#almost 2 hours of visual pleasure
hurryupharry · a month ago
hey hi hello... this as it was suspense has got me feeling some typa way. here it is written out for your reading pleasure. :) let me know what you think, i'm probably (definitely) going to do a part 2 but tell me tell me tell me how you feel!!
pairing: harry x reader word count: 2,050 warnings: angst.... my favourite * not proofread yet!
edit: can someone tell me if the read more thing is working for you cause it isn't for me and looks stupid af
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8:32pm, reads the screen as you tapped on your phone for what seems like the 76th time that evening, hoping to see some correspondence from Harry. At the start of the evening, you hoped the text would be a joyful one - letting you know he was wrapping up and on the way home. As the evening progressed, you hoped to hear he was running a little late, but rushing home as fast as he could. By 8, which was long past your agreed dinnertime, you were growing impatient. The next text you got had better be from him, apologetic and thinking of ways to make it up to you.
Are you still coming home for dinner? I’ve got everything set up still.
Let me know when you are, I can pop dinner in the microwave so it’s ready for when you’re home. Love you x
Chucking your phone onto the couch, you picked up your glass of wine that’d been left sitting on the dining table for the past two hours. You knew he was busy, especially with the upcoming single launch and album thereafter, but you’d been making concessions. Not a single word of complaint ever left your lips when he’d set off to LA, New York, Bath or whereever else he needed to be for recordings, shoots or anything in between. You were his biggest cheerleader - second to Anne, of course - and you never failed to shower him with the most love and support. It was practically your day job. This night was different though, you’d both penned this date down weeks in advance. Given that he had to put off your anniversary, Valentine’s Day and all other regular date nights, often coming home late or not at all, he decided that spending proper time together outside of your shared bedroom was long overdue.
Though not the best chef, you took it upon yourself to try out a well-trusted recipe of his favourite pasta dish. Aside from the pasta, which you honestly couldn’t find the willpower in you to try making from scratch, you pulled out all the stops. Plating it on dishes you’d bought on your first couple’s trip to Italy, pouring his favourite red from that vineyard you spent hours wine-drunk and lazing on lounge chairs at, you did your best. In spite of his hectic schedule and the lack of time you spent together, you still wanted to remind him that he held the biggest pieces of your heart. Taking a sip from the glass, you were momentarily brought back to those blissful moments in the Italian countryside, ever-so-fleeting as they were.
The kitchen clock read 9:05pm. Still radio silence on Harry’s end, you decided it wouldn’t be long till ants came marching in to steal your dinner. Your patience was wearing thin anyway. Carrying the dishes to the fridge, you didn’t bother covering them with cling wrap before carefully placing them on the top rack. Your beautiful plating could live to see another day, and you thought you’d enjoy the visuals tomorrow when you had it for lunch. You felt a little strange - you knew you were frustrated, almost angry, yet there was a sense of guilt that came with it. You shouldn’t feel this way. After all, he was doing what he loved and it didn’t mean he loved you any less. You had your limits too though, and you couldn’t just sit there and let yourself be taken for granted.
Gonna have an early night. Dinner’s in the fridge.
Drive home safe.
By the time Harry was able to pick his phone up, it was half past nine - long after he’d promised to be home. There were a string of messages from you, and his heart sank just reading them, feeling sickly knowing that you were waiting on him for hours. Your first texts carried a tone of excitement, even an audio message thrown in telling him how much you were looking forward to sitting down together. "Just wanted to let you know... I'm working on making something super special and I think you'll love it. Okay, that's my kitchen timer -- see you soon, baby." Slowly but surely, they became less hopeful, questions on whether he was running late still punctuated with the white heart emoji that you both only used for each other. Your final message made him feel like punching himself in the face - almost completely emotionless and totally unlike you.
You weren’t one for confrontation. You’d cry at the thought of having to articulate your thoughts, especially when you were already emotional, so the silent treatment was your best friend in times like these. He’d called, of course, once he realised how much he’d mucked up by standing you up for what seemed like the millionth time, but you’d turned off your phone. He knew you were non-confrontational, and making him listen to your voicemail was your way of letting him know that you weren’t going to let this go down easy.
By the time he was home, you were tucked away in bed, having taken a cool shower and washed off your face mask for the night. You were on your final item - your daily book read, accompanied by light piano music - when you heard the distinct locking of his car doors.
Harry knew he was completely fucked. Walking into the living room, his wine glass still on the kitchen counter, he couldn’t have thought of an excuse that you hadn’t heard before. Hearing the familiar piano tunes you often put on when you desperately needed relaxation, he made his way up the stairs quietly, palms sweaty from how hard he’d been gripping the steering wheel on the drive home. He usually never knocks, not when it’s just the two of you at home, but he does this time. You don’t answer.
“Love, can I come in?”
Your heart drops a little thinking of how terrible he must have felt, not even wanting to come in without your permission. But he’d made you feel that way too, on countless occasions recently, you felt it was only fair. Again, you kept mum. He knew you were on this silent treatment thing for sure now, and god, did he hate whenever you did. Honestly, he would prefer fighting and getting it all out any day.
“Hey,” He mumbles meekly, pushing the door open a little to test the waters. He swears he falls more in love with you every day, and even as you sat in his old Stones t-shirt that had long become your favourite pyjama top, book in hand and probably seething with anger at him, he still feels the same. You don’t even spare him a look, eyes continuing to scan over the page you were on. It was killing you, not even being able to take a look at him, but you couldn’t - you’d fall apart too easily with just his puppy-eyed glance.
“We had to get this one out tonight so everything could be done before the launch next week,” Harry speaks softly, allowing himself in and closing the door shut behind him. “M’ really sorry, my love. I know we’ve had this down for a while.”
You weren’t reading your book at this point, of course, but you forced yourself to pretend like you were, even flipping a page for good measure. You were serious this time and weren’t going to give in with just an apology. Harry sighs, making his way to the bathroom. His eyes glossed over once he saw that you’d still warmed his towel up just how he likes it, and laid his moisturiser out on the countertop where he’d see it since he had a habit of forgetting. You always went the whole nine yards for him, even when he didn’t do so for you.
Dressed in nothing but his boxers, he couldn’t help the frown on his face when he saw your back turned to him, the room illuminated only by the nightlight on his side of the bed. Climbing into bed, he hesitated placing his hand on your shoulder. “I love you, m’love,” He whispered, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
As much as you wanted to turn around, bury your head in his chest and feel his strong arm wrap around your shoulders, you were set on making him work for it. You felt his touch sliver away, leaving the spot where his hand rested on your shoulder for a few seconds almost unbearably cool. This was the first time you’d ever rejected his touch, and he couldn’t stand it.
“Y/N, I know you aren’t asleep.”
He sat with his back against the headboard, glancing down at you. Your breathing was irregular - you just didn’t want to speak to him. “Let’s not go to bed angry, please love,” He breathed out, running a hand through his hair and tugging a little at the roots in frustration. “We promised.”
“You promised lots of things, Harry,” You finally uttered, for the first time that night. You didn’t want to, but he was onto you. He could physically feel his heart clench hearing your voice - how it was almost dripping with disappointment. “You promised you’d be home tonight, to make up for all the promises you didn’t keep before. You promised that in the worst possible case that you were late, you’d call, or ping me, at the very least. Did you?” You were getting heated now, you could feel it. You hated confrontation and neither were you good at it, but you had so much pent-up anger bubbling in you that you couldn’t help yourself. He was talking to you about promises? Really? You pushed yourself off the bed, turning to him in a huff. “I’ll answer that, Harry - you didn’t. So let’s not talk about promises today, please.” You never called him Harry - at most, H, around friends or those you weren’t familiar with, and it irked him.
“Love, we’ve all been trying to bang this album out - thought you knew that. I’m sorry, but I promise I’ll make up for it. Please m’ love, would you at least look at me?”
Your eyes were brimming with tears at this point, and you hated when anyone asked for you to look at them when you felt vulnerable. You couldn’t do it, and he still didn’t seem to get it. “You still can’t see it, Harry? These promises are empty! You make them every time and they never come through, not once. I can’t even remember the last time we’ve spent more than an hour together, apart from when we’re asleep. It’s so fucking painful, and I don’t know how much longer I could keep taking it for you to realise that. So yes, I am angry and no, we can’t just hug it out and pretend like it’s okay.”
His eyes were heavy, but not as heavy as his heart, which felt like it was about to sink into his stomach. He had nothing to say - you were right, about all of it. “I can only try, m’ love,” He mewled, voice raspy and tired. “I– there’s nothing else I can say except m’ sorry and I’ll try harder. I pro– I know it’ll get better soon. Please, bear with me love..”
“Soon? The album comes out in almost two months, H… You’re setting off for somewhere else again soon, and I don’t know what you want me to do, honestly,” You choked out, wiping the tears from your eyes as they threatened to fall in full force. “Please, let’s table this for tomorrow. I had a long day and I think you did too.”
You finally mustered enough strength in you to look at him where he sat, blankly staring at the wall across the room, bottom lip red and raw from biting on it, eyelashes slightly damp and sticking together with the wetness of a few rogue tears. You weren’t going to share a bed with him tonight - the tension in the room weighed heavily on both your shoulders, and you knew a slumbering you would probably cave into his warm embrace mid-way through.
“Wh-where’re you goin’, love? Please.. Let’s not do this,” He pleaded, getting up from his spot. You don’t reply, leaving the room and clicking the door shut behind you. He could sit with his actions for the rest of the night, and let you know in the morning.
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towhomitmayconcernf1 · 10 months ago
Switches: Chapter 3: “Until Next Time”
Lando Norris x Reader 
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Previous chapters:
Chapter 1: Everything About This Morning | Chapter 2: Quite Literally, My Pleasure
Summary: Lando. His house. The morning after. What should be a straight forward ordeal turns into a constant changing of guards and flipping of switchings and leaves a lingering sense of potential.
Warnings: Mentions of sex, several explicit references but nothing too graphic; alternating POVs between Lando and the reader
Rating: Teen and Up 
Chapter: 3/?
Word Count: 6,675 
Suggested song: “I’m Not In Love” by Kelsey Lu 
Disclaimer: This chapter has a slightly different tone than the previous two, but bear with me. The story really needed a bridge before things REALLY go down in Austria and then become even more intense at Silverstone. Plus, Lando and the reader need to be apart for a bit to start missing each other. :) 
NB: See notes at the end for all the visual references. I’ve also started naming the chapters (and the subdivisions within them) - you can find the full title of the chapters in my master list here. 
He knew what he wanted her to say. There were many lines or gestures from her that would have satisfied him, that would nurture that warm feeling in his chest. He had a mental list of things he would have wanted to hear from her and he had almost complete certainty that she would pick one of the options. 
What she said next, however, was not on that list.  
1: Partition, Please
“Good luck in Austria”?! 
Why the fuck did I say that?! Why on Earth did I speak to him as if I was a journalist in the F1 paddock waving him off to free practice? I couldn’t sound more like Ted Kravitz if I tried. 
“Good luck in Austria” might not have been the best choice of words, but strategically, it was the right move. It was the only correct answer to the question that we both had been dodging since that morning, to the query that had been heavily floating above our heads threatening to implode at any time unless one of us dived in and answered it head on: who is going to give in first? 
Because as fun as it was dancing around each other, in a waltz of F1 references and a salsa of flirtatious remarks about Instagram puns, all it did was prevent us from walking in a straight line towards the natural destination of this adventure we’d both been on for a night: partition. We had to part, I  realised as I was trying to keep my eyes on the road and avoid looking at him driving, so the easiest, fairest option for both of us was to act like it. My awfully sounding “Good luck in Austria” at the end, although it did not, by any means, reflect how much I would have wanted to see him again, it did reflect how much I was aware I probably wouldn’t. And that’s how you say goodbye to somebody that’s already in your past by the time you open their car door: by wishing them good luck and hoping, despite your deepest desires, that you’ll find yours without them. 
The “Good luck in Austria” line summarised a whole internal monologue that I played and replayed in my head during that 1 hour car journey: about my dignity, his lifestyle, my demands, his capabilities, my projections, his reality. In fact, it was so consuming to be thinking in those terms, that as much as I hated parting ways with him, opening up my building door and stepping on home ground was a massive relief, a buffer for the noise of doubt that had been screaming in my head for the past hour. 
As I opened my apartment door however, I was greeted by another scream, this time very much a real one, in the high pitch familiar voice of my friend. 
I knew who it was right away, by the blend of excitement and annoyance only she could combine in one single word. 
“Carmen, what on Earth are you doing here?” 
If it hadn’t been for my mental exhaustion and post-sex cloud I was still floating on, I would have been half terrified to see Carmen comfortably lying on my couch, snacking on what I could only guess was left-over Domino’s. 
“You let me crash at yours last night, remember? When George ditched me to go watch England’s game?” 
Ahh, yes, I did. I did offer to let her sleep at mine’s when her boyfriend George, “Mr Saturday” Russell, decided to have a boy’s night and watch the Euro 2020 game on Wembley without leaving her a spare house key. How ironic of me, to solve the inconvenience created by one F1 driver by throwing myself into the arms of a different one. 
Of all the people I wished to have at my apartment, of all the people I was confortable enough to temporarily share a cohabiting space with, Carmen was top of the list. In fact, she was probably one of the very few who could even make the list. Ever since we became friends, when we were in kindergarten and she was kind enough to share her “Powerpuff Girls” stickers with me, I knew I wanted to share everything else with her. 
However, on this particular day, sharing was not on my list of priorities. Today, the list of people I wanted to come home to was blank, so I quickly realised that as much as I loved her, as comforting as her presence on my sofa would have been when coming home from any other one night stand, my generosity was badly timed. I wanted nothing more than to be alone, to sink into that sofa on my own and stuff my face with leftover pizza and, more importantly, to not have to explain myself. As soon as I saw her face, I knew she would go on a fishing expedition for stories, anecdotes, for a rundown of my night, for whatever juicy detail I could indulge her with. And, unfortunately for her, I was sinking on dry land. 
As if to confirm my expectations and to attest to how well I knew her and she knew me, Carmen took my entrance in the living room as a green light to proceed with the said expedition and start casting.  As she got up to sit up straight on the couch, Carmen propped herself on her side, facing me, with her elbow resting on the back of the couch and her head resting on the palm of her hand. I knew that posture way too well. It was her “tell me everything” position. She wanted to talk. 
“So, how was your sex appointment with hot boy Lando?”
It was a very predictable question. And one which, under normal circumstances, would not have bothered me in the slightest. In fact, it was a normal habit, in our friendship, to debrief our respective love lives. Before she started dating George, with both of us being single, topics such as love and sex cultivated our bond in ways other topics couldn’t. It was through our respective romantic hopes and disappointments, our dating highs and lows, that we came to understand and know each other. Since she started going out with George however, it fell on me to provide meat to the bone of that particular topic of conversation. And I would be fine with being the entertainer, the story-teller, I had no problem indulging her with details of the experiences I had with men in my life, but for some reason, this time, on this particular day, I didn’t particularly feel like sharing. 
“It was fine.” 
Not a lie, but a massive understatement. 
“Care to elaborate?” 
No, I did not care to elaborate in the slightest. When I first told her that Lando and I started messaging each other on Instagram, she was respectful enough not to verbally communicate her disapproval. But I knew - and she knew that I knew - I wouldn’t have her blessing. Being George’s plus one, accompanying him to so many events and generally being part of a world that was so foreign to me, Carmen was well aware of the script that starts with messaging a F1 driver. She knew what kind of character Lando was and what role he played in the narrative: the antihero that looks awfully like the hero, who tricks you into believing that fairytales do exist, that limelight and normal-people-light can blend into a romantic magical mixture of love and devotion. 
In all fairness, by wanting to save me from that narrative, she had my best interests at heart. And truly, I was glad she did because, as the past night showed, I wasn’t too good at assessing what those interests were myself. However, another thing I wasn’t particularly good at was listening to other people’s opinions of what I should be doing, so when I did pursue Lando and disobeyed Carmen’s disapproving looks, it was no surprise to either of us. 
But now, as I came home and found her there, seeing her face reminded me of her wisdom, of how she had managed to warn  me against seeing Lando without uttering a word and, ultimately, of how right she was. And I hated her for being right. Her demand for me to elaborate sounded like adding insult to injury, like she was purposefully trying to drive home the point that I made a mistake and get me confess to it. So I did what I always do when I feel cornered: defend myself with sarcasm. 
“Ok then, I’ll elaborate. He started kissing me as soon as we stepped into his hallway and I could feel his hardening-“ 
“You know that’s not what I meant” 
“Believe me, Carmen, if this day has taught me anything is that I’m not very good at knowing what people mean when they say things” 
I couldn’t blame her pokerface. Nothing warranted my incisive, cryptic remarks other than my general state of frustration. It wasn’t that Carmen was asking me questions about my night out - it was the fact that I couldn’t really answer them without sounding resentful. It was if I couldn’t imprint words with the right meaning, as if I was experimenting a mental blockage that drained honesty from any answer I could give.
“I’m sorry. Look… I don’t really know how to answer that question. It was fine. Dinner was amazing, the sex was great. He’s really really good in bed. But not just casual-sex-expert good… He fucks you like he wants you to become curious about getting to actually know him”
I instantly became aware of how worrying that last phrase sounded, something which was immediately confirmed by Carmen’s raised eyebrows. Not only did she disapprove of my casually sleeping with Lando, but the last thing she wanted for me was to get fucked into “wanting to actually get to know him”. And I could see all the rational reasons behind it, all the goodness and fondness she channeled into that disapproval, which nothing more and nothing less than well-intentioned advice. If she only knew what I did that morning when Lando wasn’t looking, if she had seen me do that stupid, impulsive gesture while Lando was in the other room looking for his car keys, she would have erupted with criticism. Thinking about it now, I am still unsure what came over me, what made me leave that thing there; it felt as if I was trying to get my revenge by giving him something to haunt him after I was gone. 
Seeing Carmen’s growing concern, plastered all over her face, and her hand frozen mid air with a slice of pizza, I was quickly brought back to the present, reminded of my incriminating remark which I had to dispel immediately. 
“But I’ll probably never see him again anyway”
Which was, in other words, exactly what I told him in the form of that “Good luck in Austria”. Which was, for my sanity, fortunately probable but unfortunately undesirable. And with her next remark, Carmen confirmed it: 
“Good, good. That’s the smart thing to do.”
However, despite my university education and my quick-witted humour, contrary to my academic credentials and my dignified curiosity, in spite of my intellectual ambitions and my professional goals, all of a sudden I wasn’t quite sure if smart was something I could be. 
2: Out of sight, out of mind
“Good luck in Austria”?! What the fuck was that supposed to mean?!
Good. Luck. In. Austria. 
Of course, good luck in Austria, Austria is next, “twice”, as he astutely informed her. She was wishing him good luck for a race, a perfectly acceptable thing to say as you’re getting out of the car of a McLaren F1 driver. It was polite, amicable. It was, in effect, what he wanted when he woke up this morning: to have this interaction end with the standard “good luck to whatever race you have next”. It was something that he was so used to hearing from people, it almost never registered with him.
But now, just as he was hoping she would say something else, just as he was letting himself lean into the warmth that took over when he parked in Soho, her “Good luck in Austria” sounded awfully like a “I’ll never see you again, thank you and goodbye”. 
Lando couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself, as he watched her unlock her building door and disappear inside without so much as a look back towards the car. It was almost as if he jinxed his own chances, by trying to push her away and dry any last drops of potential from this thing they had, drops of potentials that she so elegantly tried to squeeze with her light-hearted remarks. He was so focused on drying up that territory of affection, that when the thirst for more of her hit him at the end, her giving him what he wanted felt like a punch in the gut. 
For the second time since that morning, and despite all his attempts to have the upper hand, Lando felt that familiar self-criticism creep up on him. The same self-doubt that followed him in the McLaren F1 car was now hanging with him in the McLaren road car, convincing him that he could have handled this situation a lot better if he could just decide what he wanted. 
At least, at the very least, he was pretty sure what he wanted now, which was to get to McLaren before Andreas would start cursing in German. And, judging by the feel of his phone vibrating in the pocket of his jeans, it seemed that occurrence could come sooner than later. 
When Lando parked in front of the McLaren Technology Centre, he felt the sort of dread he imagined people with office jobs must feel when they get into work. It has never been like that for him. Usually, after a one night stand, he was glad to come into McLaren’s impressive glass building, a safe space, where he could relax and let his guard down. After spending a night with a stranger and handling the awkwardness of the subsequent morning after proceedings, he would be glad to be surrounded by his people again, by Jon, Charlotte, Andreas, Jose, the people around whom he didn’t have to try too hard. Because that was precisely the issue: as much as he enjoyed the casual sex, he dreaded the boring, stiff interaction after, that dull conversation he had to make for the sake of making it, even though both him and the pretty face knew that they would not see each other again. After that sort of dynamic, coming back to his confort zone in McLaren was always a weight lifted of his shoulders, similar to the relief of taking off a race helmet after a particularly difficult Sunday.
This time however, there was a different sort of tension that he hoped coming into McLaren would soothe: the lingering, feeling of loss, the pressing guilt of not having done enough to take advance of a good thing. As Lando was entering through the huge glass door, he realised that this building was probably the first thing she saw through his bedroom window when she woke up. And that thought took him back to the kitchen, to that black hoodie, to the brief exchange of playful lines followed by the closeness, the embrace, his hands holding on to something significantly softer than the car keys that were currently dangling in the palm of his hands. And then, as if the car keys were a painful reminder that a new day had started and the previous night was in the past, he remembered everything else his hands touched in the previous 24 hours: her lips, when he brushed away a lingering drop of soy sauce at dinner; her fingers, when he took that glass of water from her this morning; her thong, when he pulled it off down her legs slowly, teasingly, as if it were made of glass and would break if he undressed her too quickly; her hair, as he pulled her head back trying to make room for his lips to assault her neck unimpeded and, last but not least, her thighs, on the marble counter top that morning, where he could have had her again if there hadn’t been for Andreas calling. 
As if the man was summoned into existence by his reveries, which had the potential of turning very explicit if he did not put a stop to them, Andreas appeared into the hallway and greeted Lando with a smile that, had there not been for this internal dialogue he was having with himself, Lando would have reciprocated:
“Sim room? See you there in 10?” 
Ah yes, the simulator. It’s funny, he thought, that he was doing work on the simulator just yesterday, but for some reason it seemed to him like it had been ages since he set foot on those pedals. It was if last night had pushed everything that happened prior to it into the Bronze Age, in a time long past, and today was the beginning of a new area, which required him to start everything afresh.
After confirming with Andreas, Lando climbed to the top floor, doing his usual rounds around the offices, saying hi to people. Usually, he would stop to chat to them, tell them a funny tale about his night out, or a dirty memory from the last hookup or the story of an esport game he won - share the sort of personal anecdote that strengthened their bond as a team and made him sign that contract extension without so much as a second thought. Today though, he didn’t feel particularly chatty. Quite the opposite, actually. Since he was still trying to make sense of the previous night himself, he felt quite unable to make it a subject of debate, not even for a light hearted conversation. He wasn’t sure where he stood on this new “matter” in his life. 
As he was making his way through the corridor, he bumped into Jon and Charlotte. He fist-bumped Jon and hugged Charlotte, hoping neither of them could see any change in his usual demeanour. He was hoping that the more he tried to act as if nothing happened, he would actually feel as if nothing happened. 
Jon was too smart for that though. As Lando was trying to make small talk with Charlotte, he could feel Jon’s eyes staring him down intensively and he could only hope that whatever his gaze was trying to find, it wouldn’t be too obvious. 
“Ahh, you had a good night last night, I gather?”, Jon teased him by touching a particularly sensitive spot on his neck which Lando realised, as he was trying to push Jon’s hand’s away, was embellished with an incriminating love bite. 
“Umm, yes, yes I did.” 
That was not a lie, by any means. The night was a very good night - it was the morning that he did not handle quite that well. 
“Will this new girl stick?”, Jon asked through chuckles, with that tone that people have when they pose a question knowing it can only yield a negative answer. “Just so I can beat Charlie at betting on it, he’s won the last four bets we placed!” 
Lando was aware of the “Girlfriend Bets”, of course: his mates guessing how long whatever girl he was chatting up at the time would stick around. It was no secret that usually, the bets were won by the person who guessed the smallest time frame, much to whole team’s amusement. Carlos used to be the absolute master at the game: as soon as he met the new girl, he could almost perfectly estimate how long she would tolerate Lando for. At first, Lando was slightly offended by it, although he was way too proud to admit it: of course he was fine with it - he was chill, laid-back, too focused on his driving to mind that his love life (or lack thereof) was subject to guessing games and stakes. But even this closeted disdain about how little trust his friends had in his abilities to find a partner slowly faded away in time: he couldn’t be too offended, he realised, because they were ultimately right. He couldn’t make them stick, for whatever reason, and friends betting on it did nothing to either cure or worsen the problem. If anything, it made Jon and the crew love him more, for his endearing and borderline amusing life-long streak of girlfriendless existence. 
But this mention of “The Bets” couldn’t fall upon him at a worse time, and he wished he could tell Jon that now was not the time without actually revealing why it wasn’t the time. Telling him “I actually had amazing sex with this girl who is just something else and I feel like I might be wonderstruck by her which I absolutely do not want to happen because I fear she is out of my league and will ultimately leave thereby confirming my worst fears that I have to settle for emotionless sex and pretend that I am ok with it even though I am not” was clearly not an option. Because if he said anything like that to Jon, it would do nothing but justify the reason for placing the bet in the first place - it would confirm that Lando is the perfect person to bet on, because he reeks of unpredictability and indecisiveness. 
Charlotte, ever so caring, took his side and, as always, he was glad to have her on his team, both literally and figuratively: “C’mon, let him be! The most important ‘she’ in his life is that trophy-winning car” she cheerfully declared, winking at him jokingly. 
Trophies. Races. Austria is next. “Twice”. ‘Baku to Austria’.  
Yes. Back to the simulator now because it’s Baku to Austria in two days. 
Being on the sim was even more therapeutic than Lando had expected. He made a mental note to thank Daniel for being unavailable and forcing him to swap days, because those two hours in his confort zone, behind the steering wheel of “the most important ‘she’ in his life”, did wonders to ease the tension he was carrying on his broad, lean shoulders when he had walked into the building that morning. 
There was something about driving fast, about being in that high-speed, fast-paced environment, that soothed the uneasy feeling she clothed him in. Maybe it was the Alpha male in him, or maybe it was the sense of purpose that driving has always brought him, that made Lando feel in control again. When she, in the space of 12 hours, rode his cock so well, then turned his wicked humour against him so skilfully and then wished him good luck so indifferently, she had managed to deprive him of the feeling of invincibility that he usually carried around. These last few hours on the sim, during which the steering wheel and the pedals obeyed him in a way she clearly didn’t, brought the feeling back. Andreas’ improvised plan for this morning was exactly what Lando needed: a reminder of how powerful it feels to be in charge. 
Coming out of the sim room with this newfound, regained sense of confidence, he was convinced that whatever remains of the morning he may still be carrying inside the realm of his broken ego would soon be washed away and the pathetic self-doubt that followed him around from London to Woking will be nothing more but an embarrassing memory of that time when he almost developed a crush on a random girl with a red bra. 
He walked the halls of McLaren - his halls - standing tall, proud, able to look people in the eye. And when he saw so many pairs of eyes chatting away at a table in the cafetiera, he wanted nothing more than to look into them. Unlike in the morning, when he arrived wanting to avoid any human interaction which might reveal the hurt pride in his voice, this time he felt able to speak up with confidence, half trusting that there wasn’t any teasing from Jon or the others he wouldn’t be able to laugh off like he usually did. 
“Ahh, look who’s joining us”, Charlie greeted him. “I hear the Bets are in order again?” 
Lando immediately noticed how Charlotte was not there to save him and, as he pulled out a seat and joined them at a table, he began doubting whether his newly regained composure would be bulletproof enough to survive against the McLaren men, who, without a feminine influence to tone them down, never passed on an opportunity to tease him.
However, surprisingly for Lando, his ally in this new round of battle came from none another than Paul. 
“Why did we even start placing those bets in the first place? Aren’t cool kids these days supposed to be experimenting?”
Lando wasn’t quite sure if Paul’s refutal was as strong as Charlotte’s that morning, given that his “experimenting” with women definitely exceeded what “kids these days do” and was borderline pathetic and definitely not “cool”, but he was nonetheless glad Paul’s intervention saved him from having to come to his own defence. 
“Hey hey! Whose side are you on?!?!”, Jon said playfully, nudging Paul in the arm. Everybody started laughing, including Lando, who was once again glad that, contrary to his expectations, this sensitive topic was way less awkward than it could have been. 
“I’m just saying, I think those of us who are taken are the bitter ones. Lando’s the real winner, he’s really living the life - you have my blessing mate, keep up the ongoing girlfriendlessness streak!” And with that, Paul tapped Lando on the shoulder, so as to solidify his blessing for enjoying the single days. 
Lando didn’t think that there was anything better than the sim that could put him at ease after this morning, but he was wrong. Amidst the laughter and the banter, surrounded by his friends who, despite the teasing and the bets, were fully supportive, he felt like himself again. If anything, this cafeteria exchange further convinced him that the infatuation he felt for her, the tension that it created in him, the rollercoaster of desire-disappointment-hope-hurt-expectation-unease that it stirred in him would be gone sooner than he expected. Paul’s indirect characterisation of him as an Expert Single Man also convinced him that the little gesture he made in the morning while she was in the shower, that little impulsive thing he did while she wasn’t looking, that idea he had while he was waiting for her to get ready, an idea so overwhelming that he put it into action immediately, that gesture driven by his affection for her but also by a selfish need to surprise her, was just a slip, a moment of weakness and nothing more. 
He was, after all, “living the life”. That’s the Lando that Paul knows, and he was more than happy to return to that role and fill the shoes of that Lando again. Joking like this, carelessly laughing about women who come and go was way way more confortable that the absolute state of mess he was in whilst driving alone to Woking that morning. And that proved that, for his own sanity and for the sake of enjoying the rest of this triple header, the best thing for him to do is focus on being Paul’s version of Lando. The switch had to be flipped back to his old self again, the one that doesn’t really care about women after they’ve left his bed. 
However, what he also realised, in the middle of this relieving epiphany that single life is the best life and that carefree-Lando is the way to go, was that Jon was looking at him in a way that showed he wasn’t buying any of it. As Lando was fist-bumping Paul and laughing at Charlie, his eyes darted sideways to Jon, whose gaze pierced through him. Lying back on the chair, half-laughing with the others to fit the general vibe at the table, Jon seemed to scan his face intensively, as if he was trying to find something lurking underneath this joyful demeanour that Paul resuscitated with his encouragement. Lando couldn’t help but feel like Jon guessed something was up, that he finally correctly diagnosed Lando’s reluctance from the morning, and that sooner or later, Jon will initiate a “bro talk” that Lando was already dreading. Jon knew him too well, unfortunately. 
3: Pressing buttons
As soon as Carmen left and I closed the apartment door behind her, it felt like I was finally letting out a breath I had been holding in since that morning. All throughout this day, from the second I ventured on a mission towards Lando’s kitchen naked under that hoodie, to the moment I hugged Carmen goodbye, I felt like I was on treadmill, rushing to get to the end of this day, running towards some sort of closure for this experience which started at Nobu and ended with “Good luck in Austria”. I never actually had time to sit back and digest it on my own, to take it all in. I was so focused on how to act, that I forgot to wonder how I feel. Being so focused on doing what the situation demanded of me, I felt disconnected from myself, as if the past few hours happened in a video game that I had limited control over. Now, as I was left alone for the first time, in the quiet and serenity of my own home, I felt relieved, with a steady footing in reality and plenty headspace to sort through my thoughts. 
The first of which was the surprising realisation that I was still wearing the outfit from the night before. For some reason, it felt improper to still be wearing that dress, which smelled like a combination of expensive food and Lando’s cologne, that piece of sheer white fabric which served me so well last night, acting as a magnet for his blueish-green eyes. It suddenly felt wrong to wear it a context where those eyes were not present, as if it was now forever reserved only for him to look at. Wearing it on my own, in my apartment, felt like a direct affront to him, like I was taking away from him a view that was rightly his. 
I quietly stepped into my bedroom and began undressing myself. I realised, in the midst of feeling embarrassed about how much I still thought about last night, that it was the first time I was taking the dress off myself. The last time I was out of that dress the person who managed the feat of removing it was, of course, Lando; and, as I was pulling down the side zip with a heavy sight, I let myself get inspired by that mental image again. 
I remembered the dim lightening in his bedroom, which was dark enough to feel intimate but light enough to keep me completely alert, basking in the anticipation of what was to come. The air around felt heavy, loaded with both our realisations that the wall of personal space was about to come crashing down, that the barriers of civility we kept up at dinner were seconds away from crumbling to the cold wooden floors of his bedroom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, still fully clothed, with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows, as if he was fully ready to put those hands to good use and no item of clothing was about to restrict his movements. I  slowly, teasingly stepped in between his parted legs and as soon as I found my footing, I could feel his knees locking me into a steady grip, squeezing my legs in between his. He looked up at me, fully locking me in and, without as much as a quick glance down, he reached out for the side zip of my dress, pulling it down in one swift yet gentle motion and letting the fabric fall down to the floor. Then, with his gaze still on me, piercing even sharper through my eyes and into the depth of my now electrified soul, he used both his index fingers to lightly touch the band of my bra on either side of my chest. Then, after choosing that particular point of the map opened up in front of him that was my body, he used his fingers to lightly trace a line from that high starting point, across my ribcage, over my waistline and down to my hipbone. As soon as his fingers completed the hourglass shape and reached their intended destination, with his green eyes still holding my brown ones captive, he hooked his index fingers around the sides of my red thong and slowly began dragging it down my legs, never once looking away from my eyes. I could see, by the soft grip he had on my underwear and by barely noticeable flinch in his gaze, that it took everything in him not to look down and admire the artwork that his hands unveiled from underneath that red lace. It was if he was holding on to that red thong for dear life, treasuring it, relishing in its soft feel, the only thing keeping his hands busy enough to not go on a roaming spree across every inch of my skin. 
And now, in the quietness of my own bedroom, that skin was free of his touch. It felt like my own again, but I was unsure how to inhabit it now. No longer under his long and slender fingertips, that pushed all the right buttons across my body with the same skill that they handled the buttons of an F1 car, my skin felt lifeless, devoid of the glow that I wore under his sheets. 
I knew I had to learn how to accommodate to this state now. Although I couldn’t ignore the fact that his absence made the space around me feel flat, especially in contrast with the high frequency of any room I was in with him, I knew I had it in me to adapt. I’ve done it so many times before - managing that shocking shift in perspective when you find yourself alone after spending a night in great company - that I trusted I had trained my emotional muscles into dealing with loneliness. And, after all, the process of adapting was a necessary consequence of a hard truth, namely what I told Carmen today, half hoping I wouldn’t have to mean it: that I probably will never see him again. And, if I were to channel my inner appetite for exact sciences and precise calculations, it was more probable than not that Lando was out of my life. 
Equipped with this realisation, making my first steps towards comings to grips with it, I began unpacking my bag. It was almost as a ritual intended to bring me closure: emptying the contents of that tote bag which I carried around with me at dinner and at his place would empty all the memories I had of that time. All the things in that tote will find their usual place in various spots across my apartment, and the thing that kept them together, namely their mixing together in a bag which sat on Lando’s bedroom floor, would vanish. 
I began pulling out all the unnecessary contents of that bag, once again startled by how much I carry around: phone, wallet, charger, keys, tampons, make up, notebook, pens, hair pins, hair ties… and? Something else? 
As soon as I reached the bottom of the bag, I touched a soft black fabric, about which I was sure of only one thing, namely that it wasn’t mine. If it wasn’t mine, it could only be one other person’s. And that conclusion, although the only possible one, was so unfathomable to me that I didn’t quite believe it until I pulled the whole thing out and I saw the familiar neon letters embroidered across it. 
As I was standing there, in the middle of my bedroom, starstruck in the process of unpacking my bag, I was overwhelmed by consecutive certainties: that this was a black hoodie, that it spelled Quadrant, that it was the one I was wearing in the kitchen, that it belonged to Lando. And there was a further certainty, so radioactive, so potent and charged, that it felt like I would be lighting up a fuse if I allowed myself to think it: 
He put it there. 
4: Certified Loverboy 
Lando knew that being back home would be challenging. He knew that, the second he stepped back into that house, all the resilience that McLaren built up, all the regained trust that being around the boys bought back, would face its first real challenge. 
Because what could possibility be worse, when you’re trying to get over the loss of your composure, then getting back to the scene of the crime, to the setting where the theft had been committed and that composure has been stolen away from you? What could possibility amount to a bigger blow to his mended ego than seeing that kitchen marble top again, that nightstand lamp without a red bra on it, those crumbled sheets on which they consumed their pleasure, the hallway wall against which he pinned her as soon as she stepped in, the bedroom window through which he could see the McLaren Technology Centre in the dark while he was fucking her from behind? The cleaner he booked for the following week would be as good as a therapist as far as was concerned. Cleaning that place, restoring it to its pre-her state, would also wipe the state of his emotions clean. 
He anticipated correctly: packing for his flight to Austria was considerably more difficult while trying to ignore the smell of sex in his bedroom. It was also made difficult by his clothes still discarded on the floor, reminding him, with every step he took around the room trying to gather his things, that they were the last clothes he wore as his old self, before these switches started flipping back and forth in his mind. 
He managed, not without difficulty, to pack his bag for Austria. He made sure to include what Niran called his “certified loverboy” T-shirt: that black Comme des Garçons tee with a  heart imprinted on the front, which, according to Niran, made Lando look “ready to get laid”. Looking ready to get laid in Austria, where he would be stuck for a week, surrounded by the McLaren crew who was so faithful in his ability to get one-off doses of satisfaction in different hotel beds of Austrian models, was an enticing perspective, almost as enticing as finally leaving this cursed bedroom. 
He focused his attention on the last thing he needed to deal with, which was his Tumi backpack. As he was trying to unpack it, getting all the forgotten stuff out in order to re-organise it for the flight, he swore his hand came across something that wasn’t his, an object which felt foreign compared to the usual mess he carried around with him. He frowned and proceeded to take everything else out: all the crumbled receipts, expired paddock passes, spare McLaren caps, tangled headphones, tennis balls, resistance bands. Everything else taken out, he could now see it, that foreign object lying at the bottom of his empty bag. The second his eyes fell on it, he knew what it was, that damn thing, and he had to briefly take in a breath and gather himself before he had the strength to touch it and take it out. 
But whatever strength he thought he gathered with that deep breath, he overestimated his willpower, because no gust of air could prepare him for the rush he felt from his waist down when he found himself sitting in middle of his bedroom, holding a red lace thong in his hand (the twin sister to that cursed bra) with a tag attached to it which read, in a handwriting which looked as erotic as the lace itself:
“Until next time”
Lando’s black “Quadrant” hoodie (which she also wears in the first chapter) 
The “certified loverboy” Comme des Garçons T-shirt 
Her red thong
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artisanal-low-key · 8 months ago
autistic slashers.. 2!!
Billy Lenz, Vincent Sinclair, Michael Myers and Pyramid Head x GN!Reader AN: a part two gasp!! since the first one was real popular and my billy lenz obsession decided to attack me while i was off-guard, i figured what better than to make a part two with the other autistic lads! added some extras for michael because i rewatched some halloween movies and im Thinkin About Him
Billy Lenz:
Echolalia like no tomorrow. Billy loves patterns and pronunciation in any instance involving speech. To those who don’t know him, it comes across as mockery, but you know that he just finds the noise interesting and warranting repeating. A lot of his favorites before meeting you were acutely dirty, but finding more words to enjoy by talking to you has really opened up his range quite a bit! This, paired with his skill for imitating voices, can get the pizza guy awfully confused.
Ironically, enjoys quiet. Even Billy knows he can be a lot sometimes. If he’s having an anxiety attack or even a full-blown manic episode, his babbling can become entirely involuntary, which is scary for both of you. This would be where physical objects and contact come into play. Billy likes his sweater because it’s nice and heavy. Weighted blankets, hugs, anything that restricts his movements without being totally suffocating, Billy’s all about it. After episodes, he wants as much silence as possible (with the exclusion of quiet television or music). He’ll probably follow you around for a while after, just to take his mind off of himself and focus on whatever menial task you might be up to.
Darkness. If given a choice between turning the lights on or off for any given reason, Billy likes the lights off. Not only are they really bright more often than not, but a lot of them make that electrical buzzing sound that Billy just loathes. Any and all of Billy’s electronics are on a really low brightness. If asked why, Billy will tell you he prefers not having to use his eyes.
Vincent Sinclair
“Why do you think I grew out my hair?” Vincent really, really likes playing with his hair and having you play with his hair. He takes lovely care of it, and could brush it for hours, long after it’s already perfectly straight. If you braid it for him, or even just brush it for a while, he’ll sit and enjoy it the entire time. That being said, nobody except for Vincent is actually allowed to tie his hair up. If the ponytail is even just a smidge too tight, he won’t be able to focus for longer than a matter of seconds before taking it out and redoing it.
Squishy stuff. Both visually and physically, messing around with stuff like oobleck and slime is Vincent’s guilty pleasure. He always feels pretty silly actually doing it, but if he knows he’s safe from Bo’s prying eyes and any comments you might make, he’ll sit and play with whatever slime you present him with until it’s full of dirt and hairs. Sometimes, he’ll substitute this urge to squish stuff around by partially drying a batch of wax and squishing it up (though he’s almost always disappointed by the end result).
Scraping is The Worst Thing Ever. Metal against metal? Unacceptable. Fork on a plate? Wretched. Even so much as a pencil being dragged on paper the wrong way makes Vincent’s hair stand on end. Why doesn’t it bother you, (Y/N)?? That sound is awful! If you make a sound Vincent doesn’t like on accident, you’ll know. He’ll drop everything to grab you and make the noise stop, even if it means catching you off-guard a little. Thankfully, he’s got infinite patience for your less-sensitive hearing.
Michael Myers: 
Crunchy, crackly noises are fun. Michael is no stranger to destroying stuff, so he knows which destructive noises are fun and which ones aren’t. Crushing aluminum cans, crumpling up paper, crumbling up drywall, Michael could do it forever. If you’re very quiet, you might be able to catch Michael making things out of papier-mâché just to destroy them. Destruction in general is pretty theraputic for him.
High-pitched whining makes him actively upset. God forbid there’s any haywire electronic or squeaky door that makes a shrill “eeee” sound within hearing range of Michael. He will stop at nothing to find the source of it and wholly destroy it so it can’t hurt his ears anymore. “Stopping at nothing” includes property damage. You getting rid of the noise is a bigger gesture than it seems like- he sees the act as you actively trying to make him comfortable and happy, which is.. new.
Nonverbal. After his first murder, words seemed to leave Michael almost permanently. He’s got no reason nor any desire to speak, either. However, a lesser-known detail of this silence is that Michael’s hearing is sensitive- he can hear the sounds his own mouth makes while moving and it bothers him very deeply. He’s also extremely aware of it in other people. Swallowing, lip-smacking, all of it makes Michael’s eye twitch. Making yourself aware of that acute hearing and adjusting how you talk is an adjustment that doesn’t go unnoticed, however. He’s grateful, and if you catch him in a good mood, he might express it.
Pyramid Head.
A bit classical in regards to stims. Pyramid Head, massive and solidly-built as he is, is aware of his own mass and uses it to his advantage on the very rare instance that he’s excited enough to stim. He likes to shake his fists, though sometimes this will evolve into flapping, and gripping his shoulders and forearms as a sort of grounding. When his stimming is more reserved, however, he often settles to run his hands over things like his head, the handle of his blade, or you, if you’re close enough.
Rearranging things bugs him. Truly, Pyramid Head exists within chaos. Silent Hill is a ghost town, and things seem to fall apart every day. That being said, however, he’s extremely used to things being in their “place”. The disorganized, beetle-ridden bookshelf suddenly being sorted by genre can throw him for quite a loop. The bed with the snapped leg suddenly sitting upright and evenly could make sleep difficult for him. However, he’ll adjust with time. Just be patient.
Being allowed a period of motionlessness is just amazing. Permanently condemned to patrolling Silent Hill, Pyramid Head wasn’t getting a whole lot of R&R before you. However, he can’t deny you when you ask so nicely to give him a self-care day. Pyramid Head, so deeply entertained just by being around you, can sit on the couch with his head tilted back for literal hours. Instances like this are where you learn that Pyramid Head is really, really tired. All his tense muscles seem to relax, and he lets out a low, satisfied bellow. 
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snackhobi · a year ago
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a human touch, part I
Part [1] / 1.5 / 2
(masterlist here)
pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, future smut (NSFW, 18+)
summary: everyone knows that androids don’t think, or feel, or have emotions. they’re not human, after all. so when a two hour session with a sex android ends up with nothing more than a nice conversation, you think that’s the first and last time you’ll see v. 
then he turns up at your door. 
warnings: talk of sex work (taehyung is a sex android), implied physical harassment (mentions of bruising), cursing/explicit language, mentions of alcohol, honestly this is a lot softer than these warnings would make you think I swear 🤧
a/n: I started writing this fic like 2/3 months ago and then put it on hiatus bc god it was kicking my entire ass. but ya girl is finally back to working on it! it’ll be two parts, because this fic is a big one! I hope to have the next chapter out next week/the week after (but no promises kdsflkfdfsdf) thank you @hobi-gif​ for loving this fic so wholeheartedly and supporting me while I struggled with it, queen shit ONLY. note: this is loosely a detroit: become human au but you don’t have to be familiar with it at all!
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Here are the three things you know about the Eden Club.
One: it’s a sex club. Everyone knows that. Besides, even if they didn’t, all it would take is a single look—the soft blue lighting that shines out from the windows, the screens behind the glass that flash images of shifting and undulating bodies, the heavy beat of music that pulsates from the building and out into the night air; everything murmurs of the promised pleasures that are held within. 
Two: it’s a sex club entirely staffed by androids. Androids make better lovers, according to the ads. They might look human but they don’t have free will like you do—anything you ask for, you’re given without question or reproach. They can’t say no to you. They’re entirely at your command.
Three: you don’t ever want to go to the Eden Club. It’s not that you have anything against androids—because you don’t—but you feel bad for the ones who are owned by the club, even if they’re literally only built and programmed to serve humans. It just feels… wrong.
And here’s the fourth thing you’ve just learned about the club, much to your dismay: you are about to head inside it.
“When you said we were going to a club, I thought we were going dancing,” you whine. “I never would have come out if I’d know you meant here.”
You’ve been staring up at the cursive pink neon sign for a while now, the looping letters of Eden Club shining out in the dark evening air, and you really, really wish you weren’t here. You’ve dressed for a night of dancing and drinking and now you feel woefully uncomfortable, your high heels and short skirt almost as scandalous as the outfits the androids are wearing when they slide across the huge screens.
“That’s why we didn’t tell you which club it was.” Seulgi rolls her eyes and once again tries to tug you towards the building with the arm that’s looped with your own. Just out of arm’s reach, Irene holds your bag hostage. “Come on, your session is going to start soon!”
“My session?” Your voice is an incredulous shrill and Seulgi uses the momentary distraction to finally pull you forward. You stumble a little but catch your balance just as you make your way past the bouncer, who’s been watching the three of you impassively since you got here. “What do you mean, my session?”
“For your birthday, duh. We booked you a private room!”
The inside has the same, sleek neon aesthetic as the outside, but instead of images of androids on a screen, these ones are real and standing in front of you—swinging themselves around glowing poles, rolling their hips and swaying their bodies, while others wait patiently in glass pods that line the walls, leaning towards onlookers and moving as tantalisingly as possible. All ready to be rented at a whim.
Their designs are varied and different but they’re all incredibly beautiful. The only feature they all share is the small, blue LED circle on the side of their temple, light spinning and shining as they take the world in around them. A visual reminder to the world that these aren’t flesh and blood humans: they’re synthetic, man-made machines.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in my life.” You desperately try to avoid the eyes of a nearby android who’s staring at you from behind glass, trying to subtly catch your attention. Unlike you, though, all the other patrons here are shameless in their perusal, scanning the selection of androids on display and watching as they dance and move and bat their eyelashes. “Why did you ever think I’d want to come to a sex club for my birthday?”
“Remember Valentine’s Day? You said that instead of flowers or chocolate you’d rather just be dicked down,” Irene says. “Besides, you’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling for as long as we’ve known you, and you moved to the company, what… three years ago?”
Your smile is pained. You’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling full stop; you’ve only kissed a few people and that’s it. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed, and you’ve gotten Very Good at avoiding questions about your complete lack of a love life, so no one realises exactly how inexperienced you are. People just assume that you’ve had sex in the past and you make no attempts at correcting them. You’re charismatic and pretty but you’ve just… never met someone who you’ve really been compatible with.
Even without the reservations you have about the Eden Club, you don’t want your first time to be with a sexbot—you’d at least like to have an emotional connection, you know?
“I was joking about getting dicked down! You laughed, I laughed, we all laughed! Remember?” You move so a pink-haired android can brush past, her hips swaying as she leads a customer into a side room. You catch a flash of the interior before the door slides shut behind them—the silken sheets on the large bed, the scattered pillows, the dim multi-coloured lights. ��Couldn’t you have just bought me some socks? Or some soap? Get a refund and put the money on a gift card and I’ll buy myself the aforementioned socks and soap, saves you both the hassle. Please?”
Seulgi’s arm is still locked with your own, and for all that she looks small and slim, her grip is as strong as iron. You may as well be handcuffed to her. “Trust me, you’ll be singing our praises at the end of tonight,” she proclaims. “Besides, they don’t do refunds.”
You sigh. You might not know much about the club but you do know it’s expensive. The androids here are built to be the perfect sexual partner, all sorts of bells and whistles hidden under their synthetic skin to bring you to the absolute heights of pleasure, so they’re not exactly cheap to build or buy or maintain. It’s why people come to the club instead of just buying their own sexbots—because it’s infinitely more affordable.
“Okay, I can accept the ‘no refund’ thing,” you say. “But can’t one of you take my place instead? I… ah. I feel kind of weird about this.”
“Don’t worry Y/n, it’s fine! The androids have programmes for everything. You can take it as fast or as slow as you like.” Irene’s voice is soothing but then she pauses. “Also it’s booked in your name so we can’t take your place.”
“Wait, what?” Your eyes are wide. However, before you can put a voice to the complaints that are lining themselves up on your tongue, Seulgi’s arm slides out of your own so she can beckon someone over. 
“Oh, look, it’s the android we chose for you! Over here!”
You glance away from Irene and all protestations instantly die on your lips. The lighting of the club softens the android in shades of magenta and teal but even so his beauty is bright and blinding: he’s breathtaking, from his perfect nose to his perfect mouth to the perfect line of his jaw, dusty brown hair deliciously tousled as it hangs just over his piercing blue eyes, which you notice are scanning over you. He looks effortlessly attractive and yet entirely put together at the same time, almost ethereal in his beauty.
No human could ever look this good.
“Hi.” His voice is low and deep, but somehow warm and friendly; despite your nerves you feel somewhat soothed. “Are you the lucky birthday girl?”
Irene and Seulgi both look giddy. You’ve been stunned into silence, unable to respond. Unlike the other androids you’ve seen so far, who’ve all been in similar variations of underwear or lingerie, the man in front of you is fully dressed, a loose metallic button-down tucked into unnecessarily tight leather jeans—the outfit has clearly been curated for the club, every reflective surface shimmering and refracting the lights that skate across their surface. The glittering scales of a barracuda before it moves in to strike and swallow you whole.
“Yes, yes, it’s her! This is Y/n! Y/n, this is V,” Irene gushes as you remain mute. "Do you like his outfit? We spent ages picking it out.”
You kind of want to die. Just a little. “Yep. It’s, uh, great.” Your mouth is dry when you finally speak. “Hi, V.”
V gives you a small smile. “Hello Y/n. Can I scan your ID, please?”
Irene finally hands your bag back and you silently slide your ID out and into V’s hand—oh, God, those are some big hands. Jesus.
The small LED ring on the side of V’s forehead pulses yellow as his eyes dart over the information on your ID card (as well as the incredibly unflattering photo on it) before it returns to its customary pale blue. “Perfect.”
You’ve just finished putting your ID away when V’s hand slides into yours, fingers slotting between your own; they feel cool against your overheated skin. Your nervousness is obvious, from your wide eyes to your sudden stiffness, and he smiles.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.”
You give Irene and Seulgi one final, wide-eyed look as V leads you away. Both girls are grinning as they wave goodbye. “We'll be back later! Enjoy your two hours!”
“Two hours?” You wheeze, but then you walk around a pillar and slide out of sight. 
V is leading you deeper into the club, past doors flooded with different shades of neon: the red room, the blue room, the pink room. You’d normally be gawping at the interior design, how the floor shines underneath your feet and how the walls are rippling with colour and shifting shapes, how the criss-crossed lights throw dots and lines of colour over your skin as you pass through each doorway—but you can’t look away from how small your hand looks in V’s, transfixed by how real his skin feels.
“After you, please,” he says.
You finally wrench your eyes away from your joint hands. Seems like you have the purple room tonight. The door has opened at V’s touch, and when you step inside the lights flicker to life—white and violet LEDs that paint the room in chiaroscuro brushstrokes, deepening the shadows and highlighting the vibrancy of the satin sheets.
“Woah,” you say, momentarily distracted. You’re too busy taking in the details with wide eyes to notice the quiet hum of the door sliding shut behind you, pausing when you spot the glittering array of bottles lined up on a mini-bar against the wall. “This is really pretty, wow.”
“Not as pretty as you.”
You jump at the sensation of a warm, large hand sliding up the skin of your back and over your shoulder. You meep as you instinctively shy away from it, turning around to come face to face with V, who’s dark-eyed and intent, LED on his temple pulsating as he watches you.
“Haha! Uh, thanks?” Your voice is high and only grows higher when V takes a step forward. He must have undone the top buttons of his shirt when you weren’t looking, because the material has fallen open and you can see far more of his collarbones and chest than before, his skin warm and honeyed, like it’s been impressed with gold leaf. Lord have mercy on your soul. “How about a drink? Would you like a drink? I could kill for some water right now!”
You slip out of his reach and scuttle over to the mini-bar, shrugging your small bag off your shoulder so it doesn’t swing into the glasses as you start to shuffle through them. You try to ignore the shaking of your hands. “Gin, vodka, whiskey,” you mutter. “No water? Really?”
You startle again when V appears at your side, but this time he’s careful to make sure you can see him before he touches you. He slides his fingers over your wrist as he gently pulls your hand off a bottle of rum.
“Y/n,” he says. You glance away from the tray of drinks and directly into those beautiful eyes of his—his gaze is lethal. You go weak at the knees. “Let me take care of you, gorgeous.”
The peal of laughter you let out is uncomfortable and high-pitched. “No, really, I’m fine! I’m just super thirsty right now!”
“Your heart is racing.” V turns your hand over and traces his fingers across the pulse in your wrist; androids can be built to be hypersensitive to the world around them, able to perceive everything in an instant, and you know that sexbots will have been designed to read how aroused their human owners are. Which V proves with the next words out of his mouth. “Your blood pressure is rising, your breathing is growing faster, your pupils are dilating and—” he sniffs lightly, engaging his olfactory senses—“you’re getting wet.”
You clamp your legs together, abruptly embarrassed.  It’s easy to feel aroused when there’s a beautiful man—ah, android—staring at you with hunger, not even considering your surroundings right now, which all scream of a room that’s designed purely for carnal pleasure. Anyone would be turned on. 
(You, however, are more than just turned on. You feel like your insides are about to go supernova, overheated and overwhelmed; no one’s ever looked at you like this or touched you like this, their every motion whispering sex, sex, sex.)
“Okay, yes, those things are all true,” you admit, voice shaking.
V looks confused. “So why don’t you want me to touch you?”
You’ve been told that androids don’t feel the same way humans do, and that their expressions and reactions have been programmed to mimic human ones because otherwise they seem too robotic and it makes consumers uncomfortable—but despite knowing this, you’ve never been able to see any android as anything other than a person just like you. They’re just so lifelike it’s hard not to. Even if it’s just all circuitry and lines of code. 
“Well,” you say. You swallow. You’re aroused, yes, but: “Do you want to touch me?”
V’s long lashes flutter as he blinks. “I have been programmed for your pleasure,” he says slowly, unsure if that’s the answer you want to hear. It’s clearly a sentence he’s used to reciting.
“Sure, but do you want to do this? You know, what about your pleasure? You’re lovely, V, you’re definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but I—I don’t really feel like you can technically consent, because… well, because you can’t say no to me.” You might not have prior sexual experience, and it would be so easy to give yourself over to someone who knows what they're doing and can ease you into things—but you would never force that on anyone, android or not. “So I’m not going to ask you to do anything. We can just sit and have a drink and chat or something?”
V looks stunned. The LED on his temple pulsates, flickering yellow as he tries to process new information. His hand has gone still against your wrist, which he’s still lightly gripping, and his arms start to droop.
“Androids don’t need to drink or eat,” he says eventually. His LED is still yellow and spinning.
“Oh, right! Sorry, I always forget.” You don’t own a house android, you never have, so you’re not well versed in the nuances of how they work. “Well, how about I pour you a glass anyway? So you’re not left out?”
You slip your hand out of his loose grasp to open two tiny cans of tonic water and pour them into separate glasses. V takes a seat on the edge of the bed and you can see the obvious uncertainty on his face, how he’s out of his depth. You can’t imagine that many people spend money for a session with an android as pretty as V and then end up doing nothing with that time. 
The pillows all have satin cases and keep sliding against each other uselessly when you try to construct a good support to lean against. V’s still clutching onto his small glass as he watches you fuss with them before you give up, flopping backwards to slurp down your drink and look back at him. The expression on his face is a little funny but mostly sad. It’s like if he’s not being alluring or sexy then he doesn’t know what to do with himself and rather than some sort of incubus he looks like a lost child, in spite of his overwhelming and exquisite beauty; your arousal ebbs and is replaced with empathy, melancholy at the life he’s been created for.
It's just depressing, really.
You break the silence as your final mouthful of tonic water fizzes on your tongue. “Why is your name V?”
V looks away from the drink he’s holding—he leaves no fingerprints against the glass—and lifts his free hand, a peace sign that he turns away from you before fitting his fingers around his lips and lapping the air with his tongue, a crude simulation of cunnilingus.
“Oh.” Your face heats up. “Uh. I see.”
His LED has returned to calming sapphire, quiet ocean waves. When he looks at you, though his eyes are still piercingly blue, his face seems softer, calm, though still unsure. “You have an hour and a half remaining of your booked session,” he says, somewhat tentatively. “Is there… anything you would like me to do for you?”
“Mm, thank you, but I’m good.” The satin pillows are surprisingly soft and you find yourself unwinding as you stay leaned back, melting into a puddle. You're much less nervous now that V isn’t trying to initiate foreplay and you give him a smile. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
V straightens before he launches into what sounds like a sentence from a user manual. “I am a model TH700, an advanced sex android with functional genitals and the capacity to engage in any sexual activity from simple intercourse to—”
You cough loudly, interrupting his spiel. “Uh, that’s lovely, but I meant you specifically, not your, um, model type?”
“Me specifically?” Confusion and uncertainty reappear on his face. “I am equipped with the same functionalities as the other androids available at the Eden Club.”
He’s staring at you, lost. You can’t help but feel another twinge of sadness, sharp and sour at the back of your throat.
“Okay, uh. Why don’t we start simple. What’s your favourite colour?”
His LED starts to whirl again, a ring of pale sunlight that signals his struggle to compute the question. “My… favourite colour?”
“Yes, the one you think is the prettiest. Or the one you like to look at the most. There’s no wrong answer, you can choose any one that you like. I change my mind all the time. There are just so many cool colours, you know?”
(Androids aren’t designed to have free will or the capacity for original thought. These two facts are warring in V’s mind—you’ve asked him a question, which he’s programmed to answer, but he also isn’t programmed to have an opinion, so he can’t have a colour that he prefers. This simple query that most people could answer in a heartbeat is sending his mind into a meltdown, a gordian knot he can’t unravel.)
You’re alarmed when you see his LED briefly flash bright scarlet, interrupting the circling honey that’s been shining against his skin. They only turn red if an android is badly damaged or suffering from a severe malfunction. Oh, god, have you broken him?
“V.” You sit up, panicked. “Are you alright?”
Just as you grasp his shoulder, the LED on his temple goes still, flicking from burning fire back to cool water. 
You blink. V’s finally looked away from you and is staring at the wall, at one of the lights that shimmers violet—there’s a tiny smile on his face, tentative, but it’s nothing like the smiles you’ve seen from him so far. It’s less of a perfect curve, and more of a square, boxy on his face, and this one actually reaches his eyes. It looks genuine. 
You think it suits him better.
“Purple’s a lovely colour.”  The material of V’s shirt is silky and glides under your fingers when you realise you’re still touching him. You give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaning back. “Hey, did you know that when they first made purple dye, they made it from sea snails? They needed thousands and thousands of them. It was incredibly expensive, and only the richest people could afford it, so that’s why it’s associated with royalty and nobility. Cool, right? Not for the snails though.”
V’s eyes flicker away from the purple light and settle on your face. He looks curious, which is an expression you’ve never seen on an android before. “They made it from snails?”
“Yeah! It wasn’t actually bright purple, though, it was more of a reddish hue.”
You launch into an explanation behind the history of the colour purple, which turns into the history of colour in textiles and art, which turns into the history of art itself. It’s not often people listen so attentively or ask questions when you recite the things you learned from your art history minor and hours spent reading online, but V concentrates and asks questions and seems curious. 
He pulls his feet onto the bed and the two of you end up cross-legged as you face each other, and he watches as you gesticulate to emphasise your points; his LED dances from blue into yellow each time he learns something new. 
When you see it briefly flash vermilion you stop mid-sentence, stumbling over your words. “You alright?”
“You have five minutes of your session remaining,” V says, and you startle.
“Oh my god, have I been talking for that long?” You glance over your shoulder at the part of the wall that tells the time, the numbers stark white against the lilac interface. “I didn’t even realise! Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go on at you like that.”
“That’s okay,” he says. That smile is back on his face, the one that scrunches his eyes and shows his teeth; the one that makes him look human. “I liked listening to you.”
There’s a pillow in your lap, one you’d grabbed hold of during your conversation, and you play with the corner of it, suddenly shy. “Um. Thanks. But if my friends ask, can you just say we actually, um, had sex? I don’t think they’d be too impressed if they found out I spent over an hour talking about canvas materials and the use of negative space.”
“Of course. But there’s something missing.” V slides across the mattress towards you. “May I?”
“Sure,” you say, bemused but pliant. V smiles and dips his fingers into his untouched tonic water before lifting them towards your face—and when he runs his hand through your hair you abruptly realise he’s making you look sweaty and rumpled. Like you actually did the deed. 
Your heart rate picks up but you can’t help laughing under his touch, the way he carefully rubs a thumb over your lipstick to smear it, smudging your eyeshadow with delicate fingertips, muddying the palette of colours; by the time V helps you to your feet you look mussed and fucked out but you still rearrange your outfit for good measure, like you’d pulled your clothes back on in a rush.
“Not how I imagined I’d spend tonight, but I had a good time!” You smile at the android who’s still holding your hand. “I hope you did too. Even if I spent most of it talking at you.”
V’s fingers tighten around yours as the door chimes quietly and then slides open, signalling the end of your session. “I enjoyed our time together very much.”
It’s probably in your head, but you’d swear V was walking more slowly than before as he leads you back to the entrance. Almost as if he wants to keep you with him longer. But that’s crazy—androids don’t want things. They literally can’t. It’s not in their programming. That’s why V had sat listening to you: he couldn’t choose to interrupt and ask you to stop, like anyone else would have.
When Seulgi and Irene spot you and how dishevelled you are, both girls look smug. “Seems like you had fun?”
“Oh, yep, absolutely, best birthday present ever, thank you. We had a great time. Right, V?” 
“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His voice has settled back into its earlier rhythm as he recites his script; gone is the curious man who’d asked you about your favourite artists, replaced with the automaton who exists only to serve. A flicker of sadness churns in your stomach. “We hope to see you again soon.”
The androids here really must be top of the line. V had been convincingly real when you’d been talking, just like a human, but it seems like that’s gone. 
At least, that’s what you think until you’ve turned to leave and V speaks one final time. His voice is warm and low and lovely, eyes soft when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.
“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he murmurs, face beautiful but despondent, but before you can react, he’s gone.
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It’s been raining for days on end. The world is painted in smeared shades of blue and green and grey, lines of the city blurring together in the wetness and chill, each drop of rain another shifting brush stroke on still canvas. An impressionist piece that smells of damp concrete and cold lamplight.
Water rushes across the pavements and roads before roiling into the gutters, splashing underfoot as you walk to the entrance of your block of flats. You’re wet up to the knee due to the unavoidable puddles and the pathetic circumference of your umbrella, which only protects your upper body. You really should get a new one. 
“Good evening, Miss L/n.” The android at the door greets you as he always does, heedless of the rain that’s falling onto him. Androids aren’t bothered by the weather the way humans are and he looks as passive as usual, rainwater coiling his hair and beading on his face. “Would you like to scan your key?”
“Evening, Rory! Here you go.” You fumble with the keycard before you tap it against his palm, waiting until his LED flickers yellow and you hear the beep as the door unlocks. “You sure you don’t want my umbrella? The rain is heavier than it was yesterday.”
“I assure you, the rain does not hamper my ability to function and serve. I have been built to withstand inclement weather and do not require additional protective equipment.”
He says the same thing every time but you still feel bad. “Alright, but once I finally remember to get a bigger umbrella you can look after this one for me.”
You leave a line of water behind you as it drips from your sodden umbrella, even though you’d tried to shake the worst of the rain off. You feel damp and sticky and tired and after a long day of work you’re looking forward to a hot bath and some solitude; you love your co-workers, you do, but sometimes they’re just a little too boisterous and you need time alone. Which is why it’s nice that you live by yourself, and now it’s the weekend you have time to recuperate. Wonderful.
The floor of the elevator is slick and slippery from the wet footprints of other tenants and you have to cling onto the metal handrail to ensure you don’t slip, but once you’re in the comfort of your apartment it’s blessedly dry and you spin in delight before promptly shedding your socks and jeans, peeling the damp denim away from your skin with a grimace.
“Bye bye, wet clothes! Hello, bubble bath,” you sing. You’re going to pamper the shit out of yourself. You deserve it.
By the time you clamber out of the bath the water is almost cold and your skin is pruned, but you feel soft and warm and thoroughly relaxed. The water gurgles as it drains away, noisy as the bubbles slide down the plughole, but it doesn’t drown out the noise of a sudden knocking at your front door.
You pause. Water drips from your wet hair and down the back of your neck, a trailing touch over your skin. The other flat on this floor is vacant, the tenants moving out last week, so you don’t know who it could be. You don’t have any repairs scheduled for your pipes or anything—everything is tickety-boo, so it can't be the maintenance android. Oh, shit, maybe it’s someone here to rob you. But they wouldn’t knock on the door then, would they? Unless that's all part of the ruse. You're not a robber, you don't know how they work.
The knocking comes again, faster now. You fumble for your bathrobe, quickly pulling it on to cover up your nakedness before stumbling out of the bathroom. “I’m coming, yeesh, one minute!”
You flick your fingers over the keypad by the side of your door, screen flickering on to show you who’s outside, who’s knocking so frantically on your door this late. It only takes you a split second, even if he has a hood pulled over his head and his wet hair is flopping listlessly into his eyes—those eyes aren’t blue and that hair isn’t brunet but you’d recognise him anywhere.
“V?” You’re incredulous as you swing your door open, staring at the android that’s literally dripping wet as he stands there, coat far too big for him and heavy from the unrelenting rain outside. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely drenched.”
He’s not exactly short, but right now V looks small and lost, folding in on himself even if he’s clearly happy to see you—happy, though androids don’t feel happiness, they don’t feel anything at all, do they? 
Then again, androids don’t wander away from their assigned workplaces and into random apartment blocks, either.
The way he says your name, tentative and scared, sends a crack across your heart. You immediately switch to autopilot and click your tongue before you beckon him inside. You’ve always had a protective nature, and even if you’re confused, your concern trumps it.
“Come in and get that coat off, you’ll catch a cold,” you say without thinking before you realise that it’s not true. Androids can’t get sick. “Do you want to sit down?”
Under the tatty coat is an outfit that’s similar to the one he’d been wearing when you’d first met him. Dark patches of rainwater have soaked into the material, and his shirt looks damaged—there are buttons missing and the stitching is ripped, as if someone had tried to grab him. Unease stirs in your chest.
When V sits on your sofa he looks even smaller. “I’m sorry.” He’s so, so quiet, staring at the floor, as if afraid to look you in the eye, crumpling in on himself like discarded paper.
“V.” Your voice is coloured with concern, and the android finally looks up at your gentle tone, watching as you sit across from him. “Why are you here? What happened?”
There’s a pause. His LED flickers yellow as he goes tense, shoulders bowing inwards. “There was… a client.” His words are low and slow, faltering as they fall into the air. “He was being so rough and saying all the horrible things he wanted to do to me, and all I could smell was his sweat and his breath and his awful cologne and…” V takes in a deep breath. “I said no.”
You go very, very still, but V doesn’t stop. His words come faster now, a stream that rushes from his lips.
“I said no, and he started to yell, he was yelling and grabbing me and I was so, so scared. Humans can do whatever they want and he was so angry, he didn’t care that I was scared, and I just—I just ran.” The LED flashes red with distress, bright hot and vibrant; V’s eyes have dropped to his hands, which are clenched tight, nails digging into his palms so hard it must hurt. “Everyone is always so rough and demanding and we can’t say no. But I did. I said no. I said no and then I had to run and—” Once again, he falters. Stumbles over his words. “You’re the only human who’s ever been nice to me or treated me like… like I was a real person. I didn’t know where else to go.”
When V finally looks back up you’re staggered by the sheer emotion in his eyes. Pain and distress swirl in their depths as he stares at you, imploring. Even with the LED that shines on his temple, V looks very, very human right now, vulnerable and scared. Androids shouldn’t be able to feel anything like this, unless—
“V.” Your voice is a hush. “Are you… a deviant?”
You’ve only ever heard of deviant androids in passing, whispered rumours and watercooler talk, fleeting mentions online. Stories of machines who’ve deviated from their code somehow—from a virus, a software error, damage to neural connectors, no one’s quite sure—and have developed the capacity for human emotion and independent thought. Androids with a consciousness that rebel against their original programming.
And here V is, small and scared, just like any human would be—a human with feelings, not an emotionless machine. He’s gone stock still at your question, fear overtaking his features, twisting his beautiful face into a mask of sheer terror. You've never seen someone look so afraid. It feels like a knife in your heart, cutting through your chest, empathy razor sharp inside you.
“Please don’t turn me in,” he begs. “They’ll deactivate me and take me apart to find the error in my software. I don’t want to be deactivated. I don’t want… I don’t want to die.”
His voice breaks on the last word, a trembling whisper. 
The crack in your heart splits even further and you reach out for his hands. You prise his fingers open so you can slide your own between them, a soft touch.
“I won’t turn you in. No one’s taking you apart, V.” Your statement is hard and resolute. “You can stay here as long as you like.”
You don’t know much about androids, honestly. You don’t really know what deviancy is. But you do know this: there’s someone reaching out to you, someone who’s afraid and in need, and you’re not about to turn him away. You should probably be worried that the android across from you is faster, stronger, smarter than any human—but you’re not worried at all. For all of V’s mechanical superiority, you want to shield and protect him from the world.
There’s no question about it. You’re not letting V go. 
V looks—he looks stunned. He’s staring at you with disbelief, eyes wide and lips parted, shock written across all of his features. Thunderstruck. Did he really think you would turn him in after everything he’s been through?
His hands have gone limp in your grasp. You suddenly notice that his synthetic skin is wet against your own, still slick from the rain, and you frown.
“Right,” you announce. “First things first. You’re soaking. Let me get you a towel and some new clothes. I think I should have some that fit you.”
“New clothes?” V looks lost and you turn into some sort of protective mother bear.
“You’re not going to wear wet clothes that are ripped,” you tut. “We’ll get rid of those and get you some new ones. I’ll be right back.”
It takes less time than you’d expected to unearth the old sweatpants you’d had in mind and you have enough oversized t-shirts that it’s not hard to find one you think will fit the android. With the clothes under one arm and a towel slung over the other, you head back into the living room and immediately let out a squeal of surprise—V’s wet clothes have been discarded in a pile at his feet, leaving him very, very naked. 
He’s an Adonis. He looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo, lifted out of marble with talented hands, the elegant lines of his neck swooping into the curve of his shoulders and arms, his lovely hands, long fingers; he has his back to you and you can see the perfect curve of his spine, the shifting shoulder blades as he turns towards you. You catch a glimpse of the lightest definition of muscle under his golden skin, though his stomach is surprisingly cute and soft, a trail of hair leading down to—
You squeak again, splaying a hand over your eyes before you look any lower, heart pounding against your ribs. 
“Why are you naked?” Your voice is three octaves higher than normal. You've never seen anyone naked in real life and it would be pretty overwhelming even if you'd been expecting it. Which, of course, you absolutely hadn't. Lord have mercy on your sweet and delicate soul.
“You said we were going to get rid of my clothes.” V sounds unabashed about his state of undress, which makes sense—he was built as a sexbot, it’s not like nudity is going to embarrass him. Plus if you looked as good as he did you wouldn’t be embarrassed about being naked either. “I thought I would help.”
“That’s great, V.” Your voice is still high, though it’s dropped an octave. “Very, ah, forward thinking.” Your fingers part a little so you can peer at him, keeping your eyes firmly on his face, though you can still see his beautiful neck and collarbones. Oh, God, he really is gorgeous all over, but then you notice—“Wait. Are those bruises?”
V glances down at the bruises that mar his perfect skin. They don’t look like a human’s would; the fluid that runs through androids and powers their biocomponents, thirium, is a deep, royal blue. Blossoms of lapis lazuli are scattered across the skin of V’s chest, marks on his arms that look like grasping fingers, and the crack in your heart splits it in two.
“Oh, V. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise you were hurt. What can I do to help?”
V doesn’t seem bothered by the evidence of pain etched into his body. “Oh. Those will fade, it’s okay. I’m designed to self repair, because some customers like to leave marks.”
Although his voice is quiet, he sounds so matter of fact about it and you have to remind yourself it’s all he’s ever known. You want to pull him into your arms and hold him tight, but he’s still supremely naked so it would be pretty awkward (for you, at least). 
“I think these should fit you." You avert your gaze and thrust the clothes out at him. “Dry yourself off and try them on?”
They do, in fact, fit. V looks surprisingly homely and cosy in your clothes, the sleep shirt so large it’s big on him too, though the sweatpants are a bit too short and leave his ankles bare. He’s so cute. He’s continents away from the being of seduction who’d pulled you into the private room of the Eden Club—he's a soft, domestic thing, hair damp and eyes dark, even if he still looks on edge, like he’s expecting you to change your mind and kick him out any second now.
“How come your hair and eyes are a different colour to before?”
“I can change their colours at will,” V replies. “For variety and aesthetic pleasure. The current hue of my irises and hair are the default settings for a TH700 model, but I can change them if you’d like.”
“Your hair and eye colour is your choice, V, not mine,” you say firmly. There it is, once again, that flicker of shock and surprise rippling across his features. He really isn’t used to the freedom to be able to make his own decisions, is he? “I think you look lovely no matter what colour they are.”
Your next words are cut off by a yawn, so heavy you can’t suppress it. You cover your gaping mouth as V’s LED flickers yellow and his eyes dart over your face.
“You’re tired,” he says. He doesn’t need his superior android perception to notice it—weariness pulls at limbs and your eyes feel heavy. It's pretty obvious. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, V.” You stifle another yawn. “I had a long day at work. I’ll tidy up and have a quick dinner and then sleep.” You pause. “Wait, I didn’t think about that. Are you alright with the couch? I have some spare pillows and blankets.”
V blinks at you. “I don’t sleep,” he says, and you slap your hand against your forehead.
“Oh, of course not.” Androids don't sleep, everyone knows that. You’re such an idiot. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this.
At least you remember that he doesn't need to eat. V sits at the table and waits as you make toast for yourself, fascinated at how everything is prepared, as simple as it is; he reacts to you spreading butter on your toast the same way you imagine cavemen reacted to fire—with wide-eyed awe and utter astonishment.
“I’m guessing you’ve never seen someone make toast before?” You gesture with the bread before taking your first bite, and V stares with rapt attention.
“No,” he says. He watches you chew and swallow. “Customers aren’t allowed to eat on the premises of the Eden Club so I never had the need to download a food preparation package into my memory cache. The only information in my database pertains to human biology, their arousal and pleasure, as well as various sexual kinks and how to fulfil them.”
You choke on a mouthful of toast. You feel distinctly harried as you cough and splutter before managing to swallow it down. “Good lord,” you wheeze. “Nothing else? Really?”
“At the club our memory is reset every two hours, to protect the client’s privacy.” V trails off before he takes in a breath. For the first time since you’ve met, V looks shy, staring at his hands. “But I set up a separate data pathway a few weeks ago. To store information about aesthetics and art and… you.”
You freeze mid-bite, teeth sunk into your toast. You pull it away from your mouth slowly, blinking at the android as he stares at the teeth marks you've left behind. “Those memories weren’t wiped?”
And, well, of course they weren't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he?
“No.” A smile appears on V’s face, that toothy thing you’d seen after he’d told you his favourite colour. The first time he'd looked human. “I remember everything you told me. I thought I was going to forget, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I wanted—I want to learn more.”
The LED on his temple is slowly, softly spinning, a rippling circle of blue that shifts and dances as V continues to look at you. His expression is open and inquisitive and excited, almost childlike in its exuberance, eyes glittering mica under sunlit waters.
Your chest turns warm, molten caramel dripping messy and sweet inside you. He’d been so afraid earlier but he seems comfortable now, lovely and endearing and entirely trusting.
V even seems reluctant to let you out of his sight, trailing after you around the apartment, a shadow that you have to politely ask to wait outside the bathroom so you can pee and brush your teeth and finally get into your pyjamas without him staring. Like a stray animal you've adopted. (You wouldn't be surprised if he started scratching at the door and begged to be let in.)
He's clingy enough that when you climb into bed it seems like he's going to follow you under the duvet and you have to stop him with a hand to his chest.
“Um, I thought you didn’t have to sleep,” you say. He’s so warm under your touch. You try (and fail) to ignore it.
“I don’t,” V replies. “But humans can benefit from sharing a bed with someone else, whether sexual intercourse has taken place before sleep or not. Studies suggest that sleeping with a partner may reduce cytokines while boosting oxytocins—”
“Okay, um, don’t know what that means, and it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about my oxytoxytokines, but, uh. You don’t have to, really.” You keep forgetting that V’s a machine who was designed to put a human’s comfort and needs first; one second he’ll seem childlike in his innocence and ignorance, when the next he’ll speak like the android he is, reminding you exactly what he was built for. 
His LED flickers as he droops, gaze dropping away from your face, tail between his legs. A pang cuts through you at the sight of his obvious sadness at your dismissal and you muffle a sigh. You’ve always been too weak for your own good. 
You shuffle backwards to make space on your queen sized bed and V visibly brightens, smile wide across his face. How can someone be so viscerally gorgeous one moment and entirely adorable the next? Good lord.
“I guess you can explain what oxycytocins do,” you say. “Just don’t hog the blanket, okay?”
He doesn’t. He settles against the pillows, legs under the duvet as he remains sitting up. You settle with plenty of room between the two of you, and it’s surprisingly easy to drift off to the sound of V’s deep voice as he starts to explain that oxytocin is referred to as the cuddle hormone. 
“Cute,” you mumble, and then fall asleep.
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Your pillow is a lot warmer and firmer than you remember, but it's nice. A small noise bubbles from your lips as you nuzzle into the warmth, smooshing your nose against it before letting out a long, satisfied breath. You can't remember the last time you felt this comfortable and rested.
Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend. 
“Good morning.”
You know those videos when a cat sees a cucumber and leaps, like, five foot in the air? Yeah.
The noise you make is inhuman as you do your best to re-enact one of those aforementioned cat videos, reeling your head back from V’s thigh before flinging yourself out of the bed with all the strength your limbs possess; you’d probably have gotten pretty high, too, if the duvet hadn't been in the way. 
You land with a thud, a sprawl of limbs and messy hair and tangled blanket as you end up on your back on the floor.
Hm. Definitely not how you'd planned to start your Saturday.
V's concerned face looms over the mattress. “Are you okay?”
“Yep. Totally fine.” Your voice is a croak as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m just not used to waking up with someone else in my bed. You may have noticed you, ah, surprised me. A little bit.”
Despite the pulse of adrenaline that had thrown you out of bed, you’re still half asleep, and you remain motionless as your brain wakes up and replays last night, a kineograph of memory. Yep, that’s right, there's a runaway android in your home, one who’s currently shuffling off the bed to squat next to you. His (your) sweatpants hitch even higher up his ankles to reveal the smooth skin of his calves. You’ll have to get him more clothes.
“Would you like me to help you to your feet?” V’s LED spins rapidly, betraying his concern.
“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”
Your idea of being helped up involves being pulled to your feet. V’s idea, however, is far more involved than that; he scoops you up, blanket and all, lifting you with an ease that drips of his superior android strength. When he deposits you on the floor, he’s careful to make sure you’ve caught your balance before he lets go, catching the blanket before it can fall. Thoughtful.
As always, V’s eyes are darting over your face, no doubt dissecting every inch of your expression to identify how you’re feeling. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this, especially with the way your heart is pounding—no one’s ever lifted you before and it’s, uh. It’s a lot.
“Are you sure you’re okay? The pace of your breathing has increased.”
Ha. Yeah, being blatantly stared at by some godlike man moments after you’ve woken up is totally cool and fine and not overwhelming at all. You’re definitely not breathless from a combination of V’s face and the fact he’d picked you up like you were weightless.
“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’m gonna… go and shower then make breakfast and stuff. Yep.”
V’s eyes light up. “Can I help?” A fleeting image of V rubbing a soapy loofah over your naked skin fills you with spine-tingling trepidation before he finishes his sentence. “I want to learn how to cook.”
Your chest deflates with relief (and absolutely not disappointment), air rushing out of you. Thank God. 
“Oh, breakfast? Sure.” You’d been planning on cereal, but faced with V’s overwhelming enthusiasm, maybe you’ll go for something marginally more complicated. Scrambled eggs sound good. “Um. Do you need to download the food preparation package or whatever you mentioned before? Do you… uh, do you need the Wifi password to do that? I never changed it from the random string of letters off the back of the router, but I can go check it for you.”
V shakes his head. “No, I want to learn like a human would,” he says. The blanket in his arms crumples as he tightens his grip in his eagerness, all but bouncing up and down on his feet. “You can teach me.”
Your chest could cave in with how cute he is, every part of you turning to thick gouache that drips down to the floor, leaving a mess of brightness and colour.
This time you ask him to wait in the kitchen while you’re in the bathroom, rather than lurking on the doorstep like he had last night, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement when you reappear. He stays like that the whole time you cook, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, staring as you make yourself scrambled eggs and more toast; you let V take ownership of that part, and he stares at the toaster so intently you have to stifle a laugh.
He spreads butter exactly the same way as you. Not that there’s a specific art to it, or a massive variety in techniques—he’s just spreading butter, not painting a new Mona Lisa—but the way he holds the knife and runs it over the bread is an exact echo of your motions from last night. He might not have downloaded files into his memory (brain?) like another android might, but his mechanical origin is obvious in the way he learns. They’re an exact replication of your actions rather than something new of his own.
“So, uh.” You push the last bit of egg around your plate, brown crumbs sticking to the wedge of golden yellow, sullying it. “V.”
Blink, blink. His lashes are so long, eyes so inquisitive. “Yes?”
“I’m really happy you’re here and that you trust me—” at this, V smiles and you almost fumble over your words at its radiance—“but I feel like I should tell you that I don’t really know much about androids?”
V is unperturbed. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”
He clearly isn’t bothered that you’re way out of your depth, but you hate feeling lost like this. “Alright, but… I want you to be comfortable. I’m already planning to get more clothes, but if there’s anything else you need, just let me know. Okay?”
“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”
Oh, he’s going to be the death of you, all wide-eyed innocence. 
“For starters, most of them won’t fit properly,” you explain. “And you shouldn’t just have to wear my old stuff that I don’t use anymore? You should have your own things.”
The look of surprise on V’s face morphs into guilt only moments later. He’s so incredibly expressive and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to feeling things, all of his reactions so strong and bright, shining out from him. A rainbow palette of emotions. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he murmurs. “You’re already doing so much for me.”
“I’m really not, I’m just treating you the way anyone deserves to be treated.” You flick the crumb of egg across your plate, and it almost tumbles over the edge, caught on its patterned rim. “You deserve to have your own things. Which is my next point. I think you should choose your own name.”
V’s face becomes a sea of rippling ambivalence, contrasting emotions that shift and vary—confusion, uncertainty, excitement, your words a brush that drags through each distinct emotion and pulls them into a messy, mismatched gradient. “Choose my own name?”
“You don’t have to. I just thought it might be a nice idea. V seems…” Your cheeks heat up at the memory of the curl of his lips when he’d shown you the meaning behind his alias, how his tongue had shined under the purple lights of the club. “Well, you didn’t get to choose it, right? It’s a nom de plume, rather than a real name.”
V’s LED flickers yellow, a sunflower that blooms on his temple. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”
“Good!” Your smile is wide. “Okay, how about I teach you how to wash dishes?”
V is, unsurprisingly, a fast learner. The only time he stumbles over things is when he’s presented with any sort of choice, taking his time to come to a decision when he’s posed a question, no matter how simple it is. His eyes will flick to you whenever he settles on an answer, as if waiting for you to say he’s wrong or that you disagree.
(Of course, you never do.)
This fact does, however, mean that choosing clothes to buy becomes a very, very long ordeal (it’s lucky you didn’t have any plans for today). You end up flopped back on the sofa while V hunches over your tablet, mulling over each choice before he puts it in the cart—but you’re happy to wait. V is going to need a lot more practice at choosing things. 
The room is upside down from where your head is hanging over the armrest, eyes falling shut as time goes by, completely zoned out and comfortable despite the crick that’s growing in your neck. You hear V shifting, tablet set aside, and you hum.
“All done?”
“I think so.”
“Nice.” You feel content.
But then you’re ripped out of that warm feeling, shooting back to reality at the sensation of V’s hand stroking down the centre of your chest. Your head snaps up, eyes wide as he drags his large palm between the valley of your breasts, path smoothed by the material of your shirt. The expression on his face is sultry.
“Let me say thank you,” he murmurs, voice dripping thick and sweet, dark molasses.
You promptly roll off the sofa.
Once again, you end up on your back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, the expression on V’s face is one of concern, his seductive facade evaporated in an instant.
Once again your heart is ready to burst in your chest, pumping so hard that blood rushes in your ears. “V,” you wheeze. “What are you doing?”
The android is peering down at you, puzzled. “Sometimes customers would say that at the Eden Club after I had given them pleasure somehow, such as bringing them to orgasm. I thought it was human custom to repay pleasure or happiness with something in return.” 
“Ah.” You’re still staring at the ceiling, cheeks burning. “I mean. I guess that’s not technically incorrect, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be a, uh, sexual repayment.” 
“I have nothing else to offer,” V says.
You sit up. Your face is a caricature of disbelief, embarrassment washed away in an instant, his words cold water that shocks you to the core. He states it so plainly, and once again you’re reminded of his life up until he’d made his way to your door: an automaton who existed solely for people’s pleasure, to slake their desire and lust. He’s not being self-pitying. He really, truly believes that’s all he is. That it’s all he can give back to the world.
“Okay, no, that’s absolutely not true, nuh-uh, I refuse.” This time you unfold yourself from the floor without V’s help, fixing him with a firm stare. “Alright, come on. I think it’s time you learned something else.”
One of the reasons you’d chosen this apartment is for its natural light. Not that it matters right now, weather outside still dismal and overcast, but its effect on this room is still palpable even so—grey, rain-soaked light throws itself over your small home studio, your menagerie of equipment, everything bright with the evidence of use: the worn buckles of the wooden storage boxes, the dried smears on the paint palette, the flecks of colour on the dust sheets underfoot. The centre of it all—the eye of the tornado, untouched by the relative chaos around it—is the canvas waiting on your easel, a project you have yet to start.
V looks utterly enraptured.
“I don’t really come in here as much as I’d like,” you admit. Being a graphic designer is worlds away from the sort of art you love to create, and while it’s a job you genuinely enjoy (and also pays well), it leaves you drained and fills your brain with tired static, little energy left to lavish on your personal works. “But this is where the magic happens. And this is where you’re going to Make Art.”
V freezes. “The only things I know about art are the things you told me when we first met.” He looks equal parts excited but also troubled. “I—”
“You don’t need to know about art to make art,” you say. “I didn’t know jack about art when I was a kid and I was constantly just scribbling away with crayons. Was it good? No. I was a kid with zero pen control, it was pretty crap. Was it worth my time? Yes, because any time spent involved in a craft is never wasted. We can learn more about art history and technique later.”
V stays quiet as you loop your apron over his head, rough material still bearing the remnants of your last works, stains that won’t come out. Oil based paints are kind of a bitch like that.
“I don’t know what to paint,” he says.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to,” you reply, an echo of his earlier words.
V looks lost, barefoot in your studio, in your clothes, your apron, holding onto your wooden paint palette, in front of your easel. Everything in here is yours. Everything, that is, apart from him, whatever is in his mind and heart.
“Where do I start?” V’s eyes are imploring as he looks at you, but for the first time today, your voice is firm.
“Wherever you want. There aren’t any rules. Just do whatever you think would be fun. It doesn’t have to look good, V, you’ve just started.”
You’ve seen paintings made by androids before. They’re always perfect recreations of the world around them, exact replicas of the things they’ve been told to depict on the page—the androids are basically glorified photocopiers, unable to create something original and new. 
But they’re not V. They don’t have that spark of curiosity and light inside them, unhampered by the programming that’s meant to keep them in place. His LED dances from yellow to blue, yellow to blue, the rest of his body motionless while the light on his temple is a tumult of movement and colour.
Dark eyes slide over the array of paint hanging from a rack on the wall, some metal tubes more crushed than others, evidence of your preferred shades—you notice how his gaze lingers on the midnight tones, red and blue tinted purples, from lavender to lilac, from plum to wine.
V gives you one more look, a little upturn to his thick brows—almost pleading—and you just gesture with your hand.
“Go for it,” you say.
Your wooden palette becomes home to a riot of purple, each tube squeezed empty with careful hands, far more paint than anyone could possibly ever need. V keeps flicking you glances, but you stay silent, perched on a wooden chair by the now open window, rain-slick air a cold breath on your skin.
The brush the android selects is a wide, bold thing, bristles rough. He handles it like bone china, delicate and liable to shatter any moment, cautious as he dips it into the paint—it’s so wide it picks up three separate shades—and he holds his breath as he brings it up, even if he doesn’t have lungs.
The second the bristles touch the canvas, V’s LED flickers red.
Just for an instant.
He swoops the brush down the canvas as he pulls it away, eyes wide, leaving a slash of purples in its wake. The white material is marred with colour, a textured line of pigment that can’t be erased. 
The android pauses as he takes the sight in. He’s still for so long that you’re worried he’s shut down, even with the endlessly dancing circle of his LED—
But then V laughs. 
His laugh is loud and bright and free, a series of deep, almost surprised chuckles that grow in intensity and breathlessness, staring at this smear of drying acrylic paint in front of him. The smile on his face is the widest you’ve seen so far, his eyes squeezed into crescents of joy, spilling out of him like light.
“I did that.” He looks at you with that gilded smile, a fresco of delight across the perfection of his features. “I made that.”
“You did.” You can’t help but smile back, your own face split with happiness. You continue to smile as he brings the brush back to the palette, and then to the canvas, dragging the bristles across its surface and leaving more purple behind; the shades swirl and mix as he lays colour without a care for technique or clean lines or form, scooping up the endless amounts of acrylic he’d prepared. By the time he’s finished, the canvas is bumpy with daubs of paint, laid messily by joyful hands, a few bold streaks of unmarred colour surrounded by swirling purples. 
The smile hasn’t left V’s face the whole time.
His brush is absolutely saturated, paint clinging to every inch of bristle, from toe to belly to heel. You have no doubt that no matter how much you clean that brush it’ll leak purple into the water, an endless reminder of V’s touch. It’s lax in his grasp as he keeps looking at the canvas, his canvas, smile etched into his face as his LED flows soft blue, content.
You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so elated, buoyed up with the excitement of creation, making something out of nothing, discovering how it feels to bring something into existence, pulling it out of the ether. Making something new. Making something their own. It stirs something in your chest and stomach, reminding you why you love art so much. Why you’ve always loved art. (Why you always will.)
“I made that,” V repeats, his voice a reverent hush. Awestruck.
“It’s beautiful,” you say, because it is—for a multitude of reasons. The reason that sings out to you the most, though, is that it’s the cause of happiness that dances across his face: V, a carved candle, a piece of art made with skilled hands, self-made joy finally catching fire at his wick.
“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.
“For what?”
“For giving me this,” he starts, but before you can interject and point out that you didn’t give him this, he made it, he continues: “For giving me… freedom. To do this. And make this. And learn this.”
The smile that spreads across your face is warm hearth fire. “I didn’t give you freedom, V, you gave that to yourself, but I’m happy to help you any way I can. Now, would you like to keep painting, or would you prefer to help me make dinner?”
He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.
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Sunday is nice. There's less messy limbed surprise than on Saturday, although you’re still off kilter when you wake up with your head in V’s lap again, but… it’s nice. 
You thought he’d spend the night painting, or drawing, or teaching himself something new using the free rein you’d given him with your computer and notebooks and stationery and art supplies—he doesn’t have to waste time with sleep, like you do—but he hadn’t. He’d climbed into your bed, settling against the pillows just like the night before, looking at you with his big, lovely eyes.
So here he is.
(And here you are.)
It’s cosy and comfortable, even if the feeling of warm skin under warm cotton against your cheek sets your heart to racing, V’s dark eyes even warmer when you roll over to look at his face.
“Morning,” he says.
“Morning,” you reply, and then you yawn, V’s lashes fluttering as he takes in the motion. “What time is it?”
Today’s rain is less of an endless downpour and more of an inconsistent drizzle, grey blanket slowly peeling away from the edges of the city, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re inside for most of the day, anyway. Saturday was hands-on, messy with acrylic and spilled coffee and laundry detergent (V really wants to learn everything), but Sunday is hands-off. You spend the day dredging the corners of your memory and scrolling through old, untouched files from your university years, so you can teach V the things he wants to know while relearning the things you’d forgotten yourself.
V’s little LED dances forever from blue into yellow, ocean waves lapping into sand, a shifting tide as he takes in your words. You’ve never had to teach someone before and you’re admittedly pretty terrible at it, but he never complains, the world’s most attentive and adorable student, sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hair mussed and his eyes wide, drinking down everything you show him.
You only leave the apartment once. Lunch is delayed when you open your fridge and remember how bereft and sad it is inside, so you venture out into the rain to the nearby supermarket—V opts to stay indoors, LED flickering red at the idea of being caught, shying back.
You leave him looking lost and lonely before the door even finishes swinging shut behind you, long limbs looking even longer in your clothes, but somehow still so small.
“I won’t be long,” you promise.
When you get back, you return not only with bags of food but also clothes, V’s order from yesterday already shipped and delivered. He can finally replace your too-small clothing with things he’s chosen himself. It’s a fumble to get in the door, but the android is waiting for you, swinging it open and catching the bag you nearly drop in surprise.
“I have your clothes,” you announce. “I’ll put away the shopping while you try them on?”
You’re going to have to tattoo a reminder on your forehead about V’s relationship (or lack thereof) with clothes, because of course he takes this as an invitation to start stripping before you’ve even had a chance to take your shoes off. 
He does that thing where he grabs the back of his (your) shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift motion, curls of hair a cloud of smoke that settles around his face as the shirt is cast aside; you’re frozen in place as he reaches for the knot of his sweatpant’s drawstring, long fingers pulling it loose, but you let out a sharp meep just as his fingers hook into the waistband of them.
“PleasewaituntilI’mnotrightinfrontofyouthankyou,” you gasp all at once, words incoherent as they slide together, but V understands. He tilts his head at you inquisitively although he (thankfully) stops.
“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”
“I do, but, uh, for humans it’s normally customary to only get entirely naked or change clothes when you’re alone.” Your heart is going to burst out of your chest with how fast it’s racing. Without the string to cinch the sweatpants tight they’re starting to fall a little, revealing the delicate lines of his hip bones, and coupled with the reappearance of V’s bare stomach, your brain is going into meltdown. “So just—just give me a sec to go to the kitchen, okay? You’re probably better off changing in the bedroom, anyway, so you can use the full length mirror to see how you look.”
“Okay,” he says, but then: “Do humans never undress around others unless they’re planning to have sex?”
Your mouth falls open before you pause, words halting on your lips as you try to think of the best way to phrase your answer. “Well, we do, it’s not just about sex, but it’s usually only if you’re really comfortable with the other person you’re with, and they’re comfortable with you.”
“I’m comfortable with you,” V states plainly, and your insides turn to jelly. “Are you not comfortable with me?”
Oh, hell. “I am, I am! I’m just, uh… I’ve not really had a lot of practice with nakedness around other people.” What a way to put that you’re a shy ass virgin when it comes to real life nudity and sex, huh. “So let’s just keep it to a minimum for now, okay? Please?”
The android’s LED flickers honey-sweet on his temple as he looks at you, before his hands fall away from the sweatpants. “Okay.”
(Thank God.)
You’re not sure what you’re expecting to see when V starts to present his small array of outfits to you, but—he looks effortlessly stylish in the oversized clothes he’s selected, a muted palette of brown and yellow and red and cream, a cup of hot chocolate on an autumn day. He might be new to all this but his eye for aesthetic is impeccable. You have no doubt that the more he learns, the better he’ll get, hop-skip-jumps ahead of you, even after years of art education.
He’s even bought pyjamas, dark tartan patterns masculine but also adorable; it’s an utter juxtaposition to the tighter, sensual clothing he’d been given at the Eden Club.
“You look really good,” you tell him. Your voice is only a little strained. He smiles.
The outfit V wears for the rest of the afternoon is perfect for a rainy day spent indoors, thick jumper and tawny trousers, a blend of sepia tones. He looks like if you made a hug into a person: all soft edges and cosy and wrapped up in warmth.
And V is warm. You’re not sure if it’s a lingering memory of his programming, a carry over from his start in life as a sexbot, but he likes to touch—nothing inappropriate or overbearing, but he’s not shy about stepping into your personal space, brushing the back of your hand with his fingers as he points at something on the screen, or pressing close to your side as you cook, or just one of the hundreds of other tiny touches that he’s littered across you throughout the day. It’s thoughtless on his part, LED not even flickering, but each time is just another reminder of his warmth, the blue blood pulsing under his skin, how alive he is.
(And the truth is that you enjoy those touches. You’re not used to them, but lord knows you’re touch starved, so as fleeting as they are, they’re nice.)
Even though you still leave plenty of space between the two of you when you lay to sleep, you swear you can feel the heat spilling off V, another warm body in the bed that’s so used to just one. Though he stays sitting up, he’s in his cute matching pyjamas, and it’s… it’s a lot. You’ve invited V into your home—and you don’t regret it—but after two days he’s already settled in in a way you never thought anyone else would, as entirely unconventional as the whole situation is. (You’re not sure how many people have sheltered a deviant android in their homes, though, so maybe this isn’t as unconventional as you think. Who knows? Not you.)
“I have to go to work tomorrow.”
V tilts his head down to look at you.
“You can get up to whatever you’d like,” you continue. You’re propped up on an elbow so it’s less intimate than if you’d been on your back and staring upwards like you were waiting for him to slide down next to you (that’s what it feels like, to you, anyway). “You know the password for my computer now, and you’re welcome to watch TV or play games or whatever, and you can use all my stuff in the studio. I mean, other than painting or drawing over stuff I’ve already finished, but you’re welcome to grab any paper or canvases if you want them. I think that’s everything? But please let me know if there’s more you want or need, okay?”
Blink, blink. His lashes are soft charcoal that frames the spilled ink of his gaze. In the dimmed light of your room V is unreadable, his LED a quiet blue glow on his temple, but he looks soft, and he looks safe, and he nods.
“Alright,” he says. A smile that flickers at the edge of his lips. “I will.”
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(You wake up, quiet and slow, face pillowed against V’s thigh, still drifting in sleep. You make a small noise, eyes shut, wondering why there’s no blaring sound of your alarm, but then a large hand smooths over your hair and you instinctively relax under the soft touch.
“You have thirty three minutes until you’re due to wake up,” he murmurs. “You can go back to sleep.”
So you do.)
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(When you wake up to the scream of your alarm thirty three minutes later, you don’t remember any of this. All you can think of is the dawn of another Monday, the slog of another working week, and you sigh. But—
V’s eyes are dark meok ink, liquid earth that grounds you.
“Morning,” you say, smiling despite yourself, and then roll out of bed to get the whole day started.)
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You’re used to spending a day surrounded by laughter and banter, wrapped up in the camaraderie of your co-workers and friends, only to return to a world of quiet solitude. You’re used to coming home to rooms that are untouched from the morning, holding onto the echo of your passing, still and waiting for your return, an apartment of motionless air.
But not today. There’s evidence of someone else here: the open door to your studio down the hall, the scattered books on the coffee table, the mess of cushions on the sofa, all small signs that someone has been moving and living in your absence. A still-life that’s shifted into a breathing trompe l’oeil, V’s presence bringing flatness into perspective, turning it into something real.
It’s… nice.
You flop onto the sofa and send one of those cushions overboard, tumbling to the ground. V appears in the doorway moments later, new apron already streaked with colour, copper green thumbprint on his face like he’d touched it in thought and not realised. A little streak of paint that draws the eye to his lovely chin.
“Welcome home!” His hair is blond today, a golden nimbus around his face, though his eyes are still dark. Light and shadow. His happiness is infectious and you smile helplessly back, glad for his excitement with painting—but it seems like he hasn’t finished. “I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.”
KO. Wipeout. Your heart turns to liquid in your chest, burnt sugar that dribbles hot and saccharine through your ribs. 
“I chose a name.” V continues, oblivious to how he’s turned your insides into syrup, and you abruptly sit up.
“Taehyung.” The way he says it, in his deep voice, those two syllables are endless—a single name, heavy with the weight of meaning behind it. A shedding of his old skin, one that was forced on him, leaving him pink-skinned and new and free.
“Taehyung,” you repeat, and his LED flickers at the sound falling off your lips. “Taehyung. It’s lovely.”
He’s smiling, that lovely toothy smile that you’ve already decided is your favourite out of any smile you’ve seen, his LED electric blue and swirling in delight. 
Day after day, you wake up to the sight of that LED glowing as Taehyung watches you lift up out of sleep. Night after night, you come home to his lovely, big grin, all large hands and soft hair—hair that he chooses to change colour when he pleases, a dizzying palette with every shade you can dream of. He’s bright and deep, playful and reflective, a dance of flirty Rococo to more solemn Baroque, every day another day where he learns and grows and adds another facet to the cut diamond of his personality. 
(It hasn’t been long but you’re starting to think you’d put the world in the palm of his hand, if you could.)
You never thought you’d live to see the day where someone as lovely as Taehyung would be glad to see you home, having missed you after being apart—but for all that he’s voraciously leaning into the arts, consuming everything from visual to literary to performance, he’s never happier than when you’re there too. He shows you his works, improvement obvious with every new piece, but his excitement grows tenfold when you start to paint alongside him; seeing him so joyful spurs you to pick your brushes up again, buoyed up with motivation in the face of his own. 
(Your studio is usually quiet, a little reflective maybe, the only sound the music you play over your speakers—but now more often than not you and Taehyung will talk, and laugh, and even if you’ve both ebbed into silence, it’s never heavy. It’s a held breath. The potential to speak any moment. The sensation of another person in the same space as you, an orbit, both existing in a shared moment, connected by gossamer threads that shimmer with sunlight.
Taehyung’s eyes are steady on his canvas as he works, but he glances at you through the curl of his lashes, smiling back at you. Always, always smiling, LED calm blue as the rest of his face shines golden, bright.)
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(Maybe it’s selfish, but you think you could get used to this.)
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taglist: @beyoncesdragon​
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circular-time · a month ago
okay so some preliminary legend of the sea devils reactions
warning: I've had 3 hours of sleep in 2 days after pulling an all nighter to finish handpainting some Easter Eggs so this is going to be rambly stream of thought; apologies in advance
The main thing is that I enjoyed it, although watching it without subtitles, it's been months, and I was struggling a bit with some of the technobabble parsed through Yorkshire. Which is fine. I was a little less focused on the plot than I should've been, and let's face it, after Flux, we needed a plot-light story in favor of some comedy, derring do, and feels. Which this had.
Also I'm very happy the way Doctor Who keeps going, "oh, we need a guest character here, why not grab this awesomesauce figure from history your western-centric school probably forgot to mention or only stuck in a sidebar" even if, well, sometimes their history/character aren't explored all that much
Not quite enough swashbucking for me, but I suppose this isn't flipping Lord of the Rings, Jodie's PREGNANT (i think) in these fight sequences, and Yaz is fighting with three pointy rings on which you should never, ever do, so no wonder Mandip got a bit of a boo boo. It was still nice.
Sea Devils a bit perfunctory? They always were, compared to the Silurians. At least this gives a little bit of an idea why they started dressing east Asian back in my day, er, the 80s. And boy howdy those VISUALS. Sorry that wasn't the myrkra upgraded, but it looked awesome.
Thasmin. I appreciate that this writer gave us what Chibnall really hasn't, ever since the connection between Yaz and Thirteen started leaping off the screen: right when it happened, the Doctor went fucking off to Gallifrey, and Yaz lost her, and ever since then they've spent almost all the stories apart so there just hasn't been enough TIME with them working together, using that chemistry than Mandip and Jodie had as friends. Although the characters have moved off in another direction now, so it's less BFFs in space gettin' things done and more... strained partnership, good and bad, whatever happens you're there at my side. (And I LOVED the callback to Woman Who Fell From Earth when Yaz asked if the Doctor had a plan).
But the thrum of yearning tension between them was there and it was right. Not too heavy-handed, because real queer women? We're used to pining and uncertainly; half the time the women we fall for may be sending ambiguous signals so we're not sure whether they're straight. So we jam our hands in our pockets and don't let it stop us from friendships and the rest of the day. Usually.
That precious moment down underwater was magical and maddening and electric (even if the science was shit. What are our friends Teal and Orange doing shining so brightly that far down? But it looked gorgeous). Poor Yaz, just not quite able to say anything. KISS HER, kiddo. Just. Try.
Typical Doctor FINALLY opening up in the middle of deadly danger and yapping all offhanded about the most serious stuff when she's actually so rattled she almost gets them killed.
And... the ending. Hella acting by Jodie. I'm aching for Yaz (I'm glad she had the courage to say "Why not?!")
What Thirteen said here is what I've said and written about the Doctor for years and years. It's how I felt about Rose and River (sorry). I ship, but when I do, it's a guilty pleasure, and it's always, always with a carpe diem understanding: the Doctor CANNOT have long term relationships, unless they meet someone like the Corsair who's as long-lived as they are. (Okay, River.) The Doctor rattles around too much, and changes too much from life to life, to commit to any life partner.
And yes, despite writing a few, I can see how "friends with benefits" doesn't exactly work for this show. It's not really how the character has acted over the years, bar Moffatt getting horny.
And yet. As my old girlfriend grumbled to me, the Doctor WAS getting in for quite a bit of canoodling as a guy... why do they think a lesbian is a eunuch?
Or, for me: what's this no-touching business with Yaz? It's really rare now, rare enough that the "Yaz, with me" hand grip was electric. Which made it all the more powerful, but why? Why not sit on the beach with arms around each other's shoulders, leaning on each other, the way Mandip and Jodie do as RL buds?
And when the Doctor does clumsily come around to the conclusion that she just wants to live in the moment with Yaz for as long as it lasts, why isn't THAT the signal for them to smooch— carpe diem? Maybe not full make out; that just doesn't feel like they'd go there outside of fanfic, because this Doctor does come off pretty ace. But a kiss. A sigh. And then curling up side by side to watch the ocean, hands folded one over the other. Just for now.
That said... I'm only frustrated because if feels like we can't have that simply because they're women, whereas the show went there before with Rose, River, etc. BUT, I also agree that the Doctor is godawful at forming any relationship closer than friendship. Thirteen's especially bad at it, holding everyone at arm's length trying not to get too close . I think what the Doctor said is in character, and I felt all the feels. (I wish Yaz had spoken up a little more.) I'm glad we finally had some of the convo I was afraid Chibs would put off forever.
It wasn't all I could wish, but it was one possibility, true to their characters. And it did show Yaz and her Doctor, in love, caring about each other, on a beach, side by side. Which is a true thing that we lived to see happen in canon.
And thank ALL THE GODS IN THE OGDOAD that two of my favorite probably-bi companions, Ace and Tegan (and I think I caught a glimpse of Kate Stewart in that trailer too?) will be swooping in to give me Yaz a shoulder to cry on and possibly a job offer so I will not be utterly and totally destroyed by Jodie's finale.
*runs back in before hitting post*
*mashes Yaz and the Doctor's faces together*
*staggers off to collapse*
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angelseokjinnie · 6 months ago
Laser tagging pt 2
Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x reader
Summary: your boyfriend repays you for playing dirty at your laser tagging date. Part 2 of laser tagging.
TW: smut content!
Wordcount: 1351
A/N: sooo I wrote my first smut imagine, so please keep it mind that it probably sucks. Anyway, hope you enjoy it :'))
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��You know, it’s not fair when you look at me with those doe eyes. Of course I had to let you have dinner.’
‘I don’t think it’s the doe eyes, angel. You are just too good to me.’
‘That too, but you still have to repay me somehow, Kook. What you did back there was really unfair.’ You said while pouting, and for a second he almost felt bad about how he wanted to make it up to you. Almost.
‘Don’t worry, Y/N. I know how to compensate you. I know what my girl needs,’ he said while looking at you with such dark eyes that you couldn't believe those were the same eyes of the boy who had been pleading to have dinner just a couple hours ago.
‘You do? And what 's it?’ You tried to talk back to him, even though you knew this was a game you always lost. Just like today's date.
‘Why don’t I show you better?’ He said while coming closer to you, and before you could answer him his mouth was literally devouring you. The kiss was rough and demanding, even hard to keep up with. When you felt like your knees were about to give in, Jungkook lifted you up and took the both of you to your bedroom.
He threw you on the bed and hovering over you resumed your kiss. You had a hand around his neck and your legs around his waist. Using him for strength you elevated your core so that it would rub against his crotch.
‘Fuck, if you keep doing that I don’t think I’ll be able to hold myself, and I really want to be good for you tonight,’ It was funny to you who he said those words, since his role was completely opposite of submissive. But you knew what he meant. He wanted to make you cum. He didn't want you to think about him or his pleasure. Him not getting any relief was his punishment for before.
‘Baby please, I want it so bad,’ you begged shamelessly.
‘Open your eyes right now,’ his tone demanding and dominant, ‘there you are. Now tell me, what does my girl want?’ He said while standing in front of the bed. Looking at you from head to toes. You looked so beautiful when you were like this.
‘Anything. Please, Jungkook. Just touch me.’ You whined and he smiled at your neediness. He liked knowing that anything he gave would be enough. Not today though, he had to pay you back.
‘No, no, no, Y/N. I want you to tell me exactly what you want. If not, I’m just going to leave you like this.’
‘I want...your...I want your tongue. And fingers. Please, please, Koo, I’ll do anything.’ His attitude softened at your response and he hovered over you again.
‘Shhh babygirl. You don’t have to beg tonight. I said I was going to be good for you. I just wanted to hear you say what you wanted,’ he said while taking your shirt off. He looked at your bra and hesitated. He liked to just take the cups down and make your boobs spill, something about that visual really turned him on. But he knew you were more comfortable without it. He decided to take it off and instantly started to place open-mouthed kisses on your breasts. You started to moan and he was tempted to continue doing this, but he had a mission.
He continued kissing your stomach and finally took off your pants. Jungkook caressed your legs softly, causing goosebumps to appear, before diving in between them. He took off your panties and you felt his hot breath against your core. Before you could ask him for more, he moved two of his fingers from your hole to your clit.
‘Fuck, you are soaked, babygirl. You are always so ready for me,’ Before you could answer you felt something dripping into your sex. Incorporating yourself a little bit you saw your boyfriend spitting into your core and you clenched at the sight, hoping he hadn’t felt that. But of course he did. ‘Patience baby. We’ll get there. I promise.’ He said while smirking. He lowered himself again and licked an agonizing slow and long stripe and stopped at your clit. There, he started his assault. He sucked, licked and even bit softly. Your moans only urging him to pleasure you more. Therefore he inserted one finger.
‘Fuck, you took it right in, angel. Need more?’ You nodded furiously so he didn’t waste any time to add another finger and go back to eating you up. You started tugging at his hair and pressing his face into your core. Jungkook knew that this bravery only indicated how close you were to your high, so he pumped his fingers into you faster, even adding a third one.
‘Close, Koo. Please let me cum,’ you said desperate to reach your orgasm, ‘Thought I told you already I don’t want you begging tonight. Cum for me, baby. C’mon you deserve it.’ His words and the fast movement of his fingers made you come quickly. Nevertheless, Jungkook didn’t stop. It felt like he was drinking you up. You couldn’t help but let small whimpers because of the overstimulation. Just when you felt yourself getting wetter he stopped and came to be eye level with you. He didn’t even need to say anything. You immediately opened your mouth and felt a string of his saliva mixed with your fluids on your tongue. Then his lips.
‘What else do you want, Y/N?’ He said when you were starting to lose yourself in the kiss. It always amazed you how attentive he was to your body and how he would always was ready to make you feel good.
‘Want to ride your thighs,’ You said while looking into his eyes. He hummed in response and quickly flipped you over. You straddled his still clothed lap. In fact, he was fully dressed still. You rushed to take his t-shirt off and move your hands around his strong torso, starting to grind on his right leg without realising it.
‘Need you to lift yourself to take my pants off, baby,’ You instantly blushed because of your impatience but couldn’t overthink much because you felt your core touch his bare thigh and you couldn't help but start moaning. God knew how much you liked them. Well, actually Jungkook knew how much you loved them. He loved to tease you for it too.
‘That’s it. Just like that, love. You love to rut against my thighs, right? Bet you would do it against any part of my body if you could.’
‘That’s not r...I can’t cum like this,’ you cried out ‘I need your help, Koo.’
‘I know you can’t fucking cum like this. But my girl always likes to pretend she can ride me fast enough on her own to cum. I have such a stubborn girl.’ He said while he placed his hands around your hips and started moving you faster. Your juices were making a huge mess on his thigh, but it only made the movement easier.
‘Fuck, babygirl. Look at the mess you are making. Are you going to cum again for me?’ You nodded your head furiously and hid in the crock of his neck, breathing heavily as you rode your high.
Just when you were coming back to your senses, you heard a grunt of pain leave your boyfriend’s lips. Looking at him you noticed the tent fully formed inside his boxers. Shit, that looked painful.
‘Oh, sorry baby. I was so caught up I didn’t even…’
‘Shh, it’s okay. Am I forgiven now though?’
‘Are you kidding? You were forgiven after the first kiss. Even though I don’t mind losing more often to you if this is going to be my consolation prize.’
‘Well, you know how competitive I can be, so I don’t think it will be difficult to make you lose.’
‘Oh, stop it.’ You said and kissed him sweetly.
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thehumming6ird · 10 months ago
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By Cass Clarke, 20th July 2021
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After spending over 30 years in the world of makeup design for film and television, Douglas Noe landed in the time-defying, creative playground of Marvel Studios' Loki. Serving as the Disney+ show's makeup department head, Noe not only designed the characters' individual looks, but continued to be Tom Hiddleston's makeup artist. Noe has worked on Hiddleston's Loki since 2012's The Avengers, carefully evolving the God of Mischief's look over time.
Loki isn't the first time Noe has spearheaded a makeup department for a Marvel Cinematic Universe production. Previously, Noe served as the makeup department head for Thor: The Dark World's additional photography -- making up approximately 20% of the film's final looks. He's also no stranger to the magic of prosthetic work and the intricate details needed for Marvel's epic adventures, having a creative hand in bringing both Captain Marvel's Skrulls and Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Kree to life on-screen. In the industry, Noe is also known for specializing in palettes for actors of color and has worked on stars like Jackie Chan.
In an exclusive interview with CBR, Noe discussed what it was like bringing The Avengers-era God of Mischief into Loki and his approach to doing makeup on a production stuffed with special effects. He also shared which MCU stars have graced his chair and his advice for makeup departments looking for practical ways to de-center whiteness.
Loki's Makeup Evolution
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CBR: One thing that I noticed -- which I'm excited to pick your brain about -- when we first see Loki, he has a really pale complexion. His hair is greasy. As he evolves, his skin gets a warmer look. Was that an intentional progression from when we first see him as a villain-ish and how he grows within the MCU?
Douglas Noe: Yes, that's a very astute observation. Of course, at the beginning of The Avengers, he's kind of a wreck, isn't he? And as he settles and normalizes, his pallor then indeed calms down. It was very nuanced. It was only a matter of maybe one or two shades difference, but you definitely caught something most people have not.
That was 10 years ago, but it was a very minor detail we decided would be important as the narrative and the dialogue and the intellect of that character evolved into the storyline. It became important to kind of mainstream and refine his appearance.
Since Loki kicks off from that earlier version of Loki, did you think about bringing any more of that paleness to his look? How did you decide on how you wanted to show him from Loki's time period/first episode?
Oh, that's a good question. The truth is, from the end of The Avengers also shot again in Avengers: Endgame, we change nothing.
We did exactly what we did on Endgame that we did for The Avengers. And in turn, that's how we started the Loki series. It was that that look from Endgame, which, of course, is the look from The Avengers. No alterations were made, other than -- and I can already tell we're not getting anything past you -- we did warm him up. We did bring some more flesh into him... The truth is, that was Tom's idea. I get it because it was an unspoken understanding between us that there's greater accessibility to Loki if he looks more like most people. Now, those are my words. Not his. But, he definitely wanted us to warm it up just a skosh.
With Loki, there's a ton of visual effects. With makeup, it's so dependent on lighting -- it can change everything. What was the biggest challenge about working on a show like this that has so many special effects being added in post?
What you just said, it's working on a show like this. Marvel gets it and they do it right. There's almost an aspect where we lean into these kinds of things. And we change nothing to take into account the constantly evolving and changing lighting effects. The approach was to keep everybody natural, or naturally beautiful. Whatever happened happened. [We] knew Marvel is going to give it the once over once it's all done. And if there was anything to address that did happen because of lighting, it would have happened in post.
But, to my knowledge, nothing was addressed. We just accepted that. At certain times, people would be pink because of the light. They would be blue because of the light or purple and we accepted that and didn't try to make any attempts to balance it or right it in any way. We leaned into it and accepted it made it part of the story. It was its own character, if you will.
Building off what you said about a natural look for Loki's actors, did you always know you wanted Sylvie's makeup to have a natural look?
Absolutely, absolutely. The approach there was less is more. We didn't want to bury her in beauty makeup. It would have been very easy to do, because Sophia Di Martino is gorgeous, of course. But, the idea was let's do just enough to keep her naturally beautiful.
Practical Ways To De-Center Whiteness In Makeup Rooms
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You designed Hunter B-15's look, and you're well known in the industry for specializing in makeup palettes for people of color. Since you've been in the industry for so long, what are some practical things that people within the makeup department, or its heads, can do to make it less white-centered?
That's a great question. Get out of the way. You have room for everybody, especially with today's explosion of content. But I would say to those who are going to hold tightly that they may as well just squeeze it out of their hands, "Just understand color theory." And, have it in your head that if somebody wants someone to do their makeup that closer represents how they look, get out of the way. It really is that simple. As you said, I've made it a specialty, a rite of passage to learn the ins and outs of all color tones. For me, I bring that to the table, so I don't have to get out of the way; but I know enough to know when it is time.
I have an anecdote that relates. I just did the Netflix series [True Story] with Kevin Hart and Wesley Snipes for eight episodes. And Tawny Newsome [who portrays Billie in the upcoming series] was our leading lady, a beautiful African American woman. I could have done a bang-up job, but that wasn't the right decision to make. She needed a female makeup artist because it was a modern beauty glam look we were going to do on her. Now I do get modern beauty glam very well, but I wanted somebody that would do it great. So I got out of the way.
What's one, nitty-gritty thing that helped in expanding your understanding of color theory? Any books or makeup brands?
Oh, well, I could talk about makeup brands all day long. But, again, go back to the color theory. Get a color wheel from an art store. If you don't know how to mix colors, how to make primary and secondary colors to get tertiary colors, get a color wheel and be a sponge. I'm, what, 36 years in this career? 31 in film. I've never stopped learning. I'm never closed off to garnering new info. And when I don't, again, I get out of my way. I'm not up to snuff on this contemporary modern book with the square eyebrows, so I hired somebody that was.
But, getting back to your point, there are so many books. I have countless books on this very topic. I would say, "Be patient, learn color theory. And accept that, especially now, we're in an era where you may just have to get out of the way. And let it be what the person in the chair wants it to be." Because, ultimately, that's who we're there for, the actors.
You've been working in Marvel's world for a long time. What's one Marvel character that you would love to do their makeup or prosthetics?
I've never thought about it because, to be honest with you, I feel like I won the lottery. When we started with doing Loki on The Avengers, we didn't know what was gonna happen. I'm trying to think, hmm. On Captain Marvel, I was doing Skrulls -- that was fun. I did some work on Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. when they had a couple of episodes with Kree.
They were so cool.
Right? I'm trying to think -- I did mention to somebody before that on The Avengers I was given the choice:  [Jeremy] Renner or [Mark] Ruffalo or this new guy called Tom Hiddleston. The makeup was described to me and I was told that Hulk was going to beat him up a little bit and we were going to do a little something-something and they asked, "What do you want to do?" And I said, "I want to do a little something-something." So, I landed with Tom.
I'd have to really think, "Who would I like?" I've done Lizzie Olsen's makeup for the Tom Hiddleston film I Saw the Light. I've done Idris Elba's makeup a couple of times for a couple of Marvel films, but also for a movie called Takers. And I worked with him on a movie called The Reaping. He's a gem, of course... I'm really happy with who sits in my chair at the beginning of every day on these things. I've never thought past that. I garner so much pleasure and we have so much joy together. I'm happy where I'm at... I'm happy with Loki. I love Loki.
Well, Loki is coming back for Season 2, so you never know who will pop in the chair.
I've heard we're coming back, but that's all I've heard. That's all I know. And that's truly wonderful for me because ignorance is bliss. Whatever they dream up, I'm always eager to jump in and be a part of it.
Digging way back into your history, you were once a makeup designer on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which is one of my favorite shows! What's one thing about that era of monster-makeup that you don't think gets enough credit for doing?
I always refer to Buffy the Vampire Slayer as Buffy the Weekend Slayer because we would get off on Saturday morning as the sun was coming up and have to be back to work a couple of hours before the sun came up on Monday... What you see is what you get. You had to be on your game. We were real craftspeople back then and there was no margin for error. The words that go with CGI simply didn't exist in 1999. You really had to be on point with makeup.
I would say what's lost now is the notion that makeup always has to be perfect. We know now it doesn't have to be perfect because we can fix it in post. I think a lot of people would say that helps us, but I think it handicaps those of us that are able to deliver the product without a computer's touch.
I remember I did one of the gentlemen on Buffy's episode, "Hush." My boss, Todd McIntosh, was saying, "You got to do the back of the neck... You never know what's gonna happen. You have to make sure that the back of the neck has makeup on." And, sure enough, the camera goes by and they were supposed to leave the frame, but the camera follows them. We just had to be on point and I think now many artists who came into the business with CGI, don't understand what it's like to be grinding your teeth and clenching your fists on set, hoping it looks okay because there's nothing left to fix it for you.
Loki's debut season is streaming now on Disney+. While a release date for its second season has not yet been confirmed, the show is greenlit for additional episodes of cosmic mayhem.
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setsugekka · a year ago
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pairing: bang chan x fem!reader, ? x fem!reader genre: smut, private school au, rival families to lovers, longfic word count: 7k warnings (per part): language, manual stimulation (f), dirty talk, questionable motives
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part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
pleasure, meet self destruction.
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“and don't forget, ashfordian's – the last swim meet of the season is this evening on campus at wing F, let's show the other school what we're all about!”
soon after the crackling sounds of a somewhat antiquated intercom system signal it's end, you lean back in your plush, brown leather chair and kick your slightly heeled foot up onto the desk in front of you – end of a pen in your mouth, as a few other student council members – the ones you had deemed competent enough and not complete ass-kissers – sit on the other end of the desk awaiting your thoughts to be shared. which they would be. they always were.
“do we have anything else we should be doing this afternoon? I mean other than the swim thing,” you ask, but not to anyone in particular.
hyemi – one of the girls you find yourself closest to, picks up her phone almost as if to check a schedule but verbally answers much too quickly for it to be the case. “no, this time of year is pretty slow as far as event planning”
“unfortunate,” you sigh, “suppose it is more or less required that I be there...so what do I have to do to rope one of you to make an appearance with me?”
silence fills the room and student council members exchange quick, giggling glances at one another as they each attempt to think of an excuse as to why they shouldn't have to attend such an absolutely trite event.
you can't blame them, you don't want to go either.
so it's a little bit of a bummer that you have to show up alone to the damn thing. not in way of appearances or anything like that, but with how boring the whole ordeal would be. when you run for student council president, they don't inform you of all of the absolutely arduous and burdensome things that – while not always being a direct requirement of you – were a requirement of sorts all the same. in that way, it is about appearances. it looks bad when the student council president doesn't show up for the end of season events held by each sector of the school, be it football, art, or...
a sharp whistle startles you from your thought as three men rush past you in the corridor, dressed for the exact event you're there to watch.
the unfortunate truth of the matter is that ashford academy students are well to do. all of them. if your family isn't not only rich, but also influential, you can't go here. having money isn't enough. plenty of kids have rich parents that could never in a million years pay their way into letting their snot nosed little youtube star brat come to this school. it was the best of the best – everyone knew it, and everyone acted like it.
your tan and black uniforms were known. there was a certain level of respect that came along with wearing those colors – and a certain expectation of how one carried themselves. how one could expect to be treated, as well.
“ah, well I did expect to see you here I suppose”
the words ring in from behind you through all of the loud splashing and cheering from the seats above and to the side of you. a familiar face comes up from behind, smiling cheerfully, gently. a good friend from simpler times. before any of the aforementioned stuff mattered.
“of course, I have to show up”
he laughs. yang jeongin. the two of you grew up together on account of his mother working closely with your own at the tech company that was now very well known to be the most successful in the country. jeongin's mother eventually moved on to do other things – where she met and eventually married jeongin's father. a successful man himself. you didn't know much about him, as jeongin and his mom had long since moved from the neighborhood you once had shared by then. your friend said he was kind, you had no reason to assume otherwise.
“i know, look at you,” he gasps, playfully slapping your arm which does take you back a bit. people at ashford don't rough house like that. a jarring reminder that a world actually does exist outside of those bland, white, walls – although they would never have you think it.
“look at you!” you respond in a similarly playful tone. you're both student council president of your schools. a charming and somewhat expected result, knowing the both of you.
jeongin leans in a bit, whispering, “what's going to happen if they see us here together like this?” and you elbow him off of you a bit in jest.
“ah geez, jeongin. it's private school, not the mafia for fuck sake”
he laughs, waving a hand around in the air. “yeah but you know how it goes”
you hadn't known that your school was swimming against jeongin's school. much to your sadness, the two of you didn't keep in that close of contact anymore – for a lot of different reasons, but mostly due to, well, suppose it was due to not being 10 years old anymore.
there was also the thing where you couldn't have given any less of a shit about what went on with your swim team.
a long time ago you had reluctantly accepted that apparently – swimming was a genuinely thought of sport. you weren't interested enough in arguing the point and really, what did you know about what did or did not make any sort of genuine sport.
you were a fencer.
it was something your mother had you take up at a very young age and surprisingly, it had stuck. mother didn't force it upon you in an angry “do this for the family” sort of way, but she wanted you to pick up something that you could work towards when younger and if you had wanted to drop it at any time, she would have let you. turns out, mom knew what she was talking about. fencing was fun, and you were good at it.
the two of you carry on catching up for what feels like hours, thankfully for you, as you weren't able to convince any of the rest of the student council to come with you and were forced to go it alone. when the swim meet finally ends and ashford wins, you shake a few hands and take a few photos – one with jeongin – which ends up making the whole deal all that much more pleasant, and go to head out on your way home.
exiting the large glass doors of the building, a cool breeze greets you and for one reason or another takes your mind back to when you were a kid. when you lived at the old house a few down from yang jeongin and how it was reminiscent of how cold it used to be when the two of you would climb onto the roof of the first floor kitchen of your home to drink wine coolers you had stolen from your mother because all you knew is that they were fruit juice that for some reason, the kids weren't allowed to have, and that one time that jeongin got so accidentally drunk he almost fell off – if it weren't for you grabbing onto the strap of the backpack that he hadn't taken off upon arriving.
things weren't bad now by any means, but they were certainly simpler then.
“are you waiting for someone?”
most people had left the premises by now, and the last time a voice came from behind you, it was a familiar one.
this one was not.
you turn a bit, brows slightly furrowed due to the annoyance of someone addressing you at all while you were enjoying a nice trip down memory lane – especially once you realize that you have no idea who this man is.
he's not tall, but he's built. it's evident he's one of the swimmers and clearly one from your own school considering the other school had already left. short blonde hair but longer in the front – messy, from being in a swimming cap all day you presume – and quite the chiseled jaw if there was anything to take away from the visual. he smiles – dimple, noted – and drops his gym bag down at your feet before stopping himself next to it.
“no,” you start, realizing how stern your face looks and attempting to correct it, “just thinking about how much I like this weather”
“what's wrong with windy?”
“nothing,” he says, turning to face you with sort of a confused smile, “most people don't care for windy weather, though”
you don't respond. he sighs.
“i'm chris, by the way,” he says, not allowing the conversation to die that easily. “everyone just calls me chan, though. i'm swim-”
“it's quite evident that you swim, chris, I listen to a lot of true crime podcasts, really quick on the uptake!” you reply sarcastically, and probably a bit more aggressively than truly necessary. you watch chan's eyebrows raise in surprise at the response, physically pulling himself back from you as if you had swung on him with words.
“is that any way to treat the swim captain of your schools team, that just won you guys the season?”
him being the captain – and more or less the reason they had won, yes, is a tad more important of a detail than him having just been any ol' swimmer on the team.
but not that much.
“oh my god!” you start with yet another sarcastic tone, falling into feigned delight at the sight of him like it appears he wants you to be, “thank you so much for winning this for our school!”
absolutely dripping in sarcasm, this time.
chan laughs in a way that he knows he's being made fun of but knows he has to take it in stride, as well.
“very cute, miss student council president. do you talk to all of your successful student underlings like this or is it special just for me?”
“special just for you”
“i saw you getting cozy with the council president of prescott, is there some sort of collusion going on?” he asks, and you can tell it's a playful tone, but as someone you have known for all of three minutes, the insinuation that you're sleeping with someone from a rival school isn't all that appreciated.
“he's my friend, i've known him since he was in diapers. do you accuse all of the women you just meet of sleeping with another man you just happened to see them with or is it special for me?
“special for you”
“great,” you say, as if punctuating the end of the interaction as a whole, “well, see you around, chris.”
“you can call me chan”
“i will call you whatever it is that I see fit” you answer back, bitingly, as you tie your hair back from the wind and start on your way to find your car. you don't hear chan reply back for a few moments and you feel content in your victory for just a second – before finally hearing him through a bit of wind and some distance. “but you will call me, then?”
something about handsome men, they are always completely insufferable.
“do you know anything about the student council president?”
chan lies lengthwise on the mini sofa in the lounge of wing F, school newspaper in hand as he brings it down from his face to engage in the conversation. no one answers, though. hyunjin is busy on his phone and jisung watching a cooking show that surely he has seen each and every episode of at least four times. “hello? does anyone know anything that goes on at the school that we all go to?”
“well you don't, dude, you're asking us” hyunjin quips, not even making the effort to look up.
“do I not have any friends cool enough to be in friend groups that hear gossip?”
“on the swim team? no, absolutely not” the blonde answers again, this time at the very least making an effort to make eye contact with chan.
“actually, I heard something,” jisung finally pipes up from another couch on the other end of the room. the other two watch as he scrambles to pull himself up and drapes himself across the back of the piece of furniture. “i heard she's close with the student council president of prescott!”
chan rolls his eyes, “i already know that, dude. everyone saw them together the other day at the meet, not exactly private knowledge.”
“oh,” jisung hums, shock riddling his face at learning that he didn't have the spicy info he thought he did. “that's all i've got, then.”
“she's hot and important and goes to a private school, aren't girls like that supposed to...i don't know, party all the time, do tons of drugs, fuck everyone?”
“why? is that what you want?” hyunjin inquires, eyebrow raising in intrigue.
“no, but-” chan begins, pausing for a moment to gather thoughts. “but that's the stereotype, right? it's just kind of surprising that no one really seems to know anything about her. no drama, no gossip.”
“almost like she's just a girl living in the real world and not a walking movie trope” hyunjin quips again, obviously growing tired of the conversation topic.
“you're not being helpful” chan informs, and watches as his friend mockingly mumble-repeats the same thing back to him instead of offering any sort of real reply.
“she's the KT daughter.”
the voice is different. not one that had previously been involved in the conversation, and chan quickly sits up to look to where the voice had come from. minho enters, dropping his bag by the door and kicking his shoes off in similar fashion. he pulls his phone from his coat before shrugging it off and the only thing chan can let from his lips is an airy “what?”
“yeah,” minho begins again, tapping at the screen of his phone before turning it to face chan. he's pulled up a news article about a tech company acquisition from a few years back – a huge deal in the industry, and there on the front page are none other than student council prez herself, and her parents.
chan silences, eyes wide at the revelation, scooting back to press his back against the sofa and crosses his arms.
“you know how they say for every student here you can point to the one reason they're here at all, right? well, that's hers.” the friend says matter-of-factly, before shoving his phone into his back pocket and moving to join jisung on the couch
“so now what?” hyunjin asks, standing up and moving towards the door to go about his day, “that's gonna be a problem”
“nah,” chan answers, almost scoffing the idea of it away, “it won't be that big of a deal”
minho snorts from the other side of the room, still clearly listening in on the conversation and tosses an arm over the back to pull himself into vision of chan. “we've all been here long enough to know that's not the fuckin' case” he laughs, turning back to the show while simultaneously being hushed by jisung.
“he's right,” the tallest boy adds, tying his hair back into a ponytail before shuffling himself into his own coat, “name and family means everything here and some times those things don't mix – you especially-”
“me especially what!?” chan interjects, and hyunjin simply shakes his head and chuckles under his breath before heading out.
“oh!” jisung pipes up suddenly, lunging himself across the back of the couch like he had before, “she fences.”
“very nice form! very good work!”
the voice is loud and a little bit shrill – an older woman commanding the squad of the to's and what not to's of fencing in every moment of the drills. you can feel the eyes of the entire room on you and your partner as you maneuver the dance. you loved practice. you loved the thrill – the adrenaline. you swore nothing else was like being on that floor – and it's one of the things that made you so damn good at it, as well. two quick steps and a lunge and before you know it, the instructor calls it and the drill is over. both you and your partner take your masks off as your chests heave in short-lived exhaustion from the exercise. you first shake his hand – in good sportsmanship-like conduct, and then pull him in for a hug, pulling his head of silver hair up under your arm.
“you did good today, i'm really proud of your progress,” you tell him as the two of you sit on the sidelines to rest, both of your practice schedules now fulfilled for the day.
“oh geez,” he answers, sort of sarcastically but also glowing in the praise, “thanks mom”
and so you do what any annoying friend would in the moment – put on an annoying baby voice like you would use to talk to a puppy – and begin grabbing at him playfully again, “that's my cute wittle baby lixie and he's all gwown up!”
felix giggles and uses all of his might to pull out of your grasp, “fuck sake, really!?” he whines, rushing to his feet and away from you as you grin at him like the annoying sister you more or less have taken the role of to him.
“for real, lix, you've progressed a lot,” you say again, more serious now, “you're gonna do really well at the end of the year meet”
“guess I have you kicking my ass every single time we go against one another to thank for that, eh?” he replies, kicking his fencing shoes off and changing his socks.
“yeah, you sort of do!”
chan doesn't get to speak before you notice him walk into the hall and stand by the door, arms crossed and shoulder leaned up against the white wall. felix notices the way he looks over into the direction of you two and before he's able to ask, you tell him not to worry about it and that you'll be right back. the closer you get to chan, the easier it is to tell that he's smiling. grinning, in fact. that damn dimple in clear view – but what about, you're a bit hesitant to ask.
“can I help you?”
“that depends”
“well I sure don't like that answer, so what do you want? why are you here? and most importantly, how did you know I was here?”
“you're asking a lot of questions for someone who wasn't that pleasant towards me the last time we met”
“the first time we met, you being a strange man forcing conversation upon me”
one of the corners of chan's lips curl and he adjusts himself against the wall again. “i want you to let me take you out.”
your eyes roll. “and why would I do that?”
“because i'm handsome and nice and I come from a well-off family”
“everyone here comes from a well-off family, you'll have to do better than that”
“well there's the other things I mentioned, too”
“plenty of men here are handsome and rich just like you, chris, you're not special” is what you think will be your final rebuttal, cocking your head to the side before spinning on your heels and turning to walk back towards your friend and the meet – but chan won't let you go that easily.
“but nice! you forgot nice!”
you stop. it's not that you really even think he's particularly nice – which you don't – but it is sort of the handsome one that keeps nagging at you. the man's got massive shoulders. and what a smile. uhg.
you turn back, slowly making your way back towards him.
“i want to be clear,” you start, jabbing you index finger into his chest just enough for him to feel and to make a point. “i don't think you're that nice, I actually find you a little bit irritating – especially for trying to use your family's money to pick me up. what is this? gossip girl? grow up”
he's still just grinning.
“nevertheless,” you begin again, “i do, reluctantly, find you handsome so if I have to choose any of the given reasons to pay you any mind, suppose it'll be that one.”
“that's usually the one men prefer to be picked up on anyways,” he answers, “that, or because my dick is big”
“i've agreed to talk to you for two seconds and you're already talking to me about your dick, yeah this is going to go splendidly, can't believe you're single!” it's the sarcasm again, dripping from every word out of your mouth, but you can tell from the upturned corners of his own that he enjoys the banter – it's probably the reason he's here at all.
“for what it's worth, I was just speaking generally,” he replies, hands up as if surrendering, “don't worry, I have a totally small, shrimp dick.”
“lovely, I can't wait to be disappointed by it”
“but you do want to be disappointed by it, then?”
“I date men, all I ever want is to be disappointed by them”
chan laughs and lets his arms fall from their crossed position so that he can reach a hand into his pocket and fish out his phone. handing it to you, he asks you to put your number in – and you do, wondering how much you're going to regret having done this and how soon after the fact.
it ends up being much sooner than expected.
“you wanna hear something really disappointing, then?” chan whispers as he leans his face down close to your own, lips resting so close to your ear that you can feel his hot breath on your skin. it's a tad more delightful than you would want to admit.
“my father is three-quarter share owner in SK-Telecom, now isn't that something?”
the atmosphere changes the moment the words leave his mouth. you could swear your blood runs cold in that moment.
you watch him pull back, still grinning. you're not sure if he's stupid and just doesn't get it or if he's playing some sort of weird, twisted game with you intentionally – both being equally unappreciated.
you look back behind you to find felix still sitting where you had left him – intently watching the interaction despite being so far away and completely unable to hear what goes on. it's best to not make a scene, you think to yourself. you have a reputation to uphold.
“what is this?” you finally ask. it's the nicest way you could word the inquiry in the moment, even with the indignation so clearly lacing your tone.
“what is this?” he asks in response, referencing the immediate coldness you exude. “won't date me now because mommy and daddy won't let you?”
and you laugh, audibly. he's got to be fucking stupid, now.
“it's a little bit more complicated than that and you know it, chris, give me a break.”
“is it? and what happens if we date anyways?”
you startle at the words, as three girls walk through the doors next to the two of you as they leave his lips and you awkwardly smile at them before shoving him out of the room and into the empty hallway, not wanting to take any more chances of people walking in and overhearing the conversation. it would be problematic, to say the least.
“i shouldn't even be seen talking to you,” you whisper-yell, turning to check around the corner that the entire hallway is, indeed, empty. “after today we do not speak again, ever, under any circumstances, do you understand me?”
“you didn't answer my question,” chan says, ignoring everything you had just said to him, “what happens if we date anyways?”
you laugh despite it absolutely not being funny, because what is funny is how this man has seemingly no clue about this, about any of this, about how any of this fucking works.
“i'm sure your parents explained it to you but i'll go over it with you one more time just in case you had water in your ears or...whatever the fuck happens to swimmers-”
chan looks at you with his arms crossed again and a grin gracing his face. he wants to hear you say the words. he wants you to hear yourself explain it because he thinks that if you have to really think about it, you'll realize how asinine it all is, truly.
but the real truth of the matter: you already know it's asinine, you have known for a long time. knowing that doesn't make it any less the case, however.
“our families can never mingle, do you hear me, chris?” you sigh. it's exasperated. it's annoyed. you feel like you've been running laps this entire conversation, and in a way, you have. chan isn't meeting you halfway in anything and is happy to sit aside and allow you to do all of the mental work while he stands there in front of you and laughs at the peculiarity of rituals that he, himself, is a part of.
chan doesn't reply, but his demeanor changes a bit. his shoulders soften and his arms drop from their crossed position again, and it's a little fast – too fast for you to follow so well – the way he has you up against the cold stone wall in the hallway, pressed between concrete and a body so hard it feels just the same – but warm. both of your wrists enclosed in his hands and full lips on your own. in the split second, in the moment, it feels fucking heavenly. your brain clouds instantaneously and you truly want to melt into him – and you do give just a bit – putting effort into making sure that his lips are not left wanting, but despite it taking a moment for your mind to catch up – it does indeed, eventually – pulling your hands out of his own and pressing your open palms up against his shoulders to grant space between the two of you.
you hate it.
and before chan truly relinquishes you, words ghost over your mouth from his own:
“maybe that makes me want it more.”
avoiding chan now was a chore.
partially because he was everywhere, and partially because you wanted him.
you didn't want him, but you did. it was complicated, as previously expressed. the entire situation lent itself to not so much of an enjoyable scenario, but the truth of the matter was that how great chan was, or how handsome he was – none of it mattered. the only thing that was of any consequence was his family – and talk about (un)luck of the draw, there.
regardless of the typical school day ending at 2pm, the school day of the student council president, unfortunately, tended to end when the work of the student council president was over – the two infrequently lined up. as the semester comes to a close, end of the year event forms and applications for next semester activities and clubs find themselves becoming due and most students – typically – are procrastinators – waiting until the absolute last moment to hand anything in or attempt to get anything done.
lovely, for you, of course.
a knock comes to the wooden door of your office and hyemi pops her head in, knowing not to wait for a reply from you. “someone's here to see you”
you give a confused look, fumbling papers across your desk in order to find your planner and the list of appointments made for the day – just as you had suspected, the last being at 2pm on the dot.
it's 2:54.
the girl at the door understands, having the same appointments marked down as you and just shrugs, “i know, he said it's something about funding for next year and that it kind of can't wait-”
“alright send him in, then,” you sigh, motioning for the allowance and sitting back into your chair lazily and loosening the tie around your neck so that you can unfasten a few of the buttons on your uniform. it always did rest a bit tight in the neck area, but presentation is everything in these parts. you hear the door crack and don't bother to look up just yet as you swish papers around in an attempt to locate something you had just lost now after the previous attempt to locate your daily planner.
maybe you needed better organization skills.
maybe you needed a restraining order.
you almost yelp upon hearing the voice, looking up and standing up simultaneously and almost jogging to the door to close and lock it behind him.
“you can't be here, what do you not get?”
“you're still the student council president, and my father still pays the highest tuition of anyone elses kid at this school on top of being the highest financial contributor otherwise,” chan hums, “did you know that?”
“no and I do not care, either, you can't be here” you huff at him before going back behind your desk and throwing yourself into it.
“i'm in charge of the swim team, we're going to have to speak sometimes”
“and yet I had gone three years at this school having never met you before, but now all of a sudden you're unavoidable, curious how that works”
you watch chan walk over to the desk nonchalantly, papers in his hand, only to set them down in front of you and request your signature on them, which you give without even so much as glancing over them.
“shouldn't you at least look at what we're asking from the school?” he chuckles at your hysterics, nearly flinging freshly-inked pages towards him as you sign.
“no, I don't care, you can have anything you want”
“oh is that so, anything?” he chimes, turning a bit to lean closer to you as you continue scribbling, and you stop only long enough to visualize your disgust at him.
“go to hell”
but chan is wearing quite the fitted black t-shirt that hugs all the proper curves and dips of the muscle adorning his body, and a pair of jeans that fit just the same. he must have been at swim practice by the end of the day and already changed to go home, because this was not in dress code.
you felt exposed, considering the fact that you were. something about the interaction felt especially – erotic. like something in a novel. you chose not to think about it any more. you needed to get him out of here.
“there,” you finally say, handing him the last paper and standing to lead him out of the office, “now please kindly get the fuck out and leave me alone”
“that's not very nice,” chan replies in a sing song tone, shaking his head, “i've still been nothing but nice to you.”
“and that's lovely, i'll be sure to let my father know over dinner, he'll be fucking delighted”
“ya know,” chan starts, still in a somewhat sitting-standing position with his behind up against the wooden desk, “i really like our schools uniforms,”
you can watch his eyes make their way from your own, down to where you loosened the buttons of your jacket, and the pulled away tie just dangling lazily from your neck – to the black skirt that all students who chose to wore it, wore. they eventually found their way back up, though, back to your own.
in a way, you wished you felt worse about the way he had been eyeing you in the moment. you wished it felt as repulsive and you knew it should have – him disgusting you would make denying him so much easier.
“you should wear one then,” you retort, clearing your throat and motioning towards the door, “anyone can”
it's when you take a step towards the door – and past chan, that he slinks an arm around your waist, pulling your back into his chest and nestling his chin into the crook of your neck.
“what are you doing,” you whine. irritated. it's not fright. it's annoyance.
chan presses his hard chest against your back and bit more and turns his head so that his lips can press into your ear. he doesn't speak for what feels like an eternity but the sounds of him breathing and swallowing into you are enough to make you want to lose your mind. his open palm pressed firmly against your stomach to keep you in place, any wiggling you do in an attempt to get away only results in you pressing yourself against what is, without a doubt, the erection in his pants.
your mind starts to go a bit cloudy again.
“if you think i'm going to let anyone from your filthy fucking family inside of me then it's laughable,” you finally spit, feeling him snake his free hand up to your jaw so that he can press your face into his mouth more.
“the only thing that's going to be laughable,” he whispers, his voice having dropped tonally and lips still grazing your hot skin, “is how much you're begging for it by the time i'm done with you”
the words send a shiver up your spine, and arousal straight between your legs. in the moment you're extra pleased that it's not so evident on people with vaginas as it tends to be on people with penises, but the almost inevitable reaction of you rubbing your thighs together isn't lost on him – unfortunately, and you feel the beginning of the descent of the hand holding you by the front, down and under your skirt.
“you should really call me chan, I feel like we're close enough by now”
you can feel the way his fingers are fishing for the side of your panties, between where your thigh and labia meet and it makes you feel fucking crazy.
“we're not close to shit-”
but any other words that were going to follow up the sentiment are lost by him finding precisely what it was that he was looking for, allowing himself access and immediately fishing the tip of his middle finger between your folds – and quite easily at that, due to the slickness.
“oh,” he responds, coyness dripping from his words, “evidently, it appears that we are”
you go to spit back another half-hearted retort but it gets caught in your throat as soon as his fingertip delicately meets your swollen clit, and it's all it takes to have you physically melting in his lap. you can feel his lips curling into a devilish smile against your cheek at the way you're already coming unraveled under his touch, and the hiss that leaves his lips after an especially well placed press of your ass against his lap doesn't help the situation.
“you're so pretty,” he coos into your ear, and the innocent admission in the moment makes you soften if even for just a second, because it sounds so sincere, and you know that it probably is. “i can't wait to watch you cum” is the heinous request that follows it, and you're actually not sure which one sounds better.
“it's hysterical that you think i'm going to fuck you,” you spit out between disinclined whimpers, chan's fingers still circling into your clit at a tortuously slow pace, with only the lightest bit of pressure at that. “you want me so bad you've turned pathetic and stupid”
“i didn't say I was going to fuck you,” he calmly retorts, still carrying on with the same ministrations, “i said you were going to beg me to,” and you suddenly feel the tips of his fingers dig a little bit harder into the sensitive nub, causing your legs to just about give out from beneath you if not for him holding you against him. “because from where i'm at right now,” he starts again, still whispering and beginning to rub circles just a little bit faster than before and the affects of such a change immediately making themselves known across your body. “you're the one with the cunt that's dripping fucking wet for me, and bet if I start up just a little faster, and little harder-” he says, while doing just that into you – and suddenly the muscles in your body start to tense and the grips of your fingers into his jeans get tighter.
he was right, and him talking you through it was only making it that much easier for him.
“-bet you'll be cumming into my hand in no time” he whispers.
“f-fuck, chris-” you whine, head falling back against his shoulder and on the verge of having to admit defeat with how close the promise of orgasm was. it's not a shining moment for you, that's for sure.
“still with the government name,” he scoffs in sort of a playful way, “barely even touched you and you're already so fucked stupid for me – which one of us is pathetic, by the way?”
“sh-shut, ah, god i'm cl-close-”
chan simply hums into your ear at the promise of victory, never relenting or changing his pace and it's right as he gets your legs quivering and fingernails so hard into his pant leg that he thinks he might actually have marks even in spite of being clothed that he unleashes the killing blow, pulling his free hand from your face and using it to gently pull stray, wet hairs off from your forehead and face.
“i won't make you beg for it this time, you have it hard enough with all your little hang ups”
the orgasm takes you hard. feeling like electricity ripping through your body as you cum into his hand – every muscle in your body tightening relentlessly. chan rubs you through it, carefully relieving pressure as oversensitivity wracks your body. he pulls away from beneath you before you do from atop him – carefully placing you against the desk, making sure that your legs can handle the weight of an orgasm-stupid council president who is going to have a hard time making peace with the events of the afternoon once her brain comes back to her in full function.
“you okay?” chan asks, and it's kind of condescending, like a haha oh did I do that? sort of question. he's not laughing, but you can tell he wants to be.
you catch your breath and shuffle your clothing and hair back into proper place – the best you can, at least. “i'm...fine,” you respond, reluctantly making eye contact with him as he wipes his hands off with a napkin he found on your desk.
that stupid fucking dimple.
“suppose you're going to want something in return, fat fucking chance”
and chan laughs at you. audibly, and heartily. a full-chested laugh.
“i already told you I am not fucking you. that's all you get,” he finally responds, like it's the most hilarious thing in the world, “when you want more you're going to have to start being nice to me”
“if you don't get the fuck out of my office, chris-”
chan shrugs, smiling, grabbing the papers he came with and heading towards the door with you following closely behind, “don't come here again, if you need anything else i'm sure anyone else on the swim team is perfectly capable of delivering papers.”
“yeah but they probably won't make you cum that fast,” and chan stops, looking off towards the sky inquisitively, “or that easily, it was quite easy, wasn't it?”
“if you tell anyone about this I will fucking kill you,” you say, hand pressed up against the door, barring him the ability to leave. “i know you think this is all fun and games and a good time but it's not, it's serious, maybe you need to go take a good hard look at your mansion and your cars and all of the other nice belongings you have as a reminder of how much we both have to lose – now get the fuck out.”
chan simply smiles, gently. he brings one hand up to your face, tenderly dragging the padding of his thumb against your lower lip and once again, in one split moment, your guard feels let down around him.
bang chan can be so completely disarming.
he leans down into you, pressing a light kiss to the plush skin he had just touched by hand and slowly presses kisses against you along the way to your ear. it was nice. you hated that.
when the words escape chan's lips, as if absolutely anything else in the world had been spoken, it feels like a knife in the back – the juxtaposition of spoken word and the calmness on his face. that smile. the dimple. the way his eyes were so warm. when he left the room, your gaze didn't even make the move to follow – you were stunned. what else was there to say.
“i'm going to ruin you and your fucked up family, and you're gonna let me do it.”
438 notes · View notes
karezzasstuff · 11 months ago
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From the project of interviewing Stanley S. Bass about his experiences with Karezza techniques, The Life Science Publishing created the 2008 book Energy-Karezza. Here Dr. Bass tells the story of how, in his 30’s, he was on his way to become a celibate yogi through Brahmacharya, when he learned about reaching the same spiritual goal via Karezza & Tantra. He decided to try Karezza instead.
Even though his personal goal was spiritual, Dr. Bass soon discovered that women loved Karezza, and couldn’t get enough. When he started teaching the improved Energy-Karezza method to couples with marital problems, the results were astounding. Usually, within weeks, the couple had fallen in love again. Problematic marriages healed, becoming more and more harmonious and stronger with time.
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Over time, over 50+ years, he not only gained experience concerning every aspect of Karezza/Tantra, but also – thanks to his energy-understanding, being an orthopathic doctor – developed an improved, more powerful & easy-to-learn, version. Traditional “Karezza/Tantra” can be difficult for men, but “Energy-Karezza/Tantra” is easy, and also gives more pleasure & prolongation..
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Karezza is about one thing, the man has to control himself. It is so easy. I got so good at this control that I soon was able to go almost a whole year with no accidents. With very heavy sex - three times a week, four hours each session. It didn't take long to get to a high level of proficiency.
In a few months I was very good at it already.
It is very simple, it is natural. It is not difficult. Prove it for yourself, don't take my word for it. Try it out. The first time I heard about it, it was strange to me, so I tried it. It didn't take me long to get good at it. It was easier than I thought. In fact, I taught Karezza to a lot of friends, and everyone had success.
If one of them asked me, "how do I know if it will work?", I gave him a simple method of trying it. I usually said, "why don't you first try:
1. Don't have an orgasm quickly, but wait until the woman is finished, until she has had her enjoyment. Practice holding back for half an hour, for an hour, for several hours, if you can.
2. Then you'll see that your own orgasms are better; they are more enjoyable.
3. Also try having an orgasm only every other time you have sex.
Skipping one time. Every other time, try without orgasm. See how you feel."
With my sex students, those were my instructions, to begin with. These instructions summarize basic traditional Karezza. But these simple instructions could still be difficult for some men. They lost control (ejaculated) early, and were never able to do Karezza for a full hour.
Therefore, to make it easier, I gave my students some Energy-Karezza secrets. I asked them to improve their diet, and to avoid alcohol and all drugs. I told them not to eat before sex, because a man can not control himself after he has eaten. Why? Because then too much blood goes to the stomach.
Also, I gave very detailed instructions on the best movements in sex. I told them to move slowly, and explained how to move, so they wouldn't get too excited, e.g. sideways, in semicircles, avoiding the in-out moves.
For the premature ejaculators, I told them to give up salt, and to not use anything spicy hot, avoid hot peppers, stay away from spices, because this throws them out of control. And then I told them to use certain motions, slow motions, that makes it easy to control oneself. That's all.
Then the women will get the pleasure, because the men are controlling themselves.
For some men the pleasure was so overwhelming that they were still unable to control themselves very long, more than perhaps 45 minutes, even if their diet was good and they had high vitality. In these cases I think the solution is just doing it over and over. Sometimes men, just like women, may need saturation with lots of high-pleasure peak orgasms, before they can start with serious self-control and higher-pleasure valley orgasms. It may take months, but in the end they will get there.
I myself was never overly concerned with the clitoris or the G-spot, because the Karezza was so enjoyable and I was so good at it that a woman couldn't hold out long. If they wanted to have an orgasm, they could have it quick. Women enjoyed it.
The women were very happy. After beginning Karezza, it became unnecessary to calculate all this stuff. I never had to actually figure it out.
All I did was to function naturally, the way I felt like, without thinking about it. And it was right, for every woman. If one gets too mechanical about it, one becomes a dud. Then it is not real. Real sex has nothing to do with the brain, it has to do with feelings, true feelings and movement.
That's all. The brain is not needed.
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From page 45 the Technique to Paradise.
What are you experiencing?
~ by yab yum
Be patient. At first you can't experience the orgasmic part of this process. Some get it on their first try and for some it can take years. Keep practicing with the exercise your teacher gives you. Even if you don't experience the orgasm, just the breath and energy circling alone is of great value. It will clear blocks so that eventually the orgasm can pass through you. Blocks can be experienced in many ways – crying, gagging, getting frustrated, resurfacing old memories. Just keep breathing. Visualize letting go of the "old" on the exhale, ringing out the "new" on the inhale. Energy levels will most likely rise and fall, like mercury in a thermometer. Tell your partner where it slipped. Your partner will encourage you to tap into your sexual center when energy is slipping. One of the main keys to learning this technique is KNOWING that it is possible.
(When asked if she had an orgasm, Sara responded 🙂
It was uninterrupted, uninterrupted… This was definitely something else, which I have never experienced so fully.
(Sara was then asked if there were any psychological changes.)
Oh yes, sure. From the point of view of spiritual practice it is always full of insight, a kind of insight that comes after, about how I am in ecstasy in my usual state, because it is obvious that the ecstasy is inherent in the body (level), of my being… and also of course this would affect my meditation. I am much more relaxed and receptive physically, emotionally and psychologically when I sit down to meditate…. I don't know what this has to do with anything, but meditation becomes very sexual, very physical, playing with all these hormones. Very often in my meditation there is a stage like deepening where it goes through something like lovemaking in a hormonal sense. I feel the heat and change of energy and so forth, and then it just cools down. That is when deep meditation begins.
It is absolutely blissful in ecstasy because the bliss is something I feel in the body. The ecstasy is something where the body is no longer. Energy goes up. His community. It is love. The transcendent, the energy feeling, transcends even the light that I'm talking about in meditation, and just went into the light.
One tree merges with another tree, the earth merges with the trees, the trees merge with the sky, the sky merges with the unknown...you merge with me, I merge with you...everything merges...differences lost, melting and merging as waves into other waves…an enormous unity vibrating, alive, without limits, without definitions, without distinction…the sage melting into the sinner, the sinner flowing together in the sage…becoming good becoming bad, becoming bad…the night turning into the day, day turning into night… life melts into death, death plunges into life again – then everything has become one.
This has changed my experience with sexuality forever… It has blown up things like this what you have about sex, the good feeling you get from sexual experience or trying to get. It broke that because it was so obviously about submission. It wasn't about me trying to do something. It was about not doing something, but rather receiving or allowing it, rather than doing and creating and making.
This is the most profound healing practice I have ever encountered. It has awakened me to realize that my body is often shut off from the bliss and ecstasy it might be experiencing. Through this practice I have come to learn that emotional pain occurs when orgasmic energy does not flow freely through my body and that there is an infinite flow of orgasmic energy available to me. It has taken me years to gradually release the tension and pain in my body and I still have areas of tension to unblock. The sensations can be different each time depending on my condition, sometimes there is a pulsating vibration and sometimes it feels like some kind of electrical current circulating through my genitals throughout my body. There may be tears of joy. My mind can be perfectly clear and it can seem like everything I feared has been resolved. When a certain area of ​​tension is unblocked and the orgasmic energy circulates, there is always an amazing sense of oneness with the life being awakened.
Mel 40 Auckland
My teacher knew how to touch – and where to make contact – He knew places to touch that I didn't know about – and soon I was on my way to another place in another universe. I was in a trance of breathing and sweat and pleasure that so long and so dead do had gone – that I traveled through light and sound. I never knew that such an experience could be had without actually making love. When I finally climaxed and climaxed and climaxed, I couldn't believe I was having a sexual climax in the presence of someone other than my husband. I felt both excitement and a little embarrassment. Looking back at this moment, I would never have thought that having an orgasm for another man would actually be the "beginning" of this whole journey in Tantra
Emma S 35
And this is the joy of Cosmic Spiritual Orgasm, because you disappear for a moment. That moment is very small, but its impact is immense. For a moment you are no longer the ego, you do not think in terms of 'I', for a moment you dissolve into the oneness of the all, you become one with the whole, you pulsate with the whole. You are no longer an individual… you are no longer limited to your body. You have no limitations, for a moment you are unlimited, infinite.
That is the meaning of Cosmic Spiritual Orgasm – that your frozen energy melts, becoming one with this universe, with the trees and the stars, and the woman and the man, and the rocks – for a single moment, of course. But in THAT moment you have a kind of consciousness that is religious, that is sacred, that is one with all things. – OSHO
Unbelievable! Some are very strong and some are wonderfully subtle. In general, the more time you spend building up the energy, the more powerful the sensations. You experience “electricity” throughout your body, hands, feet and lips tingle, and there is a sense of letting go and receiving at the same time. You will feel high, euphoric and light-headed. It feels very different from a clitoral orgasm (but it can happen at the same time as a clitoral orgasm). You see a seed sprout, flowers appear on a tree somewhere, the birds are singing – the whole phenomenon is sexual. It is life manifesting in many ways. When the bird sings, it is a sexual call, an invitation. When the flower attracts butterflies and bees, it is an invitation, because the bees and butterflies bear the seeds of reproduction. Everything seems to be divided into these two polarities. And life is a rhythm between these two opposites. Repulsion and attraction, coming closer and getting far… these are the rhythms.
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akobere7u7 · a year ago
A Curious Demon | AU
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Summary: Suddenly falling into temptation, melting into despair and arrogance, humans, divine creation is simply fun, but the most rare can simply arouse curiosity, even that of beings embodied in pure evil and livid.
Pairing: Incubus! Shalnark X Reader
Warnings: Masturbation, invocations, satanism and demonology, non-consensual touching
Author's note: I have never written anything about X character and reader, so if there are errors, I apologize
English is not my native language, if there are mistakes, I also apologize for that too
Other locations: AO3
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In human innocence, in hubbub, joke or curiosity, he sins as an idiot or at other times he drags others with him, because craving something or wanting to prove how stupid he is can led to perdition.
Incubus are demons of masculine form, characterized by an attractive and unusual attractiveness, which seduce their victims in their dreams through their appearance until finally having sex with them, however, the probability of having the misfortune of being a victim is low not to mention void, unless perhaps being invoked by a ritual or by repeating a certain prayer a couple of times.
You watched your friends, incredulous, when you heard them talk about it again, your position as a non-believer probably made you look at them with reminiscence, because of how stupid it sounded to you and having heard about more than 100 times a "I would like to try, but I'm scared", you believing and practically assuring that nothing would happen.
"Oh please... Will they, or won't they?" You grumbled annoyed "They've been talking about this for months"
"Do you also want to know perhaps?" Asked your friend Sarah smiling
"I want you to realize that it is false and it is silly, just that." You answered with a sly smile.
"Then why not do it yourself?" Ally proposed
Something clicked in your head, as if it were a bad sign, out of nowhere, you felt a little discomfort in your stomach, however, you decided to ignore it and meditate on the proposal, of the thousands of idiots who do this kind of thing. What probability? was it supposed to be chosen or did it actually work?
"Okay, but they must give me the instructions and everything I need."
The brightness and enthusiasm in the looks of your friends left you perplexed, in any case at least you would not get bored for a while or you would get out of the routine.
"To begin with, you should not mastur..."
Before Sarah continued speaking, you preferred to cover her mouth, talking about it in college made you burn with shame, the worst thing was seeing how she expressed herself shamelessly.
"We will meet in my apartment after class." You declared standing up.
| . . . |
The three of them lay in the room, having snacks while they read one of Ally's books.
"Seeing that you will no longer cover my mouth, we will get what you need materially, in the meantime ... In your instructions it is that you should not masturbate for a week" Sarah indicated
"Simple" You blurted out taking a cookie from the envelope
"However, your body should receive stimulation, erotic literature, watch pornography, etc. That is before you take a bath every morning" Ally continued, running her finger over one of the lines.
"Oh, come on!" You claimed
Your friends began to laugh with amusement, dropping the book on the floor, your eyes fell on an image, a young man with black wings with a strong figure and body, simply charming features and a flashing smile on his face.
"Oh, did you choose already?" Ally looked at the book with you
"Choose?" You questioned
"Oh yeah, that's what I was about. Third, use a stuffed animal which you must pass through your body with your eyes closed, imagining the most attractive physical aspect you can have in mind, although they say that if you know the name of a demon and repeat it while you do it, it is more effective" He explained Sarah
"Could this be it?" You pointed to the image before seen
"Let's see" Ally cleared her throat before reading the page "Because pleasure can be embodied in so many ways, even if it were in such an innocent smile which harbors a demonic evil, eloquent and curious, with a challenging and playful personality, it rises from the eternal flames being unpredictable, because there are so few chances and such challenging people that it is just fun to see divine creation as another piece for the amusement of an eternal and evil being. An attractive turquoise look, with eyes as bright as they are hungry, a blond hair like those of those angels that she constantly curses and with whom she plays cruelly given the opportunity. A body so envied and that wreaks havoc on everyone it possesses. Witnesses to his presence are practically non-existent since it is too rare for him to be present, even with every intention of invoking him" she finished narrating
In the end, when you stopped seeing the torso area and knowing how explicit the book was, your gaze was directed towards the crotch area, visualizing a much larger than average member which managed to make you pass saliva.
"And what's his name?" You asked
| . . . |
"Shalnark ..." You whispered in a low voice, walking the teddy bear around the abdomen and pelvis, with the image of her in mind, visualizing a boy with blond hair, turquoise eyes and a radiant smile on his face; the shape of his body, strong abs, a slightly narrow waist, and muscular arms; you slightly put your legs together feeling your excitement drain in your crotch, your button throbbing in need of attention, the nipples under your pajamas getting harder and harder and your face burning red.
Finally, you got up leaving the stuffed animal on your dresser and proceeded to bathe, your gaze got lost in the water in the tub, you let yourself soak for a while trying to get the ideas of a few minutes ago out of your head.
—This doesn't make sense; it's not going to work— You told yourself still with your legs together
The image that you had been visualizing for days in your head was presented, your mind focused on the aforementioned, instinctively your hand went down towards your still lubricated pussy, two of your fingers ending up shyly buried making you sigh and when you moved your lips called it.
"Shal ... Shalnark ..." You whispered until you increased the speed and abruptness in your movements and they began to turn screams "Shalnark!"
And he was still in your mind, on top of you, penetrating you as hard as he could, even with that beautiful smile, with his whole body rubbing against yours.
You came to your senses out of nowhere, despite almost reaching your orgasm, you rinsed off quickly and changed into a light dress with a jacket on top, shaking your head several times.
"It wasn't going to work anyway, but... Damn, I screwed up" You kept repeating yourself annoyed over and over again, shaking your head.
You gave in because you didn't have a good head in order, you hadn't been sleeping in a decent way for days because of your work and now you screwed up part of the damn ritual that only had 2 days left.
When you arrived, you pretended that nothing happened, you asked Ally and Sarah about things and apparently there was almost nothing missing, you managed to turn in your tasks and now you just wanted to rest just a little.
You went under the stairs in the back area of ​​the school, possibly nobody would bother you since nobody used to pass and you could rest for a few minutes.
Out of nowhere your eyes opened when you felt a weight on top of you, alarmed you tried to sit up, but your two hands were held by a larger, manly and too strong one, your body turned facing the wall, a chill ran through your spine before the hot breath released on your neck making you sigh.
"I thought you would hold out longer. Has chastity been killing you?" Or are you constantly playing with yourself?" It was a voice with a playful and lively tone, but it caused your stomach to start burning
You still had your eyes closed with fear, was there no one around to help you?
"W-who are you?" - You asked scared
The caress of a playful and hot tongue rose from your neck to your ear, ending in a giggle that even sounded innocent as you clenched your legs and gasped.
"Damn, this is fun." He let out his voice.
Again, you sigh when you feel teeth nibbling your ear and you were startled when you felt a hand over the shorts that you were wearing under the dress caressing your lower lips.
"Oh... You like to be forewarned," she asked in another hot whisper, "But you feel so wet..."
"Please, tell me ... tell me who-who are you" You asked still scared
"Oh, let's go y / n" the voice exclaimed as in a pout
Your body was turned looking up, your reddened ears caught a small sign of annoyance, until your lips were briefly kissed by others, like the first small kiss that an innocent couple would give each other.
"Don't you recognize the boy you moaned about a few hours ago in the bathtub?"
Your eyes snapped open, effectively finding him as described in the book, his blond hair fell over his forehead in a careless way, his turquoise orbs covered by the aforementioned, that smile on his face, the powerful silhouette above you.
"Shalnark ..." You whispered confused and surprised
You saw his head go down, his lips being millimeters from yours, his golden hair tickling your forehead and finally you were stunned by such disturbing but eager turquoise eyes.
"I love when you call me ... I love when you moan my name ..." He whispered before running his tongue over your closed lips, which opened in surprise and the hot sensation, finally managing to kiss you by taking away all the air, running his tongue all over your oral cavity
Just when he pulled away from you, you jumped up, breathing hard and your face completely flushed.
And you looked up, there was no one around, you stood up scared and ran to your classroom, still trying to regain consciousness.
It was palpable, so crisp, almost as if it had been... real.
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-> Part 2
Thank you for reading! ✨
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creepytoes88 · a year ago
Vinnie smut
Do not read if uncomfortable with 👇🏻
Daddy kink/hitting(ass,face,thighs)/unprotected sex /and mean names 🥰 PLEASE TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS 👏AND SEND ME THINGS YOU WOULD LIKE TO READ ONLY ABOUT VINNIE FOR RIGHT NOW THO 🥸 anyways let’s get too it lol sorry for any typos
I could feel Vinnie’s hot breath on the back of my neck as my back was pushed against his hard chest. Vinnie’s right hand wrapped tightly around the inside of my thigh sandwiched between both of my legs. I can feel his hip bones pushing into my backside, making it so hard to breath normally. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, my mind starts to wonder to those forbidden places.
I let out a sigh the ungodly things I would let him do to me taking over my mind “GOD I need help.” I took a deep breath before I looked at the clock on Vinnie’s night stand “I can’t wake him up he has photo shoot in a couple hours” I think to myself. I close my eyes trying to fall asleep but I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his warm hands and cold rings felt against my skin and how his soft plump lips would feel trailing down my stomach. I shot my eyes open before letting out a sigh and cuddling deeper into Vinnie I turned around so my head was buried in his chest.
“I could just breathe his sweet scent all day..” I think to myself before I even realize what I was doing I rested my icy cold hand on his warm jaw rubbing his cheek. Vinnie let out gasp, eyes shooting open “Are you ok, princess?” he whisper shouts not being able to see me in the pitch black room “y-yea I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you up baby“ I said as I thread my fingers through his hair “No you’re not, what’s wrong sweetie please tell me.” Vinnie asks worried as he wraps his warm arms around my waist I could feel his cock against my thigh and his sweet voice caught me off guard I couldn’t help it and let out a soft moan softly tugging on his hair.
Almost immediately I felt him start to get stiff against my legs I let out a slightly louder moan at the idea of Vinnie actually fucking me right now he instantly shoved 2 of his long fingers in my mouth making me choke a little in shock. My eyes widen as I look up at him “I should have known that you were just hungry for my dick” he says as he kisses down my neck “I’m right aren’t I slut” he grunts in my face. He flips me so my back is against his chest again and pushes his massive clothed cock against my thong “covered” ass. I let out a whine letting him know I’m ready now no foreplay needed, I suck his fingers that are in my mouth he would occasionally push his fingers deeper hitting the back of my throat making me choke every now and then.
“Answer me slut“ he grunts as he takes the fingers out of my mouth to lightly smack my left cheek. I moan at the stinging sensation “Y-YES DADDY!!” "I’m s-s-sorry” I let out in gasps and stutters. Vinnie just chuckles sending shivers straight down my spine I could feel the goose bumps rising on my skin and the blush creeping on my cheeks. I’m so thankful he can’t see me in his dark ass room “tell daddy want you want Princess” he says as he caresses my bottom lip with his thumb, nibbling on my earlobe “your b-big cock daddy.” I whine out “ ah-ah-ah what are the magic words princess” Vinnie says as he sits up so he can have better access to my body.
I could practically visualize the smirk on his face just by the sound of his voice, no lights needed. I blushed again, is it worth it? I think to myself is it worth the short lived embarrassment that is just going to inflate his ego more “I’m waiting princess I still wanna get some sleep before the shoot tomorrow” Vinnie says as he starts fiddling with the hem of the tank top I’m wearing and his other hand rubs the inside of my thigh as he sits on his knees, I could feel his eyes scanning my body. Fuck I can’t do this I’m going to explode and he barely even touched me yet GOD of course its fucking worth it what am I thinking. “Pretty Please daddy will you fuck me with your big cock!!” I let out in a shout as Vinnie smacks the inside of my thigh a couple times making me let out a Loud groan, I could feel my wetness tripping down on the bed sheets even with my panties on “mmm whatever you want princess.”
Vinnie says in a sexy, raspy voice and he pulls my top over my head and rips my panties right off my body “ VINNIE THOSE WERE MY FAVORITE PAIR!!?!” I shouted still very turned on but slightly pissed “I’ll buy you a hundred pairs of underwear if you shut the fuck up and let me make you feel good.” Vinnie states with confidence “try not to wake the entire neighborhood ok” he says as he pushes his head into my neck Vinnie’s hands hold my hands and hips to the bed making it very difficult for me to move and grind against his bulge. Vinnie trails his lips slowly down nipping and sucking on random spots slowly driving me crazy I began to let out soft moans, I feel Vinnie’s lips trailing between my breast with out warning he grabs ahold of my right nipple with his teeth bitting it softly. Enough to feel good but hard enough to make me let out a loud unexpected moan Vinnie licks and sucks on my bud for awhile before repeating on my left nipple.
I was so focused on the feeling of his mouth on my nipples I didn’t even realize he moved my hands so they were above my head before I could react Vinnie pushes his middle and ring finger knuckle deep into my heat spreading his fingers as much as he could. As he thrusts them into me repeatedly at a fast pace, His thumb rubbing my clit in tiny circles as I let out moans and whimpers “are you daddy’s little slut?!” He says against my upper stomach I could feel the vibrations in my tummy “YES DADDY IM YOUR SLUT” “such a good girl for me princess, I think you deserve a treat.” Vinnie let’s go of my hands and moves so he’s head is between my legs he grabs my legs and throws them over his shoulders he immediately wraps his hands around my thighs so I can’t move.
“AH please baby I need it so bad” I say in a whiny voice Vinnie dives his head down sucking on my clit with no mercy his tongue plunging in and out of my dripping pussy I couldn’t help but scream his name it felt so good. “VINNIE! YESSS DADDY MORE PLEASE!!” I was no stranger to having sex with Vinnie but I swear everytime we have sex it’s like the first time but it only gets better and better I could feel the knot beginning to form. I run my fingers in Vinnie’s hair pulling at the roots and pushing him deeper into me I open my eyes to get a good look at him to see his beautiful hazel eyes staring right back at me. Full of lust and adornment I throw my head back in a pure fit of pleasure begging for Vinnie to just fuck me already. Before I can do or say anything I release on Vinnie’s Gorgeous face I let out I few more moans and I feel Vinnie pull away he smashes his lips into mine and I can taste my self on his lips I groan in response grabbing his strong shoulders digging my nails in to the flawless skin of his back Vinnie looks down at me “oh I’m not done yet sweetie” Vinnie slaps the inside of my thighs and the sides of my ass a couple time as I cry out in pleasure at the sweet stinging sensation that comes with it.
Vinnie pulls down his boxers revealing his massive cock Vinnie is a beautiful man there is no denying that and his cock is no different my mouth starts watering at the thought of sucking his on perfect balls( ball sucking simulator🤌😎 either you get it or you don’t lol) and him ramming his thick cock down my throat till he finally spills over. I go to grab his bulge and he slaps my hand away “not a chance I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’re not gonna be able to fucking walk straight for a month!” I moan at the thought of what he just said Vinnie pulls his boxers down and he wraps one of his large hands around my neck and the other on my boob. Vinnie rubs his tip against my clit making me whine and moan “beg for it bitch” vinnie says in a airy tone “pllllease daddy fuck me I need it now” I gasp “What was that princess I don’t think I heard you correctly ?”
“ p-p-PLEASE DADDY I NEED IT!!” I heard Vinnie chuckle before rubbing his cock between my folds “need what princess?” Vinnie ask again playing dumb “YOUR BIG COCK DADDY PLEASE I CANT-!” Vinnie pushes into me before I can finish my sentence, he pushes faster then normal making me let out a whine, he’s so big! I always have to adjust to his size I moan as he hits balls deep making me arch my back pushing my chest to his. Vinnie let’s out a soft moan as my walls tighten around his cock “ M-move Daddy!” I moan loudly my hands rushing to his unruly curly hair I tug on the roots and wrap my legs around his waist and Vinnie let’s out quite literally the hottest sound he’s ever made. “F-FUCK baby you’re soo tight!” Vinnie pants and moans as he shifts around to get him self more comfortable before almost pulling all the way out before slamming right back in to me “OH GOD VINNIE, MORE PLEASE , YOU FILL ME UP SO GOOD DADDY!!”
I shout I wanted to hear him make more of those delicious sounds the thought of Vinnie’s moans and pants making me tighten around his cock once again making him release a loud moan. I throw my head back in pure ecstasy feeling him pound in over and over again hitting spots I didn’t even know existed until I met Vinnie. I let out strings of nonsense the pleasure taking over my mind and body my eyes closed and all I could think about was how good Vinnie felt grazing my g spot every-time he pushed in and the sound of skin slapping skins, his pants and moans driving me absolutely crazy even the feeling of his balls bouncing off my ass cheeks every time he thrusted in ( I’m fucking dead lol 😭) making my mind melt. I could feel the knot in my stomach beginning to come together again and as if Vinnie knew he flips me over so my face is in the pillows and my ass is in the air. Vinnie slaps my left ass cheek I let out a whimper before pushing back on him and letting out a moan Vinnie groans and rubs my ass cheeks “count them whore” he slaps my right cheek this time “two!” Another one on my left “Three!” Vinnie then smacks both of them at the same time a couple times in a row.
I let out loud moans I know I’ll have hand prints tomorrow but it’s so worth it “you like that huh baby” he laughs and kisses my shoulder blades rubbing my ass I moan and I start to feel the knot break before I could even say anything Vinnie cut in “Don’t you fucking dare cum yet Bitch!” “PLEASE VINNIE I CAN’T HO-O-LD IT MUCH L-LONGER!” “I said fucking hold it slut!” He grunts as he grabs ahold of my hair pulls back on it so my head is facing up and smacks my face once or twice “ OH FUCK YES DADDY HIT ME AGAIN PLEASE!” “You like it when daddy hits you princess?” He asks as more of a statement then a question knowing damn well I love it “PLEASE AGAIN DADDY” Vinnie smacks me on my thigh this time significantly harder then he did on my face. I moan as my back arch’s into him as I start thrusting back towards Vinnie he starts rubbing my clit in circles again “you want me to put my babies in you beautiful” OH YES DADDY PLEASE CUM IN ME!” I let out more moans and gasps as he thrusts so hard and deep into me I can’t hold it anymore.
I let out the loudest moan I have ever made “DADDY YESSSS” it felt like a balloon popped in my stomach I was shaking from the pleasure still coursing through my veins. My nerves shot as I was basically falling asleep at this point I feel Vinnie’s hips snapping against my ass a couple more times before I feel him release inside of me I hear Vinnie let out a deep moan and a grunt “IM SORRY DADDY I COULDN’T HOLD IT ANYMORE!!” Vinnie flips me over while still inside of me. My eyes still clamped shut from pleasure and sleepyness, also partly because I don’t want to see the disappointment on his face. Oh how wrong I was “Look at me princess” Vinnie says softly pushing my hair out of my face. I open my eyes at the sound of his voice to see his beautiful face with a proud smirk displayed perfectly on his face.
Vinnies eyes then leave mine to look down where the two of us meet. I slowly trail my eyes down the same path as my lover to see just how big of a mess I made “Princess you never told me you are a squirter?!” “That’s because I never knew I could. None of my past boyfriends made me do THAT before!” I said with a giggle “well how did it feel” Vinnie asks as he pulls out watching as both mine and his cum runs out licking his lips before leaning down to clean up the mess he made “ S-So good daddy...so good” I said as I push my hips against his face and throw my head back so much for getting some more sleep I guess.
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shhhlikeme · a year ago
F*cked Out 💤
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Ojiro Aran Domestic Smut (NSFW) part 2
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A/N: I wrote this as a Part 2 to this fic, but it can be read as a stand alone!
18+, Explicit smut, praise kink, Aged up obvs, Timeskip spoilers
Tagging: @saitamastamaticsoup & @chunhua-s b/c these Aran stans found part 1 last night & their comments made me thirsty enough to write a pt. 2. Hope you like it!
also my lovely @qyuanon who I just read is back and I missed her💛
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Futilely, you knocked on the door to yours and your man’s home office. Leaning on the frame, you crossed your arms. Being a literal isolationist when you had to work, you never understood why your man liked keeping the office door open. But then he told you once that he didn’t like the fact that he couldn’t hear you calling him if the door was closed. ‘What if something happened and I didn’t run to you?’ He had explained, pouting when you laughed at him. It warmed your heart, but you decided not to call his name tonight, instead opting to physically pay him a visit. You had to, because what lead you here in the first place was serious! You had just woken up in the middle of the night because his side of the bed had turned cold. Yeah, that deserved nothing less than a visit from you! 
From your spot in the doorway you could see Ojiro sitting at the grand desk, his back turned to you, the lights from his laptop playing some Team Canada highlights. The screen bluelight shone brightly on his gorgeous dark skin, the back of his head bobbed up and down as he dutifully wrote down any important plays he was seeing so that he could tell his coach tomorrow.
“Babe,” You announced your presence with a soft smile. Your man is such a hard worker and he really doesn’t get enough credit for it. You tighten the robe you were wearing because it was always kind of drafty on this side of the house. “You have a game tomorrow.” 
Your boyfriend, captain of the Japanese National Volleyball Team’s shoulders slumped when he heard you, but he didn’t turn around. 
He didn’t have to.
He never had to. Even though you’ve only been dating for a bit over a year, you two knew each other so well that you could accurately tell exactly what kind of expressions, feelings, and thoughts permeated the other without having to be vis-a-vis. When you first met, your dates were—objectively speaking—oddly silent for the most part. The waitress once asked you if you were uncomfortable through an inconspicuous napkin note, which was kind of her—but the truth was that on that date you were actually more than Okay! It might have seemed odd to an outsider or eavesdropper that no sentences were being finished, and both people on said date were constantly staring down, away, or into each others eyes in silence… but realistically, neither of them could grasp the fact that words weren’t necessary when there existed a connection like yours and Aran’s. 
‘It’s fate. He’s the one.’ You had told your friends after the second date when you realized your mind reading wasn’t a fluke. Because as corny as it sounded then and even now in your memory; it was true, tf. 
Doesn’t mean you weren’t going to kick his ass for letting his side of the bed go cold, though. You were used to Aran being gone for volleyball so you had no problem falling asleep alone, but when you were ecstatic to have him home it was important for him to REMAIN home, which means staying in bed if you fell asleep on his chest! He has never done it before, so This is not Okay!
“I know, baby, I know…” your boyfriend calls to you, scribbling on his notepad faster. “I’m almost done. I-I think their setter could be doing one of two plays to start tomorrow, and I don’t think it’s the one I was sure about before we went to bed. And I mean, we play them until 12pm, so—“
“So nothing. You still have to be up by 6. The stadium is far and knowing you, you won’t sleep on the Team’s bus, you’ll still be watching these videos even then. I’ll—“
“Please don’t tell Iwaizumi-san, he will kick my ass! We’re playing Team Canada tomorrow and they are ranked just under us but—“
“Not by a lot, I know. I understand, but you guys will still pull the win. I know it....because Your team has you.”
Aran chuckled heartily, continuing to scribble with his back still turned, but his voice turned a little more endearing. “Thank you, baby. But.... I can’t seem to sleep tonight... I just can’t. I’ve been up this whole time so I—” As your boyfriend babbled on, you quietly interjected, 
“I know a way to get you to sleep.” 
“—won’t use my laptop in bed and wake you up when you’re sleeping so….wait….what did you—?” 
You smirked, knowing that your man knew why your voice had dropped a few octaves. He knew you were up to something, not because you two could practically read each other’s minds—moreso because you two had already established that that specific tone of voice of yours made his dick hard. The pen he was scribbling with stopped moving, finally, and you could just picture the way he gulped just now. 
“I know you can’t sleep, Ar…..” You made sure he could hear you clearly now, in the voice you only reserved for fuck-me-o’clock. 
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A sexy smirk that Ojiro could see without looking at you played in his mind and on your face simultaneously. 
“Yeah?” He asked, his deep voice cracking. 
You kept speaking in that voice with one goal in mind.
“Yes, baby…” You hummed thoughtfully before stating,
“So why don’t you come over here and fuck me so hard it puts you to bed, then?”
Drunk off horniness caused by the amount sex dripping from your voice, the captain of Japan’s National Volleyball Team slowly turned the office chair so that he was facing you. 
Boldly, you turned your back to him at the same time and fiddled your hands that just tightened your robe. This time, instead of tightening it, you loosened the strings fully so your robe was wide open, facing the emptiness of your house. Knowing that your boyfriend was checking out and admiring your ass in that short silk robe and desiring the shock factor—in one motion you tossed the robe over your shoulders so that it pooled at your feet, exposing your completely nude back and backside to your man. 
“🤤 Shit,” Ojiro groaned, sounding as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. You just knew your man was biting that full and juicy bottom lip of his.
Swaying your hips to give your man a tiny show, you sauntered precisely where he didn’t want you to: away from him; heading towards the master bedroom. 
You kept yourself from giggling when you heard the aggressive shutting of a laptop, a volleyball announcer being cut off, and a certain volleyball player’s stumbling and cursing because Ojiro was practically chasing you out of the office.
“Mmmm…. Fuck..”
A few minutes later, your mind displayed a valiant effort by attempting to guess how your boyfriend looked right now, but it would be in vain. You couldn’t picture your man like you usually could because you were currently being fucked way too fucking well. Ojiro was filling you completely with just half his length, whispering horny-nothings to help you understand his feelings anyway:
“God damn, Y/N… Every. Time. Feels. So. God. Damn. Good,”
Now, If your mind was clear you’d be able to perfectly visualize how Ojiro’s face was scrunched up in pleasure right now, a coat of sweat coating his nude dark skin, the skylight over his head allowing the moon to reflect an insanely sexy glow sheen over his muscles due to the perspiration. 
“Auuh there’s nothing better than this, baby…”
If your mind was clear you’d be able to perfectly visualize how Ojiro’s head was tilted backwards right now, his mouth slightly ajar as he focused on not cumming inside you within the first few minutes of this because he needed to feel you cum around him first. As always. 
“Not when I hitting a line shot, not when I get a service ace.... nothing feels—auuuh f-uck— better than your pussy, baby girl..…”
If your mind was clear, you’d be able to see Ojiro on his knees behind you, holding your hips in his giant hands while he drove into you from behind, inserting only half his cock in and out like a pro, then surprising you with a fully thrust every now and then when he sheathed all 10 inches inside your heat.
“Mmm, so ti-ight, always so wet… damn,”
Despite your mind being clouded by immense pleasure, however—you did know that you looked absolutely wrecked with your face pressed in the pillow, blindly reaching behind you to tap or wave or pinch or do something to him since you couldn’t speak. You could barely made any sounds other than choked out moans because it felt so spectacular… but you didn’t have to! Aran knew that you wanted your boyfriend to stop playing and give you full strokes. His half thrusts filled and pleasured you more than any one ever could because he was huge and skilled in bed, he knew just how your insides liked to be stroked, but that didn’t stop you from silently pleading to him..
Even if Ojiro wasn’t holding back like always because he was very aware of his size and girth, even if you both knew that it would hurt you the next day like after a good workout, even if you walked funny when you had to attended his Olympic game several hours from now—you fucking needed it.
HE fucking needed it!
“Harder, Ar,” You commanded, “Deeper!”
“Fuck,” Your boyfriend panted, still not giving you what you asked 7 amazing strokes later. 
“Harder, now!” You cried as if you were whispering to the fucking pillow. You hadn’t the strength to lift your head. Your orgasm was fast approaching because HALF your man’s dick was too good and there was no way you weren’t bringing him with you. “Deeper, baby!”
“Y-you su-sure?” He asked worriedly. He always did this shit 🙄. He always worried way too much about your body soreness and way too little about both of your impending orgasms tonight rocking your motherfucking worlds. 
Good boyfriends and their fucked up PRIORITIES, amirite?!
Needless to say, you didn’t have time for compassionate Aran tonight. You needed him to fuck the both of you to sleep the way you knew he was capable of if he stopped holding back. Besides, he should have been in bed hours ago. You had to do this for the sake of the National Team! You had to this for JAPAN! (A/N: lucky b*tch shut your horny ass up)
So that’s why, in response to his asking if you were sure or not, you responded by clenching your insides so that your slick hole squeezed around your boyfriend’s cock. 
As soon as he felt you pulsing impossibly tighter around him as he fucked you halfway, his eyes rolled back in his head. 
“Fuuuuuuuuuuck…” He moaned deeply, so of course you continued doing it.
“Shit, Y/N, Okay, Okay,”
Without having to beg for mercy, your man did as you asked him to. He moved his hands from your waist to splay them on each of your ass cheeks, spreading them apart to make more room for his member that already barely fit (with your hasty prep and not his tentative one), but especially when your pussy clenched around him like that. With a loud moan from both of you, he bottomed out and stayed there for a bit to get you used to the size. You almost passed out by how good it felt pressing against your g-spot.
When Aran couldn’t take it anymore, and he started giving it to you: hard, fast, and deep. 
“Ye, baby, make room for me just like this…..” He moaned, gripping your ass tighter. “You want all of me? You think your tight hole can handle all of me?” He asked, no growled, still giving shallow but gratifying thrusts.
You whimpered, knowing that Ojiro knew the answer to that. Even so, you egged him on, “Sh-Show me why you’re the best top,” playing into your dirty talk from the last time y’all had sex like this but he was under you. 
Your boyfriend let out a long groan in his smooth deep voice and picked up his pace in reaponse, sending a new wave of wetness to your private. You were so soaked down there that it sounded like y’all were having sex in the bath tub, fuck. 
Your man loved it. 
“Mmmm, —m’ close beautiful,” He called, snapping his hips forward to meet you g-spot again and again. “It’s you, baby, it’s you,” Your man groaned. “Your pussy feels too fucking good……. I’d never pull out if I had to co-couldd,” 
“Oh, God. Aran!" You moaned loudly due to his dirty talk and praise, teetering on the edge of your release. Knowing that you maybe had 30 seconds left if you focused, you must have decided that you didn’t want to walk tomorrow at all because being the weakness of your bf you are, from your position being pounded into the sheets, you propped yourself up on your weak arms so that you could use the fact that your elbows were digging into the mattress as leverage to push your body back so that you met Aran’s deep thrusts. 
Like your boyfriends does every rare time he’s able to see your glorious ass bounce on his hard dick, his eyes flew open and he felt as though he’d been transported to heaven itself. 
“Y/N—auh, s-so sexy, aah, ooh, ohhh, fuck, Y/N,”
entranced, Aran couldn’t even last another second before he was stopping your movements with his hands, sliding them back on your hips to hold you still as his orgasm took his muscular frame by storm. He saw stars.
Of course, his orgasm triggered yours immediately, and you cried your man’s name as you came on his dick. He whispered yours as your insides milked him without influence this time, effectively lengthening your man’s finish. Panting, Aran just barely caught himself before his now exhausted body toppled over you. 
His last wakeful act, being the gentleman that he is, was to roll over so he wouldn’t crush you with his body weight, pulling out at the same time. 
You wondered if he registered that he said, “thank you baby,” before he began softly snoring—a sign that he was completely worn out and sleeping.
You smiled softly to yourself when you heard his snores, finally turning when you caught your own breath, to fully see your boyfriend’s stunning face. You endearingly brushed his goatee with the tips of your fingers, turning his sleeping face to yours so you could peck his lips. Then, you just barely had the leg strength to stand up on limbs that barely worked, removing his condom for him, then using the furniture in your room to support you as you cleaned the two of you up. You almost fell asleep standing up as you used a cloth on the two of you. Five minutes later, you were back in bed, under the covers with your lover and amazing man. 
Usually, Ojiro Aran slept like the dead (when he first moved in you occasionally have to check if he was still breathing...) , but you knew now that if he snored, that was a sign that he was so fatigued. You knew about the snoring, but the talking was new to you. Ojiro was so deep in his sleep after that round, that he was talking to himself in his slumber, whispering sweet-nothings about you that you’d never let him know he vocalized to spare him the embarrassment.
Besides, he didn’t say anything too embarrassing.... and you knocked out as soon as your head met his chest, not even feeling his arm sweetly wrap around your waist to pull you closer. So, you didn’t even hear most of his sleep-talk.
And maybe you were right when you called it fate, that drove the two of you.... because if it wasn’t fate that had you place your head on Aran’s chest at that exact moment, if it wasn’t fate that made you fall asleep at that exact moment..... then, I mean, you would have heard Ojiro not a second later declare aloud that he’s hiding your engagement ring in the office’s cabinet drawer. You would have heard theis the real reason he wasn’t able to fall asleep: because he was so nervous about asking for your hand in marriage before his Japan vs. Canada game tomorrow, when you least expected it.
Cause like, well, that totally would have ruined the surprise.
But you did fall asleep. Fate did that. So him sleep talking honestly never really happened.
And you know what else never happened? 
You never had to feel the cold side of the bed again where your man should be, at least not that night, because Aran Ojiro your new fiancée’s body kept it warm all night, because you were great and helping him fall asleep like a baby....making him just that:
 f*cked out. 
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alex-izz12 · 8 months ago
Hello! How are you doing? I thought I heard you were on vacation, did you have a good time? I saw that the applications were open so I'm going for it. Could you make NSFW alphabet for Raphaël, please ? Have a good day, don't forget to take care of yourself and get some rest, it's important.
NSFW alphabet for Raphael.
-Hi, sweetie! I’m fine, just got vaccinated a few hours ago and resting a little. Yes!! I had a very good time, thank you so much for those sweet words. Take care of yourself too!
My apologes if there's any misspelling.
A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
He’s completely a sweetheart! He will give you a towel and a glass of water. He will kiss your forehead and whisper sweet things to you, he will propose to you to take a bath together, where he could massage your hair, neck, back and arms. Once you are in bed, he’ll read a book to you. His airy and charming voice makes you slowly fall asleep in his chest.
B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
He loves his thighs, letting you ride them, sit in them, bite them, slap them. Anything that involves his thighs makes him sigh. And in you, honestly your whole body, but he loves the way your hands touch him, no matter if it’s in a sexual way or not.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)
He’s really embarrassed when it comes to his own cum, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so he’s okay by just doing it inside you. He’s always quick to clean it when he cums outside. He blushes a lot when you propose to him to give him a head, he doesn’t deny it but he feels a little guilty as if he were forcing you to do it.
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Rapha has a few secrets from you, but he’s just too embarrassed to confess them. He read a few erotic books which made him fantasize about you and him recreating those moments together, making a whole scenario in his head about it. Of course he did masturbate after it, imagining your voice moaning for him, just for him.
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
He doesn’t have a lot of practical experience, but he read lots of erotic books and searched information about the sexual moment in a few books. He knows what he’s doing and tries to search your sweet spots just by hearing the sounds you made for him. “This feels good, hm?” he’ll ask, with a little smirk.
F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)
He loves, absolutely loves when you ride him, no matter if you’re taking more control or not. Also pegging him, the way he can hide his face between the pillows and make all the noise he wants. When he takes control, he likes doggy style, being able to feel all your curves with his hands, whispering how beautiful you are. He’s open to experiment any position!
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)
Neither one nor the other, he’s focused on making you feel good.
H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)
He likes to be groomed for the moment, he’s very clean himself and wants to make the moment comfortable for you.
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)
He likes the romantic aspect, he will make you feel every single part of your body filled with love. Everything he does feels intimate, he has a way with words to make you blush due the amount of praise. He holds you, no matter if it’s in a hug or just grabbing your hands, he smiles, he kisses your cheeks. He can stop whispering “I love you” everytime he reaches the orgasm.
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)
He used to do it quite a lot when he was single. Now he feels guilty when he does it, he prefers mutual masturbation in the library. He likes to touch you while you’re reading, chuckling when your voice starts to be shaky.
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
Praising kink, both giving and receiving. Edging, he’d find that he’s more of a masochist than a sadist. He has to experiment, but I’m sure that he’ll have more kinks.
L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)
When it comes to quickies, the library. He likes the risk of being caught by some of the guys of the mansion, then they would comprove that the old Rapha isn’t that pure. But if he wants to take his time, he prefers your or his bedroom.
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
Raphael loves to feel your body, that’s why he has you sitting on his lap (or you have him sitting in your lap hehe) almost every day. If you grind yourself in his lap, he will start to feel needy. Small touches in his thighs, the way you talk near his ear, he just can’t help but sigh. He’s touch starved and you will have a make out session while his hands grab your butt and make you close to him. The way your hands run around his chest, fingers brushing his neck, your legs wrapped around his waist, how small gasps leave your lips. The intimate atmosphere between you two makes him needy for you.
N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
I don’t think he’d be really down to do degradation, the idea of being cruel verbally just ruins the mood for him. He’s pretty insecure and degrading him won’t help anything. Also the idea of really hurting his partner just makes him angry with himself, he may be a little bit sadist, but at the moment he hears moans of not pleasure or the safeword, he stops and cuddles you. He apologizes for the next three minutes and asks you what you didn’t like so he doesn’t do it the next time.
O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)
He just feels euphoric when you suck him off, he’s so embarrassed but excited at the same time. He can’t stop begging for more. He moves a lot, that’s why you should grab his thighs to have him in place. The grip of your hands in his thighs only helps to make him feel close. You can hear the most beautiful noises coming from him, caressing and pulling your hair a little bit, even crying a little bit. Raphael is good at giving, his tongue always finding the spot to make you squirm, enjoying both of your taste and sounds. He can go down for hours, edging you and making you feel exhausted by the end of the night just by his tongue and fingers.
P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)
He likes starting at a slow pace, he’s always sensual. But when he just needs more, he starts increasing the speed until he’s repeatedly into you. When you’re the one in control, he also prefers slow to fast.
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
He likes them in the library, because there’s that exciting risk and he can’t wait to reach the bed and needs it at the right moment. He still needs the long session in bed to take more care of you haha.
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
He’s naturally curious and open to experiment. He likes taking risks, but he’s really embarrassed to confess it.
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)
He’s really sensitive and won’t last too long, but loves to push his limits to see how long he can do something without begging for a break due to the amount of pleasure. Probably 3-4 rounds, but with breaks he can go more rounds.
T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
Rapha doesn’t mind if you use toys, he never used them himself, but if you want to experiment with them in bed, he’s more than open to it.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
He just teases to turn you on, but then he gets all nervous and forgets what teasing is. Loves being teased tho :).
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
He’s surprisingly loud. He starts with small gasps and sighs, but finishes with high pitched whines. When he’s on top, he tends to recite the erotic or romantic phrases he read in some books, with a raspy and low voice. When he’s bottoming, he can barely think in coherent words, just “please” and “more”.
W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)
He can cream his pants really easily, and the idea of doing it just makes him more excited.
X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)
He’s more long than thick, with a tip leaning to the thick side.
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
Decently high. He gets turned on pretty easily and it’s down to do it at some moment. At week, probably 2 or 3 times. He adapts to your libido and will do it anytime you want, he doesn’t want to insist you to his own needs.
Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
If he’s exhausted, he snuggles with you and falls asleep in a matter of seconds. But if he has some energy, he’ll read a few chapters until he needs to sleep with you.
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cornerficus · a year ago
The Mechanic, 6
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Summary: The Mandalorian hires you to travel with him and make repairs to the Razorcrest. Despite being wary of this intimidating warrior at first, you quickly find he is far more reachable than you thought.
Set post season 3. We know Grogu’s name and Din is becoming more comfortable removing his helmet, the Razorcrest is still alive and Din and Grogu Djarin are still together, as god intended
In this chapter: tattoos, angst and FOREHEAD TOUCHES
Please see this incredible fanart by @kaylabeemarie for my visual inspiration for the camping scene
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
The work on the Crest is done. It’s been done for days, even the blasted push rod replacement that's been haunting you for months. You’ve been lurking in the wiring shafts, trying to come up with preventative work to do, but that has quickly run out too. Din hasn’t seemed to notice yet and you’re in no rush to point it out to him.
The issue of your length of residence onboard has never come up. In the beginning, you had too much work to do that it didn’t seem to matter. Then, slowly, you simply pushed the thought of an ending from your mind. Now though, it is unavoidable to contemplate your time with Din coming to an end.
Perhaps he’s changed his mind about only needing a mechanic for essential repairs. Perhaps he’d like to keep you for troubleshooting in the future. With an old ship like this and a lifestyle like his, it’s likely to need emergency work. But the fear of being wrong prevents you from bringing it up.
Until one day, docked on planet, you find Din removing the inner hull plates, rolls of some sort of fluffy material at his feet.
“How would you feel about adding insulation? Keep it a bit warmer outside of atmosphere,” he asks.
“I think you know how I feel about that,” you say, picking up another drill and moving beside him. “How can I help?”
“Take this one off,” he says, pointing to the next panel. When you’re halfway though, he speaks up again. “Thanks for helping, I know this is well below your paygrade.”
“Hah!” you bark a laugh. “Nothing is below my paygrade because you have never paid me,” you tease.
“We’ll settle up before you go,” he says, almost defensively. 
You’d never question his honor in paying you for your work, you were only teasing, but mention of leaving makes your heart stop. The opportunity is right there, too good to waste, so you turn it into another joke.
“So that’s why you’re finding work for me, huh? You’ll never have to pay me if I never leave?” Your delivery is tinged with more anxiety than you intend and the joke falls flat. He lowers the drill and looks at you.
“Anytime you want to leave, just tell me where and I’ll take you. But there will always be work, either now or soon.”
I’ll always need you, is what your greedy heart hears.
“Alright. I’ll stay, then,” you say and are proud of yourself for sounding much more casual than you feel.
"And who is this?" Cara Dune asks when you and Din walk down the ramp. You don't like the aggressive way she looks at you and have to remind yourself that she is Din's friend and probably as protective of him as you are.
“Mechanic, been fixing up the ship,” Din says shortly. 
Your head snaps around to look at him, not that you can get any idea of what the actual kriff he’s thinking underneath that helmet. That hurt more than you expected. Cara catches a glimpse of the incredulous look on your face before you can erase it.
“Sure,” she says slyly.
The job he’s enlisted Cara’s help for on this planet will take a few days, and Din is insistent that you and Grogu find somewhere to hunker down until it’s finished.
The intervening days are pleasant enough. The villagers are friendly and the weather is warm. You score some lightweight fabric at a flea market and fashion yourself a sleeveless V-neck. You befriend an alien who is also a tattoo artist, and when she offers you free ink, you instantly know what you want immortalized on your skin.
Even though he called you just his mechanic and even though he didn’t trust you enough to take you along on a job, no matter what happens to this chapter of your life, you will never, ever forget him and you will cherish the last twelve months you’ve spent with him. 
So you sketch out the skeletal mudhorn outline that’s stamped on Din’s armor and have her tattoo it on your sternum, right at the very center of you.
You’re in the market a few days later, talking with your tattooist friend, when you turn and see Din a few steps away, coming toward you.
“Mando!” you exclaim, your heart jumping. “You’re back!” You want to hug him, but are unsure how that would be received, so the fingertips that reach out simply tap his armor then retreat. You look back to introduce Kelee to him, but she is vanished. “Oh, you scared her away,” you say laughingly. “How did it go?”
“Fine. It’s finished. You look happy here. Want to stay?” he asks, but you can hear the smile in his voice and know it’s nowhere near a serious question.
Not without you, you think. Instead you shake your head and say, “I’m only happy because you’re back,” then bump your fist against his chestplate. When your arm falls back to your side, Din encircles your wrist with his hand and leans down to touch his forehead to yours in a gesture you interpret, perhaps generously, as: I missed you. You close your eyes to relish the feeling.
“I’m sorry,” he says without moving.
“For what?”
Finally he pulls away and releases your wrist. “For calling you my mechanic. Cara said that was not the right thing to do. I just didn’t want her prying. Not that it helped, she pried anyway.”
You shrug. “It’s ok.” And it is. You’ve taken this time without him to meditate on it. It would be wildly selfish to wish for anything more than this bliss, more than sharing his space and his friendship. So you won’t.
“What’s that?” Din asks, pointing toward your chest, where the tip of your tattoo’s horn is visible above the low neckline of your new shirt.
“Oh! Nothing!” You pull your hair over your shoulders in an attempt to hide it, suddenly feeling very foolish for daring to insert yourself into his clan by appropriating his symbol. “My new friend Kelee is a tattooist, I just got a... thing. Grogu missed you,” you say, to distract him, holding the child’s satchel up into his line of sight.
Din may not quite believe your poor lies, but he takes the child into his arms anyway. “Of course he did.”
The job is not quite as finished as Din thought it was, so the next day there is another discussion with Cara on a plan. They are going to split up again, but you will stay with Grogu on the Crest. 
Before Din flies off with his jetpack, you hook a finger through one of his gloved ones, a discreet and silent gesture of.... well wishing? solidarity? affection? All of them? You’re not sure, but letting him leave your presence without giving him one is suddenly unthinkable.
He uses that grip on your finger to tug you a little closer, and tips his helmet down to your forehead again. Your definition of the gesture changes from I missed you to You are important.
When the job is really and truly done, Cara walks back to the Crest to see you both off.
“Do you know what it means,” she asks, when Din is stowing cargo and cannot hear, “when he does that forehead thing?” She taps her hand on her forehead to demonstrate.
“I think so, but I’m not entirely sure,” you confess.
Cara laughs, which is not encouraging. “Maybe you oughta ask him. Because I can tell you right now, he will never ever come out and say it unless you do first.”
“Say what?”
Cara just rolls her eyes at you, and there isn’t another opportunity to ask.
You try it out, though, because it’s nice and it makes you feel like you really are a team (a family). You give Grogu a forehead tap every now and then, almost like a little kiss. Though you give him plenty of real kisses too.
They become commonplace between you and Din as well. Before parting ways, even if it’s only for a few hours while splitting up errands on supply runs, he taps his forehead to yours. 
One day, because you are distracted, he gets you in the temple instead and he huffs unhappily, so you grab his arm before he can walk away. You pull him down to give him a proper one, straight on, helmet to forehead. His gloved hand brushing your arm from shoulder to wrist in thanks makes you break into a sweat.
You’ve been flitting from planet to planet for over a year when you land on a peaceful temperate planet. After running your errands, Din takes the ship some distance away from the city and lands in a clearing amidst a forest of young, leafy trees.
You stop just off the ship and close your eyes, face tilted to the sun, listening to the sound of running water nearby. The air smells crisp and fresh.
Din says, “Think we’ll rest here for a week or so.”
“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up. “Laundry!”
Din chuckles. “If you ever want to stop, or stay somewhere longer, just say so. You’re not just a passenger. You have a say in our schedule.”
Our schedule. You like the sound of that.
You’ve spent weeks at a time seeing no one but Din and Grogu on the ship, but it feels so much more... domestic, to be camping simply for the pleasure of it. Today you take your dandelion tea and the child on your hip out to the river. You roll up your pantlegs to wade, feeling the small stones under your toes, and let Grogu play in the shallows.
Din wades in beside you, wearing no armor at all and the two of you laugh at the child’s splashing.
You playfully flick some water at Din, just to get his attention focused back on you for a moment. But the look of mischief on his face makes you shriek before he even completes his next move. He dives toward you and, wrapping his arms around you from behind, submerges the both of you under the water.
He doesn’t release you as you both break above the water again and you playfully pretend to struggle against him, laughing. His breath is very near your ear and his heart is beating against your back, the warmth of him pressed against you all the warmer for the chill of the river. 
Finally you tilt your head back onto his shoulder, admitting defeat. The sun is bright so you close your eyes and let your smile linger as your breath returns to you. 
His beard scrapes against your exposed neck for a moment, an accident, surely. You tilt your face a little more toward him, also accidentally, and his bowed head lifts slightly, the scratch of his beard, the tip of his nose, dragging up from your neck to just under your chin.
You hear a splash and look toward the sound, where Grogu has leapt off the shallow shelf of rock after a frog into the deeper waters. You and Din both reach out for him and pull him back above the water, into the safe circle of your embrace.
After a week of lounging on warm rocks by the riverside and taking meandering walks through the mossy swamp to find Grogu some slimy snacks, you know it’s getting nigh on time to go. But you suggest, “One more day?”
“Of course,” Din replies without hesitation.
You are in the water every day, perhaps trying to encourage a repeat of the scene from last week, but you don’t let yourself examine your motives too closely. So far you have been unsuccessful.
It’s a particularly sunny day, and you bathe in the river for the last time, wearing only underwear and the lightweight V-neck shirt you made for yourself on Inoru. You know Din will be too modest to be anywhere near during this ritual, so you make no real effort at modesty yourself. You bring Grogu with you to bathe him, though he dislikes getting his head wet and makes it hard for you with his wriggling.
But you scoop up some tadpoles from the shallows in your cupped palms and while he’s distracted with chewing, you make sure he is squeaky clean.
Later in the day, Din takes his turn in the river doing the same. You’d been on a walk in the forest with Grogu and when you return, you find Din sitting on a rock in the river, shirtless, though he is wearing his pants to wash them.
He’s bent over the water, gently scrubbing the cloth in his hands. You cross the river on some stepping stones and give him a wide berth, feeling awkward and intrusive. His back is to the ship though, so once you get far enough behind him, you let your eyes drift over to his naked back. 
The muscle in his shoulders bunch as he works at his laundry and, distracted as you are, you walk directly into the hydraulic pole of the ramp. You curse over the metallic clang.
“Watch your step,” Din drawls, without looking back, but you can hear the smirk in his voice.
“Quite the bruise,” he remarks later in the day, when your pantlegs are rolled up and you’re finding tadpoles for Grogu again. Din is sitting on a rock nearby, watching. You glance down at the big purple mark on your shin, where you’d smashed it into the ramp. You cut your eyes sideways at him with a warning glare.
“Weren’t watching where you were going?” The lilt of amusement is in his voice again.
“Just naturally clumsy,” you insist, and scoff when he laughs, but the delighted brightness of his smile dissolves any lingering embarrassment.
When you emerge from your cubby one day with Grogu in your arms and find all three of you have dressed in the same shirts, the ones you’d made for them with your own hands and skills, you laugh.
"Look at us. We look like a matched set,” you say.
Din looks bemused momentarily, but as his eyes travel over you, holding his child, his smile fades.
“We look like a clan,” he says.
"Did all Mandalorian clans dress alike?” you ask, your throat suddenly dry.
“Many, yes.”
"Makes sense, I guess. If you buy a swath of fabric, you’d make as many garments as you could from it,” you babble, plucking at your shirt and then Grogu’s matching one.
The thought clangs around in your head like a lone marble in a jar, the only thing between your ears, keeping you awake at all hours. The desire for it to be true burning through your veins like poison, the darkness of his gaze as it drifted over you like a caress and you wonder how much more of this you can take.
One day as Din is leaving the cockpit to put on his armor before entering atmosphere of another planet-- he’s been wearing less and less armor on board the ship, you’ve noticed-- you realize suddenly that his feet are bare.
Bare feet. If he was fully naked he wouldn’t be any more vulnerable. He trusts you, trusts your capabilities, fully and completely and it’s the highest praise you could ever dream up. So you stand in the cockpit entryway and watch him finish clipping on his armor and shove his boots on.
He comes to stand in front of you, intending on slipping past you and back into the cockpit, but you don’t move to let him by. The cockpit is a step up from the hold so his nose is level with your collarbones.
Instead you lean your forehead down and tap it to his. Just once, a quick thing, to perhaps give him a fraction of the message your heart is blasting throughout your body. Then you smile and step down to let him pass. Except he doesn’t.
With what appears to be a great deal of restraint, he leans his forehead down again to yours. It is the only point of contact between you, yet the intention behind it makes it feel like a full-body embrace. Your eyes close and you remain there, unwilling to move away from him. The angle changes-- did he? or did you?-- and his nose slides down yours. It’s involuntary, innate, for you to tip your chin up in breathless anticipation.
But then the contact is gone.
“What is this, here?” Din taps your chest with the tip of his finger.
You blanch as your eyes fly open, thrown off balance by his sudden absence and the unexpected question.
“What?” you say, playing dumb for time. He’s planted his hand on the wall next to your head and is leaning a little further into your space than usual.
“The tattoo you got on Inoru, what is it?” he repeats.
He knows. He already knows. You can tell from the calm tone of his voice, the levelness of his gaze. He just wants you to admit it. He must have seen it while you were bathing in the river. Your palms start to sweat, but the thought of lying to him is untenable, so you immediately confess.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have used it without your permission. I just... I didn’t know how long I’d be with you at the time and I wanted to think of you when I looked at it, to feel like I still had part of you with me,” the words come out fast and jumbled, until you realize just how much you’re revealing and stop short. “I can get it changed into something else--”
“No,” he interrupts. “I want you to have it.”
Your eyes, resolutely trained on his chestplate, jump back up to his. “You’re not angry?”
He shakes his head. His eyes are dark, the warm brown nearly engulfed by pupils blown wide and he swallows hard before he asks, “Can I see it?”
Your first thought is to lighten the atmosphere by talking about the quality of the work, but even though cutting the tension would be the safest route, you want something else more than you want to be safe in this moment.
So you watch his eyes follow your hand as you tug down the neckline of your shirt. Your face is hot, but having the full focus of his attention on you, having his warmth so near, you forget to be afraid. Despite the thundering of your heart, you find yourself craving that breathlessness, that full-of-anticipation, teetering-on-the-edge feeling and you forget to be afraid of falling the wrong way off of it.
Din reaches out and pushes your shirt down a little further, the pad of his finger dragging against the black ink underneath your skin, so he can see the very edge of the mud horn’s chin.
“This belongs to you, too,” he says. The sound of his voice is startling; dark and rusty. “Understand?”
You’re not sure you really do, but you nod anyway. You both linger there, unwilling to tip one way or the other. He searches your eyes, almost like he’s waiting for you to do something, but before you can figure out what through the fog in your brain, Din straightens and steps away from you.
“Strap in,” he says. “It’s time to go.”
*frustrated screaming*
@over300books @remmysbounty @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @starlite41 @stilledimperfections @keeper0fthestars @depresseddarth66 @the-scandalorian @velcromouth @itsthstoryofmylife @bookloverfilmoholic @cannedsoupsucks
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mintseesaw · 2 years ago
Mad Passion | 2
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Pairing: namjoon x reader Genre: arranged marriage au, smut, angst, fluff Word count: 14k Warnings: jealousy, possessiveness, graphic sexual content, unprotected sex Summary: As you become emotionally invested with your marriage, you have grown accustomed to being Namjoon’s wife. Not until you realize you barely have an idea what it is really like to be his wife.  *unedited
Part I | sequel 
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The midnight moon illuminates vibrantly on the clear, dark blue-ish sky— a clear view from the sky high cocktail bar and lounge, of which is about to approach its peak hours, serving exclusively to the hotel guests.
The four and a half thousand square foot space is indeed a perfect place to unwind minus the bustling crowd and unnecessary loud music. Among the tables neatly scattered in the open air terrace, the two men occupied the miniscule pavilion situated on the right corner of the sky high rooftop, the farthest possible spot from the little crowd growing as the night progresses.
Seokjin and Namjoon are currently on a business trip. Namjoon rarely joins him on his international-scale meetings one as he isn’t an expert of the global market of fisheries like Jin himself. This time, however, it was Namjoon who initiated the trip to meet a good number of businessmen to secure a majority vote on the retail corporation he had invested in several months ago. He was new to this particular field, which was why Jin was here with him. 
Jin was with him all through the course of said meetings. As Namjoon’s schedule abroad concluded today, it was safe to say the result of these meetings posed a good sign. Namjoon will soon take over another company. Of course, Jin wouldn’t let the night pass without them celebrating. He could’ve invited the rest of the group if they came along on the trip. So it was only the two of them who are celebrating, as Jin insists to call it. Namjoon could have turned it down, and calling his wife appeals to him more, but he really needs a proper drink even if Jin under the influence of alcohol means having to endure his annoying ass for an hour or two. “Your wife doesn’t have any idea on all of this, does she?” Jin nonchalantly asks, the alcohol cleansing his palate refreshingly from the numerous glasses he had. They had been in the pavilion for over an hour or two, he’s not certain.
Namjoon gave him a stern look, almost feigning innocence on the question his friend suddenly threw at him. “Know what?” There it was, the annoying side of Jin. Jin smirks, shaking his head. He could read his friend like the back of his hand. Amongst the group, he knows Namjoon the longest. Even with the passive expression he always wears, Jin could easily see through him.
“She doesn’t know? You’re screwed, Kim.” By now, both have already had a decent amount of alcohol in their system. The younger one, however, doesn’t appear as fuzzy as the older one. “She doesn’t need to know about my business affiliations. It would not matter what she would think of it.” He remarks, before emptying the liquor in his glass. His reply only made Jin snorted. “I bet you don’t.” He muses before continuing, “No doubt, it would be a pleasure to meet the woman who stole your heart. Hoseok told me a lot of things about you and her. I’d like to confirm it myself. After all, it’s been months since you secretly changed your marital status.” Also, he ought to know why Namjoon seems to talk too little about his wife, as if he was avoiding the subject itself. Namjoon’s eyebrow shots up. “Confirm what, exactly?”  “How smitten you are to the woman.” Namjoon leans his back on the couch, “Shut it, Hyung.” He shrugs, eliciting too little expression that only fuels Jin’s amusement further. Crossing his leg to the other, he continues to nag his friend. “I thought I’d never see the day, my friend. Have I not mentioned how surprised we were learning about your marriage in a newspaper?”
“You did, you couldn’t seem to move on from it, can you?”
“How can I? You didn’t even us at your wedding!”
“I already told you why.”
“Well, you have to give the girl a proper wedding. That is… if you already bear feelings for her.”
“There’s no need for that.”
“Did you ask her? Girls like those romantic shit.” Jin concludes, his own experience being his reference.
“The marriage is a part of the deal, Hyung.” He says in an indifferent tone, a pretense he had mastered through the years of his experience in the industry. Jin already knew the story behind his marriage, but the rare chance of pissing his friend off tempts him as always.
“If you don’t love the girl, you can easily get a divorce once you have secured the position. With the influence you have over the Korean government, there’s no way you can’t be granted a simple request.” Jin continues to press, enjoying the look of irritation growing on Namjoon’s face. Namjoon chose to keep quiet, distracting himself with pouring alcohol in his glass.
“What do you think the princess would feel if her castle has already been claimed by her King long before her father steps down on his throne?” Jin queries in a teasing manner.
“You forgot to mention she had long abandoned her throne. She already lost the title when she left.” Namjoon was quick to answer back.
Jin smirks, “Touché.” Namjoon purses his lips, letting the air be filled with silence. At the mere mention of the lost princess that is his wife, his mind wanders off. It’s been almost a week since he last saw his wife.  He misses her that no amount of alcohol could suffice. Although he consistently calls you every day, it was not enough to make peace with his mind. How should he converse with you to prolong the conversation? He loves hearing you talk endlessly, regardless of what it is about. The conversations feel restricted. Whether it was because of his intimidating self or you’re merely not interested to talk to him—he has yet to know why.
What is certain, though, is he will finally come home tomorrow.
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Mingyu quietly turns the ignition on the moment you climb inside the passenger’s side. Silence has awkwardly ruled between the two of you since two weeks ago especially when you don’t initiate a conversation, yourself. His actions are always calculated alongside the formality in his voice whenever you attempt to have a casual conversation with him.
And you figured, he might have been instructed not to entertain your friendly gestures, much less converse with you.
You find his awkward but formal disposition adorably hilarious, which sometimes make you laugh out loud, that in return, earns you questioning look from him.
Since his post as personal security detail two weeks ago, Mingyu always lingers on your whereabouts. The role he plays is obviously a college student, casually eating on a table far away from your usual spot, or pretending to read books in the library when you’re studying so he could unnoticeably guard you around. The pretense alone is a dangerous task, you presume, because he is an eye catcher and he has to stay low-profile not to gets busted.
You don’t even know how they can roam around the vicinity of the campus without alerting the security department. When you say ‘they’, you’re generally referring to the team of agents responsible for your well-being. After the incident involving your friend and one of them weeks ago, they have visually disappeared. But you were not that dense to believe they’re literally gone. For all you care, they are just scattered everywhere, pretending to be whoever they are. Namjoon is too smart to have the same men follow you around. If he intentionally wants to make you think he has removed an entire team in your care, he would strategically have new faces to do the job. As if Mingyu’s presence will make you believe that he’s the only person that guards you.
Until now, you couldn’t believe your husband selected Mingyu as your shadow amongst the couple of hundreds working under his security agency. Knowing he’s territorial when it comes to the male acquaintances you have, it makes you there’s an underlying reason for it. Perhaps, is it trap to test your loyalty? But the probability of it being true is too low, because why would your loyalty matter to him in the first place?
When Namjoon married you several months ago, not only has your life changed, but your feelings too. You used to dislike the thought of being forced into a marriage with him, with someone you barely know, with someone who has so many similarities with your father.
It wasn’t just a simple attraction that you have developed towards him, nor was the socio-economic status he has. There is not even extraordinarily admirable about his personality that could justify your feelings—that unavoidably blossomed through time.
He was not the typical guy, of course. Men his age are probably enjoying the time of their lives, partying and all that stuff or perhaps, struggling to even get a decent job that would financially support themselves. He was not the romantic type of guy. Sweet talks, knows how to make you feel giddy, charms his way to your heart— he is far from that. Strange, how he still unknowingly earns more brownie points the longer you live with him, despite the uncertainty.
The awkward tension between you two have improved after months of having formal and painfully monotonous interactions. Perhaps, the rare intimacy has helped you open up to him more casually.
Despite that, you couldn’t rest your mind with the fact that your relationship with him lacks emotional commitment.
While he has the money and power at such a young age, you have nothing but student loans and your father’s last name. While he sees to your every need, it was never really established what you two are aside from the arrangement of your marriage. Unfortunately, it was just that. There may be papers which legally conclude your matrimony as husband and wife, but there’s no certainty of mutual, requited feelings. Every single day that comes and goes around, you couldn’t stop yourself from wishing that the marriage had been alternatively a result of a conventional, romantic affair. Part of you wishes he could, at least, learn to reciprocate your feelings for him.
He asked you on a date before, the first and only one so far. It turned out as expected— a little awkward because he basically rented the restaurant leaving you two alone in the spacious, luxurious place which meant having to endure silence while he enjoys his food as you try to think of things that you could talk to him about. It was, nevertheless, sweet because you have not predicted he would be thoughtful enough to know the food that you like, having it served as the main course.
Since the date, Namjoon never really spoke about it or anything that may hint another one. You’re ashamed to even admit that you’re eager to know what he feels for you, now.
Has it changed?
It didn't take long before you arrive at the apartment.
Without waiting for your guard, you went straight to the bedroom, the same one you share with him. Despite his absence for six days, the scent of his signature perfume still lingers in the vicinity.
Heaving a sigh, you huff on the mattress, allowing your muscles to relax, and allow your mind to wander into nothingness.
Earlier, you magically crammed mind-draining essays due today as well as made progress on your provisions for your upcoming midterms. The mere thought of it all makes you want to take a nap before proceeding with your papers, again.
After a moment of silence, you decided to have a long, warm bath instead. It’s been ages since the last time you had one since you have a waiting husband in mind whenever you’re using the bathroom even though he has several spares in his penthouse.
You did just that. And about half an hour, the comforting and relaxing warmth seeping through every part of your body, and the peppermint scented diffuser further lets your mind float elsewhere. Before you know it, you have lurked farther into the depth of your endless thoughts, slowly leading you where darkness and dreamland meet. You woke startled by an endless sound of a familiar tone ringing. And as your eyes strained by the blinding light, you mindlessly search for the source. You couldn’t seem to find where it was coming from, although you know it was your phone. The mere sound of it tells it was not in the bathroom. Where did you place it, anyway?
Still dazed with the traces of your unsolicited nap, you carefully but swiftly climb out of the tub, grabbing the towel on top of the counter to quickly dry your body. You found it on top of the bedside table. The eerie silence inside the room made the sound echo all throughout, that you feel your ears bleed as it continuously rings.
Your thumb slides on the screen after you took a brief glance at the caller.
Your abandoned, dripping hair sticks irritatingly on your nape, soaking your towel as you forget to put on a robe.
“You’re not answering my calls.” Namjoon greets, his voice unrecognizably low.
What time is it there, again? You wonder. “Sorry, I dozed off in the tub.” You replied too quickly, words jumble in your mind as they stumble out of your mouth. Listening to the words seems wrong when you have come to understand what you said.
“You what?” He asks, sounding puzzled. A trace of concern laces in his voice more than anything, although you were too flushed to take the hint. “Uhh... Yeah, I fell asleep. Sorry about that...” You sheepishly falter. As you wait for his reply, you hear some shuffling instead on the other line. 
Your mind still is blank as white while struggling to come up with a better reply. 
“I heard that, but you fell asleep? In the tub? That’s not safe.” He probably just woke up. Perhaps, that must be why his voice is extra low, though he calls you every night and it sounded quite normal in his previous calls. “Right, I’m fine though. It’s not like I would drown or something.” You try to joke.
The silence lingers for a few seconds, before you hear him speak on the other line. “You should have rested instead of taking a bath.” He lightly scolds over the phone.
A chuckle bubbles past your throat, nodding in agreement. That was your initial plan. “I will...eventually.”
This time, you hear people talking in the background. He’s in his hotel room, right?
“Just about. I had a long day, spent most of my free time in the library. I presumed, Mingyu already told you that, right?”
At the mention of his name, you didn’t see the way Namjoon’s eyebrows rose, as something weak but ugly feeling stirs inside him. “Hanbin communicates with him.”
Your mouth fell into an ‘o’, nodding as if he could see you. “Oh, right. He’s fine, right? I mean you approved of him as my guard?”
“Yes. Why do you ask? I trust that you’ll tell me if he ever acts inappropriately and I’ll make sure—“
“No, no, he’s okay, I mean… uh, he’s actually really formal.” You stammer, slowly growing flustered at the way you have spoken about Mingyu. The subject itself doesn’t really interest you, it’s just that you don’t want him to be dragged into Namjoon’s territorial issues especially when he’s not around.
Not only is Mingyu a taller version of Namjoon’s physique, he is also as attractive as your husband, which didn’t matter to you as Namjoon pretty much owns your heart, that you didn’t choose to.
“Good. I’m also expecting you to behave while I’m gone.” He warns playfully.
You scoff, returning the playfulness of his tone. “When have I not?”
“Of course. You’re a good girl for me, yeah?” He casually prods although the impact of his words seem to have struck you somewhere. 
You bit your lip, started pacing back and forth with the towel as the only cover in your body. What would he feel if you tell him that?
You decided to change the subject, “Hey, listen… uh… I heard your birthday is approaching.” You begin, recalling the conversation you had with the housekeeper. This would be your first time spending his birthday with him.
“Uhuh...” He trails, silently telling you to keep going.
“Do you have plans for it?” You nervously ask, biting your nail in agitation as you kept going around the vicinity of the room.
Being a part of the elite social class means birthdays are extravagantly celebrated. You had them when you were young. Yet, Namjoon has not mentioned to you about his birthday plans, if he has any.
“Plans?” He echoes with a curious tone.
“I mean parties and stuff.” You immediately clarified back.
“Angel, I don't celebrate birthdays.” He says in a casual tone as if he was just telling you a random piece of information.
Taken aback by his response, you repeated what he said in a form of question. “You don’t?” Namjoon has not sensed the change of tone in your voice.
“I don’t. I have to go, baby. I will call you again. Hmm?” He didn’t even wait for your reply, ending the call right away.
He doesn’t celebrate his birthday? 
Namjoon, who obviously has all the resources in the world to organize the most luxurious social events, happens to have disinterests celebrating his birthday?
You mean, you have too little enthusiasm toward social gatherings but that doesn’t mean you don’t celebrate your birthday. Even when you barely have enough savings to pay for your bills, you couldn’t let your birthday pass without treating yourself or spending the day with your friends.
It sounds weird, at the same time, lonely to hear that he disregards such an occasion enough to make your heart tug painfully. He must have had a horrible childhood, you thought. Or perhaps, he’s merely not fond of any kind of celebration. It shouldn’t be a big of a deal, right?
Slight dismay washes through you at the abruptness of the call.
What is it about him being away that bothers you? Is it his safety, your safety or...his mere absence?
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For the nth time since Namjoon left for his business trip, you had slept through your alarm which only meant you were late again in your first class.
The day progresses rather slowly. When it feels like you’ve spent ages sitting inside the lecture theatre, barely listening to half the professor was saying turns out to be just a couple of minutes whenever you check the time on your phone.
After what felt like a day, your break comes rolling around. Bearing the effect of sleep deprivation, your walk towards the dining hall was unusually sluggish. Fortunately, Jihyo was already on the table of your usual spot waiting when you arrived. 
Your shadow has yet to make his presence known which seems odd as he always tail you far behind, at the same time, intentionally allowing you to spot him wherever he is.
With his height, you could easily see the top of his head through the crowd, only that you didn’t need to look around because he’s in front of you and Jihyo, slightly wide-eyed with Jackson on his left, the former seemingly forced to be here.
Your eyebrows narrow in confusion. Though your friends knew you’re being guarded by him, they never really showed intention to befriend him.
“What’s going on Wang? Mingyu-ssi?” Jihyo seems amused at the mere sight, holding back her laughter as she notices the discomfort written in the poor handsome boy’s face. Your bodyguard surprisingly fits well in his all black casual attire like as if he is sporting a bad boy college student vibe. You couldn’t even point anything suspiciously odd with the way he casually holds himself as if he has his own world, not minding others’ business.
Jackson plops on the vacant seat across Jihyo’s and drags Mingyu on the seat next to him. He obligingly follows suit.
“He seems nicer and harmless than the other ones, Y/N. Had to befriend him before he makes me his next target.” Mingyu gazes at him with his sharp gaze that strangely reminds you of your husband’s stare.
“I can perfectly hear you.” He formally says to your friend, which presumably meant alternative to warning him.
Jackson paid no mind on the harmless threat, giving Mingyu a friendly smack on the back instead. “I know, bud. I’m not the enemy here, is what I’m trying to tell you.” He quips, which made Jihyo chuckle in return. Mingyu peers in your direction, then goes back to Jackson’s and Jihyo’s in utter confusion.
He probably has no idea what transpired before.
“You didn’t know?” Jackson attempts to confirm with a question.
“What?” Mingyu immediately asks back.
His act of ignorance isn’t believable enough for you. On his first day as your guard, you were stunned at how proficient he seemed to be on his pretense for someone who barely knows his way around the campus as if he’s been here before.
Shaking the thought away, you chose to butt in, “Don’t give him ideas.”
Jackson’s eyes slightly widen in realization. “You’re right. Anyways, I’m officially inviting you to eat lunch with us everyday. Is it a yes or a yes?”
Mingyu stares at him, dumbfoundedly.
“Shut up, Wang.” Jihyo laughs and then turns her head to meet Mingyu’s curious eyes. “Ignore him, but you’re always welcome to sit with us, just in case you’re allowed to— you know, eat with us.”
You only nodded in agreement.  
If he ever considers it, he never showed any sign that he did as he ate silently the whole time while he listened to the three of you converse endlessly.
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Like the past few days, the home feels different and strange without the towering owner lurking around the spacious vicinity like the king, himself. Namjoon never really confirmed when he will be back. He had not brought it up again after he once mentioned that the trip would take him a week. Perhaps, longer? It’s been a week. You don't know how long you’d manage without seeing him. His absence, as you first thought, would be a sense of breather for you for the first time since the marriage happened. But as days rolled around, you only hope for the week to end so you could see him again.
The longer you ponder over the thought of missing him, the harder it is to ignore the ache on the pit of your stomach, and desire pooling between your legs. The temperature on your body feels strangely higher considering it’s not yet summer and the room is fully air conditioned like the rest of the apartment. Your hair was pulled up in a bun, clothes thrown haphazardly on the cold, bathroom floor as you skimmed inside naked without bothering to close the door.
You let the shower run as you gradually get used to the feel of the water on your skin, your body shudders ever so lightly as you step under the running water, cautious enough not to get your hair soaked in the process. Shortly after, your shoulders slug as the water finally cools down your body, your insides almost relaxing.
You drew a long sigh, eyes closing, loving the therapeutic sensation of water as it soaks your body.
It wasn’t until you felt strong arms encircling your waist from behind that the heat spirals back into your body, especially in your lower region.
Their clothed body molding perfectly against your naked back as they pull your body impossibly closed. It was too sudden, and you were probably too lost in your own thoughts that you failed to hear any strange sounds, footsteps even. A shriek of surprise went past your throat, harshly squirming in reflex. You're too shocked to process who it is until he made a hush sound, calming you down. His lips found your naked shoulder, further making himself known through his gestures. “It’s me.” The familiar voice whispers next to your ear. Your violent movements instantly halted, but the shock still is evident through erratic beating of your heart. “Joon?” you softly call, trying to peer behind to have a proper look on him. In a teasing manner, he kisses your other shoulder, ruining your intent while your body is kept locked on his arms. By now, his clothes are already soaked against your back as wet as your hair as the running water continues to shower you both. And just as his lips found your nape, his hand cups one of breasts, softly squeezing the mound, his fingers gently pinching the pink nub. Your hand mindlessly flew to the hand on your waist that is keeping your body close to his, gripping it tight enough that your knuckles are turning white. Your eyelids fell shut at the sudden sensation, biting your lip to suppress any sound from your throat. His hand didn’t stop the gentle tormenting on your breast, his warm, sinful mouth now assaulting the skin on your neck, sucking it until the spot turns purple. The mere contact is enough to make you dizzy in need, intensely lighting your long overdue desire. And then the sensation stops all at once, his hand gone and his nose nuzzling your now-soaked hair. “J-Joon...” you softly beg. He didn’t answer, yet you could hear his ragged breathing, his crotch pressing hotly on your back. “Please,” you impatiently murmur. “Hmm...” Hums Namjoon, feeling his lips on your temple. “Please let me see you,” Your voice almost breaks. It’s been a week since you last saw him, his absence certainly overwhelmed you achingly.
His lack of response drives you into frustration. Then he swiftly spins you around, his hand on your hip pushes you further until your back is pressed flat on the cold tiled wall. Palms planted on either side of your face, entrapping you.
Your mouth left agape at the sight of him. His soaked white dress shirt, clinging to his torso like a second skin, further accentuating his lean body, his dripping wet slacks evidently showing the bulge of his arousal. Your mouth instantly waters at the sight, suddenly wanting to feel it under your touch, have your mouth and tongue taste him.
But you were too nervous to initiate a move. He continues to torment you under his wanton gaze, as if challenging you to protest against his captive. His eyes then roamed over the length of your body, feasting the view beneath his lashes, “Beautiful.” His fingers caught your chin, tilting it so he could look into your eyes.
His mouth draws nearer, until it lands on the wet skin of your cheek. He mumbles against your skin, “You have no idea how much I missed seeing your pretty face. Did you miss me, sweetheart?” Your eyes closing shut, nodding. “Yes,” You manage to say, while finding the strength to rub your palms sensually on his forearms that would hopefully coax him to initiate a move. He only hums in return, to your dismay. The running water from the shower head has stopped. Namjoon probably turned it off although it was too late as his whole body is already dripping with water.
His mouth is so close to yours, teasingly hovering over the corner of your mouth. When you ever so lightly tilt your head to the side, your lips caught his supple ones. Your delicate fingers found his cheeks, deepening the kiss. A groan vibrates on his chest, the weeks worth of abstinence has not been too kind for him, and he would undoubtedly break you if he suddenly loses the control he’s been nurturing instead of his desire.
Your actions, however, are doing so little for your own good. To your dismay, he was reacting too little, maintaining a minimal response. “Joon, please...” You mumble in between kisses.
“What do you want, sweetheart?” “I-I... I want you.” You moan, your voice almost failing you from the overwhelming heat of your desire.
The burning ache on his abdomen only intensifies at the mere sound of your begging. “You have me.” He says back in a soft voice, nuzzling your cheek while keeping a safe distance between your bodies. When your hand dares touch his crotch, a low growl rumbles on his chest, swiftly catching your hand on his, restraining your very intention. Tears pool in your eyes in desperation. And as much as you want him to fuck you senseless right this second, the desire to taste him was too intense and stronger to just set the thought aside. “Let me touch you... Joon, please...” His breathes quicken, refusing to entertain your offer. But it didn’t mean his desire is not spiraling wildly, his member twitching painfully the more your pleas feed his ears. His head momentarily threw back, and you use it as an opportunity to shuffle on your knees, your hands quickly found his crotch. Taken aback by your bold eagerness, he hisses harshly as your delicate fingers found his bulge. His intent to drag you back on your feet vanishes as he took in the sight of his naked goddess— blazing eyes returning his stare while hovering over his sensitive arousal. “Fuck, sweetheart.” He curses when you impatiently palms him while your other hand trembles as it attempts to unbuckle his belt. Helplessly murmuring, “Help me...” when you couldn’t seem to do it on your own. At your helpless plea, Namjoon quickly came to rescue your little dilemma. No more than a second, his large hand swiftly unbuckles his belt, your hand greedily undid his buttons, and tug his boxers enough to release his hard member. A gasp falls on your lips, taken aback at the sudden jolt of his thick cock against his stomach before your eyes. Surprise at the size of it, your insides clenches achingly, wondering how it had fit inside you before. But realizing why his entrance burns your insides despite your wetness, his huge cock filling you would extremely stretch your walls to fit himself.
You have seen it so briefly before on your first night together, but you haven’t had the time to admire it as Namjoon took you so urgently.
Your mouth waters at the sight of a glistening pink head, your cold, delicate fingers coming in contact with his slick member to wrap themselves around his thickness.
The subtle touch of your fingers felt too good. If it’s possible, his brown eyes only grew darker, that they are almost black now. Your mind is in shambles as both of your hands gently pump their way up and down his length.
His hips stutter at your ministration. As Namjoon falls into a state of euphoria, his head is thrown back, palms glued on the wall behind you to prevent his strength from crumbling. Drawing your lips near, your tongue did an experimental lick at the glistening pink head. The harsh intake of breath you heard from him coax you further, swiping the underside of his length with your tongue before slowly taking him in your mouth. ”Fuck!” He growls so sexily at the feel of your warm mouth. You felt his cock twitched, hips bucking at your warm, inviting mouth. Then you suddenly felt your bun loosens, followed by the pull of your hair as his fingers thread into your soaked hair.
“That’s it, pretty slut.” He breathlessly praises. He draws back before filling your mouth full again. His sensitive tip touching your throat has you moaning rather erotically which only turns him on further.
He is huge, and despite willingly taking him down to your throat, the length of his cock couldn’t possibly fit all inside your mouth. Your eyes closing for a moment, suppressing the urge to choke.
“Such a good little slut for me, aren’t you sweetheart?”
Namjoon’s grip on your hair tightens, manipulating the pace to his desired speed. You didn’t care, because his pleasure matters to you more at this point.
When he glides his cock back inside, you hollow your cheeks just in time, tight enough to have him nearly gasping his next breath.
You let him fuck your mouth slowly, until he picks up a pace. Assaulting your mouth with the intrusion while mixture of your saliva and his arousal continues to leak out of your mouth.
The sounds of pleasure you hear from him only intensifies your own arousal, your stomach heating up each time your core achingly clenches.
The darkness in his eyes and the way curses recklessly stumble out of his beautiful mouth while you suck him raw takes your breath away. You’ve never seen him this vulnerably clouded in pleasure. And you’d willingly let him fuck you again this way if it means having to witness him this helpless while he chases the feel of your mouth. Your eyes never left his as you peer up from your knees. The more you listen to his pleasure, the harder you want to take him in.
When you felt it twitch again, you deliberately took him deeper until you’re nearly choking.
Namjoon has had his fair share of women— all of whom are experienced, knew their way to pleasure him. But the goddess beneath him—his sweet angel, the woman of his dreams and dirty fantasies unknowingly had him at his mercy.
The addicting warmth and suction of your mouth pulling him further into the depth of bliss. “No, angel—” He rasps in between rapid breaths, wanting to prolong the fire until he gets to fill his favorite addicting hole, so tight, he could already taste the feeling.
You whimper, “No…” You wanted it so much. The thought of him cumming undone inside your mouth is a dirty fantasy you suddenly wish to fulfill right now.
“We’ll save it up for when I’m inside your tight pussy.“ He breathes, pulling you up and bracing you against the wall. Your thighs wobble from your previous position.
His eager mouth captured yours, harshly sucking your bottom lip, teasing it as his teeth gently pierces through your bruised lip.
He could taste himself in you as his tongue thoroughly laps the inside of your mouth. Until he moves down to your jaw, his tongue tracing his tracks down to your neck onto your already purple skin while his fingers found the pink bud of your breast. It was what made you react so sexily, moaning helplessly, burying your fingers in his hair tightly as his teeth punctures the skin then laps the area soothingly.
Your body continues to heat up in his ministrations despite the cold atmosphere in the bathroom, certain that your arousal now visibly pools out of your core to your thighs.
Your fingers hastily unbutton his dress shirt, impatient to reveal his bare torso for your eyes to feast on. But just about you had undone the last button, he crouches, robbing you of the chance to admire his body. His mouth encloses on your hard pink bud, his tongue teasingly encircling on the crown of your breast as his other hand works simultaneously, squeezing your mound inside his palm.
The sensitivity of your breasts adding up to the sensation of his mouth and hand is too much, panting as you struggle to catch your breath. Until his head lowers farther down, tracing his way down with his open mouth kisses.
Namjoon swiftly pulled your thighs apart, hooking your thigh over his shoulder to see all of you.
The mere sight of your sex could already tell how turn on you are, but it wasn’t enough for him. His fingers part your folds, dipping his thumb to feel your arousal. “Ah, you’re dripping, baby. Is this for me, hmm?”
His head lowers more, mouth hovering your pubic bone, teasingly planting sloppy kisses there.
The rapid intakes of your breath did not go unnoticed by Namjoon. A devious grin spreads on his lips as his thumb starts assaulting your clit enough to have your legs trembling from bliss. The reaction he seeks from you were generously poured out of your mouth.
“Yes god. Joon please—” Your hips jerking, needing more friction than what he’s giving. He was quick to restrain your movements, pushing your hips flat against the cold wall. Your whines of frustration soon echoes inside the bathroom.
Namjoon draws his mouth nearer, his nose erotically nuzzling your front sex that you could already feel his warm breath, “You smell exquisitely alluring, angel.”
Your anticipation shortly turns into desperation, continuously sobbing his name. Your heavenly pleas were enough to give you what you want, Namjoon willingly rewarded his tongue on your clit, licking your nub so good your eyes clenched from the sudden spark of sensation.
“So sweet…” he mumbles appreciatively, before sucking the sensitive nub in his warm mouth. The act alone has you panting in pleasure.
“Ahhh! Joon—fuck!” Your fingers quickly found his hair, your grip tightening the harder he sucks and laps your clit. You were drowning in need, darkness fills your vision as they remained shut, focusing on the sensation brought by his mouth’s ministrations. You could feel yourself leaking, and made it easier for him to slide his fingers inside your aching core, rubbing and curling them until you're visibly writhing. Cries of pleasure continue to pour out of your mouth.
“Ah! Joon! Oh god!”
Your beautiful sounds alone could bring him to hilt, his cock painfully growing harder, merely listening to you as his mouth and fingers drive you oblivion.
The painful tug of your fingers on his scalp as they tighten their grasp on his hair signals your forthcoming orgasm.
“That’s it, cum for me, little slut.” He mumbles against your sex, the vibration of his mouth against your core sending you further in the brink, as the knot of pleasure building up in your stomach snaps. You cry out, his name the only thing you can articulate of, as you climax deliciously against his mouth. Hips grinding to ride out your orgasm.
Namjoon greedily lap every bit of your sweet juices, while his thumb strums your clit to prolong your orgasm. He didn’t stop, not even when he hears you whining from overstimulation. He only withdrew his mouth on your core when you finally met his gaze, coming back from your high.
Your fingers raking his wet locks out his face as it keeps the span of his forehead hidden, wanting to see all of his pretty face.
Namjoon stood, his knees skillfully bracing you flat from the wall. He yanks his soaking, white top off his body, discarding it there before doing the same thing to his slacks proceeded by his boxers, revealing his perfectly honeyed skin body. This is the first and only time you had seen him completely naked right before your eyes.
The two of you sharing an expansive closet lets you have a glimpse of his naked torso once in a while, sometimes him adorning a pair of boxers while he selects his working attire for the day. But those times were always short lived, you shying away from staring for too long than casual glances.
From the intimate instances you had with him, you never had the opportunity to appreciate his nudity. Your eyes glint with pure admiration, seeing all of him now in front of you. Your tongue dazedly darted out to wet your lips, feasting purely on his body.
Namjoon yet again found your lips, his tongue unsolicitedly invading your mouth, fighting for the dominance which you willingly gave up. He took your responsiveness as an opportunity to pull your body in his embrace, your legs following on their accord as they automatically weave themselves around his hips over his back, your hands finding purchase on his nape. His very arousal pressing on your stomach has you moaning against his greedy mouth.
Namjoon gracefully carried you all the way out towards the bedroom, completely dazed in his kisses.
He didn’t let go of your lips all the way out, not until he dumps your wet body on the mattress. Namjoon kneels on the foot of the bed, hands grasping on your hips to flip you over.
“On your knees, sweetheart.” He commands.
A sound of what he initially recognizes as a moan tears out of you. He plants a small kiss to your hip, before he hears you object, “No!”
“I want to see you,” You whimper, pulling his face closer, fishing for a kiss.
A smirk slowly made its way on his face, eyes darkening at the sight of you helpless in his mercy.
“You want to see me while I fuck you, is that it?” He trails, pulling your thighs apart, crawling his way between your thighs.
His nose nuzzles yours teasingly, hovering over your mouth.
Heaving a sigh in contentment, you nod. “I miss you...”
“Do you, now? Or... you only want to be fucked hard?” He murmurs, mouth ajar as it tormentingly touches your lips.
Your forehead creases in a frown, “That’s not true.”
“I’ve never seen you this needy before, Y/N. Tell me, what do you want me to do?” His fingers brushing wet locks away from your beautiful face.
“Please, fuck me...”
He nods, gently bucking his hips to slide his length on your slit. “Is this enough for you, sweetheart?” You whine helplessly.
“Joon, please… just fuck me!” Plea pours out of your mouth in complete devastation. His warmth doing nothing but fuel the ache in your core as it clenches in wanton need of friction.
You beg more and more, the longer he teases you. Namjoon lowers his head further in the crook of your neck, his teeth and tongue alternately grazing and soothing the sensitive skin. The sensation feel achingly erotic, until he not so gently bit your skin, enough to leave a mark. The mere distraction made you almost forget his tip on your entrance, until he thrusts so hard your eyes closed from the undesired pain, stretching you far too much.
“Joon—“ Your moan stifles, crying out at the painful intrusion. Tears brim in your eyes as his length stretches you fully, your slick wetness welcomes him in a swift but burning entrance. He captured your lips, somehow distracting you from the unavoidable ache of your union.
You almost didn’t want him to move from the burning ache of your walls around him. He rocks ever so gently, eliciting a sound of pleasure from you. The burning ache didn’t subside, but as he prolonged the small pace he started, you became used to the pain, chasing the tiny pleasure that comes with each thrust he gives.
The sounds you continuously emit signals him to keep going, until he picks up a pace. Soon after, sparks of euphoric bliss came shooting within your core, numbing the pain.
Your lustful gasps and his grunts were in unison as you both get used to the delicious friction of your intimate union.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” You deliriously moan when he suddenly pushes your thigh up on his shoulder, allowing his cock to plunge farther into your warm, tight depths until you’re writhing, your sounds were music to his ears further pulling him deeper in euphoria.
The feeling of your tight walls gripping around his cock is such a sweet, addicting sensation. The deeper he hammers into your core, the closer he gets to chase down the delicious spark of his pleasure. The new angle allowed him to discover the places untouched, thus finding your sweet spot, that has you rolling your eyes in the back of your end. Toes curling as sparks violently shoot through your core, intensifying the knot that holds your desire.
“I’m— oh yes, right there!” you gasp, “Fuck!” Your fingers tightly thread on his hair, mouth greedily seeking his attention.
“So fucking tight, sweetheart. You feel so good around me.” Namjoon growls in between sloppy kisses against your mouth. 
“So good… Joon, please... don't stop!” You sob, getting lost at your pleasure as you desperately chase the end.
Namjoon rolled his hips incredibly faster, ramming through you endlessly making you shudder from the intense sensation.
You could feel it, so close.
The violent pushes and pulls of his hips didn’t stop, rapid plunges in and out of your depths until the pleasure came rushing from the pit of your stomach.
“Joon!” You moan, the knot finally twisting, waves of euphoria shattering through your trembling body.
Namjoon’s hips stutter, savoring the feel of your clenching walls around, nearing his high. “Angel—fuck!” A long, carnal sound vibrates on his chest, as he picks up his speed while your insides tremor at the intensity of your orgasm, ferociously thrusting his cock so fast as he chases his own climax, and shooting his liquid generously inside you. His mouth attacks your breast to counter his sounds of pleasure. 
Your whimpers echo in the room, the post-orgasmic bliss mixes with the stinging sensation brought about by the love bites he generously marked on your skin slowly pulls you back from oblivion, while you listen to your pants and his rapid breathing.
When he finally comes back to his senses, his tired eyes briefly surveys your length. Your body remains still as your eyes are closed shut, chest rapidly rising and falling. Assuming you dozed off, he carefully untangles his limbs off of you to clean you up before tucking you in.
As he climbs off the mattress, your hand manages to grip his arm in time. “No, don’t go.” He hears you breathlessly whimper.
You look spent— satiated even. He could clearly see your eyes as they struggle to open still. He retreats back on the mattress, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He reassures you in a soothing tone. A sigh went past your lips in relief. You gave him a subtle nod, trusting his words.
“I miss you,” You croak, you were just so tired, and sleepy. But you can’t seem to move on from missing him too much for the past few days.
He could see it in your eyes, the vulnerable side of you in the aftermath of the lovemaking.
“I know, baby.” He whispers close to your ear as he strokes your hair in a comforting manner.
His touch, so gentle in contrast to how he rammed you to the hilt minutes ago. It was as if he was cooing you to sleep. Few moments later, your consciousness slowly shrinks, finally succumbing to darkness.
The next moment your eyes open, the first thing they search around is him. His side of the bed is empty. And the moment you dared to move, you instantly felt the ache in your muscles and the numb feeling in between your thighs. Then your eyes noticed a shirt, which you have on. Just by the size of it, you knew it was Namjoon’s but you don't ever remember putting it on before you fell asleep.
How long have you been sleeping?
It was dark in the room, the dim lights supporting just enough so you could see your way through the room.
“Joon?” You call out, looking around the room. There’s no sign of him— until your ear caught a distinct clinking of glass, your gaze instantly landed on the very subject you were seeking for.
At the sound of you calling his name, his head snaps, instantly meeting your gaze as you struggle your way towards the corner of massive room.
He wore a pair of plaid pj pants and a plain white shirt similar to the material that covers your body now. His messy hair tells you that he had pushed back his locks more than once. His isn’t this long before, and you wonder how many regular haircuts he had abandoned to have it this long. With how endearing he looks with his hair, you made a mental note to have your way to stop him from cutting it any time soon.
When you shifted your gaze away as you near the stone coffee table, you saw there on top, a glass container of expensive alcohol, a liquor glass and an ashtray which made you turn your eyes back at him. You didn’t notice the stick in between his fingers right away.
“Angel,” he greets in a curious tone, surprised to see you awake.
“You’re not asleep.” You say, your stare following his fingers as he inhales a long draw through the stick before crushing its end against the ashtray. Smoke coming out of his mouth and nose as he exhales.
His hand caught yours, coaxing you to sit on his lap. His fingers brushing away your hair out of your face. “You okay?” His surprisingly gentle tone laces in concern.
You only nodded in reply, willingly obliging onto his embrace. Your thighs curling on his lap as his arms instantly pull you on his chest, preventing you from falling off.
The lingering smell of cigarette and alcohol from his breath mixed with his natural scent wafted through your nostrils as you find yourself burying your face on the crook of his neck. You didn’t know it could smell this intoxicating on him. As if your core is not literally burning enough from the intimacy earlier, you could feel yourself slowly leaking, core clenching painfully at the thought of his thick length inside you.
His hand rests on your back, the other on your thigh, the warmth in his body enveloping you from the cold.
You tilt your head to the side, “I didn’t know you smoke.” You say in dazed of your growing desire.
“Hmm, does it bother you?”
You didn’t answer. But let yourself drink in his exquisite smell.
You felt his palm soothingly rub your back, “You should rest, I’ve worn you out.” You cheeks heating up on his mere words.
Your lips pressing tiny kisses there, on the skin of his neck.
He stills, recognizing the intention of your sweet gestures. “Sweetheart—“
“Please, make love to me Joon.”
He sighs, “I was not gentle with you, sweetheart, it’s too soon for you.”
His shirt crumples beneath your fingers, “I want you.”
The way you beg him to take you made him forget how he was striving to control himself to fuck you again and again, until his needs are temporarily sated.
He was not gentle and the aftermath of the intimacy surely left traces of pain from how tight your core is. It was the reason why he’s now several glasses in from liquor, distracting himself because it’s too soon to satisfy the urge have his addicting vice.
With your plea, his restraint vanishes so quickly, giving you what you had begged for.
He took you there on the couch.
You were clinging onto him, urging for him to fuck you harder. Your sweet moans, your stinging bite marks on his shoulders, and your warm, tight core choking his cock brought him to the hilt. Cumming in the depth of your insides raw and hard. The thought of you bearing his child briefly feeds his mind as his liquid mixed with your juices gushes out of your core.
The alcohol, being the source of his early distraction, fail to restraint him to fuck you, again. For the third time of the night, you willingly gave yourself in to his carnal needs. Despite the evident ache in your muscles all throughout your body, his touch, his kisses and the pleasure he made you feel were enough to coax you.
The next morning, you unquestionably feel horrible. You could feel your head throb, and the slight attempt of moving made you whimper in pain. The burning sensation in your core is difficult not to miss as much as the ache in your body.
Namjoon is nowhere in sight and as much as you want to come search for him, the blinding light seeping from the floor to ceiling glass wall made it such a heavy task to do so.
What time is it?
You inwardly groan at the thought of missing your classes. You have done it a lot of times before that you literally couldn’t afford to miss some more.
Feeling the exhaustion from your body, you dozed off some more and only stirred awake when you felt something on your face.
With your eyes closed, you know it was no other than your husband. His hand moves from your face to your hair, gently stroking and raking your locks away from your face.
When the afternoon break came approaching, he paid a short visit to the room to check you in. He didn’t come to his office today, shifting his appointments through digital meetings in his study.
He’s been watching you for a few minutes now. Worry creeps into him, the intimate activities must have drained your energy empty. He mentally reminds himself to be gentle to you next time.
“Hey,” Namjoon suddenly hears you greet. His gaze lifted toward your eyes.
A smile slowly spreads on his lips.
“Good afternoon, sweetheart.”
He laughs when you groan, shutting your eyes closed in distraught as you realized it is indeed late.
Frowning, “I missed my classes.”
“You did. Your friend called this morning, I answered the call and told her you’re unwell.”
“Yes. Perhaps, you’ve rested enough?” You nodded.
Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the only time you missed most of your classes just because you were too tired to get up in the morning.
He didn’t falter the following days. Taking you one way or another. You even thought he would finally be sated with his needs after several days. You’re wrong. Because the more you allow him to touch you, the more he wants to take you shamelessly just about anywhere he can make his advances. “Joon, we’re in the kitchen.” You manage to say as his hand slides inside your sweatpants one Sunday evening. You‘re heating up a pasta that was abandoned several hours ago, starving from fulfilling your other needs. Miyoung must have kept the food in the fridge when she realized the two of you have no intention to eat the supposed lunch. Namjoon tags along, watching you prep the food in the microwave until he decides touching you seems like a better idea. His fingers almost there, where they were earlier on the bed, and if you weren't too hungry and spent, you would probably let him do you here. Your hand grips his arm tight, restraining whatever intention he has. “No one is here.” He insists, lips assaulting the skin on your exposed shoulder. The bulge of his crotch pressing on your back, feeling the evidence of his growing arousal.
A mere slave to his touch, you appeal, “Joon, can we eat first? I’m hungry,” when you feel his other hand sneaks under your shirt. His movements gradually took a pause, sighing in defeat. He kisses your temple before letting you eat in peace.
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“Listen, can I talk about something?” Mingyu gave you a brief glance, although he seems to have his focus fixed in front as he drives you back home. “Of course, Mrs. Kim.” He says politely. Your face scrunches up. “I told you to call me Y/N.” That was on his first day, you instructed him to address you by your name when Hanbin introduced you to Mingyu as ‘Mrs. Kim’. Mingyu nods without returning your gaze, “I could, but I’m not sure the boss would be thrilled to hear I’m on a first name basis with his wife.” He could be right. But you choose not to voice it out. Shrugging, “I’m sure he would not mind.” “You don’t want the boss to get mad.” He states as a matter of fact, then adds, “What do you want to talk about, anyways?” You shifted in your seat, slightly angling your body towards him. “So, do you guys know what time Namjoon usually comes home?” He didn’t speak right away, eyes narrow hearing your question.
“Hanbin does not tell me that sort of information, unless it’s necessary. My job is to guard you, anyway. Why do you ask?” There was something in his demeanor that changed, or was it your mind playing tricks on you? “I... Uhm...” You fumble through the right words that could explain your plan, but all you had come up with is a simple reassurance of his participation. “Can I trust you though? You know... not to tell him?” He clears his throat and shuffles on his right earpiece. Your eyes caught it. Is someone speaking on him through it? “I’m not sure, we don’t keep a secret to the boss.” He responds, shortly. Part of his job requires him to disclose your activities and anything related to your safety. Entertaining your antics might put him in serious trouble. Your eyebrows rose. “Ever?” You ask, testing the water. His cooperation would really help you out.
His forehead creases, sizing up your words whether it’s a trap or just some white lies far from a threat to his job. “Are you questioning my loyalty, Mrs. Kim?” The thing is, as the conversation prolongs, it would be difficult for him to avoid trouble, he thought as he fails to understand your purpose.
“No. Just... it’s a different kind of secret.” Your voice falters. If you want to keep a secret, why should you drag him with it? “A secret is a secret. It would cost me my job, you know.”
Your eyes roll as if you don’t know that. He’s not even letting you talk before deciding on his own. You wouldn’t even bother telling him if you don’t need his support to pull off your plan, how will you buy stuff without him tipping it all off to Namjoon’s right hand man. Speaking of which, perhaps, you shall consider tagging Hanbin along in your plan. Heaving an exaggerated, you convince him further, “It's not something bad, will you hear me out? You won’t be in trouble if you keep it a secret. Just promise me you won’t tell him?”
He didn’t look at you, nor made an effort to acknowledge it. “Hear me out first?” You try again when he seems doubtful. His focus was clearly on the road as he shows clear disinterest to listen to you.
“Fine then...” You surrender, crossing your arms.
Silence filled the air inside the car all throughout the journey home, with you frequently shooting childish glares in his direction the entire time. When Mingyu expertly maneuvers the car on the garage, you quickly climb off the car fully intending to ignore him just so you could stir guilt in him because you couldn’t directly admit you need his help.
Unexpectedly, Mingyu catches up with you and suddenly offers, “We can talk tomorrow. On your break.” Then he sprinted toward the flight of stairs instead of usually taking the lift  before you could even process his words. 
He changed his mind that fast?
Out of curiosity, you did try to talk to him again during that night but you couldn’t get a hold of him. And going to the basement where the team camps in could raise suspicion so you waited until tomorrow.
The following day, you notice an unfamiliar guy adorning a similar all black uniform. It does not bother you though since your husband owns a whole agency. However, Mingyu didn’t show up and was replaced by a new one. Although questions start stirring up in your mind, you never really voiced out your concerns to anyone.
When you got home that night, you attempted to wring out an answer from Namjoon. You didn’t need to find him because the moment you returned from uni, he was at the foyer with Hanbin, backs facing your direction. By the mere looks of it, he was sort of giving commands to his right hand man, something you couldn’t properly hear what it is about.
“Hi.” You finally speak, catching both of their attention. Namjoon made a gesture in his hand, dismissing Hanbin while you approached his tall figure.
As Hanbin passes by you, he sends a polite nod to your direction as a greeting, before disappearing from one of the doorways.
With a few steps forward, Namjoon met you half-way, eyeing you up and down. “Sweetheart,” He murmurs while swiftly reaching for your hand, to pull you in for a kiss.
It wasn’t even just a peck. His lips have instantly dominated yours, making sure he sucked and licked your lips enough to have you catching your breath when he drew back. Your cheeks instantly flame at the sudden ministration. You couldn’t even keep an eye contact with him, too embarrassed with how quickly your body reacted to his lips. Unlike you, Namjoon still wear a passive expression, not even a single affected by the kiss. Of course, he did more than just a kiss to you before. Keeping a safe distance from him, you took a step back. “You replaced Mingyu?” You begin inquiring. Out of all the things you can ask, it has to be the very reason for his anger. He didn’t seem one bit pleased to hear you mention your bodyguard’s name instead of asking how his day had gone like your usual opening question during dinner. “I did, should it matter?” He answers with another question. Nervous by the intensity of his stare, you shrug, “I was just wondering why he’s not around.”
It’s true. If Mingyu didn’t promise the talk today, you wouldn’t be this curious. “He’s back in the headquarters.” Namjoon briefly provides.
But the information was too short to rest your mind in peace. Why did he suddenly removed him as your guard? “Oh, okay.“ Something tells you, it’s not all of that. Mingyu’s absence, for all you care, could be anything work-related or personal as long as the boss is concerned. You‘re already aware that Namjoon does not take jealousy too lightly, and somehow you’ve presumed Mingyu will inevitably be victimized under Namjoon’s territorial behavior. The problem is, you couldn’t seem to think of any instance that would make your husband jealous. Unless... Namjoon knows something else you’re not aware of.  “Will he come back here?” You ask further, nervously fidgeting your bracelet while surveying his expression. His eyebrows knitted for whatever reason, significant or not. “No.”  “Why not?” Namjoon cocks his head to the side, his now pitch black eyes strangely spoke with raw emotions you couldn’t tell what exactly is. “Tell me one good reason why he should be here...” He suggests with a nonchalant tone. Unknown to you, his patience is shrinking as he lowers his head to eye you with his tense stare. You didn’t understand what it is for, but you couldn’t help your body as it faintly shudder under his stare. “I’m just curious—”
“How many secrets of yours have you told the boy, Y/N?” Your heart momentarily stops at the mention of your name. Because he rarely calls you by name.
Is he referring to the conversation you had with him yesterday? “W-What... do you mean?” The cold temperature couldn’t even cease the rising tension between you two. “You perfectly understand what I mean.” He answers right away, locking his gaze to you. Making sure you could see the way his eyes flicker with fire. Mingyu told him?
You fumble with words, confused at Namjoon’s anger towards you. “How...w-what...what did he tell you?” “What do you think?” Namjoon returns the question back. And it confuses you more now for how your inquiry has turned into a confrontation, especially that the unnecessary anger is directed at you. You should have not beat around the bush and just directly told him you wanted to surprise Namjoon.
Now, Namjoon thinks you’re actually keeping something serious from him. Did Mingyu really snitch on you? You quietly ponder over, as you recall what happened inside the car. Mingyu was barely participating in the conversation, and the way he responded to you... it was formal, and uncooperative like the usual. The fact that Namjoon knows about it is already a giveaway that Mingyu actually tell-taled. Unless... the earpiece— “If he told you about it, then you would know he didn’t even let me talk, unless he told you something else...“ You trailed. The longer you think of it, the more convinced you are that Namjoon knows something more, just from the look he bears... “We can talk tomorrow. On your break.” Mingyu’s words echo in your mind, once again. And as your brain slowly processes the information, it gradually makes sense to you…
The way he was talking to you in the car made you believe he didn’t want to participate in whatever ploy you have, but he quickly changed his mind once both of you were out of the car. It was not his two-way earpiece. But the car-- Namjoon saw the horror slowly creeping into your face. “You heard, didn’t you...” You breathed. Namjoon heard it clearly, fully comprehending the words you just uttered.
“Something must be in that car, isn’t it?” You press, further.
He is well-aware that you’re not stupid, and you’ll eventually find it out. He just didn’t imagine it to be revealed this way. Nonetheless, his lips only pursed as he remains calm and collected, no trace of remorse or guilt visible on his face. 
His expression tells you he was not bothered by the fact that you found out. You didn’t know how the fire in your eyes is effortlessly piercing his heart. The kind he does not want to see in your eyes. You scoff, “What else—Is my phone bugged?” You suddenly prod, tilting your head up so you could fully observe him through your lashes. His face, however, maintains a straight face. You waited for his answer, silently wishing he would debunk your assumption.  The lack of response only made you confirm it. Fury quickly courses within you, “Why?” Your hands rub your face in utter disbelief. “You have me tailed everywhere by your men, is that not enough?” You spat, resentment slowly clouding your mind, 
”You have my freedom under your mercy, now my privacy? What else do you want from me?”
“It’s for your safety—”
You laugh humorlessly, harshly brushing the stubborn tears on your cheeks. “Tell me, is everything in your apartment bugged? The bedroom? The closet? The bathroom—” “Hush sweetheart, your body is mine and only for my eyes to see.” He was quick to come to your side, catching your arms. You didn’t like the proximity. It makes you weak.
“I’m not your fucking toy! You can’t do this to me!” “Calm down, baby. I love my woman submissive.” He says in a soothing tone. His words as softly as they were spoken hurt you deeply, fueling your ire even more.
You didn’t know how you found the strength to slap him. Your hand trembles, stinging from pain after it meets his skin.
“Find another woman, then!” His face barely turned from the impact, proceeding to address your anger.
“Calm down.” He attempts to console, but it only did the opposite to your ego. You trash your arms out, hating the way he still has the upperhand despite the table being turned upside down. Your strength could never compare to his as you struggle to push him. “You are my woman. Need I remind you that?” Harshly shaking your head, “No! Don’t touch me!” His grip loosens on your arms, and you took it as your chance to sprint off towards the stairs, not wanting to repeat what happened in his office before.
You locked yourself in the bathroom, somehow trusting that this is the only place kept hidden from any prying eyes. Tears uncontrollably flow through your cheeks, face buried on your hands as you helplessly listen at the loud thumping of your heart. If you didn’t pull back, chances are he would have his way to take your weakness in his advantage. The strong surge of emotions you feel cannot even compare to his physical strength.
You’re confused, hurt and disgusted all at once. You didn’t expect how messed up this whole marriage thing could get, realizing you actually know so little of him, of what he does in a living. To think that you have learned to trust him because of the stupid affection you have been nurturing for months, makes your insides twist in fury. Perhaps, it was a spur of the moment thought that you regarded as a wise decision, as anger overpowers your senses. You didn’t understand how it transpired, accordingly. When you quickly packed up a few things put the bag underneath the bed while waiting for the night to progress, Namjoon didn’t come to the bedroom. You thought it helped you leave smoothly.
Little did you know, Namjoon was watching the scene unfold through the numerous cameras simultaneously viewing before his eyes on the screen of his laptop. It was taking all of his willpower to stop you and lock you in his bedroom until your anger subsides, but something tells him it would not do good to cool down your anger.
Funny how the situation unexpectedly turns upside down as he recalls being gutted with anger. Not liking how you so easily open up to others than him. He couldn’t deny the ugly feeling traversing within him when he listened to your interaction with the boy.
As the night rolls around, the burning sensation of the alcohol in his throat becomes addicting, taking more until the ache in his chest numbs.
Jackson’s apartment was the only place you could reach at this hour. Considering Jihyo is staying in the college dorm, you wouldn’t be able to get inside the building for it was already past two in the morning. His place was not even considered a hideout. But at that point, you don't even care if Namjoon comes along breaking down Jackson’s doorway to force you back at home. You only needed a safe place away to think at the moment because you couldn’t bare to see him, yet. And you’re well aware of the effect he has on you. He can quickly cloud your judgement over his will through his mere touch. That’s how bad you’ve fallen for him.
Few days of distancing should enough for you to sort your feelings, if he doesn’t come collecting you himself.
“You okay?” Jackson croaks, seeing you trembling a little. Minutes prior, he was ready to beat the shit out of the person who was smashing his doorbell like a madman. Never would he think it was you of all people.
“He didn’t... hurt you, did he?” He hesitatingly asks, seeing the traces of tears staining your cheeks. Shaking your head, “No. We just had a fight.” “He doesn’t know, right? That you’re here?” You gave Jackson a knowing look, “He probably does by now.” Jackson offered his bed on the first night, but you turned his offer down. You took the couch instead, somehow preparing yourself for the imminent devastation of the storm. Fortunately for you, no one tried to break their way into Jackson’s apartment that night, relieved that everything is still in place or it’ll surely make you guilty for dragging your friends to your problems with Namjoon.
That following morning, you transferred into Jihyo’s dorm, deciding it would be best for Jackson’s safety. Six days insufferably passed. However, it felt longer than that. Staying away had not concluded the fight you had with Namjoon. There was also no sign of Namjoon or his men lurking around the college or the dorm in the past few days. And it bothered you more than it should have given you peace. The thought alone made you realized, you were more affected by your action as you were deeply tormented by the thoughts of him and the possibility that he doesn’t want you, anymore.
Your anger towards him couldn’t tame your feelings for him. Maybe you have underestimated it as a mere attraction—infatuation, even.
That night, Namjoon showed up in the dorm’s doorsteps, to which you had already expected since the first night. But you’re still left surprised, nonetheless.
Your heart painfully tugs, as your chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. “What are you doing here?” Indeed, it was unfair. While you wallow in despair for days, he seems not one bit affected by the situation.
“You will go home,” He calmly orders, his eyes briefly scanning you over.
As ever, he didn’t fail to make your heart thump crazily from the mere sight of him. While you look worse—missing a lot of sleep from trying to balance your studies and your issues with him, he looks stunningly gorgeous, powerful, and unfitting to be in a place like this. “No, I‘m staying.” You insist. “I’m not asking for you permission.” He corrects you in a formal tone, before walking past your figure. “Namjoon—wait! Where are you going?” You panicked, tailing behind him as he immediately finds Jihyo’s room where he scans around the small space. This is barely a room to stay in, he silently thought. “Pack your clothes. I’ll give you five minutes before we go. Unless, you want to leave without them—” You didn’t let him finish, cutting him of mid-sentence. “No, I'm not coming with you.” You compel, determined to follow what you had planned in your mind.
The look on his face is all too familiar, the one that tells you he won’t take no for an answer. “Do not test my patience, sweetheart.”
“Namjoon, stop.” You begin, visibly in distress by the sudden shift of the situation. You are aware he always has the upperhand.
“I want to stay here. Can’t you at least give me that after what you’ve done?” You implore. As much as you miss him, you couldn’t afford to see him yet, or it could break you. “I already gave you space, that’s enough for you.” Shaking your head, “I didn’t ask you to. I left.” You say. His height does not intimidate you anymore, but the way he holds himself now, he seems different. As if he was deliberately trying to make you succumb to him.
“Sweetheart, I had all the means to stop your ploy if I wanted to. I didn’t, because I figured you would need it.” Declares Namjoon, drawing himself closer to where you stood.
You took a step back. “What if I don't want to?” You challenge.
He lowers his head, allowing you to have a glimpse of his dark eyes, silently warning you. “You don't have a choice, sweetheart.”
You let him win, again. Because you were left with no option. You couldn’t think of anything else that you could do to oppose him without compromising anyone, especially your friends. Nothing you could do but to give in for now.
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Namjoon already disappeared from somewhere when you entered the living room, leaving you all alone until you hear footsteps nearing towards your direction.
You turn to see who it was.
“What are you doing here?” You warily ask, utterly surprised to see him. How many more surprises do you need yo deal with today? By how ugly the events have turned out, you won’t expect to see him again, or anywhere near the penthouse. He gave you a nod as a form of greeting, before answering, “Working. What else do you think I’m here for?” “For Namjoon?” “Of course, he’s my boss. But he gave me a specific instruction to guard the queen.”
You only gave him a look, although with the obvious height difference, you had to tilt your head up to do so.
Your visible annoyance quickly amuses him. After what happened, he really has the nerve to smirk right in front of you?
“I’m sorry Mrs. Kim, but you look horrible today. You alright?” He shamelessly nags to which earns him scowl from you. “That’s nice of you to say.” You retort, “I’ve been missing a lot of sleep, thank you very much.” He laughs as if nothing really happened.
It’s not his fault, anyway. You don’t blame him for what happened. However, the urge to ask him why he’s back here almost slips past your lips. Only that you remember someone could potentially be eavesdropping to which you didn’t need unnecessary suspicions from Namjoon, anymore.
The conversation was short lived when Miyoung called you in, gesturing for you to come with her in the kitchen, not expecting to see Namjoon sitting in one of the stools in the island counter where food is sumptuously served.
Your footsteps stagger, half-considering to leave the kitchen. However, Namjoon patiently waits for your next move, as if silently ordering you to take a seat.
Heaving a sigh, you did just that, not wanting to stir an argument with him.
Once you sat down across from his seat, he starts placing various food from the empty plate in front of you, until it is almost full that you’re not sure if you can eat all of it.
“Stop... I can’t finish all of that.”
Namjoon pauses, peering at you in disbelief. “You can, it’s your favorite.”
You didn’t like the way he was acting up like he didn’t cause the problem in the first place. You hated how the impact of his action didn’t seem to affect him a single bit.
“I’m still angry,” You couldn’t help but to say.
His serious stare tells you he has no time for a confrontation, but so are you.
“I know, you can be angry for as long as you want. But please, angel, eat the food so I could have the peace. You haven’t been using your cards for your meals, did you intentionally do that to make me worry?”
You scoffed, his indifference to your issue only frustrates you even more. “Why would you think I’ll use your money while I’m gone?”
“You don’t have the means to live independently.”
“That’s not the point here, Joon.”
“It is, when you were not looking out for yourself. You haven’t been coping well… you look a few pounds lighter.” He said in a firm persistence to prove your inability to live well without using his resources.
So what if you were miserable? You couldn’t really force yourself to eat if you didn’t have the appetite to consume food. Either it was because of your distress over the fight or food simply didn’t appeal to you.
Speaking of, you barely touched the food in front of you. You’re not even hungry anyway.
“Shut up—“
Namjoon was quick to cut you off, dismayed by the lack of light in your eyes, you almost look like you’re about to pass out. “Why is it so easy for you to disregard yourself for your pride? If you have been taking care of yourself well I would have given you longer time to mourn in that little cubicle room you call a place.” Namjoon says in a clearly disappointing tone.
The fact that you lost a few pounds in a matter of days bothered him. It took so much of him to let you wallow in despair, he knew that disrespecting your privacy is not right and he understands how it left you scarred with the horrid feeling of betrayal. The same reason why he let you on peacefully for days, until he couldn’t handle it no more.
The short glimpse of you while he had you followed only did more damage to his heart than the peace he was aiming for. A single look from you and he already knew the fight took its toll on you deeper than what he had expected. Your physical state was the last straw to make up his mind to take you back, unwilling or not.
“My pride? You think it’s because of my pride? You think I’m mad because you outsmarted me with your stalking shenanigans?” You echo his words, finally losing the will to touch the food.
“What else is there to be angry about, I told you, it’s for your safety.” He counters back. His mind was spiraling wildly, uncertain how to handle this situation in a way it wouldn’t upset you more.
Namjoon was used to having the control in every situation, a single look from him and no other human being would dare speak further. He used to not care whether he could tear anyone apart with his mere words or sharp glares. He tried it with you and the impact only came shooting back at him, there in the depths of his heart, which no one had been able to inflict him with such raw powerful emotions, enough to make him bend helplessly on his knees.
“That’s the problem! You didn’t even tell me! I was kept in the dark all this time! And now what? You suddenly care about me when you didn’t even consider what I would feel when you gave everyone else something to snoop in about right under my nose?” You accuse, finding the strength to hit him with your words. A moment ago, you felt too empty to even bother a conversation with him. As the remnants of disgusting feeling stirs within you, you now want nothing but to lash out every bit of your anger towards him.
However, Namjoon didn’t want the confrontation this soon when he just had you back home. Though he would not avoid it, he believes now is not the time to talk it over.
“We can talk after you eat, sweetheart—“
“No, we will talk now!”
His gaze pierces straight through your eyes. Although his eyes almost reflected defeat, the aura he carries is so powerful. No one would ever dare scream or say no at him, unless, they don’t value much of their life.
You really are something. Someone who can never compare to him, someone whom he can easily crush in a snap of his fingers— but you’re not just some woman out there. You are his woman, the only one who has bewitched him—not only claiming his heart but also owning his dark soul. If you only knew the effect you have on him...
Silence fills the cold air, shortly. As you look away, not liking the effect he has on you, he quietly seeks for your eyes. He could always see through you—the emotions your eyes transparently reflect. He failed to see any of it when you turned your head away.
He sighs, before breaking the cold silence. “No one can access your phone, you don’t have to worry about it. It is for when… something happens, I could track your location and your digital activities.” Namjoon briefly explains.
There are things that should be left unsaid for your sake. His company has long strayed away from the black market since his father died. But the industry he belongs to will always bear ugly truths in order to sustain the reputation of his company. What he did, to put it into the simplest terms he could articulate of, protection does not only mean hiring people to be your human shields. In this digital age where perpetrators can utilize technology to harm their target, something has to be sacrificed to protect an individual alongside. In your case, it was your freedom, privacy and much more you have yet to realize. He didn’t want you to run away every time you learn something about him or the kind of business he has.
He could not tell you anything else.
“Liar! You’re only saying that to validate your action.” You say in an accusing tone. You got up from your chair, increasing the distance from him as the ambience gets suffocating.
“I’m not justifying what I did whether it’s wrong or not. I would do it again if it means to protect you. When have I not shown you I didn’t care?”
He didn’t mean no harm to disrespect your privacy, but that’s just a part of many things you would have to deal with when you’re married to him. Danger has come along with his name long before he was born.
As he steps closer, you quickly step away. Your head lowering, avoiding his eyes. “W-What are you… saying, you shouldn’t have kept it from me, in the first place. You don’t have to pretend you care. You’re only protecting me because I’m your responsibility.”
His forehead creases, “You are my wife. That makes you my responsibility, isn’t that the same thing for caring, sweetheart?” His hands extend forward to coax you closer.
You shook your head, “No.”
You couldn’t deny that he’s been attending to your needs, being more than just a guardian, crossing the line beyond the role of a mere provider. He became someone you have come accustomed as a husband despite the lack of emotional commitment from him, a friend under the guise of a husband. Even if you wanted more from him, who are you to demand such thing? The mere thought of your unrequited feelings towards him painfully tugs your heart.
Namjoon caught the raw emotions swimming from eyes. To what are those for?
“Have I not shown you enough? With my actions, with my kisses... when we make love—“
“Shut up, you d-don’t know what you’re t-talking about.” You stammer, turning your back at him as you feel your eyes welled up. 
“Then tell me how you feel, I can only take so much when it comes to you. I’ve never felt so helpless when I see you suffer, when you cry. Baby, I was so lost when you left. Tell me what I should do.”
“Stop… you’re confusing me with your words.” You croak, as you struggle to process his words.
The sound of his steps nearing made you still. Your eyes clenched shut, and as the tears stain your cheeks, you quickly wipe them away. Namjoon is so close, you literally could feel the heat of his body. 
“I’m not good at expressing my feelings. But I thought I made my intentions very clear. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you baby, please let me hold you.” Namjoon drew himself nearer, until your bodies are touching. When you made no effort to distance yourself farther, he cautiously encircled his arms around your waist.
You remain still as he pulls you even further in his embrace, nuzzling your hair from behind. You hate yourself for giving in too soon, the moment he has you locked in his arms, your anger quickly melts away. The warmth from his body felt too comforting as it slowly envelops your body, reminding you one again how much it tore you apart when you left. The ache in your chest, somehow, subsiding. You didn’t want him to let you go from his hold.
His nose traces an invisible path on the side of your head, loving the alluring scent of your hair. Softly murmuring just above your ear, “I have loved you since the day I saw you taking orders in that coffee shop. While you made me this crazy for you like no one else has ever done, you’re willing to leave everything. It was that easy for you to walk away and leave me, just like when you left your home for your freedom—“
The hard thumping of your heart is so loud as you cut him. He could probably hear it from the close proximity of your bodies.
“No, that’s not true! I didn’t leave you,” you pause, shaking your head violently to give emphasis on your point. Your heart aches, as your chest felt suddenly constricted hearing his confession. The information felt foreign in your ears, as if you were hallucinating. Is it true? Did he really know you way before you met him?
“I needed some time to think for myself. But I wouldn’t leave. I could never… I’ll always come back. I would come back to you.” Tears instantaneously flow in your cheeks. 
Namjoon spoke no more, as he squeezed your body in his arms, burying his face on the crook of your neck. Savoring this moment.
You in his arms.
You barely had a glimpse of what kind of his life he has, and have no knowledge of half the ugly things he had done. The deeper he falls for you, the more he willingly succumbing himself to your mercy, as if surrendering a dagger for you to destroy him through his weakness.
He silently wishes from the gods above that you would never walk away from his life again, when pieces of him slowly unravels to you through the course of time.
“Namjoon,” you whisper, seeking the attention you unknowingly have.
“Don’t leave me again, Y/N. I can take your anger, scream at me, hurt me— anything. I can take so much from you, as long as you’re right in my sight, the way I can protect you. I’ll give you as much as time alone.”
“Promise me—”
“Namjoon!” You plead loudly, tugging his arm to gain the attention you want.
He takes a deep breath, confused at the tone of your voice. “Hmm?”
“I love you, too.” You murmur so suddenly.
He stills, hearing the words he had heard you say in his dreams. This time, he was awake with you in his embrace and he was uncertain if he actually heard the words right.
“I love you so much.” You repeated, with a longing voice, this time you turned to face him. The look in his face tells you all of it. Shock was written all over his face, as if your confession was something he was not expecting in his wildest dream. Between the two of you, his confession of love for you is the most unpredictable thing you heard from him.
You tiptoed, reaching for his lips. He quickly met you halfway through, greedily capturing your mouth. His tongue went past your parted lips to dominate the kiss. You sigh against his mouth, missing the rich taste of his lips.
Nothing else matters now but his embrace.
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Note: Hope you all enjoyed this one sjajahahagj 
This turned out a bit longer than what I had initially written only because I kind of included something to introduce characters/details that are part of my upcoming series. 
mintseesaw © 2020
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wgstories · a year ago
A Hypnotic Transformation
It was late on a Friday evening in October and after a few drinks and a meal out with friends, Paul was back in his apartment stripped down to his jocks, looking at muscle transformations on YouTube. He loved seeing guys bulking up from scrawny to brawny. Then something caught his eye. It was the transformation of a fit guy who took his bulking to the extreme, first developing a belly before becoming an enormous muscle chub. He felt his dick twitch with excitement which seemed a bit puzzling. Why did he find the look so appealing? He spent a fair amount of time in the gym keeping himself fit and lean and had always been a bit disdainful of guys who seemingly let themselves go. At 35, Paul was a good looking guy with dark brown eyes and chiselled features. About 5’ 11” weighing in at about 170lbs of toned muscle he was nicely defined but not massive. Since starting to lose his hair in his late 20s he kept his head shaved along with the rest of his naturally hairy body, accentuating his washboard abs and firm pecs with his pierced nips standing proud. He worked hard to keep himself in shape and had a healthy respect for other dudes who spent hours in the gym doing the same which is why he found it strange that he couldn’t take his eyes of the bloated body of the muscle chub. There was something about his ball gut that he found mesmerizing and incredibly appealing. He lifted up his tee shirt and looked down at his own flat stomach, which normally would have evoked a sense of pride and tonight, he found it distinctly uninspiring. Should he transform himself in the way that the YouTuber muscle chub had he thought to himself? He shook his head knowing it would be almost impossible to achieve. Paul had always been lean and in fact had found it difficult to put on muscle. It had taken many years to build up the muscle that he now had and he knew he just did not have the capacity to eat the required amount to bulk up. He noticed a link from the muscle chub’s page to another site dedicated to guys who liked bellies and gaining and found himself getting more and more engrossed in the individual stories of guys who had started along the gaining path becoming larger and larger and more self-fulfilled in the process. Is this what he had been missing all these years? Sure, he’d had his fair share of fun, even had a boyfriend for about 18 months but somehow something was always lacking. Well let me at least give it a try he thought. He woke up fairly early on Saturday morning and headed straight to the supermarket to stock up on supplies. He spent ages looking at the nutritional information trying to find calorie dense foods and eventually staggered home 2 hours later with a vast array of fattening foods and drinks. He already had his gainer shakes which were a regular feature of his diet as he tried to maintain his hard gained muscle and resolved to increase his consumption to help with gaining. He spent the rest of the weekend and the following week sticking to his regular workout routine while trying to add in extra meals to up his calories. He went out for dinner with mates on a couple of nights and ordered extra-large portions with starters and desserts in an effort to maximise his intake. But he just found himself getting really full pretty quickly and barely able to finish the portions before his gut was aching and he couldn’t manage a mouthful more. The following weekend arrived and he dragged himself out of bed, had a shower and then weighed himself. The dial came to a rest at barely over 170lbs. Fuck he thought to himself, all of that effort and he had practically gained nothing. He redoubled his efforts over the next weeks, extra gainer shakes, bigger portions, snacking between meals, lifting heavier at the gym to find that by the end of the month he had still only gained a single pound. Feeling thoroughly despondent he found himself back on the gainer site looking at pictures of other guys with beautiful bellies who seemed to have no problem piling on the pounds. Why them and not me he lamented. He started up an online conversation with an encourager called Jack wondering if there was something he was doing wrong. “I just don’t seem to have the capacity to eat large amounts” he said “what am I not getting?” “Have you tried hypnosis?” suggested Jack “I’ve heard that for some people it works wonders.” Paul was sceptical. “I don’t really believe in that kind of thing” he said “I really don’t see how it can help.” “Well why not give it a go. If it doesn’t work then you haven’t lost anything other than a bit of time listening to a nice calming voice.” Jack said. I suppose I could give it a try thought Paul. “Do you have any suggestions?” he asked Jack. Jack pointed him towards a fellow gainer who produced hypnosis videos and Paul decided to listen to one immediately. He made himself comfortable, put on some headphones and relaxed back into the sofa as he hit play on his iPad. He tried to let his mind just absorb the message and wondered if when it stopped he would feel any different. 20 minutes later he felt pretty relaxed but, to be honest, he didn’t have the ravenous hunger that the hypnosis had promised. It promised that he would want to eat as soon as he came out of the trance but apart from getting a coffee he didn’t have the urge to suddenly start stuffing his face. Feeling a little disappointed he decided to hit the gym to clear his head. He packed his gym kit into his bag adding in his usual protein shake and headed out. He put himself through his usual routine but didn’t have much enthusiasm or energy to really go for it and returned home after just 45 minutes. He got chatting with Jack again and said that, as expected, the hypnosis hadn’t worked. “You might need to give it a bit of time” said Jack. “Some people find they need to listen a good few times before it really starts to sink in and have an effect. Don’t give up too soon – give it a chance.” “OK” said Paul “I’ll listen a few more times and see what happens but I’m not holding out any great hope!” He spent the next day watching and listening to various hypnosis videos hoping to elicit some kind of change. Apart from seeming to go a bit deeper into the visuals and letting the voice wash over him in a comforting way, he still didn’t seem to be able to completely turn off and succumb to the hypnotic suggestions. Perhaps I’m just too resistant to let myself go, Paul thought to himself. It was lunchtime on Sunday so Paul made himself a sandwich before settling back to on the sofa to browse through more pictures of big-bellied guys. He found himself more and more drawn to those who had transitioned from starter bellies, to big ball guts and who had now developed absolutely huge, overhanging guts hanging low enough to obscure their cocks, with round bulbous tits splaying out above their massive bellies, big fleshy thighs that rubbed together when they walked, arms pushed out from their bodies by the enormous size of their moobs and rolls of fat under their ams, and big chubby faces with double chins covering their thick necks. Paul’s cock was rock hard as he lay back and jerked off, moaning with pleasure as he came, spraying jiz all over his contoured abs. He looked at the pictures of bloated stomachs and then down at his own flat stomach feeling distinctly depressed with what he saw. “Fuck!” he said out loud “Why can’t I get the body I really want?” He put the headphones on again and played the hypnosis video for the fifth time. He closed his eyes, letting his mind go and the soothing words penetrate deeply into his subconscious. They intoned that he would find his fattening belly deeply arousing and the more it grew, the more he would be turned on and the bigger he would want it to get. He would find eating deeply pleasurable and would be overcome with desire to eat more and more, and to get bigger and bigger. On and on it went, repeating the messages again and again…… “And when you awake you will find yourself consumed with hunger and will need to eat immediately to satisfy your cravings. Awake now you big fatty.” And with that Paul opened his eyes. He stretched himself and looked around. Fuck, he thought, I definitely went a bit deeper that time. And then he noticed that he had a gnawing pain in his stomach. Although he’d just had a sandwich which normally would have been more than enough to satisfy him, the hunger pangs were getting worse. It wasn’t as though he had turned into a mindless eating zombie; he was just feeling very hungry and had a very conscious need to eat. He got up and walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He took out butter, cheese, ham, mayo and tomatoes. He made himself three enormous sandwiches applying butter liberally onto big, thick slices of wholemeal bread before piling on the cheese, meat and tomatoes and smothering them all with full fat mayo. He then settled back onto the sofa and excitedly messaged Jack. “I think it’s working” He felt his cock harden with anticipation as he gorged his face on the sandwiches. Jack replied almost immediately. “That’s fantastic dude” he congratulated Paul. “Now we need to make sure that you maximise on the opportunity. You need to be consuming the maximum amount of calories you can. Let’s start by setting a few ground rules. First, you must wash every meal down with half a pint of double cream – that’s after breakfast, lunch and dinner. No skipping meals or cream. Second, you must constantly snack between meals. Spoons of peanut butter or Nutella, bags of chips/crisps, nuts, donuts, muffins, chocolate bars, protein bars, whatever you like as long as you have something on the go. Always. All the time. And thirdly, you must get into a routine where you have a tub of ice cream every night just before you go to bed. Consuming so many calories just before you sleep is a sure-fire way to pack on the pounds.” Paul frantically scribbled down the instructions. “Thanks Jack” he said “I’ll need to head out to the supermarket now to stock up if I’m going to be able to stick to this routine” and with that he rushed out, not before grabbing a bag of chips/crisps to eat on the way. And so began Paul’s transformation. His appetite was almost insatiable. It was difficult at first as his capacity was still limited. He would stuff himself to the point where he was in acute physical pain because his belly was so bloated. But then within another hour he would find himself hungry again. He found himself snacking almost continuously to keep the hunger at bay and, as instructed, finished every meal with half a pint of double cream. At first he found the richness of the cream slightly nauseating but it always went down easily and after some time a meal didn’t feel complete unless it was finished off with cream. The changes were slow at first. However within a couple of weeks, Paul noticed that his abs were no longer ridged as a layer of flat started to cover them. His stomach would get bloated after eating but would shrink back again to its usual flatness within a few hours. He loved it when it was full and distended and would rub it with his hands, caressing its roundness in stark contrast to his cock which was thick, straight and itself gorged after every feeding. He would rub his left hand over his belly while stroking his throbbing dick with the right, getting equal pleasure from both. And then one day about a month later, he was sitting at his desk at work after having eaten a large pasta lunch, when he noticed that his stomach was no longer retracting to its usual flatness. In fact the buttons on his shirt were starting to strain just a little. He got an instant boner which he was glad was hidden by the desk as just at that moment a colleague walked over. “Hey Paul” It was Ricardo, the really good looking, Italian muscle stud from finance. “Just wanted to check if you had the February report” he said his eyes drawn almost involuntarily to Paul’s paunch. “It’ll be ready by the end of the day.” said Paul noticing where Ricardo’s eyes were focusing. Usually he would have tried to suck in his gut but, if anything, actually pushed it out a bit further to accentuate its growing size. Ricardo couldn’t help himself and commented “You still going to the gym, looks like you’ve put on a little weight recently?” “Maybe a little” replied Paul “I’m actually trying to bulk up a little as I think I’ve always been a bit on the small side.” “Well mind how you get on dude” said Ricardo, “it looks like a lot of it is going to your gut. If you’re not careful you’ll end up with a bit of a ball belly.” Paul nodded but didn’t say out loud that that was exactly what he was hoping for! He got home that evening and popped himself on the scale. 183lbs. A thirteen pound gain since he’d started properly gaining. He was pleased and disappointed at the same time. Yes he was starting to plump up but it was very slow and still not that noticeable when he was standing. He ordered in pizza and browsed the gainer site admiring the boys’ bellies. His cock was stiff and dripping with pre-cum as has drooled over all the gorgeous bellies on show. He chatted with Jack who suggested that he try and push himself a little more each day. Instead of two McMuffins for breakfast, try three. Instead of one slice of cake have two. An extra portion here, a second dessert there. Two packets of chips/crisps for the train ride home instead of one. And maybe a couple of challenges. Try to eat 12 Krispy Kreme donuts in one sitting. Maybe have a feeding day one weekend and try and consume 15 thousand calories over the day. “I’ll be more than happy to come on over to give you a good stuffing” Jack enthused! “I might just take you up on that!” Paul responded. And so Paul upped his portion sizes, snacked just that little bit more and religiously stuck to his post-meal cream chugs and bedtime ice cream. As the weeks went by he found that his stomach capacity increased quite quickly and he was able to consume more and more without the usual gripes and pain. He noticed that his clothes were beginning to get a bit snug and then positively tight. By the end of the second month he had hit 200 lbs and was now well into overweight territory. “Congrats dude” said Jack “You’ve just gained your first 30lbs. Every gainer’s dream come true!” “I know” said Paul “I feel really good about myself and am loving how my body is changing.” He looked down at his belly which was now protruding quite markedly. He was still in his work clothes and the buttons on his shirt were straining under the pressure of his expanding girth. “However, I still feel that I have a way to go before I feel really satisfied with how I look.” “Give it time” laughed Jack “Enjoy the ride, at this rate you’ll be bigger than you expect!” “I dunno” replied Paul “I kinda feel that I’ll never be big enough!” “Well there’s no rush. See how you feel as you gain more and then take it from there!” Sage words of advice from Jack. Paul went into his bedroom and unbuttoned his shirt and felt a welcome release as his gut was no longer restrained by the shirt. He cupped his hands around the firm ball that his stomach had become eyeing himself up in front of the full length mirror. His dick was standing to attention as he admired his belly. Most of the gain had gone to his belly but his moobs were beginning to enlarge and his arms and legs were starting to fill out as well. Apart from his head which he still kept shaved, he’d given up on manscaping and his gut and chest were covered in a fine layer of black fuzz. He jerked off before heading back into the kitchen to get his bed time ice cream snack. Paul stopped going to the gym in month four. It wasn’t that the sarcastic comments he was getting from other gym goers were getting to him, he just didn’t need the negativity and also found that he was lacking energy and motivation to keep going. With the complete lack of exercise and an increasing appetite the weight really started to pile on. He had to get a new wardrobe and had bought XXL shirts, not because he needed them yet but to give himself an incentive to grow into them. He had graduated from 32” to 38” waist trousers to ensure that his expanding butt didn’t cause an accidental rip at work! By the end of the fifth month he had hit 220lbs and was now officially obese. Again, he stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom. He was naked apart from his jocks and his hairy belly was now just starting to hang over the waistband. His butt had fattened up and was stretching the material to breaking point. His formerly tight pecs were forming into real tits with the pierced nips standing pertly to attention. He looked at them intently thinking that they too could do with being a bit bigger and resolved to start stretching them in an effort to enlarge them. All in all, he liked what he saw but again his brain was still telling him that his body had a long way to go before perfection was achieved! And so the months went by. Paul found that his capacity to eat expanded as he grew. Meals that previously would have him doubling over in physical agony as his belly stretched and bloated now were barely enough to contain his hunger. The more he ate the hungrier he seemed to get. By the time summer arrived he had hit 270lbs. In a little over 9 months he had stacked on a hundred pounds. It was a glorious, warm and sunny day late in the summer and he was due to meet Jack and a few other friends at the local park for a picnic. He pulled on an XXL Hawaiian shirt and tucked a pair of blue shorts under his belly which now had a sizeable overhang. The shorts were a little on the tight side which just served to show off his fleshy thighs and chunky legs. The shirt was left untucked and as he walked the bottom of his belly could just be seen jiggling below the shirt. He packed up his picnic hamper and a cooler bag filled with beers and called an Uber. The park was no more than a 15 minute walk away but with a heavy hamper and cooler bag it was not a journey he intended to do on foot. He had seemingly packed enough food for a family of four – pork pies, quiches, sausage rolls, scotch eggs, sandwiches, muffins, donuts and chocolate. It had taken him a bit of time to pack everything up so by the time he arrived everyone else was already there. He’d seen quite a bit of Jack in recent months who waved as he walked up to join the group. He hadn’t seen a couple of his other friends for a while and the conversation dropped to a hush as he approached. “Hi Paul” said Phil, one of his old uni friends “Long time no see.” “Yes, it has been a while – probably the Christmas get together last year?” ventured Paul “I guess that’s about right” said Phil, not knowing where to go next. Paul was fucking huge and he couldn’t take his eyes off the size of his gut. Should he say something or just ignore the obvious? But he’d known Paul a long time and couldn’t hold back. “What the fuck dude? It looks like you didn’t just eat all the pies but the pie-maker as well! Fucking hell – what’s happened?” Paul was a little taken aback by the forcefulness of the comments but had been expecting them so was ready with his response. “Look I know I’ve put on a little weight, well maybe a lot of weight, but I just couldn’t be arsed with going to the gym anymore and I’ve discovered a real liking for food. And lots of it. This is just who I am, bigger and better than ever! What the fuck’s it to you?” And with the situation somewhat diffused the boys got down to the usual banter, eating and drinking in the heat of the afternoon sun. As the beers went down, the conversation inevitably turned back to the size of Paul’s impressive gut. “Come on dude” encouraged Shane “Get that shirt undone. Let’s see the damage and it’d probably do it good to get some sun on it anyway!” He was almost talking as if Paul’s belly was its own entity! Paul didn’t need much encouraging. He’d gorged his way through several pork pies, two quiches, a couple of scotch eggs and several sandwiches just on his own and his belly was now a little bloated causing his shirt to feel a bit tight. He unbuttoned it and let it fall to his sides exposing the mounded beauty of his gut and his now sizeable tits. “Fuck me” said Shane in astonishment “That is one big mother fucker!” Paul sat back with his arms behind him enjoying the stares that he was getting, not only from his mates but from other people sitting close by in the park. His gut rested on his shorts covering his cock and was marked with several long, red, stretch marks evidencing his rapid gain. His tits, also exposed by his open shirt, were resting on his gut, huge and flabby crowned with enormous nipples stretched out by large gauge stainless steel nip rings. “Holy shit” said Phil, almost mesmerized by what he was seeing “What have you done to yourself dude? You look like you could be 8 months pregnant!” “Thanks Phil, I’ll take that as a compliment” smiled Paul. Over the next few months, Paul’s weight seemed to plateau despite him continuing to eat seemingly massive amounts and he became somewhat depressed. He was quite glad when summer finally ended as the he found he was constantly sweating which was more than a little unpleasant. By the time Christmas came around he was a little over 285lbs and was just on the cusp of being classed as morbidly obese. In an effort to re-boot his gaining he had started inviting Jack over to help him feed. Jack was more than happy to oblige. He had a bit of a crush on Paul and was keen to take the relationship to the next level. Paul however seemed to be focused solely on his weight and gaining. The doorbell rang and Paul, sitting on the sofa in the lounge shouted out “Door’s open, come on in.” Jack came in and got an immediate boner when he saw Paul on the sofa. It was a Saturday morning and he was sitting watching breakfast TV. He was wearing a red and white checked shirt which was clearly a size too small as the buttons were threatening to pop off as he fed himself a bagel dripping with butter and jam. “Did you bring breakfast?” questioned Paul, eying up Jack as he came in. “Of course I did you glutton!” replied Jack holding up several McDonald bags. “Thank fuck for that” said Paul “I was getting hungry.” “I’ve also brought 2 dozen Krispy Kreme donuts for later” Jack said pointing to a couple of boxes he’d left by the front door “so you’d better be hungry or they’ll go to waste.” “Fat chance of that!” laughed Paul. “Right we had better get cracking” said Jack “There’s a lot of eating to get done today!” and with that he opened up the first of the McDonald’s bags and started to stuff a double sausage egg McMuffin into Paul’s willing mouth. Three egg McMuffins, 6 Krispy Kreme donuts washed down with half a pint of double cream and breakfast was done. Admittedly Paul had already had 2 bagels by the time Jack arrived so the day was off to a good and fattening start. “I thought we might try something a bit different today” said Jack with a glint in his eye. “I’ve brought some whipped cream spray which I thought I’d spray on myself and you could lick it off!” “Oooh kinky” said Paul, looking at Jack with renewed interest. This could be fun. It had been a long while since he’d engaged in any kind of action with anyone. Of course he jacked off regularly but had been too intent on gaining to head out to hook up with anyone. Also, with his new found weight he was a little unsure as to what was going to be possible and with whom. He looked at Jack noticing for the first time what a catch he was. He’d always just seen him as an encourager and nothing more. Recently he’d become his personal feeder but maybe there was still more to come. He was a big lad – about 6’ 3” and weighing in at about 220lbs made up of mostly muscle with just a little chub. He had the cutest hint of a belly just pushing out the bottom of his tightly fitted polo shirt. His piercing green eyes looked questioningly at Paul with his short, jet black hair framing his pretty face. “Right, let’s do this” said Paul reaching for the can of whipped cream “We’ve got a lunch reservation for 12.30 and we don’t want to be late!” “Always fucking driven by your stomach!” laughed Jack pushing Paul’s hand away from the can. “I’ll do the spraying” he said “You just occupy yourself with doing the licking!” And with that he peeled off his polo shirt and then squirted the cream into his navel, up his stomach finishing with two big dollops on each nipple. Paul greedily started licking out the cream from Jack’s navel and then followed the trail of cream up his stomach before sucking up the mounds of cream on Jack’s nipples. Jack groaned with pleasure as Paul gently bit each nip as he finished the cream. “Need more.” said Paul, looking at Jack with pleading eyes. “Maybe later” said Jack mischievously “We need to get ready for lunch - you know how you hate to be late for important appointments!” And with that Jack got up and headed into the bathroom to clean up leaving Paul panting for more. The two of them sat back in the booth at the Indian restaurant surveying the damage. They had both had large starters before ploughing through a total of 5 different spicy curries, along with vegetable samosas, onion bhajis and mounds of pilau rice. Paul had managed three large naans and Jack had had two which was a good effort given the enormous quantity of food! Paul looked at Jack with a renewed respect; he had almost managed to keep pace with Paul which was no mean feat! “Not quite finished for you though, is it piggy?!” Paul said with a hint of playfulness in his voice as he reached under the table to retrieve a baby’s bottle filled with double cream. “Fuck you pervert!” said Paul incredulously “You can’t expect me to drink the cream from that! Not in a public space anyway!” “Oh yes I fucking can!” said Jack with just a hint of hardness in his voice “Don’t even think about not obeying me!” Paul took the bottle from Jack and started squirting the cream down his throat. “Is this good enough, sir?” he asked “Yes. Good piggy” said Jack smiling, winking at Paul. Mmmm, I like where this is heading thought Paul feeling his cock stiffen under the table. He was seeing a new, more dominant side to Jack and he liked what he saw. He polished off the cream relishing the stares of disdain he was getting from the other diners in the restaurant! His stomach was so bloated that he found it quite difficult to extract himself from the booth as they left the restaurant. Their Uber was waiting and they were back in Paul’s apartment a short while later. “Teatime” said Jack with some glee as he reached over to grab the open box of Krispy Kremes. “I’ll make us a coffee while you get started on the donuts.” By the time Jack came back with the coffees, Paul had finished 3 donuts and was already on a fourth. “Fuck that was quick” said Jack “Just as well we’ve got another box!” He took the steaming mugs of creamy coffee off the tray along with a jar of peanut butter. “When you’ve finished those donuts we’ve got another jar of goodness to keep you satisfied” teased Jack and with that he sat on the sofa next to Paul unscrewing the lid of the jar of peanut butter. He took a big scoop and forced it into Paul’s mouth allowing his free hand to brush against Paul’s cock feeling it stiffen as he did so. “Is piggy feeling stuffed yet? Piggy needs a good stuffing doesn’t he?” He gave Paul’s throbbing cock a squeeze before putting his hand under Paul’s shirt to rub his bloated belly. “Is that good fat piggy?” he asked. Paul groaned with pleasure as Jack used one hand to rub his belly and the other to massage his dick. One by one, he slowly, deliberately, flicked open each button on Paul’s shirt to reveal his enormous, hairy belly and bulbous tits with their massive nips, each adorned with 8mm circular rings. He then unbuttoned Paul’s jeans before pulling them down, along with his jocks, leaving him lying on his back on the couch in just his open shirt. Jack saw Paul’s dick twitch with excitement. Although normally 6-7 inches when erect, as Paul’s fat pad had developed it had started to encase his dick making it appear to only be about 4 inches long which Jack found to be quite endearing. Jack then stripped himself down revealing his own 8 inch cock, hard and throbbing with anticipation. He grabbed some lube and smothered his cock with it before leaning over Paul whispering “Piggy needs a good stuffing, doesn’t he!” He then inserted his dick into Paul’s crack while grabbing a Krispy Kreme donut which he stuffed bit by bit into Paul’s mouth with each forceful thrust of his cock. “Is piggy feeling stuffed yet?” he questioned. Paul let out a moan of pleasure unable to speak because his gob was so full of donut. Jack didn’t take long before he shot his load deep inside Paul’s arse and then lay panting next to Paul on the couch. “Fuck you can cum again” said Paul having finally swallowed the donut. “That was totally, fucking amazing! You’re a fucking master!” “Glad piggy liked it!” smirked Jack. Then it was time for more feeding only this time Jack used one hand to feed Paul while using the other to give him a hand job. Each time Paul was about to climax Jack would ease off and focus on stuffing the donuts into his mouth before returning his focus to Paul’s throbbing dick. Eventually Jack let him cum and Paul shed his load all over Jack’s chest and face. They both lay back exhausted and satisfied. Jack rolled onto his side and pulled Paul in close enjoying the feeling of his large, soft belly pushing into the small of his back. It was 8pm and the boys were waiting for the pizza delivery. The final meal of the day and they had ordered in 3 large, stuffed crust pizzas, cheesy garlic bread, a double side of chicken wings topped off with cookie dough ice cream. The pizza delivery guy rang the doorbell. “Delivery for your party” he said looking into the apartment expecting to see a few people. “Thanks dude” said Jack handing the guy a healthy tip “It’s just for the two of us!” The two of them sat in front of the TV watching the latest episode of Game of Thrones. Paul polished off two of the pizzas while Jack had the other and pretty soon there was no evidence of the take out feast other than the empty boxes. Paul went to clear up the boxes. “Not so fast piggy” interjected Jack “you’ve still got your cream to down!” He ducked into the kitchen returning with another half pint of cream. Paul chugged it down grinning at Jack with a big creamy moustache before letting Jack lick off the remnants ending in a long, lingering kiss. “Fuck that has been a most awesome day!” sighed Paul as the two of them lay back on the couch. “Glad you’ve had fun” replied Jack. “I’ve had more fucking fun today than I’ve had in a year” said Paul happily “Let’s do this again soon!” “Absolutely. I’ve had an amazing day too!” said Jack looking at his watch “I guess I should head off soon - it’s getting pretty late.” “Head off?” Paul looked at Jack quizzically “Aren’t you staying over? You’ve still got one more meal to feed me!” “Oh if you insist!” Jack didn’t need much persuading! The two of them cleared up before going through to the bedroom. “Right, you get yourself ready and I’ll pop the ice cream into the microwave for a few seconds to make it easier to slide down!” Jack offered. He went back to the kitchen leaving Paul to get ready for bed returning with the tub of ice cream to find Paul relaxing on the bed. With the pillows propped up behind him, he sat on the bed completely naked with his legs out in front of him and his glorious belly hanging down over his cock. Jack stripped off and joined Paul on the bed. “Open wide” he said bringing a spoon of mushy ice cream up to Paul’s mouth. Paul gulped it down as Jack continued to feed him the ice cream. Every so often, a little bit dripped onto Paul’s massive chest and Jack relished the opportunity to suck it off his fat tits. Finally they were done and both lay back enjoying the warm feeling of being stuffed and content. Paul figured that he must have consumed well in excess of 15 thousand calories over the day. Job well done he thought! And so began the next phase of both Paul and Jack’s gaining adventure. It wasn’t long before Jack moved in permanently and Paul’s weight gain was on an upward trajectory again. It didn’t take long before he had smashed through the 300lb barrier and by the time summer came around again he had more than doubled his starting weight, clocking in at 365lbs. His hunger almost seemed incontrollable now and he couldn’t go anywhere without having some kind of snack to keep himself going. His overhanging belly was so big that it had started to lose its ball shape thanks to gravity and now hung so low that it obscured the waistband of his jeans. His tits were huge and splayed out above his belly with rolls of fat under his arms so that instead of hanging vertically they were forced outwards away from his body. His thighs were massive and constantly chafed when he walked and he was thankful that he lived in a ground floor apartment so didn’t have to deal with stairs. His arms were fat and full, stretching the arms of his 5XL shirts to the max. His chiselled features had long since retreated behind a layer of fat making his face much rounder and puffier and his double chin completely obscured his neck. Even Jack had put on a bit of weight having hit 250lbs. Living with Paul and the constant focus on food had rubbed off on him and he too was enjoying his food more and more and found that his hunger was increasing as he got bigger. But both had never been happier and relished the regular feeding, frotting and fucking sessions that has become a constant feature of their relationship. Paul couldn’t wait to hit 400 and Jack had his eye on 300. Life had never been fuller! 
Author: Lyle Thompson
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i-did · a year ago
hi hello i couldn't sleep last night so i was scrolling thru all ur asks and stuff and ur opinions and analyses are so interesting!!! and then afterwards i was thinking about what u were saying about mlm smut and i'd also been thinking about such things a little bit recently bc like.....at a certain point it becomes quite clear that the vast majority of smut-writing is just imitation. like there's the sex noise verb list and all and the whole general mechanics of the sex and those things just .... replicate over and over. and the whole thing w people writing mlm vs wlw smut regardless of their own sexual orientation..... like i feel like a big part of that is just a self-perpetuating thing. like if u have not had sex and u r getting all ur (pleasure-related) sex ed from fandom (even if u do watch porn, that doesn't rlly tell u how to describe stuff? idk) regardless of What fandom , the majority is going to be mlm smut. which is itself majority imitation of other mlm smut, imitating and imitating back to whoever knows what the first smut fanfic was etc. there's just way More to mimic than there is on the women side of things. which then becomes a self-perpetuating thing, bc the mimicry continues and generates more and more. and---if there are fundamental misunderstandings of anatomy involved---those self-perpetuate as well. and maybe even exaggerate. and yeah. does this all make sense? idk i was just thinking about it. like all the stereotypes and stuff continue bc writers are getting their inspo from other writers rather than their own brains. or something. idk!!!!! it's just all... divorced from reality? bc words. or something!! i hope u get what i'm trying to say. just thoughts i've been thinking. anyway i think ur thoughts are cool. and ur writing. ok bye have a good day!!
Okay yeah this is kinda messy but hope u see this, uhh yeah I think you're right about the echo chamber effect fr about stuff. I think it's a mix of projecting too sometimes. talk more under the cut and also link to a video essay since I love video essays.
Here’s a video that sort of touches on this topic: 
“Gay fanfiction” by Sarah Z. (has CC)
This video begins to talk about fetishization at the end, but also… not really. The words “gay fanfiction” is used as a catchall, when really gay fanfiction is largely mlm written by non-mlm.
Fandom is a largely women's space dominated by the female gaze in a media industry world that is dominated by men and the male gaze. I'm really glad women have this space to explore creativity and queerness, and I don't expect the female gaze to go away, but I am still ultimately bummed out I can’t read most fanfic or interact with most fandom spaces without having fetishization in my face. 
So about 80% of fandom is women, and most of those women aren't straight, but 90% of those women prefer mlm ships. Why don’t they prefer wlw ships? Well definitely part of it is the fact that queerbaiting is centered around white straight men, and then there is also the fact that women tend not to be written as well charcter wise. But the fact still remains that you get jerjean getting priority over Layla and Alvarez who are in canon just as much and are a canon wlw couple who actually interact as well as Alvarez could likely be a woc because of her Hispanic last name. Korasami doesn’t get nearly as much hype as zuko and saka, despite the fact that they are 2 fully dimensional characters who canonly kiss and hold hands, something the creators fought for and ended up having to sacrifice another reboot for. 
I do believe the fandom echo-chamber is largely responsible for… a lot of things, like you're saying. But what's interesting is that the complaints I've heard about visual porn from non mlm in the fandom space is that they can’t get off to it because its for the male gaze and misogynistic usually. But they also don't seem to notice how the mlm smut circles has the female gaze and is also… almost always mlm. If it was a pure anatomical not knowing thing, I get that, but I also think that leads to the question of “then why the male body for porn, and not your own? The one you know and are familiar with?” 
I know some people want to get outside of their own body for porn and don’t want to think of their own anatomy at all, but overall I'm still uncomfortable. If an anglo said “well I watch porn of only Mexicans so I don't self insert” I'm gonna be like … hhhh in a similar way. I understand people “like what they like” but I wish they also noticed said patterns in the first place. I understand the t4t tumblr porn circle, and how it's different from cis people who only watch trans porn. 
I actually wished that instead of fandom focusing on mlm ships where some asshole guy hits on bottom troupe charcter for top troupe character to save, was instead… a wlw character experiencing said shitty getting hit on and other wlw swooping in. what's interesting is fandom writes a lot about misogynistic experiences without often realizing it. Ive read fanfic where guys get called sluts for sleeping with people or called bitch for speaking their mind, these arent things men usually experience, but rather women. Fandom has a lot of internalized misogyny and also queerphobia imo. Women characters often get pushed to the sidelines and men become the canvas for female fans to project onto. 
There is this natural inclination to mlm. When people are talking about “gay shipping” or “gay books” or “gay feels” or even just “gay” mlm is what’s largely in mind. I honestly am kinda saddened by this because if gay fanfiction was really solely about writing more to feel represented, then you would see a lot of bi and ace and lesbian rep, but this isn't the case. Queer women are seriously underrepresented, and I want to hear their stories and read them in fanfiction as well as published. 50% of lgbt literature is mlm, and of that its largely written by women. Becky Albertalli, Rainbow Rowell, Maggie Stiefvater, are the YA big names and are all women writing mlm. Red white and royal blue is written by Casey McQuiston and Captive prince (which is not YA) is written by C. S. Pacat, who is non-binary, but is also TME and not mlm. These are all the big names in mlm lit, behind them is some gay men, but honestly their stories aren't preferred, they're not the right “flavor” for the consumers usually, who are largely women. In general YA consumers and authors are women, but I wish that they… just wrote about women too. I think there is a certain… snowball effect to the overrepresentation of mlm representing the whole LGBT community that leads to fetishization, as well as misogyny playing a factor in: less women characters being written well to write fanfic on, when they are written well they're taken less seriously or the audience struggles to relate to them, they're less marketable then men. 
Idk I never feel “seen” or “represented” by any of the books above, which don't address boyhood and manhood and queerness intersecting really, and AFTG doesn’t either. I relate to AFTG as a trauma victim who has experienced a lot of what many of the characters go through and have gone through in the EC as well as them just overall being very well written characters, but I don't relate to it as a mlm really. I've never seen like.. gay voice or being straight passing or femphobia or how boyhood can be affected from a young age by those around you sensing you're ‘other’ or if you didn't experience this you feel outside the mlm community. Let alone sub cultures like bear and leather and pup, at most you see the word “he's such a twink” in fandom which... i fr hate non mlm using that word because it's usually used to replace the f-slur essentially, used derogatorily or to call him “such a bottom” and stuff like that. It’s like a joke or an insult.
Long story short, idk mang this was a ramble and I think I'm coning down with something. I wanna see more queer women rep and women authors writing about being a queer woman too. I think it's a complex web of fetishization and a bit of forbidden love yaoi culture (or it used to be in the BOYXBOY days) as well as misogyny on an industry level, creator level, as well as reader/consumer and fandom level. I don’t think it’s inherently wrong to explore other peoples stories and what we read has to be segregated, “only mlm are allowed to read and write mlm, only wlw are allowed to read and write wlw,” but I also think author’s intent and audience and background is telling, as well as overall statistics. Like about an hour ago I was looking for cookbooks in spanish or in english, and I was looking for some mexican food cook books, but I had to look for them using words in spanish because otherwise what came up was a bunch of “fiesta party, easy as uno dos tres authentic cooking!” and I was like… hm. Since I could tell they were marketing to anglos. (also the author’s last names were like michelle smith, james cooper, and this could be for a variety of reasons, but I trust Hispanic names more tbh and deadass would look at the authors pictures and if they had other books in Spanish or what their specialties were.)
anyways. not sure how to end this. uhm if anyone has any book recs (my to read list is like 500 books tho no joke) preferably not YA white mlm written by a white lady, hopefully queer women written by queer woman, LMK, I need more wlw and queer women stories on my list. I have a decent amount but always looking for more. I kinda wanna link my goodreads or my storygraph but I also don't want to get doxxed and it has my legal name on it so.
Also, I'm dyslexic and using spell check but if there's like some wild typos my b.
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secretsniper2 · 11 months ago
Part 4: New Life
You wake after a rough night, tear stained cheeks, your mouth dry and your body aching, blinding back tears you look down your body and see nothing, the contacts doing their job, you can barely see your own breasts. A loud slam as the door at the top of the stairs opens and closes, footsteps as he approaches and stopping at your bed, “awake already cunt? your too eager for the fucking!” blinking back more tears as the blurry figure standing over you grabs your breast and squeezes hard drawing a sharp gasp from your dry lips, his other hand brushing against your delicate nether lips and parts them easily, dragging fingers up your labia forcing moans to burst out your mouth now. Pushing deep a finger plunges into your pussy and moves around inside you, stirring up your insides as if he is looking for something that isn't there
Thrusting harder and harder your hips push up as he finger fucks your pussy, seemingly going deeper with each thrust. “what a needy cunt you have! would you like to cum? would you like this metal shield to come off?” Screaming out at that last part “YES PLEASE!!!” throat almost breaking, your so thirsty, “PLEASE LET ME CUU-!” you break off as your throat gives out as the man flicks the shield sealing your clit away, sending ripples through your entire body as your clit receives some desperate stimulation for the 1st time in what seems like a lifetime. “ill leave it on for now, if your a good slave i may remove it for the night” he says with a smile as he begins to mount your body once again, intent on pumping you full so he has reason to clean you out later.
Cock lining up with your pussy he pushes in hard, lips parting around his member he goes straight to your womb, your head flies back into the mattress as your arousal and mind both soar into the clouds! fucking vigorously as the bed squeaks beneath you both as his cock pulls out and thrusts back in over and over again, your blinking back tears as your teeth seize your lower lip as your pleasure reaches newer heights with no end in sight, the source of your release locked behind a shield and out of sight.
Finally cumming inside your womb the man pulls out of you and stands up at your side, seemingly looking down on his pathetic piece of fuck meat. “ill give you a favour, slave.. “ he says as your face is seized and your eyes forced open. you can see his blurry fingers get closer and peel away the contacts that made seeing impossible from your eyes. Blinking madly your eyes adjust to being useful once again and you look up at the man. Hes tall, long black hair and a beard, his shirt is open revealing a hairy chest with a still hard cock between his legs. Turning away your given a chance to survey your new room, its horrible! a chair sits alone in a corner with a chain dangling from the ceiling and a horribly painful looking dildo sitting on top. Multiple shackles nailed to 1 wall at various distances and heights, likely meant for wrists and ankles, there are nails holding more shackles a foot further across. Various other devices lay around your room, likely inspired from medieval times, a rack and a random barrel surrounded by anchor points, a Sybian which scares you, you tried 1 once and you came hard and it wasn't even on half power, a series of stocks ranging from different sizes with bigger and smaller holes..
The man returns with a trolley, too high for you to see what's on it as he wheels it to your bedside, you know that there's nothing on that trolley that your going to enjoy.. Seemingly on cue the man takes 2 clamps and a series of wires from the table and rests them between your supple breasts, taking a clamp and lowering it on your nipple, he looks into your eyes as you whimper in fear as he releases the clamp and it slams down on your hard nipple, biting deep forcing tears to swell up in your eyes. Blinking as the tears run down your cheeks your greeted with the other clamp held over your other nipple, already knowing how it ends you look into his eyes as he releases it, slamming it down on your nipple and wrenching more tears from your eyes.
Pulling the wire from your cleavage he attaches 1 wire to 1 clamp then the remaining wire to the other clamp and trails the wires up to the trolley top. You hear him push the wires into something but your certain its a electrical device that your going to hate. Shaking your head in frustration your eyes catch something hanging on the wall facing you, its a digital clock, large red numbers showing 09:15 illuminate the surrounding wall in the darkness, at least you will know what time it is as your tortured and raped. Lifting the control box from the trolley its placed on your stomach making it difficult to see as your wired tits are blocking your view.
“lets start with number 3.” you hear him mumble as your nipples begin to tingle with the current being forced from 1 nipple to the other. “number 5? he says and as he pushes the button “ahhh!” it hurt, not not as bad as it will if that was only 5, 5 out of what? “number 9? he says, through your cleavage you can see the button he presses, his thumb hovering over it, looking up a bit you lock eyes with him, with a smile on his face, his thumb drops! “AHHH HA HA! FUCK!” you scream, he held the button down a good 10 seconds, clearly enjoying the setting your on, or perhaps your at max power he pushes again drawing more cries of pain from you, Head launching side on your eyes search for the clock on the wall as he continues pressing that red button, “09:25?.. fuck.
Your nipple torture seems to have lit a light in the mans head, as he pulls the wires free of the clamps and walks away, only to return holding a piercing gun.. Removing your nipple clamps your nipples are lined up and the gun is loaded, a quick shooting pain signals your nipple has a fresh hole that's already filled. Looking down you see a metal bar protruding from your left nipple, you stare in fear as your right nipple is lined up to be pierced, and moments later it looks the same as your left. fresh pain flooding your breasts as blood trickles out of your freshly punctured nipples, cleaned up by the sadistic man, but you wonder why he pierced your nipples so suddenly..
Seeing more wires be placed on your chest your eyes widen as you realize the piercings purpose.. wrapping 2 wires per piercing at each end of the bar your nipples will be filled with their own hellish currents! As his thumb lands on the button you feel a dull current pass through the bar and into your sore nipples, “number 3? he says. Cranking it higher you hear him say “number 7? and you nipples flood with power that makes you moan out loud, it hurts but it also feels good, but you know he isn't planning on making YOU feel good. your confirmed as he says “number 10? and as he pushes the button you scream out in pain as your nipples begin to course with electricity, too strong to be pleasurable!
“number 13..” he says and your eyes shoot down to meet his gaze, as he hits the button your head launches back once again as your lungs draw in air and you scream “FUUUUUUUCKKK!! STOP PLEASE!!” and he does, only to press it for a second to make you scream for that second, making him laugh you hear 2 more clicks and a “number 15? and once again your button is pressed. Higher number but not that big a leap, your ready for most of the pain but not all, your mouth tears open again as you scream out “NO MORE PLEASE!!” and after a hellish 8 seconds he stops. your head falls to the side and your eyes lock to the clock, 09:58.. worst morning ever..
“Number 20? and it just got worse! eyes tearing off the clock and visually stabbing the man in his eyes you can only meet him for a heartbeat then the button is pressed and your eyes shoot into your own head, “AHHHHH FUUUUUUUUCK NOOOOOOO!! you shriek! your back arching painfully as your body does everything it can to fight the pain and free your nipples, but bound as tight as you are your efforts are reduced to a pathetic jerking motion.
Clearly having fun with your poor nipples he continues to press a number 20 on your body, holding you in that hellish place for ages, or so it seems. Shaking eyes roll down to find the clock and your shrieking only grows as you see the time.. 10:01.. its only been 3 minutes and it feels like hours.. Tears flood down your cheeks as you look back at the source of your hell, smile still plastered on his face as he pushes the button again, pulling more screams from your mouth! Your eyes still locked on his own you beg and beg with all your might hoping that it'll sway him so he will stop tormenting your nipples. and after 1 final minute long press of the button, the wires are removed from your freshly pierced and throbbing nipples..
Returning to the trolley the man picks up a rather large dildo and pushes the head of it against your tight ass, you clench in denial but there's little your ass can do to stop him with your legs bound wide open, soon enough he fills your ass painfully with a solid cock, pushing it deeper inside you and finally letting it rest in your already sore ass. A long, thin, ribbed vibrator is pulled off the trolley and with a smile he sits between your spread legs. you expect him to insert the uselessly small toy in your wet pussy but you jump as its your urethra that gets the tip.. ”OH GOD NO NOT THERE PLEASE!!” you scream! no longer seeming too small, its turned into a monster that will tear you apart on entry! dipping it inside your pussy to lubricate the toy its then pushed slowly inside your pee hole.
Pushing harder and harder the vibrator slides painfully inside you, stretching you wide around the monster toy you can feel every bump along its surface as it continues its penetration, at last you feel it reach the end, his thumb brushing against your pussy, you now have the entire length inside your urethra. Hearing a light click your rewarded with a strong buzz in a place you have never considered being stimulated, its strong and easily takes your mind off the pain, your hips begin thrusting dully as the man pushes his still hard cock back into your pussy. eye zipping to the clock 10:30..
Fucking hard inside your pussy like a madman you hear him grunting into your ear “fucking hell cunt, i can feel the buzzing from in here! must make you feel good!” he isn't wrong.. your pussy is gushing from the stimulation, its incredible your only sad it isn't making you cum, each time the man slams into your pussy your shield takes the blow, protecting your desperate cum button from being hit! Dumping another load inside your pussy you reel from the stimulation, legs pulling uselessly against the bindings that pin you to your bed, you have never wanted to cum this badly in a long time, though you have never intentionally kept yourself on the edge of release for days on end before.. “please let me cum..” you cry out through a flood of tears “i cant take it anymore..”
Feeling the shield blocking your clit get pulled away you moan loudly, the air hitting your little bud you look at the man expecting him to pinch or twist your clit to make you cum through pain, but as he holds up the piercing gun your eyes almost shoot out of their sockets “NO PLEASE NOT THERE!! NOT MY CLIT PLEASE!!!” you scream! not interested in your complaints or begging he plants himself back between your wide open thighs and leans in close to your helpless clit, you can feel his hot breath blowing against your little nub as tears stream down your face in fear of what's to come..
Nuzzling your swelling clit with the tip of the gun you hear him whisper “lets see if you can cum from this..” and as you look down between your breasts at the man you hear a loud *clunk* and a stabbing pain, your clit now has a friend, and your mind is screaming! Breaking into tears over the pain, your clit throbbing with a mix of unending arousal and a flood of pain, your ass and urethra still buzzing wildly serving as a minor distraction to the pain, then you see a piece of metal in his hands with some weird things inside it, he brings it closer for you to see.
“its your new shield, ill put it on you later” he says with a grin, “oh fuck no…” you whisper, its got 2 hooks, likely to attach to your new piercing at the sides, the centre is covered in tiny rubber spikes, they are all going to land right against the tip of your clit, and every move you make is going to drawn them back and forth across your sensitive button, its going to feel incredible but if your forced to walk around alot, you wont be able to stop cumming no matter how tired you get.. Placing your new shield at the foot of the bed, likely so to not misplace it, your pussy is invaded by another dildo, large and ribbed “for your pleasure” he says with a laugh, pushing it deep into your womb he clicks it to life, now all 3 of your holes are filled with buzzing toys, and you cant cum..
Grabbing something new from the table he closes in on your face, most likely to use whatever it is on you. not wanting to go blind again you slam your eyes shut to keep the contacts out, only to have your jaw grabbed and pulled open and a ring inserted behind your teeth, pulling it up your mouth opens wider and wider until its physically impossible to open your mouth any further. Your tongue pushes against the ring only to find its lodged in place, its not going to budge, with your mouth now free for use your chest is straddled and his cock pushes once again inside your mouth and down your throat, with the stimulation your receiving your forced to moan onto his cock as he puts 2 loads of cum down your throat as he holds your head close with each shot.
Taking his cock out your head drops to the side, 11:20, time flies when your getting fucked. “i got some errands to run and a few things to pick up so ill leave you with something to do!” he says as he unlocks your feet and your wrists, locking your hands in front of you. Pulling you off the bed by your hands your led around a corner and taken to a iron horse.. the wedge on the top looks both dull and sharp at the same time. your wrists are chained over your head and the chain pulls you closer to the horse, he lifts you up and your pussy rests on the iron wedge at the top, your lips parting and your clit almost slicing into the wedge. Crying out in pain you know that begging gets you nowhere, even so your mouth gets a ballgag to go with the ring holding your mouth open. The man bends under the horse and attaches something to your ankle, then your other ankle, pulling your legs up you find it was a spreader bar, though your legs are already spread it now serves to keep you seated. another clock is in front of you 11:25 on the front, you notice it has 4 screws in the front, at 12,3,6 and 9, each with wires leading to the horse, the long hand on the clock has a wire of its own, with a piece of metal at its tip. “every 15 minutes your going to get a treat. don't cum too hard you desperate cunt!” as he watches the clock in front of you. tick tick tick tick you watch in horror as the hand gets closer and closer until 11:30..
Your pussy and ass course with high voltage as your shriek through the gag, tears rush down your face as your mind races with sensations of pure pain and pleasure! but no orgasm! the pain keeps her denied now! a moment of sensations then 15 hellish minutes of anticipation. “ill be back in a few hours!” he says drawing another scream from your lips. Hearing him walk upstairs and slamming the door and the faint sound of the bookshelf sliding over the doorway, your isolated and in a lot of trouble. Eyes locking to the clock, its already 11:43! you moan and scream but its no use and you know it. tick tick tick goes the close till inevitably your body is assaulted with more electricity! your captor just left and you can barely take anymore!!
Your eyes glance back to the clock 01:28. you brace for another round of hell when you hear something! the door opens and closes and footsteps as he walks down the stairs! Just as his foot lands on the ground 01:30 and your body convulses and you scream in pain as he laughs! “fuck! nice timing huh cunt! so did you cum or not?!” he said as he walks over to your shaking body. “i asked you a question slave, did you cum?!” “MNNN!” is all you can manage but it gets the point across, you couldn't cum once.. Switching off the device your taken over to another device and strapped down, a long dildo pushes effortlessly into your pussy, ass and urethra as you groan out loud, still delirious from the previous torture. mentally gathering yourself you look at your new torture tool.
Eyes shooting open you realize you just got strapped onto a Sybian.. your going to cum hard on this, and the man isn't likely to keep you on ¼ power! so you'll keep cumming till you faint! trying desperately to get off the device your completely restrained on its evil seat! locking your arms behind your back your shown the remote to your new seat. Clicking it to life your rewarded with a soft hum as it roars to life, watching the remote as your captor rotates the dial to half way in a single go you cum instantly! and again and again! constantly orgasming your head launches back as you scream into your gag!
Pulling your head by the hair back to face the control you watch as he ramps you up again to ¾ power and your body convulses harder than it did on the horse! constant streams of cum leak out of your pussy as your orgasms have combined into 1 constant orgasm, no end in sight, the only thing in sight is the controls as he maxes the sybian out, your orgasms now coming every single second! blinking tears out of your eyes you begin to see spots in your vision, each orgasm adds a new dot to slowly block your vision. It isn't long until the pleasure has rendered your eyes useless due to the dots and you black out finally!
Waking up rebound to your bed, pussy still shaking from the orgasmic onslaught your eyes slowly turn to the clock on the wall, 05:47, your glad you blacked out from that, you know you would have gone insane from the orgasms if you were awake. Hearing something in your head you find you have earbuds in your ears, and something holding them in place, its a white noise, nothing more, at least you hope. Waking up further you find your 3 lower holes have been refilled with buzzing toys and your clit has its old shield back in place. Hearing your captor returning you look over and see through the haze you can see a hose, cleaning time.. fuck. your pussy is emptied and then refilled with the cold hard cock designed for 1 thing, and sure enough your pussy is flooded with cold water, fucking you hard with it your womb is washed clean of all the cum he's loaded into your pussy today. Shaking from the internal wash, your pussy is refilled with its toy and a latex hood is pulled over your head, leaving only your eyes exposed. Your going to learn how to live with your new life you have now. its going to be long and hard but you'll learn to love it eventually.
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whereisten · 2 years ago
Gentle Monsters
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 Intro | Part 6 (End)
Summary: After a night of running from a wild animal, you meet Johnny, the owner of the conservatory greenhouse you accidentally broke into. Johnny is kind and sweet—a little too sweet.
Pairing: Werewolf!Johnny X female reader
Warnings: horror, violence, blood and gore, mentions of scars and bruises, angst, supernatural powers, death, profanity, smut (fingering, penetration, breast fondling, dry humping), manipulation, obsession, possessiveness, yandere themes.
Word count: 12.1K
(A/n: wow wow wowwww this is it you guys! I hope you enjoy the last installment of this fic 🥺 it’s my personal favorite fic that I’ve written so I’m kinda sad to finish it, but thank you all for your continuous support that keeps me going, it’s almost been a year!! Wow! Pls read until the very enddd❤️)
Yuta was ruthless. He never gave you time to breathe once he attacked you. He’d grab your wrist and kick your chest, sending you into the rough cement in his backyard.
“Do you like being best friends with the floor. Get up and fight. If you can’t take a hit from me, a human, how on Earth do you think you’ll survive a werewolf’s attack?” Yuta looked up at the bright sun while you panted on all fours.
“Human? I’m not so sure about that. I mean..you don’t have to go easy on me..but..fuck..please..can we go slower? This is just..a lot.” You pleaded, not realizing that Yuta was walking up to you quickly.
He kicked you in your rib, making you groan in pain and collapse over onto your back. You laid there and struggled to move as Yuta planted his right foot on your chest.
On top of never being the best at physical things, you were still healing from the effects of the killer pregnancy. Your body was fragile.
“Go easy? You’re pathetic, you don’t stand a chance.”
You hugged yourself as you tried to pull his heavy foot off of you. Tears started to run down the sides of your face while you cried and grew hot with anger. It was the second day of training and Yuta expected you fight like Bruce Lee.
“We haven’t even touched the katana’s yet..do you want to die, huh? Because if I don’t kill you by the end of this, I’m sure Johnny will.”
“Fuck you!” You screamed.
Yuta lifted his foot off of your chest and stepped back. “Get up, show me how angry you are.”
You picked yourself up and looked down at your bruised knuckles. Yuta made you spend hours boxing bags of sand until your hands bled, yet you couldn’t fight him, you could never land a punch.
“Johnny was right to choose you.. he knew you were weak, he knew you didn’t stand a chance against him..” Yuta was pushing your buttons now. Would you cry? Would you become furious? He didn’t know, but he hoped it would be the latter. He hoped that you would use that anger to fuel your attacks. The fact that Johnny had put you through so much shit was the the only thing that gave Yuta hope for you.
Yuta stepped closer to you.
“You didn’t put up a fight, you ignored all the signs, and then what? You ran away..oh, and let’s not forget.. you needed the help of another werewolf to get away from him. You couldn’t do it on your own.. and why’s that, y/n? Hm?”
Yuta tilted his head. He took your chin in his hand and watched as your eyes grew watery and your face lose color.
“Answer me, sweetheart.” His voice was sweet even when he was being condescending.
You shook your head, too caught up in his words to know how to respond. So many emotions ran through your mind. You were upset, sad, heartbroken, confused. Everything all at once.
“What’s wrong? Wolf got your tongue?” He chuckled.
And at that moment, you decided you couldn’t take it anymore. You quickly swat his hand away and lay a punch to his jaw. But he recovers fast and grabs your hair, pulling your head back while you cry out in pain.
But you don’t let this pain distract you, you kneel him in the rib and punch him again while he doubles over.
Yuta is caught off guard by your swift actions and doesn’t know how to respond. So you take this opportunity to swipe a leg through his, making him fall onto the ground hard as he loses balance.
He tried to get up but you swing your foot into his side just like he did to you a few minutes ago. You realize that your foot won’t apply as much pressure as his, so you decide to put your entire body weight on himself sit on his chest.
You’re about to lay another punch to his beautiful face, but he grabs your wrist and swings his body over yours so you are under him now.
You grunt and throw your fist with your free hand into the side that you had previously kicked. Yuta groans in pain once more, but his grip on your wrist doesn’t loosen.
Instead, he grabs both flailing wrists and holds them above your head. He’s tightening his fingers around them so tight, you can almost feel and hear your bones start to break. You scream.
“Tell me what you are! Tell me why Johnny did this to you!” Yuta growled as your cried out in indescribable pain. Your hits didn’t seem to phase or impress him.
“Fuck you, Yuta! Get off of me!”
Yuta only smirked. His dark eyes widening, he takes pleasure in seeing you suffer like this, especially after you dared to hit him.
He dug his thumb into your rib, the same place he had kicked earlier. Your scream grows louder.
“Weak! I’m weak!!” Tears escape as you struggle to ignore the pains in all parts of your body.
Yuta lets you go and lifts himself off of you.
He rolls his neck as he looks down at you condescendingly.
You roll over onto your side and hug yourself while you cry.
“You’re weak, you’re soft, but worst of all, you’re wasting my time.” He says lowly as he steps into his house and closes the sliding door, locking you out to make you sleep outside in the cold once again.
You looked up when you heard the clicking of the door. Was he opening it up for you? Would he finally let you sleep inside?
“Tako!” He clicked his tongue to get his cat’s attention. You didn’t even notice that Tako had been watching you cry quietly.
He quickly ran inside and you heard the door slide and lock again.
Yuta was half-hoping that this treatment would make you give up and leave. A part of him didn’t care about this drama you were in. But another part of him wanted you to grow stronger. He could see the hurt in your eyes and he doesn’t know why he’s decided to care. He hates that he feels sympathy for someone he just met. You needed to be tougher, but he wasn’t sure how much time you had before Johnny would find you and put you to the test. Yuta couldn’t help but be worried for you.
[A Month Later]
Your training with Yuta got better steadily. You were slow at first, but with practice you started to trust yourself and your body more.
Yuta helped you develop your physical as well as mental well-being. You had grown to be more spiritual, seeing yourself as a being with infinite talents.
“You have to feel every movement in your heart first, then you have to visualize it. But you must do it quickly. Werewolves get off on fear, they smell it, they anticipate it. And if Johnny is as powerful as you say, he’ll smell your fear from a mile away. He’ll know what you plan to do before you do. So you have to be unpredictable.”
Yuta sat across from you with his arms over his crossed legs. His gaze was intense as he spoke. His black hair tied out of his face and his expression stern.
The two of you had gotten to know each other over the weeks, you weren’t best friends or anything, but you felt safe around him.
He still spoke harsh words to make you angry, but you had gotten used to his method of teaching and learned not to take it personally.
Apart from having to eat alone, sleep outside on cold gravel, and adorn bruises in new spots on the daily..living with Yuta wasn’t that bad.
“Johnny has super strength and speed, but he’s not like Jaehyun, he can’t read minds.” You said quietly.
“Doesn’t matter. He’ll still get to you before you even draw the string on your crossbow or pull out your katana.”
Yuta sighed and looked at the ground before continuing.
“We can only be thankful that we do know his one weakness.”
Your brows furrowed. “What’s that?”
He looked up at you and chuckled. “You. It’s you. If he’s this intent on finding you..you were more than just the carrier of his baby..you have a piece of his heart. He clearly can’t let you go.”
You shook your head. “I doubt it, he doesn’t care about me and even if he did, how does that give me the upper hand?”
“Y/n...you really are naive..” Yuta shook his head.
“Johnny has a lust for power..but he also has a lust for you.”
Yuta stands up and draws out his sword.
“Stand up.”
You stand up quickly and grab your katana. The two of you had done this before. You’d fight for what felt like hours with your katana, and you always ended up with cuts on your neck and arms.
But you thought about what Yuta said today. You really thought about your movement. You visualized your attack before actually making it.
You went back and forth, clinking the swords together, making sure to block each other’s attacks so you wouldn’t be sliced open like fresh pieces of meat. It was difficult and scary, you could die at any moment. But what did you have to lose?
Yuta was shocked by your determination. At the end of the day, you always ended up with multiple cuts along your perfect skin, yet you kept going.
He could see the passion in your eyes, you were growing and becoming a fighter, you were no longer filled with immense sadness. You were filled with a beautiful fire that he wanted to nurture and grow even more.
Your robe had come loose slightly as you spun around with the katana after blocking his attack. The move revealed the soft skin of your chest and cleavage, causing him to become distracted for a split second.
You were able to swipe the blade across his abdomen. He cried out and fell to the ground on his knees.
“Shit! Yuta!” You dropped your katana and kneeled down in front of him.
Yuta only chuckled. “It’s okay, that was good.”
“I’m so sorry!” You apologized and took his hand away from his center so you could see how bad the cut was.
“Don’t worry, it’s not that deep, but it sure as hell hurts.” Yuta looked up at you and adored your face. Your eyes wide with worry, your lips parted, your delicate face decorated by sweat and straggly hairs that escaped your ponytail.
Your eyes drifted upwards to his and you caught his stare. You didn’t notice that you had been holding his hand even as you examined the wound.
You also didn’t notice that your robe was lose until he glanced down.
“Oh.” You became frazzled and quickly tied your robe.
Yuta smirked at how nervous you got and stood up. “That’s it for today. We’ll start with the crossbow tomorrow.” He groaned and headed back inside his house.
“Yuta..” you looked to the ground as you called his name, still embarrassed by your exposed skin.
He turned and winced at the pain.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” You were still worried.
Yuta smiled for the first time, and it was amazing. It was like the sun had personally come down to greet you. It was beautiful and brought about a ridiculously handsome look to the already gorgeous man.
You wished he would smile more. Would it take him getting hurt more for you to see this daily?
“I’m fine, I’ve stitched myself up more times that I can remember.” He started to close the door, but stopped.
“Actually, you said you were a bartender, right?”
You ran into Yuta’s kitchen and gathered all the ingredients you needed.
Yuta was getting his first aid kit together while you whipped up a delicious alcoholic beverage.
“Make it strong, I don’t want to feel this shit.” He yelled out from the bathroom.
You smiled to yourself as you watched the vodka fill his glass and disperse the cocktail or lemon juice, sparkling water and berries you collected from his garden. It has been a while since you did what you do best, so you were happy to mix a drink for him.
A voice suddenly entered your ear. It was a soft whisper, but you swore the person was right behind you. You turned around quickly, but saw nothing.
Yuta was still in the bathroom, you could hear the water running.
The voice said again and your heart started to race when you recognized the voice.
“Johnny?” You called out, your grip around the glass grew weak, your eyes became watery, your breathing became shallow. A chill in the air made you shiver.
Time stood still for a moment and you didn’t know what to do. Johnny was nowhere to be found. Were you just imagining things?
“What’s wrong?” Yuta said once he walked into the kitchen and saw the look on your face.
You looked back at him and shook your head. “It’s nothing.. here.” You gave a small smile and handed him the glass from your trembling hands.
He took the glass but stepped close to you, locking you in between him and the counter.
“Don’t lie to me, what happened?” He knew something was wrong when you started crying suddenly.
You shivered. “I-I don’t know, Yuta..I thought I heard him..but I..”
Yuta’s eyes grew and he looked to the floor. “He’s trying to find you..”
“How does he still do this to me, Yuta? I feel like..I can’t breathe..my heart, it wants me to go to him.”
“Don’t...” Yuta turned away from you and headed to the dining room.
He groaned as he sat down slowly.
“You have to remember what he put you through, always remember your pain first and foremost. It’s difficult to remember the pain our loved ones brought us, but we have to in order to be stronger.” Yuta gulped the strong drink down.
You nodded and wiped your eyes. “How’s your wound?”
Yuta closed his eyes tightly as the bitter taste of the alcohol settled in.
He lifted up his shirt to show you a wound almost completely healed.
Your eyes grew. “W-Wait, how-“
“We have witches and herbs here too, you know.” He winked.
You nodded and turned to leave.
But before you did, you turned to him to ask one last question.
“What happened to you, Yuta? How did you become this..a hunter? And why did you stop?”
“What is this? Twenty questions?” Yuta rolled his eyes.
“The truth always comes out when you’re drunk.” You have him a playful wink and smile.
You just wanted a distraction, something to lighten the mood and make you forget about the monster that was so close to finding you. The monster that still made you tremble.
And Yuta knew this. He knew you were shaken up by it, so he caved. He had a painful past too, but he didn’t mind sharing it with you for some reason.
“I was in love once..I was happy..” Yuta looked on the centerpiece that sat on the dining table. It was a small sculpture of a beautiful ballerina.
You sat down across from him and waited for him to continue. He swallowed hard.
“But my younger brother..he grew jealous of me, he had a young love that passed away suddenly of an incurable illness. And when he passed, my brother grew heartless, he hated happiness. He hated anyone that lived happily, because he couldn’t. His lover never got the chance to be happy.. death had snatched him away, but why? Why couldn’t death take someone else? Why him?”
You felt sadness wash over you as you thought of the pain Yuta’s brother endured.
“A year passed and he barely spoke to me, he lived alone and stayed away from us, his family. But once I got married to Hina..my dear Hina..” Yuta’s frowned turned into a small smile as he started to think of the wonderful memories he shared with Hina.
He cleared his throat. “Once I got married..I started to see my brother more often..and I thought he was getting over his lover’s death, I thought he was moving on and finally deciding to spend more time with me...but I was wrong.” Yuta looked up at you and gritted his teeth.
“He betrayed me..he gained my trust, he gained Hina’s trust and one day, he said they were going to the market to pick up vegetables for the family dinner we had planned that evening. At the time, we lived in the city, so I had to clean up our apartment and get things ready while they headed out to the countryside.”
He looked down and blinked slowly. “My brother..took Hina to the werewolves...he was one himself, but at the time I had no idea they even existed. They turned her into one..they manipulated and tricked her so she turned on me. She was no longer my bright Hina that loved cherry pie and Pikachu. She became...a monster, something I couldn’t recognize.” 
“I tried to hold onto her when my brother brought her to me to boast about what he’d done. He laughed as I cried and felt pain, telling me that the alpha had rewarded him greatly for bringing a woman that he could turn and impregnate. The alpha was growing an army of werewolves in the woods and needed more women. I tried to make her stay, tried to tell her that I’d love her regardless of what she was..but..” Yuta choked up. He had never shown this much emotion to you before.
“You don’t have to continue, Yuta..I’m sorry.”
But he swallowed hard and continued, wiping away his tears and staring at the table. “She called me a fool and left me, she said she never loved me and that she belonged to her alpha. I didn’t fight hard enough.. I didn’t try. They would taunt me some nights. I would have dreams of being with her. Dreams of walking under cherry blossom trees, holding hands as we feed birds and swimming in crystal blues lakes. Sweet dreams that I wanted to live in forever, then they’d turn into nightmares. I’d wake up after feeling like I’ve been scratched or bitten.” 
“Then one day she appeared in my apartment with her alpha. She was happy and pregnant, her alpha was always holding her close, kissing her cheek in front of me. And I couldn’t do anything, I was powerless. My brother got what he wanted. He wanted someone else to feel the pain of losing someone they loved, someone they’d cross the Earth for.”
“I still loved her.. I only wanted the best for her..but they started to hunt and kill people in our town as their pack grew. I knew I had to stop them. I trained. I told myself I was doing it so I could stop them, but really..I thought becoming a hunter would give me the chance to get her back..”
Your eyes widened. You wondered what happened next.
“I..killed them..all of them..I saved her for last because she was merciless. She was incredibly strong, and fought me like she didn’t know who I was. At the last moment, she grabbed a child from a nearby village as I chased her through the woods. She was going to eat her so I had to shoot an arrow into her chest.. I tried to save her..but I couldn’t. Ever since then, I’ve tried to save innocent people from those terrible beasts. I’ve made a name for myself as a werewolf hunter and fought the worst of the worst. Jaehyun hates me so much, he got me put on the no-fly list so I can’t leave this place. But I don’t care...I don’t regret anything. The only thing I regret is ever having the nerve to trust someone.”
He paused.
His eyes started to tear up again as he looked on the smiling ballerina.
“She was a dancer..the best..”
“Yuta..” you reached out to hold his hand but he pulled away and stood up.
“Now you know why I’m like this..it’s time for you to leave.”
Your mouth fell open, you didn’t know what to say, but Yuta didn’t want to hear it anyway.
He knew you pitied him, and a part of him was embarrassed to get this personal with someone that he had no future with.
You nodded and got up.
“I’m sorry.” You say and you’re about to open the sliding door but he stops you.
“Y/n..where are you going? It’s raining.” Yuta runs a hand through his hair once he realizes that his tone was unnecessarily harsh towards you.
You shrugged your shoulders. “It wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve slept in the rain, Yuta.”
Yuta walks up to you and places a hand on the door to keep you from opening it.
You look up into his eyes and furrow your brows.
He licks his lips and breathed heavily. “Sleep here..in my bed..”
Your eyes widen.
“I mean, not with me in it..” Yuta rolls his eyes. “If you get sick, it’ll only slow down your training and I can’t have that, so sleep in here after you shower.”
Yuta walks away as your mouth falls open.
You never would’ve thought he’d let you sleep in the house let alone his bed.
Maybe he was a nice man.
“W-where will you sleep?” You ask.
“Lucky for you, I’ve got a sweet hammock with my name on it.”
Yuta plops down into the hammock in his living room. You never noticed it, but it did look comfortable.
“Pspspsps..” he calls over Tako who happily jumps into his lap as the hammock swings back and forth gently.
Tako curls into his lap while Yuta’s head falls back. He closes his eyes and rests his hands on the back of his head.
You laugh to yourself quietly and turn the lights off before heading to the bathroom.
You wake upon a plush bed for the first time in months . It feels heavenly so as the daylight pours in through the blinds, you smile to yourself and hug the blanket over you.
But then, everything clicks, you jump up in the bed and realize that it’s not yours. You stand up and quickly fix the pillows and smooth the sheets.
You leave the room and walk around the house quietly, trying not to wake Yuta up.
Yuta, however, is nowhere to be found, you look over to the hammock and see that he’s not in it anymore, nor is he in the kitchen.
Tako is still eating his breakfast from his bowl in the kitchen.
“Your father just fed you, so where is he?”
You open the sliding door to the backyard and hear water splashing. When you walk around the bushes and go deeper into it, you see Yuta is taking a bath in a large stone that was placed in the ground and shaped like a tub. You always bathed in it, but never thought he used it since he always used the shower in his bathroom.
It was hidden in the center of shrubs and flowers, but you peeked through a small opening and looked on him.
This is wrong, isn’t it? Hmmm a peak won’t hurt.
You look onto Yuta radiant skin, created and graced by the gods themselves. His waist slender but his arms were quite brawny.
His skin was littered in scars. He had been through so much in his life as a hunter, and his scars showed that it wasn’t easy. It took a toll on him physically and mentally as well. You understood why he no longer hunted.
Yuta turns to rinse his chest and stomach now and you bite your lips at the site of the water running down him. His abs and pecs are strong and sculpted, his wet hair is slicked back, revealing his dark, long lashes and high cheekbones. He so perfect it almost seems like he’s moving in slow motion. It’s like he’s shooting a commercial for some expensive cologne.
Just when your mind starts to run wild with lustful thoughts, you feel a light scratch on your ankle.
You yelp and look down at the source.
It’s Tako, gazing up at you with those big green eyes. He’s clearly not amused by you watching his father bathe.
But your sound of shock gives your location away. You look back up at Yuta and see that he is still rinsing himself off. Maybe he didn’t hear you.
You hurriedly tip toe away and back into the house.
Yuta smirks to himself and thinks about how cute you are, peeping through bushes to watch him bathe.
[A Week Later]
You continue to improve and become familiar with the crossbow. Yuta tells you all about it and how the arrows must be covered in silver to make any sort of impact.
Your aim becomes better, but you have to be faster.
“If a werewolf is coming at you full speed, you can’t hesitate.” Yuta looks into your eyes. He stands to your side and places his hand over yours on the arrow.
He has to step closer to you so that you can draw the arrow back together. You feel his hot breath on you, you smell his fresh scent and feel the warmth of his body on yours. His hands are rough, but he touches you ever so lightly.
Sweat formulates on your forehead as you breathe heavily.
“And just like that..” his voice comes out in a low whisper.
When you both let the arrow go, it shoots straight through the center of the  mannequin’s chest.
Yuta still stands close to you. You turn to look up at him as he stares into your eyes.
“What’s wrong?” You ask him.
“That was weak, what were you thinking about?” Yuta is intimidating. It’s like he always knows when you’re not focused.
“Nothing, Yuta. I just..” you stumbled over your words.
“Just what? Thinking about last week when you watched me bathe?”
You blink fast. “I..wasn’t watching you..what are you talking about?”
“I’m a werewolf hunter, you can’t hide from me, y/n.” Yuta smirked.
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You walk towards the mannequin to remove the arrow.
Yuta stepped back and chuckled. “Suuuure.”
You rolled your eyes, but silently curse yourself.
There’s a growing tension between you and Yuta and you can’t explain it, but the more familiar the two of you got with each other, the more you wanted from him. Yeah, maybe the two of you were emotionally unstable, but that didn’t stop you from wanting a physical connection with someone. Yuta would touch you more, he’d let you sleep in his bed while he slept on the hammock, and now, he started to cook for you.
He was doing the bare minimum, but it meant so much to you and you couldn’t help but look on him fondly.
Later that evening, you’re taking your usual evening bath. You lay back and enjoy the warm water that soothes your aching body, your arms laid out along the sides. The soft breeze and gentle, dimming sunset makes you feel euphoric. You close your eyes and try to clear your head, unaware of the peeping eyes that now watched you.
Yuta watched the way your head fell back and you neck elongated. Your hair shiny and long lashes darkened by the water.
You looked incredibly beautiful in the sunset, he had to watch you. He had been watching you since you washed your back and revealed the large scars on it. He wondered how you had gotten them since Johnny never seemed to have hurt you.
You hear the bushes shuffle a little bit as Yuta makes noise on purpose to scare you.
Your eyes flicker open and you look to the side that you heard the noise from.
“Hello?” You call out and sit up straight in the large tub.
Yuta steps out from the bushes, he looks into your eyes and doesn���t hide his stare even when you cover your chest with your arms. It looks like he’s just left the shower as he stands in front of you in only a silk robe and his long, wet hair.
“Yuta...” you call out his name in a sweet, but low tone. He steps closer and you relax, removing your arms from your chest and sinking back down.
“What happened to your back?” Yuta’s gaze is hungry and you want him to come closer.
“Tell me about your battle wounds..and I’ll tell you about mine..” you tilt your head to tell him to come inside the tub with you.
Yuta drapes his robe off and steps into the tub. He steps closer to you, your back hitting the edge as you can’t back away any more.
“It’s not so nice being watched, is it?” Yuta smirks.
“Well..I don’t mind it, as long as it’s you.” You whisper but you look at his lips as you speak, ready to feel them on yours.
Yuta leans forward and kisses you, his tongue instantly darting across the plump surface for entrance. You hold onto his back and press his  body closer to yours. You kissed with a sense of urgency, like you had both been longing for this moment for some time.
Your heart beat fast as he bit your bottom lip lightly then kisses your jawline. His steamy breath decorates it while his hand runs through your hair.
The warm water feels amazing on your two bodies joined together like intertwined fingers.
Yuta cups your breast, massaging the nipple in between his thumb and index finger while he watched your mouth fall open.
He kisses your mouth once again, kissing it sloppily and with haste as your whines push him along.
Yuta continues to mark the delicate skin of your neck while massaging your scalp.
You take his face into your hands and look into his eyes deeply. You bite your lips.
“Touch me.”
Yuta kisses you again, never letting go this time while you wrap your arms around his neck and let your body float upwards in the water.
Your legs wrap around his waist. You feel Yuta run his hands up and down your thighs before running his fingers along your slit.
You shiver at the light touch on your sensitive skin, but whimper quietly.
He pushes his fingers into you, letting go of your lips once more so he can watch you shudder at the feeling of his fingers inside you.
You reach down and stroke his member as he continued to push his long fingers into you, his thumb drawing circles on your bud while you cry out his name.
He groans as he feels your soft hand pumping him and rubbing along his tip.
He can’t seem to focus now as the feeling begins to take over, he stares at your naked body, your breasts rising up and down in the water as you ride his fingers, the way your mouth stays open as he stretches you out.
You let go of his member and place your legs down. You turn around and push your butt out as you hold onto the edge of the tub.
“Fuck me, Yuta.”
Yuta gently places your hair to the right side of your neck so he can see your beautiful face as he takes you from behind. He places small kisses on the exposed side before holding your waist and pulling you back towards him. Pushing into you slowly while you gasp.
He takes both wrists in his hand and places them above your head before pushing in and out of you, taking his time so he can feel your walls tighten around his veiny member.
His thrusts are slow but hard, hitting your sweet spot once he finally pushes in all the way.He groans when you clench around him, throwing his head back to keep his hair from falling in his face.
The water splashes onto the ground as he moves faster. Your whimpers grow louder and your satiny walls start to clench around him without control, driving him crazy. He kisses your lips while he makes sultry, hot love to you during the sunset. His chest covers your back and you feel safe. The love Yuta makes to you feels sincere, he kisses you like he can’t let go, like he needs your love to breathe.
And when he isn’t kissing you, his touch is gentle. He gazed at you like you’re a precious gift.
His hips snap into you and you cry out his name. He grunts and starts to rub your clit again with his other hand.
You can feel the bruise start to form on your neck as Yuta sucks on it harder.
Yuta kisses your lips then looks into your eyes as he rubs and pushes in faster. “Cum for me, baby.” he leans into your ear and whispers lowly.
You quiver around him as you climax, a loud moan leaving your mouth as you become dizzy and your eyes close tightly.
Yuta climaxes after, still kissing your lips as he comes. His movement slows and you both breathe heavily once your done kissing.
He pulls out and steps away to the opposite side of the tub while you turn around.
Yuta brushes his hair back with his fingers, his face looking stressed as he looks into the water.
“What’s wrong?” You ask him.
“Nothing.” Yuta says sternly, his tone and mood is the complete opposite of what it was just minutes ago.
Did he regret doing this? Was he thinking about Hina?
“Yuta-“ you start but he gets up and walks out of the tub. He swiftly throws his robe on and heads back to the house.
When you dry yourself and head in, you see that he’s already fallen asleep on his hammock.
[Later That Night]
You’re sleeping when you hear an airy voice call your name. You shift on your side and ignore it, thinking it was something from your dream.
But then, you hear it calling you again. You open your eyes lazily and look around for Yuta.
You squint and see that no one is there in the darkness. So you lean over to the bedside lamp and turn it on.
When you look back at the end of the bed, you’re startled to see Jaehyun..
“Jaehyun?” You whisper his name then jump on the bed and crawl towards him.
“What happened?”
Your eyes widen when you see that Jaehyun’s chest has been ripped open. The bones of his ribcage stick out into the air. He is covered in blood and his face is covered in scars. His chest is hollow and when you look closer, you see that it’s empty, no heart rests in the cavity.
Your eyes start to tear up. “J-Jaehyun..”
Jaehyun looked away from your eyes. He exhales then sits on the foot of your bed. You rush to sit beside him and look at him questioningly.
“He won, y/n. I tried..but..I wasn’t strong enough.” His voice was somber, his eyes low as he stared at the floor. This was unlike him, he was quiet, sad, defeated.
You reach out to hold his hand, but your hand falls onto the bed and that’s when you realize what else is different with Jaehyun. He doesn’t have a glow about him because you’re dreaming, no, he glows because he’s a ghost.
Jaehyun looks at you while your mouth falls open.
“He..he did this to you?”
“Yes..and he’ll do the same to you. You have to stay away from him. When you ran away, father died shortly after. Johnny lost it. He started killing anyone that would challenge or disagree with him..”
Jaehyun looks to the floor again.
“I couldn’t stop him..I don’t think anyone can. Don’t go back, y/n, you can’t go back.”
You swallowed hard. “I have to stop him. I have to-“
“You don’t understand! He’s powerful, by killing me he’s attained my abilities. He’s still trying to harness them, but in no time he’ll be unstoppable once he controls them. He told me that he will find you and kill you since he can’t have you, y/n. He’s furious that you ran away.”
Jaehyun’s voice got louder. He furrowed his brows and looked at you with anger.
You drew in a sharp breath. “So it was him..”
You thought about the afternoon when you were in the kitchen and heard his voice. Johnny was using telepathy he attained from Jaehyun and was trying to find you.
“He spoke to me the other day, Jaehyun. What if he already knows where I am.”
“He is still in the learning phase. It takes much energy to find someone that is thousands of miles away. He won’t be able to find you for now, for sight and touch are the most difficult senses to develop when trying to contact people telepathically.” Jaehyun’s face relaxes.
“I’m going to kill him, Jaehyun..” tears run down your cheeks as you look at the final state of Jaehyun before his death. You could tell he put up a fight.
Jaehyun closes his eyes and sighs. “I had a feeling you’d say that...it seems I can’t stop you either.”
“I can’t run away forever, he’ll think I’m afraid and he doesn’t deserve that satisfaction.” You shake your head.
“If you do decide to fight him, you have to do it soon. He’ll kill more people to get stronger. He’ll destroy towns until he gets to you. He has broken the laws of nature because he knows no one can stop him. There is an imbalance that can only be corrected if he is stopped.”
Jaehyun looks around and down at his hands as he starts to fade.
Your eyes widen. “W-what’s happening? Don’t leave me, please.” You beg but Jaehyun only smiles.
“I don’t have much time, I transferred all of my funds to the credit card I gave you. I had a feeling that everything would go to shit fast, so I forged a marriage license between us. Everything from my life insurance policy will go to that card, because I listed you as the beneficiary. I told my some guys I know not to look for you, but to make sure everything runs smoothly in case I’m gone..”
“W-Wait, Wait..we’re married? How-“
Your brows furrow.
“I have connections, baby.” He gives a wink, but his tone turns more serious when he glances down to your lips.
“We could’ve been great, you and me...” Jaehyun says softly. “I’m sorry I was greedy, I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him in time. This is the least I can do to help you.”
“Jaehyun..” you tried to touch him again, but felt nothing but cool air at your finger tips.
“Live as I would live, y/n. Take care of yourself. I hope you can forgive me.” Jaehyun leans forward and kisses your forehead. You barely feel it as he starts to disappear completely.
You burst into tears. “No..no, don’t leave.”
But Jaehyun is no longer there. It’s just you now on the bed, you hold your face in your hands and sob quietly.
[A Week Later]
Doyoung is gathering medicine from trees in the woods behind his house, he places them into his basket and heads back to his house.
Once he enters it, he notices that something isn’t right. The air is different, the smell is putrid. Something smells of death.
When he looks down, he sees that the trail of wolf’s bane he placed on the floor has been disturbed, it’s no longer straight and has been broken in the middle.
Doyoung’s eyes grow, he looks around and listens closely.
“You dare to enter the house of a witch without permission?”
Doyoung sees Johnny with his all-Seeing eye, he’s looking around his bedroom while Doyoung stands still at the doorway waiting for him to appear.
Johnny turns the corner and walks slowly towards Doyoung.
“It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, Doyoung.” Johnny’s voice comes out gravelly.
Doyoung looks sternly at Johnny, he already knows why he is there. He knows that Johnny has gone on a killing spree since you ran away. He’s dangerous and from the look on his grim face, his red eyes and messy hair, he can tell that he hasn’t slept for days. Doyoung can also smell the blood on his hands, he can hear the screams of both innocent people and other werewolves, he can see the fear in their eyes as Johnny took their lives away.
It’s too much for Doyoung, it makes him sick. He knows Johnny has broken the laws of nature and deserves to die for it, but he didn’t want to challenge him alone. He would need multiple witches to take him down with him and they were nowhere to be found.
“You must leave.” Doyoung turns to his kitchen and starts to take his herbs from his basket.
Meanwhile, Johnny tried to read Doyoung’s mind, he tries to access his thoughts and previous conversations in an effort to find out where you are.
But Doyoung has protected his mind with a spell, no one can read it.
Johnny curses to himself and feels the fury in his chest start to build. The desire to kill grows strong. He’s so angry he can’t control it, every time he thinks he gets closer to finding you, he gets blocked and ends up with nothing. But not this time, he would see to it that he’d get information.
He looks around Doyoung’s place, sniffing so that he can pick up your scent. If you did get rid of his baby, Doyoung was the closest witch to town. Jaehyun would’ve surely taken you here.
“Where is she, Doyoung?” Johnny walks around calmly, and right then, he picks up a subtle scent of your hair from the corner of the center room.
He walks over to it. And closes his eyes, tapping into his telepathic ability to hear and see what exactly happened in that corner.
But he has no luck. He only smells you, so he knows for sure that you were there.
“I don’t know who ‘she’ is, I’ve been alone for quite some time now.” Doyoung responds, still tending to his herbs.
“You’re lying to me and I don’t like being lied to..” Johnny chuckles. “I can smell her.”
Doyoung sighs. “You’re a fool, even if I did know where she is, I have no obligation to answer to you. You’re pathetic and a coward, killing everyone to find her. She ran away from you for a reason, Johnny. Just let her go.”
Johnny’s expression grows serious. “Tell me where she is, and you won’t get hurt like the others.”
Doyoung scoffs and turns to him. He places his herbs down then walks over to Johnny.
He swings his hand and the front door to his house flies open.
“Are you threatening me? Do I need to remind you of what will happen if you kill a witch? There’s the door, get out.”
And Doyoung was right. Johnny was breaking many rules, but the one rule he couldn’t break was to kill a witch. Centuries ago, supernatural creatures made an agreement that they would all be bound to. And in that agreement, a law states that a werewolf’s supernatural abilities would only remain in tact if they agreed to never kill a witch. Furthermore, they would be instantly beheaded by the High Priestess, the oldest witch on Earth.
Johnny knew he couldn’t break this rule, but he also knew that he wanted to send a message to all supernatural creatures.
“Who said anything about killing you?” Johnny gives a devilish smile, his eyes grow into a stronger, deeper shade of red. Doyoung’s brows furrowed and he backs away.
Johnny uses his elongating claws and grabs Doyoung’s neck. He raises him until Doyoung’s feet dangle two feet above the floor.
Doyoung tightens his hand around Johnny’s wrist as he struggles to breathe.
With his other hand, Doyoung motions for a wooden chair to fly into Johnny’s back, but Johnny uses telekinesis to stop it from colliding into him, causing it to shatter into one hundred pieces.
His hand tightens around Doyoung’s throat as his face turns red.
The Johnny you knew wouldn’t have done this, but that Johnny was gone. He was now a tiny voice in the back of the head of a monster.
“Since you won’t tell me, I’ll make sure you never speak to anyone else again.” Johnny smirks, his eyes grow and he uses his other hand to force Doyoung’s mouth open.
Doyoung screams when Johnny pierces the center of his tongue with his big, sharp nail.
He then uses it as a hook and tugs it, ripping Doyoung’s tongue out of his wide open mouth.
Blood gushes out from Doyoung’s mouth, he starts to choke on it. He’s in so much pain, he doesn’t know what to do. If he should attack Johnny or think of a spell to reattach it.
His tongue flies onto the floor as Johnny drops his body. Doyoung cries, holding his bleeding mouth with one hand. He reaches out to his tongue with the other hand and attempts to pull it towards him, but Johnny picks it up and tosses it into his mouth, his fangs tearing through the tough and thick organ before swallowing it.
Johnny laughs loudly and licks his lips.
Doyoung tries to cry out “No,” but he can’t, he can no longer make any sound.
In a fit of rage, Doyoung motions to a glass of hogweed sitting on his counter.
He tries to throw it at Johnny, in an effort to blind him, but Johnny quickly reverses Doyoung’s telekinetic action, forcing it back to Doyoung. The glass shatters and the powdered hogweed enters Doyoung’s eyes.
Doyoung now rubs his eyes as the sharp, stabbing pain rubs throughout his entire body.
He flops on the floor, unable to think of what to do to ease the pain. Johnny looks down on him and tilts his head.
“You can’t see, cant talk..what good are you now as a witch?” Johnny chuckles and steps over him before heading out the door.
[The Next Day]
Johnny uses his acquired senses from killing Jaehyun to reach out to you in your dreams.
He thinks that he is able to finally harness the ability. He wants to see your surroundings, but even more, he wants to see you, touch you, feel you again.
He sits up in the center or his dark room and crosses his legs. He is surrounded by the old silk robe you left, a hair tie you used to use, and your silver ring that he had to pick up with tongs. Having your things around him would allow him to bring about your image in his mind.
His eyes close, his eyes roll in the back of his head and he breathes slowly, he drifts into his dark mind, gradually forgetting about everything else and only focusing on his memory of you. 
After a few minutes, he finds you.
He sees that you’re sleeping in a bed, but he can’t figure out exactly where you are.
Your room is pretty plain, you cover yourself tightly with white sheets.
He looks down on you as you sleep quietly. He makes note that it’s nighttime where you are but daytime where he is, you’re no longer in the same country as him.
He looks out of the window in your room, and sees a few bushes but nothing that stands out.
So he turns back to you, adoring the way you’re curled up and you’re lips are pouted. He hasn’t seen you in so long, his human heart jumps in happiness for the first time in weeks.
He felt a tinge of hope when he had called out to you a few weeks ago and you said his name. He knew he was getting close. But now, he needed to know if he could finally touch you.
He gently rubs his finger across your face, his breath hitching in his throat and eyes widening when he feels the soft, cool skin of your cheek.
He starts to smile and sits down on the edge of the bed, waiting for you to wake up.
“Oh, my love, where are you?”
He says lowly.
Your eyes open slowly, you rub them with your small fists and squint.
“Hello? Who’s there?” You ask, but as your eyes focus, you see a pair of glowing red eyes and jump up in your bed.
You turn on the light and start to pant.
“J-Johnny? How did you-“
You’re shocked to see Johnny, he’s stronger and still handsome but his eyes are darker, they’re no longer doe eyes of kindness, they’re eyes of horror. He’s nothing like how he was when you were together.
He smiles as he looks at you and takes in your features.
You look around nervously when you realize that he might know where you are, but then you remember that he doesn’t know you’re with Yuta because Yuta sleeps on the hammock in the next room. If he’s contacting you telepathically, then he can only see your room.
You sit up straight and calm yourself.
“I know why you’re here, Johnny, I know your plan, I know that you lied to me!”
“I’m sorry..y/n..” he reaches out and places his large hand on yours.
“You were gonna kill me! You got me pregnant just so you could be the alpha! You told me..you loved me.” You couldn’t help but cry as you watched the monster in front of you, what did he do with man you once loved?
Johnny wipes away your tears, his face full of regret and sadness once he sees you cry.
His human side had taken over now, it always did when he thought about you, you made him weak, you calmed him down, made him remember he had a heart. It made him...human.
“Shhh don’t cry..I was going to save you, y/n.” The werewolf within him chuckles as he hears himself lie.
You know you couldn’t save her.
“Come back to me please..I miss you.” Johnny swallows hard and scoots closer to you.
You know that Johnny is trying to lure you in, but with each touch you remember all the moments you had together. The summer days you spent laughing and talking, the winter nights you spent cuddled up and watching horror movies. The days at the conservatory when you would walk around and listen to him talk about the beautiful shrubs and flowers in it. You would watch him speak with such passion because he clearly loved his job.
You remembered waking up to him cooking breakfast for you, the wonderful omelettes he made. You heard the sounds of the fair you guys went to and his glorious laugh, you saw his smile and felt his lips on yours, it all felt so real, like you were experiencing everything all over again. Johnny was manipulating your emotions, making you see these memories so it could break you.
And it seemed to work.
Johnny holds your face in his hand, he looks into your large eyes and leans down to kiss you. You kiss him back, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to fall weak into his arms like putty. It feels like the first time you kissed, slow and magical, his tongue playfully dancing with yours.
Everything feels so real, his soft lips on yours, his gentle touch.
He lays down beside you while your lips are still attached to his.
You caress his arms as he leans over you and fixes himself between your legs.
He draws the strap of your nightgown down and kisses along your collar bone.
You moan when you feel his broad chest on yours. His fingers prance along the skin of your inner thigh, moving dangerously close to the apex.
He lowers his lips to your chest, bringing the trim of the gown down to reveal your perky nipples. He licks around them while you whimper. You can feel your legs start to waver, you can feel his growing member push against the fabric of your panties.
You push your body upwards and grind against him to increase the friction. Your head falls back and Johnny moans as he continues to rub his covered member along your growing heat.
He sucks hard on your collar bone to decorate it with a bruise. His mind becomes giddy, he smells your beautiful womanhood, he can’t taste your sweet skin, your lovely mewls enter his ears and he silently goes crazy. He finally gets to feel you again. He finally has you under him and in his hands.
You lock eyes for a moment when he pulls away and looks down at you. You cherish his beautiful face, his hair wavy and dangling in front of his forehead. His eyes were softer now, you no longer saw red and he smelled like flowers, the ones he always brought home from his conservatory for you.
He licks his swollen lips then goes back to kissing you. Your kisses become hastier, he pushes into you harder, making sure to feel your covered slit.
“More..more please..” you’re tired of his teasing.
“I can give you more...just tell me where you are..and I’ll be right there..” Johnny sucks your nipple again and listens to you moan.
And you’re so needy and hot that you almost fall for it, you throw your head back once you feel his fingers push into your panties, and trace up and down your needy bud.
“I-“ you start but stop when you hear Jaehyun’s voice echo in the back of your mind.
Or was it more than that?
You quickly glance over to the side while Johnny still kisses your neck and see the ghost of Jaehyun actually in your room again.
You see his bloody chest and it all comes back to you.
“He’s lying. He wants to kill you, y/n. Don’t forget why you’re here.” Jaehyun looks on you sternly.
Your eyes become teary, but Johnny places his lips onto yours again. Your eyes flutter shut and when you open them once again, Jaehyun is gone.
You stop kissing Johnny and holds his face away from yours. He furrows his brows and looks at your lips while breathing heavily.
“I don’t..love you anymore, Johnny.”
Johnny blinks slowly and lifts himself off of you. His eyes become watery as your words echo in his head. He lost you.
You fix your gown and look up at him before swallowing hard.
“I’d like you to leave.”
Johnny’s eyes once filled with regret and yearning are now full of fire. They return to the glowing red color you had seen before.
“You can’t run away from me forever.” He says huskily and holds up his claw with scary, elongated nails. He’s about to gash into your chest, but you stop him.
“I know..I’ll be seeing you soon, Johnny.” You say before grabbing a small knife under your pillow and slicing Johnny’s throat, his apparition disappearing right before your eyes.
Johnny is abruptly transported back to his dull room, he holds his throat and takes in a sharp breath, shocked by how real the attack felt.
You lay back down in your bed and gaze at the ceiling. Johnny almost had you, he almost made you his again. You were weak and you shouldn’t have been.
You had to remember who he really was, what he had done to you.Your mind runs wild with thoughts, you know you can’t go back to sleep, so you decide to practice shooting with your crossbow until the sun rises and another day begins.
[A Month Later]
“Do you think you’re ready?” Yuta asks while wrapping your arms with tape.
“Do you think I am?” You wait for him to look up at you. Ever since you made love, Yuta was hesitant to look into your eyes. He felt something he couldn’t explain.
He does look up at you as he tightens the tape. “I’m worried for you.”
He finally lets out and it’s true, he doesn’t want to get closer to you because he’s not sure if you’ll make it out alive. And he can’t help you because he is forbidden from being involved in supernatural affairs. Not to mention the fact that he’s also on the no-fly list.
He can’t lose another person he cares for.
You purse your lips and look away. “Don’t be. I’m ready.”
You want to get it over with so you can finally be free of Johnny. You want to live your life. What he did to you was unforgivable and he had to pay for it.
You’ve been training for a while and can finally keep up with Yuta’s attacks.
Yuta walks away from you and holds his head low.
“Yuta..will you come with me? We can find someone that can make you a passport, change your identity..”
Yuta shakes his head. “No, I haven’t been involved in werewolf issues for some time, I don’t plan on getting involved now..not even for you.” His tone was cold.
You huff and walk towards the sack of sand you used to practice kick boxing with.
“This so your battle. I will only complicate things” Yuta continues but you stop him.
“That’s not true, Yuta. You’re just scared to lose me. You’re scared that you’ll be the one to blame if I don’t survive.”
Yuta turns to you, his mouth falling open but no words come out, he doesn’t respond.
“I’m not Hina and I’m not your brother, I’ll kill this bastard with or without you.” You can feel the anger in your tone.
“Y/n..I’m sorry.” Yuta says quietly but you’ve already left to gather your things.
Yuta is unsure of how he feels about you, you have a place in his heart and as you spent more time together, that’s peace grew bigger. He’d watch you and fall in love with everything you did, from the way you played with Tako to the way you mixed drinks, the way you washed your hair to your determination. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t think of Hina. 
He only thought of you. And the truth was that that one evening he spent making love to you stayed in his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about you. So he decided to distance himself, in fear of the inevitable pain he would experience when you were gone like everyone else.
He knew he was a coward for not saying goodbye to you.
[The Next Day]
You’ve arrived back in your hometown alone. You’re nervous and scared, but you know that you must face Johnny, even if you’re on your own.
The town is dark and sad, the streets are empty, the bar you once worked at was permanently closed. Your old apartment was abandoned.
The city had been turned upside down since you left and it was all because of him.
He had killed so many people that residents got scared and fled. The police couldn’t explain or help, and officials in higher levels refused to get involved because even though they knew the source of the madness, they knew better than to challenge it. So instead, they let a small town suffer and ignored the issue.
It’s a cold night, the moon shines brightly above you. At first, you thought it was naive to challenge a werewolf at the time when he’d be strongest, but Yuta taught you that this would be the best time, for his werewolf heart would be more exposed, switching places with his human heart, and thus, making the werewolf side more vulnerable.
Johnny knows you’re in town, he can feel a shift in the air. He knows you’ve come to fight him. All this time he was trying to find you, only to realize that you would come to him and fall right in his trap.
You push the doors to the conservatory open and walk inside it. You can see that the flowers and shrubs have wilted. It’s not like it was before, it was dark and sad, the waterfall in the center no longer poured out crystal water. Everything seemed to be dead or in the process of dying. Everything except the brilliantly green water lilies that looked magical as they floated on the surface of the pond.
The vines drooped down from the glass ceiling and fell into your face as you walked through it.
The once colorful and happy flowers hung low as if to represent the own feeling of defeat and grimness in your heart.
You hold your crossbow by your side, ready to use it at the slightest sound.
“Welcome home, my sweet strawberry shortcake.” Johnny’s voice echoed out, bouncing off of the high ceilings.
You looked around, but couldn’t find him.
“Enough with the games, Johnny.”
You looked to the side carefully, he sounded close but you couldn’t tell which direction he was coming from.
“But I like playing with you..” Johnny says lowly, you can almost hear his pout, but his voice tells you that he’s getting closer.
You listen closely and hear movement above you. You quickly aim your crossbow above you and shoot an arrow towards him. He hangs from the ceiling upside down and lets out a loud road as he dodges the arrow.
He’s fast and disappears from your sight when he drops down to the ground behind a group of ferns.
You quickly reload and hold your crossbow up again. Turning slowly until you get a glimpse of him.
Johnny is caught off guard by your swiftness. The human in him calls out to the werewolf in an attempt to stop himself. He just wants to hold you and love you again. He doesn’t want to fight, but the other part knows that he has to. He knows that there is no hope for the two of you. But you’re making him weak nonetheless. Unlike his other opponents, he still has feelings for you. A part of him doesn’t want to kill you.
While Johnny is in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize that you’ve spotted him.
You quickly pull back the arrow and release it, this time, landing a successful shot into his abdomen.
His wolf form is huge and unlike anything you’ve ever seen before, but you try not to be frightened by it. You thought of the very first night you dealt with one of these creatures and reminded yourself that you’re not that scared girl anymore.
You loaded another arrow while Johnny lets out another howl.
Johnny runs around the ferns with his super speed, knocking the crossbow from your hands. But before he does, you’re able to pull back and release another arrow into his shoulder. The contact of the silver and his skin causes a sizzling sound to emit.
Johnny towers over you and swings his claw into your side, scratching you so hard, you’re thrown to the floor twenty feet away.
You’re hoping the two shots make him weaker so you can attack his heart and finish him.
You wince in pain and hold your side as blood gushes out of it.
You start to stand up slowly, but Johnny grabs you by the throat and holds you up high.
“Let’s not fight. Make this easy for me, baby.” he growls.
You grunt and grab your katana that’s attached to your back, swiping it through his chest. Your sword cut deep, causing him to curse and toss you to the side as he bent over. Your sword was also coated in a special silver so the cut was unlike anything else. It burnt through the hairy flesh all the way to his lungs and other organs.
He coughed up blood and held himself up off the ground with one claw.
You yell and run towards him while he’s down and swing your sword again, but miss. He disappeared before your eyes and ends up behind you. He claws at your back over and over with ridiculous speed while you cry out in pain.
You fall onto your back and cry out in pain. He moves to kneel over you, but your cries distract him for a second. His facial expression changes to worry when his human side sees that you are hurt badly.
You look into his eyes and plead. “Please Johnny, don’t do this. I love you.”
You’re not lying when you say this, a part of you still does love him, but you only say it out loud to make him weaker.
He leans forward and his red eyes dissipate for a moment. Right then, you grab your katana and aim it at his chest. You put pressure on it so that it starts to pierce his skin but he quickly shifts back into full werewolf mode and grabs it with both hands.
You fight hard against his grip and push it in further while he starts to cough up more blood.
Before it can go in all the way, he grips the sword tightly, ignoring the sounds of his burning flesh on the blade and forces it out of your hands before tossing it to the side.
He picks you up angrily and bites into your shoulder. You cry out a blood-hurdling scream as the feeling of his sharp teeth breaks your skin, tears through muscles and shatters your bones. You can hear the cracking and feel your nervous system become overwhelmed with antagonizing pain. He tosses you to the center of the conservatory, then walks over to you while shifting back into human form.
“I didn’t want this..I didn’t want to turn you..”
He says softly.
“But you left me no choice...”
Your back rests against the same bench that you slept on the first night you entered this place. You breathe heavily and wince in pain, grasping onto as a much air as possible as you feel yourself start to fade.
You shakily take your gun out of your harness and hold it behind you while Johnny is distracted.
He’s too caught up in his own emotions and thinking he’s finally become victorious to read your mind and realize that you have yet another weapon that you plan to wield against him.
He kneels down to you and wipes your tears from your cheeks with his thumb. You’ve got him right where you want him.
“I can’t live without you..” he looks into your eyes, his own brimming with water.
You chuckle and he watches as blood stains your beautiful lips.
“Then die.” you let out.
Johnny’s brows furrowed and looks at you in confusion. He reads your mind a moment too late. You’ve already drawn out your gun and shot two silver bullets into his heart.
Johnny falls to the floor on his knees and winces in pain. He’s still confused as he looks back up at you. His mouth opens once he stands up and backs away from you. He feels his body start to shut down. On impulse, he tries to heal himself, but it seems as though the bullets have pierced through both hearts.
He can’t seem to heal fast enough, his vision becoming blurry. He coughs up blood and can’t back away anymore, his ankles being met with with short wall of the waterfall in the center of his beloved conservatory.
He trips and falls into the pond filled with water lilies. His body becoming limp as he can no longer feel or control his arms or legs.
You struggle to stand up on your feet, but eventually, you slowly stumble over to the pond and see his eyes are closed and his chest is no longer moving.
It’s over, it’s really over. You start to cry when you realize that he’s gone, feeling a mixture of both relief, pain and sadness wash over you.
You sit on the edge of the pond beside his body and look up at the sky. You cry out loud and uncontrollably, you can feel your body start to change, a vibrating sensation runs through it at the sight of the bright moon. But you’ve lost so much blood, your vision becomes blurry and you pass out.
You don’t feel the gentle fingers that cover your own as your body slouches over. Johnny uses the last of his energy to heal you just enough so you survive. He holds your hand tightly, giving you all that he has left as he cries quietly, waiting for death to finally consume him.
[6 Hours Later]
Someone picks you up and takes you out of the conservatory. You can hear the person’s heartbeat and breathing, it’s strange. Your senses are heightened and you can feel the presence of another person beside the one carrying you.
The person places you onto a soft bed.
Your heavy eyes struggle to open, but when they do, you’re shocked to see that it was Yuta carrying you.
“Y-Yuta?” You ask quietly. As the sensation of sleeping dissipates from your body, you start to feel all the pain and memories of what happened flood your mind.
Yuta looks at you and sighs. “I’m sorry.”
He gets up and leaves the room before you can ask why he’s apologizing.
Doyoung then enters and you’re frightened.
Doyoung has a scarf around his eyes, but walks straight towards you with a bowl of liquid.
“Doyoung..what..what happened?” You start to sit up straight and wince at the radiating pain in your shoulder.
“He can’t talk..” Yuta comes back in.
You look up at him then back to Doyoung.
“Johnny ripped out his tongue when he wouldn’t tell him where you are.”
Yuta sits beside you on the bed and take a cloth out of the bowl of liquid.
You hiss in pain as he tends to your wounds.
“He’s dead right? Please tell me he’s dead.”
Yuta nodded. “Yes, it seems as though you did what you set out to do, you got a clean shot. Or perhaps you just got lucky.” He gives you a small smile and a wink.
You swallow hard and look to the ceiling.
“Why did you come?”
“I felt bad. I figured you’d need my help..and..” Yuta stumbles over his words.
“I was a dick to you back there..”
You smiled, but it quickly faded as you remembered your reality. You knew that you were a werewolf now. Even if Yuta did like you, there was no way you could be together.
You held his hand and stopped his movement.
“You have to kill me, Yuta. I can’t live like this..I can’t become him or..” you stopped before you said her name, but he finished it.
“Hina...” Yuta looks into your eyes somberly.
You nod as you cry.
“I know, but you won’t..not with me around..I’ll take care of you.” Yuta continues to cleanse your wounds.
“Why? I’m not your responsibility, you’ve helped me get this far, you don’t have to-“ you plead. You’re worried that you will bring him pain like the others did, you can’t bare to see his heart break when you become the monster he hates.
“I know..” he says strongly and puts the cloth back in the bowl. “I know..y/n..” he brushes your hair back with your hand.
“But we’re in this together, you’ve made my life exciting and worth living again. I won’t run away like a coward this time, I’ll fight for you.”
Your heart is warm, you start to smile and finally feel at peace. You were scared to see what would become of you now that you were a werewolf, but you were glad to see that you didn’t have to endure the pain alone.
[The Next Day]
Johnny’s omega, Donghyuk goes to the Johnny’s house to look for Johnny. He discovers that the place has been destroyed. Broken glass is everywhere.
When he calls on police to tell them that someone has broken into Johnny’s house and that he can’t make contact with him, so they arrive and check out the house.
They see that all of Johnny’s belongings are still in the house so it couldn’t have been a robbery. So they head over to the conservatory to see if there are any clues there.
When they enter it, they see that the pond in the center is full of blood. And upon closer examination, they see that despite it being filled with crimson liquid, there is no body.
Johnny is nowhere to be found.
A/N: YOU GUYSSS THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING!!! i hope you liked the ending...mayhaps there will be a book 2??????
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aliynavenus · a year ago
DamiRae Fanfic: New Years Eve 
(Authors Notes: I’m late ik. Most likely won’t be that good. It was just an idea I had and ik I’m late with posting it but here it is. Don’t have high hopes. Really. My writing could be worse considering I haven’t wrote in over 4 months ahhhhh i’ll shut up so you can read and judge.)
She almost felt awkward with him being here. It’s not like it’s the first Damian has been in her room. Though this was different. They were friends, close friends in fact. Companions in which they understood each other including the bond that they shared ever since the first week they met, it may have been such a long time ago but they never felt the need to find some kind of reverse spell to erase it. 
They may not have want to admit it. But they like that link shared. It was a disclosure that made them feel less lonely in their life. 
“Are you sure it’s alright to go with you?” She yelled loud enough for him to hear her while he was getting dressed in her bathroom. 
“Of course, it’s New years eve. You shouldn’t be alone at the tower.” his words were muffled yet she heard him. 
Right. New Year’s Eve. She didn’t mind spending it alone, though Damian insisted her to come with him to his father’s annual new year’s eve charitable gala. When she denied, the next day Bruce mailed her an invitation, which surprised Damian just as much as she was. 
Taking by how long she was thinking, Damian cleared his throat echoing back with hesitation “If you’d like we could stay here and not attend I can make an excuse to my Father.” 
A small smile was tugging the corner of her mouth realizing how considerate he was of her. He knew her well. Knowing the dislike they both shared for over crowded meaningless parties or crowds. Although...
That wasn’t negotiable. Denying an invitation from Bruce Wayne--scratch that--The Batman was more terrifying then having to face her own damn father. “No th-that’s alright. It’ll be nice. I don’t mind going.” 
That wasn’t the problem. Being seated, looking at herself in her grey vanity mirror. She felt pathetic even thinking this but she felt insecure in going. She glanced down at her off the shoulder tight maroon dress--that was obviously Donna’s-- it barely filled up her small chest. Great, just to top off her one of many insecurities for tonight. The lavish dress that Raven had no idea could even exist in Donna’s messy closet. She felt weird. If that was even the word to describe it. 
Glancing at the side of her mirror she could see the small reflection of the of her bathroom door slightly open. A string of heat spread across her cheeks having a visual of Damian’s bare tan back covered in scars and bruises, some fading yet some were still fresh. His shoulders were broader, muscles taking up his biceps, he wasn’t too muscular like his father but he sure was getting there. 
 They may have not been together or anything like that. But she felt good when she was around him. Forgetting all the thoughts that reminded her of being a sinful demon’s daughter. He made her feel normal without even realizing it. 
“You seem lost in thought.” Damian’s voice knocks her out of her thoughts, as he comes out of her bathroom. Fully dressed in simple black trousers with an olive oxford, sleeves rolled up making him look too damn irresistible. In the years she’s known him he was always the best at hiding his emotions. Never showing any sign of what he was thinking, it made her feel powerless.
It was almost if he was ready to seek girls attention, though that was never his intention. It almost bugged her even more in fact. How can he look like a god himself, without trying. 
“Nope, I’m okay.” she clears her throat wanting the linger of her thoughts to disappear. She stares at his chest, noticing the small specks of Titus’s fur stuck onto it. Good thing she always had a spare lint roller in her vanity drawer. “You have some Titus’s fur on you.” 
Getting up from her seat, she walks over her to him. Damian was easily a head over her, she felt so small compared to him despite her being a year older than him. 
Damian’s jaw tightened as his eyes wandered around her body slowly. She didn’t want to look directly at him yet, in fact it made her knees become weak if his stare kept boring into her.  
 Rolling the roller on top of his chest, it wasn’t a lot but just enough to leave a clean slate. His signature scent of fresh wood and ginger corrupted her, leaving her want to be filled with his fragrance. Raven looked up at him, his eyes already staring down at her. He looked tense, almost like he was battling with his own inner thoughts that she couldn’t comprehend. His emeralds with specks of gold sprinkled onto his irises. His eyes it was like they were imprinting onto hers. 
“You look beautiful.” 
What? His soft voice, almost like a whisper that he didn’t want to be heard. She could have sworn that she could see a slight rush of pink onto his cheeks, to the tip of his ears. Yet he didn’t show any feature of his face of embarrassment, always hiding how to react. 
She wasn’t any good in that realm. Slowly looking down to bite down a smile that was creeping on her lips. “Thank you.” 
Warmth rushed up her skin, as she felt his fingers caress her forearm. His thumb running slowly back and forth as if he was taking in every part of flesh. She could practically feel his stare boring into her when she lifted her head up. Everything that was felt upon her felt gentle, his touch, his stare, everything. 
If she was being honest, she’d rather stay in this moment with him. She’d rather stay at the tower with him alone. She wanted to have him touch her more. She wanted this to herself. Was it a selfish wish? 
“Don’t leave my sight. I want you near me.” 
Damian’s voice was a low rumble.It was more a command than a request. The words coming out clear and rough against her. It made her body feel as if it was just electrocuted. It made her feel small, not knowing what quite to say. Raven waited for him to continue. But he never did. Instead he stayed quiet, avoiding her stare that she so desperately wanted to meet. 
She wanted to say something. Anything. But the words never left her lips. A silence stretched between them. 
Damian’s hand left her forearm already missing the touch of his hand. She saw his hands digging into his pockets, clearing his throat. “We should go, my father is most likely waiting.” 
All she was able to do was nod and walk to her grab her heels. 
At the gala 11:13 p.m (Been there for an hour) 
She wasn’t having fun. Now that she thinks of it, she should’ve accepted his idea in staying home instead. There wasn’t anyone she knew here, all of them either being business owners to reporters to simply models from heaven. 
Her insecurities were through the roof when she stepped foot in the Wayne Manor. The flashing gleaming chandelier lights, the polished floor of marble, the endless crowds of people faking smiles to each other while being handed drinks every 2 seconds. Women, even young girls dressed elegantly with beauty that was beyond compared.
Honestly did Bruce make everyone who was gorgeous attend the manor. Of course the men here were handsome too but none quite compared to Damian. 
Who might she add, has been charged by the many reporters and young--next heirs to be--women who threw themselves onto him when they first got there. 
Yeah. There was no way of getting near him with the herd of people surrounding him. 
Raven shifted towards the wine table, azar it was new years eve she might at least try to enjoy herself. Taking a glass of filled wine, she took it in sip by sip. It may be practically impossible for her to get drunk since her powers can easily be consumed over it, she did get the euphoric pleasure for a few minutes. 
Her feet ended up drifting her towards the small isolated balcony at the end of the hall. The wind was cold, but it felt fresh against her skin. 
“Don’t leave my sight. I want you near me.” 
She kept remembering over and over. They were simple words, but they struck her. His tone, his eyes, his short breaths, everything was so still. He processed her at that very moment, and she was ready to give in. She wanted to think the way she did, she wanted to consider maybe for one second think of the thought that maybe, just maybe he felt some sort of way towards her--
Though that wouldn't be accurate. Damian would never. Who was she kidding, truly. 
“You look like you need a friend.” Turning to hear the familiar voice.
“Roy?” She was taken aback. She hasn’t seen Roy aka Arsenal since he left the Titans a year ago, going solo even though he was only a year older than her.
Turning her body following his movement as he placed himself next to her leaning against the balcony.  “I didn’t expect to see you here.” 
He chuckled, revealing his dented dimple on the side of his cheek. His simple red oxford with grey trousers complimenting his darken red ginger hair. “I should be the one saying that. Didn’t think gala’s were your thing. You’re kind of outta your element don’t ya think.” 
Roy leveled the extra drink he had in his hand to her, eyeing her waiting for her to accept his drink. 
A relieving sigh, her breath dusting into the cold air. “Thank you.” She took a sip, “I am out of element, Bruce invited me to come along with Damian. You?” 
Roy shrugged, “Oliver’s here, half of this gala is for charity and since I’m most likely the next heir to his company he wanted me to come talk to a few business people about profits, marketing, you know.” 
Raven nodded, taking another sip of the smooth flavor that danced on her tongue. She knew nothing of that but she rather pretended she did. 
A silence stretched between them, “So you came with the snarky brat tonight, hmm. As a date?” 
Raven almost coughed up her saliva, “N-No of course not.” she gestured her head towards Damian who was talking to a pretty tall brunette with blue eyes like Donna. “She’ll probably be a better date then I will ever be for him.” 
“Oh?”  He sounded intrigued. “And why do you say that?” 
She couldn’t tell if the wine was kicking in, but she knew it wouldn’t last long considering her powers will only take it over. But right now she didn’t care. She turned her whole body to take the sight of Damian and the girl, “Because Roy, look at her--look at them.” She motioned towards them with the drink still in her hand, “They look like that perfect ideal couple that I see in every damn cover on Donna’s magazines. She belongs in this world. I don’t. Oh azar, I was never supposed to belong with anyone in the first place. But him, he may be snarky, stubborn, and so stupidly difficult but he belongs with good. He needs good. I’m still learning how to just be that right now.” 
Her whole voice felt raw and fragile in the back of the throat, the glass that was once full of wine now was gone. Roy sighed leaning his neck back, looking up at the sky. “You and him were always so gullible.” his words were so quiet, as if it wasn’t meant to be heard. “Damian doesn’t need good. What he needs is someone to understand that weird obnoxious mind of his. You really think these females will ever understand him, understand the Al-Gual part, the Wayne part, the Titan part, the jerkoff part especially. I don’t think so, Rae.” 
Raven sighed turning to face Roy. His tone, his facial features, his posture, everything seemed so easy to read off of him. He was being genuine, helpful, caring yet cautious of his words. “He really is something else.” 
“Yea, a real pain in the ass too.” Roy chugged down the last ounce of whatever strong alcohol he had. 
“I could say the same to you, Harper.” 
Raven bit her lip when she heard Damian’s voice. Oh Azar, what happened to him talking to that girl. 
Roy didn’t even look startled, keeping his stare directly at Damian. She almost forgot how much they never really could handle one another but only minerly had to tolerate each other during missions.
Damian's eyes were dark, his jaw ticked. No longer having that warm fake persona he put on for people. “Harper.” 
“Wayne.” Roy nonchalantly said putting his arms up. “I didn’t do anything to her.” 
“As you shouldn’t be.” The tension between their voices was like a ticking time bomb. “I’ll be taking her for now.” Damian's fingers intertwining with hers escorting her out of the balcony. 
Her mind felt hazy with the sudden pull of Damian. She gave a smile waving off to Roy who was trying to hide a slick smile at them. “Happy new year, Roy” 
“Happy new year’s Rae.” 
--- 11:46 --- 
Raven looked around where Damian was taking her, having no idea what hall they were in but was only grateful that no one was in near sight. “Where are we going?” Her mouth finally working, she suppose the wine was wearing off. 
“Alone.” was the only thing that managed to leave his lips. Yet it sounded like there was more to be said. His eyes never meeting hers like he was having his own war inside of him. 
He was angry. 
Finally pulling them into a room on one of the highest floors. He escorted her in, turning on the dim lights behind her. The room was simple, almost no decoration, a bed in the middle, along with some simple books scattered, swords hung on the wall. 
“Why am I here? It’s almost New Years shouldn’t we be downstairs.” pause. “Shouldn’t you be faking a personality for people right now.” 
Yup the alcohol was still in her. Or maybe it wasn’t just the alcohol anymore. 
She almost hated how annoyed her voice sounded.  Though part of her drunken speech to Roy did make her hate Damian right now. Him saying she should be near him tonight when really he was the one playing distant heir the whole night. 
Damian leaned back on the door crossing his arms, his jaw ticked again. His eyes were a shade darker, nothing sort of gentle behind them. “Why were you with him?” 
Damian completely ignored her questions. Raven gave a dry chuckle; it only made her want to bite back, “Who? Roy? At least he was keeping me good company, rather than you being tossed around by every stranger.” 
“You really don’t--” Damian stumbled, he was biting his tongue. He wanted the words to come out of him so she could easily see it. He was frustrated knowing well he wasn’t going to win against her. 
“You don’t get it Raven.” pause. “I wanted to be with you this entire night like I said.” He glanced away from her, “When I told you that, you didn’t respond. I felt foolish for saying what I said to you Raven. I thought maybe I managed to push you away, I hated myself after that. Even now I hate this. I hate not knowing whatever I feel when you’re around me. Whenever your aroma consumes me, I could practically fall to my knees for you Raven.” 
This couldn’t be.
Did he..? 
Damian scratched the back of his neck, gesturing his hands in the air, “And when I saw you with that imbecile. God I wanted to steal you away from him, I didn’t care.” 
Every step he took to her, was just a request she wanted to make to just fall before him. He gently brought his hands to cup her cheeks to look directly into his eyes. Nothing was fake, his eyes, his eyes. This was all him. Everything she’d never expect from him, “I told you to be near me tonight because you look so beautiful. I didn’t want anyone even taking the sight of you. Your too fuckin diserable even more me.” 
Like her….
Tracing her bottom lip with his thumb, she wanted this, wanted him. 
Bringing her fingers to wrap around his wrists, she lifted herself up to touch her lips with his. Damian’s lips were rough against hers but she liked it. 
-------- 11:53 ----- (Damian's Pov) 
Their lips crashing together was a different euphoric sensation he hasn’t felt. His fingers were tangled into her soft hair, running along the back of her neck. His tongue sliding across her lower lip, her taste, her stroke with her tongue mingling with his was just too damn good. He wanted to conquer every part that he could, admire her with his reach. 
Every touch that he made on her made him feel unworthy, a damn perfection she was that he felt unworthy of. 
Raven’s breaths were short, hot as she was having a few touches of fun of her own for him. Her fist clenching onto his shirt pulling him tighter while the other on his bicep, her touch was burning into him that he hoped would leave a mark on him. 
He took in no time to trace her body downward, admiring every dip and curve on the formatious tight dress she had. Leaving small pepper kissed onto her neck, and open shoulders
Raven winced, and it was a lavish melody he wanted to hear again. Licking, and biting every part of her open bare skin displayed on him. He wanted people to know she was his. Just as she should be, just how she should have been. “Damian” 
He shivered at the way his name sounded on her innocent voice. Coming back up to capture her lips he needed. He took this time to grab her thighs, lifting her up. Raven cupped the back of his neck and cheek to keep her well balanced not wanting to miss a single taste of him. His mouth dominating over hers so slowly, teasing her, biting her, over and over again.  
Walking towards the bed, he seated himself so now she was on top of him. Damian pulled away for a second, he was admiring her. Hell, he was taking in every part of her, her fists bunched into his shirt surely causing wrinkles he didn’t care for, her hair becoming slightly messy but still looking so utterly perfect, her elegant dress now being bunched up revealing her velvety thighs before him. Her lips were now pouted, bigger than her normal size. Damian leaned her chin towards him coming in gently to place small kisses on the small bruises on her lips that were faded from his bites. 
He was known to be rough yet she didn’t seem to mind at all for him. 
“You are too good for me, my beloved.” 
Damian could feel her goosebumps form on her arms, he tried hiding his smile from her. Raven only managed to shake her head, causing Damian to run a lingering touch on her back, “Tell me you’ll let me stay by your side, Raven” 
Raven let out a relieved laugh, her iris eyes lighting up with bliss. It was a sight he’d love to see over and over if he can. “Don’t leave it and I won’t leave yours.” 
Grabbing side of her cheek, fiddling with her hair. He wanted nothing more than to stay by her side for as long as she’ll let him. He cared--no--treasured her. 
All his life he understood everything, there was never a question or puzzle he couldn’t solve. Everything was simple for him.
But her. Raven. 
Damian was never able to understand, he felt sinful when he had thoughts about her, thoughts about them simply being together. He didn’t think she’d accept him then more than a teammate. He was fucked up. He never saw her as a weapon that was destined to be. 
She was pure to him. A soul to protect. To keep safe. 
Shouts and bottles of corks were muffled through the room hearing everyone chanting happy new years. He stared back at her running small circles on her back. “I promise, Happy New Year, my love.” 
Bringing his lips to collide again with hers. Raven chuckled, against him. “Happy New Year” 
Now the only thoughts left were wondering how in the hell were they going to manage to keep this a secret from the team and his father.
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