#fix this writing system goddamn

[irakin]

I was checking other ORV translations out of curiosity and. God.

This is so much easier to read, learn, process, and remember than "Yooooooooo Jooooooooo(nghyuk)". There's literally nothing billions of "o" can do better than a single "u". English is a fucking stupid ass language and I hate it.

[cosmcther]

cheers, i watched this video and the desire to write a fight thread is so unbelievably high right now. im not actually. gonna. one because i wanna write one of the brightly colored furries for it and im not on their blogs right now (sorry rosalina i love you but you're still way too strong and i dont know how to write a fair fight thread with you) and two, im uh. still not in a place to actually write. but the fixation is so there rn.

would genuinely recommend watching the video in full btw. it's a dissection on great fighting animation so it's not all automatically applicable to a text-based medium, but there's definitely stuff to pull from. already im thinking about how i could personally improve on actually giving fights a purpose outside of describing cool moves and how hard each character is hitting each other. that's dope as hell, dont get me wrong, but the mindset and battle strategy being maintained by the character mid-fight is way cool. showing tactics changing, reacting to the opponent's own style switches. i feel like i do this to a certain extent? especially with tails (and sometimes knuckles) especially, but putting more emphasis on it would make things even better i think.

one of the descriptors for a good fight was something along the lines of "a back-and-forth argument where each side makes valid points and sways the metaphorical audience with their actions and tactics" and i honestly think im going to keep that in mind for, like, ever??

[dandyshucks]

i think a big plus of having Guz be so tall and just in general bigger than me is that I could sit in front of him with my back to his chest and have his arms wrapped around me and he could just hide me away from the world for a little while. he is my own personal brick wall fsdjkl a weighted blanket perhaps too,,

[boxingcleverrr]

Popular Hades & Persephone "retellings" are, rightly, getting dunked on all over the socials right now and, as a Pagan who has an altar to the Queen, I could not be happier. But also, I feel like a lot of people miss WHY they're bad - aside from just plain bad writing and lazy tropes. Which are, yeah, also REALLY bad.

Pretty much all retellings try to wave away, or excuse, or twist the whole kidnapping bit. And I actually do have sympathy and understanding for why, when speaking from a modern perspective.

But honestly...you gotta get over it. There are other stories to play fix-it with, not this one.

The Abduction is The Thing.

Were I a little more sober I could bring up chapter and verse of the Hymn to Demeter but frankly, if you know even the middle school mythology curriculum version of the story, you SHOULD know the themes. The story of Persephone was one mothers and daughters in the ancient world held dear, because it was a reality: you will, one day, be swept away from your home to go cleave to a man you most likely know nothing about. You will miss your mother, but chances are very good that he will be a good husband, once you get to know him, certainly better than Zeus or Ares, and he will make you a queen of his home.

Leaving home to marry was often scary, and violent (look up the history of the tradition of Bridesmaids, if you don't already know it - they were originally decoys on the marriage road). Centuries later we'd have tales like Beauty & The Beast serving the same function: comfort, hope, you are leaving your safe loving home to figure life out with a (often older, powerful) stranger. Your trauma over this sudden ending of your childhood made manifest in a Beast, or a God of The Underworld.

It's wonderful that we don't NEED stories like this anymore to comfort us (here, at least, in this culture). But if you try to force them into modern vernacular it just will not work, not really, because you're gutting out the whole point just to have a more tidy romantic male hero.

I have read MANY very good ...novelizations? fanfic(? however you would frame them, but they're certainly not "retellings"), etc. that simply take advantage of the blank spaces in the myth, and there are many!

It's not explicit that sexual assault happens - "The Rape of Persephone" as a title was coined in much earlier eras, when the word was just as often used to simply refer to abduction.

"She was starving!" the gods didn't need to eat. So it's easy to read her eating the Pom seeds as a deliberate choice on her part. Like, shit, people, scholars have written whole papers on the symbolism of this moment, between marriage rites and even yeah, Seph choosing both worlds with her husband's knowing consent.

And that, I think, is the real heart of the thing. People want an utterly mundane, spelled-out story here, as opposed to what it really is, has always been, just like any other myth or religious parable: IT'S A METAPHOOOOOOR.

They don't need to be destined, or meet at a goddamned BALL and then CONSPIRE to fake her kidnapping, or shit, I once saw one where Hades got MIND CONTROLLED by Zeus?! Jesus.

Persephone was yoinked into the Underworld against her will.

That's how it went.

I don't mean this in a "stay out of my belief system!" way, shit I'm a white American chick with delusions of witchery. I mean this in a "stop stressing yourself out trying to make things palatable" way:

This is a very real, very precious myth to many people, BECAUSE for at least that one event, Persephone had no autonomy, BECAUSE for thousands of years most women had no autonomy. Erasing that, sanitizing the fact that a girl is ripped out of the spring, from her mother's arms, is erasing the thing that gave comfort to women for centuries. And people can and should still find power and healing in it now!

Fill in the blanks the story leaves in whatever manner seems fit to you, there's plenty of room, but. Come the fuck on.

[makeyoumine69]

Spit In My Face

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

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

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

— WORDS: 21k (oops)

— SONG REC: ThxSoMch - Spit In My Face

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ve arrived.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, follow me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Miss.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you here alone?”

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you have a date or not?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Time literally stopped for me when you left.” 

'What a beautiful flattery.'

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

“Baby, did you fall asleep in there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop it, Patrick…”

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

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

 “Can you just leave and let me change?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'No, not good...no!'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'And he just stopped, holy hell.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You…Only y-you...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I didn’t ask...”

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

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

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

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

'Oops!'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Of course!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Bullshit.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Relax?”

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

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

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

“You’re such an…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Excellent.' 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cupcake..."

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

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

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

"(Y/n), calm down! You're bleeding." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ask yourself.”

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

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

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

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

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

'No, no, no. Not again'

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

'Stop.'

"Cupcake."

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

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

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

"Daddy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come back!" 

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

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

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

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

'Just leave, please!'

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

"Patrick."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Even worse than you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's right."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'God, what a jerk.' 

"Can't say the same about you."

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

"You really think I care?"

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

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

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

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

"Do you like him?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A second, two seconds.

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

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

Shit, what if she saw what you were doing?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lost.

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

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

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

"HEY! We were just trying to help!"

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

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

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

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

"Who did this to you?"

'You did.'

But he would never know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because it doesn't matter."

"It does."

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell was going on inside your head?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmm, it's pretty clean here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

'It's already too much.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what do you do to relax?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were trapped in your own flat, what nonsense.

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

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

'Excellent!'

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

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

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

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

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

“Cupcake, are you—”

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

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

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

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

How could he let this happen? 

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

Never.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emotions were overtaking you.

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

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

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

“Patrick! Please, don’t go!” 

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

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

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

One, two, three…

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

Four, five, six…

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

Seven, eight, nine…

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

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

Ten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stay like that.”

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

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

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

“Yes! Yes, please!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why did it hurt so good to be alive?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus Christ.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That sounds really good."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not really, but I need your help."

"Help?"

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

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

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

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

“You already said that.”

“Oh, did I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was just an accident.” 

“You could die, Cupcake…”

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

“Ouch.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Pat-Patrick…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you…really telling me this?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Patrick..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Us?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.” 

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

“Good morning, my sweet Cupcake, 

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

Utterly yours, P.B.” 

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

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

[captain-hawks]

hi dee :3 i'm a big fan of your writing and ginormous brain, and i love the spicy sleepover concept you've got going !! (sorry for not popping by earlier, i'm a lil shy hfjhdj >~<)

this wknd could i humbly request that you expand upon a certain roommate!kuroo.. omg that post has been living in my brain non-stop for the last 48h.. 🙏

(hihi thank you so much you're so sweet<3<3<3!!!!!!)

night swim

tetsurou kuroo x f!reader

c: 18+ only, pining, roommate!kuroo, semi-public sex, pool sex, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie

SPICY SLEEPOVER WEEKEND — HEAT WAVE EDITION

It shouldn’t be weird—treading water after hours in the city pool with Kuroo under a blanket of stars and one dull, flickering street light just outside the chain link fence, the air still thick with the unrelenting humidity of a week-long heat wave.

It shouldn’t be weird that you’re swimming in your underwear, Kuroo’s bright idea to hop the fence and dive in mid-way on your walk back to your apartment from the convenience store too enthusiastic to deny. Too tempting against the uncomfortable, lingering prickle of heat and sweat on your skin after the two of you spent all afternoon trying to fix your one and only shitty, busted air conditioner in the living room. 

Kuroo’s been your roommate for nearly two years now, and you’ve accidentally seen each other naked more than a dozen times at this point—it’s become an occupational hazard you’ve long-since come to terms with.

(At least, you’ve lied to yourself enough to say as much.)

It wouldn’t be weird, if your stupid, traitorous heart would settle back into place behind your rapidly expanding ribcage, if it would let you continue to deny the inconvenient, messy feelings that have settled down roots deep inside of you as of late.

Roots that sprouted to life at the strange, funny feeling that unfurled inside of you at the odd expression on Kuroo’s face when you told him you finally broke up with your cheating boyfriend six months ago. 

Roots that dug their tendrils in even tighter as his room suddenly seemed all too quiet at night, his casual hookups dwindling dry.

(Roots that threatened to choke you the first time you realized you’d accidentally moaned his name into your pillow as your vibrator tipped you over the edge of a trembling, gushing orgasm.)

But it’s too late to backtrack this monumentally disastrous decision, not now that your ill-fated splashing match (an effort to derail the feelings simmering in your gut) finds you caged in against the side wall of the in-ground pool.

You’re a deer caught in headlights beneath his triumphant, smirking gaze—if the deer was secretly begging to get fucked by the goddamn car, that is. 

You haven’t quite decided if it’s better or worse that you’re not wearing your usual comfortable weekend undergarments at the moment, a now-cancelled date (which you’d swiped right on solely with the misguided hope of fucking Kuroo out of your system) finds you still wearing a new lacy pink bra, your nipples clearly exposed through the sheer fabric, and matching thong. Soaking wet and clinging to your skin, neither are doing much to hide the swell of your breasts or the swollen outline of your throbbing clit.

Water splashes gently against the side of the pool, and though you’re not certain who stops laughing first, you find yourself quietly staring at Kuroo and his damp, messy hair and stupidly handsome face.

“What happened to your date?” he asks suddenly.

“He cancelled,” You swallow, trying to play it off as you wave a hand at yourself. “Waste of a new outfit.”

Kuroo’s voice is a little rough as he replies, “His loss.”

“Is it?” you ask quietly.

He stares at you for a moment, seemingly thinking something over before he finally speaks. “You’re not as quiet as you think.”

Though you’re fairly certain you know exactly what he means, you still sputter out, “I—” 

You’ve made an unfortunate habit of it ever since the first time—slicking up your vibrator to thoughts of a tall head of unruly black hair and hazel eyes. Plunging the silicone toy in and out of your cunt to the fantasy of how Kuroo’s deep voice would sound against the shell of your ear.

“Is it fucked up,” Kuroo breathes out in a gravelly tone, one finger feathering over the strap of your new bra, “that I don’t want anyone else to see you in this?”

“Do you think it’s fucked up?” you ask.

His answering laugh is low and self-deprecating as he drags a hand through his hair, rogue strands sticking up in the wake of his fingers. “I mean it’s definitely fucked up how many times I’m gonna jerk off thinking about how your tits look right now.”

The heat simmering in your chest flares white-hot, and your throat goes dry.

“I feel like your view might be a little obstructed,” you tell him, swallowing hard.

He chokes out another laugh, incredulous, like despite the fact that he knows you moan his name while you’re masturbating, he can’t believe that you’re insinuating you want to dump your tits out for him in this public pool in the middle of the night.

“Yeah?” he asks.

You nod, reaching behind you to unhook your bra, and an insistent lick of arousal crawls up your spine at the way he mutters, “Fuck,” under his breath as your soaking wet, naked breasts are inches away from his own bare chest.

Reaching down, you tug him a hair closer by the waistband of his boxers, biting your lip at the feeling of his erection that’s now pressed against your thigh.

“Fucking perfect,” he exhales, carefully reaching up to cup your tits in his hands, eyes darkening at the soft little moan you let out when he strokes his thumb over your pebbled nipples. “You’re so fucking perfect, you have no idea.”

And then you’re gently caressing the nape of his neck, and all it takes is a soft whisper of his name from your lips to have his mouth crashing into yours.

It’s messy and it’s desperate and it’s perfect, the way Kuroo’s lips fervently slide across yours, his tongue dancing across the seam of your lips until they part, the kiss deepening into something that has you dizzy with heady, unrestrained desire. 

“Kuroo,” you whimper as he presses you flush against the wall, his cock a rock hard line against the puffy swell of your pussy. 

And then you press back into him and nearly see stars at the friction, and he groans, rocking forward into you in turn. You spread your legs a little wider, halfway tempted to just wrap yourself around his waist and rub your cunt against his thick length, and clearly he has the same idea—because he grabs hold of your thighs and murmurs, “Keep going.”

You’d be more than a little worried about getting caught, if Kuroo wasn’t swallowing down each of your increasingly lewd moans and whines with rough, hungry kisses, sloppy trails of spit hanging between your mouths each time your lips part for air. 

It feels so fucking good—dragging your cunt up and down his length, your nerve endings flaring with hot, sharp bursts of pleasure. 

But it’s not enough, not when you can feel just how big his cock is, when your pussy is pathetically clenching around nothing with each thrust.

You don’t realize you’ve moaned the same words out loud that you whine in the dark in your room until Kuroo curses, his grip on your hips tightening as he outright drags you against him. 

“Fuck me, Kuroo.”

Almost the same words—

“That’s not what I heard you say last night,” he rasps, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

You stare at him for a beat before you slowly say, “Fuck me, Tetsurou.”

Kuroo groans, his forehead falling against yours, and he kisses you roughly before reaching between your bodies, tugging aside your thong to slide his fingers through your slick folds. Even despite the water you’re currently swimming in, slick arousal coats the walls of your cunt, and you nearly come right then and there as he appreciatively moans as he explores your tight, desperate hole with one thick finger, which is soon joined by a second as he stretches you open. 

By the time he starts teasing the head of his shaft against your slit, you’re two seconds from begging for it, a sob on the tip of your tongue as your fingers claw into his back.

He chuckles.

The fantasy of your vibrator is nothing compared to the fat stretch of Kuroo’s cock as he finally sinks past your quivering entrance, burying his shaft balls deep in the choking, clenching grasp of your cunt. 

It’s nothing compared to the way Kuroo’s hips snap into yours as he holds you in his grasp while he fucks you right there in the pool, your tits bobbing in and out of the water with each plunge and drag. The wrecked manner in which he murmurs your name, the possessive way his hands roam your body, like he knows you nearly fucked someone else tonight.

(The way he fucks you like he knows you wanted it to be him all along.)

“Tetsurou,” you breathe out.

“I was wrong,” he gasps as he tries to bully his dick in even deeper, as you hump into him in turn, greedy for every inch.

“About what?”

“I thought you ruined me for anyone else the first time I heard you moan my name through the wall.” He exhales, pulling out before thrusting back inside of you. “But that doesn’t even come fucking close to this.”

You’re not entirely sure what’s the catalyst for the sudden climax that explodes within you—your pent up desire, the thumb he’s currently stroking across your throbbing clit, the raw honesty of his words. 

All of it, likely.

Given the way you nearly black out under the force of your trembling, gushing orgasm, Kuroo groaning at the way your pussy expands and contracts against the stretch of his shaft, lost in an overload of pleasure.

“Inside,” you gasp out at the unasked question that lingers on his face as his own peak approaches.

Kuroo’s answering kiss is filthy as he groans into your mouth, cock pulsing heavily as he spills rope after rope of hot cum inside of you, filling you deep.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes out, forehead falling against yours as his orgasm tapers off, his shaft still nestled inside of you.

You float there in comfortable silence for a few moments, Kuroo pressing soft kisses along the side of your face.

“So—”

He freezes, waiting for whatever it is that you’re about to say.

You continue, “I don’t feel very confident in my ability to jump back over that fence now.”

Given the nearly liquified state of your sated limbs, which feel damn near close to jelly as your legs remain wrapped around Kuroo’s waist.

“The lock on the gate is broken anyway,” he shrugs.

You balk, “Then why’d you make me climb it in the first place?!”

He shrugs, not looking anywhere near apologetic as he replies casually, “Your ass looked good in those shorts.”

[nekovmancer]

Broken porcelain

pairing: Ramattra x f!reader  prompt: sexual tension when tending to someone's wound from this list warnings: semi-nsfw, mentions of blood, injuries, semi-nudity, swearing, reader being a bit masochist etc etc word count: 2272 a/n: backstreet's back, alright! and finally. 😎 I’ve been a bitch with a big B for Ramattra over the past couple months, and of course I had to write a piece on that robot guy. He gives me… feels I can’t explain. So, for all my fellow robot fuckers, hope you enjoy reading this as much as I’ve enjoyed writing! Feedback is always appreciated and please please please send an ask, a chat, anything so we can talk about this big guy and more fanfiction prompts. 😭 also on ao3!

Who would ever say to be a human amongst killing machines would, impressively, be a dreadly task? Or deadly, you would remark to yourself after a long walk of dragging your wounded body through the corridors from the training field to Ramattra’s personal workshop. At least, those new assassin omnics would perform their duties impeccably, you could tell from the way they cut through your skin without a single issue.

The wound was still covered under the thin layer of the tank top you have on, the white fabric damp of crimson blood denouncing something went terribly wrong, not to mention the pained expression contorting your face. 

As soon as he eyes your state, if Ramattra could bring a worried expression to the surface of his faceplate, he would, a mirror to the torment running through his systems. He was an engineer, not a human healer, but you needed him to act more as such in the present moment if you’re both willing for you to stay alive, which you indeed were. 

Growing impatient, not to mention the pain reaching under your skin, you adjust yourself slowly on top of his workbench, holding your side to prevent any further damage. Your fingers get moist with blood, and that has your lips twitching. “Can you fix me or not?” 

“That depends on your meaning of fixing,” he states, a stoic demeanor on the outside despite feeling quite the opposite inside. Feeling. Something he didn’t think to be inclined to, at least not when those diverged from the violence he was shaped to perform as a being… and yet, here they are, as foreign to him as the surgical aspects of flesh and bone. “I can’t weld you, obviously. At least, not as a first resource,” his slight humor brings a faint smirk to your lips, slowly shaking your head in a quiet response. In a lighter tone, Ramattra proceeds, and now it’s definitely a command. “I would like to have a closer look.”

Quietness follows, not as fast as the warmth spreading from your neck to the tip of your ears. To say you hadn’t considered you’d need to remove your shirt was unnecessary, in front of him of all people, ‘cause you’d rather overcome your own fear of blood if a second thought had you aware of the chances before. But as the old saying remarked: if you are in hell already, just go and sit on the goddamn devil’s lap.

Proceeding a thick swallow, you do as you’re told, diverting your eyes to a corner to avoid examining the cut yourself, or to avert them from Ramattra’s, anything and everything were an excuse in such a situation. It hurt just enough to be something you knew you couldn't handle alone, and considering how sharp that assassin’s knives were… fuck’s sake, what a weak fool you were.

On the other hand, at the sight of your almost bare torso, Ramattra felt inexplicably tense. The wound itself was not too deep to reach anything vital, but would need a patch up indeed in order to heal properly. Yet, his sight wasn’t restrained to that minor part of your skin, and that’s when tension was found. Maybe the vocabulary wasn’t a perfect fit, ‘cause that jolt of electricity running through his circuits was something else, something as sublime as the curve of your hips, and the way you shallow breaths of anticipation had your body quivering, despite an enormous strength to keep it still. He could hardly find beauty in human beings, and let’s not even mention himself, but that was a whole different scenario… warm, with a hint of degradation he couldn’t ignore, and something that could only be named as akin to desire. 

The silence was killing you now, almost making you forget the very pain which brought you there in the first place. “Will we be helding any funerals?” you risk, in the same light humor he used with you before. At least, if you didn’t consider the shaking tone in each syllable you’d pronounced. You thought Ramattra couldn’t  never understand your concerns fully, even if he invested all his force to: if the worst happened, he could be reconstructed, you were there for it after all. But as a human, it’s not like you have a respawn chance anytime. That’s why, aside the anxiety turning your stomach into a knot, you needed him to act. 

“You speak as if it's more severe than it is in fact,” he muses, tilting his head as the scanners on his optics do the rest of the work, searching for the right proceeding in a shared data file, where he was hoping to get anything from an omnic model whose initial propose, contrasting his, was to heal, not to kill. “No funerals, you have my word. The pain may be harsh, but the wound itself is of little harm in the bigger picture. You’re safe,” the addition of the last sentence has you sighing in relief, and a pinch of pain reaches you once more, but it’s bearable. Ramattra made you feel protected, or better, cared for. The warm feeling is enough to soothe your anxiety, dissipating the chill air in the workshop for a little while before rushing up to your cheeks as you’re reminded you’re still half naked in front of him. 

“Lay,” he commands, and your breath gets caught in your throat in the act. Only if your mouth were open, your heart would surely jump out if it during one of its chaotic heartbeats, contrasting the steady tone on Ramattra’s voicebox, echoing those words without a single trace of malice. But when they hit you, they sounded profane, leaving a delicate trace of forbidden to the tip of your tongue. 

You curse your mind as you lay down, a shiver erupting from the contact of warm skin to the cold metal of his workbench’s surface. Fuck, he’s your commander, superior office or whatever goes between you both, your boss to be short. Thing is he saw a purpose for you and spared your life long ago, and that purpose goddamn sure didn’t imply any… deeper contact than the occasional intellectual help you provided, with efficient (and smaller) hands and a cunning mind. After all, no Ravager was made to indulge in such a thing as intimacy, the very same thought cursing through Ramattra’s systems right now. He wasn’t built for delicacy, a single gentle touch for his standards would be brutal enough to leave you bruised for days, and how he would lament to see such perfect skin ruined by his own hands… unbearable to even think of it without feeling a strange sensation housing between his metallic limbs, pushing further inside in search of a bloody beating heart among the cold hardware. 

It wasn’t the first time he felt unsure in his existence, but that was a whole new thing. To think one like him was able to possess a spirit tender enough to be mesmerized by such a fragile thing as you touched him not physically, but deeper than it could ever be… how thrilling it was, but insufficient to make him search for its source on his internal data to completely erase it. No, never. He was actually holding into it with every fiber of his soul, curious to see which path it would lead him through. A bit embarrassing, at first impression, like the sight of you would burn his optics until they melt.

After all these years working along, was it there all the time? Within him, within you? He would search for it later, revisiting each time you shared each other's company in his memory, to see where a quiet admiration turned into this. 

After gathering the resources to fix you, ensuring everything was sterilized, he turned to sight over your form once more. Ramattra could sense the rapid heartbeat against your chest controlling your breath motions, the rising and falling of your chest following along, where he caught a peek of your nipples drawing a small circle under the fabric of your top, the last barrier between him and your fully exposed torso. Thankfully, unlike any human, his faceplate didn't betray any of his thoughts. They’re guarded within his systems, safe in his memory and imprinted there forever. Nothing could ever make him forget of you, nor time, nor enemies, nor… fuck, the injury. 

“It would feel better if you were asleep,” he commences, carefully. You’re already scared for it seems, and it’s not on his wishes to make it worse. “Instead, I will ask you to bite on this,” the discarded cloth of your tank top is brought to your lips, and your heart could have stopped right there. Instead, avoiding the disbelief, you silently obey. “Try not to move. I shall be slow.”

A nod follows, and you gather your best to not whine, or flinch, or sob too much when his hands begin to work, stitching the wound close. Whatever sounds leaving your mouth are muffled, and the pain is great. But erotic. And, fuck, you should be loosing your mind by this point. How could your brain process such agony in a pleasurable way? You’d be blaming the omnic in charge of patching you up, for sure. It was him, after all, all about him. 

Ramattra was enormous, and the effort he put in each precise movement didn’t go unnoticed. He could have discarded you, blamed you for your mistakes, assigned anyone else to deal with this bullshit, but there he was: the infamous Null Sector leader, treating you as a precious porcelain tea-cup, once broken, now being patched in threads of gold, despite the gold being metaphorical. It was a form of art, wasn’t it? You’ve read of it somewhere, once. If so, right now, you’re his masterpiece.

To say he’s being delicate is a statement. Ramattra is afraid he could shatter you again, worse than they did with you before. The responsible for it would be severely corrected, later of course. The pads on his fingertips could never be soft as your skin feels under them, and an eagerness to venture further brings a shiver of electricity through his spine. Should he ever be thinking of it in your state? In fact, was it reasonable to have you consuming his memory like this, injured or not? What could be a groan echoes from his voicebox, and within a few long minutes, it was done. 

Your jaw clenches to the minimum effort of raising your torso, sitting on his workbench once more as a small discomfort to the newly sewn cut emerges. Covered in bandages, you can’t see his work, but there’s no blood and the pain is moderate, so you trust with your eyes closed it’s perfectly fine. Your shirt is sitting by your side, bloodied and wet from your own saliva, but you don’t mention reaching for it. 

Blinking, your eyes search for him, meeting the stoic faceplate turned to you. Silence lingers as you both stare at each other, considering every single thought that coursed through your minds during the late couple of hours. Was it genuine? Absolutely. Would you voice them? No, surely not. Tension is still there, so palpable you could touch it, and shattering it would come with a price. 

A small blush color your cheeks red, and you finally manage to break eye contact with a hint of timidity. Too much to ask of you for a little time of strong, contrasting emotions, still tickling under your skin as the adrenaline begins to sparse. Clearing your throat, you’re the first to speak. “I apologize,” it begins as simple as it, almost ending the sentence there as your eyes don’t dare to move from your lap and you choose carefully what to say, and what to keep to yourself. Ramattra may have performed a solid progress towards emotions, but you feared he would fail to comprehend the turmoil in yours. “It wasn’t strict of your concern, nor a matter you should care for as you did, and I-”

“I had to,” he cut you off, sternly. Now that you’re safe, his worries tend to other subjects, still resonating over you. Was he too obvious, despite his best efforts? Couldn’t be, and yet he wished fervently for you to point it out, verbalizing what he was too afraid to: he wanted to keep you close, and safe, more than he ever did. “Whatever happens to you is my business, especially if it's a menace to your well being,” Ramattra takes a step closer, his fingers aching to reach for your face, and soothe that sorry expression out of it. Instead, he keeps them to his sides, clenching them a fist. “So don’t apologize for it. It wasn’t your fault, in the first place, and yet I’ll ask you to be careful and not wander over the training field whenever a new IA is being tested.”

A short nod follows a faint smile. His words were gentle, not explicitly voicing what he meant in between the lines, but you knew it nonetheless. Ramattra cared for you, more than you could have thought, and enough to satisfy your heart. “I don’t even know how to begin thanking you.”

“Dressing will do,” a chuckle reverberated in his metallic rib cage, and if his words alone wouldn’t catch you yet, it would be enough to make your face red as a cherry for, somehow, you were able to sense a trace of malice in Ramattra. “Rest now, human. I shall meet you when the day is done.”

[regulusrules]

Guide for: What Tags to Add to Your Fic

Do you guys have the same problem of how when you're about to post a fic and reach to the tags section you're like .. what r werds 🫠

It's also why some works don't get any visibility even though we're blessed by god almighty for no algorithm in ao3

And I kid you not, I found some of the best goddamn fics out there by sheer coincidence because they weren't tagged right and they remain overlooked because of this fact

So here's a small classified guide for you!

This post is solely based on observation, the ao3 tag search, and my own personal system for tagging! I am not, by any means or sorts, an ao3 fandom moderator, but someone who's read nearly 30 thousand of the fics out there and struggles to read the rest

General tags for any fic

For fic forms: Art - Fanart - Digital Art - Drabble - Short - Complete - One shot - 5+1 Things - Poetry - Podfic - Songfic - Text Fic - Prompt Fic - Case Fic - Ficlet - RPF

For plot: Fix-it - Pre-Canon - Canon Era - Post-Canon - Canon Compliant - Not Canon Compliant - Everybody Lives/Nobody dies - Everybody dies/Nobody lives - Alternate Universe: Modern / Canon Divergence / Historical / College / Fantasy / Soulmates / Royalty / Powers / No Powers / Roommates - Kid Fic - Sickfic - Future Fic - Reincarnation - Time Travel - Plot What Plot (PWP) - Epilogue What Epilogue (EWE) - Slow Build - Missing Scene - Flashbacks - Crossover - ANY triggering topic you are writing about (eg: death, rape, violence, suicide, etc)

For vibes: Hurt/Comfort - Comfort - Hurt No Comfort - Humour - Fluff - Domestic Fluff - Fluff and Angst - Angst - Light Angst - Heavy Angst - Angst with a Happy Ending - No Happy Ending - Happy Ending - Whump - Crack - Cute - Humour - Dark - Sweet

For relationships: Slow burn - Romance - First Kiss - No/Mild/Explicit Sexual Content - Specific kinks (eg: Praise Kink) - Smut - No Smut - Feels - Getting Together - First Time - Pre-Relationship - Developing Relationship - Established Relationship - Mutual Pining - Pining - Friends to Lovers - Enemies to Lovers - Friends With Benefits - Love Confessions - Unrequited Love - True Love - Forbidden Love - Falling in Love

For characters: POV (insert character name) - Pining (character) - Hurt (character) - Jealous (character) - Worried (character) - Protective (character) - Dark (character) - BAMF (character) - Possessive (character) - Caring (character) - Top/Bottom (character) - Good/Evil (character) - Oblivious (character) - Manipulative (character) - Soft (character) - (character) lives - (character) dies

For tropes: Christmas - Sharing a bed - Weddings - Jealousy - Misunderstandings - Secret Relationship - First Meetings - Scars - Aftercare - Arranged Marriage - Kidnapping - Blood - Blood and Injury - Injury - Magic - Panic Attacks - Amnesia - Bathing/Washing - Soul-Identifying Marks - Touch-Starved

[ohtobeleah]

Jake and Iris make me feel things I’ve never felt before. The chemistry, the toxicity, the overall dynamic makes me sweat 🥵

I.R.I.S Masterlist

Brrooo, I had so much fun writing this one and I really got carried away because it’s over 5k long. So please enjoy.

Warning: Smut! Female receiving oral. Jake Seresin x Mitchell!reader. Undisclosed age gap.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Dad—cool your jets alright I said it’s not what it looks like.” You groaned as you hid your face in the palms of your hands as you kicked off the covers of your bed.  

“Iris….” Mav looked at you like he was ready to combust on the spot. The little vein near his temple had risen like it was about to pop. “What are you doing sleeping in Hangman's shirt?” 

You had to think fast on your feet with this one, but this wasn’t your first rodeo. Jake, unsurprisingly, wasn’t the first guy you’d fucked around with. What could you say? You had a thing for older guys. 

“I got pretty hammered the other night alright, shit happens and I threw up on my shirt, this must’ve just been the one I picked up from the lost and found bin at the Hard Deck.” You lied through your fucking teeth as you got out of bed. Mav just stood there speechless. “Must’ve got thrown in with the washing and just ended up in the pile on the chair.” You gestured to your clean washing pile you had yet to put away. “I got in pretty late last night, but if you’d rather me not keep it, I’ll give it back. You said it belongs to Jake right?” 

“No I said it belongs to your Lieutenant Commander, Iris, Lieutenant Commander Seresin—“ Mav corrected you. “He’s Jake to you when he’s over for family events, any other time he’s your superior, address him as such or at least as Hangman.” You just paused, you rolled your eyes as you collected some things for a shower. Underwear, jeans, a normal shirt that wasn’t Jakes. 

“Uh, but I quit the program Daddio.” You reminded your dad. “So realistically he’s not my superior, and I can call him Jack Shit if I wanted to.” 

“You did not quit, Mitchell’s don’t quit.” Pete replied, he was losing his cool and you could tell, but like father like daughter, so were you. “You don’t get to quit TopGun, you’re the top one percent and of this nation aviators Iris.” Pete thought reminding you of your remarkable skills would sway you into thinking twice about your decision. It didn’t. Not even in the slightest bit. 

“They do when the whole system is rigged!” You turned on your heels as you slammed the draw you’d been looking in for a belt. “They do when they’ve been capped dad!” 

“What are you talking about?” Pete just played as dumb as he possibly could, but he knew. Oh boy did he know what you were talking about. 

“Rooster told me what some of the guys said to the Admirals! He told me what they said they’d do if I was given an ounce of a shot at this—“ You’d have to call Bradley later and tell him to take the L. You couldn’t tell the truth but you couldn’t not confront your dad. You weren’t about to say, ‘Nah l heard what you said when I was under your desk with Jake's dick down my throat—‘ Were you? 

“Iris—“ 

“Why would you not tell me that? My own dad, the reason why I’m fucking stunted in my career! This is it for me dad.” You hissed. “I don’t get to go any further than this because I’ve got Pete fucking Mitchell goddamn DNA—“ 

“Enough, we’ll talk to Admiral Simpson—“ Pete’s heart ached inside his chest as he looked at you, his daughter, every ounce of him. He hadn’t always been there and hell he’d missed a lot. But he loved you, he loved your mother in some strange amicable way too. Enough that he never missed a child support payment, he even paid more than he was required. He sent birthday and holiday gifts, paid half your schooling fees and paid for your first car. But Pete knew no amount of money equated to time lost. “I agree, this whole thing isn’t fair.” He said softly. “And we’ll figure out a way to fix it.” 

“You can maybe but I’m not going shit.” You weren’t in the mood for this. You didn’t want to be told what to do, you weren’t a child and you weren’t in the wrong here. If you wanted to quit on your own terms you were going to. “I’m not the one who thinks so low of myself that I need to stunt others to gain notoriety, that’s fucking Rebound and his ugly ass personality.” You didn’t exactly know who had put in the complaints against you but if someone had held a gun to your head and asked you to take a wild guess, you knew your answer would be pretty accurate. “So if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna take a shower, make a coffee and enjoy my morning off because I. Fucking. Quit.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“You come to your senses finally?” Bradley asked as he flipped through his lesson plan. “Heard through the scuttlebutt yesterday that you dragged Iris into the Admirals office by her damn ear?” Jake's mind momentarily flashed to the events of last night, when he had you splayed out beneath him moaning his name. As he blinked back the X rated image he remembered he’d woken up alone, in a cold and empty bed he wished you were in. 

“She’s flunking on purpose because these guys are intimidated.” Jake looked at his own lesson plan as he lent on the table in the hanger turned makeshift classroom. “Someone had to pull her back in line.” 

“And that someone’s you?” Bradley asked, all Jake did was look at him confused. He was your teacher fisher and foremost, what else was he supposed to do? “Huh, you could’ve had me and everyone else fooled.” Bradley shrugged. “Heard you really gave it to the kid.” 

“Don’t call her a kid man.” Jake cringed. “God it makes me feel like I’m some kinda perv.” 

“You are a perv! You’re fucking Mavs daughter!” Bradley hissed. “On multiple occasions it seems? Jake, Have you actually stopped to think for a moment what will happen when he actually finds out? Because it’s gonna come out eventually and I’m gonna be so fucking far gone when it does man you won’t see the ass end of me.” 

“He’s not gonna find out, we’re keeping it casual.” Jake just shrugged it off, he couldn’t keep thinking about the what ifs when he was with you in the moment. He wanted to enjoy the time he had with you. Sneaking around, being discreet, if he kept thinking about your dad every time he was with you he was gonna form an unwanted association and Jake couldn’t have that. He’d almost lost you once and he wasn’t ready to give you up yet. “Casual and consensual Rooster, she might be Mavs daughter but she’s still an adult.” 

“Oi!” Just as Rooster and Hangman were about to start preparing their whiteboard, Mav was walking into the hangar with broad shoulders and a stirn glare. “Tweedle dee and dumbass!” 

“Who’s who?” Rooster asked through a laugh as he wrote up his status on the whiteboard, earning himself a smack in the back of the head. “Ow! The fuck Mav—?” 

“Thanks for telling Iris about the complaints some of her classmates made, Rooster.” Maverick just deadpanned Bradley, the guy had a few inches on Mav but he didn’t care. “She’s pissed off now and you of all people know how she gets when she’s pissed off!” It was true, Bradley Bradshaw was literally the closest thing you had to a brother, which meant when you were both a little younger, you in your teens and Bradley in his twenties— fought like cats and dogs.

“What are you even talking about?” Rooster asked as he looked at Jake who just kept writing on the board, he looked all kinds of guilty. “I—“ Rooster paused, what had you and Jake been up to that meant you had to lie and say that Rooster told you? He hadn’t checked his phone all morning but he regretted it now. “Did, yeah I did do that, sorry—she cornered me when I pulled a point or two when she was doing Hard Deck pull ups.” Jake let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as Bradshaw took the blame, he owed him—big time. 

“Well because she knows, apparently she quit the program.” Jake's heart sank from his chest into his ass. No you didn’t? You would’ve mentioned that last night. “I've gotta go talk to Cyclone about it now—this whole thing is a giant mess.” 

“Iris could probably still have this thing if she applied herself.” Jake hadn’t taken his eyes off of what he was writing. “She could fly circles around those losers with her eyes closed and hands tied behind her back.” Jake kinda wished he’d just said this to you yesterday instead of dragging you through the mud. The longer he thought about it, perhaps words of encouragement could have prevented you from taking an overly critical approach. “She’s a smart girl, but she’s your daughter, which means she’s just a stubborn as you so—“ 

Pete just fished the T-shirt he’d stuffed into the back of his jean pocket out and threw it Hangman's way. Jake caught it on his shoulder. He looked rather confused at the white material that cascaded down his shoulder. 

“She is smart, but she’s got her mothers rage.” Mav sighed. “Or stupidity, I’m not sure, but she damn near gave me a heart attack this morning when I went into her room and saw her sleeping in that shit.” Jake took the shirt from his shoulder to investigate, he could feel the heat sweeping across his face as he realised that you must have accidentally picked up his prized Hangman shirt after he’d discarded it last night. You know, before he fucked the shit out of you. “Wanna tell me why my daughter was sleeping in your shirt? Jacob?”

“I uh—“ Jake was panicking, Mav could tell. He was onto whatever was going on here he just couldn’t tell what exactly it was or to what extent it had gone. Did he believe your little lost and found story? No. Not in the slightest bit. “I couldn’t tell you man I haven’t seen this thing for a while.” Jake chuckled out, rubbing the back of his head as he thumbed at the cotton fabric. “Thought I’d lost it? How’d Iris end up with it?” 

“She said she thinks she got it out of the Lost and Found box at the Hard Deck?” 

“That checks—“ Rooster mumbled as Jake sent him a look. “Honest, she was a mess a few nights ago. She’s lucky I didn’t kick her out of the Bronco when she threatened to spew her guts up on my dash.” It was all fabricated. Bradley didn’t know why he was jumping to Jake’s defense when the evidence was literally in the palm of his hands. But today was not the day to be down an instructor—so if anything Bradley took it upon himself to make sure Jake Seresin could live to breathe another breath for his own selfish reasons. “What, you think they’re fucking or something Mav?” 

At that moment Jake forgot how to breathe when Pete Mitchell starred directly into Jake's soul. Just waiting for him to crack. 

“I haven’t figured that out yet, but if they are? Just know it doesn’t bode well in your favour, Hangman—“ 

“I would never touch your daughter Mav, it’s Iris.” Jake cringed like you were beneath him, like it was an insult to his character that he’d stoop so low. That’s he’d be that dumb. “She’s basically a kid—“ Bradley couldn’t believe what he was hearing, blowing air into his cheeks as he turned back to hide his face against the whiteboard as Mav continued eyeing off Jake. “You know I wouldn’t, and the fake I haven’t seen this shirt in weeks just adds up. Iris got it outta the lost and found, thanks for returning it.” 

As Jake spoke complete and utter lies, all he could hear was your soft moans and delicate whimpers. He could feel your nails dragging into the muscles that littered the expanse of his back and after last night? The track marks you’d left began to throb with anxiety. 

“Yeah—“ Mav sighed, tapping Jake on the arm a few times. “Yeah I guess you’re right, sorry, I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” 

“No hard feelings.” Jake just replied, he just wanted this conversation to be over so he couldn’t put his foot in it any further. 

The second Pete turned his back Jake went weak in the knees. Bradley’s eyes widened with endless questions and queries. But he settled on just one. 

“What exactly were you and Iris doing that she had to throw me under the bus like that?” Jake didn’t respond right away, he was still trying to process the fake he was rock fucking solid. The idea of Mav threatening him for being any way shape or form involved with you had him going feral. 

Jake liked it, and he thought maybe, just maybe, he even loved you. 

“You want the truth?” 

“Probably not—“ Immediately, Bradley regretted asking. “Nope, I actually don’t want to be any more of an accomplice than I already am.” Jake just grinned like a Cheshire Cat. Looking Bradley up and down before he spilled the very R rated and inappropriate beans. 

“She was under Mavs desk, with my dick in h—“ Bradley couldn’t let Jake finish before he was covering his ears like a child. 

“Oh my god! No shut up, I can’t know that!” He shoved his fingers in his ears and looked away. He couldn’t think of you like that, his little sister. He knew Jake was a goner, a deadman walking but Rooster was too. An accomplice to Jake's own stupidity. “No la la la la— I can’t fucking hear you!” 

“You asked!!” Jake laughed to himself. “You asked what we were doing!” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~*

Later that same day, Jake was heading to your place during his lunch hour. It was only a five minute drive from base on a good day. He should have known better than to rock up unannounced, but the line between appropriate and inappropriate behaviour was becoming far too blurry to really focus his moral compass. 

“Iris?” Jake knocked damn well knowing you weren’t going to answer—if Mav had been right about anything it was that when you were in a foul mood you were sour. Jake’s presence probably wasn’t going to make your mood any less aggravated. “Iris open up!” 

To Jake’s surprise, you answered. You couldn’t have reefed the door open any harder if you tried as Jake stood there taking in the sight of you. Clad in nothing but a little black bikini and Prada Milano sunglasses. Looking over them up at Jake as you tilted your gaze to look above where they sat on the bridge of your nose. 

“Can I help you?” 

“The fuck does Mav mean you quit the TopGun program? Are you mentally deficient or something!?” Jake pushed past you in the doorway, barreling in as his rage consumed him. “God you’ve done a lot of dumb shit recently Iris but quitting TopGun? That’s career suicide—“ You didn’t answer, you simply stood there, raising an eyebrow as you pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose. 

“If those guys, Krod and P:E and fucking Rebound are the Navy’s top one percent than I send my hopes and prayers to their families—“ You explained as you walked your way out towards the back deck. “They’ll be burying the bastards sooner rather than later and I for one, will be there to say they should’ve worked a little harder for their titles instead of manipulating the system in their favour.” 

Jake hated to see you leave, but he loved to watch you walk away, your bikini bottoms left very little to his imagination.

“Now if you’ll excuse me Hangman, I was enjoying the sun and a nice glass of scotch before you rudely showed up at my dads house unannounced.” You turned, sinking a hand on your popped hip. “So unless you have someone interesting to say I’d shut the hell up and leave before dear old daddy comes home and finds you here, tainting his only daughter’s innocence.” Jake went to speak, he wanted to laugh and call your bluff and tell you how fucking stupid you were being. But you cut him off as he held his tongue and clenched his jaw. “And yeah—I can tell you to shut the hell up because you aren’t my superior anymore, stings knowing you’re the one who pushed me over the goddamn edge by dragging my ass into Admiral Simpson's office for that write up huh?” 

“Oh don’t act like me doing my job had anything to do with the fact you were looking for an excuse to give up!” Jake shouted as he followed you out onto the back porch. “By the sounds of things you’d already made up your mind before I even decided you’d crossed the line between brat and insubordination.” You let Jake finish his rant before you looked at him with sinful eyes. Eyeing him up and down. Was there anything he didn’t look good in? 

“What are you even doing here?” You asked through a sigh as you sat back down on the lounge chair you’d been posted up in the sun on before Jake arrived. Enjoying your day off. “Because I know you didn’t just come here to berate me for my decision to quit—you could’ve done that when I came to collect my stuff, you didn’t need to make a personal house call.” Despite wanting to pull you up by the hair on your head and drag you back to base himself, Jake just continued to undress you with his eyes as he undid the zip on his flight suit. Standing in your direct sunlight as he did so just to piss you off. “Jake, don’t be a pest fucking move your old ass—“ 

As Jake’s cock twitched against the fabric of his boxer briefs, undressing the very little clothing that covered you, he hatched a plan—a rather simple plan to have you biting your tongue and dragging your ass back to TopGun. 

“I actually came to talk about last night.” He admitted, shimmying the arms off his body as he tied them around his waist. “I wanted to ask if you really meant what you said, about wanting more.” 

“I don’t want shit from you if you’re gonna come in here ranting and raving about my problems and how I choose to deal with them.” You mumbled, pretending that you weren’t interested as Jake sank to his knees before you on the sun lounge. “But, if you must know, I wouldn’t technically be opposed to the idea of this being more than just sex, because unfortunately I’m hot for teacher.” You smirked as Jake grinned ear to ear at you as he sauntered up and hovered over you. Taking your lips hostage in a slow and sensual kiss that had you forgetting how to breathe for a second before he pulled away. 

“I came here on my lunch break you know—“ You pretended to care, looking around as if you were trying to spot something. “What?” 

“I didn’t see you bring anything with you?” You winked as you winded your legs. Looking up at Jake as he hovered over you. “You might just have to go hungry there, teach.” Jake caught your intentions as he lowered himself down between your legs. His dangerously dark, lust filled eyes never left yours as he did so. Dropping lower and lower till he was at eyeline with your just barely clothes cunt. 

“I think I’ve got a pretty delectable meal right in front of me darlin—“ Jake purred as he spread your legs a little wider, drinking in the sight of your core nearly hanging out of those little black bikini bottoms. “And I’m absolutely ravished.” You snapped your knees together just as Jake slowly made his way forward, just scraping the tip of his nose as you giggled wildly. 

“Too bad, it’s gonna cost ya.” You taunted, biting on your bottom lip as you eyed Jake off and spread your legs apart before him again, watching with awe as the crimson hume that crept across Jake's cheeks grew brighter and brighter with every passing second. “Walking Propaganda Poster Boys who pray on women half their age from conservative Texan families pay extra too.” Jake was speechless as you dragged him through the mud, the sad thing was it turned him on. 

Perhaps Bradley was right from the get go—Jake Seresin had a thing for degradation. 

“What’s a dining experience at the Iris Inn gonna cost me?” Jake growled as he slowly dragged the tip of his index finger up your calf and to your inner thigh. “Name your price—“ You hissed when Jake took the little string that kept your bottoms tied together and snapped it back against your hip. 

“Ah—“

“Words Iris, use that bratty mouth of yours and tell me what it’s gonna cost.” Jake looked at you with lust filled eyes that had never been darker, keeping his trail to your core right on schedule as his fingers grazed the fabric that clothed your core. “I ain’t got all day Iris.” 

“Your entire career, deadman.” You softly gasped as the pad of Jake's thumb danced softly over the fabric of your bikini bottoms, making your sensitive bundle of nerves ignite. “Ohhh—maybe even that won’t cover it.” 

“Guess we’ll have to find out won’t we?” Jake asked as he pulled back the fabric of your bikini to reveal your soaked pussy. “Huh, you really get off on the idea of me going straight to hell for all this don’t you?” 

“I touch myself to the thought of it every night.” You admitted as a wicked smile crept across your face. Jake chuckled to himself, he was a goner. “Touch myself thinking about all the ways I’ll ruin your life and I cum so hard when I remember you want me to.” 

“Fucking hell Iris you’d make the strongest of men weak.” Jake sighed as he crept closer and dragged you forward to his face, sinking his teeth into your inner thigh as you unfit the sides of your bikini. “You’re poison—“ 

“And yet you keep coming back for more—“ You would always beat Jake at his own game, he knew his fate and accepted it. He kissed up your inner thigh slowly before finally landing right where you wanted him, where you needed him. Against your core in a feaverish moment of sudden ecstasy. “Oh fuck—!” Jake kissed and sucked against your glistening core, drinking in the taste of your nectar. 

He’s been right, oh how you were a delectable meal and such a cuisine that was surely exclusive to the most exclusive restaurants. You were soft and sweet and all things in between as Jake looked up at you as he flicked his tongue against your clit. Reveling in the jolts of electricity he knew washed through your body whenever he flicked up. 

“Jake—“ You sighed out as you let all your thoughts go. “Fuck baby feels so good.” You told him as you reached back to untie your bikini top, Jake watched through dark hooded eyes as he made you his lunch. His heart danced inside his chest at the sight before him, you peeled off your black bikini top to expose yourself fully in the backyard of your dads house. You knew what you were doing to him and Jake fucking loved it. “Eat my pussy Jake, just like that—“ 

“You taste so fucking sweet Iris, so sinful.” Jake growled as he pulled away, reaching up to coax two of his digits into your mouth. He paused at your bottom lip, deciding that to ask you to open would give you far too much power and if Jake knew anything about you it was that you had a power complex. So as Jake gripped at your chin and looked at you with stirn eyes—he told you what to do. 

“Open.” And do it you did, without hesitation. Welcoming the two chosen digits into your mouth as you hummed and swirled your tongue around and gripped at your own tits. “Fuck Iris—“ Jake was about three point five seconds from ruining his flight suit. He had a Hop after lunch. “Good girl.” Jake praised you as he pulled his dripping digits from your mouth and slowly and ever so carefully, guided them past your dripping lips into your core. Stretching you to a nice full feeling as you arched your back and squeezed your tits all for Jake to watch as he got you off. 

“Ohh, Ohh fuck Hangman—-“ Jake had never really been a fan of the calllsign Bradley gave him all those years ago. It was more of a personal attack on him and their once strained friendship than a nod to his personality, his professionalism. But as it dripped from your mouth like a siren song, Jake found a new reason to love it. “Jake fuck—feels so good, oh god.” 

You sounded like every sin Jake had ever had. Vocalised into a reality playing out before him as he ducked his head back down to suck a pressure out of this world against your sensitive bundle of nerves, coaxing his fingers up against your velvet walls to create a feeling so pure and intense it had you singing out his name into the heavens above. Surely neither of you would be granted access after this. You’d both be sent straight to hell. 

“Ahhhh fuck yes! Yes Jake!” You moaned out as you rolled your hips to grind against Jake's face as he lapped away at your cunt. His chin glistening with your arousal as he worked to finger fuck you. Drinking up all that you could give him. 

“So fucking pretty aren’t you Iris.” Jake mumbled against your core as he buried his fingers to the hilt. “So pretty and gorgeous and fucking irritating—“ Jake moved to mark your inner thighs with love bites and bruises that would linger on your supple skin for days to come. “I’ll make you a deal.” 

“Fuck off—“ You knew what was coming as Jake slowly moved back to your core, soft kitten like licks against your clit nearly had you breaking as you whimpered and whined and arched your spine. “Jake, I’m close! So fucking close.” It was the smirk that gave it away, the devilish, oh so endearing shit eating grin Jake sent you as he pumped his fingers inside you, hitting just the right spot to send you hurtling towards the edge of insanity. “JAKE! Oh Christ! Aauugghh—“ You were so close it hurt. “Please, please I wanna cum for you daddy.” 

You saw the look in Jake's eye when you called him that. He hated that he loved it. He’d never been a ‘daddy’ guy. But with you? It felt right in the worst kind of im fucking your daughter way. 

“Say you’ll come back to TopGun and I’ll make you cum Iris.” Jake mumbled as he sucked against your cunt. Curling his fingers up inside you in a come hither motion. “I promise baby, say you’ll come back and ruin those fuckers and I’ll make you cum so hard you’ll forget everything but my name.” 

“You're a bastard!” Jake raised a hand to grip at your throat, applying just enough pressure on the sides of your neck to have your head spinning as you gasped and tried to hold onto whatever sanity, whatever control you had as your orgasm barreled towards you. “You—you fucking bastard.” 

“Is that a yes?” Jake grinned as he lapped away at your throbbing bundle of nerves. “Say it Iris.” He growled as the tips of his fingers hit just the right spot with enough force to send you flying towards the sun. You couldn’t hold it even if you wanted to, which you didn’t. 

“Ahhhh yes! Yes alright, alright you son of a bitch I’ll come back! just make me—“ You didn’t even need to finish your sentence and Jake was sucking against your clit so perfectly it had you arriving at your very dirty destination. “Ahh—oh god ahhhhh FUCK!” 

Jake, in all his years had never heard such a beautiful sound. You always managed to surprise him every time you came. Everytime your body trembled at his touch, everytime your jaw hung slack as your eyes rolled and beautiful whimpers and moans and sighs of relief escaped in their droves. Releasing your neck from his hold just as your pushy fluttered around his now soaked digits.

“Oh my god you’re such an ass Seresin.” You sighed as Jake lapped the last of your sweet sweet nectar from your dripping cunt up all for himself before he rose up to take your lips hostage with yours. 

“I gotta get going, thanks for lunch.” He mumbled as you enjoyed tasting yourself of his tongue. “I’ll see you later though when you come to reclaim your throne Mitchell.” You just rolled your eyes as Jake dropped his head, taking each of your nipples in his mouth one at a time before he pulled up and away. “Seeya soon—“ 

“What if you don't?” You called out, watching as Jake left you on the outdoor lounge chair to soak up the rest of the midday sun. Jake didn’t even look back over his shoulder to address you but you knew good and well he was smirking as you flipped him off. 

“I will.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“What’cha have for lunch Hangman?” Mav asked as he caught Jake in his peripheral vision. “You weren’t in the Rec room?” 

“Nah I ate out today—“ Jake smirked, god he was going to hell. The only Heaven he’d be sent to, was when he’s alone with you. 

Later that same afternoon about an hour or so after Jake had left, you sauntered on into the hanger you knew your dad would be in. Doing whatever it was that he did between his lessons. Low and behold Jake Seresin had been right. 

“Hi honey.” Pete beamed, Bradley stood beside Maverick with a curious smirk on his face. Stupid mustache, hiding his upper lip. “I see you changed your mind?” Jake stood leaning against one of the empty desks. His arms nearly bulging out of black T adorning his stupidity perfect body. 

“Yeah well—“ You sighed as you took your aviators off and placed them into the neck of your shirt. You were just in a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. Nothing fancy. Nothing too extreme for your meeting with Admiral Simpson. “You can either chock it up to downright stupidity—“ You paused, tucking your hands into the back pockets of your jeans as you watched Jake wink at you from behind your fathers shoulder. “Or post nut clarity.” 

“IRIS!!” Pete scolded you as Bradley’s jaw hit the ground in second hand embarrassment as Jake's face turned a bright shade of crimson. 

“My god, she’s your fucking daughter—“ Rooster sighed as he tried to scrub the last five seconds from his memory bank.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling For the Devil [Part one: "The Night You Met"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader [Series Masterlist]

Summary: You have a bad Monday back at work and grab a few drinks at a nearby bar with a co-worker who takes the opportunity to have a certain attractive lawyer buy you a drink.

Or

How you meet Matthew Murdock and then repeatedly embarrass yourself.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 4.2k

a/n: So I'm finally sharing a few of these installments on tumblr, but I've been posting them on AO3 since the beginning of the year. Currently there are 74 parts posted on AO3 (almost 300k words total) and still counting. I update this series a few times a week and I figured I'd finally share a few installments here and maybe, eventually, post them all on tumblr? Please heed the warnings--there is a ton of sex later in this series (y'all who've read it know what I'm talking about) and some hurt/no comfort for a bit later during what I deemed Big Angst. If you haven't heard of this series, I certainly hope you enjoy it!

Tapping your fingers lightly against the cold bottle in your hands, your eyes fixed on your beer, you blew out a rough breath. Classic rock was playing in the dimly lit dive bar, a random one you and Katy had last minute ducked inside after work. Neither of you had been here before but after the rough Monday back at work, both of you were dying for a drink and it didn't really matter where.

"I feel like I'm chasing a goddamned dead-end," you complained, glaring at the half-finished beer. 

"Maybe you need a new angle?" Katy suggested. 

She threw back the rest of her beer from her place beside you before raising a hand, flagging down the surly bartender. The older woman behind the bar headed back towards you both and Katy ordered another drink. 

You were lost in thought for a moment, focusing on the story Ellison had been telling you to drop for over a week now. Running a hand through your hair exasperatedly, you picked up your beer in your other hand and took a long pull from the bottle. Your head was buzzing from more than just the alcohol in your system as you swallowed the drink down. 

"Didn't Ellison give you a new piece today?" Katy asked, her attention returning to you when the new beer was set in front of her.

"Yeah," you answered her with an eye roll. "Fluff piece on the local animal shelter. Which, don't get me wrong," you said, raising a hand, "I love dogs and all, but I'm not really in this to write about dogs. I didn't bust my ass to get onto The Bulletin to write fluff." You sighed, eyeing Katy beside you. "What's he got you working on now?"

"That warehouse murder last night," she answered.

"Fuck," you grumbled, slamming your head to the bar counter. Immediately you regretted the action, raising your head and pulling a face as you rubbed at the sticky dampness the bar counter had left behind. "Ugh," you grunted. "I'm on his shit list this month, aren't I?"

"Yup," Katy answered bluntly. "You know he doesn't like any of us chasing dangerous stories about mobsters after…everything that happened a little while back."

You groaned in frustration before picking up your beer and finishing the last dregs of it. Katy nudged you abruptly in the arm, just about causing you to spill the beer. You swallowed, turning to shoot her a pointed look. 

"Isn't that Karen Page?" she whispered, gesturing her head towards the blonde at the pool table. "The one everyone whispered about saying Ellison supposedly fired her because she might know Daredevil's identity?"

Your eyes turned to the pool table, examining the blonde who was laughing with two other gentlemen. "Yeah, looks like her," you answered. 

"Now she had some good shit she wrote," Katy said with a grin. "You know, before Ellison started doling out pieces on animal shelters."

Your eyes returned to your empty beer, but Katy continued to stare at the pool table, fingers drumming on the bar.

"Maybe we should stop talking about work," you said. "The point of grabbing a drink was to forget about this shitty Monday. I'm currently not forgetting."

"Mmm, I wouldn't mind forgetting about my Monday by getting underneath him," Katy replied, her eyes still on the pool table as she gestured her beer towards someone.

You glanced back over, your eyes landing on the man drinking back a beer with Karen Page. It was obvious Katy was drooling over the dark haired gentleman with the red glasses and cane. His jawline was perfect, his hair practically begging to have fingers run through it, his body clearly well-built under that tight dress shirt with buttons tempted to pop when he moved just right, and he had an absolutely breathtaking smile.

"Isn't that Murdock from Nelson, Murdock, and Page?" Katy said after a moment, her eyes narrowing. "They're the guys who took down Fisk. Shit, he's hotter in person." When you didn't respond, Katy glanced back at you, eyebrows shooting up on her forehead. "Is your silence you disagreeing about that man’s perfection?"

You shook your head, your eyes landing back on the man. It almost seemed like he was looking at you and Katy at the bar, but considering he was blind, that would have been impossible.

"He's attractive, yeah," you agreed with a shrug. 

Katy's eyes widened at you. "Really? That's it? That guy looks like sex on legs and I'm pretty sure I've heard rumors that he is amazing in bed and…that’s all you’ve got?"

"Your point?" you asked.

"Are you serious right now?" she asked in disbelief. "You wouldn't want a night with that guy?"

You let out a heavy breath, your eyes returning to the now empty bottle of beer as you debated on another or just going home and making dinner and writing that pointless article for Ellison.

"I wouldn’t know what to even say to a guy like that," you muttered. "You know outside of interviews I am shit with human interaction."

Katy chuckled lightly before shaking her head. "You do have a knack for being awkward. But you wouldn't need to say anything, just let him fuck you senseless as you're screaming his name on your back." 

Katy abruptly threw out some light, breathy fake moans that had you slapping her arm sharply and your face burning up. 

"Pretty sure you could handle that ," she teased you with a light laugh. 

"You're a fucking animal," you joked, burying your reddening face in your hands.

"You're thinking about it though," she shot back. 

You glanced at the man between your fingers, face still buried in your hands. He was holding a beer in one hand as something that looked like a smirk broke across his face. He was standing by the pool table, his gaze in your direction as his friends focused on the game they were playing. Your heart sped up at the thought of him throwing you onto your bed and you swore you saw his lips pull up even higher before you turned away. 

"Would literally never happen," you mumbled. "Guys who look like that don't talk to chicks like me." 

"Sexy and awkward?" Katy supplied. 

You snorted, rolling your eyes. "Only one of those is an accurate description," you replied. "Anyway, I should probably get back. Make dinner and slam my head into the wall repeatedly as I write that piece for the next issue."

"Or you could stay and see if you're awkward enough to scare away Hell’s Kitchen’s sexiest lawyer," Katy suggested with a playful grin. "Maybe end up finding God on your back."

She opened her mouth and got out one moan before you kicked her shin. 

She laughed, waving a hand at you. "Alright, fine. Let me chug this and I'll leave, too. I've got a lead I need to check out tonight anyway."

You watched her raise the beer to her lips and toss it back, downing the last half of the bottle before slamming it to the counter. You slid off the bar stool and turned to leave only to run head first into someone. You stumbled backwards muttering out an 'oh shit' as your back hit the bar counter, and then your eyes went wide when you saw it was the attractive lawyer you and Katy had just been talking about.

"Shit, sorry, I didn't see you there," you blurted out an apology. 

"Neither did I," he answered, a grin spreading across his mouth. 

"Right, because you're…" you trailed off quickly realizing how rude it would be to point out his disability. 

Katy appeared just beside him, her eyes going wide as she gawked at you, shaking her head sharply. 

"Blind?" the man finished for you. 

Your cheeks burned as you awkwardly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. He was somehow even more attractive up close and he had a nice, deep voice. For a moment you couldn't help but imagine him on top of you in your bed again and your heart stuttered in your chest.

"And I'm tactless," you breathed out. "Sorry, I didn't mean to literally run into you and then be completely rude. I'm just going to go," you said quickly, trying to skirt around him.

"Or you could buy her a drink," Katy blurted.

Your eyes widened as you stared open-mouthed at her, entirely taken aback. Katy shot you a look, shrugging a shoulder. The man chuckled, the sound drawing your attention back to him beside you. He was grinning in your direction and you internally groaned.

"You want me to buy your friend a drink?" he asked curiously.

Your eyes narrowed to a glare at Katy as you quickly answered him. "She's kidding," you told him. "You know, just a bad joke ," you said, the last two words coming out at Katy between gritted teeth. 

"Well," the man mused, "I may not be opposed to the idea."

Your palms immediately began to sweat as Katy sent you a wicked grin. Your heart was thundering wildly in your chest as you chanced a glance back at him. He looked entirely calm and collected as he stood there with a charming smile on his face.

“That’s uh, that’s nice and all, but I actually have work to finish tonight–”

“No you don’t,” Katy cut in sharply, eyes narrowed. “You could write that article in thirty minutes with your hands tied behind your back using only your tongue. You don’t have work.”

The man whose first name you were still unaware of chuckled good-naturedly beside you at Katy’s words. “I have absolutely no idea what she’s talking about, but that sounds like quite the talent you have,” he teased.

Katy snickered loudly as you audibly groaned, shrinking back into yourself. This was easily the most humiliated you had felt in a long time. 

She turned towards the man next and pointedly told him, “She had a bad day, she’d love another drink.” And then her attention returned to you, a sly grin on her face as she said, “Now I actually have a lead to follow up with. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” She proceeded to mouth ‘you’re welcome’ before she turned and left.

You were torn between trying to chase after her and feeling obligated to converse with this insanely attractive man who was for some reason giving you the time of day. You were tightly gripping the strap of your crossbody bag with indecision as you stood there uncomfortably. Thankfully he spoke and broke the awkward tension.

“Would you like another drink?” he asked, gesturing towards the bar beside you both. “You could maybe tell me your name?” he suggested. “And why you’re having such a bad Monday?”

“Look,” you began, “you really don’t have to. She was just being a pain in my ass thinking that she was–” You stopped short. You couldn’t exactly finish that thought and tell him she was trying to help you talk to him because you obviously thought he was attractive and you would never approach him on your own. That would have been even more embarrassing. “I just–you’re clearly here with your friends and I don’t want to pull you away,” you quickly shot out instead.

His dark brows rose up behind his glasses, a slight amused grin forming on his lips. “Oh? You were paying attention to who I was with before you even ran into me?”

Wincing, you wished a bus would just barrel through the bar and hit you, putting you out of your misery and ending this embarrassing conversation. How the fuck were you even supposed to deny that?

So you decided to do what you always did when things got too uncomfortable–run.

“You know what, I really do need to go,” you said, quickly turning and stepping away.

“Wait,” he called out.

And you did. For some unknown reason you actually paused, back still towards him. You could see his two friends at the pool table still enraptured in their game, currently either unaware or uninterested in the fact that he wasn’t back with them.

“Okay, I really am blind, so you’re going to have to actually, you know, acknowledge that you’re still here so I know I’m not just talking to myself right now,” he said.

You cleared your throat nervously, your eyes dropping to your scuffed up dress flats. “Wouldn’t exactly be too out of place in a bar, at least,” you muttered.

He laughed lightly, the sound causing you to glance back at him over your shoulder. He was smiling and the sight nearly gutted you. You wished he’d take off the glasses so you could see the entirety of his face–his eyes were probably as beautiful as the rest of him.

He slid onto the bar stool beside the one you’d just been on, folding up his cane as he patted the seat beside him. “Please, sit. Let me get you a drink,” he offered again.

The words flew out of your mouth before you could stop them. “Why, are you just that curious how far I can shove my foot into my mouth?”

Your mouth immediately clamped shut, one of your hands flying up to cover it as your eyes grew wide in horror at how your sarcastic comment actually came across. His eyebrows once again flew all the way up to his forehead, his lip twitching up at the corner in amusement. 

“Another one of your curious talents?” he asked with a slight laugh.

“Fucking hell,” you groaned, taking a step back. “This is the most embarrassed I’ve probably felt in years,” you blurted. “Which is saying something because I have a tendency to make things incredibly awkward and uncomfortable and I should just really go home now.”

He was fighting the grin on his face as he shook his head. “No, please, don’t be embarrassed. This conversation has honestly been the highlight of my day.”

“I’m glad my mortification brings you joy,” you said flatly, taking another step back, “but I’m pretty sure I’m teetering on the edge of being the first person to actually die of embarrassment. So I should probably really go now.”

“I’m Matthew,” he said, extending his hand out towards you. “Usually I just go by Matt.”

Your eyes dropped down to his extended hand, staring in silent confusion at it. Why the fuck was he offering his hand and introducing himself to you?

He cleared his throat, hand still outstretched. “I know you said you’re a bit awkward and all, so I’ll let you know this is usually the part where you shake my hand and introduce yourself, too.”

“I–” you began, hesitating as you continued eyeing his outstretched hand. “I just told you like five times that I should go…”

“I know, I’m blind, not deaf,” Matt said, grin still intact, causing you to flush further. “But yet you’re still standing here instead of actually leaving. So,” he continued, extending his hand out further towards you, “my name is Matt, and you are?”

“Dying of embarrassment,” you muttered, unable to resist the slight smile on your mouth when he chuckled again. 

And then you caved and against your better judgment you shook his hand, offering him your name as you sat on the bar stool beside him. 

“That’s a pretty name,” he told you.

“And that sounds like a line,” you quipped back.

He raised a single brow at you this time, the corner of his mouth quirking up. You watched as the bartender made her way over towards the pair of you, the surly expression on her face morphing into a large smile when she saw Matt.

“What can I get you, Murdock?” she asked.

Matt turned towards the woman, a charming smile on his face as he said, “Just another beer, Josie, and whatever this lovely lady is having.” His head tilted towards you and Josie’s eyes followed curiously.

“Uh, just a beer, thanks,” you muttered awkwardly.

She nodded, lightly tapping a hand to the counter before sauntering off to grab two beers. You took a moment to take a deep breath, not entirely sure what to make of the evening so far. Normally you’d have scared someone off by now, making them entirely too uncomfortable to try to endure conversation. But not Matt. He was still sitting beside you, clearly relaxed and comfortable.

“So why’re you having a bad day?” he asked.

You glanced over at him. He was studying you, head tilted to the side and one arm resting along the bar counter, the cane folded up on the surface beside him. With the way he was turned towards you in the bar stool, and you towards him, your knees were almost brushing.

“Just a bad day at work,” you mumbled. 

“Where do you work?” he asked curiously.

“The Bulletin,” you told him.

He appeared to perk up instantly, sitting up straighter in his chair as his head shifted further to the side. “You’re a journalist?”

“Uh, yeah,” you answered. “Or at least, I try to be when my boss isn’t throwing fluff pieces at me instead of letting me chase real stories.”

You briefly noticed the thinning of his lips at your words before Josie’s return with two beers caught your attention. You thanked her with a smile, surprised when she returned one, and watched as she disappeared. You took a deep drink from the beer, definitely feeling like you needed it to survive in Matt’s presence. When you set the beer back on the bar, your right hand absently playing with the condensation on the bottle, you turned your attention back to Matt and noticed the slight frown on his mouth.

“So you’re…chasing a dangerous story and your boss doesn’t want you to?” he asked curiously.

“Yeah,” you answered simply.

“Maybe you should listen to him,” Matt suggested.

Your eyes narrowed at him. “And what, write about the upcoming adoption event at the animal shelter forever?” You shook your head. “No, that’s not what I signed up for with this career. Your friend over there is Karen Page, right? She was the same way when she worked at The Bulletin, too.”

“Yeah, and you see how she no longer chases after the dangerous stories for a newspaper anymore, right?” he replied, his tone more serious than it had been.

“I’m sorry but, I just met you literally minutes ago and now you’re trying to dictate what I should be doing?” you asked skeptically.

Matt abruptly shook his head, his charming smile returning. “You know what? You’re right. I just remember Karen having some terrible situations arise because she was chasing a story. I shouldn’t project that onto you. I apologize.”

You continued to study him curiously as you raised your beer to your lips, taking a drink. You swallowed, voicing your thought aloud as you asked, “Why’d you want to have a drink with me so badly?”

“I liked the sound of your voice,” he answered easily. “You sounded nice and I thought I’d like to continue hearing you talk for a bit more tonight.”

You snorted loudly, shaking your head. “Okay, now that is a terrible line,” you said.

“Says the woman who wanted to show me how far she could shove her foot into her mouth before she even knew my name,” he countered.

You blushed furiously, shaking your head with a grin. “No, I said you wanted to see that, not that I wanted to show you,” you shot back.

“Well,” Matt said with a shrug of his shoulders as he brought his beer to his lips, “I’m blind anyway so I couldn’t actually see it one way or another.”

“How many blind jokes are you going to make tonight?” you asked him.

He grinned smoothly back at you, swallowing down his beer. “As many as you continue to easily drop into my lap,” he answered.

You laughed, your eyes darting to the beer beside you. Matt’s knee nudged yours and you glanced back at him.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asked softly.

You shrugged a shoulder, eyeing the beer again. “I can’t decide if I’m regretting staying for this drink or not yet."

"Oh, ouch," he said, feigning hurt. 

You laughed, rolling your eyes. "I mean I’m still debating whether or not you laughing at my intense embarrassment has been worth it or not yet for the current conversation."

"Uh huh," he replied. "So where are you landing with that? On a scale of one to ten?"

You pulled a face, head tilting to the side. "How would I even rate that on a scale?" you asked him curiously. 

"Well, one would be 'Oh shit I'll just stop talking and slip away since he can't see me’–'"

"Jeez, has that happened to you before?" you asked, cutting him off.

He shook his head, bringing his beer to his lips again as he answered. "No, but I get the feeling you might."

Your face reddened further as you watched him take a drink, eyes lingering on the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. "No," you corrected, "I'd at least blurt out something weird and then sprint out of the room. You'd at least have some warning."

"Oh, well I appreciate that at least," he teased. "But really, scale of one to ten how much are you regretting staying for the drink?" 

You eyed him, bringing the bottle to your lips and thinking over your answer for a moment as you studied him and took a drink. He was charming, that was obvious, and he didn't seem even remotely put off or like he was struggling with conversation no matter how awkward you'd been so far. In fact, you'd go so far as to say that you were surprisingly having fun.

"Okay I'm pretty sure you just told me you'd at least blurt something awkward before you disappeared on me," Matt joked.

You grinned, unable to help it. "A seven," you answered. 

His eyebrows shot up onto his forehead again, an amused smile still on his lips. "A seven isn't bad but I was hoping for higher," he mused. "Why so low?"

"You could do with some better jokes and your lines are terrible," you told him.

"Duly noted," he answered quickly. 

"So what about you?" you asked somewhat nervously. "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you regret asking me to stay for this drink?"

You anxiously took a sip of your beer while he cocked his head to the side as if he was in thought for a moment. 

"An eight," he answered. "But only because I'm still waiting to find out how far you can shove your foot in your mouth."

You choked on the beer you were drinking, coughing lightly as Matt laughed and asked if you were alright. It was a moment before you recovered but his next question had you reeling again.

"You want to stay longer than that one drink? Meet my friends?" he asked when you'd recovered. 

Your cheeks flushed as you bit your lip, taking only a few seconds to think over your answer. "Yeah, sure," you said. "I've got time."

"Considering your friend said you could write your article in a half hour with your hands tied behind your back using only your tongue," he mused, "I imagine you do. You need any help with the restraints for that, by the way?"

You threw your face in your hands, groaning loudly as Matt let out another bark of laughter beside you. "I cannot believe you just said that," you mumbled.

"Really?" he asked curiously. "In the probably fifteen minutes you've been conversing with me you really can't believe I would say that?"

You began to laugh behind your own hands, turning your face to peek at him through your fingers. He was smiling wide, perfect teeth exposed, as he gazed in your direction. 

"Okay, yeah, maybe I can," you answered. 

"But you seem a little more relaxed now," he pointed out. 

He was right, too. Somehow after all the awkward tension and comments you'd found him funny and a little disarming. And he still hadn't run off, instead he seemed like he was also enjoying your company and he clearly didn't want you to leave yet. Which you certainly hadn't expected.

"Yes, maybe marginally less embarrassed," you agreed.

"Good," he responded. He slid off the bar stool, knees briefly grazing yours before he grabbed his cane and began to unfold it. "So, would you like to meet my friends? Stay a bit longer?"

You smiled, shrugging a shoulder. "Sure, let's give my anxiety a bigger audience," you joked, sliding off of your bar stool. 

"I have a feeling they're going to like you, too," he assured you.

You smiled nervously, feeling your palms sweating a bit again and trying to discreetly wipe them against your dress pants as he led you towards the pool table. He'd just said he liked you and you felt yourself becoming a bundle of nerves all over again.

But he couldn't possibly have meant it like that , right?

[charleslee-valentine]

Menace

For the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Disability Pride Month Event: Day 1- Alternate Communication

Word Count: ~5,200

Warnings: Period typical understanding of trans identities, period typical attitudes, and out of date language. Domestic child abuse. Unintentional ableism/infantilization of a disabled character. Later intentional ableism. Hurt minimal comfort. Mean-spirited. Drayton Sawyer is not nice.

_____________

Bubba’s at that age where he’s got a lot of questions.

A real teenager now, already thirteen and in that phase that the twins had before him, where there’s no excuses or lies to trick them into being quiet and obedient would work anymore. Now he’s got all the questions.

That’s not to say it’s the same kind of curiosity. His older brothers were sneaky, conniving things that could be tricky with the questions they asked, could get answers to things they wasn’t exactly s’posed to know. Somethin’ they were quite proud of.

But Bubba’s questions were more often about the deep thoughts of life. Things like how stars are made and where rainbows come from. Apparently the Bibles in every nightstand weren’t good enough answer for him. Fair enough since nobody read ‘em after Great Grandma’s days.

Bubba, with all his overflowing need for answers, come to the twins with a little notepad. It ain’t easy for him to write, but it’s even harder to speak, so Bubba has a system. He makes little letters and short words along with his noises to build a story his brothers can eventually understand.

Today though, his question is big, and they aren’t getting what he needs. Which means they doesn’t know how to answer it. Which means Bubba gets so upset he’s about to start cryin’.

They take note of the shiny tears formin’ in his big ol’ eyes, and Bobby is the one to promise, “W-We’ll fix it! We’ll fix it, lil’ B-Bubba!”

Nubbins leaves to the kitchen and returns with a cup of juice, the kind with a lid he used to drink from when he was younger but the twins still think he likes, “Here! I-Is ‘at w-what’cha wanted?”

Bubba gives a roll of his (unfortunately misty) eyes and pushes it away with a huff. He’s not a baby that cries for juice, he’s having a crisis and wishes his brothers would just get it.

“Aw, Bubby w-what the hell y-you on?!” Bobby complains sharply, which just kind of makes Bubba lose control and cry.

Both twins feel bad for causing those tears to finally fall, though they won’t say it, deciding to go and find the powers of the house to fix their mess up.

“L-Let’s go ask big b-brother-“ Nubbins announces, looking to Bubba to see if that’s okay, so Bubba gives a tiny nod.

Each takes one of his hands, guiding him as they run down the stairs calling, “Drayton! Drayton!”

They caught him off guard with his second or maybe third coffee of the day, bitter liquid spilling down the rim of the mug and splattering on the counter. Earns them a raised voice, “Christ on a goddamn- Who lit a flame under your asses? I taught you better’n runnin’ ‘round here like hellions!”

“Bubba’s got- B-Bubba’s got a question a-and we c’ain’t figures it o-out!” Nubbins explains for the trio of them, long arms raised out and above Bubba’s head to protect the littlest one from a possible punishment over the spilled coffee.

They’re lucky that their older brother can be a little bit nicer to Bubba, talking to him like a human at times, “That right? C’mere, Bubba.”

Like he’s in trouble, or still five years old and barely walking, Bubba waddles forward to Drayton with his head down and his hands clasped and twiddling behind his back.

Drayton scoffs at his demeanor as though he ain’t given his brothers every reason under the sun to be afraid, “Ain’t in trouble. Wha’s’a matter?”

Because he’s gotten so tall, Bubba hunches his shoulders down to be at a height around the same as Drayton. Quietly, though not quite a whisper on account of not really being able to, Bubba babbles away, his tone and his inflection to the sounds he makes in place of any distinct words.

Drayton never did need the written out sentences that the twins did, understanding his cooing as though he were speaking perfectly clear English.

“Uh-huh..” Eyebrows drawn tight together, a deep frown across his aging face, Drayton asks for the truth, “Boy you ain’t pullin’ on my chain?”

Bubba shakes his head, “Nuh-uh!” Makes a little cross over his heart to swear it's true and everything.

Suddenly his exasperated face turns grim. Mist of sad behind his eyes.

“This’n… Big brother c’ain’t fix this’n, you hear. I’m no good for that.. I’m- Ain’t a very good influence..”

The twins exchange a glance, mutually understanding absolutely nothing of what’s going on, before Nubbins nudges Bobby so he’ll speak up. He chirps, “Drayton? Drayton w-w-watcha talkin’?”

Drayton’s shoulders snap backwards like he’s been shoved over by some specter, startled clear out of his self-reflection and onto the defensive, “Boys your.. your Bubba needs a little help.”

“Tha’s y-yer job though!” Bobby argues, angry that they thought he'd be nice enough to help when they couldn’t figure out how.

“Shut your mouth!” Hand flying out like it’s nothin’, Drayton dishes out a backhand that hits Bobby first and scratches slightly on Nubbins’ jaw too. He gives an order with a grimace, hating to be undermined but never rising to his duties, “You boys take Bubba ‘n show ‘im upstairs to your Gran’parents’ room.”

Timidly, but the curious, argumentative spirit never quite extinguished in him, Nubbins asks, “Why? W-Wha’s up there?”

“I’ll show you when I get to that for God’s sakes!.. Need a damn smoke firs’..” Draytons voice trails off as he storms for the front door, slamming it shut and, from the sound of it, pacing around the porch.

Unfazed, the twins start dragging their little brother around again, “C’mon l-lil’ Bubba!”

Frustrated at being babied in his teen years, Bubba whines all the way up the steps. already a head taller than the shortest of his three older brothers, he can’t grasp why they want to see him as some tiny, fragile baby. Maybe then they’d understand his growing pains, if they could just see him as a regular 13 year old.

“M-Mean ol’ man, huh Bubba?” Bobby bumps him with his shoulder playfully, big cheeseburger smile on, like it’s funny he got hit and Bubba didn’t get any answers.

A whole slurry of sad and frustrated and scared mixes together and just turns Bubba’s stomach. The best he can muster is a shrug.

They take reluctance as a sign of worry, with Nubbins informing him in a harsh whisper, “Y-You’s allowed to say it. Ain’t n-nobody like Cook.”

“E-Even Cook don’ like Cook!” Bobby adds, breaking into a cackle that makes Nubbins laugh along.

That confuses Bubba, making a noise he hopes they can understand so they explain better, “Duh?”

Sort of better. Bobby starts up his rambling, “He’ just pissed ‘cause.. ‘cause I-I bet he had that d-dumb ol’ face his wh-whole life.”

Now that’s confusing. Everyone in the family always had just the one, except for Bubba, ever since he started wearing masks just a couple years ago.

Nubbins starts to steer his twin into understandable territory, “Heh heh, yeh, B-Bubs gets a newww face when- when he’s feelin’ like a stuck-up bitch hog!”

“But all the old man does, i-is make that ol’ sucker face!” Bobby howls.

Of course both twins immediately imitate Drayton’s grumpy face with exaggerated pouts and scrunched features. A rumbly laugh squeaks out of Bubba, though he feels guilty for finding their insults funny. It dies off pretty fast and then he stares at the ground instead, hoping they’re done with their teasing.

It doesn’t help that they’re wrong. Bubba isn’t upset about anything to do with the face and neither was Drayton. The masks have already been serving their purpose, with their makeup and shiny hair. That’s just what scares him. Thinking maybe Drayton got mad about that he likes to wear lady faces sometimes, and the questions starting up now surrounding if that’s allowed.

Because that ain’t the reason, what the twins said ‘bout changin’ every time he gets bored and stuffy and irritated. Bubba thinks that, some of the time anyway, he really is a lady, underneath the face and all.

Miming for the twins to understand that is futile, but he tries anyhow, flashing his hands and pointing to his mask and shaking his head in a pattern.

The twins are not subtle about their confusion. Staring blankly, Bobby asks his twin, “You gots any idea w-what he’s sayin’?”

Nubbins shakes his head no, taking a random guess based on earlier, “Bubba- B-Bubba is you askin’ why.. why the Cook’s so mean?”

“Oh yeah! I-I bet that’s it!” Bobby bounces on his heels, like he’s excited to be wrong.

Poor Bubba makes an ‘X’ with crossed arms, but they just ignore it, their minds made up already about his intention.

Starting with Nubbins, they tell the story they’ve been told when they’ve asked why Drayton was treating them badly, “Well uh..uh.. m-me an’ Bobby, we was born jus’ when Drayton was ‘boutta m-move real far a..away.”

“He-He found some.. some dumb job was gonna s-steal him from the fam’ly. And we th-thinks he had a.. a secret l-lady friend!”

“‘T-‘Til us lil’ cripples was born. Th-That’s his words eh-zactly.”

Bubba’d heard all that before by himself, but it sounded more interesting when the twins told it rather than big brother. At least they weren’t holding it over his head. If he could manage reasonably communicatin’ with them, he’d like to know more, so he makes a motion with his hands pulling towards himself.

Nubbins understands Bubba wants more knowledge, but doesn’t know what to tell him, deciding to reminisce, “I-I-I’s gonna pull out them-them photo picture albums! W-We’ll find somethin’ good in them! Drayton’s book ain’t th-that big, w-we could pull it down for answers!”

Frantic, this attempt at bonding not at all what he wanted, Bubba tries to whine and make a ‘stop’ motion with his hands on account of they aren’t allowed. Getting in trouble is the last thing he wants right now.

But Bobby scolds him, while helping his twin to drag down the giant dusty photo book, “Oh hush, b-big brother ain’t gonna be f-finished with them cigs ‘til- ‘til he’s stinkin’ worse’n G-Gramma used to.”

“Shush it! B-Bubs don’ remembers her neither!” Nubbins gives a thwack to Bobby’s head not unlike the one they received from Drayton earlier for that slip up. Without asking first if Bubba even cared, which he didn’t all that much.

The twins sit on the dusty old bed, each with a cover of the book in their laps over crossed legs. Bobby flips the first few pages, past the really, really old photos of people they never even heard of. Once yellows and orangey browns fades to black and white, they find what they're looking for an’ point for Bubba to see, “Lookie, h-here she is!”

It’s Grandma in her dressey clothes, wrapped in layers and layers of lace and pretty colors they can’t quite see under the colorless photo. She died wearin’ that same Pearl necklace and the curlers that would’ve made her up-did ringlets if she ever gots to take ‘em out. Her gappy, black toothed smile shows a different side, where she’s not so fancy, but they loved her all the same and she loved them. According to how her eyes crinkle and her cheeks look rosy, whole figure outlined by the faintest blur from the shake of her laughter, she loves the little baby in her arms too.

That’s the trouble though. A baby girl, according to the bows on her tiny clothes. Nubbins’ face gets all offended, “W-Wha’s she doin’ in Drayton’s pictures book with some lil’ l-lady baby?” He flips to double-check the name on the front, and sure ‘nough it says ‘Drayton’ right there, in clear as day handwriting. ‘Sides, far as they know, ain’t been a little girl Sawyer born in sixty some years.

“Lemme see that!” Bobby snatches the book away so he can bring it up to his face and narrow his fuzzy eyes at it, focusin’ real hard ‘til he concludes, “Well th-that outta b-be Mama.”

Now Nubbins knows that ain’t right and rolls his eyes, “No, you-you dummy, Gramma was only our age w-when Mommy was born. Ain’t no ol-old lady already.”

“That ain’t old.” Bobby concludes without looking again at Gramma’s obvious wrinkles in the picture.

“It ain’t y-y-young neither!”

“Sh-Shuddup!”

Nubbins being taller is able to snatch the book and clamber to his knees, holding it high up above Bobby’s head. With his other hand, he blocks his scratching and swatting to defend the book, when he turns his head and notices their little brother watching.

“Bubba, y-you wanna sees it?”

Bubba nods oh so excitedly, making hands like grabby little claws. Nubbins giggles and hands it to him, probably hoping to dump it off anyhow so he can fight Bobby with his full attention.

Only a little disturbed by all the commotion and rattling of the bed they’re using as a fighting ring, Bubba slowly flips through, watching the stranger baby girl in Grandma’s arms grow up into a toddler, and then a little kid, no older than seven or eight years old.

And suddenly, the little girl chops all her hair off, and starts swimmin’ in baggy old clothes, and smiles bright ‘n wide, showin’ off two little bucked teeth. That is Drayton.

Bubba gasps and squeals and bounces to get the twins’ attention.

“What? W-What’s a’ matter Bubba?” Bobby checks up, showing actual real concern underneath the big red slap mark on his face.

Nubbins looks, double-takes to process the shocked expression on Bubba’s face, and then gets angry at his twin, blaming him and all the arguing for Bubba’s emotion, “Y-You scared ‘im!”

“Nuh-uh! Uh-uh!” Bubba insists, waving his hands.

They stop to get their answers and see Bubba’s fished out the little picture from under the sticky plastic, holding it out. Flipped to the back, there’s some blue pen, sort of sideways and scratchy writing but easy enough to read.

The twins know it as Mama’s handwriting, a little script that says: ‘Little Es is officially a big boy. Asks we call him - Drayton. 1925’

“Woah.” They deadpan at the same time, sharing another playful nudge over their jinx.

Nubbins is the first to deviate from their identical surprise, with a question, “W-What’s this business big brother was a b-baby girl for? Is a-all babies girls?”

“No way, stupid. J-Just the ones that the Mama and the Daddy gets- gets confused.” Bobby snorts at him, always acting like he’s so much smarter.

Since he wants to be, Nubbins asks him sarcastically, though it is true really doesn’t know on his own, “What’s ‘at mean?”

“They m-mixed it up a-and c-couldn’t tell which was it.” Bobby says it like it’s obvious.

Now it’s Nubbins’ turn to get all haughty, ‘cause he thought of somethin’ smart that says what Bobby’s actin’ like is true, ain’t. “What, y-you thinks babies change they-they’s own diapers? Nope.”

Fed up with them, Bubba covers his ears and squeaks as loud as possible, “Eeee!”

No more words, they both snap to attention looking at him. Bubba calmly starts to mimic with his hands, pointing to the baby girl picture, slicing through the air, and pointing again to Drayton’s first boy picture. He’s trying to show them the progression, that this was a gradual change.

“Uh… Dr-Drayton splitted in half?” Bobby guesses.

Nubbins claps his hands once as he realizes, “No! Bubby says Drayton jus’ a-a replacement! Th-They switched ‘im out!”

Yet again, Bubba is sighing at their wildness and shaking his head over their out of place assumptions.

But he feels bad about it immediately, once Drayton appears. Liked he cursed his brothers to a punishment for mostly innocent teasing by being frustrated at them.

Drayton reeks of cigarette smoke so badly they could prob’ly all suffocate in this dusty old room. He scans and finds the book out of place, immediately turning sour about the face, “What the hell you boys got into, huh?”

Bobby takes their incorrect theory and runs with it, “W-What’s it your business, you ain’t e-even our real big b-brother! Y-You just a replacement!”

“Yeh!!” Nubbins backs him up, nodding furiously.

“Give me that..” Drayton snatches his photo back, cradling it between his hands like they were playin’ with another wounded little baby bird or somethin’, “I oughta whoop you boys. I-I oughta beat you both senseless!!”

His red-faced rage scares them, but they deflect instead of admitting that, Nubbins pointing to their younger brother with accusation, “H-Hey! Bubba looked too!”

“Have you forgotten Bubba was who you two ingrates was s’posed t’ be helping!?” Drayton seems to just shrug off the attempt, turning it into more furious ammunition.

Brown-ish eyes get all wide, Nubbins frantic to insist, “Uh… no! We jus’... uh..”

“W-We don’ understand ‘im!” Bobby finishes for him.

So much for pretendin’ like they got it all handled, they gotta go cryin’ to big brother to fix it like they aren’t grown themselves now too, “We-We’s tried it! But like you s-said, we ain’t v-ver’ smart!”

“B-Big brother, we's jus’ stupid!!” They lament, lanky, scarred up arms finding their place around each other as they both start wailing.

Now Bubba really feels bad. The twin’s last birthday was number 18, meaning in the eyes of the law they was liable on they own now, full grown enough to move out and do somethin’ besides just play all day. Funny thing though, is the government not knowin’ they been workin’ all their lives, ‘round the farm or helpin’ Drayton with his business.

Just don’t seem like it sometimes, when they’re both burstin’ into tears, all torn up over bein’ bad at their assigned role as Bubba’s big brothers. The way they baby him don’t sting quite so much now, knowin’ they was just tryin’ all they knew to get it right. Shouldn’t really be up to them, or Drayton for that matter, it should be their mama.

Bubba saw her picture in his book, her giant brown eyes, carved into her slender face by puffy rims. Her smile was sort of the same way, chipped away from a bony, pale sort of glow about her. Unlike Gramma, Mama didn’t doll herself up in dark red lipsticks and spidery eye lashes. Mama wore every freckle and mole and the burn scar on her cheek with pride.

Looking into that face, peppered with all kinds of realness, Bubba can’t imagine her leaving jus’ ‘cause of his face. Drayton told him that all along, that his face had these awful gaps and dents and pinches that warped it around, along the lines of where he now had ropey pink scars and droopy eyes.

Mama was pretty, so pretty he’s a little jealous, but her eyes just got this look a lot like love and acceptance that makes Bubba want to believe somethin’ different happened back then. It’s nicer to think Mama would’ve helped his ways of communicatin’, than it is to admit she walked out, whatever the reason.

“Now.. Now, that’s enough of that! Quiet!” Drayton is hollering at the twins to stop their cryin’, drawing Bubba up out of the photo book and into the current problem. Or rather, problems, counting being caught with the picture books, yelling at Drayton, all their bickering, and Bubba struggling to communicate on top of all that.

For their part, the twins do quiet down to just sniffles, watching as Drayton points in their faces and turns,

“I’ll be back to you two after ‘ while.”

For now he’s dealin’ with Bubba, who’s got dread pumpin’ in his veins like a rainstorm against the windows.

Drayton wets his lips and forces a chuckle like he does when he’s talking to a victim. Bubba thinks his brother must be half scared of somethin’, as he motions to the photo book, “What’s ‘at you got there?”

It’s got to be a trap. A trick question. Bubba slams it shut and snatches it close, wrapping his arms around it. A teeny part of him hopes he can hide that it’s Drayton’s particular book, until he remembers that he’d already seen the particular snapshot in history they was all lookin’ at.

“Ah, c’mon now. Show me.” Drayton coos, a tone reserved almost exclusively for folks tied to the dinner table, or the way he talks to the food in the truck when he thinks the boys are too busy to listen.

There’s danger in that. Bubba eases up slowly, presenting the book on the page he’d been fixated to. Drayton takes it full out of his hands and flips through with skill and ease, clearly looked through this photo book many times while nobody else was s’pose to see.

What he lands on is another photo of himself, a little older this time, proudly in line with Grandpa, officially recognized as a man of this house. Someone in their history’d doctored it to have a small cut out photo of little Drayton next to it. With his hair in girly piggy tails and a skirt lengthwise down to his shins.

“See here, this’n’s the one I wanted t’ show ya.”

Bubba thinks he’s starting to understand that they were supposed to look in the photo books. Drayton would’ve hit them already instead of later on, if he could truly bring himself to be angry about their spying. Big brother must ought’ been too shy to show off the pictures, preferring them to find it without him in the room. Maybe in case they said somethin’ mean.

“You was sayin’ ‘bout all that, boy-girl business. One to the other, huh? There ya have it. Know a fella myself done that.” He starts, bridging together all the small pieces in Bubba’s head to build the bond he’d hoped.

Earlier, what Bubba told Drayton that the twins couldn’t understand, he was tellin’ about his questions, his crisis, his out of body feelins.

Bobby gets impatient with Drayton takin’ it all so slow though, “Y-You did, you ch-changed-“

“Damn it, I know that! Tryin’a make friendly!“ Drayton whips his head ‘round to yell, taking a slow, deep breath on the way back to brace himself for the serious side of this, “Lookie, Bubba. You know.. heh.. big brother ain’t as naive as I look. Let you do all that business with your makeup ‘n them suits of your departed auntie’s, ‘cause I seen the inklin’ of this all along.”

Like a confused critter, a puppy at the door wonderin’ who’s on the other side, Bubba tilts his head sideways, “Guh?”

“Well now I watched you grow, didn’t I? Noticed you wasn’t like your brothers.” Drayton laughs like there’s a joke, but it’s still too tense to be real. His cold tone and accompanying lisp drop in, “But Bubba, you gots to be real serious ‘bout this if you’s gonna switch it up. Now I.. you know I can’t just start sayin’ I got’a little sister and everybody gonna be okay with it.”

Now Drayton won’t look him in the eyes, in the pretty woman face he’s wearin’ to feel the way his brother is describing, instead fixing his eyes downwards to his hands, “They’ll see through ya. God knows it. Best to stick ‘round the house much as you can if’n you go on with it. Can’t run ‘round the slaughterhouse or the station so free. ‘Til the idea of boy Bubba dies off anyhow.”

It still feels like too much. Like all kinds of commitment and work that’s still going to leave the problem exposed. What Drayton’s talking is doin’ a heart surgery on a brain-dead bitch hog. Ain’t gonna fix a damn thing.

Bubba shakes his head defiantly. The room around him is silent, Drayton’s face falling so bad you’d swear somebody done slapped him right ‘cross it.

Nubbins must noticed, cause he taps Drayton on his arm, whisper-informing him, “Cook, I-I thinks he’s sayin’ he don’ want that.”

“That right, huh? You wanna stay a boy?” Drayton tries to clarify.

But Bubba shakes his head at that too, and crosses his arms now.

“So you is wantin’ to be a girl?”

Another shake. Drayton’s skipping over the right answer, and Bubba hopes he’ll understand that if he could just deny his questions enough. It feels strange, that his usual go-to for understandin’ is now so closed off, caught up in his own experience so much he can’t see Bubba’s how it is.

The twins ain’t perfect about the way they talk with Bubba but they do try, or at least they’s goin’ to now, ‘cause Bobby excitedly declares. “I know this! I-I-I know this! I think Bubba w-wanna be both!”

A little surprised honestly, Bubba feels a big burst of happy energy from his heart out into his limbs. He wiggles his arms and claps his hands together, faster than he would if he were talkin’ this way.

Drayton is stuck up on Bobby bein’ right, not takin’ it a good way like Bubba, “That ain’t the way it works, fool.”

Bubba ain’t sure if he’s talkin’ the boy-girl stuff, or the ‘Drayton isn’t always right and the twins know their shit sometimes’ stuff.

“S-Sure it is! If that’s what B-Bubba wants!” Nubbins sounds too confident, and they all realize he’s just rubbing salt in the wounds as much as he is extending an olive branch past the old man to Bubba.

“Yeh! O-Old man don’ make the rules!” Bobby agrees, and they’re across the other side of the bed, but Bubba feels like they’re huggin’ him, wrapped around with happy feelings and pleasant warmth.

“I ain’t old yet. And damn it I didn’t say a contrary word!” Drayton insists, taking the high road. No fists go flying, or belts for that matter, just a sort of vulnerability uncovered that would usually have that violent shield over top when his usefulness slipped, “Bubba, help your big brother understand.”

“Uh…” Bubba don’t know how. It’s been put plainly already. He just kinda freezes with his wrists bent up soothingly.

“U-Use the p-pictures, Bubs!” Bobby encourages him, since that’s how he got his point across to them before. Poorly scrawled words didn’t ever really cut it and neither did his gestures, so pictures would have to do.

Only, he doesn’t really get how to do that with limited photos of Drayton’s upbringing that got nothin’ to do with this current issue at all. That must show in his eyes, the panic and the just stuck feeling that’s catching up to him.

Nubbins suggests, “Make.. m-make new ones!”

To show it’s possible, Bobby fetches another yellow-paged notepad, while Nubbins produces a pencil from behind his ear, there ‘cause he was copying the pen Drayton usually keeps there on his own person.

Bubba babbles his version of a thank you, simple phrases like that still known to the family more than this complex stuff, and begins doodling. It takes two entire pages to show it all in his pictures, things like Bubba changing outfits, wearing his boy self and then his girl self, a calendar and the rotating sun showing it’s a day to day sort of thing. At first, Bubba had wanted to know if that was normal, his questions being about how to handle it.

Their reactions were answer enough though, and now it’s just like he’s answerin’ his own questions. Makes him feel kinda smart, drawing out answers and showing all the feelings her never managed to speak on. Really and truly communicating.

Drayton looks it all over when he’s finished and sort of half, fake-smiles.

“Sometimes a she, sometimes a he. Long as yer dressed accordin’ly, think I can work with ‘at. Knew a few fellas down… well you don’ want ‘t know all ‘at. Heh. Older you kids get, less I think I’m knowin’ how ‘t talk to ya.”

Shaking his head at himself in something like shame, Drayton gets up to leave. He’s frustrated at having failed at understanding, but just as much about having passed on his afflictions in the way of the human sex to poor Bubba somehow.

Hands shaking, he goes to the door to leave, before stopping. His heavy, quivery breaths fill the room more than any of the noise they’d been making today, “Bubba. Don’t go tellin’ this to the outside, you hear? These drawins, they stay in the home. To the outside you’re mute again.”

“That ain’t f-fair! I-If we can understands his art, e-everyone oughta, a-and he’ll be jus’ like normal!” Bobby stands and argues, his twin nodding furiously behind him.

Bubba though, he doesn’t like all the yelling and covers his eyes to hide from it.

“Hell what makes you boys think you know a damned thing about normal? Huh? What makes ya think I don’t?” Drayton had stomped forward, probably grabbed the boy according to the way Bobby yelped. Bubba curls up tighter and hopes that slap he just heard doesn’t hurt as bad as it sounded.

“Thats right ain’t nothin’ normal ‘round here, ‘n I ‘llow that much, but you find yourself testin’ my damn limits!!”

The door slams again and something falls over, a bone animal Bubba is pretty sure but not positive until he’s ready to uncover his eyes. In the quiet, the twins check up on each other first before coming back to gently inform Bubba.

“Psst. Bubba. H-He gone.” It’s Nubbins that says that.

Slowly Bubba comes out of hiding, obvious to all that a couple tears slipped past and wet his mask just so. Staying hushed, Bobby gently takes the drawing pad he was using and puts it in the big pocket on the inside of his sleeveless jacket.

“Iss alright. Lookie. Here look. I-I’s gon’ keep this.. this lil’ pad in my pocket, a-an when you wants to speak you tell one ‘f us. Th-That way, you ain’t the one c-carryin’ it so y-youu won’ get in trouble!”

“Tha’s sm-smart.” Nubbins testifies, grinning some. Seeing his toothy smile makes Bubba feel better, catching his breaths and steadying back out to no more panic. He gives a nod in agreement.

Bobby got a little ego about him from that claim, “I know it! W-We both is!”

Instead of the argument Bubba was expecting, the twins clap their hands together and clasp them there, connecting and silently saying that they handled this good. Cheeriness comes back into them and they’re laughing like hyenas before Bubba’s had time to process.

He still feels a little sad on his own. Ain’t easy bein’ told he’s a freak of nature needs to hide from the public, no matter how many times or for which reason it happens.

At least the notepad wasn’t burned up or somethin’, and he’s still ‘llowed to use it at home. Looking at all the photo albums, home to the first inkling of this understanding, he gets the idea to make a new one, that will hold his communication drawings as the pictures. That’ll be his next craft, and surely Nubbins will be able to help him with the sewing and gluing ‘til he gets real good on his own. Brings a crooked smile to his face as well.

[josephquinnswhore]

•dead men don’t kiss•

chapter one ; an opportunist.

summary: Mrs. Simmons has exhausted all of her leads, and reluctantly agrees to the offer of two rugged cowboys with a mutual interest; killing Colm O’Driscoll.

content warning: mentions of violence, blood, suggested murder and brutality, interrogation, threats.

word count: 1.6k

How many O’Driscoll boys would you have to beat bloody until one of them finally cracked? Over the years, you’d developed a pretty effective interrogation system. One that had worked all through the mountains and valleys of almost every town you’d encountered.

But the O’Driscoll boys that had been sent to monitor the area of Strawberry were different, perhaps Colm was actually managing to recruit men that had half of a fucking brain. Decent with their aim and unfortunately for them and you, tight lipped.

Wiping off the remaining evidence of the last O’Driscoll boy you'd once again failed to get answers from onto your jeans, you pull a stool up to the bar. It sure did raise some eyebrows, but no one dared to ask. These folk in Strawberry, if good for nothing else, minded their own business.

Tossing a few dollars onto the sticky bar, you usher the bartender. “Whatever’s strongest on the shelf.”

The man obeys, pouring a small shot glass of whiskey. “Our finest, miss. Enjoy.”

The glass hadn’t been polished properly, the sight causes a grimace on your irritated features. But the whiskey slides down your throat with its coursing burn that, perhaps; loosens your tightly strung limbs.

“Mister.. what’s your name again?” Calling to the un - busy bartender, pointing to your empty glass as you slide it back to him. Although, as it seems, the glass was now stained with your smeared cherry red lipstick.

“Alden, miss. Alden Pensor.” He greets, re - filling your shot glass and sets it back down in front of you.

Shuffling in your seat the gaze you shoot the man from under your wide brimmed black hat is menacing. “Now, Alden. Would you say this is a fair town, a safe town?”

Alden is weary of how things had turned stiff so quickly, he doesn’t want any fuss, the sheriff was gettin’ mouthy about Alden’s complaints of patrons as of late. He was reminded that if he kicked everyone out of the bar, that he would have no customers and no money. Most of the time it saves all of the mishap of folk searching for illegal drink, like moonshine and causing the entire town havoc.

“I would like to think so, miss. I done lived here all my life and ain’t had much trouble. Save for a few youngins stealin’ from my wife’s garden.”

At that, you slide off your stool and lean against the bar. “That’s how this town should stay, wouldn’t you agree, safe?”

He merely nods. “Anyone would be a fool to deny it.”

The shot glass is shattered against the wooden bar as you slam it down in seething rage and lurch over the bar to grab onto his collar. “So god help me, Alden. Help me understand, friend. Why are there O’Driscoll boys camped at every damn corner ‘round here?”

In an attempt to diffuse the situation, the middle aged man raised his hands in surrender. “I ain’t sure, miss. This is the first I’m hearin’ about any of them boys ‘round here. I swear!”

You shove the man backward, and point your finger at him. “If I hear as much as a whisper that Colm O’Driscoll has been in here all friendly like with you, you’re done, you hear me Alden?”

“I’ll write to you if he shows his face here, I—I swear miss.”

Satisfied with his answer, you fix his collar that you’d just roughened up. “I’ll be in touch, friend.”

Goddamn saloon was full of cowards, entire building full of half drunk patrons that didn’t have the gall to stand up to you, or even give a shout of any word about Colm, surely one of his men were amongst the yellow faced crowd of drunks. They, with any hope, would send word to Colm. Perhaps if the man himself managed to grow a spine over the next week, you’d face off with him yourself.

All you wanted was to look that sack of sorry shit in the eye and make him pay, make things right—

“Miss?” A deep voice calls to you. He’s an odd looking feller. Tall, dark hair and a strangely styled moustache.

Pausing your steps on the creaky and ever splitting wooden steps to your hitched horse, taking a moment to inspect the man. Armed, of course, and it seemed he had a friend with him. Taller, broader, probably his first hand man.

“The hell you two fellers want?”

The older man raises his hands. “Just to talk, that is all. I couldn’t help but overhear you speaking of Colm O’Driscoll.”

Every limb in your body reacts, muscles tighten, every hamstring pulled taut. “If you are one of his boys, this ain’t gonna end well for you.”

The man laughs. “You are sorely mistaken, miss. That man and I.. have an extensive past, but I assure you, it is not favourable.”

He's gained your attention, and a few seconds to explain himself before you drop him with a bullet in the middle of town. “So who are you then, hm? Some rich prick he’s stolen from? I don’t work with no goddamn law neither.”

“Let me ease your mind, miss. My name is Dutch Van Der Linde. This is my associate, Arthur Morgan.” He gestures to his buddy, who finally steps out from behind Dutch.

Younger, burly, goddamn handsome bastard.

“I heard a bit about you lot. So what’s all this got to do with you, or me? This Colm business.”

Arthur piped up this time. His hands sliding into his Jean pockets as he leans against a wooden foundation pole to look down at you. “Maybe we could help each other out. We’ve even havin’ our own issues with Colm for years.”

A huff escapes you. “That so? Why ain’t you killed him yet then? Suppose you recruit buffoons from the doomed circus from Saint Denis?”

Dutch laughs, putting a hand on your shoulder as he steps down the saloon steps to attempt a more personal proposition.

“You sure seem like you know how to manage yourself, miss. I suggest joining forces to kill that bastard once and for all.”

Looking between the men, perhaps this was a stupid idea. But they clearly weren’t Colm’s men, in simple regard to intellect and presentation.

“Try anything,” you warn lowly, lowering your hand to rest on your holstered pistol.

Dutch pats your shoulder. “Come now, if nothin’ else we are men of our word, wouldn’t you agree Arthur?”

“Sure,” Arthur replied with a sigh.

Real reassuring, damned jackass.

“Lead the way.” Nodding your head at the men, you unhitch your horse and mount the sturdy beast. The men go ahead and you follow on behind, keeping a deadly eye on them, and your surroundings.

“It’s alright girl, I know.” Marbelle whinny’s as you kick your spurs into her side and accelerates to keep up with the men.

It’s a short journey on a main trail way until you reach their camp.

“Everyone listen up. We have found ourselves an ally, one that is going to help us succeed in killing Colm O’Driscoll. Once and for all!” The unfamiliar faces cheer at Dutch’s hollow promise, although you wish it were true.

Arthur puts a hand behind your back, hovering above the material of your shirt to assist you in dismounting, which you sent a steely glare. Like you hadn’t dismounted your own damn horse before. “Come with me. Spose I’ll get you settled in.”

Reluctantly, you follow the man. The camp was nice, Horseshoe Overlook, many times had you followed the trailway past but never through. These people had some sense, camping off the trail, onto a flat near water. A decent camp set up with a boiling pot of.. whatever the hell that sloppy brown substance is.. and a pot of coffee.

Naturally people stare, which you don’t reciprocate the smiles, you’re not here for a goddamn social calling.

“I’ll set you up next to me, got a fire nearby an’ all so you should be fine through the evenin’ with it cooling down and such.”

Eyeing the man, you huff. “Thank ya, don’t plan on stayin’ long though.”

“Course not, not like that’s what these folk said too,” he laughs in amusement.

A deep rooted sense of anger gnaws at you. “I ain’t like them.”

He studies you, helping string up the material to a pole with some rope creating a makeshift tent for you. “If you say so. What’s your name anyways.”

A lurch in your heart, the name you haven’t uttered in months, now surfacing with all of the rotten, supple and corrupt grief you’ve tried to suppress for years. “Mrs Simmons.”

Arthur seems to recognise some of the deep rooted resentment as you speak and hums in acknowledgment. “Well, Mrs Simmons. Best get some rest. I’m sure Dutch will be botherin’ you first thing tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Mr Morgan.”

“Don’t mention it.” He doesn’t walk far off, his bedroll is on top of a small cot on the other side of a wagon that also supports the quick makeshift tent for you.

Being surrounded by people again was odd.. almost made you yearn for more company. Most of the evenin’ you lie awake, the breeze is cutting through the thin bedroll of yours and the fire had snuffed out long ago. The locket on your skin felt heavy, burdened with the image, the root of your suffering.

How could you sleep? When all that was on your mind was that coward Colm O’Driscoll. If Dutch was any use to you at all, perhaps you’d be seeing justice sooner than you anticipated.

[mrhaitch]

Hello hello Mr.Haitch!

I’m guessing you’ve been busy! Hope your week at home was fun

I have me some questions today—

1) I’m curious, how do you make (or used to make) chai lattes? Like chai is a staple in our house, and I love to compare the recipes to see the differences (because I believe the ingredients can def alter its taste so so much) personally, I’m not a fan of it.

2) how does the British schooling system work? Like I have a vague idea about the American system, because of the tv shows/series I’ve watched, but I feel like British schooling system is very different.

3) if you were to be reincarnated/ isekai’d (like the popular trope in webtoons/manhwas these days) as a character of a book, which book would it be and which character will you be in that specific book? (The rules of this trope often are, that you get reincarnated as a character, and you get the powers to alter the events/ plot, because you have the upper hand of knowing the story/ events that transpired beforehand )

4) This is purely silly (and Haitch can answer too) but, can you guess my MBTI and Hogwarts house? (I need to prove a point to my friend, so I need to know what I come across as)

5) Lastly, (and you can totally refuse to do so) Can you sometimes, give out writing prompts? I would love to exercise my writing because it’s very easy for me to get into slumps as I’m easily distracted.

(Also it would be fun if other anons wanna participate too) (then again I know you are very busy so only if you’re comfortable with it)

Thank you in advance!!

We have been extremely busy, unfortunately, but things seem to be settling down.

1) Where I worked we used a brown powder so heavily laced with sugar it sparkled. You added the powder to milk and steamed it, canted at an angle to help it mix. Personally I've always hated it: it smells and tastes like the liquid distillation of corporate Christmas. All cinnamon and sickeningly sweet.

2) Okay, here's how it works: from 0-4 you have nursery or preschool, from 4-11 you have primary school (reception, year one, year two, etc. to year six), after that is high school (year 7 to 11) where students study for their GCSEs in years 10 and 11. GCSEs are considered baseline qualifications and are used to judge your suitability for Further Education at a sixth form (academic, more exclusive) or college (can still offer academic courses, but tend to have a.more vocational focus). After that there's university.

And that's just the mainstream route. We have schools focused on young people with Special Education Needs (SEN schools), behavioural units which cater to students who have repeatedly been expelled, and other forms of alternative provision (I work for one of these) which might focus on teaching students a trade while establishing basic English and maths skills. In this last case students will come out with qualifications equivalent to GCSEs but are unlikely to qualify them for further study, if that makes sense?

3) Fitzchivalry Farseer from Robin Hobb's Farseer series. I love those books, I love that world. I love Fitz and the Fool with an intensity that could liquify steel, and the number of times I've desperately wanted to crawl into the pages and fix their goddamn lives for them is incalculable. He never should've let Molly slip through his fingers.

4) 50/50 Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, undecided. MBTI - honestly no idea. @pseudowho any suggestions?

5) Absolutely. I'll try and post some when I get a chance.

[websterss]

A LUNAR KISS — BRETT TALBOT

REQUEST: Could I get a nye write up with Brett pls if you have the time🥺

WARNING(S): Angst, fluff.

WORD COUNT: 2,115

PAIRING: Brett Talbot x fem!Reader  

A/N: Hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST

You closed your eyes. Your muscles tensing up as you pull and squirm under your restraints. The loud clang from lifting your hands caused Brett’s head to swivel around. He spared one glance towards your chained up self before directing his attention to the moon illuminating the dark basement. He nodded, raising the red solo cup in his hand up to his lips. The alcohol had no effect on werewolves but that didn’t stop him from drinking it.

You growled his way. Watching his foot tap to the music booming from the first floor. The party’s uproar hurt your ears. Wincing from the sensitivity. You closed your eyes pulling again at the chains drilled into the wall behind you. They wouldn’t let up, and you wanted nothing more than to crush the stupid speaker between your hands.

“Are you– serious right now?” Your breathing became labored as did trying to control yourself from shifting. One of the many downsides of being a new beta…your control was shit. You closed your eyes again. Your face pinched as every ache and urge to kill flowed through your system.

Brett halted his minimized dancing and gave you his full attention. “I’m missing out on the best New Year’s party to make sure you don’t end up on national television for manslaughter– I am serious.” He fixed his posture. Adjusting his body that leaned up against the wooden beam that connected to the staircase above him.

“Wow…such an inconvenience for you. Would that really be just a bad thing though? Surely there’s someone intolerable upstairs for me to get my hands on.” You make a grabby motion with your claws drawn out. You smirked as he frowned, unamused by your antics.

“A few...but I wouldn’t waste my time on them.” He brushed it off. Your breathing grew heavier as the moon appeared to shine brighter through the small window. It highlighted Brett’s features, he looked like a goddamn model. Your heart skipped at the mere thought of being alone with him. Although this was only the first of many times he had to watch over you during the night of a full moon. You didn’t want to admit it but Brett unsettled you in the best way possibly. After Satomi bit you and introduced you to the pack. It was Brett that caught your attention first. His tall frame. Blue eyes, and caring attributes had you falling miserably fast for him. Too fast for yourself to even keep up with. It’s why it bugged you even more when Satomi made you his responsibility on a night out of being teenagers. You sure were enjoying your youth right about now. 

“I would!” Your voice deepened into a monstrous octave. This caused Brett to straighten up and allow for the shiver that ran down his spine to happen. One cautious step towards you had you trying to create distance between the two of you. You hate his cocky demeanor, but that didn’t mean you had the need to hurt him. You shook your head back and forth. Claws out in front of you. You couldn’t retract them. The full effect of the moon finally taking its toll on you. “No!” Your now goldened eyes met his ocean blue ones. “Stay back!” You warned. Your wrists turning red from how hard you pulled. If you tried harder, you’d break through the surface of your skin. You’d cause blood to drop from your wrist. The pain, not nearly as horrible as turning was.

“See, I get that you’re trying to sound intimidating but it’s not really working-” Sarcasm was Brett’s go to. He’d try to be a wise guy during serious situations, but that only pushed your buttons further. He crouched a few feet from you. A stupid smirk plastered on his stupid face. You wanted to claw at it. Dig your tips into his flesh.

“I said step back!” You growled. You reached out and lunged at him. The chains were long enough to shorten the distance he put inbetween you. You were at an arm's reach when the chains gave. Your body smacked into the hard cement a few inches from where Brett remained crouched. You wheezed as the air was sucked out of your lungs. You slowly pushed yourself up with your hands, head turning towards him. You took in a few deep breaths trying to remain calm. The hard part was over. You shifted, then came back to. It became your greatest weakness, not having control over the monster that wanted to escape. Where Satomi saw improvement, Brett countered and only saw where your weakness could be used against you. 

“You’re not in control.”

“No shit!” You bluntly said. 

“Do you even use the mantra I taught you? The sun, the moon, the truth...” He recited it because you surely couldn’t have forgotten it. He bugged the shit out of you any chance he got. He’d be in your head. That little conscious that you wanted to shut up but would never leave your shoulder. You’d be sitting in class only to hear the faintest whisper of those six words. It’d scare you at times because he hardly shared any classes with you, but there he was, in your ears, talking.

“It never works.” You let your voice break. The heavy weight in your chest returned as you pushed yourself up taller. Sitting back against the back of your shoes. “I’m not gonna get this, Brett.” You finally allowed yourself to have the strength to stare into his eyes. Genuine hopelessness resting across your features. You were battling with inner demons that were fronting. Making themselves become seen. Your vulnerability caught him off guard. He eased up with the cocky attitude, his face relaxing and lips forming into a thin line.

“You will.” He gave a solid nod, meeting your eyes and slowly shifting them downwards. 

“How can you even be sure about that? I just tried to claw your face off.” Your shoulders slumped.

“Hey, I call that a step up from biting me last month.” He revealed his teeth. His shoulders shook as laughter took over him.  

“I said I was sorry.” You huffed, muttering underneath your breath.

“I know you were...” His laughter died down. 

Your ears picked up on the loud rambunctious upstairs. You chuckled in disbelief as you heard the echoes of the countdown. “It’s almost midnight...” You hummed in amusement. The realization that you were going to enter the new year with fangs and claws had you shaking your head and straining your hearing to focus on everyone’s chants. Brett’s eyes shifted to the ceiling. He nodded hearing the party that was still in full motion. He could’ve been up there, but looking down at you, fiddling with the cuffs, he realized he wasn’t the only one missing out. You showed up for the party only to be dragged to the basement the second your foot passed the threshold. Your appearance, forgotten, and never acknowledged, now that he thought about it. No one from school even knew you were here. Just Brett. Your high school experience was as scarce as your social life. You were alone when Satomi found you in the woods one night, and you still had yet to make a friend at school. You mostly kept to yourself and found security in the library. 

Satomi took pity on you when she found you drenched in a milkshake. Your introduction to the pack left you more humiliated than you already had been. A smile crept its way onto his lips thinking back to how you smelled like strawberries. The flavored drink you were covered head to toe in. 

23, 22, 20, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14...

He took one glance at your chained wrist then made up his decision. Your eyes shifted to him as you picked up on his movements. Your eyes widened with wariness as you started backing away from the key he pulled from his back pocket of his jeans. 

“Brett no-”

“Look at yourself, you’ve calmed down!” You tilted your head at his attentiveness. Silently pleaded with your eyes. 

“The moon is still out, we can't risk it!” You denied his attempts to approach you with the key. “You said so yourself I’m not in control-”

“Do you trust me?” His abruptive question had you stumbling over your words.

“What? No. I don’t think this is a good idea-”

“Y/n, do you trust me?” He repeated the question again. Hands reaching forward to keep you still. You really hoped that he wasn’t picking up on how fast your heart was beating. You remained quiet for a second. He just needed a yes from you. Just a yes. 

“Brett...” You closed your eyes, trying to avoid the fact he was really close to you. “Y-Yes.” You gave him an affirmative nod.

“Yes?”

“Yes. Don’t make me change my mind.” You huffed, pushing out your wrist for him to unlock. The clang of the chains hitting the floor caused you to relax your shoulders. You rubbed against the skin of your wrist, trying to soothe the slight ache that lingered. Brett’s cocky demeanor returned as he smirked at you, then pulled you towards the staircase. You halted as you both were halfway up. He looked back as he felt you attempt to tug your wrist back.

“You’ll be fine. I won’t let you kill anyone tonight.” He really had you going there for a second, but his reassurance was all you needed to let him continue hauling you up the stairs and into the party. He turned the knob of the door and continued forward. You had to adjust to the change in lights. You didn’t take into account just how dark it really was in the basement until you ventured back upstairs. Yet, you kept letting Brett lead you to...wherever he was trying to take you. 

The countdown was nine seconds away from welcoming in the new year. Brett kept glancing back towards you, making sure you were still behind him, though, that was hardly impossible. He wasn’t exactly letting up on his grip. Your anxiety grew as he pulled your towards the living room. Bodies and more bodies, littered the space. A countdown projected onto the big flat screen. A few of Brett’s team mates lingering onto cute girls as they anticipated the strike of midnight. Your mood only uplifting upon seeing some classmates wearing gigantic 2023 glasses and top hats. A few party blowouts awaiting to be blown in people’s mouths. You weren’t entirely sure why Brett had dragged you all this way. Especially within a crowd. Your eyes wandering, falling onto familiar faces, and not so familiar faces. This was one step out of your comfort zone, even more so without mental preparation. You could only socialize for so long until your battery ran out. That’s what the preparation was for, to help you face any outcome. However, nothing could have prepared you for when the clock struck twelve and the party went up in an uproar. Streamers being blown, kisses being given, and Brett turning your chin towards him to plant one himself on you. Your pupils dilated as he cupped your face. You were tense for half a second, then allowed yourself to find peace in his arms. In the warmth that radiated off of him. You were hesitant at first, but surely, your hands slid up across his chest, and rested behind at the nape of his neck. A few of his own buddies, cheering the kiss on, and slapping their hands against his back, telling him to get it. You mentally rolled your eyes at that one. You pulled back first, finding the need to breathe your primary concern at the moment. You took in a few deep breaths, then settled in his arms again. You looked up, a timid laugh falling past your lips as you found him already smiling at you. 

“Was that your first kiss?” He licked his lips. His ego building. 

Oh god...

“Yes. You’ve now stripped me of my innocence.” Brett rolled his eyes. “Now please do so again before I feel obligated to appease my sinful thoughts. Starting with this henley...” Brett gulped nervously, seeing you drag a claw against his shirt. You followed your finger, tracing over where you were sure an eight pack was hidden underneath. You raked your eyes upward and locked onto his incredibly blue eyes. Like two oceans. “I bite Brett, hard.” You threatened, if he didn't kiss you again.

“I know you do.” He nodded. “It took a week for my wound to fully heal.”

[chaifootsteps]

The issues with Stella are so goddamn easy to fix it's actually painful any time she comes on screen and they have to find a way to bend over backwards to make her as unlikable as possible to artificially prop Stolas up as well as avoid the classism plot that THEY WROTE INTO THE SHOW.

Just establish very clearly AT THE BEGINNING OF THE SHOW that both of them were okay with the other sleeping around (since neither liked each other and neither wanted to get married) but have Stella get mad specifically because Stolas was caught sleeping with an imp, and that reflects badly on her. If you want her to be a villain, you don't need her to be cartoonishly evil and completely bereft of personality and likeability beyond bitch (derogatory) even as a child; she can just be classist and obsessed with status. (Also maybe don't make her stupid? Maybe don't have her creepy incest-vibes brother around at all? Give her some agency as a villain, you know? Maybe let her be funny? MAYBE LET HER TALK TO HER FUCKING DAUGHTER ON SCREEN?)

But fixing Stella would force the show to actually acknowledge the classism that they've set up and have been trying to ignore in lieu of writing fluff one shots of their favorite ships. And it sucks because she could be a really, really interesting and entertaining lens into how the upper-crusts of this setting actually behave. She SHOULD HAVE BEEN the face of that plot. If you want her to be this evil scheming funny girlboss bitch (affectionate), LET HER BE ONE. Hell, she can even be sympathetic and redeemable if you play up the fact that her behavior comes from a fear of being othered by the Goetia.

As a side note, why are arranged marriages even a thing when divorce exists and vice versa? If it's a eugenics thing for blue bloods why is marriage even a factor when they could just have the kids without it? If they're immortal outside of specific weaponry why do they need heirs in the first place? How DID Striker get all of his angelic weapons? How did Stella even meet Striker, who HATES the upper classes? Why does Striker even work for her when she's the ONE CHARACTER explicitly shown in-canon to embody the things he hates about the system at large?

I guess my point is that fixing Stella's writing would kind of cascade out into actual worldbuilding, stakes, more screen time for female characters, and more coherent better-constructed plots so Spindlehorse won't do it because they want to focus exclusively on a middling romance between two characters who have ZERO CHEMISTRY. If they wanted to focus on that, great, but why on EARTH did they set up all of this other shit? Season one set up conflict and interest and season two has done nothing but blue-ball me by dangling those plot threads in front of me and yanking it away at the last possible second. I WANT the show to be good, but it desperately needs better editing at the script level which I am CONVINCED only goes through one draft and are written several weeks apart.

ALSO THE LATEST EPISODE GAVE ME MOTION SICKNESS WHY WAS THE CAMERA MOVING SO MUCH WHEN THE CHARACTERS WERE STATIC HOW MUCH BUDGET AND TIME GOT WASTED WITH THE UNNECESSARY FUCKING SHAKY CAM?

(Sorry for dropping this huge chunk of text on you, it was supposed to just be about Stella originally but holy fuck that last episode made me nauseous and I got a bit carried away.)

No apologies needed; it was an excellent chunk of text.

Stella deserved better, and we as an audience deserved better, which isn't to say she needs to be redeemable or even likeable. But she does need to be human...to do something outside of scream and drink wine and exist. She needs to do more than just prop up the show's main ship. Give her something she thinks about, cares about, and like you said, let her talk to her fucking daughter.

Nothing about this shaky-cam show makes sense or feels fleshed out. Agreed completely that there's no way it's going through multiple drafts, and the longer these 30 car pileups of plot holes and characterization problems continue to go on, the closer the show gets to a point where no amount of revising is going to save it.

[alertarchitect]

Full disclosure, this is a long one. It's also a vent post. I'm mainly writing this out to help get the thoughts and feelings regarding this kind of organized and out of my head, makes dealing with them just a little easier. Maybe it'll help you put to words your own thoughts & feelings on this kinda shit, too, and if it does, I'm glad my screaming into the void at least helped out someone other than myself! After all, if anything I say, write, or do ends up helping at least one other person, then maybe I'm doing something right :]

Sometimes having long-time special interests in an ongoing franchise FUCKING SUCKS. Perfect example - I am both a big Halo nerd, and really enjoy the overaching lore of Bungie's connected worlds (with how Marathon, Pathways into Darkness, Myth, Destiny, and even the ways Halo originally connected before it had to become its own thing thanks to Microsoft). Here are the ways that currently sucks:

The state of Halo Infinite, the most recent Halo game, both currently and at launch. At launch, you had a buggy mess, with multiplayer that barely functioned, lacking feature parity (even just on the multiplayer side of things, not counting the campaign) with Halo Reach, a game from 2010. Currently, 343i has admittedly fixed a lot of the launch issues - there's more customization than the game has ever had before (still not as good as Reach's customization imo, but at this point I've given up hope on any multiplayer AAA game having that level of customization for free ever again), the desync issues (in my experience) are no longer happening, and it has the most powerful Forge mode in any Halo game to date. The flip side of that, though? Egregiously horrendous monetization, an armor core and coating system that both hurt the customization more than help, and a drip-feed of content with little to no communication from 343 on anything past the most recent update. Not to mention the issues that come from a focus on "Live Service" bullshit.

The issues at 343 Industries itself, which come part and parcel with the massive issues related to Microsoft as a company. Massive megacorporation, horrible management, staff getting screwed over, crunch culture, and more - it just goes on and on.

Halo 5, despite its generally negative reception, is horrendously inaccessible to those of us that want to experience it as a piece of history and/or try out the multiplayer. A perfect example of how little companies care about game preservation, despite the decent track record 343i has had in that respect thanks to the Master Chief Collection, its PC release and addition of Halo Reach, and the efforts to find, occasionally recreate from almost nothing, and implement lost & cut content in the MCC titles.

Being a fan of Bungie's overarching stuff... really bad when you are at PEAK investment into their stuff, namely my Destiny 2 hyperfixation, and they not only announce that their new Marathon game is going to be a fucking EXTRACTION SHOOTER, and thus unlikely to have one of the most interesting things about Marathon in it (that being its lore) while also being very hard to get into thanks to people treating that kind of game as a massive sweat-fest, but also suddenly lay off a bunch of employees (when previously they had a good track record of treating employees decently...) due to Square Enix levels of profit overestimations of Lightfall, the BEST SELLING DESTINY EXPANSION EVER only getting 45% of the expected sales. Because why be realistic, right? Just fuck over employees, that certainly won't hurt us in the end!

The fact that, despite ALL OF THIS and my moral convictions against the shitty nature of this stuff, my dumbass brain still wants me to just spend spend spend on it anyway because of how much of a special interest Halo & the Bungie lore are to me - it almost hurts. I generally prefer fantasy stuff, but I can't stop myself from loving the lore and stories associated with this stuff. I have to fight myself every goddamn time I have money to not fall into the traps. It's easier with Destiny - I uninstalled it, replaced my PvE needs with Warframe and Risk of Rain 2, replaced my PvP needs with Halo Infinite, and just keep up with the story from a distance. But now that Halo Infinite is back in my life? I love the gameplay, hell I'd go as far as to say it has some of the strongest gameplay in the series (though some modes could use a bit more work, for example the Infection mode just isn't as fun as the Infection from Halo Reach), but the monetization just... AAAARGH it hurts me that I want to spend on it, both for customization and to have little goals to work towards in the (thankfully well-implemented due to them being available eternally) battle passes.

I just want to be able to love something that's been so central to me for so long - I played a cracked version of the CE PC demo for countless hours growing up, to the point that to this day I know the mission Silent Cartographer back to front from memory & could do it in my sleep, and associate Blood Gulch with countless memories of Halo's multiplayer from how often I'd play it with my sister, and to add onto all of that Halo Reach is one of my favorite games ever made, period - without caveats and moral hangups. I just want to love something without justifying it every time I think of it, both to myself and others.

I know this is a massively first-world issue, having the luxury to whine about my Favorite Things going through years and years of getting fucked by their own successes driving them into corporatism, but it still sucks. Obviously not as much as other issues both myself and others deal with, and DEFINITELY not as much as the horrible shit people are enduring in several parts of the world, but just enough for me to want/need to vent about how much corporations like to shit on the little rays of sunshine that we use to feel better about life.