task you were convinced you were hallucinating, or had somehow gotten high off the second hand smoke. In pain, you were in utter pain, unveiled and unprotected– subjected to his piercing gaze. 

Painfully aware of the tension that had settled like a thick cloud over you, your voice came out small and strained, but also hopeful. “‘M not trouble….could be though” 

The tightness in his jaw was something you couldn’t ignore. “Yeah, I know” In a moment of bad judgement, or in hindsight good judgement you decided you knew what you needed to do. You were exhausted of having to wonder. You were exhausted of asking questions, exhausted of his absence. You slung your leg over his thighs, lifting yourself onto his lap Leaning against his firm chest you peered up at him through your lashes. 

“Baby, careful”  You knew this time those words were not for you, you knew he was fighting the urge to gather you in his arms. You could see that look in his dark eyes– hungry, and hot. You could feel him, hard against your cotton panties. He bent down to press his forehead against yours, your noses bumping. “Cariño, you don't know what you're doing.”  His actions were in direct contradiction to his words, his large hands cradling your soft cheek, pleading you to put him out of his misery. But you were selfish, like he had been all those years ago, and you needed him to put you out of yours. 

“You don’t want this, Cariño” He swiped his thumb over your bottom lip. He was doing that thing again, where he was talking more to himself than to you. But couldn’t let him decide what you wanted, because for years you’d let him convince himself you’d wanted to keep your distance to maintain his own conscience– to make him feel better about how he’d disappeared from your life. 

“I know what I want..”  You didn’t mean to, but you were pouting, and despite your best efforts to speak with conviction you couldn’t help but come off a little pleading, “show me, please.” surely he knew you weren’t just talking about the weed. 

His lips ghosted over yours, and you could just about burst into tears the way he was looking at you. He probably noticed the way your chin wobbled, the way your doe eyes blinked away from his. Because in a moment you heard him sigh heavily, painfully, and apologetically all at once. 

And he was kissing you. Soft and slow, and gentle, and benevolent and like everything you’d ever hoped for. He tasted how you’d always imagined– like whiskey and cigarettes and everything in between. Like home. His thumb stroked your cheek gently until you pulled away, glossy eyed and wobbly on his lap. 

“Want me to show you what?” And here you thought his eyes couldn’t get any darker. He mumbled into your lips, voice commanding and steady– everything you weren't. He grabbed the back of your neck and guided you back towards him. Threading your fingers through his hair you let yourself get lost in the shelter of his hold. You felt as though he could pretty much eat you alive, the way his lips were moving against yours– suddenly hot and soft and needy. 

Heart racing you chased his lips with your own, but he steadied you with his hands, amused at your zeal. “Gotten all worked up now have we?” You couldn’t help it, you tried, tried to sit steady in his lap, but you just couldn’t, not when you felt his cock, twitch against your clothed pussy. 

You rolled your hips against his, watched as his head fell back against the couch. The crease between his brows only persuaded you to continue. “Shit baby, tryna kill me?” barely audible, his rasp had you bracing yourself with your hands planted firmly on his chest. You dragged your hips again, leaning down and tugging the fabric of his shirt. He reached for the joint he’d abandoned on the side table, bringing it to your lips. 

He observed you greedily. “That's it, good girl.” His voice had never sounded more strained than it did in that moment, watching you take a drag, eyes glossing over. The praise had your heart fluttering, you’d do just about anything to hear it again. Smoking wasn’t helping either of your causes, because it only made you press your pussy harder against his clothed crotch. This time his hips rose slightly to meet you, and he cursed lowly under his breath. Already unable to maintain control. 

Taking another drag he leaned back, letting you rub yourself against him, eyes screwing shut every once in a while, just like your own. He’d bring the joint to your waiting mouth every now and then, revelling in the sight of you getting more and more desperate with each puff. 

“dirty little girl..” you whimpered at his words. “rubbin’ that drippy lil pussy all over my lap.” You looked down, only to find a dark spot on his grey jeans, for where you pressed yourself against him. Incapable of stopping your movements you continued, relishing how the friction eased the throbbing between your legs. “Yeah? few drags got you all achy cariño, got you squirmin’?” 

He was watching you, and you could make out his intense gaze through your fluttering lashes, his eyes scanning you up and down, then fixing on your face of strained pleasure. “Tell me how good it feels, Cariño” His palms smoothed up and down your thighs, harsh and slow, and exercising all the self control he could muster. It was difficult to answer, a response bubbling in your throat before you were incoherently blurting it out. 

"Feels so good..” whining, you grabbed the fabric of his shirt in your fists, bouncing on his lap lightly to feel just anything against you, you wanted more, lust and intoxication clouding your judgement. “Please, need it, need it so bad” Losing all sense of restraint one of his hands reached for your hips, squeezing and gripping firmly. 

He dragged your already rolling hips against him, sliding you against his clothed crotch to the point you couldn’t help but let your legs fall limp, your forehead press against his shoulder. “Need what?” You could feel the tick in his jaw where it was pressed up against your cheek. 

His hand slipped between your bodies, moving your soaked panties aside to feel your wetness. You shuddered when you felt him against you, grinding down on his hand. “Fuck, look at that. So fuckin’ wet for me babygirl.” 

“Need you inside me, please.” Nosing his neck you pressed a kiss there, mouth falling agape as he rubbed your clit, fingers teasing your entrance, just barely pushing into you.  “Like this?” If your laboured breaths were any indication you couldn’t take it much longer. 

You wiggled your hips, trying to bear down on his digits, but he pulled away only to squeeze the inside of your thigh. ““Gettin’ to you already? use your words baby” he was taunting you, your little ‘no’s making him smirk against your shoulder as he went back to sliding his fingers along the cut of your pussy. “What do ya’ want me to do to you? Tell me babygirl.” You knew the sweet talk was only meant to encourage you, and while it worked you couldn’t help the way your cheeks burned when you replied. 

“Want your cock inside me. Want you to fuck me.. please … need it” 

Now that he listened to, fingers pulling away and tapping at your lips. When you gazed down at them you could see how wet you really were– having drenched them in the little while he’d had his hand in your panties. Obeying you parted them, letting him slide them into your waiting mouth, sucking gently, the taste of yourself heady on your tongue. “Good girl.” Even though he looked quite composed on the outside you still noticed the way he swallowed thickly when your tongue ran along his digits. 

“Want me to fuck the cute lil pussy?” you shook your head vehemently, and he chuckled at your enthusiasm. “That's my pretty baby.” he kissed you like he wanted to devour you, frantic, and urged, voice so rough it came out almost like a growl. His hands roughly grabbed your hips, flipping you to lay back against his couch. In a moment your sleep top and bralette had been discarded, in a pile on the floor alongside your shorts and his own clothes. 

Slotting himself between your legs you looked down to where his fingers were tracing the inside of your thigh. You gazed up at him, upper body lit by the dim orange light of the side table, broad shoulders slumped as he admired the sight of you– on your back, in nothing but your panties, all for him. As he slowly pulled them down your legs, he sure seemed to relish the way the fabric of your cotton panties clung messily to your wet pussy.  

“Poor thing, just need someone to take care of you don’t you?” It was less of a question and more of a declaration, and undoubtedly it made you feel open and weak. How could you not feel that way? There you were laid out in front of him, every part of you exposed, his toned torso being the only part of him you could really see thanks to the half lit room. It felt like if he looked just a little closer he’d be able to see right through your naked body– and into your scrambled thoughts. 

His index teased your dripping hole, briefly dipping into you and coming back to rub soft circles on your clit. Gasping, your fingers flew to grip his wrist when you felt him slide his cock against your cunt, tip teasing your sensitive nub ever so slightly. “Relax babygirl, be good for me.” Bringing your hand to his lips he peppered your knuckles with kisses, willing you to ease into the cushions as he draped himself over your body. He grasped your face in his palm, kissing his reassurance against your forehead as you felt him line himself up with your leaking entrance. 

You mewled at the stretch of him, at how hot you felt against him as he eased himself into your soft pussy. “Shit- so fucking tight-” his stopped for a second, like he was willing himself not to split you open with one quick snap of his hips. “can barely fit my cock in this lil pussy.” Leaning in your lips searched for his. He let you melt into him, fingers brushing against your side as if to calm you down. 

It was so much– his weight on top of you, his hips slotted between your thighs, forehead pressed against yours. You could feel every pulse, every throb, every ridge of him inside you, nudging those spots you could never reach yourself– and he wasn’t even moving yet. 

When he did start moving you couldn’t help the whimper that slipped past your lips. Your fingers digging into the flesh of his biceps, pulling him closer. You needed him, pressed up against your rising chest, holding you. “I know cariño, I know.” His right hand squeezed your waist, “Feels so good doesn’t it? Yeah feelin’ all full?” 

His voice was so sweet, like honey, warm and sultry in your ear. You nodded a quiet ‘yes’. He cradled your face in his palm, nose nudging yours gently. Mumbling his own rhetorical “yeah?” he kissed the underside of your jaw. For the first time he felt as close as he physically was, big and thick inside you. 

You were drowning in his arms, enveloped by them, cocooned in a bubble of heat, and low breathy sighs, and his lips ghosting over yours as he thrust into you– hard, but slow, and deep.  “That’s it, just like that–” he picked up his pace ever so slightly. “Such a good girl.” His words were gruff, and stuttery and his breath tickled your ear whenever he spoke. 

Feeling the drag of his thick cock against your pulsing walls your eyes struggled to focus on him above you. He on the other hand seemed to have no trouble fixing his gaze on your trembling form. “Makin’ me feel so–” he brought his thumb to brush the swell of your cheek, “fucking good, baby”. Your head buzzed at his praise, burning face turning to rest in his palm. 

With your back lifting off the soft cushion you reached to pull him impossibly closer, wiggling your hips to meet his thrusts. “More, please, please.. Want it” you couldn’t recognise your voice, not when you were begging him, watching his eyes twinkle. “Yeah? Need me to fuck this pretty pussy harder?” you nodded– feeling embarrassed enough at his smirk of surprise to hide your face in his neck, but not enough to stop begging. Another soft “please” barely falling from your mouth.  

Rising slightly he grabbed your hips, holding your thigh against his side. Your tilted hips granted him a whole new angle, and before you knew it you were throwing your head back, letting it fall against the upholstery. “You want that, don't you baby? Need me to stuff you full of my cum?” You could only respond with your sounds of pleasure. 

He pushed you against the cushions, hovering above you to drive himself deeper, watching you turn into a moaning incoherent mess– your whimpers and whines bouncing off the walls and only exhilarating his pleasure. “That's right cariño, I gotcha’” one hand squeezed the flesh of your hip, then travelled up to brush against the exposed column of your throat– fingers tracing your skin before he was leaning down and placing sloppy kisses against you. 

“gonna fuck this pretty pussy till she’s dripping with my cum.”

He must have noticed that dumb, hazy look in your eyes when propped himself back up, still fucking you till your hips pressed into the sofa’s cushions. “Fuck, nothin in that head of yours huh?” You made out his smirk of pride as you jostled around, trying your best to keep your eyes on him as he moved above you. 

It was far easier said than done. Not when you could feel his cock against your throbbing walls, could hear his scruff groans whenever he felt you clench around him, not when he was looking down at you with his furrowed brows, and sweat gemming his hair– which’s curls had been ruffled out of place from when you’d ran your fingers through them. 

Especially not when he shifted ever so slightly, and you felt his tip brush that sensitive spot inside you you didn't even know you had. Javier cursed above you, feeling you squeeze his cock. “that the spot huh babygirl?” he watched the way your eyes fluttered shut, face scrunching in pleasure as he hit it over and over and over again. 

Your head lulled from side to side, your body in overdrive and completely overwhelmed at the sensations. That was until he was cupping your cheek in his palm, tilting your face in his direction. “Use your words for me.”. But you couldn’t, parted lips struggling to form anything coherent besides soft, little whines. 

His hips snapped in a deep, slow thrust. “Say it..” Your eyes were barely open, and you reached and tried to grab him closer, but he stayed above you, unwilling to budge as he slowed to a complete stop– waiting for you to voice your needs. “Yes-”

He mumbled against your lips, nipping, and kissing. “Good girl, my good girl.” To that you nodded, back arching as he drove you closer and closer to the edge.  Every part of you singing at his touch– how he kneaded and squeezed your hot flesh. 

The coil in your belly only tightened and tightened, and you suddenly felt too vulnerable, too exposed to meet his hooded eyes. Turning your face to the side you let the plush throw blanket hide your hot cheeks, burying your face in it. “Look at me, wanna see your pretty face.” It was an instruction. One he expected you to follow like all the others. 

You didn’t think he’d notice that hitch in your breath, the way you did the opposite and smashed your face against the soft fabric. It was all too much, and he was fucking into your soaking pussy, and his hands were roaming your body, and you could feel his skin brush yours, and you were dizzy, and overwhelmed and you could scream and–

And he was slowing down again, just enough to where he kept you on that edge, to where you could savour every bit of him inside you. – “Cariño, look at me..” God he sounded so tender, coaxing you out of your daze just enough to the point you shook your head ‘no’, whimpering and turning only further away from him. 

He kissed your cheek, cooing at your overwhelm. Not to mock you, rather he sounded quite endeared, prideful even. “Baby” Nudging his nose with yours you felt his thumb rub soothing circles against the apex of your cheekbone, urging you in his direction ever so slightly. Your eyes fluttered open, just barely, only to find him smiling down at you. 

“There’s my girl.” 

“Need you to look at me when ‘m fuckin’ you.” He held your face in place as his hips met yours, slow and languid. No part of you was left untouched, his kisses adorning every inch of your exposed skin, lips coming to press against yours every now and then. It was like he could see through your nakedness, and the thought terrified you to no end, made you feel small and defenceless, and had your sensitive cunt squeezing his cock.  

“You close honey?” When you nodded your nose bumped his, and he laughed before he was kissing you gently. He brushed the sweat from your brow, voice so mellow yet in control. “Cum for me baby-” You felt him deep inside you. So so so close. ”Wanna feel you cum all over my cock” 

It rolled over you, slow and intense and deep, in waves. He held you close, cooing at your trembling frame, holding you against him. “'M here cariño, I gotcha, just like that.” Groaning, he watched your eyes struggle to remain open, rolling back into your head as he fucked your throbbing cunt. “That's my pretty girl.” 

His own hips stuttered, thrusts becoming sloppy as he neared his release. Still experiencing the aftershocks of your orgasm you felt him fucking into your warm, pulsing pussy. You felt his cock twitch inside you before he was filling you up with his cum, a strained curse slipping past his lips. 

Ears ringing you registered him catching his breath above you, but it was all too hazy for you to make out. All you really knew is that he hadn’t let go of you, hadn’t abandoned you on the couch to smoke a cigarette or pour himself a drink, instead he was peppering your face with little kisses. “ ‘m so proud’a you cariño– did so well for me.” 

Pulling out he slid his hand under your back, flipping you over so you were snuggled into his chest. The cold air from the open window could barely touch your skin before Javier was throwing the blanket over you– keeping you warm, close. 

You were still in your daze, but even as you lay on top of him, drifting in and out of a deep slumber you couldn’t shake the worry that when you opened your eyes he would be gone. 

That he would have traded you in for the comfort of his bed, or worse would have disappeared into obscurity once again. The thought only stung more as you felt his cum leak out of you, mixing with your own to drip down your thighs obscenely. 

You never really knew if he regretted it, if he wanted you for sure, if he liked having the weight of your body against him. Flinging your arms around his neck you tugged him impossibly closer, burying your face in his neck. A silent plea to stay where he was. You didn’t care if you seemed needy, or clingy or pathetic. 

It was like he knew somehow, like your thoughts floated to him after you’d thought them. And as always there was no explaining to do, no questions to answer, nothing to say. His embrace was safe, and secure, and unwavering. “close those eyes for me cariño mìo” He planted a soft kiss to your nose, his arms tightening around you, palms rubbing soothing circles on your back. “‘m right here babygirl, not goin’ anywhere….”

You did. And he didn’t. 

It's better than I ever even knew

They say that the world was built for two

Only worth living if somebody is loving you

And, baby, now you do

Now you do

Now you do

Now you do

Now, now you do

Now you do

Now you do

I would also like to add that we are engaging with this concept solely in the realm and interest of fiction. This type of situation is a huge red flag. While the reader is seemingly consenting and enthusiastic there is a huge power imbalance between her and Javier. He has also known her her whole life and has been a significant part of her childhood. Engaging sexually or romantically in a relationship like that is creepy gr*omer behaviour. I used their past as a narrative device because this isn’t real, but please be aware of your media consumption, and that dynamics between characters in fic are vastly different from what is healthy, and ethical in real life. 🫶🐝💗

I really hoped you lovelies enjoyed it!! Please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear it! Thank you to everyone who reblogs my work, you keep me writing. Dividers and banners by @ saradika 💗🐝✨

[hashtagonlyingotham]

Why do people sound surprised that Wayne knows how to fight? Have y'all forgot what city we live in! I'm surprised he doesn't even carry a knife for protection, but I guess stabbings are the 3rd common way to die (Can't believe that damn clown gases so many people). But yeah, if you're reading this Bruce, I support your anti-gun laws. #onlyingotham EDIT: I saw that tweet of that butler blasting some robbers. And Wayne is facing palming in the background. Nerves of Steel, man! Oops, not you Supes

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[storm-angel989]

Hi! Are you taking requests? If so, may I have a part 3 of Reader disobeying pls? I just finished part 2 and honestly, if I was her I’d still flinch when Valentino was around, and maybe find a way to sneak in some extra food or cash to any of his “workers”, maybe even working a little too hard as a way to distract herself from potential flashbacks. (I just want the Vees to feel regret over how they handled her behavior…😅😏)I’d really appreciate if you’d put those points in it too! God this is getting long I’m sorry! Either way, hope you’re doing well and I can’t get enough of your work!!!

I am always taking requests! And working on them. I actually had a plan to edit like six other requests I've written and instead I read your request this morning and well....the muses visit when then visit. So as with every single time I make a plan, I tossed everything I had wanted to write and edit today aside to write fourteen google doc pages to complete your request.

Oops! Hope you like it! =)

<3 Mandy

They say silence speaks volumes. 

As the third week of volleyball practice passed, I wondered if anyone in my family had gotten the message. 

Four weeks ago, desperate to try to independently earn my own money, I was inadvertently hired at one of my Uncle Valentino’s clubs. He found out, pulled me out, and I was grounded until further notice. As punishment for pretending to be at volleyball tryouts, they signed me up for eight weeks of the sport. Frustrated after the first practice, I spat out words I didn’t mean, and my family decided that it was time I learned exactly what a privileged life I led. 

It was eye opening and terrifying to see exactly what it was that my Uncle Valentino did. Although it was never outright discussed, from the morning I spent with him in his dingy hotel office, watching him process and contract souls both male and female, and the lineup I saw them go through afterwards, I came to the conclusion that sex work, drugs and Uncle Valentino went hand in hand. 

For the first time in my life, I saw the darker side of my family. The control my father, Vox had over the city in terms of technology and electricity. The hold my Aunt Velvette held over not only the fashion industry and social media- but on all goods imported and exported throughout the pride ring. And Uncle Valentino- every soul that passed through hell went through him first. In exchange for basic survival, he thrust souls into either his clubs, Velvette’s stage, or Vox’s office. He kept them hooked on the drugs he sold in exchange for their labor, for their bodies. 

After all, it took a thousand unpaid hands to run hell. 

The deeper I dug, the more afraid I became of the only people I knew as my family. I spent my study halls researching, reading blogs and articles about them. Known as the Vee’s, the three of them truly were the most powerful overlords in hell. They had their hands in and controlled everything that went on in the pride ring. Gone from my mind was the softness that I knew them for. In its place was this image of their true selves. 

Photos of Valentino with razor sharp teeth, a single one glinting gold, my father as electricity surrounded him and Velvette, surrounded by swirls of purple took the place of those memories. 

I began to dread going home, dread getting into the limo with Uncle Valentino after each practice. But there was no way out. No sneaking past him, or any of them. I was suddenly aware of just how many eyes I truly had on me every single moment of the day. It didn’t matter if my father did someday decide to inject a tracker into my skin. Not when he controlled every camera on every corner of the pride ring. 

I took to hustling from my last class of the day to the girls locker room to get ready. On the days I didn’t have practice, I found myself inadvertently taking his advice to get stronger by either working out in the school gym or swimming laps in the pool. My body was tired, but at least it gave me an excuse to be away from them. 

I took my sweet time getting dressed  and by the time the rest of the girls joined, we needed to be out on the gym floor. As always Valentino was perched up atop the bleachers, either talking on the phone or typing on his laptop. As soon as practice was done with, he met me at the locker room door to escort me out to the limo. 

“How was your day, bebita?” He would ask.

As if he actually cared. Besides, what did my day matter when he had thousands of other women's lives he was destroying? 

“Fine,” I would reply. 

Short one word responses. Answering questions as he asked, but giving no more than he demanded. I tried not to look at him, and instead kept my nose buried in whatever textbook I happened to have in my backpack that day. Three weeks. Three weeks of going through the same routine. 

Now, as I stood just around the corner from the dining room, I could hear them talking over breakfast.

“Vox, I’m worried about her,” Valentino said as he sipped his coffee. “She doesn’t speak. She goes to school, to practice or to the gym, comes home, eats dinner and goes to bed.”

“I mean, isn’t that sort of what we asked of her?” Velvette asked. “The whole point of this was to show her just how fortunate she is.”

“I’ve seen enough broken people in my life to know when something isn’t right,” Valentino retorted. “She’s quiet. She’s definitely losing weight. And she looks like she hasn’t had a good night's sleep since this whole thing began.” 

My father seemed unconcerned. “I’m sorry she had to learn the dark side of hell. I guess it’s a punch to the gut when you realize life isn’t all sunshine and butterflies. She had the privilege of living the first sixteen years of her life in blissful ignorance. Let her stew. Let her be mad. As for her body changes…” he shrugged. “She’s more active now. Hitting the gym. Playing volleyball. Losing weight is expected. She’s eating dinner with us, so I’m not worried. She’s just mad.”  

“I don’t think she’s mad, Vox,”  Valentino replied slowly. “I think she’s afraid. Of us.”

Velvette rolled her eyes. “Valentino, do you hear yourself? That’s ridiculous. She has no reason to fear us- we’re her family for christ sake we would never hurt her. She knows that.” 

“I’m just saying,” Valentino shrugged. “Maybe Vox should have a talk with her.” 

Vox sighed. “If it would make you feel better, send her up to my office when you two get home tonight, alright? We’ll have a little father daughter heart to heart.” 

Quietly, retreated to my bedroom. Discussion? No. I had read enough at this point to know that my father specialized in mind control. I didn’t want to be any part of any conversation that involved my father, or any of them for that matter. 

And worse? There was no way out of this cage they built. 

“Babydoll! Breakfast!” I heard my fathers voice call from down the hall. 

I could feel the bile rise up in the back of my throat. I swallowed it back and picked up my backpack. I had no desire to sit down and have breakfast with these…monsters. But he couldn’t know that I knew. 

“I’m not hungry,” I called back. “I’ll eat at school!” 

I heard his heavy footsteps fall as they made their way down my hallway. I shrugged my backpack over my shoulders and pushed my bedroom door open to where my father stood on the other side, arms crossed. 

Fear wrapped around my heart as my mind flashed back to the images of him I had seen. My father. A murderer. A control freak. 

“Hey, honey? Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale.” He said as he reached his hand out as if to touch my forehead. 

I jumped back and looked away. The article said to avoid his eyes, if at all possible. 

“Yeah, I- I’m fine. I’m just running late, I’ll see you later. Bye.”

I pushed past him and hurried out towards the elevator door. 

“Practice, after school!” He yelled behind me. “Uncle Val will pick you up.”

“Got it,” I said as I stepped into the elevator. 

The school day passed too quickly. Anxiety clenched my stomach with each passing hour, making concentrating or eating next to impossible. By the time I trudged my way to practice, my head ached and my ears were ringing. I tried to ignore it and sipped on my water as I jumped into the routine. Ten laps. Stretching. Mini games. 

Maybe it was from not eating. 

Maybe it was from dehydration or lack of sleep. 

Maybe it was the anxiety from the realization that the people I loved the most in this world were not good people. 

Whatever reason it may be, I jumped to spike a ball and when I landed, a loud snap echoed through the gym. Instantly, I was on my side as pain shot through my body. 

The game came to an immediate halt. Two of my teammates helped me over to the bleachers as the coach talked to me quietly and gingerly pulled off my sock and sneaker. Dark bruises wrapped like a handprint around my ankle. I could feel Valentino’s eyes on me. When I looked up, he stood behind the crowd, concern scrawled over his features. 

Or at least, what looked like concern. He was pretty good at faking it, after all. Just like he did in his office that day. With those girls. Around me, my teammates fawned. 

“I’m fine,” I said through gritted teeth.

“You’re not. Rosa, go grab her backpack,” the coach replied and waved towards one of my teammates. “You’re going to have to get this looked at,”  She turned to look at Valentino. “Do you want me to call an ambulance or…”

“We can take care of it privately,” he replied calmly as he slid his arm under mine. “Lean on me, Bebita…”

“No,” I said sharply.

He gave me a quizzical expression. 

“No..I, I just need my backpack. And maybe my teammates can help me. Uncle Val, can you just have the limo pull around the front?” I said quickly.

He eyed me but took the backpack from my teammates hands and walked ahead of us as two of the other girls slipped their arms under me. Together, we hobbled our way out the front door and Valentino waited as I carefully got into the limo.

“I’ll be okay, I promise,” I told them before Valentino got in. “I’ll text you tonight.”

The second the door closed, I scooted as far away from Valentino as I could. Now that I was out of everyone's sight, the pain radiated through my ankle at full force. 

“Put your leg up on the seat, let me take a look,” Valentino said gently. 

“No, keep your hands off me,” I snarled as I pressed further away from him. “I’m fine. Just give me an ice pack. I have the gym tomorrow and practice on Wednesday. I’m fine.” 

“Honey, that ankle looks broken,” he said softly. “This punishment isn’t…”

“You’ve made it very clear what you’re capable of, don’t fucking touch me,” I snapped. 

To my suprise, he pulled away. 

“At least put it up on the seat. Elevation, until we see the doctor,” he replied. “I’m calling your dad now.”

“Don’t bother, I’m fine.”

He didn’t answer. As soon as the limo stopped, he lifted up my backpack and offered his arm. 

“You can’t walk on that,” he said quietly. “Please let me help you.” 

“I’m fine,” I replied as I stepped out good foot first. 

Pain shot through me the second I tried to put weight on it and to my dismay, I felt Valentino’s arm under me. Without a choice, I leaned on him as we walked into the V tower. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said with a little more firmness. “We’re going upstairs to the nurses office and…”

“I’ll pass on going into your studio,” I snapped as the elevator door opened. “Just leave me alone.”

“Hey, what’s going on here?” My father asked as he stepped out of the elevator. “Val, why aren't you carrying her? If it's broken, she shouldn’t be walking on it.”

“She wouldn’t let me,” Valentino replied sharply. 

“Enough of this crap,” Vox hissed with a roll of his eyes. “Since when do you let your teenaged niece boss you around?” 

He walked to the other side of me and slid his arm under mine. 

“No, Dad. Don’t! Let me be, please!” I begged. 

“You’re hurt. Why are you acting like this? Why won’t you let us help you?” He demanded as he lifted me up into his arms. 

I closed my eyes tightly. I felt him move and heard the elevator door close. 

“Reader? What are you doing?” He asked. For the first time, I heard concern in his tone. “Why are your eyes shut like that?”

I didn’t answer. 

“I told you..” Valentino said softly with a sign. 

“I asked you a question,” Vox said as the elevator door pinged again. “Reader. Answer me. Your Uncle Val seems to think you’re afraid of him. Afraid of me. Is that true?”

I didn’t answer and instead kept my eyes tightly closed. The familiar scent of strawberries filled my nose, but instead of the usual comfort, all I could feel was fear. Each step he took brought me closer to where I was sure I would be drugged, sure I would be hypnotized, sure I would be forced into…

My thoughts were interrupted as I felt my father lay me down on one of the beds. I heard the curtain pull shut and footsteps walk away.  I opened my eyes ever so slightly. Sure enough, the familiar bright lights shone back at me. I was in the nurse's office in Valentino’s studio. 

And I was alone. 

I pushed myself upright and assessed myself. Every part of me ached and my ankle throbbed painfully. Tears welled up in my eyes, tears and I tried to bite them back. The sound of the curtain being pulled back and I shut my eyes tightly. 

“Would it make you feel better if you got a little honesty?” My Aunt Velvette’s voice floated across the room. “Don’t worry. Both your Dad and Uncle Valentino are talking to the doctor. It’s just us.”

“You guys are monsters, why should I trust any of you?” The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. “You lied to me my entire life, you…”

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” Velvette perched herself on the edge of the bed. “Sweetheart, we live in hell. The people who come through…”

“Don’t deserve to be sold as sex slaves,” I said angrily. “Or forced to work as models, or stuck under hypnosis by my Dad or…”

“Is that what you think we do? Where do you get your information from?” She asked with amusement. “Not for nothing, but there are a few things wrong with your theory.”

“Oh, so Uncle Valentino isn’t in the sex business? He doesn’t sell drugs? You don’t control the product distribution and my father doesn’t control every single bit of technology and electricity that exists in the pride ring?” I said as I pushed myself more upright. 

“No, those things are true. And what we do at its core is probably more wrong than right. But we’re not monsters. Valentino isn’t selling these women- his contract provides an out. A consent clause. I could choose to cut off production and supplies at any given point. But I don’t. And your father…well, your father wouldn’t use his powers on you unless the circumstances were extreme. And I do mean extreme,” Velvette said softly. “And none of us would intentionally hurt you.”

I felt my anger grow. “You decided that because I wanted to make my own money…”

“No,” she cut me off. “That wasn’t why you got in trouble to begin with. You got in trouble because you lied to us, took your tracker off and decided to go work in a sex club. And yes, we enrolled you in volleyball and yes, you made a snarky comment that scared the shit out of Valentino. I’m not saying how he and your father reacted was right, but I am telling you they love you dearly.” She leaned forward, “someday you too will be an overlord in hell. Someday you too will have the responsibility to these souls that we have. It’s not going to be perfect. And it’s not always going to be right- we live in hell, sweetheart. Handling the darkness is part of what we do.”

I was quiet as I considered her words. A few moments later, the doctor walked in, followed by Vox and Valentino. Velvette stood up and the doctor looked over my ankle. 

One x-ray later, a broken ankle was the diagnosis and an orthopedic specialist was on his way.

“Sweetheart, when was the last time you drank anything?” Vox asked as the nurse looked over my veins.

I stayed quiet as the nurse wiped the crook of my arm. Normally, Uncle Valentino would be the one to put an IV in. But now that I knew why he was so damn good at it, I didn’t want his hands anywhere near me. 

“I’m going to try to do this in one shot, but your veins are pretty small,” she told me. 

I winced as she stuck and restuck me. The third time she pulled the needle out, I burst into tears. 

“No more, I can do it without pain meds, I swear!” I sobbed. “Please, just stop.” 

Valentino handed me a tissue and gave the nurse a writhing look. 

“Leave it,” he growled. “You’re done. Either get someone competent or…”

“Uncle Val, stop. It isn’t her fault! I’m the idiot who didn’t drink all day!” I sobbed. “Just stop!” 

He reached forward as if to take my hand but seemed to think better of it. 

“Show me your arms, bebita. Please?” He asked quietly. 

Hesitantly, I showed him both my arms and he carefully studied the veins. 

“I can probably stick you, if will you let me?” He asked softly. “Please, conejito. You don’t want him to set it without some sort of relief. It isn’t good for your body to be under that much strain.” 

I closed my eyes. The pain was increasing with each passing moment. He was right- I couldn’t take much more of this. Ever so slightly, I nodded my consent. 

True to his word, a single pinch later and I could feel the cold saline seeping into my veins and the pain slowly eased up. Nausea washed over me and the bile from earlier crept back up my throat. I felt my father’s hands pull my hair back and Valentino shoved a bin onto my lap. I coughed as I emptied what little was in my stomach into the basin. 

“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” Vox said as he braided my hair back. “I knew you didn’t look good this morning.” 

“I just didn’t have time to eat today,” I whispered. “It’s fine, I’m fine.” 

Valentino visibly bristled. “You are very much not fine. You…” He let his voice trail off and instead brushed the hair out of my face. “I’ll get the nurse to give you something for the nausea. After that, if I get you saltines, will you eat them? Maybe drink some apple juice or ginger ale?”

I shook my head no. “I’d rather have an apple or fruit or something. And water.”

“Not on a sick tummy, crackers or dry cheerios,” Velvette interjected with a shake of her head. “You don’t do well with anything else.” 

Defeated, I closed my eyes as I listened to both their footsteps walk away. How was it that these three, that all I read about them, all that I knew…were tending to me so carefully? That the same man who sized demons up and down, sold drugs and made a deal for their soul would ever so carefully slip a needle into my arm? That my father, the overlord of technology, would hold my hair back as I got sick? I couldn’t wrap my head around it, around the stark difference between the demons I grew up with and what I saw in Valentino’s office. The demons who were in the hospital room with me now, and the ones I read about on the internet. 

“The nurse is coming by with zofran,” Valentino said as he pushed the curtain back. “It will help settle your tummy. Velvette went upstairs to grab you something to nibble on.” 

“I don’t get it,” I said softly. 

“What don’t you get?” Vox asked. 

I hesitated. At that moment, the nurse came in and Valentino plucked the vial from her hands. She set a cup of apple juice on the table and he shooed her away. 

“Just for the nausea,” he explained as he injected the line. As soon as it was in, he picked up the cup of juice and lifted the straw to my lips. “Sip, then talk to us. “We’ve always had an open discussion in this family. What’s bothering you so much?”

I took a sip of juice and swallowed. “You, and Dad and Auntie Velvette, what you do is just wrong,” I said finally. “You hurt people, you punish people, you…Dad, you use mind control to literally take over companies, Uncle Valentino you sell drugs and Auntie Velvette she…she literally ruins people’s lives on social media and decides when and where there will be supply shortages and it isn’t okay! And then you turn around and treat each other and me like…like this!” 

“Woah, woah woah,” Vox said softly. “Where did you learn all that?”

Valentino crossed his arms and gave Vox a ticked off look. “What did I tell you? She should have never gone with me. I told you, I fucking told you!”

“Damn it Valentino, calm down. She was bound to find out the truth sooner or later. Now it’s up to us to sort fact from fiction,” Velvette said as she pushed the curtain back. She pressed a bag of cheerios into my hand, “here. Nibble on these.” 

“I don’t want to,” I said as I rubbed my eyes. “I…”

“You need to get something in your tummy, otherwise you won’t feel better,” Vox said, “Just a little. And listen to what we have to say, okay? Can you agree to that?”

Without seeing any other option, I nodded and put a cheerio in my mouth. My father looked to Valentino and Velvette.

“We..shouldn’t have introduced you to our work lives that way. I shouldn’t have made you…I should have done things differently, I’m sorry.” Vox said quietly. “You didn’t need to see your Uncle Valentino in that role. I wish I could take it back.”

“You’re not going to hypnotize me, are you? Make me forget?” I asked fearfully. “Daddy, I…”

“No, no no…no. Absolutely not,” he replied quickly. “No. You're my daughter and I wouldn’t do that to you. Not now, not ever.”

“So it is true. You can do that. I mean, I always sort of knew what you three were. Sort of knew you were hot shot overlords, but I didn’t realize that…how bad you…” 

Vox held up his hand. “The things we do, we do them because that is our job. We do our best to balance the good and bad in hell. We’re not without compassion, but we have a job to do. A job that provides housing, food, clothing, basic necessities to both hellborn and fallen. There are downsides to things and maybe, maybe when you’re a little older you’ll have different ideas, ways to do things better. But for now, this is our job.” He swallowed. “My mistake was trying to teach you a lesson, and mixing the life we’ve built at home with the businesses we run each day. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I hate that I made you so afraid,” Valentino added quietly as he sat down on the bed next to me. “Princessa, you are my little girl. You always have been. I don’t want you to flinch away in fear. I’m sorry for what you saw. And I’m sorry I frightened you so, so badly. How can I show you I’m not…how can I show you you don’t need to fear me?” 

I swallowed. “Uncle Valentino, let me…I want to be more involved in this business. I want to learn the process myself, understand it for myself.” 

The three of them exchanged glances. Hesitantly, I saw my father nod. 

“Alright, fine. We…we can do that. But not just Uncle Valentino’s responsibilities. All of ours. And…” he sighed. “And I’m going to put you on the payroll. Checks deposited into a private account with just your name on it. That’s what started this entire thing anyway, isn’t it?” 

“Dad, why do you look so upset? Shouldn’t you be thrilled that…”

“Thrilled?” Emotions rushed across Vox’s face, a mix of pain and sadness.  “You think I’m happy knowing we made you so afraid, so terrified of us? I worked so hard- we worked so hard so that you could have a normal childhood- a life without care, without worry. I wanted you to not have to go through the struggles we went through when we were sixteen, I wanted you to enjoy…I wanted you to enjoy being sixteen.” 

For the first time in my life, I saw my father looked defeated. 

“You know, she doesn’t have to give up being sixteen,” Velvette said as she put her hand on Vox’s shoulder. “We can start to introduce her to the family business and let her enjoy school and let her do all the stuff we didn’t get the chance to do.”

“She’s still your ninita, and you’re still her Papito,” Valentino added. “Besides, we’ve always had an open door policy.” 

“Daddy, what was your childhood like? Auntie Vel, Uncle Val I…”

At that moment the next doctor walked into the room. I groaned inwardly as he introduced himself to the adults in the room. 

“You’re a lucky girl,” he told me as he hung my x-rays. “You missed requiring surgery, but setting it will be painful. I’m going to have the nurse give you a dose of something extra strong so you don’t feel anything.” 

“Just, just give the vials to my Uncle Valentino, he can do it,” I said hesitantly. 

“You sure, bebita?” Valentino asked as the nurse brought over the supplies. 

I nodded and watched him wash his hands and pull on gloves for the second time that day. “What..will you tell me what you’re giving me?”

I saw his expression soften. 

“Of course, bebita,this first one is for pain,” he said soothingly as he uncapped the vial and slowly pushed down on the plunger. “Now before I give you the next, tell your Dad what color you want your cast. You can have any two colors you choose.”

“Purple and red?” I asked hopefully as I looked at him.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” Vox assured me. He sat down on the bed next to me, took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I love you.”

“I love you too Daddy.”

“This next one is going to make you not care about what the doctor is doing or anything else that happens for the next few hours,” Valentino continued. “Once this is in your bloodstream, you’re going to feel a little sleepy. Just relax, when the doctor is done we’ll bring you upstairs to your own bed, okay?” 

Velvette perched herself on the bed next to my father and patted my uninjured leg. “Don’t worry sweetheart, once we get you all patched up we’ll make a plan. No more secrets, okay?”

I nodded and let the drug Valentino pushed into my body start to work. True to his word, I wasn’t exactly sleeping, but I certainly didn’t care too much about what the doctor was doing. The next thing I knew, I was snuggled into my own bed with my father sitting next to me. 

“Sleep, babygirl,” he said softly. “We’ll talk more in the morning. I promise.”

I felt my eyelids grow heavy. Maybe I could trust them after all. 

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Theda Bara (Cleopatra)—One of cinema's first female sex symbols. Nicknamed "The Vamp" due to her looks. The OG Goth Girl. She would be HUGE on Tumblr if she were around today!

Helen Gibson (The Hazards of Helen series)— If you voted for Buster Keaton, VOTE FOR HELEN GIBSON! This woman threw herself onto things, off of things, under things, and over things (mainly trains and horses). She started in Hollywood as a trick rider and stunt double, eventually headlining a series of action films called “The Hazards of Helen.”

This is round 2 of the tournament [EDIT: YES IT SAYS ROUND 1 IN THE POLL. OOPS. IT IS ROUND 2.]. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman. (remember that our poll era starts in 1910, so please don't use propaganda from before that date.)

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Theda Bara:

She was simply nicknamed "The Vamp". Her sex appeal and typecasting was so intense that people actually thought that she lounged around half-naked and seduced men left and right in her free time.

She is one of the most famous and enduring faces in silent film and yet only 6 of her 43 films survived the 1937 Fox Vault Fire! 6! Think about what we could have had!

*Theeee* celluloid blueprint for both goth chicks and sexually-manipulative women--her persona was that of a "vampire", in the sense that would eventually be shortened into "vamp", although in truth she blended both definitions beautifully. Alas, the prints of most of her back-catalogue were lost to a studio fire in 1937, but enough survives to clearly demonstrate the fantasy of enticing danger that she was so kind as to serve us.

my favorite goth icon i want her gender

She's the original Vamp and first film sex symbol! She said: “The vampire that I play is the vengeance of my sex upon its exploiters. You see, I have the face of a vampire, but the heart of a feministe.” Many of her films were banned or severely cut by state and city censorship boards due to her revealing costumes and suggestive acting. She even sued the Chicago Funkhouser censorship board to let her film Cleopatra be shown in theaters. Riots broke out in theaters during showings of her film Kathleen Mavourneen. In contrast to her film persona, her private life was pretty quiet. She grew up in Cincinnati as Theodosia "Theda" Goodman, the Jewish daughter of immigrants, and had one happy marriage that lasted 30+ years until she died at age 69.

Helen Gibson:

[olomaya]

My Sims are getting political! After so many months, I'm going back to finish up my Politics/Community Activist mod. This is actually what my Student Council mod is based on (it's basically a baby version of the Poltiics mod.) My current Sim, Arie Wang (I forgot where I downloaded this sim from but she's lovely and perfect for this storyline I'm playing out!) is in the Community Organizer career which is an Active career (like Firefighter or Stylist) and right now is working hard to push a new law in that will increase University scholarships and grants for all students.

Arie is a member of the New Earth party, one of the 4 political parties I created. New Earthers are all about the environment and focus on pushing forward environmental policies but as a mom, education is something that Arie cares about so she's been out there trying to encourage people to vote and hoping to sway voters before election day.

Different political parties have issues that they are either strong in favor of or against. If a party is against the policy, it's near impossible to sway them to vote for it so it's best to target people who are neutral and could vote either way.

I'm happy with how this customized ITF layout is coming out though I still need to make more tweaks and edits and also figure out why the active Sim's photo isn't showing (as below). Maybe also changing the title (Local Political Scanner??)

After probably doing about 40 fundraising cold calls she finally got someone to donate money. And boy did they! She's at the point in her career though when she doesn't need to be doing calls so I'm going to have her get some volunteers to do the grunt work so she can focus on making friends in City Hall to build further influence.

Once a ballot measure is put up for vote, you have 5 days to campaign before voting day. Arie has been hitting the streets every day to canvas for votes, doing campaign calls and also raising money for the party to pay for advertising (TV, radio, online, print) which is the most effective way to sway voters.

Yesterday, I added in a VFX to show when a Sim has been successfully influenced either for or against the ballot measure in question and in testing it out, I saw that Arie has actually been campaigning AGAINST the measure this whole time! Oops!

I clearly messed up with a bool somewhere but at least the influence system is working as intended.

With 7 hours until the Election period begins, and all the time and money I've spent on campaign ads, it looks like I've just accidentally doomed my town to expensive education until I can repeal the law. The Free Llamas are not going to be happy.

Also, shout out to Stable Diffusion which I used to create the Political Party Icons. I'm obsessed with this tool and loved how they turned out.

[luvistqrzzz]

TRIVIA : LOVE — enhypen hyung line oneshot series

Finding love is not easy they say but what happens when you fall for someone at the most unexpected time in an unexpected way? — whisper a small oops and continue to fall further into the loophole of love.

aka the chronicles of a hopeless romantic soul

PAIRING && GENRE — hyung line x f!reader, can be read as stand alone oneshots, crack, ansgt, fluff, happy ending, more tba in individual fics

TAGLIST — open send an ask or comment to be added (you will be tagged for all the 4 fics) — @flwrshee @aosbie @rsmura @enhastolemyheart @yannew @sophiko22 @www-jungwon @nwjws @in-somnias-world @zzinyl @mrchweeee @ghostiiess @ilovecheese09

PERMANENT TAGLIST — @rikizm @str0l0gy @yenqa @heetoldme @crxzs @s00buwu @nhularin @bunreis @hysgf @mochamvgz @myonos — will be added in all parts

STATUS — to be released !!

AN — TYSM FLO @dollikis FOR THE MAIN BANNER ISTG SHE'S SUCH A GENIUS 🫶🏼🥹 I CANNOT GET ENOUGH OF IT ILYSM FLO my banners for the rest of the fic look like shit 😻🤞🏼 i feel the general summary is so cringe ( if someone comes up w a better one then pls help 😭) ALSO the fics in the series are based on rom com books tbh ive been planning and editing the masterlist for the past two weeks ahaha so idk how to feel about it... technically im still on my writing hiatus but ill try to start working on the fics after exams,,, hope yall look forward to it hehe ^_^ !!

"It was like I was trying to memorize him — in case this was the last time I would ever see him." — (failed) STEPS TO NOT MISS YOUR EX

There were a lot of ways your sister's wedding could have gone wrong but none of them included you crossing paths with your ex who happened to be the assistant wedding planner.  Alternatively, where you were apparently "over" Lee Heeseung but an (almost) disastrous wedding made you think otherwise.

a luvistqrzzz rendition of save the date by morgan matson — [ read here ]

“Here's the thing about writing Happily Ever Afters: it helps if you believe in them.” — LETTERS TO YOU, ME AND THE BEACH

When a crippling writer’s block and an almost broke bank account forces you to move to an old family home, you didn’t expect to cross paths with your arch nemesis from high school, the ever obnoxious, Park Jay. But maybe the series of events that unfold during the summer could help you with a romantic book or two.

a luvistqrzzz rendition of beach read by emily henry — [ read here ]

“Note to self: Do not under any circumstances fall in love again.” — A 1000 WAYS BACK TO YOU

When Jake realizes he doesn't want to be (only) friends with you anymore, you are already moving halfway around the world and he's left alone on the other side of the line. Will it take two oblivious idiots 10 years and more than a hundred missed chances to see the feelings they've been hiding for long?

a luvistqrzzz rendition of where rainbows end by cecelia ahern — [ read here ]

"Well sure, who doesn't need a boyfriend? But realistically, those exotic creatures are hard to come by. At least a quality one.” — A STRANGER'S GUIDE TO LOVE AND CHRISTMAS

For Sunghoon, Christmas is like any other day, only a hundred times more crowded. But then he stumbles across a notebook at the local bookstore. A notebook full of... dares. As he and the anonymous author spend the entire Christmas eve swapping stories and dreams around the city of Seoul, where will it lead Sunghoon to?

a luvistqrzzz rendition of dash and lily's book of dares by rachel cohn and david levithan — [ read here ]

works belongs to @luvistqrzzz do not copy repost or translate my work

reblogs and feedback are heavily appreciated

networks- @hyfenet @enhanet @en-web @k-films

[thecapricunt1616]

Sunflower 🌻

Syd x Carmy one-shot

♡ Summary: A/U where after graduating from the CIA at the top of her class, Syd goes on a food tour in NYC & ends up hooking up with the most talented CDC, at the best restaurant in the world.

♡ W/C: 3,434

♡ Posted Date: 04/12/2024

♡ A/N: This is pure filth I tried adding some plot- I hope it turned out the way I saw it in my head. As always requests are open - for SydCarmy, CarmyxReader as usual! I hope you enjoy :)

♡ Warnings for BTC: Smutsmutsmut nsfw 18+ - Oral (m receiving) , Barely edited bc we die like men.

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡

Sydney Adamu had just graduated top of her class at the Culinary Institute of America. She’d been hunkering down with her dad, for a long four years, she was desperate to get out of there. She already had a plan all set up. 

She’d take the last bit of money her grandfather had given her for college, and make a catering business of her very own. It would be dedicated to her parents, (of course) Syd’s hopeless romanticism was thanks to their perfect, beautiful love story of course. She’d known since sophomore year of culinary school - Sheridan Road would be her baby. 

She’d settled on this idea - with any possible odd’s and ends money she’d made during her CIA training - she’d go out for as long as it would last her. She’d learn, study, and observe, then- create her catering business, with the confidence she’d gotten a taste of the very goal she had, a star. Well - three would be absolutely fucking insanity to her- but one? One she felt like if she had it? Her father would believe she was in a real line of work, instead of just happy she was perusing her own happiness. 

It was the perfect plan in her mind. She’d already set aside the amount of money, with extra safety net, for all of the licensures, and documentation she’d need- as well as her commercial kitchen rental she’d make the food out of. Then - with the extra 5k she had left over, she booked a full food tour of the most prestigious, luxurious restaurants in NYC. 

She’d planned the tour 6 months before she graduated, since the 3 restaurants wouldn’t even accept a reservation if it wasn’t made out any later then that, and when she walked the stage, 3 days later she was on the train into the city. 

She’d be staying at a decent hotel for 12 days. Each day, she’d be having one large meal including an app, two main courses, 2 cocktails, and 1 dessert from a Michelin starred restaurant. She would be staying 4 days for 1 star, 4 for 2 stars, and 4 for 3 stars. 

The schedule was as followed; 

Monday - Hirohisa *

Tuesday - Dirt Candy *

Wednesday - The Musket Room *

Thursday - The Red Paper Clip *

Friday - Atera **

Saturday - Jungsik **

Monday - Saga **

Tuesday - Daniel **

Wednesday - Per Se ***

Thursday - Le Bernadin ***

Friday - Masa ***

Saturday - 11 Madison Park ***

When she’d got off at Penn station- she was nearly vibrating with excitement - she quickly brushed passed people grabbing their obnoxious suitcases in the overhead compartments. 

“Sorry! ‘Scuse me! Fuck- shit sorry- exscuse me!!!- whoops! Sorry- scuse me- aah! Ugh- I Didn’t mean to- oop- oh- Jesus!! Excuse me!!” She rambled, frustration building in her chest. Getting off The L wasn’t this hard- why did Amtrak feel worse?!

She took a deep breath, her nose scrunching. 

Mm. So instead of cow shit - smog, I feel at home already. 

She’d thought to herself as she briskly walks with the crowd towards the exit she meant to take onto fifth. 

She slipped her wired headphones into her ears, texting her father 

‘made it!! Love you daddy!!’

Before opening her Spotify, hitting one of her comfort albums, Broken Clocks, as she walked briskly outside - the crisp city air hitting her like a ton of bricks. 

She leaned against the brick of the McDonald’s next door, avoiding the streams of people going down and up the sidewalk, taking a deep breath. She’d not been to New York before, she’d grown up in Chicago- been to the city more times then she can count, but the suburbs were her home. Being in the city- and let alone- a city like Manhattan versus Chicago- she was looking around, trying to gather her wits - and quickly.  She clicked the maps application on her iPhone 7, tugging her umbrella out of the water bottle pocket of her backpack and tucking it under her arm as she typed the address to her hotel and clicking for the walking directions.

It honestly kind of pissed her off that each day’s food was better than the last. She’d wanted to not give a shit about stars and just focus on giving people an experience to remember - but it was cut & dry that now that she’d tasted this kind of food - she was going to do whatever she could to become as talented as the chefs that made it. 

But - she hadn’t even tried the best yet. 

The best, the best, THE best. 

She honestly couldn’t believe she was going to be trying the food from Eleven Madison Park - but she couldn’t help but be so nervous. Every other Michelin starred restaurant she’d been to - the dress code was Formal attire. But this one? THE best restaurant in the fucking world? Oh- they just say on their website ‘many of our guests dress up for the occasion, but we do not have a dress code’  

Her entire trip, She’d been cycling through 2 very different floor length gowns. One of which she wore to her graduation, and the other she’d found at Windsor on sale but it did the job. She didn’t wear luxury attire often, okay? She was too busy being Culinary school for Christ sakes! And tonight she couldn’t for the life of her choose which one she’d wear. 

This being because she was attending a main dining room tasting, which was ten courses. Easy, luxury dining courses were stupidly small. But- she was also trying their bar tasting menu which was an extra four courses. Sitting at a bar in that stupid fluffy dress for two hours would not be comfortable. But- again- best. restaurant. in. the. WORLD!!! 

She knew for a fact that she would be mad at herself if she got there and everyone around was dressed to the nines, but - for comfortability sake she went with the simple silken red gown. 

The front of house service was literally perfect. She was glad she’d brought a new notebook, because she’d never have had enough space to take all the notes she was taking tonight in the one she’d been using the majority of the trip. Their staff was very casually mannered, and they made it very easy to order. Everything was very calm and comfortable, the furniture felt very luxurious in the sense of comfortability. 

After she just had the best meal of her entire life, she knew she had to speak with the person who made it. Her mind was blown for lack of a better word. The food was fucking incredible. She had a rule to keep herself able to taste as much as possible: she was only allowed one bite of each dish, but here- she couldn’t just limit herself to one. Each dish she was taking 2 even 3 bites- but when she got to the sunflower dish? It was brilliant. She finished every bite, she couldn’t not. It would be sinful to waste it. And the only thing on her mind was that she had to talk to the chef who’d made it.

Her waiter comes back to her table, giving her back her card and receipt. 

“Thank you for dining with us this evening, have a wonderful night” he told her 

“Thank you- Um- may I speak with the chef who made the sunflower plate please? I’d like to pay my compliments in person if possible.” She asked hopefully. 

“Of course, that would be Chef Carmen- give me just a moment I’ll go get him for you” he nodded and headed back to the kitchen. She looked over her notes, remembering the questions she’d wanted to ask about the dish. 

Carmen, she wondered if he’d been named after the saint. His talent was surely straight from the hands of the Mother of Christ. 

Shes interrupted from writing in her notebook by a husky, silvery voice 

“Excuse me- I was told you’d like to speak to me, I’m Chef Carmen, I made your sunflower dish this evening.” 

“Hey- I’m Sydney - that dish was- ” she stood up to face him- and when she realized who was in front of her, her heart began to race. Of course, she’d thought, of course - only a JBA contestant could come up with a dish so ingenious.

 “Oh- um…Hi.. Hello- you’re like -” she blinked a few times, in utter shock. “You’re Carmen Berzatto“ She swallowed thickly. 

Sydney was obsessed with this industry- she stalked the JBA website every year to see who would be nominated, dreaming that some day she’d be on that list. Being even nominated would allow her to die happily feeling as if she’d won a fucking Nobel Prize. That was how much she respected those damn awards. 

“I am” he said and cleared his throat nervously. 

“Well- firstly congratulations on your nomination- you like- if it was up to me you’d win because that sunflower dish was-” they’re interrupted by one of the food runners coming over 

“Chef Carmen- Chef Daemon requests you in back of house now.” she said urgently, the girl looked like she was on the brink of tears as she continued taking the tray of food over to the table it was meant for. 

“So sorry, i’d love to hear what you have to say but uh…” he trailed off. 

“Yeah- yeah- sorry, sorry I wont keep you-” she said and he shook his head a bit 

“No- no- um… I mean -” he wouldnt usually be so bold, but his ass was going to literally be kicked if he didnt get back there in the next 5 seconds. “I’m gonna go out for a smoke at 11:15. If you wanted to keep talkin’ ill be there” he said before heading back to the kitchen.

Sydney was nearly shaking - there were so so many things she wanted to ask him. She also realized he was much - infinitely hotter in person - how that was even possible? She remained unsure. She had reapplied her lipgloss and her perfume, nervously pacing back and forth along the sidewalk. 

She hears the back door open and she looked over, out emerging the greek god incarnate she somehow got so lucky as to run in to tonight. “Hey!” she said with her famous warm smile. 

He didnt return it, actually- he looked pissed. She swallowed thickly, rubbing her lips together nervously “Hey - sorry again I uh- fuckin’ boss” he muttered, fishing his cigarettes out of his pocket. 

“No- don’t apologize please, I totally get it. I mean, you're the CDC at literally the best restaurant in the world. I wouldn’t have bugged you if I knew, I mean- my table, like- I’m not a critic..I guess I should have clarified cause of the notebook thing but they usually are more…low key? I thought? Do they usually just come and whip out a notebook? That would make it easier I think… But nonetheless I’m so so grateful to have been able to eat a meal that-“ she rambled on anxiously but he stops her.

“You talk when y’nervous” he said with a small smirk, lighting the cigarette between his lips and inhaling, leaning against the brick.

“Uh-” she stuttered, her face feeling hot suddenly. “Sorry- I’ve uh… i’ve been told” she chuckled a bit, taking a few steps towards him and leaning on the brick only 2 feet or so between them.

“It’s charming, y’smoke?” he offered her the pack with a red top, she looked down at it.

“I don’t- not- not yet anyways” she joked, crossing a slim arm over her waist. He couldn't help but realize how the action made her breasts more prominent. 

“You’re a chef?” he asked, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Yes! Yes- well.. Just graduated, not working anywhere yet- I’m going home soon to try and start my own catering thing…” she explained and he nodded.

“Where’d y’graduate from?” he asked, exhaling the smoke away from her direction.

“CIA - 2 weeks ago, Valedictorian actually, y’not the only chef around here with street cred” she joked and he chuckled.

“Really? Word. Thats sick, good job. Y’said y’re headed home? Where’s that?” he asked, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Chicago! Can’t wait to get back, Hudson life is… not for me- I forgot how convenient public transportation was” she said. 

He raised his brows in surprise, “Chicago huh? Thats my old home base.” he said 

“I know! You’re actually… really famous did you know that? Like- they talk all about you during lectures, you’re the new golden child of the culinary world” she teased and he rolled his eyes playfully.

They’d been inching closer and closer without realizing throughout the whole conversation, she was now so close that she could see the barely there scar on his cheek, her focus locked on it. His gaze was locked on her plump lips and he was imagining how they’d feel around his cock.

“I do unfortunately - you’ll learn soon enough that praise means being a target in this industry.” He said 

She bit her lip, meeting his striking blue eyes once again. “I really meant to tell you earlier was that sunflower dish was the best meal i’ve ever had. And i’m not just…sucking your dick because you’re you - I knew that before I knew you made it” she laughed a bit.

He followed suit, “Well if you want to- i’m not gonna say no.” he said and her eyes widened a bit, feeling her core pooling with heat at the idea. Of course he was half joking. It was so sudden and out there he would have never expected her to indulge him. 

“I mean- here? What if your boss comes out?” she asked, a bit quieter as if she was trying to assure they’d not be caught.

He nodded towards the row of 12-wheeler trucks parked 50 or so feet away. “Haven’t moved in 6 weeks” he shrugged casually  “Lead the way Chef”  she motioned with her hand, a frisky smirk on her lips.

“Holy fuuuck” Carmy groaned, pushing his cock deeper into her tight hot mouth. “Y’like takin cock like this mmm? Y’like bein’ my little fuckin slut?” he muttered, thumbing away the warm tear that was gathering in the corner of her right eye. “So fuckin’ good f’me-” he growled, moaning at the wet gurgling noises emitting from her.

She swallowed around him, looking up at him with tear-filled dark lustful brown eyes, widening her jaw further and tonguing over the pulsing vein on the underside of his length, gently squeezing his thighs to urge him further. 

“Y’want me t’fuck y’throat? Mmm? Dirty fuckin girl” he gathered her braids into his fist, wrapping them around his palm and roughly tugging her off. 

She whined hotly, the sensation of his rough hand sending waves of pleasure through her being. “Please” she said wantingly, tonguing over his slit before wrapping her lips around the tip of his head in a sensual kiss.

He took his thumb, pulling her jaw open wide and thrusting into her mouth with a satisfied grunt. “Y’know-shhhit y’know what? I think this is the only way t’shut y’ass up? Mmm?” he inhales sharply as she pushed his foreskin back and spit on his exposed sensitive tip.

“Jesus fuckin-” he sharply inhaled through his teeth as she gently grazed her teeth over the sensitive head, his abs clenching in pleasure and hips quivering from the overstimulation “fuckin-h-aaaa-ahhh-mm-shhhhit-jesus fuckin christ” he whimpered, his head falling back against the metal with a sharp bang as she took the flesh into her mouth, flicking her tongue sharply over the weeping tip before smoothly sucking over the buzzing stimulation. He knew if she kept up the act he’d be filling her mouth with his seed within seconds.

“S-sooo fuckin filthy - y’want my cum in y’throat? Mmm? Little fuckin whore- h-holy-oh god- i-” he nearly suffocated her as he buried his cock further down her throat. He reached down, his fingers rubbing along his thick length buried in her warm tight throat. 

“F-fuuuuuck- ah- oh shhh- mmm- thats it- thaaaaaat’s it- good fuckin girl” he grumbled, roughly and sloppily guiding her head in such a way that the noises being made if it weren’t her he would think theyre overdramatic and disgusting. He also didn’t know where the hell all of this talking was coming from. 

Normally in the bedroom, he was quiet. Very quiet. The only way the women he was with knew he’d enjoyed himself was if he even came at all. Sex usually wasn’t about his own pleasure since in the presence of another he found it so hard to get off - it was more about giving him imagery that would help him later in regards to finishing. 

“You are so fuckin good at that huh? You take my cock so well such a good fuckin girl” his jaw goes slack as she put her hands on his hips to steady him and slowly sinks her mouth all the way down to the hilt, her eyes shut in focus. 

She gently rubbed her thumbs over his hips, swallowing around his length in a way that made whimpers fall past his lips he didn’t know he could make himself. “Holy shit y’fuckin- oh- ohhh fuck” he grunts as she takes one of her hands and begins massaging his balls and looking directly into his eyes, pulling off his length to breathe and gently pushing the foreskin back, kissing over the sensitive flesh with her plump lips. 

“You can fuck my face- but deepthroating after a meal like that is pretty hard, id love if I can keep it down” she said, even with spit running down her chin, teary eyes, and swollen lips - she still looked adorable to him. 

“Sorry- sorry” he muttered, loosening his grip on her hair “keep doin’ that fuck yesss” he breathed out as she swirled her tongue around his head. He thrust in and out of her mouth, gradually moving faster but being careful as to not slam into the back of her throat. 

She stroked the bottom half of his length with her other hand, eyes closing and doing her best to swallow around him all the excess saliva that was dripping down her throat. She hollowed out her cheeks, looking up at him as she slowly and carefully sunk down once again, keeping her eyes locked on his. 

“Mmm-shhhit-I’m fuckin-“ he groaned, his knees nearly going weak and head falling back with a thud. Blood roared in his ears, his hands shook slightly from the tension rolling off him in waves. 

She nearly choked at the amount rolling down her throat. She pulled off slightly, swallowing - more like gulping, assuring to hollow her cheeks and swirl her tongue as she pulled off with a pop as to not waste any of the sweet salty mess. 

“You- you- you are fuckin crazy” he breathed, looking down at her. 

She wiped off her mouth, chin, and neck with a tissue she’d kept in her purse before saying “I’d say you’re crazy, “ she got off her knees, picking up the chefs coat he had thrown down for her to kneel on, to which she insided it out before she did so it wouldn’t show any dirt. “If I had that coat? It would never touch the floor” she shook it off carefully. 

He quickly fixed his pants “he’s a friend it doesn’t matter I can always get a new one” he countered, putting the coat back on and buttoning it. 

Her eyes widened “friends?! How the hell did you run into him?!” She asked. 

“You- y’re into fashion ‘n shit?” He asked and she nodded enthusiastically 

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Thom Browne is insane all his shit Is absolute fire. I wish I could afford one of his jackets like- it’s totally a dream wishlist kinda thing” she took some gum out of her purse. 

“When do you uh…go back?” He asked. 

“Tomorrow. Headed to Chicago on Wednesday” she said and he nods. 

“Oh- yeah okay..It was uh…it was nice t’meet you” he said awkwardly “I should probably um..” he trailed off, clearing his throat nervously.

“Totally- yeah great to um…great to meet you too chef.” She nodded 

“Could I um…” he rubs the back of his neck anxiously “could I maybe get y’r…” he trails off, cheeks pink with embarrassment. 

“My number?” She asked, grabbing her phone out of her purse. 

He nodded, cheeks bright red with embarrassment “yeah sorry-“ he mumbled

“Yeah- if I can get yours” she teased, clicking open the blank contact screen

[deathandthesoul]

Hey you! Do you like LA by Night and NY by Night? Want to branch out into watching more VtM actual plays? There's a few I really enjoy that I'd like to share. They are all 5th edition

Blood on the Grand Strand/Are We Dead Yet? from Huddyvonschland Coterie clans: Ravnos, Tzimisce, Salubri, Tremere, and some more regulars who swap in and out. And then also oops all Thinbloods! The tourist town of Myrtle Beach enjoys a vibrant nightlife. An eclectic Anarch coterie must contend with the Camarilla (and later Sabbat) making moves in their city while the Second Inquisition begins their operation. There's funky cults, a suspicious drug operation, weird Thinblood stuff, and a lot of juicy worldbuilding which sometimes brings in other elements of the World of Darkness. The players are an absolute delight, Huddy's storytelling is fucking delicious, and the table has a ton of chemistry. The atmosphere is moody and it's a very chill time. I consider this my comfort chronicle

Vegas by Night from Mayday Roleplay Coterie clans: Ravnos, 2 Malkavians, 2 Gangrel, Warrior Salubri, Lasombra This show is nuts. It has everything. Vividly gritty ST narration, occult mysteries, a coterie of forcibly Camarilla kindred in way over their head, wacky Vegas hijinks, lifelike and captivating characters, a meat house, Lake Mead being terrifying, so much buck wild combat. A gospel singer Ravnos who sounds like Elvis and the world's horniest Malkavians. Every plan goes haywire. They always pick the solution that will create the most consequences for them. It's super high energy but man it's fun. Caleb has spread such a wide web of plots that all somehow interconnect. It's really impressive seeing it all gradually unveil and all make sense together in the greater scheme of things. His brain is seriously huge

Legacy of Bulls from Adventure Tavern Coterie clans: [Spoiler], Hecata, Brujah, Toreador A Birmingham coterie inherits the grudge of their forebears and has to race against the clock to solve a mystery and prevent any damage. I'm in love with CT lmao he's my favorite representation of that clan I've ever seen. The chronicle has elements of the occult/magic, investigation, and an atmosphere that is often moody and tense with the occasional chaos. I love the drama in this one

ATL by Night from the Facility Productions Coterie clans: Brujah, Tremere, Ventrue, Gangrel. And some more regulars who swap in and out. In later seasons there is a new coterie: Lasombra, Thinblood, Hecata, Tremere, Gangrel, Ravnos After taking heavy losses during the Final Nights, kindred society in Atlanta must rebuild. Many were hastily embraced during those confusing times and the coterie is tasked with bringing those lost childer into the fold. There is a focus on character development and kindred Politics with heavy Second Inquisition involvement. All in all I find it to be very cozy and intimate, it's really relaxing to watch

The Rook and the Rascal: Montreal by Night from ThreeKingsLoot (audio only) Coterie clans: Tremere, Toreador, Nosferatu It's been a while since I listened to this one so I forget a lot but I remember there were werewolves, Pentex, and a lot of over the top violence. And something about a cult leader, I think? But it's also very cozy and has themes of community and friendship. They utilize True Faith in a novel way and the characters and narration are very charming. They don't follow the game mechanics exactly but it makes things way more high stakes and dangerous and interesting. I had a good time listening to this