#but at least it carries positive implications these days

[im-the-antonymph-of-your-mom]

The evolution of "filler" from "plot-irrelevant anime episodes made while waiting for the manga to catch up" to "plot irrelevant episodes in a serialized show" to "episodes in a primarily episodic show that do not affect the occasional overarching plot" to "plot-relevant episodes that I find boring" needs to be studied. Or has been studied and I haven't found writings on it. Or should just be the subject of a paper if I stay in school long enough.

[murdrdocs]

to forever always

description. LUKE CASTELLAN has never had any interest in relationships. but when he sees that look in your eyes, the same one he keeps buried deep down inside of himself, there's nothing more he wants than for you to be with him. except, maybe for you to be like him.

includes. SMUT MDNI 18+ , heavy petting, grinding, making out, dark!luke, loser!luke, dark!reader, implications to maiming, luke is a professional at longing, reader has hair long enough to be pinned back, they play simon says, typical young adult awkwardness, drinking.

wc: 5.5k+

a/n: title from forever always by the driver era. ao3 link. art creds to yazed aljohani

You’ve been at camp for nearly three months when Luke sees it in your eyes. 

You’ve been unremarkable at best before then. A late arrival without a capturing story carried along with you, no captivating backstory to draw attention. You stuck to yourself mostly, only coming out of your shell when conversing during training sessions with Luke. He went out of his way to set them up, fueled by the fact that you were older than most, closest to his age, and he didn’t want you to feel left behind when some thirteen year old could easily disarm you in five minutes flat. 

Truth be told, he pitied you. 

As a result, he trained you four times a week, pushing your body to its limits and sharing anecdotes during your break periods to provide some sort of solace for you. Because at the end of the day, Camp Half Blood was your home. At least, that’s how it was supposed to be presented. 

During his share of anecdotes, practically each story starting on that fateful day when he was fourteen, Luke left out his true feelings about the area surrounding you both. He preferred to keep you blinded with things happy enough to make you laugh, with only enough hints of the truth to make you start asking the right questions. 

His attentive training has hardened you around the edges. He’s made you a little rougher, or perhaps he’s chiseled away at the stone encasing your true nature, and the person he stood next to was who you really were. 

A warrior. 

An animal. 

Teeth bared, sword raised over the kid lying helplessly at your feet, your chest heaving with effort and a dark look in your eyes. Darker than Luke has ever seen before. It’s victorious, with a hint of a challenge in there. As if you’re daring this kid to stand up, gather his sword, and attempt to best you once more. 

Surely, with the way Luke has trained you, if the kid did make an attempt he would end up in the same position in no time. 

The sight is exhilarating. It makes the blood rush to Luke’s ears and his fingertips start to buzz with the fuel he’d never been able to use. But he’s in control here. And he has an image to uphold. 

He calls your name, firm and demanding. The tone of a leader. 

He rests a hand on the shoulder pad of your armor, pushing you back from the kid with enough force to distance you two. He fills the space created, his back to the others and his eyes cutting down at you. It takes you a second to lift your eyes to him, and when you do, when you look up at Luke—at your leader—you’re seething. 

Luke really tries to hold his smile in and he’s glad that right now, you’re the only one who can see him. 

“At ease. You got ‘em.” 

You watch him pointedly, nostrils flared, and Luke lifts an eyebrow with a controlled movement, questioning you, daring you to challenge him. 

You take a step back and rid the tension in your shoulders as you adjust your helmet. 

You don’t say anything, instead sheathing your sword into its scabbard and watching Luke once more, waiting for orders. 

He has trained you well. 

‎

The energy around the campfire is palpable. It washes over the bodies of the campers surrounding the bonfire, settling over their skin and providing a glow.  Even some of the Ares kids appear to be beaming, although they were clearly sour about another loss. 

You, like everyone else, seem to be in good spirits too. A pleasant smile on your face as you watch the scene around you.

The fire burns a mesmerizing gold and Luke finds you watching it reach up toward the sky, your curious eyes taking in as much of it as you could. Your head is already tilted up, so you don’t adjust your position at all whenever Luke steps into perspective. 

He stares down at you for a moment, searching for that look in your eyes. The same one he saw during capture the flag a few weeks ago. 

Ever since then, Luke has developed a new fixation, one multiplied whenever he got a hit just a few days ago during training. 

He’d had you on your knees then. Your chest heaving with exhaustion as you were staring up at Luke with a look so threatening that he wondered what exactly you were capable of. You were definitely at your wits end by that point, but that wasn’t when he saw it. Deep within your eyes was sincerity, maybe a bit of worry, and Luke knew that if he drew his sword down to give you a critical hit, a final blow even, you would defend yourself. 

But that’s all. 

He hadn’t felt the need to prepare for an opposing attack. He knew you would defend yourself, but not go for the attack. You wouldn’t hurt him. And that wouldn’t do. 

So Luke laughed. He threw his head back and let out an exaggerated guffaw as he exclaimed that you looked perfect on your knees. As he insinuated that that was where you belonged. Beneath him. Beneath anyone. 

His teasing did the trick. And he has a healing scar on the outside of his forearm to prove it. 

Now, standing above you at the campfire, a setting so casual that it was almost sickening, Luke didn’t see any resemblance of anything challenging in your gaze. 

Instead, you appear back to usual, sitting alongside a few of the Athena kids yet not actively engaging in conversation, holding a burnt marshmallow on a stick with two hands, your elbows resting on your knees as you look up at Luke with that same pleasant smile. 

“This seat taken?”

He’s already sitting down as he asks it and if someone were to return, he knows they wouldn’t have attempted to reclaim their spot. 

You stare over at him with amusement written all over your face. 

“What if I said it was?” 

Luke shrugs. He reaches over, sliding your stick out of your hand and sticking the marshmallow back into the fire. He lets it ignite, turning it over to do the same to the other side, and after a second he removes the sweet treat, extinguishes the flames, and takes a bite out of it. 

You’re watching him, waiting for a response, and when you realize that he’d already given his response, you turn back to watch the fire instead. 

He lets you sit in silence, slowly chewing through the sticky food as he watches the side of your face. 

You look pretty like this. The amber glow of the fire illuminates your face, casting visually stunning shadows across your skin, highlighting places Luke has noticed but never appreciated until now. 

He has always known you’re pretty. He’s known it since you walked into camp, confused and stunned as demigods clustered around you. 

Luke remembers looking around at his fellow campers, noticing how judgmental they seemed. Because, in all honesty, you weren’t like the other people that came to Camp Half Blood. Not terrified, young, and lost in the world. 

Not only were you older, but you had a certain stance to you that told Luke you weren’t confused, just curious. Your head was lifted, your shoulders pressed back as you held up the thick straps of your stuffed book bag. You were faking to be unbothered, but as you eventually confirmed Luke’s prior assumptions, you were worried. 

Worried about the sea of young faces you saw. Worried that coming to Camp Half Blood at your age was a mistake. 

Until your eyes met Luke’s. His dark eyes were watching you, analyzing your form for potential. Trying to find areas that could be molded into a fighter, and aspects that didn’t have to be changed one bit. 

According to you, seeing Luke made you feel comfortable. Seeing Luke made you feel like coming to camp wasn’t a mistake at all. 

He is glad that you arrived as well. Because before you, Luke felt alone. 

He was looked up to, admired, respected, but rarely seen as just a peer. 

And even further, before you got here, he hadn’t seen himself being romantic with anyone. 

But now, sitting here with the gold of the fire affecting his mood in the same way he affects it, he has the sudden urge to intertwine your fingers with his or throw his arm over your shoulder. Maybe pull you into his side and plant his lips on yours, effectively claiming you as his and letting you claim him as yours. 

Instead, he knocks his shoulder against yours. 

“What’s got you looking so sad over there? We won today. You should be celebrating.” 

You laugh a little, but it’s not one of the big and genuine ones you give him when he cracks an impressive joke. 

“Give me something stronger than s'mores and maybe I’ll celebrate.” 

Luke faces back towards the fire as he tells you, “that can be arranged”. 

He notices you watching him from the corner of his eye. He can’t tell if you’re smiling, and if you are, if it’s one of genuine interest or one of amusement derived from misunderstanding his tone for a joke. 

Either way, you hum. “Don’t tease me like that.” 

He tilts his head a little. “Bold of you to assume that I’m teasing.” 

He stares at you and a moment of understanding passes by. 

Then, “but only if you tell me why you look so sad.” 

Luke knows he’s a brave person. Hell, he took on a dragon at just seventeen and lived with nothing but a scar as a reminder. (And the plaguing nightmares but what the others didn’t know won’t hurt them)

But he feels a different form of bravery find him as he reaches a hand out, plants his thumb at the corner of your lips, and tugs upwards. 

“You know what they say about turning that smile…” He lets the end of his sentence taper off, raising his eyebrows as if he expects you to finish the overdone phrase for him. It doesn’t surprise him when you swat his hand away instead. 

He thinks he sees you hiding a smile when you turn away from him for a second but when you return with another marshmallow, sticking it on the end of the stick in between Luke’s hands, your face is neutral. 

He thrusts the white into the burning gold as you begin to speak.

“Do you remember the first capture the flag win? When I was on defense with you?” 

One side of the marshmallow ignites and Luke turns it around so the other can do the same. 

“When you were taking down the others? Of course I do.” 

(Luke resists the urge to add a mention of how attractive you looked then. He doesn’t know how you would take the comment in general, much less when you seem to be going through some sort of moral battle)

“Yeah.” You take a moment. 

Luke takes the marshmallow out and blows on it. He lets it cool. 

“I didn’t feel like myself then,” you eventually admit.

“What d’you mean?” 

You shrug. “I dunno. I felt … meaner. Like–” 

“Like you wanted to hurt someone?” 

When you nod, you’re staring down at the ground, refusing to look up at Luke. 

He doesn’t know why he does it, but he lies. 

“That’s normal for demigods.” 

That gets your attention. You look over at Luke with hope in your eyes, the pair shining in the light as they flicker back and forth between Luke’s own gaze. 

“Really?”

Not allowed to back down now, Luke nods. 

“Yeah. That rage you have within you. The need to beat someone, to be better than someone. I feel it all the time.” And that, that right there, is the stone cold truth. 

He’s never admitted it to anyone else before, but with you, things feel different. He figures that this feeling he has around you is what some religious people feel in their faith. Maybe what some of the other believers at camp feel in regards to their parents. 

Luke pops the marshmallow into his mouth whole. 

You look relieved as you speak. He hadn’t noticed the tension in your body until it’s gone. 

“So I’m not messed up?” Your voice is small, weak, insecure, almost. 

Luke almost feels bad about lying to you. 

Almost. 

“Not any more than the rest of us.” 

What he doesn’t say is: not any more than me. 

As soon as his marshmallow is swallowed, he asks you to meet him later that night. 

‎

Luke feels like he’s been waiting ages for you. 

He’s paced a path in the dirt, twirled the small dagger he kept on him until his fingers could no longer grip the handle comfortably, and he’s started to gnaw on his bottom lip in anticipation that at this point he worries that they aren’t kissable anymore. Because no matter how much he tries to lie to himself, he invited you out to the clearing that you train in with one intention in mind. 

He digs into the pocket of his cargos, searching for a second before his fingers wrap around the small tube of chapstick he got from one of his sisters. Cherry flavored, artificially so, but it still smells pleasant enough. Whenever he’d received it from her it was fresh, the seal unbroken, but since then he has used at least a quarter of its contents. 

The balm glides over the broken pieces of skin, smoothing them out as best as possible, and then Luke recaps the tube and stuffs it back into his pocket. 

It’s no sooner that the lip balm has found a home again that he hears the thud of a shoe against the soft ground behind him. 

He doesn’t turn around, not yet. He doesn’t want to seem too eager. Instead, he twirls his knife again, a little slower this time to prevent it from slipping and falling onto the ground embarrassingly. 

“Didn’t think I should’ve brought a weapon.” 

Just the sound of your voice makes Luke’s insides flutter. He feels stupid, silly even, to have such a crush like this. He feels juvenile. 

A smile briefly blooms across his face before he snips it off, turning around to look at you as neutrally as he can manage. 

“You should always keep a weapon on you. Don’t you remember rule number one?” 

Luke watches you reach behind your back for only a second before you brandish the dagger he’d given you for him to see, a triumphant smile on your lips. 

“I’m a good listener. Don’t you remember?” 

Proud, Luke tucks his dagger back into its holster and you do the same. 

He takes a step closer to you as he proposes his next question, a hand reaching up to flick off an imaginary lash from your cheek. He doesn’t know why, but as of today he’s found himself touching you more. Searching for any reason to justify feeling your skin against his. 

“How good of a listener are you?” 

Your head tilts a bit, eyes squinting, and he realizes that it’s an action he does often. The implications of you picking up things from him makes his chest bloom with something. Pride, maybe? 

“Try me.” 

You step back, giving Luke a full view of your body. 

He lets his eyes scan your frame once. Taking in your messy hair, pinned up for the night. Your sweatshirt with some school on it. Luke, not knowing much about the outside world, doesn’t know if it’s college or high school, much less its location. But it’s well worn in, clearly loved by you. You’ve paired it with a loose pair of pants, and Luke has suspicions that if he were looking at you from behind, the flowy material would perfectly outline your ass. 

He clears his throat and meets your eyes again. 

“Okay…” he thinks for a second. “Simon says: touch your nose.” 

You snort, rolling your eyes, but then you lift your right hand, single out your pointer finger, and press it against the tip of your nose. 

“Simon says: touch your toes.” 

Luke watches, seeing if he’ll catch you, but you keep one hand situated on your nose and use the other to reach down to press your hand against the beat up end of your sneakers. 

“Hm, okay,” Luke nods as if he’s impressed. Like you would struggle at a kids game. 

“Simon says you can stop.” 

You stand back up straight. 

“Simon says: spin around twice.” 

You spin around twice. 

Instantly, without giving you a second to rest, “spin around a third time.” 

You jerk for a second, but stay still in the end. Luke points, smiling a bit as if saying I almost had you. 

You don’t respond but your lips curl up into a little embarrassed smile. 

Luke continues giving you orders for a few moments, letting you get comfortable with the preface of “Simon says” just before he gives the final blow. 

“Kiss me.” 

There’s no order from Simon before it. Just Luke. He gauges your reaction. And when he sees you stay put, he tries to move on. 

“Simon says–” 

But then you’re walking towards him, and you’re reaching up to rest your hands on his shoulders, and you’re pulling him down to reach you better, and then you press your lips to his. It’s light, a barely there touch, and then you’re pulling away, walking back to your spot, and standing straight, waiting for your next order. 

“I didn’t say Simon says.” 

Proudly, you tell him, “I know.” 

There’s a moment where the only noise is that of nature. Of the harmony of the world existing around this possibly unharmonious moment. The brief balance could easily be thrown off by your reaction to the next bit. If Luke were being dramatic, he would claim that your reaction determines the fate of the world, and maybe even of his mission. 

He takes a breath, and then takes the plunge. 

“Simon says: kiss me again.”

This time, your kiss is firmer. You’re standing on your toes a bit, overcompensating for Luke who still stands tall with his shoulders back and his head up. 

Eventually, he dips his head down at the same time that he finally gets to touch you. 

It’s small, nothing but a hand on your hip, but the context of it changes everything for him. He’s touched you before, brief presses of his fingers against a part of your body to emphasize a point, or correct your posture, and then earlier when he reached out for the delicate skin on your face. 

Those things were friendly, that of a mentorship even. 

Nothing to this degree. 

You tilt your head and deepen the kiss, opening your mouth wider as you start to take control. And Luke hands it to you. 

He grips the loose fabric of your pants, takes the tiniest step forward, and presses himself against you. In return, you nudge closer to him, holding the sides of his head and keeping him steady to allow yourself to explore his mouth. 

He’s a little lost, he’s never gotten to this base with anyone before. Besides the time he kissed one of the Aphrodite kids as part of truth or dare years ago. But that kiss was nothing compared to this, not even on the same scale. 

In this field, he’s inexperienced. 

For fear of making a complete fool of himself, he simply mirrors in the form of reciprocation. 

When you press your tongue into his mouth, he does the same, meeting you not quite in the middle and simply doing what you do. 

There’s a moment there where you leave Luke’s lips, and he’s preparing himself to be upset when you pull away, but then your lips pucker and you suck his upper lip for just a split second, and you return to kissing him like his knees didn’t just get a little weak. 

Fortunately, the slight lapse presses his crotch against yours again, and you suck in a breath when Luke accidentally grinds his boner into you. 

Sensing that it’s something good, and satisfied that he’s not the only one as aroused as he is, he does it again. This time intentionally. 

He frees his grip on your pants to move his palms around, pressing into the top of your ass and the end of your back, pulling you closer to bump your crotches. 

This time, you do peel away from his lips completely, but it’s to let out the prettiest sound Luke has ever heard. 

Your eyebrows are pinched together a bit, your lips shining in the torch light and parted. 

You’ve only been apart for a couple of seconds, but Luke is on you again. 

He sacrifices the grip he has on your lower half to stretch his hand along the connection of the back of your skull and neck, fingers spreading as far as the tip of your spine to an inch into your scalp. 

He lets go of the insecurities he has in his lack of experience and just kisses you. His immediate intention isn’t to take control from you. Rather, it’s just to have you as close to him as possible. 

You respond eagerly. Arching into him, slinking your arms over his shoulders, pressing your hands into the muscles along his back. At one point, you lift your leg and nudge your knee against Luke’s side by way of getting even closer to him. The position change allows the first real touch of your centers together and your head falls back, exposing the pretty sight of your jugular to him. 

There’s a moment there where Luke has the urge to wrap his hand around it. But he fears what your reaction would be so he flexes his hand, and lets the thought evaporate into the stiff night air. 

Luke knows that he feels as he does because of the hormones swirling throughout his body, but he has the feeling that he can trust you. Really trust you. Enough to tell you everything he’s ever wanted to tell anybody. 

“Do you trust me?” He says it to you, his hand pulling your head back towards his, your lips mere centimeters a part. 

You nod, the tip of your nose nudging against his with each movement. 

Luke kisses you once, then tells you, “the gods, they–”. 

He doesn’t have a spiel planned, but his need to tell you everything has him covered. He knows that once he starts, he won’t be able to stop. Not until you understand your parents as he does. 

You put an unexpected dent into Luke’s poorly conceived plan when you shake your head. 

“Don’t wanna hear about the gods right now, Luke. Just wanna kiss you.” 

And the way you say it, like it’s something you need rather than just want, makes Luke abide completely. 

His free hand slips under your shirt, pressing his palm flat against your torso, and giving himself the first real press of skin on skin. He sighs, pulling away from your lips to knock his forehead against yours.  

He slides his hand up until he finds where your bra would sit. But he doesn’t run into any more material. Instead, he reaches a hill, one he nudges his thumb against, reaching up until he finds the beginning of your areola. Then, as if he’s realizing that he’s going further than he should be, he pulls his head away and looks at you. 

“Is this…?” The question makes him feel vulnerable. If he finishes it, he bares his wants out to you. And he knows that you have done the same for him already, but he doesn’t feel ready to invite the possibility of rejection. 

So instead, he raises his eyebrows and waits for you to catch on. 

You nod, biting down onto your lower lip. Your hands begin to search, too, leaving behind the sides of Luke’s face to tickle through the grown out hairs at the back of his head. 

What follows is the most carnal display of want that Luke has ever been part of. 

He starts by tweaking your nipples, applying light pressure and then smoothing it out when you moan. He watches your reactions to try and figure out what to do next, but luckily you end up pulling his hand away yourself, leading it to the elastic waistband of your pants. You look at him pleadingly, not needing to say what you want for Luke to take initiative. 

Luckily, the favor is returned. 

You unbutton his jeans, pull them down just enough, and reach a hand into the fabric, touching along the gingham pattern of his briefs. 

There’s not much coordination to it at all, but it doesn’t seem to bother either of you. From how Luke sees it, you’re equal amounts of eager, pressing against each other in multiple areas as if you’re both attempting to fuse your bodies together. 

In the excitement of it all, Luke accidentally bumps the heel of his palm against your center. He assumes that it would have hurt you, so he’s close to apologizing. 

Until you moan. 

That’s all it takes for Luke to push away the rest of his pride and insecurities. He takes a breath. 

“Will you … can you show me what to do? How to make you feel good?” 

Your reply is instant. “Two fingers.” 

He singles out his pointer and middle finger. 

“And then go...” You wrap your fingers around his wrist, pulling his touch up to find something that his fingers catch on, a bundle of nerves that apparently feels good for you. You nod, sighing out a small “right there”. 

He feels a little dumb when he asks, “What do I do now?” 

“Rub. Circles are best, but side to side works too.” 

So that’s what he does. 

He starts slow at first, the circles a little wide, but they feel good for you. You’re nodding, eyes fluttering shut a bit. You return your hand to Luke, pressing over his dick, and then sliding a little further down until you reach his balls. 

He tries to hide his sound, but a hitch of his breath comes out anyway. 

There’s a tree stump just behind you, a product of an accident Luke has yet to tell you about, but you direct him towards it, standing over him for a second when he falls back to sit on it. The two of you have sat on the stump a few times before, but never in this capacity. 

Luke watches you climb over him, straddling his hips, and pushing your crotches together.

Then, you grind. 

One of Luke’s hands finds your ass, the other reaches back to connect with what’s left of the tree, reclining his position just enough to provide more room. He lets you do the rest, spurring you on with little nods and small breaths. 

It’s not like you can see him, not when your eyes are pinched shut. 

Luke wants to join you. His eyes threaten to close and submerge him in a void that would enhance every single feeling. But closing his eyes means getting rid of this sight. And he never wants to forget what you look like right now. 

There’s sweat beading along your hairline and running down the side of your face. Your face is one of relaxation, save for the tiniest crease of concentration between your eyebrows. Luke can tell that you’re warm, and not just by the perspiration. But clearly his training has been paying off because your body doesn’t show fatigue. Your muscles are still taunt, your movements are still languid. You don’t show any plans of stopping anytime soon. 

And at first, that’s what Luke wants. 

There’s a few moments where he’s lost in oblivion. Where he pictures the worst thing in the world happening, and it’s you getting off of him. The feeling is so delicious, your centers grinding together, bumping clumsily yet still working in both of your favors. 

He doesn’t want it ever to end. 

And then he cums. 

Again, he tries to hide the sounds he makes. But a groan rips through his throat, jumping out of his mouth and falling directly onto the fabric of your shirt when he rests his forehead against your chest. 

He uses you as an anchor, his big hands gripping any part of you that he can find. He grips your clothes as he attempts to tether himself to the here and now. 

He’s huffing, spent even though he did none of the work. Eventually, he lifts his head to search for your lips, but then he winces when you keep going. 

He’s speaking in fragments. He’s trying to communicate his sensitivity. But you only shake your head, speeding your hips up a bit more. 

“Sorry, ‘m sorry. I’m almost there. Swear, Luke. I swear…” and it’s just then that Luke is presented with the prettiest image he’s ever seen. 

When his lips are numb and there’s a wet patch pressing against his sensitive cock in his briefs, Luke remembers the alcohol he has stashed within a bush. 

He presents it, feeling that same sense of pride spread through his chest whenever you seem delighted at the options, even though it’s just a box of hard seltzer one of his brothers snuck in at the beginning of the summer. When you ask him what it took to secure it, Luke brushes it off, not wanting to remember the poop scooping he’d doomed himself to. 

But the sight of you grinning before bringing the first sip of a cracked open can to your lips makes it all worth it. 

When you pull it away a bead of clear liquid snags on the corner of your lips. Luke’s eyes watch it glide down your chin, and before he can stop himself he reaches a hand out, once again feeling that bravery, and swipes his thumb at the liquid. 

He brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean, surprisingly pleased at the flavor. 

You both make your way through multiple cans, and it’s only when there’s a slight slur to your words and a sway to your frame that you ask Luke about your parents. And not about the stories you’ve been told throughout school, or the glorious recounts about how they’ve helped their kids. But the truth. About how Luke feels. 

And he turns to you, smiling gently, and begins to tell you, becoming more and more pleased as you begin to express the same outrage as him. 

He doesn't have to question if you'll be a valuable ally. He doesn't have to feed you carefully worded lines to twist your mind into siding with him.

With you, it's natural. The same as it is with him.

‎

It’s exactly a week later. Another capture the flag day created a certain buzz that flowed throughout camp. 

Earlier this morning, Luke was concerned about winning. That was before he found himself in a similar position as he did weeks ago. 

Standing next to you in a clearing, no other campers around to witness something that will certainly be a sight to behold. 

Just like before, you’re standing over a camper with your sword raised over his frightened frame. He’s pleading, but his words are useless. They fall to deaf ears. 

“No maiming!” He exclaims. “It’s the rules, remember?” His words are spoken with a stutter, the tremor in his voice extremely obvious. 

Briefly, Luke looks over to you only to find you already looking at him. 

You’re waiting, body tense, ready to attack. All you need is the command. 

“Do it.” 

There’s a rip and a scream, and Luke’s eyes don’t leave your frame. 

He watches the splatter of blood meet your cheek and for once, Luke doesn’t reach over to wipe it away. He leaves it there, leaving the evidence behind as he cups your face delicately, spreading his fingers to miss the crimson, and then using his hold to pull you close and press his lips to yours. 

Easily, quickly, you submit to him. 

You two haven’t shared things in the most intimate form, not yet at least, but he doesn’t need that with you. Looking in your eyes, seeing that same look that he sees in himself, Luke knows that having your legs spread around his hips with euphoria isn’t the most necessary thing in the world. He would love for it to happen, and he will revel in it when it does happen, but he knows that fucking you isn’t needed to guarantee your loyalty to him. 

As you submit to him, smelling of musk derived from hard work, the evidence of your effort on your face, Luke knows that he’s already secured it. 

He has your loyalty. 

And he can’t shake the excitement he feels towards your potential. Because he knows that the fire blazing deep inside of you can’t be contained for much longer. 

He just hopes your internal fire continues to work in his favor and never against it.

[godsfavdarling]

sitting pretty 2

part of my sitting pretty (one-shot series), my masterlist

+18!

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader summary: You seem to be unable to follow instructions which ends with Spencer punishing you. words: 2,5k warnings: cockwarming, soft!dom!Spence, unprotected sex (don’t do that), female masturbation, blowjob, facefucking, reader is being needy + can’t follow instructions = gets punished, bodily fluids, aftercare, praise <3 a/n: this is part of my 1000 followers celebration! thank you for following me!

It had been a long day, and all you wanted was to relax in Spencer's arms. But with his cock buried deep inside you, pulsing with every slight movement, it was impossible to think about anything else.

You were straddling his waist while he lay on his back, still clothed - at least he was, not you. You were completely naked on top of him, just as he wanted: facing him, holding still with his cock inside you.

You tried to relax; the position was quite comfortable for you, but the pressure of his cock pressing inside you made it hard to focus on anything but the growing tension.

His hands were resting on your hips, keeping you in place.

Your nipples hardened as they brushed against his dress shirt, the slight friction sending shivers through you. You craved Spencer's touch, longing for him to tease them between his fingers - but he held back, leaving you wanting more.

Everything was intoxicating - his warmth, his scent, the way his clothes felt against your naked skin, teasing you as you sat still.

Well, mostly still.

Spencer’s voice was soft but firm. “You need to stay still, sweetheart,” he murmured, his thumb gently stroking your hip. “Just keep sitting pretty for me, okay?”

You nodded, biting your lower lip as you tried to follow his instructions. 

But the way he filled you, stretching you so perfectly, made it hard to focus. 

You felt yourself getting completely drenched, possibly more than you ever have before. The wetness was pooling inside you, and you could feel it beginning to overflow and drip out.

The slow, steady throb of his cock inside you was maddening, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t resist the urge to move - just a little.

You shifted your hips slightly, and it was enough to send a wave of pleasure through both of you. 

Spencer’s breath hitched, and his grip on your hips tightened slightly.

“Angel…” he warned, his voice low and commanding, though there was an edge of sweetness to it. “What did I say?”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, though the apology was half-hearted. 

The need between your legs was growing, and you couldn’t help the subtle roll of your hips as you sought more friction, more of that delicious sensation, more of him.

Spencer’s eyes darkened, his pupils dilating as he watched you struggle to obey. He was patient, but he could see the bratty streak in you tonight, the way you were testing his limits.

“Are you being needy tonight, love?” he asked, his tone soft yet carrying an unmistakable edge of authority. His hand slid up your side, fingers ghosting over your ribs as he watched your reaction.

You nodded, unable to hide the desperate look in your eyes. “I just… I need you, Spence,” you murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to his jaw, your lips brushing over the stubble there. “Please…”

He inhaled deeply, looking at you with a tremendous amount of love and awe, but there was also a sternness that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You were supposed to stay still,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “But you can’t seem to follow instructions tonight, can you?”

You pouted slightly, trying to play innocent, but the growing tension in your body betrayed you. “I’m trying…”

Spencer’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “But you’re not trying hard enough, are you? And now you’re going to have to make it up to me.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the implication sending a rush of heat through you. “What do you mean?”

Suddenly, he was sitting up with you still in his lap. The abrupt shift made you whimper.

"Look at you. So desperate, so needy," he teased with a playful grin, his hands rubbing your thighs.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "If you can't sit still like a good girl, then you'll have to take care of yourself."

You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. 

Spencer suddenly pushed you off him and shifted you to lay back on the bed while he sat on the edge and turned towards you.

“Touch yourself,” he instructed, his voice unwavering. “Make yourself cum. But I’m not going to touch you. That’s your punishment for not listening.”

The words sent a jolt of arousal straight to your core, but also a pang of frustration. 

You wanted his touch, craved it, needed it, but the thought of pleasuring yourself while he watched - so close yet untouchable - made your pulse race.

You hesitated for a moment, but the need between your legs was too strong to ignore. 

Slowly, you let your hand slip down between your thighs, your fingers brushing against your clit, already soaked, swollen, and sensitive from your earlier movements and his cock.

Spencer’s eyes followed your hand, his gaze darkening as he watched you begin to rub slow, teasing circles over your clit.

His cock was still out of his pants, and you looked at it - still hard and pretty, with a blushing pink tip you wished you could lick. You knew he did that on purpose. He wanted you to see what you can't have.

You saw him twitch under your gaze, clear that he was affected by the sight, but he remained steadfast in his resolve not to touch you.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle the moan that bubbled up as you circled your clit faster, the pleasure building with every stroke. 

But it wasn’t enough - you needed more, needed to feel Spencer’s hands on you, his lips on your skin. 

The frustration of being so close to him, yet denied his touch, only made the need stronger.

“Spence…” you whimpered, your hips starting to move, seeking more friction, imagining him there, more of that exquisite pressure.

You spread your legs even further allowing him a better view and inviting him to move there. To be there. To feel you there. 

But he didn’t.

“I’m sorry, love. You should’ve listened,” he said. “Do what you’re told now, and maybe you’ll get more later.”

You groaned, the tension in your body reaching a fever pitch as you tried to obey. 

Your fingers worked faster, circling your clit with desperate intensity as you chased your release, but the denial of Spencer’s touch made it feel just out of reach.

“Please…” you begged, your voice trembling with need. “Please touch me…”

But Spencer just shook his head, his expression one of firm resolve, though you could see the strain in his eyes. 

“You’ll cum on your own, angel,” he said softly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “That’s your punishment. And you’ll keep going until you do.”

The authority in his voice sent a thrill through you, and despite the frustration, you couldn’t help but obey. 

Your fingers moved faster, pressing harder against your clit as you focused on the building pleasure, the tension in your body winding tighter and tighter.

Spencer watched you intently, his breath coming quicker as he observed the way you writhed beside him, desperate for release. 

His cock twitched again, but he held himself perfectly still, his control unwavering.

Finally, the pressure became too much, and with a gasping moan, you felt the orgasm crash over you, your body shaking as the waves of pleasure rolled through you. 

Your fingers slowed, trembling as you rode out the last of the sensations, your chest heaving with the effort.

Spencer’s hand finally moved, brushing over your hair as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing now. “You did so well, angel.”

You leaned into his touch, your body still trembling in the aftermath. “Spence…” you whispered, your voice weak with exhaustion and relief. “I’m sorry…” You grabbed his hand and snuggled into it.

He smiled, his expression full of warmth as he cradled your face in his hands, brushing his thumbs over your cheeks. “I know,” he said gently, kissing you softly on the lips. “And you’re forgiven.”

You sighed, melting into his embrace, your body relaxing as his arms wrapped around you, his touch finally providing the comfort you had been craving.

"I can make it up to you," you whispered softly, your voice tinged with hope as you gazed up at him.

He looked down at you, a gentle but resigned smile on his lips. "There’s nothing to make up to me. It’s okay. We’re done," he replied, his tone soft but firm.

Your heart tightened, a wave of desperation washing over you. "I don't want to be done," you confessed, your eyes searching his for any sign of hesitation.

He sighed, his expression torn. "Angel..." he began, trying to find the right words.

"You just felt so good," you interrupted, your voice trembling as your hand moved down to his hard cock, feeling the heat and tension beneath your fingers. 

"You're still hard," you added, a hint of desire creeping into your voice.

He inhaled sharply, his eyes darkening with a mix of emotion. "I'm okay," he said, but his voice was strained, betraying the struggle within him.

"Please, let me," you begged, your voice soft and pleading as you looked up at him with wide, earnest eyes. "Let me taste you."

He hesitated, searching your face for certainty. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," you replied, your voice steady, leaving no doubt in your mind.

You slowly moved yourself lower, trailing kisses down his chest and abdomen until you were face to face with his hard cock. 

Your mouth watered as you wrapped your hand around his base, feeling the pulsing heat under your fingertips. 

With deliberate slowness, you parted your lips and took him into your mouth, sucking gently as you started to move your head, savoring the way he filled your mouth and throat.

His breath hitched, and you felt his hands tangle in your hair, gathering it to make it easier to watch you. His eyes locked onto yours, intense and steadfast, as you pulled off his cock to press a kiss to the flushed tip. 

You then dragged your tongue along the prominent vein on the underside, moaning softly when he tugged on your hair in response, the sensation sending a thrill through your body.

"Fuck, you're so good at this," he praised through gritted teeth, his voice rough with desire. 

He wiped away the tears that had gathered in the corners of your eyes with his free hand, the other holding your head steady.

He shifted slightly, adjusting his position as he sat up. His strong hands guided you down until you were kneeling on the floor in front of him, your eyes level with his twitching cock. He was close.

The coolness of the floor contrasted with the warmth radiating from him.

He gazed down at you, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he ran a hand through your hair, brushing it away from your face so he could see you more clearly. 

The intensity in his eyes made your heart race, and you felt a shiver of excitement as you knelt there, awaiting his next command.

He gently guided your head, positioning you so that your mouth was once again on his cock. 

As his tip brushed against your throat, he paused, giving you a moment to adjust. His touch was firm yet tender.

His grip tightened as he began to fuck your throat, the pressure unrelenting but thrilling.

"My perfect little angel, always so desperate to please me, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice thick with admiration and control.

You tried to nod, your heart racing at his words, but he slipped his fingers into your mouth, pressing it against your cheek and pulling to open your mouth wider. 

He groaned when a mixture of his precum and your saliva dripped down your chin, the sight clearly driving him wild.

The taste of him was overwhelming, filling your senses as he thrust deeper, his fingers still gripping your jaw, holding you open for him. 

You gagged slightly, the pressure at the back of your throat making your eyes water, but the way he groaned in pleasure at the sight only fueled the heat building inside you. 

He filled you once again. Your mouth was full of him and his taste.

His movements became more urgent, the rhythm relentless, as he pushed you to take him deeper, using your mouth as if it was made just for him. Fitted him perfectly.

More of your saliva mixed with his precum dripped messily down your chin, but you were too lost in the moment to care, driven by the desperate need to please him.

When he finally came, it was overwhelming. His hot semen flooded your mouth, and you choked and gasped as you tried to swallow everything he gave you. 

But he didn’t move. He stayed there in your throat covered in both of your juices.

You stayed there, cockwarming him with your mouth, savoring the way he filled you. 

Maybe this was where you excelled; the sensation of him in your mouth brought a unique kind of satisfaction. 

When he filled your cunt, it was overwhelming, leaving you disoriented. But this - feeling him in your mouth - was different.

You focused on drawing quiet moans of pleasure from him as he began to soften.

He gently pulled you off his cock, his touch tender as he guided you to sit back on your heels. His expression softened as he leaned down, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead. 

Each kiss was like a soothing balm.

"You're incredible," he murmured softly, his voice filled with genuine affection. 

He helped you to your feet, his hands steady and supportive. You swayed slightly, still feeling the lingering effects of everything that happened.

He guided you toward the bathroom, his hand warm and reassuring on your back. "Come on, let's clean you up," he said gently, his voice tender and caring.

In the bathroom, he turned on the taps and filled the bathtub with warm water. The gentle sound of the running water was soothing, and the steam began to fill the room, creating a comforting warmth.

He slipped out of his clothes and approached you with a soft, affectionate smile. 

Leaning in, he kissed you gently on the mouth, his touch tender and loving. "You did so well for me. I'm proud of you," he murmured, his eyes filled with admiration.

You smiled up at him, and he responded by pressing another tender kiss to your lips.

He helped you step into the bath, his hands steady as he guided you into the soothing water.

As you settled into the bath, he took a soft sponge and began to wash you gently, his touch careful and attentive. 

He worked slowly, making sure every part of you was cleaned and cared for, his movements tender and considerate.

He occasionally paused to look at you, his eyes filled with affection and concern, making sure you were comfortable. 

His touch was delicate as if he was handling something precious.

[eevees-hobbies]

This One's for the Dads!

Authors Note: This was originally going to be a spicy one-shot with Satoru Gojo, but then it turned into something else.

Synopsis: Father’s Day is among us and it impacts Gojo, Geto, Toji and Sukuna (yes, even him) differently. 

Content Warning: There is some smut below. None in Toji’s and it’s kind of angsty. Female ReaderXCharacter, Mentioning of fathers day, breeding kink, implied child abandonment, reference to spitting in someones mouth, playing with nipples, almost getting caught, making out fingering, sex, etc. Minors DO NOT Interact.

Likes, comments and reblogs always appreciated!

The Dads Who Stepped Up

Satoru Gojo

“Happy Father's Day, Satoru!” You shout while simultaneously setting off a loud party popper. The red party string erupts from the boisterous instrument and floats to the floor onto the accented rug. The love of your life and least funniest person in the world, Satoru Gojo—who had just walked into the door of your shared home—looks at you in surprise. 

Truth be told, it was the end of a particularly long and stressful workday, and he was looking forward to coming home and collapsing into his king-sized bed without further thought of carrying the world's weight on his shoulders. But here he was, being accosted at his own front door—by you. 

“Happy Fathers D-?” His voice trails off as his eyes wander down your frame and settle on your midsection. Your face grows hot as you follow his eyes; instinctively, your hand shoots down to cover your stomach. You scold yourself quietly for not thinking of the implications behind your gesture.

“Yeah, I should have thought this through. Don’t worry, I’m not pregnant.”

“Oh”

You make a mental note of his change of tone. He sounded disappointed, but you can’t imagine why since pregnancy scares have always stressed you both out in the past. 

“Then, why are you wishing me a Happy Father's Day? I’m not exactly a dad.” Gojo closes the door behind him and opens his arms, allowing you to approach him and melt into his embrace. His familiarity calms you, as does the scent of his cologne and the way he rests his chin on your head. For all the things that Gojo is for you—and he is a lot of positive things—he also is a sense of security, comfort, and unconditional love. 

“But you are, Satoru. I know I joke about you having an army of secret kids out there-“ 

“I meaaaaaaan-”

You pinch his bicep playfully, earning a pained chuckle from him. 

“You’re a father figure to Megumi, Yuta, and Yuji, to only name a few. Think about how much you’ve stepped up and mentored them in their darkest moments. I want you to consider where those kids would be without you, Satoru.”

While you’re talking, Gojo lifts his blindfold from his eyes and rests it on his forehead. His usual playful gaze is gone, replaced with something more reflective as he considers your words. It’s almost enough to unnerve you, but you continue in an attempt to convince your partner that today is a day for him, too.

“I know you’re always bragging about being the strongest, to the point where you’re downright annoying, but please accept that you serve in this capacity, too. Look,” you break free from his embrace, walk over to your dining room table, and pick up several envelopes. 

Gojo follows behind you, peering over your shoulder. “What are those?” 

“Signed Father's Day cards from the boys.” You hand them over to Gojo, who then opens the one on the top of the pile, which just so happens to be Megumi’s

Gojo can’t help but smile as he reads it aloud: “Thanks for everything. If I had to choose between being sold off to the Zenin clan and you, I would choose you every time.” 

He looks up at you, his voice soft and devoid of his usual arrogant tone. "That’s the nicest thing he’s ever said to me.”

You smile as he reads through the other cards. Yuta’s is the sweetest and tugs at your heartstrings as he describes a point in which meeting Gojo meant not having to live in fear anymore. 

Yuji’s card makes Satoru chuckle with the use of an inside joke that doesn’t sound too appropriate for a student-teacher relationship, but you don’t press it. 

You watch Gojo, enjoying this moment in which he feels valued, something his thankless job often fails to offer him. 

After Gojo places the cards on the refrigerator via the picture magnets of you two, he turns to you. “Baaaaaabe!” 

There he is, you think as he throws his arms around you and nuzzles his face into your hair, “I’m not gonna’ lie. I kind of wish you were pregnant, though.”

Suddenly, the arrogance is back, his voice absolutely inundated with it, “I like the idea of a little Gojo running around, and you make me sound like a perfect dad.”

You recall your conversation from minutes ago in which he sounded disappointed when you said you weren’t pregnant, “Gojo, we’ve talked about this. When you get horny, you start talking about making a family.”

He whines, “Come ON! It’s Father’s Day! MY day! Humor me.”

You laugh and nod, not entirely sure what you’re consenting to, but he’s right. It is Father's Day, and it was your intention to make him feel like this was a day for him, so what was the harm in playing along? 

Gojo picks you up and places you on the counter, his fingers gripping the edge of your skirt and hiking it up. He’s on you in an instant, attaching himself to you as if you’re his lifeline.

You loop a finger around the hem of his blindfold, removing and flinging it across the room. His white hair falls into his face, adding a breathtaking contrast to his sky-blue eyes. 

“Would it be so bad, Y/N?” 

“W-would what be so bad?” Gojo’s warm mouth is on your neck, leaving a trail of kisses but still somehow managing to speak against your skin.

“Making me a dad,” he pauses. “Letting me make you a mama.” Gojo leans closer to you, allowing you to wrap your arms around his shoulders. You’re situated on the counter, but his proposition makes you feel like you’re falling. And what he says next shakes you to your very being.

“Let me put a baby in you, Y/N.”

You open your mouth, ready to list why you both shouldn’t even be entertaining this conversation—but, to your surprise, you can’t find the words to say no. And perhaps it’s because it’s something you actually want, or maybe it’s because Gojo is now positioning his cock at your entrance, and when that man pulls his dick out, you get a little dumb. Honestly, your only flaw.

You have follow-up questions. You’re unsure if he’s being serious; he often talks like this during sex, a consequence of a man with a breeding kink, but this sounds different. Feels different. So, is he serious? Your second question is, how did he pull his dick out so quickly?

You don’t get much time to ask as he smacks the fat tip of his dick against your sensitive clit; the sound of his meat hitting your already moist cunt echoes through the kitchen. The action sends shockwaves through your body, and you arch your back, pressing yourself further against his body, which almost doesn’t feel humanly possible. 

Gojo smirks, “Mmm, so receptive for me, baby. What if I juuuuust put the tip in, like this?”

He’s a man of his word as he presses the head against the entrance of your tight cunt, watching as it does what it does best and welcomes Gojo’s dick. But he doesn’t push in any further, only allowing you to feel moderately stretched and not as full as you’d like.

“Don’t tease me, Gojo.” You attempt to make your demand sound menacing through gritted teeth, but it comes out more like a whine. Pathetic. 

He wraps a hand around your chin and pulls your face within mere inches of his. “I will if you ask nicely.”

You huff. God, for all the reasons you love this man, he can be fucking exhausting. But your body deceives you; your cunt grasps at the head of his cock, part of you enjoying his little games.

“Please, Saturo, make me a mommy.”

As the last syllable leaves your lips, he pushes forward until his dick is flush against your pussy. The momentum of the push bounces you back, and some of the appliances on the counter tip over. Gojo’s hand shoots over your head to get leverage, resting on the cabinet while the other wraps around your waist. 

“Fuck,” he groans as he slides in and out of you. “I swear to GOD I’m getting you pregnant tonight. You want that? To carry my babies?”

Fantasy or not, you’re into it. You tighten your grip around his neck and moan into his ear, your honeyed voice only making him thrust more aggressively. 

“You’re going to be a great Daddy, baby!”

The arm that was around your waste is now in between you both, his long fingers rubbing your clit, the friction making your inner thighs clench—a telltale sign that you’re getting close.

“You’re going to look so fuckin’ beautiful pregnant. How many are you going to give me? Cuz once we start, I won’t be able to stay off ya.”

You moan in approval; Satoru is a pervert, a menace, but never a liar. You know that if he promises to keep you barefoot and pregnant, he fucking means it. 

“Stick out your tongue for me, baby.”

You happily oblige as his mouth absorbs your tongue, sucking harshly on it. Kissing while fucking is something you both often do, but you and Satoru are just so comically bad at it—taking intermittent pauses, too caught up in the pleasure you’re both feeling to move your lips. But he never allows your tongue to retreat back into your mouth, sucking on it while he continues to pound your core.

You dig your nails into his shoulders, realizing that he never removed his shirt—he was so horny that he only had time to drop his pants down to his ankles and fuck you right there on your kitchen counter. And the thought alone has you grabbing his hair and gushing on his dick.

Gojo lets out a whimper as your cunt spasms, sending him over the edge, and shooting ropes upon ropes into your sex.

You’re both left panting, forehead to forehead.

“Happy Father's Day, Satoru.”

Suguru Geto

“That’s the last of it,” you say as you dump an endless supply of glitter into a trash bag. The living room was a mess.

For this Father's Day, Mimiko and Nanako begged to be in charge of the activities. You were touched. The girls were obviously happy to hold this responsibility, so you willingly passed the baton to them.  

And you had to admit, you were impressed by the itinerary. They planned a trip to some of Seguro’s favorite places, including a Soba restaurant that typically had an extensive waitlist. Tonight was no exception, but the girls had made reservations months in advance. 

You all concluded the day at home with home movies, cake, and a poster board with bright red glitter proclaiming that Geto was the “World's Best Dad.” 

Hence, the mess.

The girls were now tucked away and asleep in their respective bedrooms. You and Suguru were taking the time to clean up the living room, but a quiet lull had settled between you both. You looked back at him as you tied the trash bag closed. 

Geto is sitting on the couch, a smile on his face that you can’t help but return. He looks perfect like this, you think to yourself. He is wearing black jeans and a loose grey sweatshirt, and his signature hair, which is often tied up, flows freely past his shoulders. 

“Y//N, this is the happiest I’ve ever been, and I owe a lot of this to you. This wouldn’t be a home without you.” He gestures to the room around you both, and you take it all in—it’s not the most luxurious of homes, but it belongs to your family of 4, and it’s brimming with character. 

You can clearly see what he’s referencing—the pencil marks on the walls indicating the measured inventory of the girls over the years, the pile of shoes near the door (the girls have far TOO many, you often say to no one in particular) and the framed family photos of you all on every wall.

Suguru interrupts your thoughts as he pats the vacant seat on the sofa beside him. You accept his invitation, sitting down and draping your legs into his lap. He gently pushes you back so you’re lying underneath him, his dark eyes penetrating your soul.

His voice is soft, and his touch is even softer as he slides a hand up your shirt, your bra removed hours ago, “I couldn’t do this without you. I wouldn’t want to do this without you.”

His deft fingers circle your nipples, making them unbelievably hard and earning a moan from your lips, “Suguru, the girls could hear us!”

“Sounds like you better be quiet then” His head disappears under your shirt, and while you can’t see what he’s doing, you can feel his hot mouth on your nipples, rolling them around his tongue, sucking and teasing the flesh, making the heat between your legs grow exponentially stronger.

You begin to grind against him, trying to rub against any part of him to feel some semblance of relief. He chuckles, slipping a hand into your waistband and past your underwear. He lets out a murmur of approval as his hands dip into your needy sex, immediately stroking the soft-spongy spot deep in your core that drives you crazy.

Geto’s fingers are a godsend as they curve, stroke, and scissor you, adjusting to different motions depending on the sounds you make. His mouth still hasn't left your nipple, his suckles getting more aggressive as you feel his teeth nibbling. 

Suddenly, you both hear a door open from within the hallway and freeze. You hear someone—one of the girls, but you aren’t sure which—pad their way to the bathroom.

You both stay as still as humanly possible, knowing that if you duck down enough, whoever crosses in the hallway won’t be able to see you on the couch. 

Suguru pulls his hands out of your pants, which you assume means that your sexual escapade has concluded until those same fingers, which are covered in your essence, are now pressing against your lips.

He doesn’t give you much of an option as he pushes them into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself on your tongue, swirling his fingers around to mix with your saliva.

The bathroom door opens, and you hear the footsteps back into their room.

“Good job,” Suguru coos, pressing his lips against your stomach and pulling his fingers from your mouth.

“And thank you for an excellent Father's Day, my love.”

The Dad Who Stepped Out

Toji Fushiguro

“Here’s what you asked for.” Toji enters the kitchen and drops a grocery bag on the table. You glance over your shoulder at your stay-at-home boyfriend, who seems grumpier than usual today.

“Thanks. Hoping to try this Carbonara recipe out.” You rifle through the bag and pull out the ingredients.

Toji lingers in the kitchen—-unusual for him as he never offers to help cook, but you don’t press it, not wanting to catch the strays from whatever has him pissed off.

“I forgot…I forgot what day it is,” he mumbles softly.

Oh, you look over at the calendar on the refrigerator and nod. The date is circled in bright red marker. There’s a note to yourself that reads, “Father's Day!” 

“There were so many brats at the store today with their moms pickin’ out dinners. Barely could find anywhere to park.” 

He’s rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes look anywhere but at yours. You can tell that this is bothering him as Toji wears his stress on his shoulders, which are now hunched in a way that looks far from comfortable.

You learned early in your relationship not to bring up Father’s Day; it’s a sore spot for him. Much of what you know about Toji and his relationship with his son was shared reluctantly as a result of an ultimatum by you: open up or get the fuck out.

You choose your following words carefully. “Do you want to talk about it, or is this you venting?”

Toji sighs and shrugs, “Let’s hear it.”

“I think you should call your kid, Toji. He’s probably thinking about you, too.”

He holds his hand up, signaling that he doesn’t want to hear anything else about the topic, and exits to the bedroom. You glance sadly at your ingredients and conclude that dinner is going to have to wait as you follow Toji.

He’s lying on your bed almost as if asleep, but the scowl on his face and the way he’s biting his bottom lip gives him away.

You sit on the edge of the bed, “what do you need right now?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah, but within reason, Toji. Because it seems like you don’t want to do what makes the most sense which is to pick up the fucking phone and call your son, so yeah, what do you need that I can give you right now?”

Toji’s face goes slack, and he opens one of his eyes. “Just sit here with me, yeah?”

You nod and crawl beside him, laying your head on his bicep as he wraps his arm around you.

Dishonorable Mention

Ryomen Sukuna

“Woman! Isn’t there something that you’re forgetting?”

Sukuna taps his foot as he sits at your dining room table. You would think that a modest two-bedroom apartment would humble the king of curses, but it doesn’t.

“What is it now, Sukuna?”

“I was watching the news, and every segment specified that it’s Father's Day?”

You nod, not entirely sure where he’s going with this.

“Well? Where’s my gift? My words of adoration? Your mouth on one of my cocks?”

You blink slowly, “Sukuna, Father's Day is for those with children. Are you telling me that you have-?”

‘He waves his dismissively at you, “Don’t be absurd, woman. You know how I feel about those disgusting creatures.”

“Then?”

Suluna’s patience with you is running thin. You sometimes like to play games with him to get a rise out of him. He’ll remember to spit in your mouth when he beds you tonight.

He speaks through gritted teeth, “you call me daddy every chance I have you split open on my dicks. Now wish me a happy fathers day.”

You consider your options here; on the one hand, pissing off Sukuna could be fun; on the other hand, he is right, you do call him daddy in the bedroom, so you relent, “happy fathers day, Sukuna.”

His chest swells in triumph. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

[timidxtempted]

I am hunched over my desk in my home office, working on things that are taking up all of my concentration. I smile when I feel your presence in the room; my smile growing when I feel your hand reach from behind, grasp hold of my neck, and pull me up from my awkward position over the keyboard.

That's some terrible posture you're exhibiting there, isn't it?

My eyes close and I press my lips together against the littlest of whimpers at your tone of voice.

That. Tone. Of. Voice.

The one that makes my stomach flip. The one that makes my cunt flip, too.

I feel your hand tighten on my neck, just enough to make me inhale very sharply.

Daddy can fix that. I have just the thing.

Your hand slips from my neck. I hear the unmistakable sound of you unbuckling your belt and my mouth drops open slightly, already imagining your hard cock slipping past my lips.

Then I hear you remove your belt completely and feel the soft, worn leather slipped around my neck.

Not what you were expecting?

I feel you buckle the belt at the back of my neck. Not too tight. Not restricting my breathing.

At least not as long as I am sitting up straight.

I hear noises that I can't place, and feel slight movement in the belt on my skin.

That should do it.

I try to turn around to face you and realize that I can not. I can not move my head very far at all. In any direction. You've attached the belt somehow to the chair so that I am stuck sitting up very, very properly for you.

Fuck.

Your hand comes around from behind once again, this time to slip two fingers into my still open mouth.

You understand now, baby?

I nod, and moan on your fingers as my cunt clenches hard.

Such a smart girl.

Your fingers move slowly in and out of my mouth, and my hips start to grind in time with the movements, thighs pressed tight, cunt already throbbing at all of the sensations in my body. At all the thoughts in my mind.

Now, I'm going to carry on with my day. I will be close. In fact, you'll be able to see me out your window. When you need to use the bathroom, send me a message, I will come for you... I'll need a piss by then anyhow.

Trembling hard at the implications of all you just said, I feel your fingers slip from my hungry mouth and trail a wet, drooly path down between my breasts. I whimper as I feel your warm breath on my ear.

Have a lovely morning, baby.

I can hear your fucking smirk.

I nod as much as is possible while your belt is keeping me in place.

That's my good girl.

Hands shaking, cunt slick with dripping need, I try to remember what I do for a living as I feel you leave the room.

[kinkandkreep]

Yandere Alphabet: Ken "Draken" Ryuguji (Tokyo Revengers)

A/N: Hey hey y'all! I decided to also do the Yandere Alphabet for my husband, Draken! I'm considering also doing one for Baji and maybe Hanma. 🤔 Let me know if that's something y'all would like to see! Alright, hope y'all enjoy! 👋🏾

⬇️

CW: mentions of s**cide, general yandere themes

 Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Ken, very similarly to Mikey, expresses his affection in a very physical, tactile manner 

He's more of a shower than a teller 

I'm not sure if I've mentioned it to you all before (though I've definitely thought it numerous times 🙃) but Ken's primary love language is Acts of Service 

He loves to do things for you, whether that be carry you when you're tired, tend to your hair for you or tote your groceries into the house 

I wouldn't say he gets too too intense, but his desire to do everything for you can potentially lead to you feeling a lack of autonomy after some time

Unless you're fine with that, in which case it's a non-issue 😂

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Another one who likes making a mess for you 🤭

While Ken may be more composed than some of his other TR counterparts, he does still take pleasure in a good fight, and he positively revels in the opportunity to put a jerkoff in his place should he approach you crazy 

Although, with how…skewed Yan-Ken’s judgement can be in regards to who exactly is a jerkoff and who isn’t 🙃…

Let’s just say he gets into quite a few fights even as he grows older and more mature

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Yan-Ken actually has the capacity to be quite gentle and accommodating should he kidnap you

The implication being that Yan-Ken kidnapping you is not a given

It depends on how you behave really: if you listen to his instructions and comply with his demands, which are usually not too unreasonable, then he’ll believe he can trust you, and will see no need to abduct you

If you can’t however…weeeeeellllll 👀…

If (and depending on your personality, when) Yan-Ken kidnaps you, he’ll try his darndest not to mock you, to make you feel more comfortable and forthcoming with affection and understanding, but sometimes he can’t help himself and can be pretty cruel in the things he says

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Yan-Ken will probably figure out some way to track your daily movements without your knowledge

He’s pretty crafty, and I would imagine knowledgeable about complex systems, so I think it feasible that he hooks up like a spy cam or something in or on your car to follow you as you go about your day

That’s pretty much it though- Yan-Ken, unlike the older iterations of Yandere Mikey, would never noncon you, and he tries to be as gentlemanly as possible, less than pure desires aside

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Yan-Ken’s not as much of a hardass as some other Yanderes, but he’s still not the most forthcoming with details about his mental and emotional states

Still, he loves you a frankly unhealthy amount (hence the title ✨ Yandere ✨) and he wants to be able to grow closer to you and bond with you, and he feels that one of the most effective ways to do that is to be more open and less closed off and tight lipped about…well, himself

I would say out of 100% of his heart, Yan-Ken probably bares about 60% of it to his Desire 

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Frustrated, to say the absolute least

I don’t particularly think Yan-Ken would find you fighting back to be amusing, mostly just annoying

He’s just doing what he’s doing to keep you safe and express his love, can’t you see that?!?

Ugh, you’re being so difficult and for what? It’s not like you could ever hope to overpower, or even outsmart him, so it would be best if you just quietly complied and made things easier for everyone involved

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No, this is not a game to Yan-Ken 

A heart is not something to be trifled with, especially not his

When Ken loves, he loves hard, and his love is all encompassing 

It would break his heart to see you try and escape him, or avoid him if he’s not abducted you

If he did notice you were growing distant, that would only serve as motivation for him to take you and hole you up somewhere to ensure you couldn’t leave him

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Ken tries his darndest not to hurt you, in any way, but should you push him past his limit, his grips can become bruising and his words particularly scathing

With that in mind, I’d say your worst experience with him would probably be something like being manhandled and degraded, followed by being locked up in a dimly lit, sparsely furnished room for a few days with minimal contact and little provision

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Yan-Ken wants you to be his wife and he your husband, in an official capacity

He doesn’t necessarily care whether the government acknowledges that you’re bound to one another, but the thought is nice 🙃It also makes it more difficult for you to separate from him should you ever think to try something like that

If I’m being honest, Ken also wants kids, and while he’d never force you, he will, in essence, pester you about it and throw very obvious hints that he does until you, in all likelihood, relent and give him what he wants

Yeah, comin’ from a good day of doin’ what he loves to a big house full of mini yous and hims runnin’ around? That’s about as close to Heaven as Ken thinks he’ll get

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Yan-Ken tries not to get jealous, and for the most part he doesn’t, since he knows he’s good looking, strong and capable, but sometimes he envies those who can more easily express themselves and, subsequently, naturally have a stronger connection with you

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Yan-Ken can actually be quite cold when around you

Trust me, he’s not doing it on purpose, but he just has difficulty lowering his guard and opening up, as mentioned previously 

He’s still sweet though, offering you snacks and taking care of any issues you might encounter, it’s just that he does it with, admittedly, a pretty deep frown 🙃

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Yan-Ken would try for as long as possible to court you normally

He would agree to take you out on dates and other excursions, bring you gifts and food and generally spend one-on-one time with you

He tries to be cautious in his approach, since he knows he has an intimidating aura and reputation, but he wants you to recognize that he’s not just a brute

After a while though, should he sense that things aren’t progressing as quickly as or in the direction he hopes, he would be more inclined to resort to kidnapping you

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Hmm, I would say yes and no

Yes, because the Ken that you see is often very sweet and gentle, though he can also be cruel to a degree

No, because well, that’s also exactly how Ken is all the time, it’s just that people don’t often pay attention enough to see it

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Similar to OG!Mikey, Yan-Ken would probably punish you by isolating you and saying really nasty things to you, to try and break you down some

But only so that he can carefully and lovingly build you back up!

He would try to avoid doing anything that would cause any permanent damage, but as I also mentioned before, he may inadvertently hurt you physically should you test his patience too much

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Yan-Ken doesn’t necessarily like the thought of robbing you of your autonomy, but he can’t help but want control over who you speak too, where you go and with who and what you wear

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Ken can be and really is very patient 

As I said, he won’t force himself on you, and he gives you plenty of time to adjust to your environment and new circumstance should he abduct you

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

If you ever managed to escape Ken’s clutches should he decide to kidnap you, he’s doing everything in his power to retrieve you

It’s a dangerous, dark world and you are too pure and precious to be exposed to such things without someone to guide and protect you

Which, of course, is him

If you manage to escape and Ken does successfully bring you back, you’ve officially lost your going out privilege

For like, ever

If you somehow died while under his care, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself

He’d feel like a total failure and I could feasibly see him taking his own life

There is no just up and leaving him, Ken’s grip on you is much too tight for that

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Yan-Ken might feel a little guilty towards the beginning, but that feeling dissipates rather quickly once a little time has passed and he gets to enjoy more of you constantly being beside him

No, Yan-Ken, if he can help it, is never going to willingly let you go

The only way you leave him is if he’s like dead and gone or he physically or mentally no longer possesses the capacity to care for you

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Ken has a fear of abandonment

He was abandoned as a child, and he never quite felt wanted during his time living in the brothel 

He’s also spent his whole life exposed to gangs and violence and negativity, so when he encounters the shining light in the darkness that is you, he immediately becomes unhealthily attached

Initially, Ken’s not even aware that he’s capable of feeling the way he feels about you, but once he comes to terms with it, he accepts that his yandere tendencies are just a part of who he is

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Not great, to say the least 🙃

Yan-Ken really desires above all else for you to return his affection, just like most yanderes, and to see you be so vehemently against even accepting his love, assuming you are, breaks his heart 

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

 You know, I honestly can’t think of anything too out of the ordinary (well, ordinary in the yandere sense 🙃) that Yan-Ken would do, other than maybe the fact that he would definitely put a tracking device on you or your vehicle should the opportunity present itself

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Yan-Ken is another one who I don’t think has that many, if any, exploitable weaknesses

Aside from the obvious obsession, Ken has it pretty together emotionally and mentally

Which probably sounds impossible given the circumstance but it’s not, trust me 😂

He’s not sensitive enough to the point where you can emotionally manipulate him and he’s not stupid, so basic tricks aren’t going to work on him

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Unintentionally, perhaps, but never on purpose

Yan-Ken really wants you to love and obey him willingly, and he’s smart enough to know that hurting you is not the way to go about getting you to do that

So, he does his best to refrain from hurting you, though if he really is near his wit’s end, he may accidentally grab you too hard or push you too roughly

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

While Yan-Ken isn’t very apt to admit it, he practically worships the ground you walk on

He adores you so much, you represent everything right and fair in a world full of unjust and wrong

I haven’t mentioned it up to this point, but in order to win you over, I could feasibly see Yan-Ken eliminating any potential rival love interests you may have

He probably won’t kill them, ‘cus that would be a little too extreme given how, y’know, permanent death is (🙃) but he would definitely not be afraid to beat someone up for you

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

As I mentioned before, Ken is very patient, so it could be a while before he “snaps.”

Assuming you push him to that point

When I think “snap,” I think abduct or something like that

Yan-Ken won’t necessarily do that unless you provoke him

If you’re kinda just going about your business and don’t do anything drastic, he won’t snap

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Yan-Ken would try his very hardest not to, and to be fair, he doesn’t really do anything extreme enough to warrant breaking his Desire, but if say he did kidnap you and you remained combative and uncooperative, he may feel the need to take more extreme measures and that might include breaking you

[colliholly]

do you have more chip x reader headcanons i loved the first one so much i need a sequel ;_;

Ask and ye shall receive, anon

Putting them under the cut as per tradition

🌲 Chainsaw Consultant/Chip Revvington x Reader 2: Revvington's Revenge

• I imagine if Chip caught feelings for someone, his work performance would suffer just a little bit due to distraction. Just enough for his coworkers to notice something’s off with his work output, which is rare for him.

• I think he’d also become noticeably nicer at work once he’s in a relationship. He still has to deal with the override of course, but when it’s just him, his coworkers would notice a change in him. He has someone to look forward to after work now. <3

• Chip would never be the one to confess first, especially not with the threat of the override looming over both of you. But, just to play with the idea of him doing so, if he WERE: He would be nervous and awkward when confessing, tugging at his cuffs and shirt collar and stuff like that. He’s also way too formal and stiff to straight up say “dating”, so he’d ask you if you wanted to “enter a partnership” with him or something.

• I think this can be pretty much applied to all Cogs, but Chip would be fascinated by your body. He'd like how soft and graceful you are, considering how bulky and not-soft (and sharp) he is.

• Chip has a hard time asking for affection. It’s half due to him worrying over accidentally hurting you (being a 12-foot-tall chainsaw robot) and half due to him feeling way too awkward to ask (again, 12-foot-tall chainsaw robot). That being said, if he does, it’s a sign of him putting aside his embarrassment as well as trusting you.

• Speaking of which, he’d really appreciate any kindness after an override at work. It’s days like those he’s especially exhausted.

• Since Chip isn't good with words, and his love language is very much action-oriented, I think he'd be a surprisingly good caretaker. If you were sick, he’d check in on you often and bring you anything you needed. If you fell asleep at your desk, he would pick you up and carry you to bed. However, he wouldn't realize the romantic implications of his actions, it's simply him trying to help you. But it is very affectionate and thoughtful regardless.

• This would also extend to more mundane daily things like reminding you to hydrate or take your meds. He wants you to be operating at your best so you can work your best. :)

• I think Chip is self-conscious of the enormous blade on his face. He would not openly talk about it but he is, at least on occasion. The closing remarks section from his interview is super telling of how other cogs view him:

"With that chainsaw apparatus, he'll be a great candidate for the position. Well, y'know, so long as he doesn't scare off his co-workers..."

• He’d be a little worried (and sometimes frustrated) of his inability to kiss you, too, and that he can’t provide in that aspect. But I think if you reminded him you like him just the way he is he’d get over it pretty quickly. 🤎

[electricbluebutterflies]

Cala and Tenax, things you said in the dark

Post-s1, PG-ish, also on ao3.

It’s just safer this way. This is how Cala convinces herself to reassess boundaries.

Just two people, who have acted respectably towards each other for nearly a year, sharing space in a closer way than before because one of them runs a bit paranoid and has also gotten on the wrong side of a few too many people recently over things he’s not exactly telling the other one and-

Nothing will happen if she doesn’t make it happen. That doesn’t make the situation any less awkward.

She has been a willing participant in these evolutions, let her at least have that justification. The suggestion that it might be easier if they share a bed – the implication that she’s been used as collateral damage before and there are unfortunate odds that could happen again – did not carry any implied weight, and… there are still days she’s unsure if she likes this man, but she at least trusts him. Their lives have become entwined and nothing indecent has happened, and-

“You should try to rest.”

“As should you.”

Her mind is too heavy for that, she wants to say. This is the closest she’s been to someone since… oh, she’s had interest, but always other priorities, always something stopping her, always-

“You know I don’t if I am unsure-“

“If something is wrong-“

“Too used to being alone.”

She doesn’t talk much about her life before. It’s not like anyone asks, but… she’s compartmentalized beautifully, left her past where it happened, threads she may or may not ever get the chance to tie off and-

“This doesn’t have to mean anything more than it is.”

She knows. They are not touching, on opposite sides of this bed. She knows her past tendencies and how likely it is she’ll move closer in her sleep, but even that will not be-

“And if it does mean something for me?”

“What would you want?”

She could say anything and he’d do it. She could ask him to tend to her body and he would be as thorough in that as anything else. She’s half tempted to, just to see if she’s right, but-

“I was starting to think you might… care for me. I wonder-”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

She wonders sometimes if anyone else has seen him vulnerable like this, armor down and self-aware. A line has been crossed but she’s not even sure what it is, if there’s any going back from this, if-

“Am I wrong?”

“No.”

She could touch him if she wanted to. The effort it would take to move her body and take what she wants is so minimal, and she could, and she would if she was more certain it was wanted but right now-

“You’re more patient than most men would be,” she murmurs. “You’d wait forever for me.”

“Perhaps not forever, but-“

“I will let you, when you decide to-“

“I won’t hurt you.”

He’s said that enough times that she can hear echoes of it whenever her mind wanders, but it’s different in their current positions, different in the vulnerability of night and still as safe as she’s ever felt and-

“What more permission do you need?”

“Awareness that you want the same.”

Hell with this, Cala thinks. She knows the slight shift of domestic arrangements was meant to be temporary but it won’t be; she knows, as she turns her body and hopes to whatever gods are listening that kissing someone is still natural even if she hasn’t done it in ten years, that there is an inevitability to them and-

First the shock then the want of it. She has already assessed his nature and found nothing against what she would tolerate in a lover, and there is something almost sacred about this moment, desire shifting and-

“Is that clear enough?”

He responds with another kiss, pulling her down, hands moving on her like he’s not sure where to put them, like this is new and beautiful and-

“Tell me what you want.”

“Nothing more than this, for now. I don’t want to push you.“

“It’ll be alright. You’re… safe.”

She will untangle that later, she decides as she rests her body against his. Right now she doesn’t have the energy for it; right now she doesn’t-

“I need time too. Is that-“

He kisses the side of her face and next time this happens will be in better light, she decides, next time she will see the way she is wanted and-

“You don’t have to do anything. Yes.”

[noknowshame]

started reading Foucault's Madness and Civilization today

text from above:

“Thus we better understand the curious implication as-signed to the navigation of madmen and the prestige attend-ing it. On the one hand, we must not minimize its incon-testable practical effectiveness: to hand a madman over to sailors was to be permanently sure he would not be prowl-ing beneath the city walls; it made sure that he would go far away; it made him a prisoner of his own departure. But water adds to this the dark mass of its own values; it carries off, but it does more: it purifies. Navigation delivers man to the uncertainty of fate; on water, each of us is in the hands of his own destiny; every embarkation is, potentially, the last. It is for the other world that the madman sets sail in his fools' boat; it is from the other world that he comes when he disembarks.

The madman's voyage is at once a rigorous division and an absolute Passage. In one sense, it simply develops, across a half-real, half-imaginary geog-raphy, the madman's liminal position on the horizon of medieval concern-a position symbolized and made real at the same time by the madman's privilege of being confined within the city gates: his exclusion must enclose him; if he cannot and must not have another prison than the thresh-old itself, he is kept at the point of passage. He is put in the interior of the exterior, and inversely. A highly symbolic position, which will doubtless remain his until our own day, if we are willing to admit that what was formerly a visible fortress of order has now become the castle of our conscience.

Water and navigation certainly play this role. Confined on the ship, from which there is no escape, the madman is delivered to the river with its thousand arms, the sea with its thousand roads, to that great uncertainty external to everything. He is a prisoner in the midst of what is the freest, the openest of routes: bound fast at the infinite crossroads.

He is the Passenger par excellence: that is, the prisoner of the passage. And the land he will come to is unknown-as is, once he disembarks, the land from which he comes. He has his truth and his homeland only in that fruitless expanse between two countries that cannot belong to him. Is it this ritual and these values which are at the origin of the long imaginary relationship that can be traced through the whole of Western culture? Or is it, con-versely, this relationship that, from time immemorial, has called into being and established the rite of embarkation? One thing at least is certain: water and madness have long been linked in the dreams of European man.”

[monstersdownthepath]

Got a bit inspired by the WotR CRPG's Lich path, but what changes, if any, would you make to the Lich template to fit an Archlich, from DnD's older editions (Forgotten Realms wiki indicates they were first mentioned back in 2e, and last in 4e, not very common though)? It may not entirely fit Golarion's cosmology of Undead = Bad, but I find the idea of a spellcaster going into Lichdom for altruistic reasons (like, say, needing an emotionless, painless, nigh-inexhaustible army to stem the tides of the Abyss) fascinating. If nothing else, it might get the Church of Pharasma more interested in a particular cause to get this Lich to up and die peacefully and willingly. And I mention 'changes' since apparently the process of becoming an Archlich was both more difficult, but could yield greater power. Although I can't really find anything to support this claim otherwise, can't find any pages on stats on the topic and searching up 'Archlich' just makes Vecna show up.

-----

Oh wow that's bizarre, I had no idea there was a Good-aligned Lich equivalent in older editions! I'm a little baffled by the fact they didn't think to name themselves anything more creative than just "Better Lich," but the implications of their existence and their creation process sort of does make them Better Liches. If what I'm reading here is correct, the primary difference between becoming an Archlich and a normal Lich is that a normal Lich takes shortcuts in their paths to power, forcing other creatures to bear the brunt of the trauma of their transformation, draining life and soul from others away to sustain themselves. Meanwhile, the Archlich must undergo a quest to discover a 'secret spell' and must learn every single spell required in the ritual; they cannot skimp on any detail, their ascension cannot be done another way, and carries a very real and very intimidatingly large chance that all their preparations are rendered meaningless and the ritual fails by pure bad luck.

Interesting! There's something to be said about the rewards that come from rejecting the path of least resistance.

Also, I wouldn't say Undead are always Bad And Evil, but as we've discussed at length on this blog, in the Pathfinder universe it's very difficult to be an undead that's Good-aligned and especially difficult to STAY good once the transformation is finished. Becoming undead for altruistic and good reasons doesn't change the fact that your soul will now itch to cause destruction and entropy. The urge can certainly be steered in acceptable directions, and in fact in the very video game you've mentioned it's one of the more powerful and useful Mythic paths for doing exactly that in the way you've suggested... but in-game it doesn't stop Pharasma from leering at you, and to complete your transformation into a full-power Lich in WotR you do in fact have to purge Good from your soul. Even your mentor, Zacharius, became a lich for an ostensibly good reason, only for undeath to slowly warp him into something ruthless and pragmatic.

... anyway, that wasn't your question. You asked what I would do to make the Archlich! The good news is that I do happen to have the book their stats appear in (Monsters of Faerun), stats I apparently never read or never found interesting enough to retain, but the bad news is that they're not especially different from a regular Lich, with a few notable exceptions:

--Archliches cannot be Turned by Good-aligned Clerics and are immune to channeled positive energy.

--Archliches have a constant Water Walk effect on themselves.

--The Paralyzing Touch of an Archlich sets the victim in a death-like state of suspended animation, during which the creature does not need to eat, breathe, or drink.

--Archliches can send their spirit outwards from themselves 3/day in a manner akin to, but not quite, Astral Projection.

There's apparently some more details in even earlier books, such as the ability for an Archlich to destroy any Undead being they create with a touch (presumably to end their service), immunity to the attacks and spells of any creature with 6 or less Hit Dice, and perhaps most impressively the ability to passively regenerate spell slots, but I do not have access to that particular book (Lost Ships) at this time to confirm for certain.

[next-autopsy]

A/N: Well, hi there! Ten chapters already! Woohoo! Thank you to everyone who had read, liked, rebloged or left a comment! I appreciate each and every one 💕

I don't want to disregard Birdie's feelings about Harriet but I need to progress the story along so that's what this chapter is. Birdie still carries some guilt and most definitely does not cope in a healthy way.... but who does???

Based on the actors portrayal/hbo show and written with no disrespect to the real life veterans. Also all images found on Pinterest.

TW: Mentions of assault, emotions (tears are shed)......

Made of Glass

Chapter ten: Nickname Basis

When dinner rolled around, Birdie had begun to perk up. She spent most of the day sulking and then wondering why the guys were treating her differently. She came to the conclusion that it was her attitude, they were all being delicate with her because she was acting like a moody teenager, stomping everywhere she went and zoning out when people talked to her. 

It registered that she would be going to war and losing a lot of the friends she was making in Camp Toccoa and that made her realise how childish she was being. She soothed herself by reasoning that, at the very least, Harriet was going to live through this war, her discharge was keeping her from a bullet on the front lines. 

Bernadette bottled up the guilt she felt and pushed it to the back of her mind, she would have to get used to doing this after they were deployed. There would be no time to mourn or grieve while actively fighting the enemy. 

Sobel hadn't spoken directly to her that day, she noticed he purposefully stepped around her or veered from looking in her direction and she supposed it was his way of giving her a break or sympathizing. 

She had almost missed him yelling at her. 

Almost. 

It seemed Colonel Sink had been dishing out promotions that day, Birdie noticed Sobel's shiny new Captain bars when he presented her Corporal chevrons in the mess hall that evening. She also noticed Winters had earned the position of first lieutenant and weirdly enough, a spot in the kitchen. 

Dick watched Birdie receive the patch and give a genuine smile for the first time that day. Once the new Captain left her side, Richard found himself wandering over to the Mississippian. 

“Corporal Coldwell.... It suits you. Congratulations.” He had heard Nixon gossiping about the girl all day. Rumours of her speaking up and advising Colonel Sink had made their way around the mill and of course Lewis was spreading it to anyone who would listen, like a housewife with nothing better to do. 

“That's exactly what Sink said... You been in cahoots, sir?” Bernadette tossed him a sly look paired with a smile, “And shouldn't I be congratulatin' you, First Lieutenant Winters?” 

Richard smiled at her comment before leaning in a little closer, she caught on to the fact that whatever he was about to tell her was secret by nature and leaned in too. 

“Someone came forward.” It was whispered, Dick didn’t want any of the men over hearing. Nixon had informed him as the two walked in solitude to the mess hall, one of the men involved had gone to Sink directly and signed a statement admitting what had happened. 

It clarified who was involved and how they had planned the assault for that night especially because Bernadette was meant to be on duty. Richard wouldn’t share that part with her though. 

Birdie let the words churn in her head for a second before they became clear. The implication of all four men being caught because of one's admittance was the only coherent thought Bernadette had. Her wide russet eyes found Winters icy blue ones and he nodded as if to confirm her theory. 

“Be proud of yourself, Bernadette.” 

“It's Birdie.” She replied absent mindedly, her focus was on the new information regarding the punishment of Harriet's attackers, but she did recognise the subtle favoritism the lieutenant was showing her. It deemed them friendly enough to share nicknames and drop some formalities. 

“Birdie.” Winters tested out the nickname before departing, finding his place in the back room of the mess hall. Sobel had strongly suggested spaghetti for lunch the next day and Dick overseeing kitchen organization for the next two weeks. So, he had begun counting tins of tomatoes to keep his mind busy and away from the obvious show of authority Sobel had shoved in his face. Richard huffed to himself thinking about the COs evident superiority complex. 

“Ya know how to sew those on proper?” Bill broke the girl out of her trance as she traced the outline of the thick fabric patches. She nodded and joined him at the table their growing group had unofficially claimed. They all watched tentatively, unsure if her small smile was an invitation to talk to her or if Birdie would continue to disregard them. 

She didn't. It may have taken a minute, but Bernadette was smiling and adding remarks to the conversation, slowly letting her sunny personality warm up and shine through. 

Every man at the table noticed the change but no one dared to make a comment in case she shut off the light and clamed back up. 

“Congrats, Little Bird.” Bill spoke to her softly after a few moments. Guarnere's sincerity seeped out of his tone and echoed in the look he gave her. It was a quiet moment shared only between the two, sincere and delicate. 

“Thanks... Syphilis.” She smirked at him, enjoying the face he pulled, breaking the moment of genuine fondness and she laughed at the playful eye roll he sent her. 

By the time she had finished eating, she was ready to retire to her beloved cot and sleep the night away. Bernadette scanned the room, but she couldn't find Sergeant Lipton anywhere. 

“He went to the toilet.... Here, I'll walk you back.” Johnny Martin offered up, he had witnessed the girl searching the room for her escort and figured she was ready to get away from the testosterone and back to the safety of the women's barracks. 

Birdie was about to wave him off with some nonchalant comment stating she could walk by herself but the chilling thought of the uncaught men still wandering about made her rethink. The sun was going down, it would only be getting darker, and she didn't really want to be alone right now, so she agreed and the two exited the mess hall together. 

The evening air was cool, and the camp was quiet, its occupants winding down and getting ready to welcome the night. Johnny hadn't struck her as a conversationalist, so when he spoke up, she was mildly surprised. 

“Why are you taking it so personal, kid?” He paused, “It wasn't your fault, ya know?” He was referring to Harriet. 

He had seen her emotions on her face all day and took note of the way the guys had ignored them. Martin wanted to let her know someone cared enough to say something.

But in her mind, he didn't know what she knew, and it killed her inside. If he knew the truth, he wouldn't be trying to comfort her or telling her not to blame herself. 

“It was. It was my fault.” Birdie's voice was sharp but held no malice, only sadness and bitter disappointment. She truly believed it. 

“Just cause she took your shift?” Johnny was trying to get her to understand that what had happened was circumstantial and she shouldn't blame herself so much. 

“It's not just that...” Her voice was whispered, and she looked down shamefully, there was more to the story and Johnny was curious. 

“Did something else happen?” He feared he already knew the answer, but he had to hear it from her. 

Bernadette sucked in a shaky breath and told him everything. 

She told him how those men had approached her. How they scared her and how she froze in fear, allowing them to get close to her. She told him how he had whispered a threat to her and how she covered it up and told no one until now. She admitted how guilty she was feeling and explained that if she had spoken up and said something to someone maybe Harriet wouldn't be recovering in a hospital bed miles away from them. 

Johnny listened patiently to her every word; he didn't interrupt her. He had a feeling she needed to get all of this out and he would gladly stand there and hear it all if it meant she might feel a bit better. 

By the end of her rant, she was nearly in tears. Her eyes were filled to the brim and her bottom lip wobbled. 

Martin reached out and pulled her frame towards his, he embraced her in silence, arms encircling her upper body. He felt the moment she realised what was happening and curled into his hug, her arms wrapped around his waist and her fingers tightened on the back of his jacket. 

Bernadette willed herself not to cry but the watery tears slipped down her face anyway. She sniffled, attempting to regain composure but made no move to release her grip on the man holding onto her. 

Johnny would have stood there forever if she'd needed him to, but a few minutes into their touching moment and she was pulling away, swiping her sleeves against her face to remove any hint of the emotions she could not control. 

He waited for Birdie to be calm enough to continue their stroll back to her barracks and he let her lead the way, staying by her side and mulling in the quiet. 

“I'll be here at 05:50. Walk you to breakfast.” He informed her once they arrived at the steps leading to her sleeping quarters. She nodded, hopping up the wooden stairs and reaching for the door handle. 

Martin watched her, making sure she was safe inside the building before he turned and made his way to his own. 

A/N: Hope y'all liked this one!

~ next-autopsy ~

Chapter eleven

[poxei]

i see you creating and planning and Thinking. you’ve made characters with attention and uhhh scrutiny, with so much care that they feel real, less like a tale with a lesson, and more like an account recorded long ago. i see your work, and i see so many places where you made distinct and thoughtful choices—in color, lighting, shape, but also in positions, and perspectives, and shots, to the point where your pieces evolve into a sort of choreography. there’s motion and movement and apparel, elements that communicate so much nuance and greatly carry some implications, and i feel like that’s an incredible sort of attention, a quality of skill most marvelous. there’s an emotion and mood in your pieces (especially with avery and/or ansel) that i feel is very unique and distinct, and whether it’s intentional or intuitive, it always seems very… thorough. so fleshed out and multitudinous. i’m sorry for being incoherent, but i mean to say that your work is full of depth and creative thought, and it’s a depth and creativity that is so elegantly suffused into your work that i often miss it, but has suddenly become so apparent to me. there’s that piece with avery with his head on the table with a cup of water in front of him (heat wave?); the expression on his face, combined with the positon of his folded arms and head slumped on top of them, create a figure who exudes exhaustion (which sounds oxymoronic), and then you placed a cup of water in front of him, and let our sight of his face pass through it, so that his eyes not only look at the cup with a mixture of misery and desperation, but also to the audience with a plea, for reprieve from his anguish. and you did all the lines in redder hues and used a warm yellow for the tile and water (instead of a blue!!) and surrounded the work in a red frame, which (alongside the red lines) well communicate that feeling of relentless heat. the entire work is like an ode to misery of those hot summer days where the sun is trying to bake you alive and the air is trying to crush you with a weight of a boulder, and it’s so succinctly captured with one person, one object, and a bare setting. which is just super awesome!! that skill, of creating a picture that captures the atmosphere of the moment like that, is just in such great quality within you. it’s true of all your pieces, and i feel that there is a great amount of deliberation for these productions, and i feel that it comes together all so nicely! with such grace and completeness do your pieces appear, that an observer would first believe a piece to be a real moment in time before a choreographed design. i can see your genius in your art, and i find it tremendously impressive. your art captures and displays a range of themes and moods, and each one can stand singularly with a thematic might. i feel somewhat abashed for not recognizing i your creative process before now, but i hope that you know that the depths and multitudes within you, and which you have put into your work, indeed reach the eye with profundity and impact, and that your works are something i remember, and keep in mind when doing my own works of art.

i saw this in my inbox this morning and have been debating whether to even post it, because it somehow feels selfish to post it (it's incredibly positive towards me), but also selfish to keep it hidden in my inbox and never let you know how i felt reading it. but i think i need to post it after all, since you took the time to write all this, and i want to show my appreciation. thank you for truly looking at my art through such a thoughtful lens, and writing such beautiful prose and analyses. you made me notice things about my own art that i probably wouldn't have noticed, artistic decisions that i may have subconsciously made. i'm going to come back and read this message again whenever i feel bad about my art in the future, or when i feel cringe about posting my oc work again, and remind myself that there's at least one viewer out there who is understanding it 💛

(heat wave)

[wherevenusholdssomeofficespace]

Part 5

The Murphy family of Milo Murphy's law is in my opinion the least developed of the main families, due to the shows focus on school shenanigans and a time traveler subplot, not helped by it’s relatively short run time (H&G is already at 23 to MML 40)  But the Murphy family, tied together with the hereditary Murphy's Law is an extremely important element of the show. How the family bonds because of it and how even those who don't suffer from it make allowances in their life for those who do.

Milo values his father's advice immensely (as a fellow sufferer of EHML). Sara, while often a bit paranoid, and sometimes plans events around avoiding her father and brother, loves them dearly and makes sure to include them in things important to her. Brigette is shown to enjoy extreme sports and change, but still finds her husband and son exhausting at times.

While most of the extended Murphy family only features in the Christmas special. Beyond Milo's parents, sister and dog, he also has grandparents, an aunt, uncle, cousin and ancestors. These characters are all delightfully charming in their own right. His grandparents are constantly talking over each other so they are incomprehensible unless you're focusing on one, his aunt and uncle are somehow more positive than Milo, and his cousin is in denial about the whole thing. Sheriff Murphy’s attitude. Each member of the Murphy family showcases a different way of approaching the Law. Grandma Murphy is a bit of a badass, presumably necessary when raising two sons with Murphy’s Law. Martin became a safety inspector and chooses to be a bit more cautious, using his condition to his advantage all while managing it to the best of his ability so it causes less damage otherwise. Joey chooses to frame everything going wrong in the most positive way possible, as it can’t be things going wrong if you refuse to acknowledge the events as negative. Meanwhile Nate ignores it and tries to live his life out as best as he can without acknowledging that the things going wrong actually aren’t more than normal troubles and therefore easily manageable. Grandpa depends on family traditions and taking pride in Murphy’s Law to give it meaning, to make him feel empowered in living with it.

There's also a cousin Reggie who Milo mentions once as having painted the Mona Lisa that's hanging in the Louvre, but he's unseen and probably on his mom's side. (The Louvre is in France and there is kind of an implication of French heritage on one of his grandmother’s sides, so he could have family in France. It could easily be Grandma Murphy, which would be funny if she, a Danger married a Murphy. But there really isn’t enough information to make any assumptions and it’s probably more coincidence than anything).

Many of the episodes are about the family. For instance, there’s the family vacation episode, the roller disco derby episode and the episode where Sara and Milo go after shirts they believe to be important to their mom. And even in episodes not just about the Murphy family they still often make appearances, such as in Picture Day, Goulash, or Love Toboggan where the Murphy family may set the scene, providing motivation or the goal.

There’s something to be said about how despite the Murphy family being inherently unusual, and carrying that label with pride, how normal they really are. Brigette is shown to want normal mom things, like half-decent pictures of her son, or beating other mom’s at Goulash competitions, while knowing full well what she was getting into when she married her husband (and even otherwise may even like the excitement Murphy’s law may provide). Sara just wants teenage girl things like her date not going totally wrong, or getting to enjoy a movie premier. Even Milo and Martin are shown to be rather normal and annoyed by their condition at times. Martin likes lattes, and gets worried about their insurance premiums. Milo worries about his future and getting held back in school, gets excited when meeting celebrities or about learning. And of course Diogee may be the best dog in the world, but other than his penchant for getting himself anywhere in the world when Milo needs him, is an extremely ordinary dog. And both Milo and Martin at least are shown to enjoy skiing and really the whole family seems to enjoy just getting out and doing things. So much of Milo Murphy's Law is the Murphy family doing ordinary things just with Murphy's law throwing some curveballs in. The Murphy family is at their core, a normal family.

Even when Milo isn’t spending time with his family, he carries his family in a lot of what he does. Milo constantly brings up his fathers extremely specific sayings, and constantly making references to the wild stories his family has lived through. Milo goes out of his way to invite the Murphy’s to Christmas, he brings up his family as the thing he loves most immediately when asked. Sara carries her family in her love of Dr. Zone, a fan because of her father, and making space in her fandom for her brother and his condition.

The Murphy family is more defined by blood than the families in Phineas and Ferb due to the fact Murphy’s Law is a hereditary condition, and thus the blood relations is something that brings them together rather than relationships forged in absence of it. In Phineas and Ferb family is the similarities despite surface differences, and love despite relationship tensions. In Milo Murphy’s Law it’s the differences despite surface similarities, and love despite external problems. But that doesn’t mean that blood is the end all be all in Milo either. Far from it.

[quohotos]

I'm assuming you've played some ttrpgs based on your posts so what are some of the characters you've played?

It is true, I have played a lot of TTRPGs, however most often I was the forever DM, so a lot of times the characters I was playing were NPCs or villains.

Here's a set of some villains from from one of my first campaigns. They are a species called "Nocturns" and are based on bats. These ones have all had their wings amputated which sure as heck made it easier to draw them. I don't post a lot of these guys because, again, they're part of unpublished works that will get a big art drop if I ever manage to find a publishing solution.

In order from top to bottom:

Commander Symeraks is a flamboyant diva who writes and directs plays when he's not busy leading armies. He's incredibly skilled and incredibly dangerous, but easily distracted. Commander Glyph is cunning, ruthless, pragmatic, and not actually that skilled. He's a mediocre commander, but he attaches himself to Symeraks and keeps him out of trouble as his handler. He hopes that he can ride Symeraks' coat tails into a higer ranking position. Don't ship them, Symeraks is gay for someone else and Glyph would rather die than kiss anyone. Lomedia is a burning spirit of chaos who everyone hates, including herself. She's been demoted a million times but always finds some way to cling on and make everyone's lives a little bit worse. She's constantly betraying, backstabbing, and lying and yet somehow the rest of them always give her another chance.

Those are some memorable villains from one of my campaigns, but here are some more memorable characters I've played, in order of most favorite to least favorite.

Bradly Arbor is a 19 year old who's just out of highschool. He was captain of the football team, but also got all the lead roles in the play by virtue of being one of the few guys who enrolled in the school plays (he was not a good actor). He did that all to get closer to a girl who he was infatuated with... unfortunately she came out as a lesbian and his heart was crushed. Rather than go to college he got a deadend job at a little emporium that reopened in town and accidentally got embroiled in the supernatrual.

It was a monster of the week game, and his class was "Professional", interpreted very sarcastically and very loosely. That sword he carries is The Phoenix King (a perk of the job). It can speak and has deep lore implication that he's just too much of a dumb himbo to really grasp or care about. What's important is that it lights ablaze when he says "Hey, do the thing where you're on fire".

Other notable parts of his character design are his Marry Poppins briefcase (another perk of the job), and his cracked iphone 5 (not a perk of the job). He's dumb as rocks, but his heart is in the right place, specifically in his rib-cage

Morgan is a Dragonborn barbarian that I made for a friend's campaign set in a homebrew setting. I was feeling lazy with character designs that day so I adapted the character of Morgan from my unreleased serial to the 5e setting, thus she has hair instead of a frill.

Same backstory though, an exhiled princess who refuses to work out her feelings and instead cuts people's heads off while moralistically spouting about a religion that basically no one but her believes in. She has some cool homebrew heart-eating mechanics that my DM gave me because no one wanted to play a healer in that game, so this interpretation of Morgan also gets up to some Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom shenanigans.

Of notable importance, I was basically done with the drawing and then asked my DM "Hey, where do you stand on the lizard boob debate?" after a hilarious conversation in which they lost all respect for me, my DM decided that, yes, lizards have boobs in his setting, so I haphazardly added some cloth to her chest to be compliant with his lore.

Lastly is Rythian, an elf Monk that I threw together for an ill-fated game that only lasted like one session. He's an elf monk, named after a yogscast member because I really struggle with originality sometimes. His body was horribly burned in an incident so he wears these cool wraps to cover it up... why he doesn't wear just regular clothes is beyond me. He's special like that I guess.

It's been a while so I don't remember much more of his lore, but I do remember how much I miss adobe illustrator draw... fuck that was a good app. Why the fuck did they have to shut it down? Is there anything else like it?

Some of my coolest characters for ttrpgs were from games that I played with a close group of friends who never want to speak to me ever again... so out of respect for them I'll omit all the cool art I made for those games.

Thank you for the ask!

[somedaytakethetime]

I've had all these snippets of images in my head and I don't know what to do with them.. so I figured I could turn it into some type of writing. There's no discerning details that give any certain person away, so if you read it, in can be about just about anyone you fancy and feel would fit this. Of course, you know who I am picturing but.. that's details 😶 Warning: NO KIDS! DON'T MAKE ME PUT YOU BABIES ON THE NAUGHTY STEP! This isn't even like.. proper dirty or anything, but there's heavy implications and small touches of intimacy and elicit activities, some words that may be heavier than others if you know what I mean.., and I don't want the children to think dirty thoughts 😤 Word count: 5 283 words to be exact, I ramble..

Your hand rises and falls slowly with the pattern of his breathing. It lays on his naked chest, you lay on his naked body, his arms wrapped around you and rubbing your back softly. You watch the shadows on the rug, the same one you're both laying on, cast by the sun as it slowly sets in the window behind your heads. As you try to catch your breath and feel him do the same, you're still wondering how you ended up here.

His eyes are beautiful. That's the first thing you notice as he smiles politely at you and cordially shakes your hand when you're introduced. He repeats the name your superior just said to you, his voices is lower and more sensual than you expected and a small shiver runs through you, you pray you won't stutter and repeat your name back at him. He pulls back and you feel his hand still grasping yours, even as you're introduced to the rest of the bunch. Even as you try to stand as straight as possible beside your new employer, you still feel his hand in yours, his eyes on you, as they'd been just a few minutes ago. You never expected to be here, hired to work at this club, you didn't expect you'd be so close to them either, you thought you would have some small position and do meaningless little tasks. You're nervous, your heart skips beats at times, you're afraid to mess this up, to end up looking foolish in front of so many people, and... you're afraid of the way you can still feel his hand on yours.. his eyes burning into you from across the way.

You should probably get up and leave. Or at least get up and lay on the couch, the rug is soft and warm but it's still a little.. awkward to be laying naked, pressed to him, on his rug like this. His eyes are closed and you wonder if he fell asleep, you try to move away and you find out that he hasn't. His arms tighten around you immediately and he opens his eyes slowly, his voice sounds.. god, his voice, the things he says.. he's so attractive but the way he sounds and speaks, you feel shivers thinking about the things he's said to you before.. even tonight.. you refocus on his voice as he says, soft and low, in that effortless sensual tone that's natural to him, "Where do you think you're going?", a smirk lifts the corners of his lips softly and you hide your face against his chest, suddenly warm all over again and needing.. so much all at once.. you muffle into his skin "I thought I'd get on the couch.." and he nods "Not comfortable here? I should have probably taken you to bed.. I do have one, and it's incredibly comfortable.." he lowers his voice and a shiver runs down your spine again, he's trying to get a rise out of you and he doesn't need to. Everything about him turns you on, you've never been so attracted to anyone before. You part your lips to speak but he doesn't give you the chance. He lifts himself up, takes you with him, somehow through some testosterone-induced display of strength he gets you both up from the floor, carrying you in his arms, without even wobbling once. He looks down at you and his smirk looks devious now, "Shall I show you my bed then?"

Working here isn't as difficult as you'd expected it would be. But it's also not as easy as you'd expected either. You have good days, and bad days. The problem is that the bad days are more frequent. Through no fault of your own, that's just the way things are here. Too many egos, too much testosterone, too many strong personalities. It all leads to arguments, to misunderstandings, to being yelled at and lashed out towards. You're often apologised to, after they've calmed down, asked for forgiveness and told that you've done nothing wrong, they're just all under a lot of pressure and stress. And.. you'd let that slip.. if it wasn't happening constantly, that is. Because none of them know how to control their shitty attitudes and it grates on your nerves. You keep your head down, stay silent, this is a well paying job and you don't want to lose it. Especially not over these assholes and their arrogance. Your superior is nice, that's all that matters because he's the one that you need to spend the most time with, the rest of them can go to hell. The rest of them… except… him. He's kind to you. Incredibly kind even. Has gotten into arguments with others over you. Over the way he watched them talk to you, over the things they've said to you. He doesn't have to get into trouble because of you, you've told him every time, and he just smirks, defiant, like he was made to fight and contradict, "And what? Pass up the opportunity to remind them of their place?" and you start to realise that this man has far more layers than you know of. He's.. hard to figure out. He's quiet, rarely ever speaks unless spoken to, he's also clearly a loner. He'll interact with his teammates when needed, praise them and laugh with them when he's in the thick of training, but outside of that he retreats back into himself. Stands off to the side. Observing everyone. Silently judging them. Silently judging you too..

His bed is indeed comfortable, just as he said it was. The sheets are soft, the pillows smell like him. You love the way he smells, it's so.. rough? woodsy?.. it's manly. You're don't care for logistics that small, but the only way to describe his scent, and even the underlying feeling he gives off, is that. Manly. He has tenderness too, that he's displaying right now as he softly traces your naked body like you're porcelain, placing gentle kisses everywhere, treating you like something fragile and beautiful to be treasured, driving you to the brink of madness with his slow motions. But there's a biting edge to him. You always know that this man, who appears so calm and controlled, will lose his mind in roughly .5 seconds and fight someone if his anger gets the best of him. And you'd be lying if you said that you don't find it attractive. How controlled he is. A stronger personality simmering under the surface of all that control and calmness. Which is too calm at times.. like right now. He's kissed a path up and down your thighs five times and you're about to pull all that glorious hair out of his head if he doesn't do something more than tease you.. "Will you be there all night? Didn't you promise to show me something? Something along the lines of what talents that tongue has that go beyond defying people?". his hands look massive as they snake around your thighs, he pulls you down closer to him suddenly and a squeak flies out of you, the devious smirk, ever so present on those perfect lips whenever he's around you, is back "I like it when you're sassy, baby.. it makes it even better when you start moaning incoherently for me."

A sob slips out of your lips and you try harder to keep it quiet. This is the final drop. You're tired of being yelled at by assholes, sure, but this is worse. You weren't hired to be harassed, if these bastards don't know how to behave that's their problem. You feel anger, a strong and heavy feeling in your chest pooling like black liquid, and you ball up your firsts. You slam them against the wall behind you and you want to scream. You want to go back and slap him, but you're not allowed, even if he was disgusting. The images keep replaying in your head, you're trying to do your job and gather their information to update their data, keeping quiet, head down as usual, asking personal questions in the most formal and detached manner that you can and that oaf.. the big one. You never liked that one from the time you were introduced. He smiled at you like such a sleaze.. you've been revolted by his presence ever since and you avoid him like the plague that he is. But.. you had to do your job. You had to ask questions because of these stupid sheets. Personal, medical, technical, all for the database of their information to be updated.. and he had to try and be funny… he had to try and flirt again, no matter how hard you ignore him he does it again. Asking you personal questions that you ignored, commented on your body and how it looked in the loose, long dress you're wearing.. and… he had to start commenting on his body. On his size to be exact. And his capacities as a man. When he cornered you against the table, put that sleazy, disgusting paw on your waist and said so casually "I could show you.. I bet you'd sound really hot screaming my name while I fuck you.." you just lost your composure. You pushed him roughly, you called him disgusting, you told him firmly "I would rather die without sex again than to have sex with you. You're revolting." and you walked out, found the first bathroom you could, and here you are. On the floor. Trying not to disturb anyone as you sob against the corner. You're not sad, you're angry. Angry that you can't retaliate more. Angry that if you were to tell anyone they would just tell you that the guys here are "being playful, you're a pretty girl, pay them no mind. They'll tire of it, I promise." as they've told you before. You're boiling with anger. You're tired of being disrespected. You make a snarled sound as you get up and walk to the sinks. Wash your tears and try to gather your composure. You look like you've been crying, there's nothing to be done about it. You take a deep breath and turn around. He's standing there. Leaning against the wall, right by the door. You didn't hear him come in. He has his arms crossed over his chest, and he looks pissed. "I heard some things that I didn't want to believe.." he's speaking through gritted teeth, you look at him as he pushes away from the wall, walks towards you, looms, "Did he tell you all that shit?" you wonder if you could lie, say that you were just being sensitive and he didn't mean any of that crap, you know what will happen if you confess what just happened to you. You know he will fight the oaf. You can see the fire in his eyes, those beautiful eyes, daring you to lie to him and pretend he can't see the truth. You just exhale and nod slowly, can't look him in the eyes as his anger bubbles over and the loud smack of his fist slams against the countertop. "That motherfucker! Did he hurt you?? He said you were like marshmallow in his hands, did.he.hurt.you?" and your voice sounds angry "No, he didn't! But he had no right to touch me! I don't want random men caging me against desks and groping my waist like I'm just a piece of meat! Tell that bastard that I wasn't anything other than disgusted by him!" and… he was made to fight and defy people. There's the confirmation. The smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. The fire raging in his eyes. The way he says, so casually, "Oh, sweetheart, I'm going to do more than tell him, don't worry." as he turns his back on you and walks out..

He is unfairly good at that. Unfairly good at everything he does really. He can control his body with just as clinical precision as he can control his temper, and it's unfair. You can feel his smirk against the most sensitive part of you, can feel the delight he takes in how easily and quickly you fall apart for him. Because of him. He's relentless, renders you speechless, a mess of whines and moans and pleas, a mess of neediness and aching and pent up frustration needing to be released. He does it on purpose. Slows down and teases you every time you feel your spine start to tingle and sparks appear in your closed eyes. You curse out his name, "Please! What do I need to do for you to stop that and just let me come, god, will you please do something more!?" say frustrated and he has the audacity to laugh. Right against you. Shivers run down your spine and you moan, it rings inside you and it makes you feverish and needy all over again. Your voice gets softer, you're suddenly pliant in his hands again, mewling and begging. He takes pity on you, holds you tighter, presses you down into the mattress and stops teasing you. Watches you the whole time, eyes fixated on your body and how you arch up for him. Because of him. He loves watching you fall apart like this. He's addicted to how you react to him. He's addicted to you. It's been a long time coming, he's still unsure how he managed to get you here tonight, but he's never been more thankful to whatever Gods are out there, watching over him, and helping him along this path. He doesn't falter until you're pushing at his head, lifts up and smirks at you as you open your eyes slowly, still barely able to focus on him, and he places a kiss right where he just made a mess of and laughs at your curses and shivers. He gets up from his place, crawls over your body, cages you against his bed, "So… how was that?". He feels giddy right now, feels like a teenager again, there's something about making a beautiful girl giving into him like that.. but beyond that.. there's something about having you here right now. In his house. On his bed. Under him. Pliant and willing, eager even, to be with him. He's wanted it for a long time, even if you likely have no idea of it, but that's beside the point now. There's other matters to attend to while you're so willing under him. He nuzzles your neck, kisses you slowly, then whispers in your ear "How do you feel about testing out the quality of my mattress?", and he knows it's incredibly cheesy but he's feeling light hearted and happy tonight, and you react by whining and melting further so.. he figures you don't mind it either.

He would say you've been building a budding friendship. Even if he's pretty sure you have no idea of it. Because he's a little.. guarded, if you will. He doesn't trust easily, he doesn't befriend people easily either. He likes his space, his peace, his own ways. He prefers to stand back, watch others, judge and gauge what they're all about. Studies people and tries to gather information before he can make a decision on them, he tries to be impartial, tries to give everyone a fair chance but.. he's also himself. Reserved and slightly stubborn in his ways. He knows what he wants and he knows how to get it, he's never had trouble with his confidence or his own self assuredness. He doesn't feel the need to justify himself to anyone or be a person pleaser. He also doesn't feel the need to make friends at work, not in a deep sense. He's polite to everyone, he'll be playful when there's room for that, and he'll go along with some things from time to time. But he's not here to be best friends with anyone, he's here to work. And he does his job well. So well apparently, that it's created some friction with some others around. So, try as he might to be professional, he doesn't like some of these guys because they don't like him and don't bother hiding it either. But, that said, he does like you. You're quiet too, just as guarded as he is, and you always keep your head down too. He could see from the very beginning that you're here to do your job and get on with it, and he respects that. He doesn't like stereotypes but he's aware that some girls try to get jobs at places like this for reasons that have nothing to do with the job. He doesn't judge that, everyone is after whatever life they want in the end, but he doesn't particularly care for those girls either. Being loved for the potential of what he could give to others in terms of lifestyle isn't something he wants, he just wants to be loved for himself. It's hard to get people to see him, who he is, without all the glitter and the flashes of the lifestyle. Without the fame aspect and the money. He's tried many times before, had loose strings here and there, and they all fell flat. He didn't feel a connection like he needed to, they weren't bad girls, they were funny and kind, but they had expectations from him. They created an image of him in their heads and that's what they were in love with. Not him. Not the simple man that has simple hobbies. The man that would rather cook dinner himself, instead of go out to some fancy restaurant that he'd have to put a suit on for. He's never been able to share himself, his true self, with anyone before without them thinking he was joking. Girls don't often believe how much of a nerd he is, how boring he can actually be, how unexciting he wants his life to be. Because he looks a certain way. And he has a certain reputation too. All of them do, so he understands it's hard to accept that, in the end, he's just a regular man. But he is. And you believe him. He's unsure how and why he felt such a pull to you when he first shook your hand. There was something. Probably in the softness of your eyes, the clear nervousness that clouded your whole being, the way you tried to stand and look so tall and professional but he could see your hands shaking the whole time, could see your cheeks flush pink with shyness whenever someone talked to you. He grew attached to you the more you spend time together. He sought you out, struck up conversations, tried to get to know you. To get you to be comfortable with him. And little by little you were. You built a friendship, that he thinks you're unaware of, and he cherished that. Cherishes the fact that you only laugh with him, only tease him, only feel comfortable around him. He knows that last bit isn't very healthy but.. he feels vindicated, he's selfish and he doesn't care. He likes you, really likes you, and he likes that you like him back. He also.. feels possessive of you.. which is why… he always gets into so much trouble for you..

He's relentless. And you're going to faint. It's just too much. Your whole body is on fire, your senses are all overloaded, you can't even see straight and your breathing is barely enough to fill your lungs with oxygen. But he's relentless, and you are too because even as your head feels fainter and fainter, you want more and more. You need more and more. You need it all. You need him. He feels amazing, he's sturdy and warm over you, he knows just what to do to make you fall apart at the seams, knows exactly how to move to make your whole body curl around him, knows just what to say to have you biting at his shoulder and clawing your nails down his back. He's amazing, he's both gentle and rough, pushes you back and reels you in, keeps you on edge for what feels like hours and drives you insane. When he allows you to fall, it feels so strong, it's so potent, that you all but faint. Barely hanging on to your senses, clinging to him, possibly crying from how good it all feels, you aren't really sure. Your body is a mess of emotions and he kisses you so slowly and tenderly as he falls with you too. Presses his forehead to yours as you both pull back with a need to breathe, keeps you so close and tight to him, melts against you too and wants to never let you go. You're shaking as you come down, you wouldn't be able to move right now from how limp he's rendered you, but also from how constantly you shake. Luckily you don't have to. He pulls away from you slightly, carefully rolls you both sideways and holds you tightly in his arms. One hand cradling your head and petting your hair, the other rubbing soothing circles on your back. He presses tender kisses to your forehead, whispers to you tender words of reassurance that you're okay and he's right there, holding you and keeping you grounded to this earth so you won't float away. You start to calm down, realise that you did cry because you have tears drying on your cheeks and you're almost scared of the power this man has over you. He makes you feel in a way you've never felt before. He pulls at your heart in such a strong way.. you're scared of that feeling. Because you don't know how he feels about you. He's so hard to read, even as he gently tells you that he's not going to leave and that he's right there for you, that he'll take care of you. It's hard to know if he means now, or… you melt against his chest, sigh heavily, remember what happened earlier today. He's suspended for a few days now. After that show, of course he would be, but you didn't mean for it to happen. You've apologised, chastised him, but it didn't make a difference because all he did was laugh.

You're back with your papers at the medical office right where you left them. They let you use this place today for all the crap that you needed to deal with, but someone clearly filled in for you while you were gone. The papers now have a handwriting that you can barely read. 'Does no one teach these men to write properly!?', you think exasperated. It's not the first time that one of your coworkers hands you notes that are barely legible. You exhale angrily, trying to push aside all that's happened today and just focus on getting to the end of your workday. You're trying to decipher what a certain hieroglyph says when you hear a commotion outside. There's a giant windowed door beside you, that leads to the training grounds, and you approach it. A mass of bodies piled in a circle is on the field, there's shouting. Something is happening. You don't think twice, you open the door and rush out. As you get closer you realise what's happening. He's hitting the oaf. They're tangled on the ground, he's overpowered that oaf, and he's punching him. Everyone else all around them is trying to get them to stop, a few have entangled themselves too and you're not sure why. Maybe men just love any excuse to fight each other and they'll break into silly antics as soon as someone else does. One of the older coaches shouts, the head coach is running towards all of you, some of the older players are trying to keep everyone in check and trying to dodge punches too. 'This is a mess..' you think to yourself. You regret telling him, you should have lied. But, god, you can't pretend that you're not pleased seeing him punch that disgusting oaf.. seeing him insult him and argue with him.. trying to defend you and make him pay for how he acted towards you earlier.. you feel so.. vindicated. Violence isn't the answer, you know it, but sometimes? It's pleasing to see someone do what you would like to do. You would be fired if you retaliated his actions from earlier, but they won't be fired. They're the team.. the club needs the team. They're men, they're always excused for their actions with no more than a slap on the wrist. And a slap on the wrist they get. When the head coach has them all under control he loses his temper and yells at everyone. Scolds them like little boys and a few of them have the decency to look ashamed. When it's all said and done, your saviour and the oaf are suspended for a few days, one for fighting and the other for his lack of professional conduct towards female staff. Rich that it took a fight to break out with the team for them to take the disrespect seriously but.. you'll take it. Some of the others are suspended for a day and the rest are severely scolded just because they were in the vicinity. The head coach turns to you suddenly, "As for you. I would like to apologise for the treatment you've been receiving. I'll speak to the management and we'll see what should be done. But next time? Tell me what happened, not one of my players." and the tone of his voice makes you whisper 'asshole' as he walks away after dismissing everyone. He approaches you, his knuckles scrapped and bloody, his lip is bloody too and he seems to have a bruise blooming under his right eye. You want to kiss him suddenly. He smirks at you, like the devil himself, and says "You're lucky you're this cute, otherwise he would have suspended you too." and winks as he walks past you. You scoff at the suggestion and stomp after him. Until you realise what he said. He thinks you're cute. He's teasing you. Again. You instead walk back to your borrowed office and gather your things, you were dismissed too, and it is the end of the week anyway so.. you cross paths with him as you're both walking out. You're looking at your watch to check the time, maybe there's a bus you can catch now. Or you could walk back, it's not so far off and you did it this morning. But as a hand lands on the small of your back, and a low voice says behind you, "Do you need a ride home?" suddenly.. your plans for the night have already changed..

He's looking at you seriously when your eyes focus on him again. "Is everything okay?" and you nod confused, "Of course. Why wouldn't it be?". He caresses your cheek softly and looks puzzle "I feel like I lost you for a moment there, your gaze was far away.." you settle against him, trace the bruises and cuts on his knuckles, "I was just thinking about what you did today. You got into trouble because of me, and you didn't have to." he pulls you tighter, "Someone had to. Besides.." he lifts your chin up and kisses you again, a deep kiss that takes your breath away and makes your heart pound against your ribs, "I don't like the way he talks to you. Or looks at you. Actually I don't like him in general, but I especially don't like him around you.". He looks like a contrived little boy and you have the urge to laugh and kiss him, you tease him softly, "Jealous? Don't tell me you feel a little territorial already.." and.. he feels his heart do something. Is it skipping beats? Is it sinking? Whatever it's doing, he doesn't like it. He doesn't like the casual feeling he's getting. He's not making himself clear. Of course he isn't. He brought you to his house instead of yours, allowed you to care for his wounds which led to him finally losing his control and kissing you. That kiss led to you losing your clothes and ending up on his rug panting for air. So far, he has done nothing that says 'I want you'. All he's done is say 'I'm horny'. And he doesn't like it. He doesn't like that you might just want casual sex from him, he'd give it to you, oh, he so would. He's a fool for you, he'll do anything you ask, but.. he wants you. All of you. He wants more than just occasional sex. There's a need to make you his in his chest, something he's been trying to control, but he can't hold it back anymore.. he says, serious, "As a matter of fact, yes. Yes, I am. I'm territorial over you. Because I don't like to share. Never did. I was an incredibly selfish boy and I'm not ashamed to say I'm an incredibly selfish man too. I see things I want and they're mine on sight, so I don't take kindly to others forcefully trying to share them." and… your breath gets caught in your throat. Feminism has exited the chat, all of your foremothers are watching over your shoulder with curious eyes right now. You've always been self assured, strong in your convictions, you've never allowed a man to think he owns you or even had the chance to think such thoughts. But.. you're a fool for this man. You would bark if he asked you to, you don't care. He brings something out in you that turns feral. You want him so badly that you'd crawl if he asked. You whisper his name, unsure of what to say, you don't know if he means.. "I like you. In fact, I more than like you. I want you in my life. I've wanted it for a while now and it drove me crazy to think of that fucker touching you. I've been trying to find a way, to get an excuse, to bring you to me. I don't know how to do this the right way, there is no right way, I'm confused because.. I have never felt like this. You throw me off balance, I don't know how to act around you. I've been flirting with you for months now and you're oblivious to me. So, at first I assumed that you didn't want me, and I respected that. Kept my actions the same because I didn't want you to see that I was hurt but.. after what just happened today.. I think you want me. Or maybe you just think I'm really good in bed, I guess that's an option too and I'll respect if you don't want me. But I want you. A lot. What I'm trying to say here is: I think I'm falling for you and I would like you to give us the chance to see where this goes. And we can do this really simply: will you stay the night?" you look into his eyes, his eyes are beautiful, more so after he's just confessed his feelings. You feel the same and you suddenly see flashes of where your lives could go if you accept his offer. You see them reflected in his beautiful eyes. A soft smile appears on your lips as you say "Of course I will."

[clevermird]

Review: Dead Beat (Dresden Files, book 7) by Jim Butcher

We’re now on book seven of the Dresden Files, and things show no signs of slowing down any time soon. 

Dead Beat sees Harry blackmailed into searching for a dead necromancer's research notes. If he finds them, the world (or at least Chicago) could be plunged into an undead apocalypse. If he doesn't, Murphy's career and reputation are ruined. If you know anything about Harry Dresden, you'll know what his choice will be. But he's not the only one looking for the book, and in order to survive, he's going to have to call on several new allies, not all of whom have his best interests at heart. 

This book continues to increase my respect for Butcher's worldbuilding and series-crafting skills. He skillfully uses the varying plots of each book to gradually introduce more elements of the setting, some of which go on to be important going forward, others of which are simply window dressing for the current adventure. The ever-increasing cast of characters is equally well-handled, which each book choosing one or two of the supporting cast to have their own day in the limelight. 

In this book's case, we learn a great deal about how necromancy works in the Dresden universe (culminating in one of the most badass and iconic moments of the series thus far - I knew it happened even before I started reading the series, although I didn't know the context). We also get development for some old friends and enemies and meet Captain Luccio, who I immediately decided I was fond of.

However, as many positive elements as this book had, I wouldn't say it's one of the stronger entries overall. Not the weakest, either, but definitely could have been better. There are a few reasons for this, but it all boils down to overcomplication. The series has always had "multiple plots crashing into each other" as a feature of its storytelling, but I think some of the additional complications and sub-stories in this one just added confusion rather than depth. 

This is most obvious in two places. First, there are three major villains in this book, but only two of them are interesting or memorable in any way and I think the story would have worked just fine with only them. Second, there is a subplot that, while carrying heavy implications for Harry and some of his choices from earlier in the series going forward, really would have fit better in a different book. I found that it didn't mesh with rest of the story that well.  

So again, if you're enjoying the series so far, there's no reason not to keep going, but not one of my favorites. Or maybe Blood Rites was just too hard to top. 

Rating: 3.75/5