#I guess it's more of a personal reflection more than anything

[defmaybe]

Promise

12 Days of Christmas: Day 2, December 26th, 2024

LE SSERAFIM’s Nakamura Kazuha x Male Reader

8.8k words

Christmas Masterlist

A/N: This is actually my first time writing about a guy being dominant lol.

—

Ambition.

It’s not really a far-fetched concept for anyone. To aim higher has always been an innate trait in humans. Kazuha is nothing short of that, perhaps having the quality even more than a lot of people.

So, it breaks your heart to say no to her.

“Kazuha, I really can’t. I’m sorry,” you say, despondent in your response. “The solos have never been in our plan.”

She sighs, as if she has already known the outcome of her request. But her eyes remain determined, staring straight into yours. 

She’s not going anywhere.

Kazuha’s personality is nothing short of resolute. Motivation, determination, diligence—she has it all. These are reflected in the over-time practice sessions every single day. The time she pours into perfecting the dance choreographies is unreal. And it really shows on the stage, it really shows.

She stands up, her long, muscular legs come into your view. They’re beautiful, and you can just spend all day looking at them, but that’s going to be postponed for now. There’s the puzzle of guessing her mind right in front of you.

“Is there anything else I can do to convince you? More practice? Better stage perform–”

“No, Zuha, I’m so, so sorry about this, but we’ve never been a vocal group, really. You’ll have to under–”

“I don’t want to be remembered as just another member of this group. Please, this is important to me. I’ll do anything, please,” she pleads.

It’s your turn to sigh. She won’t let up, will she? Your fingers tap onto the handle of the chair restlessly, unable to find a solution for this woman.

“I just can’t find a solution for you right now, Zuha. If you really want that, you’ll have to find your own way, alright? I’m sorry.” You’re trying to sound stern, but there’s only regret within the words.

She takes a step towards you, resting her hands on the table. Her shirt falls down slightly to give way for you to her faint cleavage. Your breath hitches slightly.

“Please?” she pleads, one last time. That slight view of her breasts is giving her the upper hand in this.

Don’t.

You find your mouth latching onto Kazuha’s tits, tasting the sweat after her practice. She cries and cries in euphoria, spurring you on. Your hands roam around her body, feeling her otherworldly tight abs, her supple ass—one that you’ve been wanting to bury your face into. Your fingers then find their place inside her cunt, nudging her sensitive spot deep within.

Don’t

“You know, Kazuha, I found your ambition–” you say, standing up to match her tall height. Still, you have to look up slightly to match her eyes. “–admirable. It’s one of your best qualities. It really breaks my heart to say no to you.”

“Thanks, boss,” she scoffs, looking down with despondency. The fire in her eyes died down. “I’ll come back when I’m ready.”

Kazuha then walks away, crestfallen. Her strides are aimless and disinterested. The view of her back is displayed to you. 

With your eyes, you start to strip her, piece by piece—from her shirt, her pants. She’s in just her underwear now. Your cock starts to grow at the mental image you create inside your head. 

You slowly unlock her bra, fully revealing her toned back. Her body warmth emanates into you. You reach for her pert breasts, making her moan as your fingers graze her hard, brown nipples. But you don’t stop just there. Your frisky fingers wander down into her panties. You found out that she shaves, and she’s already fucking wet for you. Then, you plunge your fingers into her soaked cunt, rewarding you with an airy moan from Kazuha. You nib on her ears softly, bringing out another whimper from her.

Without any patience left, you strip down her last garment, making her bare in front of you, and you can tell that she’s as aroused as you are. Her dripping cunt is finally coming into your view. Her body is yours. She’s yours.

Don’t.

You’re snapped back into reality, though. Back to watching her, almost leaving the room. You have to take your chance. 

Now.

“I’m not done yet, Zuha,” you order, sounding serious for the first time. It gets over you. Lust gets over you.

She stops, looking back at you. Her breath hitches as she sees the newfound determination inside your eyes. There’s something about you, and she can feel it.

“Yes, boss?”

“Let’s say for tomorrow, you wear something–different, something that is a bit more–provocative, and we’ll see what happens.”

Kazuha furrows her brows, giving you a puzzled look. “P–Provocative?”

You only nod, expressionless, trying to hide the fact that your heart is beating so damn fast right now. “Provocative, Zuha.”

“A–And wh–what will I get in return?” Kazuha asks, her voice starts to shake. Her confidence is faltering.

You smile back at her unsure expression. She’s going to get what she wants—a chance to have the spotlight on her own. You’re going to get what you want—her.

“You know how this goes, Zuha. You know how this goes.”

“I–I d–don’t know. D–Do I really need to do this? I mean–I want to have that solo–”

“I’ll be in the practice room tomorrow, make sure to follow my instructions,” you say, stern and confident.

The words linger within her mind. “I–fuck–fine, boss,” and she gives in to you.

“Don’t ruin it, Zuha.”

—

You couldn’t sleep last night.

Kazuha is stuck in your head. Your mind replays the event that might happen—you having a mind-breaking sex with her. Your cock twitches with anticipation, expecting her cunt to wrap around it like a vice. Hell, you might get to fuck her tight ass even. You’ve seen it. You lost count of how many times you’ve watched that Perfect Night dance practice video. The cinematographer did know their job.

“Mmm, that felt so good, boss.”

How in the fuck did you stay assertive like that in the room? That wasn’t you at all. Though, at least it opened a new door for you.

You’re getting to watch Nakamura Kazuha in her tightest, smallest clothes she’s ever going to wear, and maybe, just maybe, they’ll be off by sunset.

—

Kazuha opens the door into the practice room to find you already there, dealing with work, among other things.

You give her a faint smile, satisfied with the way she composes herself for today.

She’s wearing a tight-fitted sports bra, one that shows you the curve of her firm chest. You’d love to put your hand on them, kneading, nibbling her taut nipples through the thin fabric. Her hair is freed, swaying with her strides. Below, her shorts are so damn strained that you can see the outline of her soon-to-be drenched panties. You’re going to use your mouth to take it off, while your hands grip on her muscular thig–

“Hey, boss,” Sakura snaps you back into reality. Standing beside her is Eunchae, smiling brightly.

“Shit–fuck–,” you mumble to yourself. “Uh, hi, girls.”

“Yeah, I noticed it too,” Eunchae says to you, voice barely above a whisper. “She probably forgot to do her laundry.”

“Who–Who?” Fuck, you sound like a goddamn owl doing this.

“Zuha, she’s wearing something that’s a bit–exposing, isn’t she?” Sakura says, smiling.

“Bet she must be so damn embarrassed,” Eunchae adds with a giggle. You can feel your cheeks starting to grow hotter.

“Uh, y–yeah, she must’ve been–”

“Alright, girls, let’s start the practice,” the instructor shouts, clapping her hands.

Sakura and Eunchae giggle at each other before walking away from you.

“See ya, boss.”

“See ya.”

—

As the practice goes on, you can’t help but popping up from your work to watch Kazuha now and then. Just like last night, your length starts to grow, and you’re doing your best to use your laptop to hide the tent in your pants.

(The work is actually a façade, really. If you could just stare at Kazuha for the whole practice, you wouldn’t have risked straining your back carrying your laptop down from the top floor.)

Her movements are nothing short of strong and sensual. She’s committed, showing no signs of relenting. She has always been this determined. Every kick, every sway, every arch, she gives it all.

When she bends down, you have a magnificent view of her supple ass, so juicy. You wish you could’ve put your face in it, tasting her sweat dripping down her tightness. 

When she arches, you have a splendid view of her small tits under that damn tight sports bra. You wish you could’ve sucked on them, tasting her sweat dripping down her valley. You wish you could’ve made her moan erratically in your embrace.

Your bulge is screaming under your tight pants. It aches to be freed, aches to be inside of your employee’s ass, aches to be thrusted into her mouth.

The other women don’t seem to notice, still focusing on the practice. Thank god.

—

As the practice comes to an end, you’re struggling to hide your raging erection under your slacks. It’s time to approach her for the next step, so you stand up and walk towards Kazuha, who is all drenched in her sweat. Her creamy skin shines against the lights in the practice room. She’s stretching to cool down herself, while all the other members and the instructor are already leaving the room.

“So,” you begin the conversation.

“So,” Kazuha repeats. “How did I do?”

You try to compose yourself. “You did well, Kazuha. Committed as always.”

She smiles. It’s a genuine one. “Thanks, boss.”

You continue, “Now, about the solo comeback we’ve talked about.” You sit next to her. You can feel her body warmth close to you. Maybe you’re sitting a bit too close to her. Her expression is unreadable. Maybe she’s expecting something from you.

“Yeah? Is it done?”

“Let’s say–we’re halfway there.”

Kazuha’s breaths speed up a little. She’s anxious.

“Halfway?”

“Halfway, yes.”

“Go ahead, boss. Tell me what to do,” Kazuha says, slightly apprehensive, but she still has her ground. Her fiery eyes bore into yours.

Here goes nothing.

Your hands make a soft contact with her knees. You hear her breath hitch softly. Her eyes weaken. You can feel the apprehension building up within her loins. Her body jolts.

“B–Boss,” she stutters, before she brings her hand atop of yours, putting some force on it. Your movement is halted.

“A–Are you sure that I have to do this?”

You should stop.

You gulp, unsure whether to have this woman go your way or let your lust take over.

Do the right thing.

The image of Kazuha’s body, all sweaty, atop of yours, moving back and forth on your cock, materializes in your head. Her nasty, salty fluid falls onto your naked body. Her pungent aroma fills your nostrils, and it’s driving you insane. Her small breasts rest above you, and you can’t help but give them a taste.

You should stop.

Kazuha mouth’s create a suction around your cock. Your wails echo through the practice room. You grip onto the back of her head, harshly pressing it into your hardness. She gags and gags. Her eyes become watery. Her grips on your thighs grow harsher, and it’s going to draw blood out of you.

Do the right thing.

You’re lavishing Kazuha’s cunt with unmatched hunger. She cries out in ecstasy. You keep attacking her sensitive nub with your tongue. Your fingers are knuckles deep within her, applying pressure on the spot that makes her moan even louder. Her taste is salty, yet so addictive. She tastes so fucking good.

You should stop.

You’re gripping onto her waist, thrusting into her wet cunt repeatedly. “Yes, yes, right fucking there, boss. Please, please, please don’t ever fucking stop,” Kazuha sobs. Wet sounds vibrate through the practice room. The reflection of you two in the mirror only fuels the fire. You bring your hands onto her firmness, playing with her taut nipples. She keens, and it’s one of the best things that you’ve ever heard from her.

Do the right thing.

But you give in.

“How far can you go, Zuha?” You keep your composure. Please make it work. Your heart rate spikes, but your breathing is still saying the opposite. Keep your cool. Keep your cool.

“I–” She stares blankly into your eyes. You can feel that the gears in her brain are turning quickly. Yes or no. Yes or no.

“Stand up, Zuha,” you order and get up from your sitting position. She looks around, trying to find solace in the objects in the room. She’s unsure.

“Fuck,” she mumbles to herself, before getting up. She’s a bit taller than you, but with the power you’re holding, it’s like you’re six-feet tall.

“Stand against the mirror,” you say, sternly, pointing to the reflective wall. She hesitates for a bit before complying with your command.

You walk towards her until you’re just a breath away from her. You kneel. Her cunt is right in front of your face. She’s pervading your nostrils, and you’re so damn happy to make her your air.

“A–are you going to eat me out, b–boss?” Kazuha asks nervously. Her hands are trembling.

“How much do you want this, Zuha?” you ask her back. Your hands are closing in on her tight waistband already. You want to eat her pussy so fucking bad.

“I–I don’t know.”

You let the silence hang in the air for a moment, contemplating your next move. Maybe you should stop just here. Just say no to her request, and act like this never happened. 

But the show has to go on.

“I’ll go slowly, okay?”

“O–Okay, boss.”

You slowly peel down her shorts, slowly revealing her black panties underneath. They’re already drenched with her sweat. God, if you could just give it a taste. You can feel the urge to stick out your tongue. Her creamy thighs are slowly exposed to you, but you can’t just yield to temptation that easily. You have to go slow.

The outline of her puffy cunt can be seen through the dark fabric. She looks so fucking delicious from the outside. You find yourself closing in the distance between your filthy tongue and her pungent, drenched folds.

“Boss, p–please don’t tease me,” Kazuha hisses. Her thighs are shaking from the uncompromising anticipation. You can see sweat running down her toned legs. “If you’re going to do it, just fucking do it.”

And you break.

You yank her shorts down, making her body jolt in shock. 

“Kick it off,” you order her, and she kicks her shorts away in the boiling lust. It’s just her underwear now, before your tongue can taste her nectar. You’re drooling at the sight of the trace of her pussy. Fuck, you’re not waiting anymore.

Hastily, you grab onto her panties’ waistband before pulling it off in a quick swoop, rewarding you with an airy moan. And there it is, the treasure you’ve been seeking. Her clean-shaven cunt already glistens. Her juice shines under the room’s lights. Her scent is so damn addictive. It’s pungent. It’s musky. It’s tart, and you can’t help but–

“Ah! Fuck!” Kazuha rasps as your tongue finds its place on her cunt. It echoes through the empty practice room. Her body turns rigid. Her hands grip onto your head harshly, pushing you into her pussy even harder.

The first taste of her cunt feels salty—a combination of her sweat and her juice. You’re lapping it up relentlessly. You’re revelling in it—the way she moans, the way she tastes, and the way she just fucking keens. It’s all so perfect.

She curses and curses a variety of profanities. Her face displays pure ecstasy and a glint of embarrassment, but your only goal right now is to make her falter. You keep lapping and lapping on her cunt, tasting her nectar without yielding.

Her eyes are lit up with raging fire, fluttering in bliss. Her hands grip onto your head harshly. It's almost drawing blood from your poor scalp. Her cries only climb in volume and frequency, more demanding. It grows louder and higher with each lapping of your tongue.

You double your efforts, eating her cunt out faster and faster hungrily. Her rasps become harsher. You close your eyes and take in her scent through your nose. It’s musky. It’s tart. And you swear that it’s a fucking aphrodisiac for you.

And if it’s not enough, your hands grab onto her firm ass, suffocating yourself with her pungent cunt. She lets out a gasp, and you swear that you’ve never been any more feral like this in your whole fucking life.

Her ass feels so meaty, a product of her consistent squat routines. You do nothing but give them a squeeze and a grab, bringing out endless wails from her thin lips.

Then, an idea pops up in your filthy head.

“Turn around, Zuha.”

“Wh–What, boss?”

“I’m gonna eat your ass.”

She complies quickly, showing her tight ass in front of your face. It’s heaving. She’s expecting. And without a word, you bury yourself in between her supple cheeks. Your tongue immediately plants atop of her asshole.

“Godddd~” Kazuha grunts, her voice low and harsh. The sweat running down her tightness combining with her juice makes up an even better taste. You’re basking in them—her taste, her aroma, her moans, her sounds.

Her body spasms in a bliss. Her hips jerk against the practice room wall, painting it with her salty sweat on her meaty thighs.

And if that isn’t already enough, you drive your fingers deep into her. They’re hugged by her tight walls, before you’d curl them to make her cry even more.

“Fuckkk~” she groans, deeply. She uses her hands to grip onto the back of your head. You’re pressed into her ass even stronger. Her moans start to get frenzy, and that drives you even wilder.

“B–Boss, please, I–I’m gonna cum,” Kazuha screams, echoing over the room. Her entire body turns more rigid, sucking the life out of your dirty mouth.

“Hgnngn.” Kazuha can only form unintelligible sounds at this point. Any lilt in her voice is now replaced by primal grunts and moans.

And she cums. Her frame becomes stiff, gushing out clear liquid out of her plump pussy onto the wooden floor. Her entire body spasms and writhes against the wall, painting it with her sweat. Your mouth goes through the entire ride of her orgasm, feeling her high, savoring her precipice.

As her orgasm dies down, what comes out of her mouth are indescribable groans and guttural whimpers. Her body becomes limped after the mind-breaking orgasm she just experienced.

“Fuck, I–I’ve never thought–” she pauses to catch her breath, trying to make sense of the situation. Her head is hanging from her neck. Her body rests on the mirror weakly. Her boss just gave her one of the best orgasms of her life. “–I’ve never thought that it could be this good with a person.”

You wipe your mouth, getting a taste of her salty squirt remaining on your hand. “My pleasure, Zuha.”

“Guess–Guess I should–I should return the favor, huh?”

You stand up. Even if she’s towering over you by mere inches, you feel like the ball is in your court, and you are going to do whatever you please with it.

“Kneel.”

She slowly gets down. Her eyes lock with yours, filled with uncertainty and anxiety. You aren’t sure what’s filling her mind right now. Lust? Disgust? You can only guess.

You let it go on, anyway.

Her slick forehead shines against the room lights. Her hands start to unbuckle your tight jeans, slowly freeing your cock from its fabric cage. As the first barrier goes down, she watches your covered erection anxiously. Her breathing accelerates. Her hands tremble. She’s unsure, but what is she unsure about?

“B–Boss,” Kazuha stammers.

“Yes, Zuha?” you say, looking down to meet her eyes.

“Wh–What if I don’t do well?”

“I don’t mind, really. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself,” you say with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. Sure, you’d love to have power over her, but not to the point where it leaves her in dread.

“Thanks, boss,” she answers, before grabbing onto the edge of your boxers. She slowly pulls it down to reveal your hardness. It springs free. She’s watching it in awe, taking in the image of your stiff cock.

She starts slowly, stroking your cock from the base. Your breath becomes shorter.

“Are you okay, boss?”

“J–Just go on, Zuha.”

Kazuha then plants her lips on the tip of your cock, making your body shudder in pleasure. She’s coating you in her saliva. She’s making you go wild.

“Fuck.”

Kazuha lets out a giggle before taking in more of your length, starting from the whole tip. There’s determination in her eyes, the eagerness to make you cry out her name in bliss.

She doubles her efforts, second by second. She takes in more and more of your thick cock into her filthy mouth, and you start to reach her throat. It feels so fucking good. Your breathing grows more erratic. You can almost moan in pleasure, if it’s not her teeth that keep getting in the way. They keep grazing your cock, and it’s the only thing that stops you from crying her name out.

“Z–Zuha, shit, fuck, y–your teeth.”

She suddenly pulls back from the act, leaving you lost in the sudden absence of your high. Her hand detaches from you.

“Yes?” she asks, drool leaks out the edge of her mouth.

“Fuck.” You try to catch your breath, trying not to collapse onto the floor. “Y–Your teeth, it keeps grazing my cock.”

“Oh,” Kazuha utters. “Should we just–try something else?”

You stare into her eyes. Her expression is unreadable, but you need an upper hand in this. She’s going to suck your cock.

“Do it again, Zuha. Suck my cock again.” Your voice is commanding. You swear that you’ve never been this assertive before in your life. “Without the teeth.”

She looks up at you. There’s anxiety in her eyes. There’s the fear of letting you down.

“S–Sure, boss.”

She moves her gorgeous face towards your cock again. This time, she makes sure to wrap her lips around her teeth. And at the first contact, you cry out her name. It feels so fucking good.

“Fuck, Z–Zuha.”

She only smiles with the tip of your cock in her mouth. She stays there for a while, giving your tip licks and licks to make you whimper in rapture. Her hands stroke along your length. Her eyes look up at you, she knows she’s having a lead.

Kazuha then takes more and more of you and seconds go by, slowly. You watch as your length disappears into her mouth and her name leaves yours.

She takes your cock in so deep you start to hear her gag. Her eyes start to flutter in discomfort. She’s still trying to look up at you, as her hands go to your testicles. She’s squeezing them.

“God, fuck!”

Her saliva does wonders to the experience, making you suck a sudden every chance you have. It’s hard to resist not pushing her fully onto your cock right now, making her take its length fully.

“K–Keep doing that, Zuha. Keep fucking doing that.”

With encouragement, she then pushes herself fully onto your cock. You are now inside her mouth, and the image is nothing short of phenomenal. Saliva is leaking out of her. Her eyes are blinking rapidly. Tears are running down her cheeks. She’s making unintelligible sounds around your cock, choking on it, sputtering on it. It’s a cacophony. She’s submitting herself to you, and you’re loving every second of it.

“So eager to please, don’t you?” you have to ask. Your hands land on the back of her head softly.

She only let out a hum as a reply. Her mouth is too full of your cock to say anything. It’s huge for her. She���s cock-drunk now.

Finally catching the wind of your dominance over her, you sneer, “Never know that you’re quite a slut, Zuha.” You grip her by the hair, slowly pulling her off your thick cock. She chokes and sputters on the way out. God, what a sight.

As her mouth leaves your cock, you finally get to see her face fully. Black streaks run down from her eyes. Her lips are swollen. She’s drooling. 

“What a cockslut,” you utter, still holding onto her hair. A smile forms on her face. She’s fucking happy to be dominated like this.

“Anything for you, boss. You promised me a solo~” she says sultrily (and drunkenly from your cock), giving the tip of your length a lick as she finishes her words. Your body shudders.

“G–God, Zuha,”

Without another word, she dives onto your glistened dick again, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Her teeth graze your cock slightly, though.

“Sh–Shit, your teeth, Zuha, y–your teeth.”

She quickly complies, covering her hard teeth with her lips. She’s fucking you with her mouth properly again. She bobs her head up and down slowly, trying to catch the rhythm. Pleasure shoots through you like a bullet. And with the way she’s looking up at you so damn submissively, you swear you can cum right here and now.

She starts to find her tempo, quickening her strokes. She’s going up and down your cock faster. Her hands find themselves on your exposed thighs. Fuck, they’re cold from the air conditioners, and it makes your body tremble in the sensation.

The wet sound of her sucking your cock echoes through the room. Your hands, again, find themselves on the back of her head, pushing her into your cock relentlessly. Your fingers run through her soft hair, feeling her silk.

“Fuck, s–such a willing slut for your boss, don’t you?”

Kazuha only lets out a low groan affirmatively. She’s still aiming to pleasure her boss. Her career is at stake, after all, and you’re rejoicing in the way her mouth moves up and down your cock like this.

And you can feel it, the inevitable. It’s building up inside your loins. You’re going to cum inside her warm mouth. You can’t resist it anymore.

“Z–Zuha, gonna cum.”

She only makes muffled sounds into your cock, too busy sucking your length to say anything, and you’re so damn happy that she’s willing to go this far for you.

“Take all of it, alright? Be a good girl for me,” you groan out. Your mind is so lost in the pleasure Kazuha is giving you.

She can only nod, still bobbing her head without any care. She’s giving you a damn good blowjob, and you start to lose control of yourself.

You’re close. Your muscles grow more tense. Your cock twitches inside her mouth. Your grip on her head becomes harsher and harsher, determined to make her take all of your hardness.

“Gonna–Gonna cum.”

You break. You push Kazuha onto your cock harshly, making her nose hit your pubic bone. Your cock shoots ropes and ropes of semen into her mouth, emptying your balls inside her. She’s damn eager to take it all. She’s gripping onto your thighs tightly. Your scent is filling up her nostrils, making her eyes flutter in unbridled lust. Gagging sounds come out of her mouth.

“Goddamn–fuck!”

Your vision turns white. Your cock twitches violently inside her mouth. Cum is leaking out of your tip into her warm cavern. You’re painting the insides of her mouth white. You’re damn ecstatic. What a fucking ride that is.

Successive spurts grow softer, from shots into drizzles. Kazuha is still determined to take it all. Her hands snake up to squeeze your tight ass, pressing you forward to bury yourself further in her mouth.

“F–Fuck, Zuha.”

She smiles, before finally pulling herself off of your cock. She takes a small gulp, signaling that cum is going down her slutty throat. You watch in awe. She then opens her mouth, tongue hanging open, no trace of cum left inside. Fuck, she drank all of you.

“What’s next, boss?” she asks, wiping the remnants of cum off her face. Her face is a mess, but she’s ready for another round.

Not you, though.

“Wait a sec.” You then sit on the wooden floor, looking into the mirror. Kazuha rests beside you.

“Gotta wait for this little guy to be ready again, huh?” she asks, touching your now-flaccid cock.

“We can talk.”

She then rests her head on your shoulder, faint black streaks can be seen on her face. You can feel her body warmth emanating onto you.

“So.”

“So?” you ask.

“So, I have a question for you,” says Kazuha. Her voice is weak, clearly tired from the oral action she gave you. You two make eye contact in the reflection.

“Go ahead.”

“Why did you decide to become our manager?”

“Well–” you pause, trying to recollect the complete picture. You just keep forgetting it “–I kind of wanted to become an idol, you know?”

She lets out a soft chuckle. “But?”

You can’t help but to laugh along with her. “Yeah, my body isn’t really up for the task.” You then pat your out-of-shape tummy softly on your shirt.

“I’d like to be remembered, just like you,” you continue, sighing along the way. “To live among the stars, all that stuff.”

It starts to pour out now, your story. Despite the earlier dominance, you feel vulnerable with her. You’re showing your heart to one of your employees.

Kazuha laughs again. “It’s not all confetti and flowers, boss.”

“I know, I know,” you say, somewhat understanding her life after a few years of observation from afar. “All of you have gone through a lot, and I’ll forever admire you guys for that.”

“Thanks, boss,” she replies. Her hand moves down to play with your cock again. “Still not there, huh?”

A chuckle leaves your mouth. “It’ll take some time, Zuha.”

“Ask me something, then,” she says. 

You let the silence hang in the air, trying to think of a question. It’s difficult, especially when you’re naked down from your waist like this.

You were about to ask her the same question she had asked you, but you’ve asked her that already. She loves Blackpink, hence her idol aspirations. She's an INFP, used to be an INTP. Her eyesight gets worse with time. What’s left to be asked?

“You know, I was so scared when that interviewer asked me about my type,” she says, her hands caressing your body. Your mind is brought to that interview, the one she–

“I was so afraid that the fans would reject me just because I said ‘men or women’.”

You can only sigh.

“It seemed like they didn’t, Zuha,” you shoot her a smile, holding her hand gently, as if you didn’t fuck her throat senseless mere minutes ago. “Don’t give much fuck about those people.”

She lets out a giggle. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

The conversation goes on for a few more minutes. At first, it was simply a time killer, waiting for your soft cock to get hard again. But as it flows, you feel like you get to know Kazuha more and more.

Slowly, your arousal returns, and Kazuha seems to notice that. It twitches in the expectation of another round.

“Oh, look at him~” she says softly. Her hand is drawn to touching you gently. You can’t help but giggle as she caresses your hard cock.

“Stand up, Zuha,” you command. You’re trying to sound stern, but the exchange earlier just softens your voice.

She complies immediately. Her toned legs are displayed elegantly in front of you. You stand up with her, taking the full view of her body on the way.

What a banger body.

“What’s next, boss?” Her words seem to want you to get this over with, but the small smile plastered on her face seems to say otherwise.

You pause, thinking for some witty response as you unbutton your shirt, revealing your out-of-shape body. You clearly have been eating too much. It’s a bit embarrassing.

What’s next?

“I want your bra off, Zuha.” Well, that’s far from witty.

“Thought you’d never ask that,” Kazuha playfully scoffs before taking off her tight sports bra. Her small breasts come into view, along with the taut nipples proudly sitting atop of them. She can’t wait for what’s next, so do you. The bra is then thrown away onto the floor. Her naked body stands proudly in front of you.

She’s nothing short of unreal—the pert breasts, the firm abs, the glistened pussy. She’s sculpted by a deity. And without a word, you push Kazuha onto the mirror, drawing out an airy moan from her. You press your body against hers, while her back is pressed against the wall.

She sucks a sudden. Her hands are trembling against the mirror. Her eyes are closed, enamored in the expectations of you inside of her cunt.

“F–Fuck, boss.”

“I know, Zuha. Now if you’d bend over for me.”

She quickly follows your orders, flipping her body around so that her back faces you. Your cock is pressed against her ass. You let out a hum in satisfaction.

You draw a line with your finger down her spine, making her suck in the air. Sweat from the earlier activity still lingers on her back. Her body quivers in pleasure. She’s submitting to you now.

“Goddd~” Kazuha groans. She’s at the mercy of your touch.

Your finger runs down the middle of her back, down her sculpted arch, to the ridge of her tight ass. She screams, as your finger makes contact with the outer of her puckered hole.

“Fuck!” Her whole body shakes erratically, overwhelmed by the pleasure you’re giving her. Her breathing grows restless.

“Slut,” you whisper the demeaning word into her ear. You’d argue that it fit her, with her being a whimpering mess under your touch.

You circle your finger around her asshole, heightening her moans. You feel the creased patch of skin on your finger, letting out a satisfied hum, but that’s not your main course. You then draw your finger down, touching her wet heat. Kazuha sucks a sudden, before you push your finger into her. 

Her cunt welcomes you easily. You swear that the wail coming out of her mouth is one of the best sounds you’ve ever heard. You watch her face become contorted in the mirror. She’s lost in the bliss you’re giving her.

You slowly push yourself into her pussy, burying yourself in the wet heat. Kazuha’s body shakes with pleasure. You insert your whole finger into her, before touching a rough patch inside her.

That’s where you make her collapse.

You curl your finger to touch her sensitive spot, and as expected, Kazuha lets out a sharp, sudden moan. Her legs are barely holding her up. She’s faltering, and you’re enjoying every second of it.

“F–Fuckkk~”

You double your efforts, stimulating where she needs the most. Your finger is engulfed by her tight, wet heat. She feels warm. You’re loving the way she feels around you. You’re loving the way she submits to you. You’re loving the way she fucking keens from your finger inside her. Fuck, you need even more.

You quicken the pace, and it is making her quiver uncontrollably. How she’s shuddering around you, how she moans. It’s just unreal for you. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. You couldn’t have found a better woman in your life who you’d find as angelic as Nakamura Kazuha.

“Goddamn it, Kazuha. You’re doing so fucking well for me,” you say, playing with her inner walls recklessly. She’s shaking under you. The sound of it is spurring you on. The smell of it is making you go feral. The sight of it is making you feel the power you’ve never felt before in your life.

“G–Gonna c–cum, boss,” she utters, mustering up any energy left to say it. Her eyes are rolling upwards now.

Then, you regretfully withdraw your finger out of her. The engulfing wet heat is now missing from your fingers. She groans in disappointment.

“What the fuck?” Her expression is on the line of anger.

You smirk at her through the reflection, sucking your finger lewdly. She’s salty. Still, that doesn’t seem to lighten up her mood.

“Goddamn it, you’re fucking insufferable,” she sneers, still pissed off by your sudden absence. You have other plans, at least.

“Stand still for me, please,” you say with unwavering calmness, getting a hold of her waist. You’re fucking her properly.

Her expression changes, realizing your next action. “Oh,” she utters.

And for the first time, you plunge yourself into her, feeling the way her tight, wet cunt hugs your cock. It feels so fucking ecstatic. The sensation pierces through your entire body like a spear. She keens loudly, and so do you. It echoes around the room that’s yours.

“Fucking hell–” you give her ass a harsh spank, she wails in the concoction of pain and pleasure “–you’re so fucking tight, Zuha.”

“Th–Thanks, boss,” she replies, as you slowly push your hardness inside her to the hilt. “Y–You’re big too.”

You chuckle, and you swear that it’s the most wicked laugh you’ve ever let out. Your thighs press against her ass, before you drag your hips back. Her tightness around you is making your cock throb, and you thrust back into her cunt. You grunt loudly, and so does she.

“Nghhh~” Kazuha groans, as you find your rhythm in plowing her pussy. You start fucking her properly this time with your cock, pounding into her with no abandon. She feels so good around you.

No words can describe the feeling of fucking Kazuha’s cunt. It’s something beyond your comprehension—the tightness of her alone, the power you’re holding over her, the sounds of her guttural grunts and groans and moans and whimpers. It’s just nothing short of unreal.

“D–Don’t you dare–ah–fucking pull out th–this time, boss,” she commands, trying to sound as stern as possible. Though, it comes out weakly, just like her limp body right now.

“What if I do, huh?” And you give her ass another loud spank. She whimpers. Her resolve falters. Her posture almost collapses.

“Hgngnn.” She can only let out a whimper as you kiss the vanilla skin of her neck. She’s salty from the sweat lingering on her body. Her scent pervades your nose violently. You swear that she’s like an aphrodisiac to you. It’s driving you feral. Her skin shines under the room's light beautifully, and you only wish you can just stay with her like this forever.

“B–Boss,” she mewls, her voice weak and lost.

“Yes, Zuha?” You’re still ramming into her with reckless abandon. Her tight cunt hugs your length perfectly, coaxing the cum out of your balls.

“Gonna–Gonna cum.”

You say nothing but upping your ante, pressing her harder into the mirror. Her tits are splayed on the wall. Her walls contract for you, drawing breathless moans out of your lips. Both of your mouths hang open in bliss. You both want this.

“Cum for me, Zuha, but don’t think this is over yet.” You give her rear another slap. The skin clashes against your hand. She wails, as you lean in for a whisper, “There’s another hole to be filled.”

“Hhgnn,” she grunts under the weight of your promise. Her arms go limp, both hanging just beside her pliant body. Her mind is filled with nothing but your cock inside her pussy.

And she cums for the second time today. Her walls contract around your cock, gripping you like a vice. She lets out a guttural groan from the depth of her lungs. Her right cheek is pressed against the mirror, painting it with her slick sweat.

“Fuck! Goddd~” she shouts loudly from the force of her violent orgasm. You relentlessly fuck her through the forceful orgasm, pulling groans and grunts out of her as much as possible.

Her orgasm subsides, leaving her shaking body as the evidence of it. Her pussy is still contracting around your cock. You slow down, and the other plan comes into play.

You pull your hard length out of her cunt. You’re all glistening in her juice now. It’s strange. You usually cum a lot faster than this. Though, with Kazuha, it’s like you can just go on and on forever.

You insert your fingers inside her pussy, making her entire body tremble in shock once more. You’re trying to gather her slick juice to smear your cock with any lubricant you can find. Your bottle is too far away from you right now (about fifteen floors away, under your table). The wetness of her cunt is really helping you here.

“What a slut,” you sneer at her, as she whimpers in response to the degrading name. “Look at you, all wet for me.”

“P–Please, boss,” she pleads, her voice shaken with unrelenting desire. Her body is trembling with unbridled anticipation.

“Please what, Zuha?”

“Please f–fuck my ass, I–I need it,” she whines, and you couldn’t be happier to fulfill her wish.

You rest your tip at the entrance of her ass—teasing, playing with her. She whines at the act, as if she really wants your cock inside her ass so fucking bad (she does). Your cock in all glistened in her slick juice, ready to fuck her rear hole raw.

And slowly, and carefully, you push your cock into her tightness, inch by inch. Her body trembles as you find yourself inside her once more. She cries out in bliss. The lubricant definitely helps.

“F–Fuck, nghhh.”

You respond to her moans by pushing ever further into her ass. Your body presses onto her more and more, feeling her damp back, gathering her sweat on your body. The warmth around your cock is just too much. She grips you like a vice. 

“Goddamn it, Zuha. Is this your first time in the ass?” you grunt. Your voice is raspy.

“Nghhh, n–no, boss. This is my second time, b–but I–I’ve never cum from that,” she whines. Her hands are pressed against the mirror harshly. You’ll have to be more gentle if you don’t want to break this expensive reflective wall.

You keep pushing and pushing, and finally, you are buried deep up to the hilt. The tightness of her ass is just unreal. A loud moan escapes your lips. Fuck, she’s tight, too tight.

You stay inside the depth of her ass for a few more seconds, feeling yourself inside of her tight ass. You’re hoping that she’s at least enjoying this a little bit.

She does, after all, moaning and writhing like that.

“You love this, don’t you, Zuha? You love having my cock inside your ass like this,” you taunt her, rewarding you with breathless whimpers and moans out of her lips.

“I–I love it, b–boss,” she answers, stuttered and shaken. The sensation is just too much for her. Your hands snake up her body to her small breast, a pair that’s unforgettable for you. You decide to give her nipples some soft treatment with your filthy hands, rubbing them between your fingers.

“Look at you, your nipples are all hard for me.” You run the sides of your fingers up and down her nipples, feeling them between your digits. She lets out guttural grunts and groans in pleasure. “What a goddamn slut.”

“Nghhn.”

After what feels like an eternity inside her ass—so warm, so tight—you draw your hips backwards. Her walls are grazing your cock, making the retreat so damn ecstatic. You pull back until half of your cock is out of her puckered hole, before pushing yourself back in. You let out primal moans with it.

“God, fuck!”

Her ass feels so tight, so right.

You start to find your pace in ravaging Kazuha’s ass. You set the rhythm in fucking her properly. The room reeks of sex, no matter how big it is. The only thing filling your nostrils right now is the smell of Kazuha’s sweat and something that screams her.

Your hands are still kneading Kazuha’s small breasts enthusiastically. Touching them fills you with unbridled joy. They feel so–soft, so–firm in your hands, as you plow into her ass with no abandon.

“Fucking love these tits, Zuha,” you utter. The words come out before you can suppress it. Your mind is filled with the sensation of fucking her ass and groping her tits. “So–soft, so–small.”

“Nghhh, th–thanks, boss,” she cries out, her voice feeling like she’s unable to make sense of what’s going on anymore. It’s just too overwhelming for her. Your cock inside her ass, your hands on her breasts, your smell, your grunts. It’s too much she might have hit the third peak of the day.

Her eyes flutter in bliss—that’s what you see in the mirror. She keens, and you love the way she does it. Her voice reeks of complete submission for you. Her smell is driving you insane. It’s making your grunts more raw, more primal, more animalistic.

You reach out to grab her face. You’re trying not to make it harsh. You don’t want to hurt her. Her moans are interrupted with a gasp. She’s shocked at the sudden contact on her face. She definitely is.

You move in for a kiss.

It’s sloppy, unrefined. There’s no tenderness in it, no romance, no lovey-dovey bullshit. Your hands are still freely groping Kazuha's breasts like they’re yours (they’re yours). Your tongue invades her mouth, gathering her taste. She’s definitely salty—all the sweat and such.

She finally catches the tempo of the kiss, finally holding on her own. Your tongues are now intertwined in a battle for dominance, trying to taste each other as much as possible. The sound of kissing rings inside your head. It’s far from romantic. It’s sloppy. It’s primal. It’s raw.

“Mmmph, fuck,” she utters as you’re still ramming into her ass. Occasional moans into your mouth can be heard. She finds pleasure in it, and you’re happy that she does.

And you pull back. A string of saliva is still connecting your mouths together. It’s vulgar. It’s obscene. That fits. You rest your forehead on Kazuha’s. It feels so intimate. You’re so close to her. You can feel the warmth emanating from her, see her sweat running down, see her pores, and you can only think to yourself: fuck, she really is an angel.

“I’ll get that solo for you, Zuha,” you say, forehead touching hers. Your mouth feels empty without her tongue. It feels great having her inside your mouth.

“B–Better keep th–that promise, boss,” she replies, voice barely holding itself together.  “I’ll fucking join aespa if it’s an empty one.”

You let out a chuckle. She definitely won’t do it, but it’s not like you’re flippant. 

“Sure. It’d be suck to lose another member,” you answer her with a smile. You’re trying to make it as sincere as you can.

You keep pounding into her ass, chasing both of your orgasms. Your hands roam down back to her small, slutty waist. Her breathing grows frantic. You can see the goosebumps on her arms. She’s close. She’s close.

“F–Fuck, a–again, gonna cum again,” she rasps. Her voice is barely holding itself together. Her walls contract around your cock.

Her dam breaks. Her nectar leaks out of her cunt onto the floor. Some of it spills onto your cock, some spill onto your feet. She lets out a primal grunt, spurring you on to fuck her ass with‌ even more roughness. You plow her puckered hole through her orgasm. She’s sensitive, but you don’t fucking care. You couldn’t care any fucking less. You have to cum inside Nakamura Kazuha’s ass.

You buck your hips into Kazuha with reckless abandon. Fuck the other women if they’re going to hear this. You’re more than willing to let them know who owns this angel. It’s you. It’s you. Your hands roam over every curve and contour of her body, feeling her smooth skin on your hand. You know it’s hyperbolic, but she’s nothing short of perfection.

Her moans remain guttural and raw. They’re echoing through this practice room, and you’re damn sure that no sounds can be as ethereal as that. Her body, god, her body, you are going to keep dreaming about it forever. Her ass feels utterly divine. She wraps your cock in a way that’s so damn flawless, and it’s like she was made for your cock and your cock only.

You can feel it. The rising current inside you. It runs through your body. It’s electric. It’s going to burst. You’re going to cum inside your employee’s ass, and you couldn’t have found any better situation to be in.

“Here’s what I’m going to do, Zuha,” you order. Your voice couldn’t be stronger than this. Your grips on her waist tighten. “I’m going to fucking cum inside your ass, and you’re going to take it like a good girl you are, alright?”

“Nghhngn, y–yes, boss,” she groans, her voice breaking into pieces. She’s broken already.

It’s there, that familiar feeling inside your loins. You quicken and quicken your pace, pounding into Kazuha’s ass with an unmatched aggression. Your cock is throbbing inside her, so ready to explode. Your breathing is erratic. It’s all culminating in this. You’re going to cum.

“Gonna–Gonna cum,” you grunt, thrusting into her as fast as you can. It’s there. It’s right fucking there.

“Fuck!”

You lose yourself for the second time of the day, this time inside Nakamura Kazuha’s ass. You can see stars. White spurts paint the inner walls of her. Your body convulses, shaking in bliss. You grunt loudly. Your cock twitches inside her rear hole. The way she keens rings inside your ear as she feels the cum paint her walls. Fuck.

Your cock keeps shooting ropes and ropes of cum into her ass. It feels utterly divine, the way her ass hugs your cock so damn tightly. You press Kazuha against the wall, trapping her in your embrace, forcing her to take all of your cum. She screams in pure pleasure. 

“Fuck,” you groan, as you slowly come down from the earth-shattering orgasm you just had. Both of you are panting in exhaustion. It was tiring. It was mind-breaking.

You drag your spent cock out of her tight ass. Both of you groan in oversensitivity. Cum slowly leaks out of her ass. You’re all limp, and so is she.

Kazuha still can’t seem to catch her breath. She turns around to face you, face all flushed, mouth hanging open before slowly retreating onto the floor. She’s exhausted, and so are you.

You look down to face her. Your hands are resting on the wall, trying to hold you up with all the forces they have left. Your cock is all sore from the act, and you’re going to need a good sleep after this.

“God,” she utters, smiling. “That was–that was fun, huh?”

“Y–Yeah, that was fun,” you reply with a chuckle. The mood lightens up. The lust earlier is now replaced by comfort. You feel the air thinning. It’s not as tense as before.

You sit down next to Kazuha, head resting on the mirror. The trace of her body can be seen on the wall. It’s imprinted, dirty. You don’t really care. Let the staff see it.

You look around the room, trying to cool down from the debauchery, before Kazuha rests her head on your shoulder. You feel the unfamiliar warmth from her head. It’s–comforting.

“Promise me you’ll get me that solo.” She brings up her pinky finger.

It wasn’t supposed to be much more than a currency. Robotic. Mechanical. Transactional. Though, as you experience through it, you somehow find retreat in it. The act, even if as rough as it was, brings out the side you’ve never seen in her, and something you thought you’d never shown to anyone else. It’s weirdly comforting to you. And maybe, just maybe, the two of you might look forward to another encounter where you fuck her brainless again, and you might learn a few more things about her, and she’d share more of her with you, being each other’s solace against the world.

“I promise.”

—

[aishangotome]

[Silvio] A Love Tailored To You Part 3

Credit to @shatcey for providing the video upload.

That night, after buying the liquor, I was alone in my room, facing the algae-colored bottle.

The glass next to it was still empty. Once I poured the drink, there would be no turning back.

(If I drink this, I'm sure I'll become incredibly bold, like a different person.)

(Silvio will surely be pleased with this different me.)

(But...)

I looked at my own face reflected in the window.

(If I'm "like a different person" and I don't even have any memories of that time, is that really me?)

(What if Silvio tells me he prefers the bold me...?)

I looked away from my reflection in the window and pushed down the growing unease in my chest.

(What's the point of worrying about it now?)

(I knew all that, and I bought this liquor to please Silvio.)

With determination, I pulled out the cork and poured the liquor halfway up the glass.

The unfamiliar whitish drink seemed like a magic potion at this moment, and yet, also like a poison.

Emma: Gulp...

I lifted the glass and drank it all in one go.

Emma: Cough... !

(This is stronger than the last one...! It burns my throat.)

My body grew hotter with each breath, and I felt the alcohol coursing through my entire system.

I glanced at the window, and the reflection of my face was flushed––

-

Emma: ––Silvio!

Silvio: What the–!?

I flung open the door to Silvio's room.

I walked straight towards Silvio, who was sitting in a chair, and lightly grasped his arm.

Silvio: You're staring blankly. Are you alright?

Emma: I'm alright.

Emma: I'm going to make you feel good today.

With my clumsy hands, I somehow managed to start taking off Silvio's clothes.

Silvio: Hey, wait! Don't take them off, you idiot!

Emma: No. I'm taking them off.

Silvio: Don't "I'm taking them off" me. Calm down for a second!

He firmly pressed my hands to my sides and then sat me down on the chair.

Silvio: You reek of alcohol... Don't tell me you drank that liquor again.

Emma: I drank it.

Silvio: You really are an idiot...

Silvio brought over the water pitcher that was on the bedside table.

He poured water into a glass and placed it in front of me.

Silvio: Here, drink this––That's why I told you not to take my clothes off!

Silvio grabbed my hands, which were still trying to undress him, and made me touch the glass.

Emma: But I can't make you feel good if I don't take your clothes off.

Silvio: Just drink the water.

Emma: Can I take your clothes off after I drink it?

Silvio: Do you want to take my clothes off, or do you want to take your clothes off? We'll worry about clothes later.

Emma: Okay, I'll drink it.

I gulped down the water.

The cool liquid flowed through my burning body, but it didn't cool the heat.

Emma: I drank it, so I'm going to love you a lot.

Silvio: What are you planning to do in that state? Just drink some water and calm down. Don't do anything unnecessary.

I tried to stand up, but he pressed down on my shoulder, making me sit back in the chair.

Silvio: ...Knowing that you'd get drunk to the point of losing your memory, why did you drink it again?

Emma: Because when I'm really drunk, I'm bold, and I thought I could please you.

Silvio: Honestly, you really have forgotten everything about the other day.

Silvio: Well, I guess it's partly my fault for teasing you like that.

Silvio's hand covered mine, which was resting on the table.

(His hand is cool and feels nice.)

(Being like this with Silvio makes me feel very calm.)

Silvio: When you got drunk at the party the other day, you kept asking me if I "liked it when you were bold."

Silvio: You said something like, "I might not be able to satisfy you."

(Did I...?)

With my drunken head, I desperately tried to remember what happened after the party.

Perhaps because the situation was similar to that time, the memories vaguely returned.

*flashback*

Emma: If I were more alluring and had the confidence of a mature woman, I would look good standing next to you.

Silvio: What's the point of looking good? Are we going to be painted in a portrait or something?

Emma: Not a portrait, but... I want to be told we look good together, don't you?

Emma: Besides, you always tell me to be bolder...

Emma: I thought if I could express my love without being shy, I could satisfy you.

Silvio: Listen...

Silvio: It's not that I like bold women in general. I like it when the woman I love acts boldly.

Silvio: It's irresistible when the woman I love is erotic only in front of me.

Emma: Is that how it is?

Silvio: That's how it is.

Silvio: Besides, I can't be satisfied with anyone but you.

Silvio: Bold or not, I'm satisfied just being loved by you.

Silvio: So don't overthink things.

*back to present*

Silvio: ...Did you remember?

Emma: Kind of...?

Emma: Huh? So, that night we didn't do anything...?

Silvio: That's right. I didn't sleep with you that night. So there was nothing bold about it.

Emma: But you said I was like a different person.

Silvio: I was just bluffing.

Silvio: You were drunk and rambling, and it made me say some embarrassing things too.

Silvio: I wouldn't sleep with a woman who's drunk to the point of unconsciousness.

Silvio: A man of Benitoite doesn't leave a drunk woman alone. ––In every sense of the word.

(So that's how it was...)

Silvio's words warmed my heart, but my body was even hotter from the alcohol.

In fact, precisely because my love for him was growing, I desperately wanted to express this love to Silvio.

Emma: But today, I'm not drunk to the point of unconsciousness.

Emma: So, today, let me drive you crazy.

Silvio: You're already pretty crazy right now.

Emma: I'm fine. I won't be shy.

Emma: I'll accept anything you do to me. Because I love you...

Silvio: If you'll accept anything, then go to sleep for today.

Emma: Wah!

He suddenly lifted me up and placed me on the bed.

As Silvio held me and stroked my head, my vision gradually became hazy––

--The next morning--

Emma: Mmm...

I woke up and, just like the morning two days ago, Silvio was lying next to me.

(My body feels so heavy... and again, I have no memory of last night.)

As I winced from the pounding headache, Silvio shifted his position and turned to face me.

His expression, once again, seemed satisfied.

Emma: Um... how was last night?

Silvio: You were saying some embarrassing things. Both of us were.

Emma: Like what?

Silvio: Ha, I can't repeat it while sober.

(I wonder what I said. But Silvio was satisfied... right?)

(There's still quite a bit of that liquor left, and if he likes the bold me, I can be that way any number of times.)

As I was thinking about all this, Silvio gently grasped my chin.

In his ocean-blue eyes gazing at me, I could somehow sense a "hunger"––

Silvio: Be prepared tonight.

Emma: Huh?

Silvio: You'll take responsibility for what you said yourself.

The day passed without me understanding the meaning of Silvio's words––

––And then came the night.

I asked Silvio, who had come to my room, to wait a moment while I retrieved the bottle of liquor I had hidden away.

(I don't know what I said last night, but it's probably better to drink it, right...?)

Just as I was about to pour it into the glass, Silvio snatched the bottle away––

Silvio: I don't want this. I'm here to crush you in my arms.

.

.

.

Part 2 | Part 4

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[xf-cases-solved]

ayyyy, @numinousmysteries, guess who it is! it's me, your secret santa for the @poangpals gift exchange, here to gift you words that are kinda angsty, kinda hurt/comfort-y, and kinda (or more than kinda) horny. i've written a lot of cancer arc lately and was like "hmm, maybe i should branch out..." BUT, when i saw your ideal episode was "memento mori but they bang at the end," i was like, "okay, well, obviously this was meant to be." so that is what i have brought you! a post-memento mori fic where they bang at the end! thank you for everything you bring to this community. you're a baller and i hope you enjoy your gift <3 -diz Title: Memento Vivere Word count: ~6500 (bc i can't shut the fuck up to save my life) Rating: Explicit Here's the link to ao3, or save yourself a click and read below!

***

Memento Vivere

She is in the middle of grimacing at her own reflection in the small compact mirror she found at the bottom of her overnight bag when Mulder shows up at her hospital room, keys jangling in his hand as he hovers in the doorway, neither outside nor inside, like he's uncertain about what kind of proximity he's allowed this morning. Like she's a skittish cat he's trying to win over. And what grates at her isn't his tenuous disposition—it's that it's completely warranted, and it's so jarring to be known so well.

She knows that he knows that she bared her heart to him last night, and is now grappling with mortification. She's never been good with emotions. In college, she could do a walk of shame with her head held high, but when a lover would voice their affection for her she would suddenly become incapable of looking them in the eye. Her heart is in a lockbox and sometimes she goes so long without opening it she almost forgets the combination, and when she does manage to pop it open she gets frantic, wanting to immediately slam it shut.

"You about ready to go?" Mulder asks casually. Too casually. He's assessing her like he would a suspect, adjusting his tone to meet her mood and make himself more approachable, and she wants to snap at him for profiling her, but she won't. She can't. Not without confirming his analysis of her, and she doesn't need to open the spine of her book any wider when he can already read her with such clarity.

In her writings—the filled pages already torn from the notebook and shredded into pieces in the wire trash bin next to her bed—she had thought she was divulging the secrets of her heart to him. It occurs to her only now, as he watches her from across the room with a purposefully mild expression, that while he may not know her every thought, he is the only other person who knows the combination to the lockbox in her chest. He could open it at any time, but he doesn't. He could reach inside her and hold her beating heart in his cupped hands, learning every detail and committing it to memory, but he would never take from her anything that wasn't freely given. His respect is almost more overwhelming than anything, because it's a reminder that if he weren't an honorable man he could ruin her. He has access to her nuke, and she can do nothing but trust that he won't hit the button.

"Yeah, just a second," she replies—casual. 

She slips the compact mirror back inside her bag and gets to her feet. She tries to summon the woman inside her who walks down the hallways of the Hoover Building—confident, assertive, and unaffected by stares or assumptions—but it's difficult without her body armor. Even though she only had one infusion of the chemo, her body still feels frail and hungover, like the day after a bad twenty-four hour flu, and she's wearing flats with her yoga pants and sweater, highlighting the height disparity between the two of them in a way her heels usually help to mitigate. There wasn't a hair dryer to use after her shower, so the natural curls she usually irons out are taking over, absurdly making her feel disorderly and sloppy. And she's not wearing makeup, and it's not the dark circles around her eyes or even the mole above her lip that she's self-conscious about—it's the freckles that spatter across her cheeks and nose. Well put together women don't have freckles, and she's sure he's going to interpret her vulnerabilities on her sun-kissed skin like the soggy tea leaves at the bottom of a china cup. 

The worst part of dying, she's starting to think, is the discovery that her walls that felt sturdy like concrete are actually made of straw, and there's nothing like an illness to come sweeping through to blow your house down.

On the way out of the hospital they pass the room Penny died in. She looks away from the door, and Mulder looks at her. In a blink-and-you-miss-it moment he reaches over and squeezes her hand. 

They don't say anything. 

Scully thinks his choice of silence says more than words ever could.

*

When she wakes up on her couch she isn't sure if it was the nightmare that roused her, or the relentless throbbing in her head.

The ride back home from Allentown had been uncomfortable in every sense of the word. Mulder had rambled theories at her—about Dr. Scanlon and MUFON and government agendas—until her lack of engagement made the conversation eventually dissolve, first into him nervously chattering about the most ridiculous X-Files cases he could think of and, when that didn't work either, into nothing, a pall falling over them as she shifted restlessly in her seat, unable to find a position that didn't feel ill-fitting like a shirt that she couldn't untwist. They didn't once speak the word cancer.

She hadn't meant to fall asleep after he dropped her off, but ten minutes into some daytime talk show and she was suddenly dead to the world, and judging by the low light that surrounds her, she has slept all the way from early afternoon well into dusk. The TV still flickers at her, now playing the evening news, and she's sure that there aren't going to be any headlines about manufactured brain tumors and shady oncologists who betray their Hippocratic oath by purposefully poisoning women who look to them for salvation. The types of horrors she witnesses rarely make the news. Not with all the facts attached, at least.

She pushes herself up with a groan. Her head really hurts, and although her first instinct is to attribute it to the mass in her sinus cavity, when she reaches up to swipe under her nose there are no remnants of dried blood, and the dryness of her tongue and hollowness of her belly makes her think that the rhythmic throbbing in her skull is probably because she can't remember the last time she had a glass of water or a single bite of food. 

She goes about the motions of getting together what she supposes is technically dinner, even though she forgot to proceed it with breakfast or lunch, and when she gets it all together—a hearty meal of half a banana, a slice of buttered toast, three ibuprofen, and a tall glass of ice water—she settles back down on the couch and assesses the other ache she'd awoken with.

The nightmare is formless in her memory, lacking a cohesive plotline now that she's in the waking world, but nevertheless, the emotions it stirred up inside her are visceral. There is a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, bottomless as the abyss. It's a type of fear that grips her from the inside, putting her adrenal gland into a chokehold and activating her fight or flight, except she can't fight her own mind anymore than she can flee it. 

This is how she knows, even without the details, that her dream was about dying.

These types of dreams have been coming to her more frequently nowadays, starting the night Leonard Betts spoke five chilling words to her in the back of an ambulance. She's had friends who have been pregnant, and they would often tell her about the constant dreams they would have on the subject throughout the entire nine months. In a way, she figures, it's a similar concept; she and her friends all have had dreams about what their body is growing inside them—the notable difference of course being that they grew something into life, and she's growing something that takes it away. 

Tomorrow she is going to have to start making phone calls. Make appointments and discuss treatment options and try not to get discouraged when the options are limited. When she first told Mulder about the cancer, he had been so insistent, saying, "There must be some people who receive treatment for this," and at the time she hadn't been able to bring herself to tell him that she wasn't sure she was going to be one of them. The odds were, and are, so heavily stacked against her, and as a medical doctor she is very aware that sometimes quality of life outweighs the quantity of it. Her experience in Allentown hasn't really endeared her toward the idea either, if she's being honest, and not because of Scanlon, or even because of Penny, but because she had not felt sick at all, up until she tried to treat the illness, and then suddenly she'd been in hell. 

But while she may be uncomfortable with how much of herself she bared to him last night, she knows that she made promises that she can't take back. She is loyal to a fault, and she gave both him and herself her word that she would continue to live as long as she could, and so she will. 

She's just not convinced much of her life in the upcoming days and weeks and months and maybe even years will feel much like living. In fact, she's pretty worried—down to the very depths of her subconscious, if her dreams are any indication—that she's going to feel like she's dying.

They say doctors make the worst patients. Sometimes that's because of stubbornness. Sometimes it's because they know exactly what to expect.

She finishes her meager meal and drinks down the last of her water. She slips an ice cube into her mouth and bites down on it, shattering it into pieces. The enamel of her teeth has always been sensitive to temperature, but instead of being off-put by the pain that spikes through to her jawbone when the ice touches her nerves, she revels in it. Her head, while somewhat improved, is still aching, and she finds herself appreciating that as well. She finds she is grateful for the signs her body is giving her to tell her it's still here, and maybe that's the trick. Maybe to get through this she has to go into it with a respect for the pain. This only hurts because I am alive, she'll have to train herself to think. 

She can do that. She's certainly stubborn enough. 

She wishes it didn't all have to be about pain, though. She doesn't want to forget that a body can feel good things too.

Ice crunches between her teeth, shocking her like a root canal, while she thinks about the signs of life that are enjoyable. Warmth. Comfort. Pleasure.

Pleasure.

On the TV, the news anchors are tying up their reports that are lacking things they don't even realize are missing. In her mouth her internal temperature warms the ice water, and the ebbing of the pain is a brief moment of gratification that acts as a sampling of what endorphins can do. 

Tomorrow she is going to have to make plans to put herself in a varying, yet indefinite state of pain, and she will have to learn to appreciate it in order to remember how to be alive. 

Tonight, however, she could remind herself in a different way.

It is a terrible idea.

It's an idea she has had a million times before and has stamped down just as often.

Ten minutes later and she's out her front door and getting into the driver's side of her car. Muscle memory guides her down the streets toward Alexandria, while she spends the whole drive telling herself to turn back.

She doesn't.

*

"Hey," Mulder says in surprise, eye widening slightly at the sight of her standing at his door. He's got on a white tank top and dark grey sweatpants, looking nothing like the federal agent he usually does. Instead of seeing a professional, albeit a tad bit crazy, government official, she sees her friend in the way that is much easier to ignore when he's wearing a suit and an ugly patterned tie. Like this, he exudes masculine energy, and her eyes are immediately drawn to the slopes and curves of his muscular shoulders and biceps. There is hair peeking out on his chest where the neckline of his shirt dips low. He hasn't shaved for at least a day, an even stubble shadowing his cheeks and jaw. She drops her gaze to the floor before he can catch her roaming eyes, and she sees his feet are bare. For some reason that's the most intimate part of it all, and the reality of what she's come here to do hits her like a freight train and she flushes with what must be a particularly spectacular shade of red.

In contrast, she's feeling a lot like she did this morning, like a soldier out of uniform. She's wearing the same pair of yoga pants, and under her coat she has on a faded souvenir t-shirt her parents gave her after an anniversary trip to the Outer Banks well over five years ago. It occurs to her only now that she'd left in such a rush that she hadn't even bothered with a bra, and she becomes instantly aware of the oversized shirt brushing directly against her breasts.

At least she wore boots with a heel this time, but in reality it's not doing much to level the playing field. Mulder's six-foot frame still dwarfs her completely, and while she normally feels like a peer in his presence—like a respected intellectual whose gender is totally irrelevant—tonight she is feeling a lot like she did the first time she entered a university science lecture and found herself surrounded almost entirely by men. The difference is that back then she had felt, ridiculously, embarrassed by her femininity, hyper-aware of every questioning stare, asking the same question: What is she doing here?

But like with most things, Mulder—simply by virtue of being Mulder—challenges her way of thinking. While she has long since stopped viewing her womanhood as a flaw, she is always viscerally aware when the people around her view it as one, and over time that has bred resentment. Standing here before him, though, she holds no animosity toward the difference in their sexes. Like the way her science complements his reckless belief, so too, in this moment, does her feminine ying balance his masculine yang. 

She doesn't even worry about the freckles on her makeupless face. 

"Scully?" He sounds concerned, and she realizes she's been standing here in silence after appearing at his apartment unannounced, and the last time they saw each other it had ended with her muttering a curt goodbye as she all but bolted from his car to escape the suffocation of her own self-imposed belief that emotional vulnerability was akin to disgrace.

But what Mulder isn't privy to yet is that the shame from this morning about being so transparent has been wholly replaced by the need of a dying woman to be reminded of the good parts of being alive. Scully is ready to be bare, by every definition, and she can only hope that he'll let her. 

Refusing to give in to cowardice, she forces herself to look up from the floor to meet his eye. 

"Can I come in?" she asks.

"Yeah, of course." He angles himself to place a hand on the small of her back, ushering her inside, and even through her coat and shirt the contact burns like the ice touching her enamel. She kicks off her boots, sinking back down to her natural five foot two—three, if the height gauge at the doctor's office chooses to be generous—and lets him take her coat and hang it up, before leading them both over to the couch. He plops down, leaving a purposeful vacancy beside him, and looks up at her expectantly, but she doesn't sit. Cocking his head, he asks, "Are you all right? Why are you here? If you needed something you know you could have called me and I would have come to you. I know you only went through one day of treatment, but I'm sure it had to have taken a toll on your—"

"I'm fine," she insists, cutting him off. She doesn't say it harshly, but she doesn't leave room for him to argue against it either, even though she can tell he desperately wants to. Instead, he chooses to heed her command, and presses his lips closed, waiting for her to tell him why she's standing here when earlier today they drove over three hours and she had barely said a word the entire time.

It's possible she didn't think this far ahead. More than that—it's possible she hasn't thought this through at all. 

But she's committed now, and she's starting to feel feral, her needs centered around primitive instincts. It is in every species' nature to fight for survival at any cost, but she is burdened with a human's intellect that can allow her to deny herself continued survival if doing so also means prolonged suffering. If she is to keep her promise—if she is to fight for her life with treatments that make her feel sicker than the disease they're targeting—then she has to go into it with a memory that reminds her why it's worth it to stay alive.

She walks over to his desk and leans against it, mindlessly thumbing through documents strewn carelessly across the top. There are pieces from casefiles, and pages photocopied from obscure books on phenomena she'd never believe. There are scratch pieces of paper with notes scribbled on them, written in a shorthand that she's sure only makes sense to him. There are newspaper clippings and articles torn from tabloid magazines he would call source material, and she would call a scam. She doesn't read any of it, but she keeps her eyes trained on them as she considers her next steps.

Gaze pinned on a faded picture of some kind of creature that has clearly come off a printer that was running low on ink, she finally says, "I want to ask you for a favor, but I should warn you that it's a bit unorthodox."

"Unorthodox, huh? I dunno, Scully, I'm a pretty conventional guy, I'm not sure I can handle anything out of the ordinary."

A smile tugs at the corner of her lips. How does he do that? she wonders. How does he know how to calm her when he doesn't even know that she's feeling frantic in the first place? 

That you should know my heart, look into it, finding there the memory and experience that belong to you. That are you. 

Those were words she had written only days before, placed inside a journal that was meant to be a confessional, but again, she should have known better. What use is there in inviting someone into your heart when they're already there?

She stops fiddling with the contents of his desk and looks over at him. He's regarding her with an expression of concern that on a different day she would construe as pity and detest, but right now she has the capacity to accept that he's looking at her like that, not because she's weak, but because he cares. Because he's worried. Because he wants her to live.

"Last night, when you said you read some of what I wrote... how much did you read exactly?"

Mulder rubs the nape of his neck and shrugs.

"A bit," he says, which she takes to mean "all of it." She can picture him, after confirming she was safe, sneaking into her hospital room and sitting on her bed, skimming each page, and then going back through a second time to take it in more fully. It should feel like an invasion of privacy, but instead her impulse is to huff a small laugh. She tries so hard to hide from him, and yet he finds her every time.

"So you know about the treatment. What it feels like." He nods slowly, like he's trying to piece together what she's getting at and hasn't quite formed a cohesive picture yet. She sighs.

"Tomorrow I'm going to set up a meeting with Skinner and take him up on his offer in getting into contact with an oncologist. We can still pursue the case—that is, if any new evidence presents itself to give us any new leads—but in the meantime, I need to figure out what treatment options are available to me. Time is of the essence in these sorts of situations." 

Mulder nods again, still waiting for the clarifying piece of the puzzle.

"Mulder, without talking it over with a specialist, I can't know for certain what treatment route they're going to have me take, but with my medical background I can make an educated enough guess to safely say that, whatever it is, it's not going to be pleasant."

"Any help you need, Scully, you know I'm just a phone call away. And don't worry about work. If you have to take leave that's fine. What matters most is that you get yourself health—"

"I know. I know that, but that's not what I came here to talk to you about."

"... Okay." He gives a small shake of his head. "What then? What's the favor?"

Scully draws her lower lip between her teeth. 

"I need your help," she says slowly, "in reminding myself that my body can do more than feel pain. That it's more than just a vessel to get me from one place to another... I need you to help me remember why it's worth saving."

"I don't..." he starts, but his sentence trails off as she makes her approach over to him with a purposeful gait. She goes to stand between his legs and he opens them wider to give her space like the action is automatic. He tilts his head back to look dumbly up at her, and the change in dynamic—her above and him below—makes her feel some type of way low in her belly. 

She reaches out and cups his face, tracing the line of his cheekbone with her thumb, and she sees his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. She thinks the picture may be becoming clear to him now.

"Scully—"

"You can tell me to leave," she cuts him off. "You can say no and I won't hold it against you. We don't ever have to talk about it again. But if you're willing..."

Mulder gives a breathy, disbelieving laugh.

"Scully, trust me, it's not a matter of whether or not I'm willing, but look at what all you've been through in the past couple days. I don't think you're thinking rationally, and I don't want to take advantage—"

"Not thinking rationally? Me?" She smiles a little as she pulls her hand back, making a point to drag her fingers slowly across his skin on the way, and she doesn't think she imagines him leaning into her touch. "Mulder, I appreciate your concern, but why don't you let me decide what I do and don't want to do."

"Scully..."

"Do you trust me?"

He lets out a frustrated sigh.

"Of course I do."

She takes hold of both of his wrists, and when she tugs his arms out to settle his hands on her hips she's met with slight resistance, but she knows it's just for show. She's not weak, but he's got plenty of strength to get away from her if he really wanted to. Instead, the pads of his fingers press into her pelvic bone, even after she's dropped her hold on his wrists.

"Then trust me when I say this is what I need from you," she says. She smirks and adds, "I told you it was unorthodox." 

"You weren't kidding," he mutters, and fuck, his eyes are boring into hers so intensely she nearly shudders. 

Sweatpants are not exactly ideal when it comes to maintaining modesty in sensitive situations, and Scully's effect on him does not go unnoticed. Her eyes dart down to the significant bulge between his thighs, and then back up to his face where he gives a bashful half-grin accompanied with a one-shouldered shrug, as if to say "can you blame me?"

"I won't hold it against you," she tells him again, "but I do want this."

"Fuck," Mulder breathes. He shuts his eyes for a beat, like he's trying to compose himself, and then blinks them back open, embers of an impending fire starting to glow behind his dilating pupils. "This is a bad idea," he tells her, stating it more like a fact than as a deterrent. 

"Maybe," she agrees.

"We have to work together tomorrow. And the day after that. And after that one, too. You don't think this will... change things?"

"Not if we don't let it." 

"You really think it's that simple?"

She considers the question. Considers whether or not she can learn what it's like to have him explore her body tonight, and then pretend like she didn't come morning.

"We're two consenting adults," she says, evading the question. "Has the thought of doing this really never crossed your mind?"

"That... That feels like a leading question."

"Would it make you feel better if I said that it has definitely crossed mine?"

"Jesus, Scully," he breathes, shifting in his seat and clutching her hips so tight that she won't be surprised if later she finds finger-shaped bruises on her skin, reminiscent of dusted prints at a crime scene.

"It's just sex, Mulder," but even as she says it, she knows it's a lie.

He knows it too, judging by the muscle twitching in his clenched jaw as he holds her eyes with a steady look.

"Is it?" he asks evenly, and they both know the answer is no.

No. Of course not. Sex could never be "just" anything between them, but the reason why is a topic they've come to an unspoken agreement to never acknowledge aloud. But Scully isn't stupid. She knows that the way electricity behaves between them—constantly thrumming and sparking, in tense situations as well as banal—isn't normal. Four years ago she dropped her robe in front of him in a candle lit hotel room, and she hasn't stopped feeling his gaze on her lower back since; the tender way his eyes roved over her delusive mosquito bites is as permanent a tattoo as the blood red ouroboros that has only recently lost its scabs.

The term "something more" is a vague and fanciful concept she would sooner dismiss as nothing but a perpetuation of commercialized romance, if she herself wasn't subjected to it on a near daily basis. Since day number one there has been an elusive "something more" surrounding them, fighting for their attention, even as they so ardently deny its existence.

So no, it isn't just sex, but Scully also didn't come here to give voice to the elephant that follows them from room to room. To put it plainly, she came here so he could fuck the will to live back into her body, and she refuses to lose sight of her mission.

So in lieu of a response—because she can't animate any elephants, but neither can she lie to a man who treats truth like the core tenet to his religion—she instead throws caution to the wind, swoops in, and kisses him. 

Ice touches enamel. She wants it to burn.

Whatever reservations or protests he may have been fighting against must not be too hard to cast aside, because his response to her is instant, tilting his head to slot their lips together and kissing back so forcefully their teeth clack together. But even that doesn't, or maybe can't slow them down.

Mulder's hands move from her hips to her ass, and in a single swift movement he lifts her onto his lap. He swallows her surprised gasp as she straddles his thighs, his hard cock brushing her center, the layers of their clothing teasing her relentlessly when right now she needs skin-on-skin more than she needs air.

Mulder seems to be of the same mind, because one second she's sitting astride him fully clothed, and in the next he has somehow stripped her of her shirt, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. Returning the favor, she peels his off too, feeling like a kid at Christmas unwrapping the box she knows contains the best present under the tree.

Scully tries to recapture his lips, but he stills her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. He then leans back to get a good, long look at her.

"God, Scully," he whispers reverently, eyes trained on her chest. He reaches out to touch her, and when he does her breasts fit perfectly in his hands. Tentatively, and with such profound focus you'd think he was attempting to split an atom, he pinches her left nipple and rolls it experimentally between his index finger and thumb. It's such a simple touch, but it goes straight to her leaking cunt, and when she moans Mulder's attention darts back up to her face, the embers behind his eyes now a full-fledged forest fire, blazing a warpath through the trees. He makes it a point not to break her gaze when he leans in and takes the same nipple into his mouth.

"Mmm," she hums, letting her head loll back. He sucks the nub of her nipple taut, and involuntarily she bucks her hips in response. 

Mulder mumbles something incoherent against her breast, and when she asks for clarification, he pulls away with an obscene pop and then nuzzles his face in the crook of her neck, saying, "You're everything."

Everything. Like he ran through the full gamut of adjectives and found himself wanting. Like she is so many things at once that there isn't a single word that encompasses the breadth of her worth to him. 

You're everything.

It's the most overwhelming compliment she has ever received, because she wants, more than anything, to live up to it, and yet she's not even sure if she is going to be able to simply live, period. She's not sure when her greatest fear became failing him. It might have been the first time he ever challenged her. When she stood in front of his projector, veiled by the illuminated slides he'd already prepared for her arrival, as he quizzed her on chemistry, and causes of death, and the supposed limits of science in a vast and complex universe. She had wanted to prove herself to him then, and then just never stopped. 

The truth of his influence over her is too much to handle right now, so she decides to kiss him again—an act that is quickly becoming her new favorite strategy for deflection—and then buries her fingers in his hair. She oscillates her hips in slow circles, taunting them both with light but consistent pressure on his cock. She feels him twitch in anticipation for her, and her pulse throbs in her cunt in turn.

"I want you," she whispers against his lips, but he shakes his head.

"No," he murmurs. "No, not yet."

Before she can ask him for clarification, he's lifting her up with a firm grip on the backs of her thighs, and then proceeds to lay her down lengthwise on the couch.

There's a manic energy wafting off of him in waves, and yet, in total contrast, the way he slides her leggings and panties down and off her legs is so purposeful and leisurely that she has the absurd thought that nobody has ever undressed her with such respect before.

When he kisses her soundly on the mouth and then begins making a trek down her body with his lips and tongue and an occasional nip of his teeth, she feels—for the first time since she stepped foot inside his apartment with this ludacris idea—a pang of apprehension.

For the most part, she isn't a self-conscious person. Once she got past the awkwardness of adolescence, she's had a fairly healthy relationship with her self-image. But that said, Mulder's intended destination is obvious, and she's had enough sexual partners turn their nose up at the suggestion that for a moment she worries he's only doing it because he thinks she expects it of him.

But then he settles himself in between her thighs and peers up at her with a hunger better fit for a man so far into starvation he's about to succumb to it, and she realizes then that while he may be able to read all the words on her every page, it is not a one-sided transparency. If ever there were to be a scholar on the topic of Fox William Mulder, she would be the one.

The apprehension, already fleeting in the first place, dissipates entirely, and she lets her legs fall open in invitation.

There is no hesitancy in his acceptance. He uses two fingers to part her labia, and then starts off by dragging the flat of his tongue from her soaking entrance up to her swollen clit in one long stroke, and that alone has her crying out, unconcerned about how she sounds or how thin the walls might be. 

Never a man to miss important details, it's unsurprising the speed at which he masters the intricacies of her body. She knows he's paying attention to every miniscule shift in her body language by the way he adjusts the pressure and speed and direction of his mouth and tongue. When he slips one finger inside her, quickly following it up with a second, and pulses a come hither motion as he sucks on her aching clit she wants to sob. He eats cunt with the devotion of a holy man, and he makes her feel deserving of being worshipped.

This is why it's worth it to live. Because for every twinge and ache and pain her body is capable of, it is equally capable of so much good feeling that it could constitute a religious experience. That while there are always going to be moments of suffering, there are also going to be moments of pleasure, and to truly live you have to accept the full spectrum of what it means to possess a human body.

When the coiling heat in her cunt finally boils over, and she arches her back and cries out Mulder's name while a rapturous climax works through her, suspending time and space, she thinks to herself, over and over like a mantra—like a promise: This is what I'm fighting for. This is what I'm fighting for. This. Is what. I am fighting for.

When she comes back to herself enough to spring into action, she is barely conscious of her own movements, acting more on primal instinct as she yanks Mulder up and kisses him sloppily, licking into his mouth and tasting herself on his tongue as she manages to flip them so that he's lying on his back, panting up at her with blown pupils and parted lips. 

She gets his sweatpants and boxers pulled down past his knees, and he kicks them the rest of the way off. He curses when she takes hold of him and guides him to her entrance, unable to wait to be filled by him any longer. 

He's so big, and even with the slickness from her orgasm she has to take him in slowly, letting her cunt adjust to the stretch of him. 

"There's so much of you," she groans, rocking her hips, slipping him in further inch by inch. He's holding onto her hips again, gripping her like she's a life preserver as he clenches his jaw, clearly trying his utmost not to thrust into her before she's ready for it.

"You feel... Jesus, Scully, there aren't words to describe how you feel," he says, strained between gritted teeth, and she's so thankful for him. For his patience. For his attention. For the "something more" between them that she doesn't dare give a name to, even in the privacy of her own mind.

When she finally takes him to the hilt, it feels like an accomplishment. Skewered between her legs on his massive cock, she has the same sense of satisfaction she gets when she pins him into a corner during a debate. Already he has infiltrated almost every aspect of her life, and now he's inside her body as well, and she understands what he meant before, because it's everything. He's everything.

She tells him so, and that's more than he can handle. After the words spill from her lips, he thrusts up into her, making her shout, but on the next thrust she meets him in a counter-rhythm, driving him impossibly deeper inside her. The apartment is full of the sounds and smells of sex as she begins to ride him in earnest. She plays with her own tits, and he watches her, rapt with attention, and when his breathing starts to hollow, he puts a hand between her legs and lets her rub her clit against him.

"Yes," she moans, riding him harder, shocked that he has her teetering on the edge again so soon. "God, yes. Mulder, I—I'm going to—" 

She completes her sentence nonverbally, falling over the edge once more, and this time Mulder follows her. He's chanting nonsense syllables that are probably supposed to be her name, as she clenches around him and milks his cock dry, letting him fill her fully and completely. She wants to feel his spend leaking out of her later. She wants to feel bruised when she walks. She wants to remember every last second of tonight—even if they never speak of it again—because she is going to need the memories in order to face what's waiting for her come tomorrow.

When they've both returned to Earth, they stay joined together in silence for just a little longer, searching each other's faces, possibly for signs of regret, or maybe just for the sake of looking. He pushes a strand of her hair behind her ear and she lets her eyes flutter shut, leaning into the touch. Between her legs he's starting to soften. Her unorthodox favor has been fulfilled, and reality is hurtling back to them at speed.

"Thank you," she says, not opening her eyes. 

He doesn't respond for a few beats, and then he says, "It's worth it, Scully. Remember it's worth it." 

She nods. 

It's so easy, she thinks, to be aware of her own mortality. To remember that she will die.

She vows now that, in the face of every upcoming obstacle, she will remind herself, often, that she can also live.

[scathstudios]

There's Something Beautiful About The Game Hades

Well, year 2 is starting and I feel like I have to get this off my mind before the new year is here or it’s going to rot in my brain and possibly distract me from my plans regarding studies. Anyway, I’ve been playing Hades as a way to relieve stress ever since the game was gifted to me during the summer break and it’s been fun. Incredibly fun. 

There’s so much to love in this game, the character designs, dialogues and story; its plot and themes are really beautiful too. From the main quest of Zagreus (Zag) finding his mother to the other smaller storylines like getting Hypnos an autograph- it was something. Truth be told, I am at a loss of words, trying to pen this down, but I’ll try. 

I remember crying when I first beat Hades and finally got to venture out onto the surface in search of Persphone. I believe it was around my 60th run and it was close to 2 AM. Just me, alone in the study, in the dead of night and Hades had just fallen. I remember my hands shaking, fingers actually feeling numb, cold and a little achy from all the keyboard smashing. But I had finally made it and all that was left was to walk out the gates. 

And I did. I shakily brought Zagreus out to Greece, slowly making his way to the new environment. The sunrise was breathtaking. At that point all I could think of was “So I guess this is what it is; Sublime.” Look out, feeling small and the unknown. (Suddenly the Contextual and Theoretical Studies in Art were making so much sense, eyeing my two friends who will suffer with me next year.) 

Tears were starting to form haha. It got worse(?) when I finally got Zag to the clearing. Meeting Persphone for the first time, the mother who we, Zag really, were searching for since the first run was so emotional. The voice acting and the dialogue really got me here. Zag sounded so lost and small, at that point he wasn’t a God, just a lost son looking for some much needed answers. And Persphone’s shock, followed by anger, trying to kick her own son out- AAA I started crying. It was so sweet when they finally got to an understanding and bonded. Bittersweet when the inevitable happens and the Styx claims Zag, forcing him and Persphone to part. I remember Zag returning to the house and feeling the same anger at Hades and then determination to bust my way out again to see Persphone. 

I’m glad I played this game, and I’m happy to have completed it too.  It was very much a story about not giving up and picking yourself up when you fail. The characters were sweet and endearing with the exception of Zeus and Poseidon, but even they were still fun to laugh at. Hypnos grew on me, even Theseus’ loud talking was laughable in the end hahaha. 

I suppose this game really spoke to me in some way I haven’t really experienced before and it was a well crafted retelling of Greek Myth that was pretty well researched and carefully constructed in such a way it didn’t villainize characters over another. (cough the whole Demeter and Hades plot for example cough - Haven’t been a big fan of their modern retellings for a while now in general.) 

Fun.

Thanks for reading if you made it this far.

[tempests-bards-and-birds]

mavuika is confusing me and i don't like it

[divorcemotif]

FINALLY A HAMLET 2000 TRUTHER

VERY NICE TO MEET YOU I AM OBSESSED WITH HAMLET 2000. my friend and I put it on on a 3 am whim intending to make fun of it but the further in we got the more we were turning to each other like "wait is this good? is this actually good though?? holy shit?? why does this go off?"

[unproduciblesmackdown]

billions figuring winston shouldn't just also still be there in the end with the guys we accept so he needs to be sent out, which, it's also remarkable to recall like "okay does he still technically, partially work at/for axe global then? it's a 'maybe' but what matters is that he's not There even if so"....the way that even if we infer he did get to finally be sick of waiting on better, we weren't even given so much of an arc of a couple episode's leadup showing him markedly being more frustrated / fed up with The Usual bullshit or anything like that, the way it went with one ep to spare "oh right winston's catchphrases! we all know & loathe them" like don't strain yourselves....that even in giving up on things, winston still has to be further let down by everyone even after quitting, like well that's probably ultimately helpful for him but it was (a) forced on him and (b) not sure i'd give billions the credit for anything sympathetic towards winston versus "well the only thing to be done with winston material is have fun while epic winners shit on him however they want," the wags plotline had no point just like the later one that could've been scrapped & transformed into "how about taylor gets any dialogue this episode"....the way that billions may imagine like hmm what to do with winston? all that can Ultimately happen with him is he has to go away and die, for him it's [out of sight out of mind out of Existence], just as has been the show's approach for the consequences of him being shitted on all th time for years before this: there are none, b/c we're not looking at them, and winston is never not completely [othered] including right now, and if it helps for some reason we'll talk about how we might be fine if he literally dies. and so we're graced with a "who knows or cares, he's just gone, finally. after being kept around b/c it's so fun seeing winners torment him" ending as the only one they find imaginable for winston

[outer-edges]

i swear every time i reread something i wrote, even if it wasn't supposed to be personal, somehow turns into a deep look at my psyche. like the call is coming from inside the house oh my god

(putting my in depth ramblings about this under the cut cuz it got a lil long lol)

the main character of my big original work thinks there is something deeply, profoundly, and fundamentally wrong with her. she doesn't have any close relationships, and she thinks it's because of her fundamental shortcomings. she thinks she's an empty monster totally undeserving of love. she pushes people away and sequesters herself because she's too scared of people truly seeing her, and she'd rather live a waking death than confront that.

she spends her whole life pining for friendship and love and closeness while feeling completely isolated and alone. and now she takes solace in her loneliness and rejects any and all support because she thinks it makes her stronger. she tries to keep a tight string of control over her emotions, and can't ever express how she truly feels to those who actually know her in the real world. she thinks being independent is the true indicator of strength. and literally her entire character arc is about learning that love and support is where real strength comes from. the core of the story is her finding her 'best friend', dropping the superficial mask she shows the world, and revealing herself in totality, being completely vulnerable, and being loved and accepted all the same.

AND GUYS. SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE MAIN CHARACTER OF A FUN LITTLE COMIC-BOOKY BUDDY COP HITMAN ROMP. BUT OVER THE YEARS SHE SOMEHOW TURNED INTO THIS. LIKE THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE FUCKING HOUSE OH MY GOD

THEN THERE'S MY FUN LITTLE FANTASY SERIES. GUESS WHAT IT'S ALSO ABOUT? A GIRL WHO IS COMPLETELY ISOLATED AND ALONE AND DENYING PARTS OF HERSELF LEARNING HOW TO EXPRESS HERSELF AND FINDING LOVE AND ACCEPTANCE AND FAMILY.

like even my totally self indulgent spidersona oc that was ALSO supposed to be stupid fun: she has to keep a fundamental secret about herself and lives a double life where she convinced she's going to be ostracized and judged for this second life she's keeping a secret, and this secret keeps her from developing close relationships. then, when she finally finds peace, it's because she finds people she can share her secret with and they love and accept her anyway because they can relate and most have the same secret. THE MAJORITY OF WHICH WAS WRITTEN WHILE I WAS STRUGGLING TO COME TO TERMS WITH MY SEXUALITY....

and that's not even TOUCHING my works where i was self aware of what emotions i was working thru while writing. those are the things i was just doing for funsies 💀

THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE FUCKING HOUSE

[crazyw3irdo]

[Image ID: A UQuiz results screen. The result is Benvolio. The description reads “it may be different from the others, but you were still doomed from the start. the horror of being the most reasonable one in the group is that means everyone else makes mistakes. everyone else must face the consequences. everyone else gets hurt while you stand there unharmed. no matter the warnings you give, they are still punished. you can’t help someone who the universe decided must be destroyed. i admire that you still try. if only the game hadn’t been rigged from the start.” /End ID]

op here, i’ve been trying my best to do “death of the author” n stuff with this, but i just wanna say that imo that’s not the philosophy of the quiz. i posted this in march so yknow pretty different emotional vibe at the time compared to right now, nor did i think this would blow up on the scale it did. from my pov i was doing like, a twilight zone episode. a “hey wouldn’t it be fucked up if this happened?” type thing.

when i was making it my number one priority was “make people realize romeo and juliet isn’t a love story” which informed the tone, and another high priority was “make people want to read/watch/understand romeo and juliet” which to an audience of tumblr users also informed the tone. (if you go back far enough to when this post was first getting big you can see i said multiple times i personally thought the quiz was funny)

also, because i was using the medium of “personality quiz” i was able to put the quiz taker directly into the characters’ shoes. (realizing just now a medium full of seemingly branching pathways & choices that all end up in predetermined places ties really nicely into it) in order to be a character from romeo and juliet, you have to be beholden to fate.

the quiz intentionally blurs the line between the fictional and real so i don’t blame you for interpreting it that way, and hell, if you continue to see it that way then i won’t stop you, this is just my personal interpretation of it and that’s yours. i won’t deny that if i made this quiz today i wouldn’t’ve made it so bleak, and that when i saw my notes spike in activity from this back on the sixth my immediate reaction was “oh no, i hope everyone’s okay and this doesn’t ruin their day further”

anyway long story short (too late) i also believe there’s hope in the world. there’s the possibility to change. we, as real people and not fictional characters, are not beholden to the strings of fate or the writing of an author. stay strong everyone.

made a uquiz

[milfbrainrot]

.

this is hypocritical bc i also do nothing but complain about other people in fandom, but i do feel like fandom is... so much more complaining about other people these days than actually engaging or making things. or at least that's kinda where i've landed myself in a bad little cycle due to other people complaining first lol.

i have always had a sense of emotional paralysis with fanon creation that was able to be remedied by me having more time for it in the past to truly take as much care as possible. and now i really don't have that, be it to make sure i'm doing things in-character or not representing something badly. so i just don't make anything. and idk, i feel like it would be less difficult if there were less pressure from knowing all of these attitudes about what the fandom doesn't like more so than what it does like, since when a fandom DOES like something reblogs and comments are dismal.

a lot of times it's hard to think of things to say that aren't negative, which is why i think those posts happen so much. clearly i do this a lot. sometimes fandoms have more popular opinions on things and it feels inevitable to voice contrary opinions to make sure ur not insane, or idk to feel better at media analysis than the other people. and yeah lol sometimes popular fandom opinions are missing the point or you do not get the popular ship etc. it's good to have those discussions i think when done respectfully to try understanding why people think one thing, or pushing that hey something else also makes sense let's look there, etc, moreso collaboratively.

at the risk of romanticizing earlier fandom days, i guess there is something more general in the backlash now though? i imagine that on sites like livejournal, or i remember on deviantart, criticism was... kind of contained. your art might get one shitty comment or there might be deviantart stamps voicing Hot Takes you could then view the popularity of based on the comments/faves and how many people embedded it on their profiles. but there weren't mass reblogged posts with 120k notes about how boring an AU type is, or how stupid people are for shipping rather than worldbuilding, or how things that are genuinely skill issues more than malice are in fact malice so people aren't even allowed to explore and learn in their inherently amateur creations. it is easier to be hateful when a validated approved post is put on your dash affirming it or influencing that toward people and making it into a bigger deal than it needs to be to justify itself and all you need to do is hit a button to further the train.

like i just think there is such a higher expectation for perfect content tm catering to a mass appeal it would've been harder to measure and conform to before. every time i go on twitter the algorithm just gives me post after post of people going "i can't believe people think this character would do this" or "this headcanon pisses me off so much because___" or "ew how could people ship this?" ...all of which was absolutely present in fandoms before! like, i'm sure anonymous posting in particular saw a lot of these things get traction! but not in such a way where an opinion dragging something you do has 248 retweets putting it on ur feed and insinuating that ur mutuals will judge you next time you post a fic update with that thing. (and then ofc, as i do all the time, seeing people complaining = cue complaining about other people complaining.)

obviously we can just block people we don't like or whatever and it's up to us to not let contrary opinions get to us! i just guess this level of complaining has never before been so widespread and easy because you don't even have to say the thing yourself. you just have to hit reblog or retweet to voice something you otherwise would've kept to yourself with less care. and the numbers feel insane because of how much more popular online fandom is today than even 10 years ago, which... i think has brought on such a loss of etiquette in certain ways when fandom is less interactive and personal for like, tiktokers seeing a 30 second fancam and hitting like if op is lucky and scrolling by. algorithms making more personalized experiences make it so much easier to expect everything to cater to us so it's the end of the world when it doesn't. i could go off on a tangent about anti behavior but i won't. etc.

again i am hypocritical because i complain about other people in fandom endlessly (mostly... because of other people complaining about people like me first) and i am doing that here and i probs have reblogged lots of those things myself lol. obviously there are good convos to be had around how fandoms handle certain things! people are free to do that AND other people are free to post whatever kinds of creations they want AND people can block/mute/whatever any of the above! it's just... although fandom has always had its toxicity i do miss when it felt more fun and carefree and appreciative of imperfect contributions instead of... the balance we currently seem to have in a lot of cases.

it felt like we hit such a shift in ~2015 (anti stuff on the rise, representation convos around lexa dying, etc) that injected the expectations for mass media creators into literally anyone making anything at all for free and for fun. and as much as the ability to reblog/retweet/share around so easily can be beneficial for spreading good and building up fanon creators, i wonder if those critical convos wouldn't have gotten so intense and high-risk for anyone who didn't conform to some frankly impossible standards if it weren't for the intimidation of mutuals contributing to the 13k validating notes on a Hot Take. (and, in terms of anti issues, the ensuing callouts FOR making a mistake could get so much more traction than... telling people to Spread The Targeted Harassment Campaign Word by putting the effort into going and talking about it in their own journal.)

anyway, twitter bad and tumblr tags bad. and i really hope i can get to a point where i am less impeded by this sense of pressure keeping me from making things because it is honestly so hard now to take the limited time i have and pump out something that is either risky or out of character or inevitably imperfect and dare to post it. i am trying to do more with original works because of that, but i still love fandom! so it would be nice to engage with other fans through creating and sharing those joys more these days rather than only having the energy to engage with fandoms by seeing what other people are doing and then seeing these popularized takes and getting even further frozen about contributing lol. people are entitled to their opinions ofc and i need to just stay off twitter keep continually building up my ability to go "yeah that opinion is stupid / even if it's understandably contrary to my preferences i can still do what i want even though it feels more dangerous to know the amount of people who could conceivably ostracize me for it" as the sharing scale of Fandom Takes on too-influencing-friendly platforms continues to rise.

[starpros-sunshine]

Realising that nobody actually takes you that seriously is really weird?

[ravegore]

Ok now that my rage is mostly past i am in more lalaland. Glad to put my energy towards being happy and improving my life with my friends that i love and trust

[saerins]

ᯓ ᝰ CRAZY GOOD .ᐟ — itoshi sae

hold up, netizens. you’re in for a treat this time because guess what? out of all people, it’s time for itoshi sae to hard launch his girlfriend: you.

itoshi sae x female reader. content tags pro-player!sae, established relationship, profanity, kissing, kind of a tease here, he likes showing you off, oliver is the matchmaker. word count 1.5k

ᯓ notes .ᐟ hi guys i finally have some sae content for you all !!! >:) yes i’ve missed him , and no i didn’t abandon him :’) heh i hope all my sae lovers that are still here will like this mwah <3

there are many things that itoshi sae is good at.

soccer skills, one of them. snubbing people, the second. (that’s how he got the reputation of being rude—even if it’s not really true!) and three, not last and not least (but still substantially), it’s causing a buzz.

he caused a buzz the moment he debuted on the soccer field. his first game and he already made a name for himself. people started asking where he’d been his whole life (even if he was introduced to the people very early on), equating him to soccer megastars like cristiano ronaldo.

ever since that day, he’d been caught in the spotlight numerous times. mostly related to soccer, but some due to his personal life. more specifically, the media loves to take a guess on who he’s dating.

yeah, he’s had more than his fair share of dating rumours. if it were up to the media, sae would have had about thirty-four girlfriends by now and he’s only twenty-six this year. (go fish!)

but as many people do, almost everyone who consumes media content about sae is particularly interested in one thing that is shrouded in mystery: his dating life.

because despite all the rumours and whatnot, there’s never been any confirmation of any relationships at all. and no one in his circle has ever coughed anything up, so anything in that regard has been strictly hush-hush.

well, until tonight, when your boyfriend of six months invited you to one of his teammates’ high-profile birthday party.

“what, are you nervous?”

your boyfriend’s ever unbothered tone is still the same as when you first heard it a year ago. somehow you find it funny that one year later you’re living with the same guy you’d first found to be somewhat intolerable.

sighing, you try and zip up the back of your dress, looking into the mirror, making sure you have your best face on. “sae, you have fans that number in the millions, of course i’m nervous,” you comment, watching from the reflection in the mirror as sae saunters over to you, taking his hands out of his pocket.

he smirks at you through the mirror, his body pressed against you as he helps you zip your dress the rest of the way up, his lips right next to your ear. “i’ve never even seen you this nervous in front of me,” he says, poking a little fun at you as he gives you a light kiss on your temple.

a soft chuckle comes from him as you deadpan, obviously in much more distress than he’ll ever know. not that he’ll blame you; he’s used to the fame, you’re not. “relax, they’ll love you.”

“sae, they won’t.”

he shrugs. “yeah, you’re probably right,” he agrees, earning a small slap on the arm—and he’s laughing again, though this time he tilts your chin up and gives you a long, slow kiss. the kind that takes your breath away everytime he does it. “but who cares? i love you.”

and there he goes, saying that as if it’s no big deal. making your heart beat so quickly it’s not funny. and before you know it, he’s whisking you away into the lobby where a personal towncar is ready and waiting, with the chauffeur and everything.

“geez, oliver sure loves to go over the top, huh?”

sae gives a sharp exhale at your comment. “hey, that’s your friend right there.”

you roll your eyes, getting in first and sticking your tongue out at him. “and you should be thanking him, without him we’d never have met.”

you look away from him right after saying that so you don’t see it, but sae’s smiling to himself, already thanking his lucky stars.

he thinks meeting you and getting to love you is the luckiest he’ll ever get in this lifetime.

by the time you’ve arrived at the venue—a hotel in the heart of the city—swarms of paparazzi already litter the streets outside. they’ve no doubt had their fill of the other soccer players and mega celebrities that have already arrived and are now ready for the real star of the night (aside from the birthday boy himself): itoshi sae.

of course, everyone’s expecting to see sae all by himself because that’s what usually happens; sae attending any and every event alone and unbothered by the scene. it’s never a surprise anymore, but sae’s a good payday and they’d never miss a single shot.

the moment sae exits the car, it sounds like there’s a million shutters pressed all at the same time, give or take a few milliseconds. (it’s nothing you’re used to.) he stands right where he got out for a few seconds, and even inside you can hear the amount of photographers just begging sae to look straight at them.

and if you think that’s rowdy enough, oh boy you’re in for a treat. because the moment the paparazzi realise that sae’s not, in fact, headed for the hotel just yet, you can hear just a few confused noises before it turns into even more pleading the moment they realise he’s opening your side of the door.

when he opens it and holds his hand out for you, that ever handsome smile on his face (which you forget that he only ever shows to you), you feel like you’re nearly blinded by all the flashes. you brave through it though, taking his hand and getting out of the town car, being greeted by the mass of photographers yelling out to you and sae.

“sae, who is that!”

“hey, girl! look over here! yes right there!”

“what’s your relationship?”

“obviously that’s his girlfriend! hey you!”

you’re a little wide-eyed, stunned at how chaotic this scene is. it’s easy to lose yourself in it, but as it always is, sae realises it whenever you are, and he’s quick to pull you back in.

in this case, he pulls you into his arms, a hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as he rests his forehead against yours.

“hey, focus on me, just me,” he whispers to you, eyes looking into yours, eyelashes fluttering against one another’s.

(the paparazzi are having a field day.)

“you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you ask him, chuckling because you only now realise what a fucking tease he is.

sae shrugs, pulling your hair away from your face. (he’s actually just really grateful to you for doing this for him when you don’t need to—when you’re happy to just be able to support him behind the scenes but he really just wants the world to know that you exist, because it’s a blessing, really.) “maybe i am.”

and this time your heart’s beating faster than you know it ever could, his teal blue eyes melting into your gaze, lips getting closer and closer to your own, his calloused hand on the back of your neck.

like clockwork, his lips sink into yours, his tongue snaking its way in. (and the crowd goes absolutely wild.) you’re both laughing at the panicked and hurried yells from the photographers, slowly pulling away from each other.

you reach your hand out to wipe your lipstick stain off his lips but he doesn’t let you, winking at you and leaning in to whisper, “let everyone know who i belong to.”

such a fucking tease.

not that you’re opposed, so you let him be, shaking your head and following him as he holds your hand and leads you in.

within the next hour, pictures of you and sae flood the internet. (notifications come flooding into your phone too.)

itoshi sae hard launches new relationship with mystery woman!

soccer world loses another bachelor—everything we know about itoshi sae’s presumed girlfriend

most of them are pictures of your kiss, with a good chunk of it being his lipstick-stained lips.

as you scroll through some of the articles your friends texted to you, you’re probably never going to be used to it. you’re probably going to be anxious over everything you do in public now.

a slight panic bubbles up in your chest, but then sae comes over, pulling you backwards into his embrace, looking over your shoulder at your phone.

“that quick, huh?”

and suddenly it’s like anxiety has never existed. because even if it may not seem like much, a year of knowing itoshi sae has made you feel safer than you ever did, knowing that he’s always there to catch you, to never make you feel alone.

you melt into his embrace, turning your head and giving him a kiss, your lipstick stain still on his lips.

“i fucking love you, itoshi sae.”

his eyes widen a little before they grow soft, arms pulling you even closer. “i love you too, stupid.”

(and while the two of you are getting all lovey-dovey at his party, oliver’s just slightly—a lot—upset that sae upstaged him during his own birthday party.)

“i fucking hate the both of you,” oliver groans.

[micer2012]

a reflection on MatPat's plagiarism

Hello, my name is Della, or micer2012, and 2 years ago Game Theory plagiarized three Tumblr posts of mine, making a video that now holds almost 6 million views.

My posts explaining his plagiarism made their rounds on Reddit, Tumblr and Twitter, but despite the Hermits and Pooka commenting on it (generally in support of me or saying they don’t know enough details about the situation to say either way), MatPat and his team have never owned up to anything, and no mention of my name is present on the video. The one Reddit post they made denying it (which was made before my detailed takedown, which they have never responded to (though the mods on the r/GameTheorists Reddit were kind and made sure it stayed up)) didn’t even mention me by name, just referring to me as “a tumblr user”. (Though one of the screenshotted comments in the body of the post does say my name)

This experience was baffling, but it’s overall had a positive impact on my life. r/Hermitcraft gave me a Golden Apple Award (post of the year, 2021). My inbox was filled with excited fans, wanting to ask me questions or pose their own theories, far more than the hate I got. (Though the hate I got from Game Theory fans was VERY funny. I wondered why none of them gave me shit about saying “MatPat misgendered Evil Xisuma” before realizing none of them read that far into the post.)

And getting on a more personal, and much more important note, I met most of my current online friends through this, including my partner. It helped me grow closer with my irl friends as well and gave me an entertaining story that I tell whenever I have the chance. It was one of the first things in my life that really made me feel like my talents, my autistic hyperfocusing and analyzing of things I love, could be valuable. Useful. Exploitable. It blew my mind that MatPat thought an autistic kid’s ramblings about a Minecraft Youtube joke character were good enough to steal. To put an audible sponsorship on. To get 6 million views off of.

And that’s why I’m writing this post, this update years later. As you might’ve been able to guess, Hbomberguy’s Youtube video on plagiarism reopened this wound. It was really hard for me to sit through, it took days of pausing and taking breaks, because I had experienced everything he was talking about firsthand. 

In my 10 page long takedown post, I wrote about how his rewording of my sentences made him say things that were incorrect, just like Filip did. The content farm production style that made big companies like Cinemassacre take one creator (AVGN/MatPat) and turn him and his content into a brand, a voice that reads out scripts by other people with other opinions/theories, is a history shared with Game Theory. What really hit me was Harris talking about how big creators only do this to people they think they can get away with doing it to. How they view their victims as lesser, as not deserving of their words, repackaging them as their own to give to an audience that can gain from hearing them, but deserves better than to have to listen to the original victim.

That’s the thing, I 100% think a video version of my theory to expose to a bigger community than “Evil Xisuma Fans on Tumblr” is a great idea!! Near the end of the video Harris talks about how video adaptations of things could be a great market, even an accessibility tool, and I completely feel that about my posts. I wrote them quickly assuming the reader was someone well versed on Evil Xisuma lore, after not even watching most of the CarnEvil series, and the diagrams I made to explain them are even less comprehensible. Harris makes a joke that I completely agree with, 

“I’m sure some of my videos would do very well if someone translated them into English.”

I don’t think I would’ve ever made my posts if I didn’t have autism, and a special fixation on Evil Xisuma and Hermitcraft. I made them because I felt the character was being done an injustice, and because I wanted to share with other superfans this theory that might explain it away. I do think that MatPat plagiarizing me was ableist. I used to wonder a lot if this would’ve happened if my posts were articulated better, if they had been peer reviewed, if the posts themselves had been spread to a wider audience before MatPat made his video. At one point when the discourse was fresh (before I had the time to write out my 10 page rebuttal), a bigger YouTuber (100k subs at the time) messaged me and started talking on Discord, interested in possibly making a video on the discourse, but I think my style of typing and general enthusiasm drove him away. You can tell by a single look at my blog (or my original 3 posts!) that I don’t usually type like this. This post you’re reading now has been peer reviewed and edited, and took me hours to format correctly. That video could’ve been huge, the entire outcome of this MatPat situation would probably be much different.

I also used to stress a lot about “being the one who ruined Evil Xisuma’s story”. If you didn’t know, to me S8 Evil Xisuma’s story got wrapped up pretty quickly and unsatisfying (in my personal autistic opinion). (though this might’ve been due to s8 being experimental and ending early with moon big) There was no real culmination of the plot points and arcs going on, and I don’t want to blame myself, but when Xisuma said on stream (when the MatPat thing was first going on) that he didn’t want to focus on the discourse or draw more attention to it, it makes a lot of sense to me that he just wanted to wrap it all up as quickly as possible. For a while I beat myself up about it, of ruining the story of this character I love, but it’s not my fault. If anyone’s, it’s MatPats, but I don’t think it’s useful to just blame someone else. That’s how the story ended up going, and that’s fine. This is Evil Xisuma we’re talking about, their inconsistent lore is what made them such an interesting character. And notably, Pooka made an animation with an awesome culmination of Jeff, the Dreamer, Evil Xisuma, and his own sona’s story, and it makes me so happy to watch. Whatever Pooka does is of course his own choice, but I’m glad he got to give this personal story his own ending (if it is an ending, and not just the start of a new chapter!). 

Typing this all out and getting it off my chest has made me feel a lot better. For a while I wanted to make my OWN video essay about Evil Xisuma’s lore and CarnEvil’s lore, actually going episode by episode to explain it instead of just assuming you knew as much about Evil Xisuma as I did. That idea is still not off the table, but MCYT isn’t something I’m that into right now. Maybe if something else comes out about Evil Xisuma I’ll get back on it, but for now I’m fine with letting that go. But I want to make other videos, share other theories and analysis… if I have the freetime I’d love to make YouTube videos, and if I don’t have the time I’ll continue posting to my tumblr and infodumping to my friends. Apparently my infodumping is valuable enough “content” to steal! Writing this out has made me feel a lot better though, I’m really glad I got it out.

If anyone ever wants to talk to me about the things I’m obsessed with, or reach out to me as a source in a bigger discussion about Game Theory or other channels, my inbox is more than welcome :] Thank you for reading! 

Sincerely, a tumblr user.

[astridthevalkyrie]

“You think people ever look at us and wonder why you would be with me?” Rafayel had frozen in place, his hand mid paint stroke as he gazed down at you from his ladder. You’d been curled up on the couch, watching him comfortably while your thoughts took a depressing turn that was anything but comfortable. “No,” he’d said, “absolutely not. No one in their right mind would think that.”

contains: afab reader, edging, rafayel making reader praise themselves, rafayel speaks in hindi, probably ooc and with grammatical errors sorry i wrote this all in like one hour at 10 PM and i was crying for half of it

it's been a while since my own insecurities have actually given me the creative kick to write something like this, so sucks to be insecure i guess, but yay fic!!!!

Insecurity. What a bitch.

It’s life-ruining, at its worst. It makes you look into the mirror and imagine even the reflection looking back and sneering at what it sees. It makes your heart pound as you walk in public, wondering how many people would smile once they get the privilege of losing sight of you. It makes you sob at night when you’re alone, mind knowing that there is no one in the world who is uniquely terrible, but your heart convinced that you’re the exception.

It makes you say something, accidentally, to your boyfriend.

“You think people ever look at us and wonder why you would be with me?”

Rafayel had frozen in place, his hand mid paint stroke as he gazed down at you from his ladder. You’d been curled up on the couch, watching him comfortably while your thoughts took a depressing turn that was anything but comfortable.

“No,” he’d said, “absolutely not. No one in their right mind would think that.”

If you’d been more acute in the moment, you might have heard the warning in his voice, the irk of a god who has just had his most precious jewel taunted.

But you’d continued instead. “They would. You’re so handsome, so gorgeous. Ethereal. Not to mention incredibly talented. And I love you, and I think we’re really compatible personality wise, but looks…you have to admit you could do a lot better.”

It was then you’d began to note how it felt much hotter in the studio than it had a few minutes ago. Like there was an unseen furnace, prickling with an angry fire about to grow into an inferno.

Rafayel’s voice had been, ironically, icy. “How could I do better than you?”

“C’mon, be real, Raf.” It had been hard to keep the pain out of your words, and impossible to keep the thoughts choking you inside. You’d started to plead, some part of you convinced that it would help if he would simply agree that your every insecurity was valid. “I’m not a supermodel. I’m not a genius. I’m not an angel, either. There’s nothing about me that’s extraordinary. Not like you are.”

And then he’d moved.

And now, you’re still on the couch, crying out brokenly with nothing to grip onto, as his hand holds your wrists above your head, and his cock thrusts in and out of you in the most maddening pace you’ve ever experienced.

He’s never been like this. When you plead, Rafayel gives in. He is weak to you, as he’s shown time and time again. But not today. No matter how much you beg with teary eyes for him to go faster, he shakes his head, slowing down even more. With a punishing growl, he pushes all the way in, and all the way out, leaving your drooling cunt clenching around nothing.

It’s torture. Pure and simple.

“What was it you said?” he breathes harshly, leaning down to press hot kisses on your neck that burn so perfectly you sob. “Ethereal? Talented? A supermodel?”

“Rafayel,” you gasp. He ignores it. His eyes are a violent shade of purple, the most dangerous you’ve ever seen them. There are scales blooming all over his body, as though denying you is the key to awake this dormant side of him, to make you submit.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he whispers, biting and leaving a fresh bruise planted on your skin. “Just tell me what I want to hear. Go on.”

He pulls out and you feel the tears running down your cheeks.

“Say, ‘I’m beautiful.’”

In.

“Say, ‘I’m gorgeous.’”

Out.

“Say, “I’m fucking ethereal.’”

You can taste salt from your own sobs, both from being denied, and from the unimaginable cruelty of having to praise yourself. It’s impossible. You want the reward so bad, but you can’t claw your way to it, because the rules are too imposing. The conditions, blinding.

“Be real,” he taunts, repeating your own words back to you, “come on, start easy. ‘I’m pretty.’ Go on.”

Heaving in a breath, you taste the bitter words on your tongue. “I-I’m pretty.”

Your back arches off the couch as he rewards you with his fingers on your clit, rubbing soft circles while he’s inside you. “Mmhm. You are. And?”

“Please, Rafayel.” You’re clenching so tight around him, and you can see from how he shudders that it pains him just as much as it pains you, this wait, this little game of keep-away. “Please don’t make me—“

You’re cut off by his hand cupping your cheeks, and his lips stealing a salty, breathless kiss. “Meri pyaari gurya,” he groans, kissing you again, “meri chand.” Kiss. “Meri humsafar.” Kiss. “Mine, mine, mine.” Kiss, kiss, kiss. "Do you think I keep anything that isn’t worthy of the Sea God?”

You shut your eyes, crying harder. The logic is loud, but your thoughts are louder. He’s only saying it to reassure you, he’s only saying it to be nice, he’s only saying it because he pities you…

“Meri dulhaniya,” he saves for last, because he knows it’ll break you, “I have nowhere to be. I’m fine staying buried inside you, all day and all night, while your sweet little pussy gushes for me. I’ll bring you to the brink, again and again, but I won’t let you cum, my pretty muse, because either you admit that you’re the most beautiful human in this world, or I’ll fuck it into you till you forget otherwise.”

Trembling, you open your eyes. There is nothing but conviction in his gaze. Conviction, and hunger.

And you realize two very important things. One, that your stamina is nothing compared to his, and you will never hold out against him, and two, that is not something one does out of pity, but out of unyielding, undying adoration.

“I’m,” you swallow, cheeks burning, “beautiful.”

A sharp thrust of his hips makes you moan his name, mouth falling open as he kisses you deeply, and you swear you can feel him hardening even more inside you.

“I’m gorgeous.”

“Yes,” Rafayel hisses, fingers rubbing your clit to match his thrusts.

Eyes rolling back, you cry out, “I-I’m…”

“Fucking ethereal,” he provides, and you think you can feel fire flicking from his lips on your cheeks.

“Fucking ethereal,” you whine, pulling him into a kiss this time.

His hips slam against yours and you cry out against his mouth as his tongue ravages yours. There is nothing Rafayel hates more than someone misunderstanding his art, least of all the art itself.

Your toes curl and your nerves are electrified, everything fading away except you and Rafayel, and his cock and his fingers and his lips, and the couch he’s pounding you into, and you tug at his hair and practically scream as you cum.

He’s still softly licking at your lips as you come down from your high, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. The air escaping you is light, and for the first time in a long time, there is nothing stuck in your chest, a soft fluttery feeling replacing the heaviness that you’ve been carrying what feels like your whole life.

Gazing back up your lover, you cradle his face, noticing that his lovely purple hues have morphed into an even lovelier pink, only a second before you notice he hasn’t cum yet.

“That’s a good start,” Rafayel whispers, capturing your lower lip between his teeth and tugging.

It bounces back into place for him to kiss softly, before he continues, “Now, let’s try ‘most beautiful human in the world.’ If you get there, I might consider letting you have a break.”

[babyleostuff]

things they unconsciously do for you | ot13

[☁️] seungcheol

protecting you

choi seungcheol is a protector through and through (you could say that sometimes he’s a tad too protective, but it’s simply because he loves you so much and he would most likely end up with a meltdown if he saw you hurt). covering sharp corners, walking on the outside of the pavement, holding your hand in big crowds, cutting the meat for you - doing all of these things is like second nature for cheol. he never thinks about doing them, like “oh, they dropped their spoon, maybe i should cover the table corner so they don’t bump their head”. no no. he just does it, simple as that. and good luck to the person that tries to make you uncomfortable or invade your personal space because well… choi seungcheol will fight them

[☁️] jeonghan

wrapping you up with a scarf/ putting on beanie 

jeonghan, as someone who gets cold easily, is very vary around the people around him being cold as well. he’s always more than happy to share some of his body heat with someone else, especially because hugging means more warmth. when it comes to you, though, there is no way you’re getting out of the house without a thick scarf and a beanie. it doesn’t matter if you get easily cold or not, jeonghan does not let you out of the house before you’re properly bundled up. the first thing he grabs when you’re getting ready to go out is your/ his scarf and a beanie, and he dresses you up like a mom dresses up a child, but there’s nothing you can do about it. and if you come to the practice room without anything wrapped around your neck, jeonghan is quick to change that, as he pulls out his own scarf to give it to you.

[☁️] joshua

ordering for you

sometimes being social - even if it’s just ordering food - can be overwhelming, and shua understands that completely. he never judges you for it, he could never, and that alone makes you feel so much better. he never minds it when you cling to his arm, standing beside him while he’s ordering coffee, or when you point to the food on the menu so he could tell the waiter what you want to eat. sometimes he doesn’t even has to ask you what you want to order because he knows you so well by now that he can guess what type of boba you’re craving that day or which type of pasta you want to get. 

[☁️] jun

brushing your hair 

jun likes his silent acts of service, brushing your hair being one of them. whether it be after you wake up, or after a shower, jun finds brushing your hair to be very calming, so it’s also a way for him to distress and spend some time with you as well. sometimes you sit in silence, sometimes you talk about your days, but it’s always so intimate without being sexual, and there’s something beautiful about that. and he adores looking at your sleepy reflection in the mirror, your eyes closing on their own, as he gently runs a brush through your hair, making sure not to pull too harshly.

[☁️] hoshi

carrying your bag 

it doesn’t matter what colour it is, if it’s a tote bag or a small baguette one - hoshi is going to carry it, like the gentleman he is. for one, he figures it must be uncomfortable and tiresome to carry a bag around all the damn time, also he doesn’t want you to strain your shoulders too much, so whenever he’s around he is going to be the one to carry it. and he always makes sure before you go out that you have all of your necessities packed in case you forgot something too. also, as much as he’s easy to distract, when he holds your bag at parties he turns on his bodyguard mode, protecting that bag like his life depends on it, clutching it closely to his body (will glare if someone dares to step too close to it).

[☁️] wonwoo

taking of your glasses after you’ve fallen asleep 

as a person who wears glasses himself he knows how annoying and uncomfortable it is to fall asleep with your glasses on (not to mention that they can break too), so this is as natural as breathing for him. he probably has a couple of photos in his camera roll of you asleep with your glasses on, but sometimes you look too adorable for him not to take a quick picture for him to coo over later. he always gently takes them off as not to wake you up, and places a kiss on your forehead, before putting your glasses away so they wouldn’t break on accident.

[☁️] woozi

(i don’t really know how to name this?) 

woozi is an insanely attentive man, which is one of the reasons why he’s so great at those silent acts of service that make your heart flutter so much. he picks up the smallest things - like shifts in your mood when you’re upset or feeling a bit down, and while at the beginning of your relationship he was a bit awkward with that since he wasn’t really sure how to help you, now he knows exactly what you need. it’s not even that he has to think about holding your hand or hugging you, or just simply sitting next to you - it’s almost like his body gravitates towards you on its own, like it knows you need him by his side in that moment. you could argue that it’s the bare minimum (which it is), but with jihoon it’s so natural, like i hope you get what i’m trying to say - but the way he’s always there right by your side when you need him without having to mention that you’re not feeling that well is everything you could ever ask for. 

[☁️] dk

holding your hand in big crowds 

all seokmin wants is for you to be happy, loved, and safe. grabbing your hand when you’re in big crowds is a no brainer for him, it’s like his hand moves by itself, finding yours, and intertwining your fingers. he never lets go, not before he’s sure you’re safe with a smaller amount of people around you, where you wouldn’t get lost or swarmed by the crowd, and even then he usually keeps on holding your hand. and if you get stuck in a big crowd, like during a concert or a festival, he often pulls you to his chest, and puts his arms securely around you, so he’s sure no one will bump into you or step on your foot.

[☁️] mingyu

cooking for you 

mingyu loves cooking and eating, that much we know. but what he loves more is cooking for you. to be honest, making food for you has always been something obvious for mingyu, from the very beginning of your relationship, and he never saw it as a chore or something he felt obligated to do. preparing breakfasts on your days off, making you lunch for work/school, cooking dinner for your at home dates - it brings him so much joy because not only does he get to do what he loves, but it also reassures him that you’re eating well and not skipping any meals (whenever he finds out you skip meals you end up with a very sulky and low key angry kim mingyu).

[☁️] minghao

buying you clothes

it’s not that he doesn’t like your style or thinks you’re bad at choosing your outfits, on the contrary - during the first stages of your relationship he payed a lot of attention to what you liked to wear, and for which types of clothes you went for, so that he could spoil you with clothes and accessories you liked, making sure you’d be comfortable in them and feeling 100% you. now, whenever he saw something he knew you’d like he immediately bought it, with no second thoughts. it’s kind of comforting to know that your significant other knows you so well that they know exactly what you’d like or what would draw your attention if you were shopping yourself.

[☁️] seungkwan 

singing/ humming you to sleep 

it’s not like he lays down and automatically starts singing, but he does that whenever he sees you need it. sometimes it’s singing, sometimes it’s only humming, but it’s like his body just knows you need something to soothe your mind to fall asleep. whenever he feels you shuffling around, tossing and turning, unable to find a comfy position - he gently grabs you by your waist, and pulls you a bit closer to him, and starts singing/humming. he doesn’t think much about doing it, it’s like an automatic response because one of the most heartbreaking sights for boo is seeing you unable to rest, unable to get your well deserved sleep.

[☁️] vernon

refilling your snacks drawer 

there’s just something about vernon and him noticing all of those small things about you, and what you love. and one thing you definitely love is him and your snacks. he noticed early in your relationship that you had a drawer in your kitchen dedicated solemnly to your favourite snacks, but also how bad you were at refilling it. thus, he took it upon himself to refill it so you could always have something to munch on, and with time it became such a habit of his that he stopped paying attention that he was actually doing it. whenever he was doing grocery it was obvious to him that the first aisle he had to go to was the snacks aisle so he could pick up all of your favourites. 

[☁️] dino

refilling your water bottle 

another very attentive man with acts of service as his love language. whether you’re actually good at keeping track of how much you drink, or if you don’t pay much attention to it - chan always re-fills your water bottle for you (he was probably the one to buy it in the first place, choosing a colour to match your aesthetic). he knows how important it is to drink proper amounts of water throughout the day, so making sure you drink sufficient amount of it is as natural as brushing his teeth for him. whenever you’re studying/ working he comes into your room, grabs your water bottle and re-fills it. same as when you’re getting for school/work in the morning - he fills it with water, and puts it back in your bag (sometimes he sticks a note to it as well, with a cute “i love you” message).

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