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moonsandmobilityaids · 1 month ago

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The Joys Of Hypermobile Joints

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: Dislocations aren't new for you, but they are for the boys Warnings: Non-graphic description of a dislocated knee Series Masterlist

You're sitting up, your legs drawn under you and a fire crackling nearby, providing warmth against the winter chill. It's a rare moment of peace that you cherish, despite not being able to join James, Sirius, and Remus outside in the snow. But the boys have made sure you're not alone; they keep you company as you remain indoors, tucked away from the cold. The room is filled with their presence: James on the floor, Sirius sprawled across your bed, his legs tangled with yours, a book lying half-forgotten on his chest.

Remus is close, his arm draped around your shoulders, his fingers tracing slow patterns on your skin through the fabric of your shirt. It's a simple gesture, but it grounds you, bringing a sense of calm and warmth that's become familiar. You lean into him, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to relax fully for the first time since you woke. James rustles a Quidditch magazine, occasionally pointing out an interesting play to Sirius who hums in response.

You shift your legs slightly, seeking a more comfortable position against Remus, when you feel it—a sharp, familiar pain shoots through your right knee as the joint slips out of place. You gasp, your breath hitching in your chest, and your muscles tense instantly.

Remus stiffens beside you, his gentle touch faltering. "Love?" His voice is laced with concern. "What's wrong?"

The moment stretches thin, and you can feel the shift in attention as all three boys turn to focus on you. The comfortable atmosphere of the room tightens, the air thickening with unspoken worry. You grimace, trying not to wince because of course this would happen now.

"Just my knee," you say, attempting to keep your voice steady despite the sudden flare of pain. "I think it's...dislocated."

A collective gasp fills the room. Sirius is sitting up in an instant, the book he'd been reading discarded without a second thought. James lets out a low curse, his magazine slipping from his fingers. Their concern hangs heavy in the room, but you lift a hand, halting their impending flurry of movement.

"I’ve got it," you nod, cradling your knee with one hand while the other fumbles for your wand. The pain is a hot spike in your leg, but this is familiar territory, a battle you've faced many times before. "It happens occasionally—genetic gift from my mum." You manage a half-smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "She taught me how to handle it before I even got diagnosed. Hypermobile joints, they're a blast."

"Are you sure?" James starts to rise, his brow creased with concern. His glasses have slipped down his nose, and he pushes them up absently, his gaze never leaving you.

"I'm sure," you reply, your voice carrying a note of finality. "It's easier if I do it myself. If others try to help—" You hesitate, searching for the right words. "Well, you're all brilliant, but it's... complicated."

Remus shifts, his gaze intense and worried. He looks like he wants to help but is unsure if his touch will bring comfort or more pain. "Is this... Does this happen often?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Only in winter," you respond with a faint smile, trying to infuse the moment with some semblance of lightness. You hold your wand over your knee, murmuring an incantation for warmth. "The cold makes everything worse—knees, ankles, thumbs. Sometimes even my shoulders if I'm pushing myself too much in the chair."

Sirius grumbles under his breath, something about winter being a "real pain", but his eyes never leave your knee. He watches every twitch of your muscles, every flicker of your wand as if he could will it back into place with his stare alone.

The spell provides a gentle heat that seeps into your skin, soothing the raw edges of your pain. It's not enough to completely dull the ache, but it grants you the strength to reach for the next step. Your fingers close around a tiny vial on your bedside table, its contents shimmering under the dimmed light. A pain potion—you down it in one swift motion, grimacing at the bitter taste before setting the empty glass aside.

You press your fingers against the muscle surrounding your knee, massaging gently in an attempt to coax your body into submission. This is routine, a dance you've performed time and again, though never with an audience quite like this.

"Blimey, you're taking this well," Sirius murmurs, his voice a mix of admiration and concern. His brow furrows as if he wants to reach out and help but restrains himself.

A soft laugh escapes your lips as you continue to work. "When you've had to pop joints back in place as often as I have, you learn not to panic."

James grimaces, running a hand through his hair. "That's... intense. How do you even learn something like that?"

"Practice," you answer simply, a wry smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "My mum has hypermobile joints, too. She taught me how to handle dislocations when they happen. Knees and ankles are usually the problem spots for me."

Remus's hand returns to your other thigh, a silent anchor in the storm, but he doesn't attempt to take over. He knows you need to do this yourself. You grit your teeth and massage around the dislocation once more, trying to coax it back into alignment.

"Ready?" you whisper to yourself more than anyone else. With a deep inhale, you brace for the pain, then give a gentle push.

A dull pop resonates through the room, almost drowned by the sound of your own relieved exhale. The sharp agony subsides, leaving a throbbing ache in its wake that is blissful in comparison. You sag against Remus, his arm instinctively tightening around you as your body relaxes.

"Done," you breathe out, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the lingering discomfort. You lean back, seeking the warmth of Remus who obliges, encircling you once again with his strong arm, now even gentler than before.

"Blimey," Sirius breathes, breaking the thick silence. His eyes are wide, a blend of awe and lingering worry. "That was bloody intense, love. Hard to watch, but..."

"...incredible," James finishes for him, though his complexion is still a shade paler than usual. He turns to you, his brows furrowing in concern. "Does it hurt much?"

"Only when it happens," you reassure them, shifting to find a more comfortable position. "It's fine now, just needs some rest. The protocol is RICE—rest, ice, compression, elevation—but I've always skipped the ice. Not much point when cold makes me swell up like a balloon."

Remus presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his body still tense with worry, though visibly relaxing. "We can help with the rest, right? Compression and elevation?"

You chuckle, nodding. "Yes, that part’s no problem."

"Great." Before you can draw another breath, James is already reaching for a pillow to prop under your leg, and Sirius rummages through a drawer to find a suitable bandage. The sight brings a small smile to your face, a warm glow spreading through your chest despite the circumstances. They might not understand everything, but they're here, trying their best to help.

“So,” Sirius says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle as he kneels by the bed with the bandage, his gaze lifting to meet yours—a strange blend of admiration and concern etching lines across his forehead, “how long has this been going on?"

You let out a sigh, sinking back against Remus who's tracing patterns over your arm, an absent-minded motion that anchors you to the moment. "I was born with hypermobility and had my first dislocation just after I turned two. My joints have been popping in and out ever since."

James's brow furrows, a question sitting on the tip of his tongue, but it's Sirius who speaks first, disbelief colouring his tone. "Two? Blimey, you must've been tiny."

A soft laugh escapes you, and you nod. "I was. My parents handled it well, though. They began teaching me how to pop them back in when I was about eight." You pause, looking down at your hands. "They wanted me to be able to manage on my own if they weren't around."

Remus stiffens ever so slightly behind you, his fingers pausing mid-concentration. "Eight seems young for that," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. The weight of his words hangs in the air, unspoken implications lingering like the aftertaste of a bitter potion. He doesn't say it, but you can hear the echo of his own childhood struggles, of learning to cope with pain and fear far too early.

Shrugging, you attempt to keep the mood light. "It wasn't so bad. At first, they helped me, but once I got the hang of it, it was just something I had to deal with. Normal for me."

James slowly rubs the back of his neck, his brow furrowed as if he's trying to unravel a particularly challenging puzzle. "I can't even begin to imagine," he admits, his gaze flicking towards your knee as though it's a foreign object he can't quite comprehend. "You've been living with this since... for almost all your life."

"Pretty much," you reply, the corners of your mouth twitching upwards in a faint smile. "By the time I was eight, it was just another thing. Annoying, yes, but I knew how to handle it." You pause, glancing down at your hands. "It's just part of being me."

Sirius's expression tightens, the lines of his face hardening into something akin to resolve. He remains crouched by your side, one hand still resting on yours—a comforting presence despite the gravity of the conversation.

"You shouldn't have to handle it alone, not anymore," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "We're here for you, and we'll help however we can."

You squeeze his hand in response, touched by the sincerity in his words. It's warm, a stark contrast to the chill that seems to have settled in your bones. "I know," you murmur, "but sometimes it's easier to manage on my own. Trust me, it gets awkward when someone else tries to step in." A weak chuckle escapes your lips, muffled by the steady rhythm of rain against the windowpane. "You lot are brilliant, but I've got a system."

"Even so," Remus murmurs, his breath a gentle caress against your skin, "you don't have to shoulder everything alone. Just because you've always done it doesn't mean you should."

Your head tilts back slightly, seeking the warmth of his gaze, its steady affection a balm even now. "I know, love. And I'm not alone. Just... let me handle the dislocations, okay? You can tend to the rest."

The shift in atmosphere is palpable as James' posture relaxes, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "So we're on compression and elevation duty, then?"

A grin flickers across your face, pain momentarily forgotten. "Exactly."

Sirius, ever the watchful guardian, glances from the bandages he holds to your face once more. His features are etched with concern, but there's a firm resolve there too. "Alright, how do you want this done? And don't say 'I'll do it myself.' If we're allowed to help with the rest, then I'm bloody well doing this part."

A bark of laughter escapes you, despite the lingering pain. "Alright, alright. Just wrap it snug but not too tight. I know what works best for my body."

Sirius starts to bandage your knee with deliberate care, his movements gentle, belying the brash confidence he usually wears like a second skin. James watches his every move, his forehead creased in concentration as if mentally cataloguing each step, ready to replicate it should the need arise. Remus remains behind you, his presence a sturdy pillar you can lean against without tipping over into the abyss of helplessness.

When Sirius is done, he secures the bandage with a final tug, then looks up at you, brown eyes seeking approval. "How's that?"

You give your leg a tentative flex, testing the level of support the bandage provides. Relief washes over you as the pain reduces to a manageable throb. "Perfect. You're a natural."

His lips curve into a triumphant smile, and he sits back, dusting off his hands with a flourish. "Told you. I'm brilliant."

James chuckles, shaking his head, and repositions the pillow under your leg. "There we are," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "That's the proper elevation."

The relief is immediate and profound; your grimace melts into a sigh as the throbbing in your knee subsides to a dull ache. The fire crackles merrily in the background, casting dancing shadows across the room, and for the first time since you stumbled and twisted your knee, you feel yourself beginning to relax.

"Is there anything else you need?" Remus asks softly, his hand still resting protectively on your shoulder.

You shake your head, managing a weak smile. "No, this... this is perfect."

Silence settles over the four of you, broken only by the occasional pop from the fire. James leans back against the bedpost, his gaze watchful. Sirius sinks down onto the floor beside you, his arm brushing against yours. And Remus—Remus pulls you just a fraction closer, as if to shield you from any further harm.

It's a moment of peace you hadn't expected—not with them, not here—but it wraps around you like a warm blanket, soothing away the last remnants of tension in your muscles.

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for," Sirius says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You chuckle, the sound raspy with fatigue. "I've had plenty of practice."

"You really are," James insists, his own glasses pushed up to rest on his forehead, leaving his hazel eyes unobstructed as he leans in closer. "You've been handling this stuff since you were a kid. It's bloody impressive, love."

There's no mockery in his tone, no jest in his words. For once, James Potter is entirely serious.

You glance between them, their sincerity washing over you like a warm tide. The impact of their words is not lost on you, but it's difficult to reconcile with your self-perception. You've never thought of yourself as strong—you've just done what was necessary.

Yet the way they're looking at you now, with admiration and something akin to awe, suggests they see something in you that you've never considered.

"Well," you hedge, your voice barely above a whisper, "I had to. But I'm glad... I'm glad I don't have to do it alone anymore."

The last part comes out with more force than you intend, a truth you've held close for too long. Remus's fingers tighten around yours, a silent promise that you're no longer alone. And in that moment, it feels as though a weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

#Poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x you #Sirius black x reader #Sirius black x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #james potter x you #james potter x reader #marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfic

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not-my-final-account · 10 months ago

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Danny is Gotham

PS most of the ghost stuff in this is fannon

Most ghosts had haunts. Technically Danny Phantom had the whole world, but it wasn’t his haunt.

Most cities had ghosts. Technically Gotham had loads of ghosts, but Lady Gotham was fading.

I went incorporeal as the beam of energy flew at me, then laughed “What?” Tucker asked, my hands flew over my key board as I beat the noob who had shot at me in the first place.

“I got shot at in game and disappeared in real life.” I said

“That’s you- Danny Clueless Phantom.” Sam said

“Hey!” I retaliated, but it was affectionate.

I didn’t fully understand this whole ghost thing yet. But I had figured out that ghosts had cores, and haunts, and ‘fraids. Cores were essentially the soul of a ghost and that’s pretty much all I’ve figured out. No one seems to remember that I have no clue how any of this stuff works! I’m still a new ghost.

But anyways, ‘fraids were… the best word I could think of was ghost families or animal packs but ghost, and like it or not Sam and Tucker had been accepted into mine. I wasn’t sure quite how it happened but now I seemed connected to them, and when I was happy with them (and/or we were laughing together) my core hummed happily.

Haunts however, I had none of. Haunts were basically a ghosts house or an area the ghost claims as their own or protects. I dunno if they represent status or anything but being a ghost king without haunt seemed pretty bad.

“Yeah!” Tucker yelled as we got another key.

“Only a trillion more to go.” Sam said sarcastically,

“Five actually.” I said. Suddenly I felt a tug on my core “Guys I gotta go.”

“Bye!” Sam and Tucker called in unison. It made me smile as I powered down the game and then my computer, I gave into the tug and let it pull me to where the summoning was.

I had already transformed into my most regal form on the short journey there, so I didn’t hesitate to grab the edge of the circle. What did worry me though was the screaming that started the second I reached my hand up. I cursed whoever made these things for making you pull yourself up and not just be able to fly out, but I got up due to Sams pull up training.

The second I got out I flew up and hovered above the circle ready for battle. I actually blinked when I saw three kids standing in front of me- well one was standing, the other two were lying on the floor and hugging each other.

“Ehh.” I said as I took in what they were doing. The two on the floor were shaking and in hysterics and the standing up one was staring up at me with wide eyes, I think he’s in shock. I reached out slightly and his mouth fell open and he dropped the book he was holding then passed out.

The books title was ‘ghost summoning’ oh my god I’ve been summoned by idiots. I gave them a growl so they wouldn’t try to do this again and prepared myself to dive back into the summoning circle and into the phantom realm where I could quickly fly back to my house and start playing DOOM again. Then I felt a tug in my core. It wasn’t like a summoning which tugged at my core from the outside, trying to pull me somewhere, this was part of my kingly duties; a ghost was in trouble and/or calling for me.

I flew off towards the ghost without a second thought about the party I had probably ruined just by existing and got there in seconds. I landed atop a hill and wind swept my hair away from my face, a skinny grey ghost who seemed like someone you’d spot it old movies looked at me.

She had straight black flowing down her shoulders, a large light grey hat with a grey peacock feather on it, a grey dress and a shade umbrella, she was clearly old although still beautiful and she moved with grace as she stepped before me and fell to her knees

“King Phantom.” she said, how weak her voice was worried me “I am lady Gotham. However Gotham is no longer the beautiful city I knew it to be, it is not close enough to my home and I fear that it has changed too much for me to be strongly connected to it, my power to protect it is fading. Please my King, I have heard you are strong and kind, protect my city, both from what’s outside and what’s inside.” she begged, she was clearly dignified and her begging meant this was truely important. Well, I did need a haunt.

“Okay.” I agreed, relief flooded her face and something else flooded my, I couldn’t name it if I tried but at least it filled an emptiness that had been resident there for a while.

The Lady Gotham fell to the ground, her body faded rapidly

“Please.” she rasped breathlessly “Take good care of them. Protect my city, protect my knight and his sons.” those were her final words.

“I will.” I said, and upon hearing that she slumped down and let herself fade.

I looked up at the city and went incorporeal and invisible. Good thing it was the school holidays, I think I’d need to spend a few days here and find Lady Gothams knight.

I sat down in a corner. I had found out that here I more or less was the city, not body horror or possession though, in a weird way. But it let me sit here fully visible and still be hidden, the shadows wrapped around me and nothing part of the city- my city would hurt me.

I watched as he fought. He was strong, smart, and had resources. I had read the news papers and this was the Dark Knight, he has multiple side kicks who many believed were his family, and even without my help he blended in with the city and knew it like the back of his hand. The blend wasn’t seamless anymore though, he had noticed something was different but didn’t know quite what. I knew though, I knew I had found Lady Gothams knight.

I let him tie up the criminals and he jumped onto a roof top. I followed him and and let the fog hide me, then I landed and let it fade. “Hello my knight.” I called because he was my knight now. He froze and spun around to face me but didn’t attack

“My name is Batman and I am no ones, if you’re some high ranking government offical I assure you I don’t work for the police either.” Batman said, he glanced at the inches between my feet and the ground “Who are you?” he asked, I hesitated.

What title would be best here? Danny Phantom? Danny Fenton? King Phantom? I thought about Lady Gotham and decided.

“You would know me as Gotham.” I introduced, wow that sounded more cryptic that I meant it to. Batman scoffed and I reached out and told the city to curl around him, to protect him and hide him and power him like it did with Lady Gotham.

He froze then relaxed slightly, his cape blended into the shadows instead of ending, his face became almost fully obscured, his eyes glowed in the dark menacingly, his form became something less human.

“Why reveal yourself to me now Gotham?” he asked, for once there was nothing hostile in his voice.

“Gotham has changed too much in the past years for Lady Gotham to have power anymore, she is too weak to be anywhere but the ghost zone.” I explained “She was the Gotham you knew. She called for me to protect the city and protect you.”

Batman looked wary again, I could understand why he wouldn’t trust me. New leadership could suck (or be evil) and it took a while for them to gain respect, especially if you didn’t know them.

“I’ll protect you in a general sense, but if you ever really need help, like life or death help, call for me.” I said, then I let a wave of fog swallowed me and disappeared.

#Danny phantom #notmyfinalaccount writes #dp x dc #danny is gotham au #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp

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gay-wh0re-slut · 1 year ago

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reader has a date and rhea is her roommate, they've both had feelings for a while and just didn't know how to say it so rhea decides to keep her from going (little angsty, very smutty)

yall have the best ideas!!! i love this so much hehehee i wish this was me fr fr!! thank you for the request <3

Stay

rhea x fem!reader

content: smutty smut smut, angsty wangsty, hot sex with hot goth buff australian wrestlerrrrr oooooo (fingering, thigh riding, extremely loose praise and degradation)

“What about this?” you held up yet another outfit.

Rhea was laying in your bed like she’s done multiple times before trying to help you figure out what to wear for your date. She was snuggled up with your big stuffed bear with her head resting on her hand, “I told you the first one looked good.”

“I don’t need good I need hot!” you place it back on the hanger.

She sighed, “And I’ve told you many times before that you can make anything look hot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you push away her comment. “She’s different this time though, we actually talked about stuff and not just small talk. And we’ve facetimed so I know she’s real.”

“Well, that’s good,” she was now looking at her phone.

“It is!” You pull out another shirt, “Okay, so what about this one with those pants?” you point at the pants strewn on the floor.

“That would be cool,” she barely glanced up.

“Rheaaaaaaa,” you whined throwing your arms down.

“Whaaaaaatt?” she finally put her phone down.

“Help,” you held up the shirt again, more forcefully this time, “please! I’ll buy you pizza tomorrow.”

“That looks hot,” her tone seemed a bit annoyed.

“Now, you’re just saying that,” you sat at the foot of your bed throwing the shirt on the floor with the other rejected clothes. “What’s wrong? You usually like helping me.”

“Nothings wrong… Keep going,” she gestured to the closet but she didn’t sound too convincing.

“You’re lying. I can tell because your eyebrow twitches when you lie,” you try mimic the twitch.

“No it doesn’t,” her eyebrow twitched.

“It literally just did!” You pointed, “so what’s wrong?”

“It’s not important,” she fully laid her head down pulling the bear closer to her, “and I’m tired anyway.”

“Booooo,” you shake her leg, “it’s only 5pm and you never sleep.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be tired,” her eyes were closed.

You sighed in response because she was right. She was always right and you loved it. You loved her. She is your roommate, your best friend, and you’re hopelessly in love with her. You went on dates because you knew she would never date you because you were too close. Do the two of you flirt all the time? Yes, but that doesn’t mean she wants to date you. She flirts with Dom all the time, so why is this any different?

You stand and stare at your closet with your arms crossed for a good while before you start to pick up all the clothes on the floor.

“You’re upset,” she finally says.

“No,” you place the hanger on the rack a little too hard.

“…Yes,” she moved to fully sit up on your bed with her feet swinging off the side, teddy bear still in her lap.

You took a deep breath, “I’m not.”

She rolled her eyes, “you are.”

You placed the last hanger on the rack and closed the closet door. You turned around with your hands on your hips, “I’m upset because I can’t figure out what to wear.”

“No, you’re upset because I’m not helping you find an outfit for a date that you don’t actually want to go on,” her voice was timid but also weirdly strong.

“I do,” your heart sank, but only a little, “want to go on the date.”

“What time is the date?”

“Seven,” your turn to roll your eyes.

“And where is it?”

“Downtown at this small restaurant.”

“How are you getting there?” her tone was becoming more stern as the questions went on.

“She’s picking me up.”

“So…” the teddy was now sitting beside her. It looked like it was judging you too, “If you actually wanted to go, you would’ve had this outfit planned last night and you would’ve already taken a shower, and be almost finished with your makeup by now. So no, you don’t want to go,” she leaned back on her hands.

Damn, “It’s casual,” you lie.

“Uh huh,” she crossed her arms, “so why do you want to look hot?”

“Because I…” you were getting nervous. You didn’t want her to be right, again, “I want to. Can I not look hot for a casual date?”

“You’re more than welcome to,” she squints at you, “but that’s not you.”

“Of course that’s me, I always want to look hot!”

“When you want to go. You’re proving my point more and more,” she gestured towards you before crossing her arms again. This time her ankles were crossed too, it was cute you thought.

You squint at her icy blue eyes staring right back at you with a ‘told you so’ look. You didn’t dare look away but your face was turning redder by the second and your heart fluttered the longer this went on.

You finally blink and sigh harshly, “fine. You’re right…again,” as you sit down next to her. “How are you always right?”

“Because I am. And,” she turns herself towards you, “we’ve known each other for too long for me to not know how your brain works.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you swing your feet as your rest your head on the teddy’s head that’s now in your lap.

“I’m serious!” she plays with your hair a bit, “plus I love you so there’s that too.”

“I love you too,” you crack a small smile trying to contain the butterflies in your stomach.

“You can’t ghost her though, so tell her you’re not going,” she hands your phone to you.

“I could,” you take your phone.

“You’re too nice,” she stated confidently.

“You’re right,” you type away on the dating app.

“Again,” she giggles.

A few moments pass of the two of you sitting on your bed staring at nothing. You think of all the things that’s happened and maybe it was for best that you stayed home, maybe you’ll have to courage to talk to her about your feelings finally.

What you didn’t know was that Rhea was planning all along to keep you here the moment you said you had a date. She’s also been wanting to tell you about her feelings for what seems like forever but she was too scared that you wouldn’t reciprocate. Though, tonight, she noticed the chills that formed when she played with your hair and the way you looked at her with hungry eyes when she was laying in your bed. She wanted to tell you so badly, so better late than never she thought.

“(Y/n)?” the way she said your name always made your heart flutter. She didn’t say it often but when she did, it sounded amazing.

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” your heart was beating so fast you thought it would fall out.

She paused taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, “do you…like me?”

“We wouldn’t be roommates if I didn’t,” you joked.

“Right,” she laughed nervously. “But no, I mean… do you- or could you see us being more than friends?” her face was beet red.

You whipped your head to face her not realizing you were squeezing poor teddys neck too hard. “I- uhm…”

“Fuck,” she whispered to herself. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have asked it was bad timing, I’m sorry,” she began to stand up.

“No, no, stay please,” you grabbed her hand to pull her back down. “I do.”

She slowly sat down with her eyes wide, staring at you, “what?”

“I can see us as more than friends,” you had finally let go of teddy’s neck and carefully placed him next to you not wanting to hurt him more, though it was impossible.

She was at a loss for words, with her mouth slightly open and her eyes flicking from one feature of your face to another trying to figure out if you were telling the truth.

“What?” she said again.

You laugh, then you cup your hands to you mouth to make your voice louder, “I can see us as more than friends!”

She pushed your hands down, “Yeah, I heard you the first time… Are you serious?”

“So serious,” you didn’t move your hands from out from under hers. Touching was different now, it felt like a warm fire that kept the butterflies alive.

“For real?”

“For real.”

“Like legit?”

“Legit,” you roll your eyes, “are you gonna keep asking me if I’m telling the truth in different ways or are you going to do something about it?”

“How long?”

“What?” now you pull your hands out to place them on your hips. You hoped it looked kinda funny since you were sitting down.

“How long have you wanted this?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “a few months.”

“A few months?! I’ve been thinking about this since the second month after we moved in!” she stood pacing in front of you.

“Rhea, that’s almost a year!”

“I know!!” she threw her hands out and let them drop on her thighs.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

She stopped in front of you, “because I was afraid you would say no, or I don’t know, reject me and move out because now I’m the one who has a crush on the roommate and made things weird!” She started pacing again then stopped again, “and you were going on dates!…with other people!” she started again.

You huffed and stood in front of her to stop her, “because I was distracting myself from wanting to be with you because I thought the same thing!”

She was physically taken aback, “so why didn’t you say anything?!” she pushed her pointer finger into your chest. “You’re always the one that loves confrontation.”

“Huh?! I do not,” you flick her finger away.

“Ow,” she rubbed her finger, “you do!”

“Name one time!”

She was silent for two seconds, “when we went to that bar one time and you saw a guy flirting with a girl who clearly didn’t want to be flirted with and you went up to him and threatened to punch him if he didn’t leave her alone.”

You grimaced at her, “Cause I’m a girls girl! We gotta look out for each other, that doesn’t count.”

“It literally does. And if you didn’t punch him I would’ve, but I wouldn’t have said anything first,” she pushed past you to sit on the chair in the corner. She leaned her elbows on her knees, raking her hands through her hair before resting her head on her folded hands.

“Fine.”

“Fine,” she leaned back in the chair, manspreading of course.

“Oh please,” you roll your eyes as you turn away from her hoping that she couldn’t tell that her sitting like that got you hot and bothered.

“Now what?”

“Do you have to-” you flail your hand towards her hoping she would understand.

She did, “what? Like what you see?”

“You’re insufferable,” you turned back away from her.

“Oh come ooonnn,” how she turned this into flirting, you had no clue but it was working, “not like you haven’t thought about.”

“Oh my god, please,” you covered your eyes rubbing them before facing back towards her.

She was curling her fingers over and over to make you join her on the chair, well…on her lap, “C’mon baby,” her voice graveled.

“Don’t,” you put your hand up but that didn’t stop her.

“Afraid of what might happen?” she pouted.

“No,” you tried to hide your smile but it didn’t work very well.

“Then c’mere,” she growled as she patted her thighs before rubbing them.

You huff, “If we start I won’t stop.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” she smirked.

Her dark hair fell on her face just right, her eyes gleamed in the twilight coming from your window, her tongue playing with her teeth in the way that made you crazy. You couldn’t help it, you were in love with her and it took just now for you to fully realize it. She was perfect.

You basically ran towards her, easily jumping onto her lap with your legs straddling her. Your hands cupped around her face and pulled in for a deep kiss. She moaned into you, sending chills down your whole body. Her hands gripped your thighs pulling you in as close as possible. Your lips danced against hers perfectly like they have been doing this for years.

Her hands moved under your shirt feeling every inch of skin on your back. The two of you stayed there for a long while, kissing, exploring, doing whatever was possible in the chair. Soft moans came from the both of you as new areas of skin were discovered.

Suddenly, the strong woman picked you up and gently threw you on the bed. She followed you down, letting her body rest on top of you. Her lips found yours once more, before she started nipping at your ear, “were all those stories true?”

“W-what?” you breathed.

“About your late night dates,” she smirked as she looked down at you with her hands on either side of your ribs.

“That’s so embarrassing,” you look away.

“Well, if they’re true then I know exactly what you…enjoy… but if not, then we’ll figure it out.”

You turn your head back towards her slightly squinting, trying to determine if you should say yes, because they were true so she did actually know every little thing that you enjoyed. Her bright eyes staring into you waiting for an answer while one of her hands played with the hem of your shirt begging to go under.

You cover your face with your hands, “fuck,” you said under your breath as drag them down your face. You couldn’t fathom her doing those things to you, it was surreal. You sigh, “yes, they were.”

She smiled with hunger, “good to know,” and her hand shot its way under your shirt to your breast gently squeezing as she held it, her head bowed back down to your neck swiping her tongue up before biting down.

You whined at her sudden movements, placing your hand of top of hers on your breast as the other flew to her hair, tangling itself in the dark waves. Her legs somehow maneuvered themselves between yours, keeping them spread open. “Anything else?” she whispered.

“Stop stalling and fuck me,” you finally say, “please.”

“Yes ma’am,” and her hand that was on your tit immediately went into your pajama shorts.

She circled your already throbbing clit at a steady pace causing you to arch your back into her with a moan. She continued to kiss and nip at your neck before she lifted her head to look at you, “too early for praise or name calling?” she smirked.

“I thought you knew what I liked,” you fired back between moans.

“Just checking,” she winked.

Her fingers caressed your entrance, begging to go inside, but first, she wanted to gather all the wetness that’s already spilled out of you, “I knew you were a slut but damn.”

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes but they soon stayed in the back of your head as she easily pushed her way inside of you. “God,” you growled.

She was slowly pumping her hand in and out of you as you gasped for air each time. And each time wound the knot in your stomach tighter and tighter.

“I knew you’d look good under me, and you’re taking me so well,” she finally went back to kissing you after what felt like forever.

You whined into her kiss, gripping her head, shoulders, back, waist, anything to keep you from unraveling so soon. Her pace was ungodly, you couldn’t help but ride her hand as she went.

You tried your best to take her shirt off but she wouldn’t let you, “only if I get to take yours off too,”

You nod your head frantically as she slowly pulls her hand out of you causing you to whine at the loss of sensation. You couldn’t speak as you watched her bring her fingers to her mouth and suck them clean, “holy fuck,” you finally said.

“Mmm,” she took her fingers out and began to take your shirt off, then your pants, then your, basically destroyed, underwear.

You shivered at the cool air as you quickly tried to take hers off too. You threw her shirt to the side without a care, but she had to take her booty shorts off because they were too tight for you to easily take them off in the position you were in.

You both stared in awe at each other for a split second before diving back in. Her hand went back to your clit as yours went to her back, feeling every inch possible. She let her body lay slightly to the side of you to keep allowing her access to your center. She dropped her head to your chest kissing down to your tits, licking and sucking at your nipple before gently rolling it between her teeth.

With moans filling the air, she easily slipped back inside of you, arching your back, “oh fuuuck,” you whine.

“Let it out, princess,” she moaned. Only then did you realize that your leg was between hers and she was grinding against your thigh.

That immediately sent shockwaves through your body sending you closer to the edge than you were ever before. Your hand gripped her ass guiding her as the other wrapped around her waist. She was leaning on her elbow holding your head up just enough to bring you in for a deep but sloppy kiss.

Her moans sounded so good that you couldn’t help but whine in response. With her fingers plunging into you, her grinding on your thigh, the noises she was making, you were surprised you hadn’t cum yet.

“Fuck! You feel so good,” her accent was strong and her breath was hot against your mouth.

Riding her hand, as she rode your thigh was something you never thought would happen, but here you were. The knot was becoming so tight you couldn’t take it, “Shit, Rhe-”

“Go ahead, cum for me, like the whore you are,” she gasped.

“Not until…fuck… you do,” you breathed.

“Then do it, now!” she barked, her jaw clenched as her eyes tried not to roll back.

So you do as you’re told. You whimpered loudly a few more times then, “GOD!…FUUCK!” you screamed as your back arched into her and you nails dug into her back leaving marks as you rode your high.

Almost as soon as you released she followed suit, “OH SSSHHIT!” her thighs suffocated your leg before she continued to ride it as she came down from her high.

You kissed her once more, moaning softly as you both came back to earth. She gently removed her fingers from inside you as she released the grip on your leg. “Shit,” she said again.

“Not bad Ripley,” you joke, “You could do better…”

She shot you a look, and if looks could kill…

“With the pillow talk I mean,” you giggle, “there will be plenty of opportunities to work on it.”

“Good because I’m don’t yet.”

#rhea ripley #wwe #rhea ripley x reader #and they were roommates

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charlesemersonwinchesteriii · 1 year ago

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Things that I have learned about A Stitch In Time after finishing Part II of the audiobook:

Ohhhhhh you are all heartless bastards I cannot BELIEVE none of you thought to tell me about goalkeeper Garak. When I tell you I lost my fucking mind!!!!!!!

HANS JORTS I OWE YOU MY LIFE FOR THAT ONE FR

The Tain reveal. The Tolan interactions. The Mila interactions. The final Tolan reveal. The way this book will not let me rest for a single god damn second.

SHE MARRIED HER OWN BROTHER TO HIDE THE FACT HER EMPLOYER GOT HER PREGNANT??????? NASTY YUCKY TRASHY PLANET <3<3<3<3<3<3

I recently read in an article how Mr. Robinson said the Bamarren bits were his favorite to write and imo you can really tell cause the plot seemed much less tight in Part II but it was still sooooooo good and soooooo much fun precisely because I had no fucking idea what was going to happen from sentence to sentence. I love this book I love this book I love this book I love this book--

PALANTIR X CINNABON 1 CRINGEFAIL MARRIAGE REAL >:3 HUGE WIN FOR ME PERSONALLY even if at least one of them IS still dead and it IS Garak's "fault" (he was sooo right to do that though <3) so I did not get everything I wished for. but still.

Oh hey speaking of weird threesomes Garak gets inadvertently sucked into, remember the judge and his "lady friend" who let Garak live in their house for free and sat there openly leering at their new handsome young tenant doing manual labor out in the hot sunshine? Elim babygirl it was NOT the orchids that got you that living arrangement.........

Ok this isn't funny or relatable to anyone else but as a queer religious person the Oralius storyline makes me so excited and happy I love it I love it I love it it's so much more and better than anything I was expecting I love the Hebitian lore I love Palandine and Tolan being the ones to encourage this in him I love his visions and his nightmares I love him talking to Julian about it I love him singing in church I love Oralius and I love you Mr. Robinson

The way Pythas has been Garak's foil each step of the way, succeeding every time he fails and taking everything that was meant for him. And every time Garak is just like [nodding approvingly] That's my bestie and he deserves nothing less! <3

The Pythas situation and the Palandine situation combined are both adorable and insane to me. Garak really said if you showed me even one single shred of kindness in highschool I am ride or die for you for life. Cinnabon 1 really was the dumbest bitch ever huh

[Dukat Sr. voice] the same people who want us to KISS THE FEDERATION'S ASS!!!!!!

greatest book I have ever read. one trillion out of ten. no notes.

Things that I know about A Stitch In Time prior to listening to it:

Garak goes to spy school, which is for spies (for some reason the idea of this is amusing to me. like I get it duh of course the Order must have some sort of training system but also. fanfic ass trope. Spy School! For Spies! it's even a boarding school and everything. DARKEST ACADEMIA)

Garak performs a classic bisexual rite of passage by falling in love with both members of an older(?) married couple (or well textually probably only the wife. I feel like I'd have heard about it if he were Betacanonically Queer (TM) in this book. but here's hoping I'll be astonished while listening!)

I can't remember if I read anything specific about it or not but just based on vibes alone I do not have high hopes for this couple's like. life expectancy.

Based on vibes alone I do not have high hopes for ANY character's life expectancy in this book tbh. If it involves Cardassians in general and Garak in specific I usually just assume everyone involved is doomed. This is going to be a FUN 12 hours and 28 minutes!

There was a post somewhere that mentioned that some supernatural magical stuff happens in this book and I'm SO FUCKING STOKED. HERE'S HOW GARAK ORB EXPERIENCE CAN STILL WIN!!!!

The entire concept of this book is so funny to me. Garak goes 7 years being ohhh so mysterious to Julian about himself or his past and then just spills his whole life story to him in a letter as soon as they're separated. Babygirl is going through Bashir Withdrawal Syndrome.

Most importantly KELAS MY BEST FRIEND KELAS FROM ONE (1) LINE OF CANON!!!!! I have no actual evidence that he ever shows up in this book but like he has to right. right. he's absolutely everywhere on ao3 y'all had to have gotten him from somewhere. I assume.

#I know I'm forgetting so many other things I wanted to mention because TOOOOOOOO much happened #didn't even touch on the whole thing with that Bajoran lady on DS9. will discuss later. this fucking BOOK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#also the post-war scenes have me screaming crying throwing up I CAN'T BELIEVE THE DUDE WHO TORTURED PICARD SHOWED UP #AND GARAK CANONICALLY THINKS HE'S TACKY AND HATES HIM. FANFIC ASS NOVEL I LOVE YOU #A Stitch In Time #Star Trek: Deep Space 9 #Elim Garak #some of the garashir interactions in this book have me utterly nonplussed #but then other ones have me like fully lying down on the floor for real in real life #I only let myself listen to this book on Tuesdays when I clean the house so I can motivate myself to fucking finish my cleaning on time #cause I'm in such a fucking flop era rn you don't even know evrything is too much work and utterly pointless #and also I'm fat and also the fucking temperature #it's truly giving ''tailor exile'' vibes #so I use the book to power through it but unfortunately the book wants to eat me so it just makes cleaning take longer ghjkghsjgslkjfdsjk #starting Part III today let's fucking GO!!!!!!!!!!#I'm up on my podium after watching DS9 presenting my double magna opa Garak Eating Disorder Thesis + Garak Incest Thesis #whole crowd booing and hissing #and then from the back row a voice emerges and says ''They're so right actually :3 Here is the evidence'' and we turn to see him:#Andrew Robinson himself. holding this book he wrote specifically for me <3

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junedenim · 4 months ago

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a vision trip

part 1 part 3

one day with a familiar face in a foreign country

word count: 10.4k

It's May in Paris. The breeze is light and the air is sweet. Alex sits in a cafe, picking at his nails, waiting. He nurses a coffee, but it's too bitter, and he's too nervous to ask for sugar or cream. He debates ordering food but decides to wait for his counterpart. He's tired. Too many shows and an overwhelming amount of traveling. There isn't much keeping him awake other than the people bustling around him and the person he's awaiting.

She was supposed to be here at 12 and it's 12:10 now. He won't complain. He isn't one for punctuality either. He can't think about the show tonight. It's draining but he'll soak up every minute of it. He just doesn't want to wait. He wants to take a nap. He'll wait 10 more minutes and then leave. It's fair enough.

He's tapped out. People-watching in Paris is quite a thrill. People sitting outside are smoking and he wishes he picked a seat out there so he could at least have a cigarette keeping him awake. There's a couple across the street either arguing or just passionately talking. It's hard to tell the difference.

Then, the chair across from him screeches across the floor loudly, drawing his eyes up. All the color drains from his face, his ghostly appearance recognizing the phantom that stands before him. His heart has fallen out of him. It's lying on the floor somewhere, the blood spurting out of it. Alex is certain he has fallen and hit his head and this is the dream sequence that plays in the movie. He's lost in a circle of time. It could be minutes or seconds, he sits there with his mouth begging to catch flies.

She smiles. That same fucking smile. Bright, pearly, the kind she'd give that made him want to lean in and kiss her. She looks the exact same. Even has a bandana on, although, now it's tied around the back of her head, holding that blonde hair back. It's longer now. She's dressed in jeans and a blue-and-white pinstriped button-up. It's almost like they are matching. Could be, if they wanted to with his trousers and white button-up.

He blinks like twenty times trying to clear his vision, make sure of this sight. Confirm this is real. It stays the same. "Holy fucking shit," he finally utters.

Her smile grows wider. "Wow," she sighs, "your French has gotten much worse. You're supposed to say bonjour."

Alex finally allows a smile to crack his face, despite his certainty that this can not be real. "What—what are you doing here?" His brows furrow, still unable to take in her whole image.

She takes off the saddle bag. It's leather this time. Not her old cloth one with the pins. She sits fully down in the chair across from him. A wide smirk displays across her face as she rests her head on her left hand. "Interviewing you."

As if this interaction couldn't get crazier and his jaw could possibly hang open wider. "Seriously?"

She gives him a pleased nod. "I don't usually do music but someone atmy work mentioned the Arctic Monkeys concert coming to town and the opportunity for an interview and I begged my boss."

He tries to quail his quickened heartbeat but she isn't making it simple. None of this is simple and he's gone dazed and crazed. He must have. "I can't believe you're here. You're in front of me. I feel like you're so calm and I've completely lost it."

"Well, I knew I would be seeing you again for about a month and I tried to regain my cool in front of the bathroom mirror for about 45 minutes. Do you want to go do that?" She points behind her to the toilets with a dream-inducing grin. She's proud of that joke.

"I might have to. Go in there and se branler." He motions jerking off loosely with his hand and it gets that precious fucking laughter out of her.

"You remember any French other than that?"

He gives a quick shake of his head. "No, not really." Prompting more laughter from her. He stares at her, giving her a thorough examination. "I can't fucking believe it. It's been 11 years, you know, how fucking crazy is that?"

"Don't tell me that." She rests her forehead in the palm of her hand. "I'm still trying to deal with turning 30 and that was 2 years ago."

He's amused by her. It's 11 years ago and yesterday for him. He feels they've snapped right back into place. No time has shifted and they are 21 again and this is what life would have been like if they had July in Paris. "So, you finally figured out your life," he recalls her ramblings. Revels in them.

She shrugs. "For the most part. It took a while but we're here. It was kind of, well, our day in Brussels helped point me in that direction. You probably don't remember"—he remembers everything, seriously—"but you made this compliment about how I had all these good questions or something and I thought, after you, well, told me about the whole band thing, and I figured out how big you actually were that I could do that for a living. Interview people. I don't usually do rockstars though not since you."

A thumping rings in his red-hot ears. He tries to take a deep breath and has to try several times. "What do you usually do?"

"Mainly the art section. I go to at least a dozen gallery openings every week but I love it."

"It sounds perfect for you. You helped me understand Magritte."

She smiles with pride. "You always had a keen eye. I only pointed you in the right direction."

He lets out a puff of air loudly and shakes his head. He doesn't look down at his hands but already knows they're shaking. "I'm sorry. I just can't fucking believe you're in front of me. I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

She giggles. "I didn't really either."

He becomes a tad solemn as he leans on his hand, closer to her. "Can I ask you something?" She nods. "Why didn't you come to the Paris show?"

She leans back in her chair and her demeanor shifts. She's remorseful-looking and toying with her hands. He supposes that habit has stayed the same. "I wanted to. I tried to be but I had got into this journalism program in Boston. I saw you there but I didn't think you'd want to see me after ditching you in Paris. I didn't really know how to get backstage or anything either. I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "Don't be sorry. Why did you think I wouldn't want to see you?"

She tries to hide her face. "I swear I wasn't searching you up every night and stalking you but I saw you and your girlfriend back then, uh, Alexa. Didn't want to impose on anything because that was back when I didn't have the belief of women and men being friends."

"Like Harry Burns? I'd want to see you no matter what." He doesn't want to admit to her how hurt he was by her not showing up in Paris. How her name had been on every backstage list for the Favourite Worst Nightmare tour. Let alone that embarrassed trolling around Paris he had done. His start with Alexa, however serious that relationship ended up becoming, was rooted in getting over Lottie. He still hadn't fully dealt with that last part. Not until she sat in front of him and he realized.

"I had a different mind at 21," she explains. "I changed therapists."

He throws his head back in laughter. "What was the final straw?"

"Well." Her eyes drift away from his, looking down at her locked hands. "Moving to America was the main reason. I couldn't deal with any more defense of porn-addict boyfriend."

Alex takes a sip of his coffee, forgetting its bitterness, but enduring it to indulge in her sweetness. "She never let up on that one?"

"Not really."

Lottie orders a cappuccino and Alex, unsure of what to do, says, "You know, I have a concert later tonight."

"I know. I'm gonna go if that's alright. For the article and everything." She says it like she's informing him, rather than asking for permission.

"Well, I don't have to be at the venue for another couple of hours and I've never really gotten the chance to explore Paris." The smile that spreads across her face tells him she knows what he is thinking.

She snickers, "I should get a flat day rate for being your tour guide."

He leans forward on the little cafe table between them. "Come on, I'll give an exclusive. Complete unabridged day with a rockstar."

She giggles. "My boss would be very mad if I didn't take that."

"Perfect." He means every bit of that. His 21-year-old self's fantasies are finally coming true. Imagining life as it truly should have been. He thinks how much he has changed since then. How much he has stayed the same. She's stayed the same in his mind. A ghostly presence in his mind. An angel that came and visited for a day. She looks much of the same, especially compared to his differing appearance. Longer hair, less scrawny, light stubble regrowing post-goatie. He's grown into himself more, no longer an awkward boy under a hoodie. He's getting hot under his suit jacket. "So, what have you been up to the past 11 years?"

George points a finger at him. "Aren't I supposed to be asking you questions?"

He smirks and leans back in his chair. "No, see that's part of the deal. You tell me what you've been doing for the past decade and answer all my questions and I might tell you exclusive material. But you have to hold up your end of the bargain."

She raises an eyebrow but smiles and nods. "Let's see the last 11 years. I mean, I lived in Boston for 5 years. About 5 years too many."

"Why? Did you hate it?"

She tilts her head back and forth in an indifferent gesture. "It's a nice city but I don't think I belong in America. I fell into a fantasy there. By the time I had been there 5 years, I felt I had been living a lie the whole time. You know, I didn't like my apartment or my friends or even my job and I was 26 and it was either change my shit now or live like this for the rest of my life."

"Yeah, yeah. I feel that now. I've been out in LA for about 5 years now but had never really settled until this past year. I loved it my first year. It was so different than anywhere I've ever lived but last year was the first time I had been there a full year and I think I hate it."

"America's a mess now anyway. I couldn't imagine living in LA. It doesn't seem fun."

Alex shrugs. "I like it but I think I've fallen away from it. And everywhere is a mess now anyway. Brexit's happened and England's a mess and I haven't even lived there fully since 2008 but part of me thinks I'd like it."

"When I moved back to Paris after Boston, I felt my whole body realigned and I'm not one for that energy crap but I think there has to be something to these places because I immediately felt a relief I had never felt in Boston." His head is filled with thoughts of telling her, I know exactly what you mean, I feel it right now looking at you.

"Maybe after this next tour but I don't know if me girlfriend would do it. She already moved out to LA for me. I'd feel shitty making her move to a whole other country."

"Is she American?"

He nods, even though he has a feeling she already knew that but she's trying not to seem like she already has all the answers to him already from her research. "You seeing anyone?"

Her face crosses. "Kind of." Her resolve breaks with a laugh. "God, how embarrassing is it that I'm 32 and kind of in a relationship?"

"I think you're fine. 32 is still young. You don't have to worry about that for another decade."

She leans forward with intensity, the same level she had at 21. "Except, I'm getting down to the wire here as far as having children." He throws his head back in laughter. It's nice to know that she hasn't changed a bit in 11 years. "I'm serious. And, I know, I know, science is so advanced these days and there are millions of children to adopt and blah blah blah but I don't want to be a 50-year-old pregnant woman or a single mother. I mean, I'm not opposed to it but I don't think there's anything wrong with having the fantasy of the nuclear family. Except I don't know if I really want that or that's just societal pressure I'm feeling."

It's deja vu for him of the romantic nostalgia variety that if he could package it into a pill and take it as a prescription forever, he would. "You said the same thing in Brussels."

She groans in frustration. "Great, so I'm a broken loop. I'm a woman moaning about men and babies. I put shame on all the feminist icons."

He waves his hand at her. "I think you're fine and it's nice to know how you feel about these things, even if it's the same. I feel that way right now."

"With children?"

"Yeah, I mean, most of me friends have settled. Everyone in the band has kids and I don't know if I want that. Me girlfriend wants that, I think, but I can't imagine touring and having kids at home. I still feel too young to have kids or to get married."

She groans, "Yuck. Don't even get me started on marriage."

"Don't believe in it?"

"I don't want to. I think if I was with someone who really wanted it then maybe but when I was engaged it felt like such a doomful thing."

She nonchalantly says it but he needs to know. "You were in engaged?"

Lottie gives a small head nod and sips her cappuccino. The subject is still an odd one for her. "For about 6 months in 2012. It was a disaster, to say the least, mostly on my part. He was a good guy but I was too immature to settle and he was the last thing keeping me in Boston. Once that ended, I came back to Paris."

"You were engaged to an American?" He leans forward with intrigue. It shocks him for some reason.

She furrows her brows. "Aren't you dating an American?"

"Yeah, but it's different," Alex excuses.

"How?"

There isn't actually a difference other than bubbling jealousy but he can't admit that. So, he shrugs. "I'm a lowly Brit and you're a sophisticated French girl dating an American, let alone one from Boston."

She tilts her head in slight agreement. "He was awfully rowdy."

"Was he a big Red Sox fan?" Alex jokingly asks.

She sticks her tongue out and shakes her head. "Yuck, don't talk to me about baseball. Sports is the primary reason I left. His family had season passes and it was like the Salem Witch Trails if you didn't go to every game."

"See this is why I can't picture you engaged to an American."

"Fair point," she says. "What about your girlfriend?"

"Oh." He doesn't know why he's taken aback by the question. It makes him stir with guilt. It's not that he doesn't love his girlfriend, he has a fucking tattoo with her name, but suddenly Lottie sits down in a cafe in Paris across from him and he is thrown.

"She's great." He stops there but then Lottie stares at him and he realizes he's being short. He stares down at his cup. "She's—she's funny, beautiful, and very lovely." The description doesn't exactly help his case.

She doesn't push him any further. In fact, she smiles, and says, "She sounds nice. I'm sure you don't deserve her."

Alex chuckles initially at the comment but it grows painful inside of him. He struggles to digest it and the words weigh heavy as it turns from a joke into the truth. He shakes it off as best he can. "Who is this 'kind of' relationship?"

She sighs loudly. "We met at this weird work function. He works as a freelance photojournalist and travels to these warzones for months at a time and then he'll be here for a month or 2 before heading off again."

"Wow," Alex utters. How can I compete with a warzone photojournalist who is kind of her boyfriend? He shakes it. You don't need to compete because you have a fucking girlfriend, you idiot. "That's cool." Idiot.

"Yeah." She displays a similar demeanor as him: outmatched with no chance of catching up. "It's—he's a good guy. He does this incredible work but I can't help but constantly feel undercut by him. It's not his intention but—no offense to you—I'm telling him about some avant-garde art show I just reviewed and he's like 'That's great, I'm photographing Syrian refugee camps.' You feel like a complete loser next to him."

"You're helping keep art alive and maybe I'm stroking me ego too much but isn't that what we need during all these shitstorms? It feels like the only thing keeping me sane at times."

She leans forward onto her hand and smiles and, fuck, he feels his heart skip a beat. He can't shake her off of his skin, off his mind, off his heart. If he was a smart guy—a good guy—he'd do the interview, and leave. Play the show and leave France. Go home to his girlfriend and leave Lottie as a fantasy in his mind for the rest of his life. But then he thinks about his 21-year-old self who swore he wouldn't let her become that to him. Someone he would lie awake at night and imagine what life would be like if he got her. She's danced in and out of his mind through the years, but he'd be lying if he didn't think about what would have happened if she showed up in Paris. She got on that London-bound train. If they exchanged fucking phone numbers. He can't lie awake and think what would have happened if he didn't shun her. "Do you want to walk around now maybe?"

"Sure." She eagerly stands up.

She opens her bag and takes out her wallet. He holds his hand out. "You have to let me pay for your coffee, at least. I never paid you back for the hotel." The thought of the hotel room sends shivers down his spine.

Alex tosses a few bills to cover the check and then some. She giggles, "You finally have Euros."

He shrugs with a hidden smirk too shy to show him how pleased he is that she remembers. Even if it's his dorky mistake. "A little more prepared this time."

They exit the cafe into the Latin Quarter with Lottie leading the way to their next location. Their pace is the same as it was in Brussels. In step with one another through talks of one another's lives.

"What has the last 11 years been like for you?" She returns his question to him. "I mean," she admits, "I know some of it."

Alex narrows his eyes at her. "You've been keeping tabs on me, Lottie?"

She breaks eye contact away from him and shrugs but the smile that breaks through tells him everything he needs to know. He gets too much of a kick of that. "Well, you're not the easiest to avoid. I also did get really into your music after, you know, Brussels and all."

It pleases him until a realization drops his heart into his gut. He looks for a display of any reaction on her face but she keeps steady and walks ahead. He won't say it if she doesn't. Maybe she doesn't even know. Maybe only he paid attention to that kind of thing. Maybe only he paid attention to their hotel room number.

"I mean," he exhales loudly. "Everything you know is probably the extent."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, come on, in the last 11 years all you've done is music. That's not true."

And, sure, it's not, but it kind of is. He doesn't want to tell her about his ex-girlfriends and he doesn't need to indulge her in whatever stupid stories he has of LA. "I think it is. It sounds pretty depressing, doesn't it?"

She shakes her head. "I don't think so. You're living a pretty cool life. Unless you don't see it that way."

"No, it's just..."

"What?"

"I feel like I've been in the same place since I was 21. I'm stuck in some cycle that I can't stop. I know I've changed and I've had experiences. I mean, I lived in New York for a little and I've been in LA for a while but when you're touring for more than a year at a time for pretty much a decade, it's hard to feel significant changes."

"I feel the same way since moving back to Paris."

"Really?" It's hard to feel like anyone knows how he feels. Everyone around him has had big life changes and he feels...the same.

"Boston was a whirlwind but it was my 20s. Now, I get up and go to work every day and I go home and repeat it. I have friends and we go out for dinners but I'm not getting married, I'm not having children, and I'm not visiting Antarctica. I'm still. For years, I liked that feeling but now..."

He finishes, "You feel stuck."

"Yeah. I swear I'm not depressed. I'm not going to throw myself in the Seine or anything."

He chuckles. "No, no. I know what you mean. It's just growing pains."

"Pft," she says, "at 32 I thought that would be over with."

"I don't think it ever goes away."

"At least I'm not getting zits anymore."

"Small victories."

She points her finger out. "There's this park, the Luxembourg Gardens, down the road. It's beautiful if you'd like to go."

And just like before, where she leads, he will follow.

"My father died last year," she tells him.

He isn't sure what to say. For the first time, he touches her, places his hand on her arm. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head and shrugs. "No need. I never really knew him."

"Oh," he says, "I didn't know that." He suddenly realizes that the perception he had of Lottie for the last decade has been shaped by one day, not even a full 24 hours. A time they spent together where he didn't even know that she never knew her father.

"Yeah, I never—I don't talk about it very much. I feel like I've finally started to work through some of the childhood trauma shit that I swept under the rug for so many years. My parents' relationship was complicated."

"In what way? I don't mean to be nosy—"

She interrupts to reassure, "Never. You never are." She smiles over at him like a sunray. "I like telling you these things. It feels like a vessel I can put it in and send out to sea. I know you'll never tell another soul, right?"

He motions locking his lips and tossing the key. It makes her giggle and he forgot the thrill he got from doing that.

"My father was married when my maman had my brother and me. Never divorced his wife. I have a half-sister I've never met. She's like 20 years older than me."

Alex doesn't mean to have a visible reaction but he can't help but utter, "Wow."

"Yeah." She slips her hands into her jeans' pockets. "I don't know. I've been trying to work my way through all of it. I think I feel grief over it but I'm not sure if I'm mourning his death or the potential relationship we could have had."

"I don't know. I've never been in that type of situation with death. You know, the finality of everything. But with people that I've drifted away from, I imagine all these what-ifs." It's hard to ignore the person he's talking about is right next to him. "What I could have done differently to make them stay or like me or whatever but I've realized that no matter what you do it doesn't change the way the other person is. With your dad, I can't imagine not wanting to know you. Something must have been wrong with him."

"Probably," she agrees before laughing. The thickness of the conversation is split in two as they both laugh lightness into the air.

"So, you just grew up with your brother and mother?" Alex asks.

Lottie pulls a face, scrunching up her nose and pursing her lips. "I wish. My mom had her series of boyfriends. Some better, some worse. Nothing bad and she never married any of them but it was a weird revolving door. The longest one was the British diplomat. That's why my English is so good. Well, if I do say so myself."

"I still can't speak a lick of French so you're 1000 times better than me."

"I can't help it if I'm so fabulous," she jokes as she skips into the gardens. He's left watching her cheer from six paces behind. Mirth floods him and he feels a snap inside him like a glowstick coming to life. She's lit him up all over again. Prescribed him exactly what he needs. If he was smart, he'd leave now. He got his fix and he should go to the concert venue and leave it at that. He walks into the Luxembourg Gardens.

Alex follows her as she walks through the green parterre of gravel and lawn. The area is decently populated but the wide expansion of the park prevents any crowding. He can't stop staring at the back of her. It's not in some sexual desire way. He's not staring at her ass. He's not really focused on one area. He watches the way her trainers plant their way into the ground. The way her bandana flutters from the wind. The way her hair moves slightly side-to-side with each movement. He wonders if she takes him in this way. Noticed the way his loafers tap into one another every once in a while when he's walking. The way his hands are in his jacket to prevent the wind from blowing it around. The way he has had to keep pushing his hair behind his ears.

Then, she stops and sits in one of the metal chairs they have, Alex sits across from her, and she says, "Your hair is longer."

Witch! She must be psychic. He pushes his hair behind his ear again as if on instinct. "Yeah, that's different. It's changed a lot through the years."

"Yeah, I know. The quiff was a funny one."

"Are you mocking me?" He leans closer and teases.

She giggles. "No, never."

"You don't look too different to me."

She scrunches her face up and scoffs, "Yeah, how plain am I."

Alex shakes his head slowly. "Not plain. You don't need to change anything about you. You were beautiful then and you're beautiful now." He's trending in territory he shouldn't but it makes her smile, like really smile. She turns her head away from him and covers her mouth with her hand.

"Whereas you still look ugly," she mocks with a smug smile.

His jaw opens dramatically. "You are mean, Lottie."

"I'm kidding," she reassures. "You've always been a charming-looking man."

"You make it sound like I'm some dandy."

Her face twists up again. "What's that?"

"A dandy?" She nods. "For once, I know something you don't."

"You know many things I don't."

"Yeah, right."

"I can't carry a tune to save my life. In fact, I should win an award for not attempting to ever play music."

"I don't know. I think if you applied yourself to it you could be good."

"Are you trying to recruit me to your music school, Mr. Turner?" It's the first time she's said his last name ever and he realizes he doesn't know hers.

"You could be a good triangle player." She punches his arm when he says that. He asks, "What's your last name?"

She smirks. "Guess."

"I don't know. Something really French."

"No. Guess."

"I don't know," he says again. "Something like Bonaparte or whatever."

"No. Guess."

"We're going to be here all day if you don't at least help me narrow it down."

She grabs hold of his face, hands on his cheeks, which are growing embarrassingly rosy. "My last name is Guess."

His face drops. "Wait. Your last name is Guess. Charlotte Guess."

"Yes and ew. Don't call me Charlotte."

He sighs loudly, "I don't know, Charlotte. You put me through a lot of trouble there."

She relinquishes her hold on his face and leans back in her chair. He's unnerved by how the cold rushes to his body as soon as she isn't close. "You'll manage."

She oozes cool, always has. She props a leg up on the chair and leans back with such freeness that wasn't there 11 years ago. She's not twisted up inside, she looks relaxed. He wants to ask her how to get there. Lately, he's felt like knots of stress. Any effort to dissipate has been met unsuccessfully because he can't put a finger on what's causing all of it.

"You know," she says, "I do have to interview you at some point."

He waves her off. "I know, I know, but I'm still adjusting to the fact that I'm seeing you right now. I want to know more about you."

That hint of a smile comes back to her cheeks. "Like what?" The tip of her shoe knocks on his shoe and he isn't sure what to make of it. Looks down and wishes he could take a photo of it.

"Do you still paint?"

She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head in disbelief. "You remember that I paint?"

Alex doesn't see it as a big deal. Why wouldn't he remember all those little things? "Yeah, and you're a decent cook, right?"

"Jesus," she lets out under her breath. A quickened heart rate and a brush of pink to her cheeks. "I don't even think my mother remembers I paint. I still do it from time to time. I was never very good at it."

He shakes his head. "I doubt that."

"You never seen anything I've painted."

"I don't need to see it to believe it. If you think it's bad it's probably better than what most people, including myself—especially myself—can do."

"Well, maybe if you're lucky I show you something."

"I'd like that." He hates how much he'd like that. "What do you paint?"

She shrugs. "This. That. Abstract kind of things. I like painting faces but I'm not very good at that. I get the proportions all mixed up."

"Like Magritte or something?" He chuckles.

She shakes her head. "Not quite. More like that botched restoration of that Jesus painting."

Alex can't help but think of the two of them standing before A Stroke of Luck and the cigar, but not a cigar painting (so, screw him, he can't remember the name of it). His mind can't help but reminisce on them in the park sitting in the grass afterward. Lottie, delicate and cherubic, picking flowers to place behind his ear, and then, kissing her. If he reaches out into the memory, he can practically still feel his hands on her skin.

"Do you want to go to another art museum?"

"What like the Louvre?"

"Sure."

She laughs. "I am not going to the Louvre."

But Alex is already standing and reaching his hand out to her. "Come on, I've never been."

She sighs and places her hand in his. It's soft like a baby's freshly washed skin. His hand feels rough against the smooth surface, callouses old and new can be felt. Alex pulls her up out of her chair and they begin to walk to the park's exit. "How have you never been to the Louvre?"

"I've never had time," he explains. "Generally when I've visited Paris it's been for a limited number of days."

"But didn't you record the album in La Frette? Couldn't come in on a day off for the Louvre?" She's still holding his hand. He's not being responsible, he knows.

In fact, he's passed irresponsible when he leans in close to her ear and says, "I missed when you didn't know anything about me."

She giggles and shrugs her shoulders. "I'm the one taking you to the Louvre at 1 in the afternoon with no tickets. I think you can manage the sacrifice."

"You must go all the time considering your job," Alex says.

Lottie says, "Oh, I haven't been to the Louvre in over a decade," before bursting out into laughter.

"And you're shaming me for having never gone?"

She lets go of his hand and wags her finger at him. "Hey, I have at least gone. Multiple times! And the Louvre isn't exactly a place getting new and upcoming art all the time." She drops her hand back down to her side. Their hands never re-intertwined. "The last time I went I was 17 and I made out in the staircase with Alain Millardet the whole time."

"So, you really saw all the sights." He follows her directions as they cross the street.

Lottie gags from the memory alone. "He was a horrible kisser and we ended up getting caught by an employee. They told our school—our Catholic school, by the way—and it was the only time I ever got in trouble. The only thing that lessened the blow was that my maman was away with her boyfriend and never found out."

"You were a goody-two-shoes in school," Alex teases.

Lottie squishes up her face. "What does that mean?"

He grins at the way her little button nose is scrunched up, her eyes slightly squinted, the wrinkle formed between her brows. "Just means you're a rule follower."

"Oh." She giggles. "I just didn't get caught." Every inch of her intrigues him. The secrets she has buried deep within that he has an eagerness to uncover. The flip of her hair as she walks her way down the streets. Her hands clutch the brown leather strap of her bag. Those blue eyes glancing over at him as ripples of laughter echo through her.

They begin to cross over the Seine when she tells him, "This is the Pont des Arts. It used to be covered in locks, you know, the thing where couples put a lock on the bridge and throw away the key, but they had to remove it after the bridge nearly collapsed, which thank god because I had one with my ex-boyfriend on it and I couldn't bear the thought that we would be locked here together eternally."

Alex chuckles and puts his hands in his pockets. "Me first girlfriend did that with the lock she used for her locker. At the end of the school year, she wrote our names on the back and locked it to a fence. About a month after we broke up, I walked by the fence she'd put it on and it was gone. She had gone back and removed it."

"Aw," she coos, "poor girl. You probably broke her heart."

"Thanks for your lack of pity for me, Lot." She grins at the nickname. "How do you know she didn't break my heart?"

"Because only a heartbroken girl would go back and remove the lock."

"Yeah."

Alex gazes up and spots the glass pyramid, realizing they've already made their way to the Louvre. The courtyard is populated with people taking pictures of and with the structure. Someone is playing violin, likely busking, in the distance.

As they approach the building, Lottie gasps and then begins to laugh. "What?" Alex asks with a hint of his own reactive laughter.

She gives him a funny frown. "It's Tuesday, isn't it?"

Alex confusedly responds with a dragged-out "Yeah."

She snickers. "The Louvre is closed on Tuesdays."

They both just take to laughing in the middle of all the tourists. Lottie clutches his forearm, which he reciprocates, making their arms plank over each other. Then, Lottie suddenly stops, stands up straight, and looks him in the eye, saying, "Time for me to interview you."

Alex chuckles, "Nice try." He takes to guiding them out of the courtyard, walking ahead of her. "Where to next?"

She's right behind him. Alex can feel the edge of her bag touch his butt. "Are you trying to get me fired?"

The pleasure he gets out of taunting her should probably be illegal. "You'll get your interview," he promises. "I've already given you so much unknown information. I've never been to the Louvre, still to this day, my French is horrible, and I'm desperate to see some art so why don't you show me some of yours."

They pause at a crossing. "Are you trying to invite yourself to my apartment?" She has a habit of making him flustered easily. Her fluttering lashes flapped away at him. He swears they blow an ocean breeze his way.

He plays a tricky game. "Well, if we go to your apartment, maybe you'll finally get your interview." The light flashes green and he walks ahead.

She trails behind fighting a crooked grin. "I highly doubt that."

Alex hums.

Either way, they headed off in the direction of her place. Down the stairs to the metro where they wait for the 4 train. The platform is sparsely crowded, predictable for a Tuesday afternoon just before rush hour.

"I have to say something." Her demeanor is coy. She's holding her hand in a fist up against her mouth. Her eyes peer up at him demurely. "I've been debating whether to say it or not but I figure out with it. No secrets, you know."

Alex nods curiously. "Okay."

"The song."

The two words make a chill go through him. Spins around his spine and hits each vertebrae. She does know. He can't help but physically react, muttering, "Oh, god," and placing his hand on his forehead in exasperation.

She giggles at his reaction. He is only calmed by the fact that she doesn't sound pissed. Still, he feels embarrassed. "It's one of your most popular songs."

Alex doesn't care. He lived up off the hope that she had somehow missed that one. Or she only ever listened to the most recent album for her work assignment. When he wrote it, it was felt under the impression he would see her again. Not under the impression that in 11 years he would be standing on a metro platform with her about to be interviewed by her.

He re-establishes himself. He gets his footing, drops his hand from his face, and looks over at her. She's still looking amused by his reaction. The train pulls up to the station. "Which one?"

He is able to get a chuckle in when her jaw drops slightly. Feeling he has the upper hand, he hops on the train, having her dash behind him. Alex finds two empty seats and takes a seat next to the window. Lottie sits down next to him.

She seems to have composed herself. Tight jaw and curious lips. "Now, I meant 505, what are you on about?"

Alex shrugs. "Pft, who said 505 was about you?" He is staring straight ahead, calm, cool, and collected.

Her eyes are glued to him, watching his every move. "I'm not an idiot, Alex, I can read. Our hotel room was 505."

"Oh, what a weird coincidence." He is almost chuckling with pride in his humorous fibbing abilities.

"Come on. I doubt many girls were lying on their side with their hands between their thighs for you, Alex." That memory strikes him hard. If he closes his eyes for long enough, he can still trace the outline of her body in his mind, memorizing every crevice.

He chuckles with a wide grin. "It was a nice memory."

She crosses her arms in a pleased manner. "I knew it was about me."

"Yeah, well, I had a lovely time with you." His eyes are intently on hers. A knowing smile is splashed across his face.

She returns the favour. They are in a duel with their eyes, fighting grins in their smiles. "Me too."

"Good."

She leans in closer. "Now, what's this other song about me?"

Alex looks away from her, gazing at the station they are approaching. "I think this is our stop."

He tries to stand up and she grabs his arm and yanks him back down. "Shush. You have no clue where we are even getting off."

Her hand stays gripping his forearm, keeping them steady. His gaze is resistant if ever pleasurable. His eyes trained on the doors and unsure of what to say, tossing between giving it up or burying it away. He plays with his hands, bringing them together, and then apart, and then back together. "I wrote this song, you know, in the, uh, hypothetical sense."

She rolls her eyes. "Okay, whatever that means. Out with it. You know, people are usually flattered by the thought someone would think of them enough to write a song about them. Let alone two."

"Alright," he calms. "The song isn't really all about you. I guess, you sparked the original idea."

She gestures for him to continue. "And?"

"Cornerstone."

She leans back against the train's wall. A small smirk plays on her face. "Really? You were seeing me all around town?"

He can't help but smile, although, forced to shield it behind his hands covering the surface area of his face. "Don't make me sound like a creep."

"No, no. It all feels like flattery." She looks like she wants to say something else but keeps it to herself. He's tempted to ask but she's pointing slowly to the train station and softly saying, "This is our stop."

They get up as the train stops. The doors stay closed though. "Flip the handle up," Lottie says.

He grabs hold of the door handle and follows her instructions. The door opens at a quick speed. So quick that Alex, still with his hand on the handle, nearly gets his arm yanked off. Lottie erupts in laughter behind him. He sucks in a breath and steps off the train. She places her hands on his shoulder as she follows behind him, too blind with laughter to properly guide herself.

"You're really making a fool out of me today." Alex turns around as they ride the escalator up.

She's still emitting giggles when she says, "I'm sorry. It was too tempting though."

Her apartment is just outside the metro station. The building, Haussmann in style, is cold and dark in the stairwell. Lottie tells him to watch his step as they head to the second floor before she flips on a switch outside her door. Before she unlocks it, she turns and tells him, "I'm a messy person and you have rudely barged in on me so you can not judge."

Alex agrees and she unlocks the door. She has, of course, exaggerated the mess of the place. It's a loft of a decent size. Her bed is in the far corner, unmade with a plum-coloured mandala-printed blanket thrown over it. Clothes from this morning are strewn about the floor. Her kitchen is small and her plate from breakfast is still in the sink. In the back corner, across from her bed is a collection of canvases. They are all turned inward making him unable to look at any of them.

Lottie stands awkwardly in the kitchen, hands behind her back, bobbing on her feet. "Do you want anything to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water? Alcohol?"

He chuckles at her delivery, struck by her grace. "I'll take a tea."

"Okay." She busies herself with that as he examines the room closely. A shelf of books piled to the brim. There's a vase of flowers on a lower shelf. On the bottom: a record collection. He smiles to himself. "Can I put on a record?"

"Sure," she absentmindedly says. She's showing Alex her tea packets: black, green, mint, ginger. Black, he picks.

She stills at the opening strings. Her heart patters at the clacking of the castanets. I found my love in Portofino...

She dips the tea bags into the hot water and turns around. She leans against the counter, staring at him at the place he has taken on her small loveseat. "You know, I got a record player because of this album."

His arms are crossed and he looks pleased with himself. "Inspiring a new generation to buy records. You know, AM is one of the best-selling vinyls of the 2010s."

She squints playfully. "Are you usually this boastful about yourself?"

"Stop, you're making me feel like a self-absorbed asshole."

Lottie crosses her arms, playing his game back to him. "What's the saying? If the shoe fits."

"Hush now. Sit." He pats the seat beside him. The air is thick and she cuts through it by walking over to him with two cups of tea.

She prompts hopefully, "Interview time?"

Alex ignores her. "You know, I went and bought my own copy of this."

"The record?"

He nods. "God, I'm such a dweeb."

She shakes her head. "No. It's a good record."

He gazes over at her knowingly. His chin is tilted down and his eyes are blazing at her. "I didn't buy it because it was a good record."

Suddenly, she breaks. "You can't do that."

Alex gets the message, turns away, and focuses on the warm mug in his hand. "I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No," she reassures, calm and clear, "it's fine. I just can't sit next to you in my apartment with you saying things like that and not..."

"Not?" He tries to get more out of her.

She gazes over at him knowingly. Her chin is tilted down and her eyes are blazing at him. "You know."

He nods.

"I still have that photo of you. The one I took on that hill. It's buried deep in a drawer somewhere." She's tempting him and she knows it. She's not abandoning the topic of their romantic evening. She's not insisting on conducting an interview. She's flirting.

Alex smiles back pleased. "I probably look like a dork."

"Yeah," she dryly agrees making him laugh. "But a cute dork."

"Whenever I came to Paris, I would walk around, duck into all these cafes, and I had these visions of seeing you there. That's where Cornerstone came from," Alex confesses.

"I changed therapists because of you," Lottie confesses.

"What?"

She leans on her arm against the back of the couch. "It wasn't because I moved away. I came back from Brussels and told her about you and she said that you were a fantasy but not a realistic man. I shouldn't get my hopes up on delusions and should invest myself in some reliable man. That I was falling for a rockstar who probably did that thing all the time. The whole time she's saying this to me, I'm thinking, 'She has no fucking clue what she's talking about. Reliablity? Who has reliability at 21? My porn-addict boyfriend.'"

Alex laughs. "I still really love this porn-addict boyfriend of yours."

"Well, you and my therapist." The room goes quiet. She sinks into a corner of the couch and sighs. "So, you were the final straw."

"I've done that cafe shit every time I've been to Paris."

"What?" She sits up straighter.

"I just—I've always wanted to talk to you again. It felt weird when you didn't show up in July. I figured, or maybe hoped, something big happened for you not to be there."

She's stiff and awkward and looks down at her legs, awkwardly stiff. "I tried to be there. I wanted to. You have to know, if it weren't for the program, I would've. I mean, I still go to your shows, and listen to your records, and, for crying out loud, I harrassed my boss into letting me interview you. He probably thinks I'm some obsessive fan."

"Harrassed?" He raises an eyebrow in amusement.

Lottie looks up sheepishly with a shy smile. "Yeah, well, at this rate, I'm not even gonna have an interview."

"You'll have an interview. I'll give you the best fucking interview." There's something in the way he looks at her. The tone of his voice makes her believe he is a lion and she's the gazelle he's waiting to maul. But those eyes, soft and dreamy. Eyes she could fall asleep next to every night.

"And then you look at me like that and you think you're the soppy one. I'm falling to bits over here. I've felt crazy for 11 years but then you look at me like that."

"Why'd you feel crazy?"

"I thought I made the whole thing up in my head. Like I was some psycho who imagined a whole night with you just because I liked your song. I mean, I ruined every relationship because I was hung up on you."

"What?"

"And now I'm ruining any possible relationship with you by blabbing on about this. I can't help it, you've infected me, you've ruined me, and I sound crazy." She's messing with her hair to really emphasize this fact. "But I'm stuck on the Boston T, riding the slowest train ever, sitting next to this guy I'm about to marry, and we have nothing to talk about, and all I'm thinking is 4 years ago I got on the wrong train."

Her breathing is heavy. Rattling and refusing to calm her heart down. She can't distinguish what his eyes mean.

Alex is quiet when he speaks. "Fucking hell, Lot."

Any move he thinks about making is interrupted when she quickly stands from the couch and separates herself from him by pacing in the kitchen. She clutches her hands around her face, cheeks trying red. She takes a deep breath and says, "I think you should leave. I'm sorry for that whole display. I'm so lost in myself and I'm crazy and I'm sorry."

Alex stands and takes a step toward her. She takes one back like they are the same side of a magnet repelling one another. "Lottie."

"I'm sorry."

He takes a moment for himself too. Runs his hands through his hair, heart pounding he puts his hand over to still it and takes a deep breath. "No," he insists. "First, you're not crazy. Second, I haven't seen you in 11 years and I have thought about you for too long to let you go—go on that other train again." Something chokes him inside. Maybe it's the guilt, the thought of his girlfriend back home. Maybe it's Lottie, who looks two steps away from crying, and all he can think about is being left on that train platform again. "Third, we have to do the interview."

"Oh, god, that stupid interview." And then he laughs. So, she laughs.

Alex attempts to step toward her again, cautiously like she's a cat he is afraid he is going to scare off. She stays in her place. He leans down and hugs her. She's hesitant but then she hugs back. Tight like they are each a moment away from slipping out of one another's grasp.

Alex pulls away, but keeps an arm around her back, pushing them toward her front door. "So, let's go eat some lunch and do an interview."

She sniffles and then smiles over at him in a remorseful manner. "Okay."

They head to the cafe on the street corner. The conversation grew lighter and Alex joked that he still didn't get to see her paintings. She countered that she still hadn't interviewed him.

On opposite sides of the table, each holds a cigarette and chats over an ashtray. Lottie asks him questions regarding the album and Alex answers formally, which is almost too proper and comes off more jokey than serious. Nonetheless, she quotes him on it.

He grows hot and takes his jacket off, halfway through, around the time their dishes arrive. The interview, more-or-less, ends there as they each inhale their meals and split the stack of bread. "I'll be here tomorrow too, you know."

She nods. Of course, she knows.

"We could do the Louvre then."

She smiles with amusement at him. "You're really obsessed with the Louvre."

"I'm determined to go and now to get you to go. Maybe we'll makeout in the stairway and get caught by one of the nuns." The comment is cheeky and they both laugh at it, even if it should hold more guilty weight than it does.

A woman then approaches them. She's old, enough to be someone's great-grandmother. She speaks in French to Lottie, who has grown a furrowed brow, as she repeatably says no to the woman, who holds up a necklace at her.

"What's she saying?" Alex inquires.

Lottie sighs and says warningly, "Alex."

The woman smiles big and looks over at Alex. She speaks very broken English, but tells him, "Her neck, nothing." She gestures over to Lottie's bare neck, the way her top pulls down (notes of cleavage, but he's got to get his mind out of the gutter), accentuating the bareness of it. Alex has shameful thoughts in remembrance of kissing it. Fuck, he's screwed, if the pull of his pants says anything. The woman holds the necklace high in her hand. "For beauty. Beautiful woman needs beauty."

Lottie begins to speak in French to the woman as Alex wordlessly reaches into his wallet and pulls out a bill. The woman lights up in delight and accepts the €20 as Lottie shakes her head. "Her ears, nothing," the woman tries to push more.

Alex cheerfully says, "No, no, just the necklace. Merci beaucoup." The woman attempts again but Alex ignores her and her English is too poor to keep trying for another sale.

Lottie is staring at him. He can't decipher if it's a look of pleasure or unease. "You shouldn't have done that."

"The necklace is nice and I gave the poor woman some money. Now put it on."

She stays still for a moment but gives in and sits up to accept the necklace. It's simple. A chain with a small blue pendant on the bottom. It matches her eyes. She mutters a thank you, if for the gesture alone. After a few careful tries, she clasps the necklace. "I'll probably get some sort of infection from it."

He chuckles. "Probably."

They sit in silence with one another. They are stuck in the middle of a staring contest where fireworks spark between them. Alex breaks it and looks down at his empty plate, a flush of shyness overcoming him. "Can I ask you something?"

"Are you interviewing me now?" She giggles, pleased with her joke.

"Hey! I let you get all your questions in. It's my turn," he insists.

She relaxes back in her chair and crosses her legs. "Okay."

"What do you think would have happened if you got on the train with me? Or if you showed up to the concert?"

It draws a rough breath out of her. "We wouldn't have worked out."

His heart stills. It's not the answer he expected. All that wishful thinking that had swirled in his mind for the last 11 years. The feeling that if he had been able to convince her or was able to find her, they'd be living happily ever after. "Really?

She shakes her head. "Are you kidding? I was a mess. I had no idea of a future for myself. I would have been in Paris or Boston and you would have been on the road all the time. I would've definitely been one of those girls who thought you were cheating on her the whole time. I probably would have convinced myself of it and not believed you when you told me the truth. I was born the product of an affair. It is my blueprint to assume every guy I'm with is getting it somewhere else."

Alex feels hungover with guilt at the thought that what he is doing right now might as well be an affair, if only emotionally. He sighs, "Yeah, I mean, I was a mess for like...forever." They both laugh. "Every time I feel like I've gotten my shit together. Something comes along to pull the rug out from under me."

"What's it this time?" She's staring at him, doe-eyed and smiling.

He can't think of an excuse. So, he's honest. "You."

She's not offended by it. She smiles, though she does try and suppress it. "We should probably go to the venue. Right?"

Alex nods like hiding himself from the Parisian streets will get him out of this mess. Lottie insists on paying the bill, mainly because she isn't paying the bill, her work is. They could take a car over to the venue but Alex is overly enthusiastic about riding the metro over. "I have to redeem my shame. You know, in London we just have the button, so I can't be blamed for not knowing how to open the train door."

Lottie rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say."

At the venue, Alex gives Lottie a quick introduction to his bandmates. He says nothing more than, "This is Lottie, the journalist," but they all respond with knowing looks. Alex gives her a tour, mostly through her insistence that it would be cool for the article if she could set the scene for the reader. Alex says, "You're a painter with your words." She rolls her eyes and he gives her the tour.

"And a soundcheck, what's that like?" She asks before, you guessed it, soundcheck.

Alex shrugs. He tends to be short with answers for most interviews, but with Lottie it's different. Not once has it felt like he is being interviewed. He's not sure if that's a good or bad thing. "It's...good. You know, making sure everything works. Good, fun."

She's cheery with her questions like the kid who constantly raises their hand in class but she's endearingly earnest and the way she scribbles notes in her little notepad makes it feel so much more authentic than when someone sits a tape recorder in on their conversation.

She watches soundcheck in the same way. She'll write a little note at the end of each song but then she'll rest in her chair and observe the full play out.

Backstage, Alex separates himself and Lottie from the rest of the group, which is notable. He wishes they were walking around still, escaping all their responsibilities just like they were doing in Brussels. He supposes that's growing up.

Lottie says, "It's good. Last time I was a bumbling clueless girl with no idea of her future. Now, I'm a bumbling clueless woman with no idea of her future."

"Oh, come on, you have a great job. You're interviewing me and that might be one of the hardest tasks ever and you're doing amazing," Alex reassures.

She nods. "I know. I love my job but that's all I have. It's crazy when we were in Brussels, all I wanted was to figure out what I wanted to be. I finally did that and I feel just as lost."

"In what way?"

She thinks for a moment, deciding how she wants to form her words. "I wish I was like my old self more. You know, I used to be so hopeful, so romantic about the world. About myself. About the future. Now, I just think I'm going to be alone forever." She is quick to correct herself. "And—and I don't mean I have nobody. I have a great set of friends. I love my life but when I look toward the future, I see nothing. For so long, I didn't know what I wanted but there were always possibilities. Now, I don't know."

"I feel the same way," Alex confesses.

Lottie lifts her head in surprise. "Really?"

He nods. "It's what used to be so exciting about my life. Being in a new city every day and being able to set your own path. I still like most of that stuff but I feel behind everyone else in a way. You know, like how all the guys have kids and I don't think I'm ready for kids but should I be ready for kids? Do I want that? To be married? To have a family?"

"I don't think you're ever ready for that kind of thing. You are just ready for the feeling. You'll never be prepared enough for children that's what everyone says but I had a thought a while ago when, well, I had this pregnancy scare, which really was terrifying because the guy I was with is not a guy you want to have children with. My first thought for so long would have been 'I don't want children. I will not be birthing anything in my lifetime.' But when I had this scare, I think I liked the idea. Then, the test was negative and I breathed a huge sigh of relief." Alex chuckles at her dramatics as she talks with her hands. "But for those couple of minutes, I thought that being a mother wouldn't be so bad."

Alex smiles at her. "You'd be a great mother."

She looks up at him, all hopeful and disbelieving. "Do you really think so?"

Alex nods. "A few anti-depressants and you'll be fine."

Lottie rolls her eyes and raises her hands and starts moving her fingers. "Say stop."

"Stop."

She stops, extending her middle fingers only, flipping him off.

"That's good. Can I steal that?"

Lottie shrugs. "I don't have copyright on it."

A stagehand comes over and they realize how much time has escaped from them. Alex shuffles fixing his jacket as he stands, going into rockstar mode. "How'd I look?" He imitates a deep voice, gruffly and surly.

She giggles. "Like an asshole."

"You're so kind to me, Lottie."

"Maybe lose the jacket," she advises. Total professional opinion and not because he has three buttons loose on that white button-up that make her crave his skin. She's going too far, she knows, but she's a single woman. It's fine for her to observe.

Alex shakes his head and tightens his hands around the lapels. "I'm going to keep it on just to spite you." (He takes it off 4 songs in).

She walks him up the stairs to the stage but then says teasingly, "I'm going to watch from my assigned seat if that's alright with you."

He chuckles. "I'll look for you in the crowd."

She turns to leave and it's almost like she's fading from him all over again. Sure, they could get drinks after this and there's that rough plan for the Louvre tomorrow, but the image of her back to him walking away strikes something in him. "Hey, Lottie!" He calls out.

Alex catches her before she walks down the stairs. She turns around, curious eyes, curious smile. He's 21 and he's on a train to Brussels. He's 32 and he's in a cafe in Paris. No more what could have been. He knows.

"I think it would have worked out."

Lottie looks at him from across the wing. He toys with his fingers, hopeful eyes, hopeful smile. She's 21 and she's on a train platform in Brussels. She's 32 and she's backstage at a concert in Paris. No more doubts. She knows.

"I think so too."

a/n: part 3? i don't know. maybe...

#alex turner #alex turner fic #alex turner fluff #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x oc #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #junedenim #alex turner smut

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companionjones · 1 year ago

Text

His Home

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Fandom: Spider-Man: Across the Spiderverse

Summary: Miguel has some morning sex with you before he must go back home.

Warnings: SMUT, Miguel is cheating, but not on you, Cursing

*******

Miguel doesn’t spend so much time at home anymore. He’s lying to himself calling it that at this point. No, his home now is whatever room you are in.

He blinks his eyes open to see your back bathed in the morning light. He reaches a hand out to touch you, to shuffle himself closer under the blankets.

You wake with a small sound. “You should leave, Miguel,” you remind him.

Of course, you’re right.

He’s spent the whole weekend with you. It’s Monday morning now, and he should really be getting back to his other life--his ‘real’ life.

“Inaminite,” he says as he pulls you close and buries his face in your neck.

You giggle at the contact, and tangle fingers in his hair to keep him there. You even expose your neck more to him, and press your backside against his groin, resulting in Miguel growing hard. You give a little moan.

Miguel separates his face from you to take a moment to look at you.

You turn towards him to give him full view of you.

Miguel feels his eyelids grow heavy as he leans down to kiss you. He turns you so you are laying on your back with him on top of you. He takes a break from your lips to travel down your neck, your chest, then your stomach, finally reaching his destination at your cunt.

You whisper his name.

He loves when you say his name like that, with just a bit of an accent. He moans against you.

You gasp.

Miguel latches onto you like you’re his only source of oxygen while he’s deep under the ocean and you whimper. He caresses your leg as his tongue plunges inside of you and you shout out a moan. Miguel continues to jackhammer his tongue in and out of you and you whine at each movement. Eventually, he adds his other hand in on the action, and you scream.

You’re cumming against him before you even say anything, and Miguel doubts that you’re fully mentally present when he crawls up to meet you again. “You ready for me, cariño?”

Vaguely, you nodded.

Miguel kisses you once, twice.

Heatedly, you whisper, “-iguel,” as he parts from you. You give a long moan as he fills you completely.

Miguel makes love to you like yo’re the most precious thing in the world. Your breath mixes with his as he pulls himself in and out of you.

That’s how it starts out, anyway. What it turns into is skin slapping against skin and you holding onto Miguel for dear life as his animalistic grunts fill the room.

He’s filling you and you’re cumming around him as you cry out and Miguel growls.

Your chests are heaving against each other as Miguel pulls out. He leaves you for only a few moments as he fetches a damp cloth from the bathroom. Miguel gently cleans the two of you. When he’s finished, he’s kneeling on the floor on the side of the bed, just staring at the beauty of you.

He thinks to himself, for a moment, about how he wishes his life could be. He wishes he could come home to you everyday. He wishes he didn’t have to divide his time between you and another woman.

There is only one thing keeping Miguel from making his wishes a reality. That was the child he had with this other woman. That little girl is the only thing that rivals his love for you.

He would never change a thing about that little girl, but sometimes he wishes she came out of you instead of some other woman.

“Miguel.” Your voice brought him out of his thoughts.

“Mi amor?”

You combed some hair out of his face with your fingers. “You have to go.”

“I know, mi corazón,” he conceded, “Te amo.” Miguel kisses the side of your head and stands.

He is dressed and out the door within five minutes. Now, he must go back home.

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, I have more fics over on my page. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader smut #spider-man 2099 #spider-man 2099 x reader #spider-man 2099 smut #spider-man 2099 x reader smut #spider-man #spider-man: across the spider-verse #oscar isaac #companion jones #his home #tw cheating #cheating

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subby-succubus · 2 months ago

Note

Imagine you're sitting in my lap and I'm giving you pills from an unlabeled bottle. Little capsules, all different colors, almost like candy. You keep taking them like a good little whore, sucking my fingers each time. You have no idea what they are, and you don't care. You'd do anything you were told to do AND you'd probably take a pill you found on the ground. There was no way this could ever be your limit.

Your head is spinning a little already. The lights are brighter than they should be. You can mostly think clearly. Well, you THINK you're thinking clearly. Oh, it's time for the next pill! How many is that? Has to be more than five, couldn't be more than, um... Twenty? You think maybe they're starting to really kick in now. Every sense is pulsing, growing and receding in intensity. You try to say something, but it slips out of your mouth and turns into a few happy syllables. "I know, Angel. Here, one more."

I ask what you want to do. You giggle and turn and slip to the floor. You reach for my belt and fumble at the buckle. I smile at you as I undo it and strip off my pants. "Of course we can."

Your mouth isn't so much opened for me as it is hanging limp, but it's warm and wet all the same. I take hold of your hair and push inside your throat. I'm having to do all the work, but you seem happy enough. You're not blacking out just yet, but it can't be far away. You moan and fumble at your own tits and pretend to help me fuck you, but you're getting limper with every passing second.

I figure I'm ready to move on. You figure you're ready to go to sleep. We can both have what we want, really. I strip off what little you're wearing, and the last thing you feel as you drift away is the head of my cock starting to enter your...

Imagine you're waking up, right where you went to sleep. How long has it been? You're still naked. I'm still there. I have one hand on your cheek and the other jerking my cock, slowly. When I see your eyes flutter open, I speed up. You try to say something. Try.

I take my hand off my cock to grab the pill bottle. I shake three of them into your hand. "Go ahead."

You take them, of course. Then I throw back the rest of the bottle into my mouth and swallow them all.

You're shocked. I'm laughing. My hand is back on my cock, making myself cum on your face. "It was a joke, silly slut. They're all placebos!" I smear my load across your face, let you down gently to a lying position. I wipe my cock on your clothes, throw them on top of you, and walk away.

Now imagine that before starting our little game tonight, I took the placebo bottle and put two dozen real pills on top of it. You swallowed them all. What were they? You don't know. I've already forgotten. Who gives a shit anyway. What matters is I drugged you into unconsciousness, did God knows what with your body, and then convinced you that you were sober the whole time. Isn't that hilarious?

- Sinister

Wow. Wow wow wow. Yes please.

I'd just keep taking anything you gave me. I'd want to be a good girl for you after all. Each pill making me more and more needy. Each time I think less and less about the consequences by replacing those thoughts with how badly I want to be obedient. I mean, I can't say no. How could I? I want so badly to please you. Wanting to pleasure you with my mouth. Wanting more, but feeling too sleepy. I fall asleep for you to do whatever you want to my little, weak body.

I wake up feeling hot and used. Not sure what happened to me. Not sure what is currently happening. Not fully understanding how I could be like that with placebos. But if you say so, it must be true. After all, you wouldn't lie to me. It's my fault for being such a dumb slut. It's my fault for being so easy.

It would just make our game so much harder for me to win. Just like it should be.

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bizarrelittlemew · 9 months ago

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okay. i just watched the movie Snakeskin (2001). i bought a physical dvd in the year of our lord 2024 because Taika has 6.5 minutes of screentime in it. and now i'm sitting here trying to process wtf i just watched asjdhfdjsk so here are the highlights (thank you Meow @blakbonnet for going through this experience with me)

first of all, enjoy these screenshots from the trailer (i'm still not sure if they're mandatory disclaimers?):

...but say yes to snake imagery, because there will be a lot of it

we are definitely in 2001. this is extremely apparent throughout the whole movie. but especially from this girl's hair

Taika's character (Nelson) and his girlfriend (Daisy, pictured above) drive around in a repurposed ice cream truck and sell drugs btw. it's called Mr. Trippy.

main character Alice (Melanie Lynskey) is a huge fan of ✨America✨. her best friend is in love with her but she only wants Bad Boys. also said friend's name is Johnny but it's actually Craig

ALSO Craig-slash-Johnny is played by Dean O'Gorman (Fili)??!?!?!?

their hobby is to drive around picking up hitchhikers but only those who look not boring

enter The American. this guy is the most American you have ever seen. americans wish they could be as American as this guy. no one else has ever Americaned harder.

as you can see, i'm not lying. he even says "howdy ma'am" so we're convinced he is a real American

three skinheads are after The American because he stole their drugs (i think). he also stole drugs from Nelson and Daisy, who now owe money and/or drugs to their boss, who also has beef with The American for reasons i'm still not totally sure of

The American not only steals drugs and money, he also has a real gun(!!!) and fucks pretty much everyone?

"darlin'. u gotta earn the raaaiht. ter wear snakeskins 😎"

oh my god the sunglasses emoji just reminded me of the fucking sunglasses oh no i'm not sure i can do this akjsdhjsk this will make sense later i promise

do not learn gun safety from this movie

at one point, there is a whole lotta sheep. we are, after all, in Aotearoa New Zealand. and ok this had the cutest moment of Taika yelling "SHEEPY" out of a car

there's a scene where uhm. uhhh no not gonna describe this i think but. yeah fair warning this movie has some period-typical homophobia let's just say 💀 this is the live reaction:

MOVING ON

if you enjoy the 2000s aesthetic of "look how edgy we are doing drugs" *colorful-haired people on couches in dark club* *echo-y laugh* *hallucinations* *it's mushrooms look it's mushrooms we're doing psychedelics* then this is the movie for you my friend

oh and Alice also did acid at some point while being very "i've totally done drugs before" about it (((doubt)))

GIRL GET UP FROM THAT DIRTY BATHROOM FLOOR

[New Zealand accent] "wow. six and acid." yes she is living all her american dreams as you can see

by nighttime, all three cars (main characters, mr. trippy, and the nazimobile) and the motorcycle (mr. drug boss) have made it pretty far up the mountain, it seems. cute moment between mr. drug boss and nelson. look how :D he is!

but you know a movie with Taika in it needs to have a father figure talk down to him so he gets very 🥺 right after this

lots of shit goes down (i won't spoil too much if by any chance you still want to watch this) and it turns out that the older skinhead guy is the best actor in the movie??

and NOW things get weird

Craig and The American have so much beef by now that they decide to solve it by russian roulette

Alice's reaction to this is something like "ugh, you guys are crazy, i can't watch this 🙄"

like she just walks away?? GIRL THEY'RE AIMING A REAL GUN AT EACH OTHER

she keeps COMPLETELY UNDERREACTING TO WHAT IS HAPPENING like (spoilers from now on) CRAIG IS SHOT AND KILLED and she doesn't even run over and she doesn't even say anything to The American?? WHO SHOT HIM???? he's just standing there??

and then. AND THEN.

ok this is where i fully lost it for several minutes and missed half the following scene. i was fucking HOWLING like actually crying with laughter, i couldn't see or breathe and my partner got worried ksjdhfdjsk ok so here's what happens

they're in the car. craig is obviously very dead. alice is kinda in denial i guess. The American tells her to shut his eyes and she's like why? BECAUSE HE DEAD GIRL!! but she doesn't, she doesn't shut his eyes, no, this is what she does instead

I COULD BARELY MAKE THIS GIF BECAUSE I KEPT LAUGHING TO THE POINT OF TEARS

NOT THE SUNGLASSES ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME. THE UNTAPPED MEME POTENTIAL HERE IS FUCKING RIDICULOUS

ANYWAY shortly after this we hear one of the funniest lines in the movie (and it's not even about the shooting and killing of Craig):

"fuck, Seth! this isn't fucking America, you can't just go around shooting everybody!"

oh yeah The American does have a name and it's Seth

i'll just post a few chat screenshots for the next part because i can't really describe it, i promise we're almost at the end

after some incredible visual effects™️, we end with Return of the Sunglasses (and me scaring my cats away because i was sobbing again)

i haven't even really talked about Taika's scenes much (the reason i watched this in the first place) because the ending took me OUT and honestly he is maybe the most normal person in this whole movie. one review (from the trailer) wrote this:

and yeah that may honestly be the best way to describe it. 10/10 movie watching experience, highly recommend. thank you for coming to my snek talk

#snakeskin (2001)#ida.stuff #🐭📓#anyway if you still wanna watch this movie hit me up lmao #i recommend drinking #but seriously i will go to bed now it's past midnight but i had to get this out #taika waititi

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taliskermortem · 1 year ago

Text

so the top/mew sex scene? fascinating. they made so many choices regarding it and i'm honestly intrigued.

((this got way too long so i'm putting it under the cut))

the first thing i noticed was how their scene had almost no noise. it was dead quiet. and the lighting felt almost clinical.

now in comparison to some of the other sex scenes we've seen so far it was... pretty tame. which is fine. but we basically didn't see any of the 'sex'. we got the kissing. and we got the afterglow cuddles. and on top of that... there was no passion.

but let's start from the beginning.

'does this mean i passed your test?' a relationship shouldn't a test. and i think it says a lot about top that that is how he views it. its a challenge. a competition. maybe even a distraction. this has been his goal: get mew to have sex with him. and he's succeeded. but what happens now?

now in comparison to the first time, in episode 1 when they make out in mew's kitchen there are some noticable differences. firstly, their kiss is much more intense. now you can write this off as this kiss being sweet and romantic but... there is so much space between their bodies when they kiss. the only points of contact are their lips and top's hand on the back of mew's head.

then they undress themselves. not each other. top just strips and mew follows suit. the first time, top at least takes mew's shirt off for him. this time he barely touches mew. there's no romantically revealing each other. which is interesting because the first thing top says is: can you see me? can you see what top has revealed to mew. not what mew revealed himself. and mew is all of course i can because he really seems to think he does. but anyway. they're still not even touching.

and then

and THEN

i love you mew

like my dude where did that come from what a line you really just went in for the final kill didn't you. he's serving himself up to you already and you just had to make sure there was nothing left.

and then they are in their boxers kissing. and there is still so much SPACE.

and then top puts mew down on the sofa. now i'm not being funny but there is literally a perfectly functioning massive bed RIGHT THERE. but whatever. who wants comfort? who wants space? who doesnt want to accidentally fall onto the floor? i digress.

they're touching now. finally. but mew is just kind of lying there whilst top does the touching. which, sure, shy virgin. i'll let it slide. hands still above the waist. boxers still on-

afterglow cuddles.

...

that's literally it.

bearing in mind we have seen boston bouncing on this guy's dick.

bearing in mind this is pratically the premise of the show. this is the set up from the very first episode. this is what mew and top have been building up to ever since they met.

and that's it.

anticlimatic.

which... huh, maybe that's the whole point.

this was supposed to be anticlimatic for us because it was for them. because they had both been building up and building up to this and maybe it didn't quite live up to the ideals they both had in their heads.

or maybe its anticlimatic because there's no real feeling. all the other pairings have given us emotions. even if it's one sided pining. even if there's no romantic feels yet, you can feel the potential. you can feel the desire. mew and top's scene was the least passionate of any of the sex scenes. and you could write it off as being sweet and romantic rather than horny. but i don't buy that. i don't feel that.

maybe this is how it always is for top. maybe this was exactly what mew was expecting because he seemed pretty content afterwards, with his i love you and that saccharine smile of his. maybe he doesn't know any better. maybe neither of them do.

but when juxtaposed with the sand and ray scene that follows straight afterwards... those two just have to look at each other and you know they want each other. they kiss and they're both grabbing for each other. sand moves his whole body to be closer. and they're both still fully dressed but i'll be damned if there isn't more feeling packed into that one kiss than into the whole of top and mew's scene.

i just find it interesting that something that was so pivotal to the story. to the characters. was so utterly bland.

and i think it's a very important message to be honest - you can't force romance. you can play by the whole book, follow all the right steps, say all the right lines... but you can't put feelings in where there are none. you can't make passion and love from a prewritten recipe. life is messy. and love is messy. and sex is messy. and trying to keep it neat and ordered and clean, like mew does, just doesn't work.

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laurentidal · 3 months ago

Text

A Pattern of Behavior

Sequel to Mama Bear.

Mrs. Benson drifted into the office in a lazy manner nearly two hours after the principal called her. She seemed unconcerned and unbothered by being summoned to the school for the fifth time this year. In fact, she was smiling slightly.

"Tammy, Tammy, Tammy…" she muttered, staring at the topless principal. Tammy still had one hand in her panties, and her mouth was sagging open like she was just too exhausted to close it. She had ordered her secretary to alert her when Mrs. Benson arrived so that she could continue to masturbate in peace. Unfortunately, her secretary was in a similar state on the other side of the door.

Mrs. Benson closed the door to the office softly and stepped closer. The principal was somewhat aware of her presence, but was still preoccupied with her work.

"It seems my son really did a number on you, Tammy. Look at you. Tits out. Fingers working that pussy. And right here in front of a student's mother. You must be a real whore."

"Whore…" Tammy groaned subconsciously.

Mrs. Benson pulled off her own top and sat down in the chair opposite the principal. She heard the secretary cum loudly outside.

"You called me here to talk about a 'troubling pattern of behavior.' Were you referring to your inability in control yourself? You must've been. Surely you were calling me for help with your behavioral compulsions. I mean just fucking look at yourself. Disgraceful."

Tammy moaned and groped at her chest.

"Can't even cum, can you?"

"No," she whimpered. "Need…"

"Shut up! Last time I was in this office for some ill-conceived charge against my son I told you there would be consequences if you maligned him again. I told him that if he ever set foot in this office again, he had my express permission to use his abilities to punish you. I keep my promises, Ms. Johns. You're proof of that. Look at my tits, you dumb slut."

Immediately, Tammy's eyes - half-lidded and bleary - locked on Mrs. Benson's chest.

"These are the tits that control your mind. You remember?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Cum suck on them and maybe I'll give you your release."

Tammy lunged for Mrs. Benson so eagerly that she fell to the floor. The mother laughed harshly as Tammy crawled awkwardly around the desk and climbed up into her lap to suckle on her perfect nipples. Mrs. Benson hummed happily as Tammy drank the milk that flowed into her mouth. They say in silence for some time, enjoying the left nipple then the right, until Paul's mother ran her fingers through Tammy's hair and gently eased her down to the floor.

She unzipped her pants and Tammy leaned in, understanding what was expected of her. Mrs. Benson's hips bucked into Tammy's talented tongue urging her deeper. Deeper into her cunt. Deeper into her trance. Until finally Mrs. Benson covered the principal's face in her juices.

"You did very well for a brainless whore. You may cum, Tammy."

Tammy's entire body erupted with hours of pent up pleasure. She tried to scream, but her voice gave out. She knelt there, mouth open fully, silently shrieking - every muscle tense, every artery on fire - until she collapsed to the floor in a sweaty heap.

Mrs. Benson stood and put her clothes back on. She looked down at the woman, lying in a puddle of her own submission.

"My son is not to be bothered again."

All Tammy could do was stare up at the ceiling and grunt incoherently.

"I'll take that as a 'Yes, Mistress.' You'll get control of your body again in a few minutes. When you do, put your clothes back on, for God's sake. This is a school."

Tammy opened walked out of the office, locking it behind her. She blew a kiss at the secretary who blushed furiously. She was proud of Paul for standing up for himself. She'd have to get him a little treat for getting so tough.

More to come.

Thanks for reading! If you are a fan of my work, consider buying me a coffee. Any contribution is insanely appreciated. 💖

#tidal story #fem dom #fem sub #teaching moment #brainwashing #hypno fantasy #hypno toy #hypnok1nk #hypnosis #hypnosub #hypnotic #mind conditioning

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belit0 · 1 year ago

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Omg so i have been having brainrot about thigh-riding with Indra😫 But i have a really good request, hear me out…So like reader’s personality is very friendly and Indra thinks she’s being flirty with other people and he gets possessive/jealous ((like to her she isn’t being flirtatious bc shes just a good sociable person)) He wants to punish reader by making her ride his thigh. Then until he hears her beg enough, he fucks her hard😫

Thank you girly🩷💋

the fact that I got so worked up writing this... Indra is something else

"Did I tell you to stop?" Indra doesn't even look at her, concentrating on finishing the page of the manuscript he is working on. His hand moves smoothly and swiftly, no tremor in the pace of his penmanship, ignoring the physical situation happening on his thigh.

(Y/N), sitting on one of his legs and facing him, moans as her legs tremble. Her two hands squeeze his shoulders tightly, desperately searching for some steady grip and support, something to hold her up as her knees give out. "Please..."

She knows it is in vain to beg, that when something gets into her husband's head there is no way to convince him otherwise, and her torture was sealed today when Indra watched her interact with the man who is in charge of cooking for them. The Otsutsuki never understood (Y/N)'s personality, sometimes she even wonders why he chose her in the first place, but she knows he enjoys trying to bend and break her under his desires.

"Go on." His unoccupied hand holds one of her buttocks, and he gives her hips a circular rhythm to guide the movements she should follow. He doesn't look at her at any point, but the smirk of dark satisfaction that paints the corners of his lips is indicator enough that he's loving it.

(Y/N)'s legs tremble as soon as she presses her toes to the floor, trying to find the right spot to evoke what pleasure will save her at this moment. She moans in Indra's ear as she leans on his shoulder, and doesn't understand how her movements don't affect his writing. "Such a good girl, keep going."

She can't deny him anything when he's being nice to her, when he treats her well, and she's learned that pretending with Indra is never a good option. Those eyes of his are too sharp to ignore lies, having been caught more than once with petty deceptions to save her ass on different occasions, making no sense to risk lying with an orgasm.

She'll have to finish for real.

(Y/N) rubs hard against her man's clothed thigh, underwear in between to generate more friction, looking for the proper angle to fully feel that grinding. As her legs are about to give out again, her man abandons the pen he was working on his manuscript with, and two large hands close over her buttocks, giving her that thrusting power that was missing before.

"You are mine, (Y/N)." He whispers against her lips as he absorbs her every moan, silencing her in the most wonderful way and accompanying her pleasure even without him experiencing it firsthand. His presence is intoxicating, and the way he holds her, how he aids and abets her in finding that explosion of sensations, is all she needs to put momentum into her thrusts, clit rubbing against the top of his leg.

"Just like that, don't stop." He prompts and guides her, a spank impacting against her ass as the air catches in her lungs, holding it in to reach the peak she's so desperately chasing. She wouldn't be able to finish if it weren't for her man's hands joining her hips, who finishes her off as the electricity of her orgasm courses through her body.

(Y/N) trembles on top of him as her pussy fills with pleasure, blurry-eyed for at least a second and slowly passing the remnants of that explosion.

There is never much transition when it comes to being under Indra's sexual attention, and in a second, she is bent over her husband's desk as he pulls her wet underwear down to her knees, moving her clothes out of the way and entering her without any warning. A hand covers her mouth and muffles the scream she gives away to the air as she feels him deep inside her, buried inside her channel and with no intention of leaving.

"Why the fuck are you so tight...shit." Indra slams against her waist again and again at a pace that wouldn't be appropriate without finishing beforehand, always hard and brutal, unable not to put all his momentum into fucking.

The impact of skin against skin fills the room as she lies with her chest on the wood, gripping the edge of the desk as if to hold onto something and screaming over a hand that won't let her express herself freely, muffling her moans. "Keep quiet, slut." Indra whispers in her ear as he hovers over her to kiss her shoulder, settling a hand on the side of her head for support and resuming a violent pace.

"You're fucking mine, you hear?" He mumbles as he comes all the way out to the tip of his cock and then goes all the way in, swearing almost touching her cervix and making her see stars in more ways than one. The stimulation of having finished earlier along with the one mixed with being fucked so roughly is too much to bear, and if she wasn't lying on the desk her legs would have already surrendered to the floor.

The ink Indra used to write with spills onto the paper he was taking care of, but nothing seems to matter less to him as he shifts position, getting out of her and flipping her over so that she lies on her back. He lifts both her legs as he pulls her ass up to the edge of the desk, and has her hold herself up from under her knees to expose her used pussy.

"You love my fucking cock, don't you?" he asks over her mouth as he penetrates her both ways, dick piercing her lower lips and tongue transgressing those above. He's everywhere at once, and (Y/N) can't conjure up words, incoherent sounds and the occasional broken "please". She has no idea what she's asking for, as her body can't cope with more pleasure, but she needs something.

Indra spits into her mouth as he holds the edges of the desk above her head, hovering over her figure and thrusting into her just as hard from the start. This man's stamina is nothing to test, and it's only boredom that will make him lose interest in destroying her. Of course, that never happens.

He slows the pace for a few seconds to grab her by the jaw, slap her gently as if to get her attention again, get her to stare at him. "Ask for it, (Y/N)." And she knows exactly what he wants, taking advantage of the drop in rhythm to make room for the words she couldn't articulate before.

"Fill me... fill me with your cum, please!"

The feeling of inexplicable power that he gets after hearing her asking for him, requesting to be flooded with his essence and to be invaded in such an intimate sense is the most exhilarating sensation in the world, and although he never admits it, it's all he needs from her.

"Such a good fucking girl..." That's all Indra needs to find the north of his arousal, and while it takes him a few more thrusts, he eventually enters her like a train with no brakes and leaves it all inside her, seed deposited deep inside her cunt and overflowing a few minutes later.

The Otsutsuki comes out of her but doesn't let her get up, and when he sees that his finish is leaking out of (Y/N)'s pussy, he uses two fingers to scoop it up and put it back in, making sure it all stays inside her.

#indra otsutsuki x reader #otsutsuki indra x reader #indra x reader #otsutsuki indra #indra otsutsuki #indra #naruto #naruto imagines #naruto shippuden #uchiha clan #naruto x reader

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aleck-le-mec · 7 months ago

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It's wild to me how some able-bodied people only think of disabled culture as a concept and they haven't ever actually experienced it. To me the biggest tell that somebody has never experienced disabled culture is their lack of knowledge about something I call Societal Manufactured Disability Theory.

This theory posits that an aspect of disability is manufactured by societal norms, stigmas and labeling.

People with disabilities like myself will tell you that people do treat you differently based solely upon the fact that you are disabled. When my hand writing is too messy to read do to Dysgraphia people assume I'm not trying hard enough to be neat, and if I'm lazy enough to slack with hand writing I must always be lazy. When I tell people I have Dyslexia they think I'm less intelligent, unable to read or incapable of understanding the written word. When I tell people I have a connective tissue disorder which is an invisible disability they think I'm a liar, scheming to take resources away from "real disabled people".

The societal norm here in America is to push forward, laziness is not an option we see it repeatedly in the rhetoric surrounding young people. News sources constantly talking about how "no one wants to work these days" or "young people are taking everything for granted".

There is a huge stigma around having Dyslexia that most people don't notice. In American society where we have a 79% literacy rate it is expected that you can read, so when you can't or you have trouble people think you have a lower IQ. Dyslexia can be genetic so I'm actually a fourth generation Dyslexic from my dad's side with all of them men being the ones to pass it down. My dad has always said that my great grandfather had no support for his Dyslexia, nobody cared and in fact the term Dyslexia was only coined in 1887. When my dad went to school they attempted to alleviate some of the symptoms of Dyslexia by making him watch his hands as he crawled on the floor, believing that the root of the problem was in a lack of eye coordination. To this day I and many other Dyslexics will avoid talking about our diagnosis because of the stigma behind it. I have had many experiences in my life where as soon as people learn that I am Dyslexic they assume that I can't spell anything or that they need to read everything to me. That's what stigma does, it makes people hide away just so they can live in peace and be respected.

It is extremely common for people with invisible disabilities to be labeled as liars, this is mostly due to a lack of education and representation. The general public's idea of disability is limited, but the truth is that disability is one of the most dynamic aspects of human beings. Invisible and dynamic disabilities make up the majority of disabilities; in fact, 1 out of every 3 Americans is in fact disabled. When people see me, a young, healthy-looking man, they never think I'm disabled. If I tell them I am, they may think I am lying. People generally do not like liars, and having such a label attached to your name can be detrimental to your social integration.

You can see that none of those setbacks I mentioned are symptoms of my disabilities. The perceived deviance, stigma, and labeling are not things you'll find on a medical report. However, they do harm me socially and potentially medically when it comes to stigma; these things disable me. Thus, part of my struggle as a disabled person is manufactured by society itself, in the norms we hold and the way we treat others.

I have come to that conclusion repeatedly, as have almost every other disabled person. It's a conclusion that is often reached in the community as a whole. However, it is in able-bodied culture where these stigmas, labels, and perceived attacks originate. So, if someone is completely averse to accepting the Societal Manufactured Disability Theory, it suggests that they have probably never fully been a part of any aspect of disability culture.

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theplaceicommitmysins · 7 months ago

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18+ He’s The Next One: 5 - F!Reader X L Lawliet

No gendered language is used (Probably). The reader is described as wearing a dress.

Wordcount: 3.8k

Contains: Second person POV, NSFT, BDSM, Restraints, Blindfolds, Power Imbalance, Vibrators, Overstimulation, Aftercare, The reader is a serial killer, Good Boy, Kink Not Negotiated.

L has been keeping secrets from you and he doesn’t even have the manners to hide it.

The moment you turn the door handle to the current hotel room the task force is calling headquarters you can hear him say, “Cut the audio and visuals.” And by the time you’re inside the monitors are off and the task force is avoiding eye contact.

So it’s something bad.

Matsuda in particular looks sick to his stomach and the one time you manage to catch his eye he looks close to tears and fully turns around to face away from you.

So it’s something bad involving a woman.

They haven’t mentioned Misa in the past three days.

You don’t doubt L would keep you out of the investigation if he felt the need to do something you wouldn’t approve of, and you have even less doubt that asking him directly would prove fruitless. So rather than confront L, you stalk Watari.

Stalk may be a strong word for it actually. You spent an hour before sunrise waiting outside the hotel for the man to emerge and when he did you told him, “I’m coming with you.” And one forty-five minute drive later you were entering a high security facility, passing rows and rows of inmates and noting how the cells are less and less populated the further in you go.

So they’ve caught the second Kira, Misa, and for some reason L doesn’t want you to know that. It’s several more minutes of walking, passing through high security doors and clearance checks before Watari gestures for you to enter a cell at the very end of the hall and-

What the sweet french fried fuck.

Misa Amane is strapped to some kind of vertical gurney, arms restrained not only by leather straps that are more reminiscent of a bondage harness than any sort of medical restraint, but by some kind of straight jacket dress that’s been ripped off barely a third of the way down her thighs. There’s a metal blindfold holding her head up and a wave of nausea rolls through you at the sight of her little idol brand pigtails poking out from the top of it.

Across from her is a camera on a tripod.

You kick it over, the clatter loud in the overly large empty room with its metal walls and she flinches.

“Kill me.” Misa’s voice is small at first, then desperate as she begs, “I can’t take it anymore, please just kill me!”

“Oh someone’s gonna die for this honey, but it sure as shit isn’t you.”

It’s been a while since you’ve felt this exact feeling. This wave of heat that rushes from your ears down into your chest, only to be washed away by the cold that always follows. Your hands go from shaking with rage to perfectly still. A provoked animal becoming a predator lying in wait.

“What? Who are you? You aren’t the man from before.”

The sound of the camera being crushed underneath the sole of your shoe as you stomp out the lens is soothing to you, plastic and glass twisting and fracturing until it’s unrecognizable.

Watari watches on impassively.

You pick up the tripod and swing it like a bat, at the only other ‘furniture’ in the room, a metal cart with wheels covered in tools and ‘medication’ you have no doubt this girl was subjected too and the sound of the glass of the bottles shattering and the contents scattering on the floor soothes enough of your wrath that you can find your voice again.

“No, I’m not. You can call me M. I’m going to get you out of here.”

“M-“

“Shut up.” You bite out, cutting Watari off. “You know who I am, Watari.” You can’t find yourself giving a damn if that’s his real name or not, even in the second Kira’s presence, “You know what I do. So you know exactly the lengths I am willing to go to when I say that I am going to release Ms. Amane.”

Heading over to the discarded contents of the torture cart you pick up a scalpel before going to Misa, and starting to slice through one of the leather straps, being careful to insert the blade sideways, then twisting it to face you before drawing it down.

“He knows exactly who you are? Who are you? Why are you helping me?”

“I’m a murderer.” You wouldn’t state it so bluntly if you didn’t know she was one too. “I kill perverts and predators, anyone who preys on those they see as defenseless really.”

You cut through another of the straps.

“This is some kind of trick isn’t it, you’re just lying because you think I’ll tell you something if-“

“I don’t give a shit what you do or don’t say Amane.” Another strap is severed. “My being here is quite simple. Kira stole my kills,” Stole my denial, “So I am going to kill him.”

“No!” You have to quickly jerk the scalpel away as Misa begins to thrash her head, “I won’t let you kill Kira! Kira’s a hero! He killed the people who killed my parents!” With a sigh you work on the straps near her hips while she rants, “Over and over the court did nothing to punish the man who took my family from me! I was just a kid and he killed them in front of me! He-“ Tears escape from beneath her mask as she sobs and the sound tears into your heart, “ He killed them and then the courts- They just pushed the case back year after year and then-”

…Wait a goddamn minute.

“He was acquitted.”

“He- How did you-”

“Was the name of the man Satsujin Namae?”

“Yes! But how-“

“Motherfucker!” The rush of hot rage floods your system again and this time it doesn’t cool down as you spin and hurl the scalpel across the room, dissatisfied by the way it pings ineffectually off of the metal of the wall. A laugh tears it’s way from your chest at the sight and you double over, the sound horrific and strained even to your own ears as you all but cackle, “Of course he hasn’t just stolen my kills he’s stolen my fucking credit too!”

You laugh again, tears nearly falling from your eyes with the force of it, before you scream, “Fucker!”

“Your- Your kill?! How dare you! Kira is the one who saved me! Kira is the one who brought him to justice, he-“

“Had a heart attack because I injected him with enough liquid potassium chloride to kill a horse. An overdose causes heart spasms and in a toxicology report it just looks like the muscle tissue released potassium into the bloodstream since it does that when damaged anyway.”

You sure are cutting her off a lot. Oh well, you’ve never been accused of having good manners. Only murder.

“…You killed Namae?”

“I’ve killed a lot more people than just him.” Your words come out almost melancholic as you fetch the discarded scalpel, smiling slightly at the blunted tip, then return to slicing off her restraints.

It’s quiet for a while, Misa processing, you freeing her, and Watari likely reporting everything to L via text. You’ll either deal with or damn the consequences later.

“So, If I was the second Kira… Then Kira lied to me. About my parents, I mean.”

You shrug, unbuckling her ankles, “Maybe. He’s killed several thousand people at this point, he might’ve just assumed Namae was one of them.”

The last thing to come off is the blindfold and you smile at Misa warmly. This is the Kira that only needs a face to kill, but it’s also the Kira who devoted her life to the person who killed her parents. “I’m gonna get you out of here now, okay?”

She’s looking above your head at first, then her watery eyes drift back to your face and she lets out a sob, all but flinging herself into your arms on unsteady legs as you catch her, arms wrapped tight around her waist, “I’ve got you Amane, you’re safe now. It’s going to be alright.” One hand comes up to pet her greasy hair and you cringe slightly at the feeling but keep up the motion, “The people who hurt you will never hurt you like this again. Or anyone else for that matter.”

Another sob is choked out into your shoulder and you aren’t surprised when her legs give out from under her. Thankfully she’s tiny enough that you can lift her up, scooping her into your arms in a bridal carry as you turn to face Watari, all the while stroking a thumb soothingly across one of her shoulders, “Bring the car around so we can retrieve her things and bring them to my hotel.” You aren’t stupid enough to leave the girl unsurveilled but she doesn’t need to know that.

Watari gives a half bow of his head and the three of you leave the facility. Misa’s whispered gratitude never once stops, until she loses consciousness in your lap in the car, having sobbed herself past the point of exhaustion.

---

“Was Satsujin Namae one of yours? Truly?” L is standing behind you, looking over your shoulder at the security feed of the Yagami duo’s cells, watching Light sleep and Yagami-san stare off into space, while you lounge in L’s usual seat.

“He was. Didn’t premeditate it though, I just recognized him and happened to have one of my little backup plans in my bag.”

“… I wasn’t aware of that one.”

You let out a little huff of amusement, turning to peer over your shoulder with a cheeky smile, the look turning genuine at his expression of near befuddlement, “If you give me a list of the ones you know I can give you a number for how many you missed.”

You don’t expect what happens next, but L blushes. Very suddenly, nearly as much as the last time the two of you…

Interesting.

“Did you plan for me to find her?”

“I had accounted for the possibility.”

“But was it the plan?”

The blush reaches his ears.

---

“M!” Misa hugs your arm, “Let me paint your nails!”

She’s a sweetie, even if she does tend to cling.

---

“M!” Misa jumps up and down on her knees in your bed, “Let’s have a slumber party!”

You tense up then smile and nod, “Sure, Misa.” listening to L’s footsteps retreat behind you, your… Plans for the night are now canceled.

---

“M!” Misa’s arms wrap around your shoulders from behind, “You could totally be a model! Do you wanna come to a shoot with me?”

You choke on your toothpaste and drop your brush on the bathroom floor in your surprise, “Misa, I’m not even wearing pants!”

“You can borrow one of my skirts!”

---

L lets out an 'oof' in surprise as you unceremoniously climb into his lap, hand going to his throat as you press two fingers to his pulse point and count under your breath.

“Can I help you with something, M?”

“Just checking.”

“My pulse?”

“Yup.”

“I see.”

You let your hand wrap around to the back of his neck as you pull yourself in close for a cuddle.

“…And Miss Amane is alive?”

“Yup.”

“That’s good.”

You snort.

---

Socked feet skid on the floor as you slide your way across the room, arms windmilling as you stumble to a stop, latching onto the back of L’s chair. “Misa and Matsuda are on set today!”

“Yes, they are-“

You grab the back of L’s shirt like you’re scruffing a kitten and drag him out of the room’s lounge and into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind you with a slam.

“You’re eager, it seems.”

“Something like that.” There’s an edge to your smile that you can feel, that you know L notices when he slowly starts taking steps backwards. “I’ve been waiting weeks for this. What was it you said before?”

He bumps into the edge of the bed, falling backwards but catching himself with his forearms.

“Oh yeah!” You drag the words out as you make your way over to him, shoving your knee between his to push his legs open as you crawl over him. “You’ve been bad.”

L moves to sit up but you place a hand on his collar bone, fingers at the base of his neck, and push your full weight down, flattening him to the bed and drawing out a sharp gasp from between his parted lips.

“What am I, L?”

“A killer.” No hesitation. Rude, but fair.

“And who do I kill?” He tenses at this. As if you would try to kill him in a room adjacent to a bunch of cops. The door isn’t even locked for goodness’ sake.

“Perverts.”

“I kill perverts.” You parrot back, nodding your head and smiling at him encouragingly, free hand coming up to pat his head like a well behaved dog. “But we made a promise, L. I’m not going to kill anybody so long as your heart continues to beat.” As you say this your hand drags down the front of his chest, nails digging in and scratching through his shirt, pleased by the flutter you feel beneath the tips of your fingers, “But there are other ways to punish somebody.”

The man doesn’t even wear socks so you knew better than to expect a belt.

That’s why you’ve been wearing one with every single outfit since you freed Misa.

You brush your palm over the length of him through his jeans before tracing up your own body to your waist, unbuckling the belt you’ve cinched your dress with and slowly pulling the leather free, dragging it out just to hear the soft sound of it whispering against fabric. It pleases you to see the rise and fall of L’s chest as he takes sharper breaths than before. His eyes are locked on your belt and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips when it finally falls free.

“Wrists next to your head, palms up.” The backs of L’s fingers skim against the sides of your thighs before he moves his hands up as he’s told, obeying your order and you smile at him, leaning forwards until your body is pressed against him, allowing him the privilege of feeling every curve, “Good boy.”

His hips jerk up.

You bring the belt up, drawing it down behind his head, then up and over his wrists, looping back around until the buckle and the length of it can meet at the front, restraining his wrists and covering his eyes as you pull it taut. As the leather cinches around him and tightens you enjoy the feeling of him shuddering beneath you, feeling the hard press of his interested cock against your lower belly.

“I’ve always been someone who likes the idea of karmic balance. The thought that what goes around, comes around.”

With that you climb off of him, smirking as he grunts and rolls his hips up, chasing the feeling of you.

You don’t waste time divesting him of and discarding his trousers and the boxers he wears beneath, tossing them to the side without care before climbing back on top of him and straddling his thighs. With a smile you pull the front of his shirt up over his abdomen, admiring him as he’s revealed to you.

He’s noticeably lean, not svelte like a dancer or lithe like an athlete, but gaunt, like a man intermittently starved. Bony and angular with skin so pale it looks ashen underneath the mid-morning light that filters in through sheer curtains, colorless save for soft pink nipples that harden under the attention of the AC. You can’t help but run your fingers across him, barely brushing his nipples then feeling the jut of his ribs, just nearly visible, tracing around his navel then trailing down to where a light dusting of black hair grows, getting thicker until it meets the thatch of hair at the base of his cock.

You suspect others might find the sight of him sickly.

Maybe you’re the sick one.

It’s still unfair how pretty it is, you note to yourself. There’s a bead of pre-cum at the tip of his cock and you pull back at the foreskin to expose more of the pretty pink head, letting out a small giggle into the quiet of the room when his cock twitches against your fingers and the pre-cum drips down, falling until it clings to your fingers. Bringing that hand up you let your dirtied fingers dip in between L’s parted lips, cooing gently to him as he licks the taste of himself off of your fingers, “Good boy.” You watch his cock twitch again and lean to press a kiss against his cheek, to appease the fuzzy feeling the sight puts in your chest.

“To truly give you what you deserve I’d have to ask you questions and abuse your poor pretty cock when you don’t give me the answer I want… But there’s really nothing I want to ask you.”

“Pretty?” He sounds so breathy and you wonder if he’s been waiting for this too.

“The prettiest. ” Reaching into a pocket you pull out something you’ve been saving just for L, a small bullet vibrator, nearly the same pretty pink shade as his cock, and press it against him, the tip of it nestled just beneath his glans, then wrap the cord for the remote around and around until it’s held in place. “Can you guess what this is, detective?”

He swallows and darts his tongue out to wet his lips before responding, “I would assume a toy of some kind. Likely one that vibrates?” He sounds a bit nervous, or maybe excited? His body language certainly screams anticipation.

With a bright grin that L can’t see you reach out and flick the dial on it to the first setting. “Good boy.”

---

Stretching out to reach the side table you turn the bedside lamp on with a soft click, bathing the room in a soft warm light before turning back to your book, the soft light alleviating some of the eye strain you were beginning to feel as the light from outside steadily dimmed.

You’re sitting cross legged in the middle of the bed with L’s head and still restrained hands in your lap, your panties shoved in his mouth, completely soaked through with spit, as he thrashes and sobs. You turn the page of your book, as if it’s held any of your attention whatsoever, then card your fingers through L’s hair, pushing it away from his sweat soaked forehead, with a gentle hum that he responds to by curling in on himself and heaving for breath, drool spilling out past your panty gag and further soaking a wet spot on the hem of your dress.

The vibrator doesn’t match his cock anymore, it’s stayed the same of course, but what was once a pretty shade of blush pink is now somewhere between a furious red and a freshly bruised purple underneath layers and layers of cum that pool on and dribble down the sides of L’s stomach.

It really is getting late now, the sun having set about half an hour ago and when you look at the pretty picture L makes in your lap you think this is enough for now. You lean over him and brush against the toy, Pulling back when L flinches and cries out through his gag, “Shh… it’s okay sweetheart, We’re almost finished… I’m just going to turn this off now, okay?”

L’s breathing so fast it’s a wonder he doesn’t lose consciousness but after a few moments as his cum drunk overstimulated mind processes what you said he nods his head in a repeated jerky motion, like he’s forgot how to move his body by his own volition. It makes you smile.

With a click you’ve got the vibrator turned off, and you slowly unwind the cord from around his cock, humming out soothing sounds and brushing sweat soaked hair away from his face once again as you ease the toy off of him, “Very good, L. You’ve been so good for me through all this.”

Tears fall from beneath the belt around his eyes and you lean in to kiss them away.

“All these tears even though I was so much nicer to you than you were to poor Misa.” Your hands go to the belt buckle, easing it open to uncover his eyes and freeing his wrists, “But I think you’ve learned to be nicer to those who can’t fight back, right sweetie?”

L shudders as you reach forwards and pinch your panties between two fingers, pulling them out from between his teeth and tossing the drenched fabric over the side of the bed, to be dealt with later. His arms are shaking as he twists to lie on his side, draped over your lap, and clings to you, pressing his face hard against your side as he struggles to catch his breath.

You go right back to petting his hair and cooing out gentle reassurances to the man using your free hand to rub against his wrist with a thumb, gentle circles to make sure the circulation is good and working. All the while his sobs die down into whimpers, then pants, then soft little huffs of breath.

You’ve never seen him do it before, knowing logically he must be capable of it, but you’re still somehow surprised when L falls asleep.

Gently, you ease him out of your lap, moving quietly so you can tiptoe to the en suite bathroom and wet a hand towel with warm water from the tap before returning quickly to his side.

Softly, with gentle movements you take great care to clean him up, starting by washing away his sweat then the layers upon layers of dried cum, before ending feather light at his abused cock. He whimpers and twitches when you touch it, still asleep, so you reach out with your free hand to run your fingers through his hair again, soothing him until he stills.

“He let me do this,” You think to yourself. “He could have raised his arms at any point and he would have been free. But then I’d still be upset with him.”

You toss the washcloth to the floor, press a gentle kiss to his forehead, and fall asleep in the wet patch, holding L in your arms.

---

When the light from the curtains pours in you quint against the evil daylight, burrowing your face further into the spot you’ve tucked yourself against L’s chest and smiling at the warm chuckle you hear a quiet, “Good morning.”

L’s voice is scratchy from overuse, and low from sleep.

Tipping your head up you press a soft kiss to his lips, whispering back, “Good morning."

#n.sft #.are writes #.are posts #reader insert #l lawliet #death note #smut

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