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cetaitlaverite · 1 year

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a last minute blind dates submission!!! i loved doing this back in 2021 (can’t believe it was that long ago) and was sad to miss it last year, so i was keen to get this done however last minute. thank you for hosting @mercurygray - you’re amazing for encouraging writers to challenge ourselves with things like this!!!

since i’ve not been writing as much as i’d like to recently i tried to challenge myself more than i normally might: i wrote an oc who’s different to the type of character i tend to gravitate towards, and paired her with a canon character i tend to cower from. this has definitely been an exercise in pushing myself out of my comfort zone which is always a good thing!! anyway, without further adieu:

One Day, Maybe Soon

Her mother always says that the war made her mean. That flying military planes and playing at being a fighter pilot hardened something in her, made her ruthless, made her forget her place. She says that the moment she went from Phillipa to Pip was the moment it was all over, as if someone deciding she was worth making a nickname for was what allowed for everything which followed: the first time she forgot to force a laugh when the joke wasn’t funny, the first time she didn’t feel inclined to say yes when a man offered to buy her a drink, the first time she walked into a room and didn’t try to make herself smaller so that she wouldn’t take up too much space.

Letting silly young women take up men’s jobs was the beginning of the end of good social order, her mother always says. And she is nothing short of furious that she can no longer say as much to her friends during their weekly book club meetings without sly eyebrows being cocked when the other women think she won’t notice, because her own daughter is one of the women who now refuses to remember herself and her decorum.

Pip decided a while ago that she doesn’t care what her mother thinks of what the war has done to her, because what room can an opinion like that force into the limited space in her head which isn’t dominated by bloodstained memories? But that doesn’t mean she gets a free pass from listening to her constant lectures about manners and being ladylike and what men want in a woman.

She’s at the dance tonight at her mother’s request. These dances take place quite a lot, she knows, and are often where nice young local men who have just returned from the war find nice young local women and marry them. It’s clear to Pip from the moment she sets foot inside the room that that is all anyone is here for: couples dance in the space allotted for a dance floor but talk constantly, trying to discern whether their partner is marriage material in the duration of a song; small groups stand along the walls, seeking out their next target for a dance; and lone men and women filter in and out, wondering whether they might have better luck outside on the lawn as opposed to in here and vice versa.

The hall is bright with warm light, the music loud where the band plays joyously in the far corner. Constant chatter and the sounds of shoes scuffing the wooden floor fight to be heard above the man singing into the microphone. The door, propped open to account for the constant flow of people in and out, allows in a gentle summer breeze, cooling the sweat-dampened skin of those lucky enough to find themselves close to it. For everyone else, the air is thick and heavy, the kind of wet heat which only comes from a summer evening spent packed tightly into a room with far too many people.

Pip stands in a corner, leaning against the wall, watching. That’s another thing her mother hates that she has brought back from the war: the constant need to observe. Pip argues that this should be an expected trait of a pilot, especially one who was often flying freshly manufactured planes without a manual, especially one who was stationed close enough to Pearl Harbor to feel it when it got hit. But her mother will hear nothing of it. “It isn’t polite to stare.”

Regardless, Pip stares to her heart’s content. In fact, she more than stares. She watches. She finds people who seem at least somewhat interesting and tracks them, plays a game with herself where she attempts to predict whether they’ll take a liking to their current dance partner or bow out as soon as possible and try to find someone else.

She wouldn’t say she’s enjoying herself, as such. There has been little she finds enjoyment in after returning from near-constant flight hours and barracks filled with women she loved more than her own family. But she’s content. The whole thing is less excruciating than she expected it to be now that she finds she can stand in her own little world and watch.

Which is why it makes complete sense when someone ruins her little game.

“He’s gonna go for the blonde the second the song is over.”

Pip’s head snaps sideways. Already, there is a glare on her face, a hostile twist to her mouth. “No,” she grinds out, turning back to watch the dark-haired man dancing with a brunette girl closest to where she’s standing. “He’s going to ask the brunette to dance again, and she’s going to say no.”

“Nah,” the stranger beside her corrects. She hates that she can hear him grinning. “He’s been eyeing up the blonde from the second he walked in. Only danced with her friend to get her attention.”

Pip scoffs, searching hurriedly for something to say to that; she hasn’t been watching this particular couple long enough to determine whether the stranger is right.

“That blond guy over there’ll swoop in and take the brunette for a spin right after,” he goes on. When Pip spares him an irritated glance she finds him pointing at the man he means, and she follows the gesture toward a blond man who is, in fact, staring brazenly at the brunette girl, like a hawk who has just set eyes on its dinner.

Pip swallows hard, scoffs again, and looks away. “Maybe,” she allows. She turns her eyes on a different couple, closer to the door.

“Now, them,” the redheaded man beside her persists, having followed her line of sight, “they’ll go home together, I bet. They been in here and out there and at the punch table and on the dance floor. Stuck to each other like glue the whole damn night. If I didn’t know any better I’d say they was already together, but no one comes to these things when they already got someone on their arm.”

“Is that so?” Pip asks with discernible contempt, a scowl curling down her lips. She’s not sure why she’s so furious with this man for interrupting her peace - at least he’s playing her game along with her instead of trying to force her to dance with him - but there’s something about men feeling they have a right to her time which rubs her the wrong way. He didn’t even feel he had to ask to stand so close to her, and he instantly presumed to know what she was thinking. Is it such a crime that she should have a right to keep her thoughts to herself?

“Yep,” the man replies to her clipped answer. “‘Cept I don’t see you gettin’ in on the action.”

And here is the inevitable opening he is making for himself so he can drop a line.

Pip rolls her eyes. “I’m not interested.”

It’s maddening, the way he laughs. He seems to take everything on the chin. When she hazards a glance at him again he’s grinning and shaking his head, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his uniform - some army regiment or other, judging by the khaki - and he doesn’t look at all offended.

“You already got a lucky fella?” he asks politely enough.

“I don’t need one,” Pip replies coldly.

He turns to look at her properly, now, leaning his shoulder against the wall and crossing one ankle over the other. “Which one of ‘em stepped on your toes?” He indicates the men on the dance floor with his head.

She wants to slap the grin right off of his face.

Perhaps he realises, because he laughs.

Pip turns back to the room and sets her eyes on a couple dancing next to the far wall.

The man beside her is still grinning when he asks, “What’s your name?”

“Don’t have one,” Pip replies shortly.

“You don’t got a name?” the man asks with mock horror, humouring her. “Not even a last name?”

“Why would you ever need to know my last name?”

“So I know how to address your dad when I ask for his blessing.”

In her shock at such a brazen answer, Pip chokes on the saliva she’d been just about to swallow.

She turns to him slowly, eyes narrowed as she prepares to bite, but she finds she has no words to spit at him. Her mouth opens and closes in her desperate search.

Eventually, her scowl falters. “Pip,” she relents. “That’s my first name.”

His wide grin gets even wider. It’s only a little bit endearing. “Great to meet ya, Pip. I’m Babe.”

Her face hardens right back up again.

“I swear that ain’t a line,” he rushes to reassure her, extending both hands towards her like he’s calming a wild animal. “That’s what all my buddies call me. Childhood nickname.”

“Your childhood nickname is Babe?” Her tone makes it clear that she doesn’t believe him.

The stranger shrugs. “Got it when I was a baby and it stuck.” He smiles at her again. “You can call me Edward if you really wanna, but it’s a little formal if you ask me.”

Pip sighs and shakes her head. “Fine. Babe it is.”

“So, Pip,” Babe goes on, “you dance at all?”

“No.”

He brushes this away with his hand and an easygoing smile. “Aw, come on. Not even one dance?”

“No.”

“Well -”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say!”

Pip clicks her tongue. “I’ve got a good few guesses.”

He tips his head back, groaning but still smiling wide. “You’re killing me.”

In spite of herself, and only because he can’t see her, she lets the tiniest of smiles tug at her lips. The instant she notices him begin to tip his chin back down again, however, the smile is gone, replaced by the cool look of indifference she wears whenever she’s not sure what else to do with her face.

She feels bad, for a moment, when he looks back at her with that same smile but a little bit of the brightness dying in his eyes. He doesn’t deserve her coldness, she understands - really, she’s not sure why she’s working so hard to maintain it - so she works to release all of the tension in her body, which is an awful lot. Finally, she turns to face Babe with what she hopes comes across as only a little encouragement. “I’m going outside,” she tells him. “I want to look at the stars.”

There’s a flicker of that brightness back in his eyes. Only for an instant and then it’s gone again, but it’s enough. She feels it in the soft tug in her chest, in the flip of her stomach.

“The stars it is,” Babe replies.

As they leave the hall, Babe informs her that there’s a small garden around the back of the building with a bench for them to sit on, somewhere they won’t be disturbed. Instantly, her hackles are up, and she’s casting wary glances at him out of the corner of her eye as she silently questions his intentions. But when they get to the garden he simply throws himself onto the grass and leans his head back on the bench to gaze up at the stars.

Hiding a smile in her shoulder, Pip sits in the grass at the opposite end of the bench and copies his pose.

“I miss being up there, sometimes,” Babe says quietly a while into their comfortable silence.

“What do you mean?”

He laughs a little self-consciously as he realises he’s spoken without giving context. “In planes,” he explains. “I used to jump out of ‘em.”

“During the war?” Pip asks.

He hums his affirmative.

She smiles softly, just now noticing the patch on his arm, with an open-mouthed eagle and the word ‘airborne’ embroidered above it. “You were a paratrooper.”

“Yeah.” He nods, his eyes still on the stars. Then he scoffs. “Long time ago now, though. Ain’t jumped out of a plane since Holland.”

It’s the sadness she can see in his eyes when he shoots a glance over at her that makes her speak next. “I miss being up there, too.”

He smiles slightly, crookedly, less cocksure now but more sincere. “You were a paratrooper too?”

She rolls her eyes at the joke, but she smiles, too. “A pilot,” she corrects. “But not anymore. I haven’t flown a plane since I came back home.”

“How come?”

She opens her mouth to reply and then promptly closes it. Not yet. Not that. It’s still too much, too soon, too haunting.

So she shrugs and tears her eyes away from Babe, looks back up into the sky she misses so much but can’t seem to stomach returning to.

“Maybe you can take me up there one day,” Babe says a little later. When Pip glances over at him she gets the feeling he’s been watching her for a while, waiting patiently for her to regain her composure. “Since we both miss it so much,” he adds when he can’t seem to puzzle out the expression on her face.

She can’t really puzzle out what she’s feeling herself. It’s a scary thing, the thought of flying again, but the idea of it makes her blood hum in her veins, makes her heart thud a little bit harder and faster. She finds she likes the idea of it, taking Babe up in a plane, wants to mull it over a little longer whether it ever actually happens or not. Really, she realises, she likes the idea of herself being the kind of person who could do that more than she likes the idea itself. She wants to think of herself as the kind of girl who might be able to take a boy up in a plane and fly around for a while, because she loves flying and likes him and what better way is there to spend her time than that?

“Alright,” she agrees eventually. She can see she’s surprised him by the crookedness of his grin, less forced and more sincere now that he’s softened her a little. “One day, maybe soon, I’ll take you up in my plane. But you have to promise not to go jumping out of it if you decide you don’t like me all that much after all.”

Babe grins, and now Pip finds she likes that grin of his, too. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

#blind dates 2023 #my writing #mine

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tailsrevane · 1 year

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hi! i’m robin, a 30something white enby femboy type person. my pronouns are they/them.

some cool things about me, probably!

i have four really amazing partners! i live with two of them and our adorable kitty.

my gender is in a sort of soft enby boy kinda place.

i'm ace, but hella kinky & hella subby. please bully me. (consensually.)

i’m an extremely novice polytheistic witch.

i’m a furry kinda?

i’ve worked in the service industry for my entire adult life (okay to be fair that’s a not so cool thing about me), in retail for a long time (that sucked) and now as a barista (that sucks markedly less and i’m extremely good at it). FUCK ALL THAT SHIT I GOT A KICKASS JOB AT MY LOCAL COMIC/GAME SHOP, LET'S GOOOOOOOOO.

if it ever seems like i’m autistic or i have adhd, that would be because i’m autistic and i have adhd.

dnis/content warning/etc after the cut.

so, yeah! i’ll probably write about movies and tv (but not like, tv that your coworkers at work incorporated are talking about like … whatever replaced game of thrones as that thing, more like… star trek: the next generation or that she-ra reboot that is just old enough to not be relevant anymore but just recent enough to not be a trendy rediscovery) and definitely books and maybe podcasts and maybe video games? i tend to play video games in spurts so it’ll be a lot at times, and radio silence at other times.

just for funsies, here’s a brief list of fandoms i gravitate strongly towards! some of these things might not be actually fandoms or might not have very active fandoms idk? i might write about these more often or have stronger opinions about them. or not? adhd! these can alternatively be read as additional reasons to bully me. please feel free to read them that way.

sonic the hedgehog

pokémon

star trek

dungeons & dragons (and, relatedly, dimension 20)

kaiju movies

anime and manga kinda?

cartoons kinda if that counts? (current favorites: the owl house, she-ra reboot, futurama, star trek: lower decks wait that should go in star trek not cartoons or should it go in both oh no)

comic books/superheroes kinda? (the archie sonic the hedgehog and dark horse star wars comics were a huge part of my childhood, i also got hella into batman, spider-man, and x-men at times.)

undertale

knives out? is that a fandom? whatever. i love those movies.

the matrix

the wachowski sisters’ oeuvre in general (speed racer is one of my favorite movies of all time.)

lord of the rings (the movies, not the books)

halloween. the holiday, not the movie. the color orange. pumpkins. etc. yeah, i’m weirded out that it took me until comparatively recently to realize i needed to be a witch, but here we are. (oh yeah i’ll also probably write about witchy stuff at times? maybe.)

not harry potter anymore for obvious reasons, but things that hit a similar spot? (really loving the simon snow books rn.)

star wars? (i used to be a huge fan and read all the eu books and wrote fanfiction but idk i’m kind of bored of it lately? but with the way adhd works maybe i’ll get obsessed again, who knows. probably not though. this is less to indicate active engagement in the fandom, more to indicate it used to be A Thing so if i suddenly have very strong opinions about it outta nowhere, there ya go.)

james cameron’s avatar i guess? i got really into avatarland after watching a really cool youtuber’s video about it, and then i actually went to avatarland (yes i’ve called it that twice now despite knowing that’s not what it’s called but also that’s totally what it’s called leave me alone) on a family vacation and i am literally wearing an avatarland spirit jersey i bought on etsy while typing this and i am incapable of irony so my enthusiasm for avatarland kinda spilled over to appreciating the source media okay i’m gonna stop this extremely long parenthetical now thank you for coming to my james cameron talk.

but like, i like other stuff that’s not media too! like… organizing media on shelves? (why have i not been shoved in a locker yet what the heck.) okay, that’s another thing about me. i’m kind of an amateur librarian? i might also talk about theme parks i go to when that happens (a few of my partners are super into those so yeah!). and museums!

on a less fun note, please do not interact with me if you're transphobic/homophobic/racist/etc etc. just don't. i'm just gonna block you, it's really not worth either of our time. also please do not interact with me if you're a minor, and please do not flirt with me if you're technically not a minor but are significantly younger than me. i'm just not comfortable with it.

if you're an anti-shipper you'd probably consider me a pro-shipper? i don't super care about those kinds of labels but i know that's like... A Thing here, and want to be very clear. so if you don't want to interact with people who don't think fanfiction should be policed & criticized as though it were real life or general audience mass media, you probably don't want to interact with me. if i do write any fanfic i will tag it appropriately, but i really think everyone needs to calm down about this shit.

and last but not least, i will tag liberally, but a blanket content warning:

i frequently explicitly discuss themes of kink, sexuality, violence, mental health, and other mature themes in a manner intended for an adult audience.

also, i am a survivor of both childhood and intimate partner emotional abuse, as well as sexual assault, and these come up frequently in my writing. reader discretion is advised.

on a less serious note, i am unapologetically kinky, subby, and thirsty af and i’m going to include a lot of personal asides from that perspective. i’m also a furry and a monsterfucker. don’t say i didn’t warn you.

see you around, hopefully!

#about me #about this blog

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psalm22-6 · 1 year

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Source: the Desert Sun, 10 October 1987

As the insurrection begins in “Les Miserables,” the towering barricades slide onstage in front of the audience, a spectacle so impressive that when the barricade segments link into place the theatergoers often applaud. What the audience does not see is the young woman hidden inside the barricades a tall blonde in a satin blouse and jeans who drives the enormous machinery like a tank.

[. . .] Until recently, such stagehands’ jobs would automatically have been filled by men. These days, however, those who work on Broadway are getting used to seeing a female carpenter or sound technician or electrician backstage, routinely performing duties that were once the exclusive province of males.

Although their numbers are still few, in a relatively short time women have won considerable acceptance as stagehands. Only a decade ago, the New York stagehands’ union officially known as Local One of the Theatrical Protective Union, a member of the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees and Moving Picture Operators of the United States and Canada was still an all-male domain. The first woman to become a member, Nancy Offenhauser, started her apprenticeship in 1977 and earned her full card in 1980. This year, Local One elected its first female official, Karen Caton.

“It’s all changed so quickly, in terms of women being in the union," said Caton. “Nothing changed for 90 years, but now women are 1 percent of the membership approximately 17 out of 1,750. I only got my card in 1980, and six years later I was elected to the executive board. What I think is wonderful is Local One’s acceptance of change They’ve adapted to it.”

Despite increasing automation and computerization, stagehands must still do a good deal of heavy work, but the women insist they do their share. “There are some heavy jobs I wouldn't take, but a small man probably wouldn’t take them either,” said Nancy Offenhauser. “Your size dictates certain things, and people do tend to gravitate toward what they’d be good at. Generally people who are small and quick climb; there's a lot of work involving ladders. People who are , larger and heavier don’t climb as , much.”

Many women working as stager hands said they had been tomboys as children; when they grew up they simply didn't accept the idea that women couldn’t do work they had always done. “I always looked it the guys as having all the fun, said, Judy Olsen, the electrician monitoring sound on "Starlight Express.” “I’ve always liked to work with my hands, but the men were the ones who were busy putting things together and actually building things.”

#les miserables #lm musical #california collection

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yasminsqueendom · 8 months

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Love Me Happy Again

WC: 3050

TW/CW: Seggsy times, 18+

Summary: Depressed girl wants to be harshly used by her usually gentle lover to release her negative emotions. He struggles to get into character, and she needles him until he gets pissed enough to do it.

Sanae had been feeling her depression creep in around her like a shadow in her peripheral vision. She knew her period was less than a week away, and that familiar sinking feeling in her chest made her want to cry. PMS was terrible for her, from the acne flare-ups to the phantom cramps, as her uterus prepared to punish her for refusing to get pregnant. The smallest inconvenience made her want to cry and all the weed in the world couldn’t weaken the gravitational pull that tugged her into an abysmal mood.

There was only one upside to her condition, and it was the raging horniness that made it almost impossible to think straight. Typically, she would just pull out her favorite toys, and work out her frustration until she forgot why she ever felt down. But recently, she’d been wanting to try something different.

Her boyfriend of six months, Teh’ran had been a consistent pillar in her life since they made it official. They were friends back in college and had met each other again at a brunch held by a large tech company looking to attract local talent. He was there as a tech sales representative, and she attended as a software programmer. Teh’ran looked great as always and Sanae couldn’t help but shoot her shot. A short conversation revealed that Tee had just moved back in town, and was hoping to open his own cyber security firm one day. Sanae offered to help him out when that day arrived, but in the meantime was he available for dinner?

Chemistry, a shared history, sparks flying, and a significant amount of alcohol had them skipping the “get to know you” stage. By the end of the night, his hand was exploring beneath her short skirt while they sloppy kissed in the back of his car. And, they were stuck on each other ever since.

Teh’ran was aware of her monthly cycle and how it affected, and would always buy her flowers and her favorite snacks to ease her discomfort. He was sweet and affectionate, never calling her “bitchy” or saying she had a bad attitude for no reason. Tee showed a level of intimacy that was unusual in straight men. Sanae knew he had a great relationship with his mother. Mama Gina lived out of state, but she frequently called her son, and she positively adored Sanae.

After some consideration and a brief message sent to her friend’s group chat, Sanae decided to try something new in her relationship. She had a fantasy that she’d been keeping to herself for a while. Because of Tee’s gentle nature, she’d hesitated to ask him to be rough with her. The couple of times that she’d playfully asked him to choke her, he either chuckled awkwardly or made up an excuse. Today, she was going to either get what she desperately needed, or have to wonder if this relationship was what she really wanted.

“Tee?” Sanae wandered out into the living room of her loft apartment. He was sitting at the dining room table, eating a bag of chips from an earlier Wawa run and scrolling through his phone.

“Yeah, babe.” He called back with a full mouth.

Sanae paused nervously before she spoke again, “Tee, I need you to do something for me. Please?” She watched as his facial expression went from neutral to concerned.

“Are you okay?” He stood up and started to walk toward her, arms out to embrace her.

She took a nervous step back. He looked a little hurt by that, but he was still open to hear her out. “I’ve been feeling shitty lately. I mean I always do before my period, but this time I think I know something that might help.” She watched as his eyes narrowed slightly, suspicious but still open to her request. “I want you to take me.”

“Take you where?” Sanae almost laughed at the confusion on his face. “I’ll get the car ready.” He searched for his keys.

“No, bae. Take me!” She almost shouted the words in anxious frustration. “Rough me up! Put your hand around my throat, pull my hair, bite me, fuck me, make me take every inch of you and don’t stop until I can’t remember my own name.” Sanae found herself blinking back tears for some reason. Maybe I’m more depressed than I thought.Or maybe I’m tired of him laughing this off.

Teh’ran’s arms were crossed in front of him, looking vaguely irritated. “So just to be sure, you don’t want me to take you anywhere. You want me to fuck you…..like….hard?” His eyes were on her, traveling up and down the length of her body. He wanted her, but he was still afraid. “Would it really make you feel better?”

“Yes! I want to let go. I want you to have full control of me. Command me. Fuck my mouth and tell me I’m a good little slut while you do it. Twist me up like a pretzel and hold me down so I can’t run from it. I need you to take me. And I need you to do it now.” Sanae felt a glimmer of hope as she saw the print forming against his basketball shorts. “I know you’re usually so soft and sweet with me, but I don’t want that side of you now. I need to be filled up and emptied out over and over until I’m spent. Or until you are.”

Sanae bit her lip as she lifted her form fitting skate dress up and tugged her panties down. “Please, daddy.” She lifted the dress over her head, revealing her soft breasts with the large, brown areolas. Her squishy tummy with the stretchmarks spreading from her belly button made Tee’s mouth water. The visible dampness on her inner thighs drained the blood from his brain straight to his stiff member.

“Nae, I don’t want to hurt you. We gotta figure out a way to make this safe for both of us.” Tee’s hesitation was irritating, but he wasn’t wrong.

“Fine.” She said, “I’ll tap you twice for a pause and three times if I want to stop completely. Fair?” She sauntered toward him, seeing how dilated his dark pupils were. She reached out to touch the spot where his dick was trying to escape from his shorts.

“Fair.” Something in Tee’s eyes changed as he assumed his role smoothly. Gone was the gentle giant with the lean, yet muscular figure. The man glaring into Sanae’s eyes was cold, possessive, and hungry. A small moan escaped her as she watched her man transform before her eyes. The sound of her voice seemed to ignite something inside of him. “Two for a pause, three to stop?”

“Yes!” Annoyance colored her tone. She pushed him with both hands against his chest, throwing him off balance.

“What the fuck?” Tee’s brow furrowed slightly in surprise and a little bit of anger. “Why would you-”

Sanae pushed him again. “What? Am I being bad, daddy?” Push. “Come straighten me out then.” Push.

Teh’ran reached out and grabbed both of her wrists, stopping her from pushing him again. He yanked her toward him firmly, making her stumble into him. This time, instead of reaching out to balance her, he gripped her throat firmly in one hand. “It’s not nice to put your hands on people.” He said in a low, angry voice. His eyes seemed impossibly dark sitting in his usually smiling face. “Clearly, you need to be taught a lesson.”

“Bet you I won’t learn it!” She fired back playfully. Smiling in her excitement.

He didn’t smile back when he gave a single command. “Kneel.” His grip on her throat tightened ever so slightly, making her pussy leak even more.

“Make me.” Sanae knew she was pushing him hard now, but she needed all of that anger unleashed. Don’t hold back, Tee.

He yanked her toward him again, this time smashing his lips into hers. His tongue pushed into her mouth and his grip held firm on her throat, making her gasp for air in the most delicious way. She didn’t tap him, so he didn’t relent as he pushed down until she knelt at his feet.

“Take it out, now.” He looked into her eyes with none of his usual mirth. As she obeyed, he changed his hold from her throat to her hair. “Those pretty lips would look even better wrapped around this dick.” He made it bounce against her lips without using his hands. “Play with that pussy while I fuck this pretty face.”

And just like that he slid into her mouth, testing the limits of her ability to take him all the way in. His hand on her little afro puff held her head steady while she swirled her tongue around the head of his dick. He pushed a little deeper each time as she got more comfortable with him in her mouth, slamming all the way to the hilt by the time he felt his first nut coming.

“Fuck, you fucking slut. I’ma nut all in that throat. Keep fucking playing with me.” His head was tilted so far back, Sanae couldn’t see him anymore. Only his dick occupied her thoughts. She bounced up and down as she fingered herself rapidly, feeling her wetness spreading all over her hand and dripping onto the hardwood floor. She massaged his balls with her free hand, breathing between strokes while he pumped her mouth full of his cum.

“FUCK!” He yelled as she smiled up at him. “Look at you. So fucking beautiful with my nut dripping down that cute ass face. Come here.” He pulled her to her feet, kissing her hard as slurped up whatever she didn’t swallow. Now, he’d kissed her after receiving head before, but he never sucked the nut out of her mouth. Oh shit.

Sanae bit his lower lip and he kissed her. “Save some for me, daddy.”

“I got more for you, baby.” He gripped her ass hard with both hands, lifting her up as he carried her to the kitchen counter. He placed her carefully on the cold granite. Her nipples stood rock hard as he positioned himself between her legs.

She hissed as he slid his still hard dick inside her. He pinched her right nipple hard as he rolled his hips into hers. His other hand held the back of her neck, forcing her to maintain eye contact. “Just keep looking at me, babe. Look me in my face while I’m fucking you.”

Tee tortured her with shallow strokes, watching as her eyes went out of focus. When she broke eye contact, he would stop and wait for her to come back to him. He could feel her pussy clenching around him as she surrendered to the impending orgasm.

Sanae loved every second of him edging her closer and closer to the cliff. Her body would begin to convulse and her eyes would roll back in her head, and he would stop long enough for her to come back to herself. Each time, it got harder and harder to come down. She knew she was close, and she knew he could feel her slipping into sweet oblivion.

“Babygirl, you feel so fucking good on this dick. You want me to let you cum, don’t you?” His words were sending her to new heights.

“Yes, daddy! Please let me cum. I need it so bad. Don’t stop, please!” Begging for him to keep going she tilted her head back. The feeling of him twisting one nipple and sucking on the other made her melt like a puddle on him. “Choke me, daddy! Fuck!” This time the wave would drown them both. He gripped her neck, squeezing the sides tightly as her legs shook around him. She let herself ride the waves of intense pleasure as she released so much pent up tension from her body and soul.

Sanae was jarringly snapped out of her orgasmic stupor when the back of her head smacked the cabinet door. “OW!”

Tee immediately broke character to check on her. “You okay, Nae?”

After a quick nod, Sanae slapped him and kissed him hard. “I still wanna play.”

“You crazy.” He chuckled as he picked her up from the counter and set her on her feet. “I’m kinda liking this. But you gotta clean up your mess.” Tee held Sanae by her chin, and guided her face to the counter where a puddle sat. “Clean it up.”

“Yes, daddy.” She slurped up her pussy juices. Like a good little slut.

When she was finished, Tee picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. Sitting her on the edge of the bed, he positioned her so her hips hung a little off the edge of the bed while her legs were up in the air. Kneeling between her legs, he licked from her hole to her clit. Both of his hands were holding her legs up, keeping her from squirming away. He knew she was sensitive, so he slowly worked his tongue in circles at her opening, teasing the labia and slurping away anything that dripped out.

The sounds of her moans filled his ears as his dick got hard again. He worked her clit in slow circles at first as her hips gyrated beneath him. When she squirmed too much he would bite at her thighs, earning tiny yelps from her. When he felt like she was ready to cum again, he latched onto her clit, pulling it into his mouth as he flicked his tongue on the tip of it.

“Fuck, Tee. I’m cumming again. Oh, shit!” She came undone, wetting his beard and filling his mouth with her essence. He held what didn’t spill out in his mouth, as he stood up between her legs. As he leaned down to kiss her, he spit her juices into her mouth. The sound of her gulping it in sent a chill through him. His girl was nasty like him, and he loved seeing this side of her.

“Turn over.” He aligned his hips behind her as she tooted her ass up in the air. “If you can’t tap me, tap the bed. You got it?” After a quick confirmation, he gripped his erection, slapping it against her sensitive sex. The whimpering noises Sanae made had him damn near ready to nut. Tee made love with all of his senses, and his beautiful sad girl was his perfect match in that way. He reached down, gripping her afro puff while his other hand pressed on her lower back to deepen her arch. “Fuck, I can’t get enough of you. You know that? You’re my favorite drug.”

“Take it out on this pussy, Tee. Show me how deep you love me.” Sanae twerked her ass against him a little. He watched as his dick bounced on her bubble butt. Grabbing his dick again, he slid into her slowly. He could feel her pussy pulsate as he slid past her entrance. He kept pushing slowly until he bottomed out inside of her. The moan she let out, vibrated all the way down to her pussy as she almost pushed him back out from the pressure.

“Damn, baby. You almost pushed my dick out. Breathe and let me in, girl.” He felt her relax enough to allow him to begin stroking her. Slow at first, he pulled almost completely out before rolling into her body again. “You got me ready to bust already, girl.”

Tee watched the ripples on her ass as he sped up until their bodies slapped against each other. He slapped her ass, reveling in the pleasure filled moans that filled the bedroom. Sanae threw her ass back with each stroke, all sad thoughts pushed from her mind as her only focus was how full she felt with her man inside her. His balls slapped against her clit each time, contrasting with the way his hand pulled her head back. Her thighs burned from the effort of holding her ass up at the right height, and she didn’t care. Any physical pain didn’t compare to the hollow feeling depression left in her chest.

A sudden slap on her ass cheek brought Sanae back to the moment. “You getting quiet on me?” Tee asked. Slap. “You better tell me wassup.” He dug his nails into her ass cheeks as he felt his climax threatening to overwhelm him. “Shit, girl. You got some nerve having pussy this good.”

“Please cum, daddy. Fill this tight little pussy up. I love you so fucking much. You give me every fucking thing I need.” Sanae could feel the familiar heat uncurling in her core. It spread down to her toes and up her spine as her entire body went rigid in blissful release. “OH SHIT!” She could hear Tee shout behind her as her pussy gripped and held him deep inside her, forcing him to cum. He pumped into her through his own orgasm, letting out a string of blended profanity and praise for his lover.

“Oh you pretty slut. I could nut in this pussy forever. Shit, I can’t pull out, you’re too fucking good. I love your little hard headed ass.” Slap. He felt every drop of cum drain from his body, allowing Sanae’s pulsating to push his dick out at last. “Come here.” He laid down on the bed, pulling her along with him until her head rested on his chest. “You good, babygirl?” He massaged her scalp with one hand while the other traced random patterns on her back.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Sanae was spent, but pleased. He had shown her a willingness to push back and take charge. He had allowed her the space to be completely vulnerable in a new way, and her gratitude was limitless. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I just want you to feel better.” Teh’ran paused in thought for a moment. “How about I run us a nice bath and order your favorite food?”

Sanae thought it was cute that he defaulted back to his gentle and loving nature with ease.

"Thank you, Daddy." She felt a genuine smile spread across her face for the first time all day.

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barbiebussy · 2 years

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Dysphoria’s been shit today. Took me fucking 30 min to get dressed because the idea of putting on men’s shorts and them not fitting me like they should took me Out. Also I don’t have a binder bc sports bras have done just fine. But I started gaining weight recently and I just look so curvy. And I can’t really hide my chest well. I got ma’amed at a restaurant a few days ago w gender neutral bathrooms. I hate that word for me so much. Ik it’s just being polite but actually fuck you if you’ve ever ma’amed me.

I freaked out listening to Whipping Girl that my subconscious sex wasn’t male because I gravitated toward typically “girly” things since I was young. And justified it by thinking I just didn’t really think about gender as a kid. Like I don’t know— sometimes my mom would be on her period and she’d explain to me what it was and that I’d get it one day. And I remember thinking that maybe I was different and it wouldn’t happen to me. But no one likes their goddamn period. That alone doesn’t make my subsex male. And when my breasts started growing I didn’t actively dislike it I was just annoyed that it was something I had to deal with. It’s hard to explain but it didn’t feel Necessary I guess. When I started masturbating in high school I’d cum watching gay porn. I don’t know if I actively wished I was one of them then. I watched a lot of solo stuff. I guess I liked seeing a dick. I thought for a long time I was just fetishizing gay men. I’d get very into gay male ships too. Men and gay relationships have made me feel so much pain and longing— unmatched by any other desire I’ve had, sans maybe unrequited love (…with two gay men I’ve known).

I don’t know if I’ve ever been a little boy, nor do I think I’d really want to be one. I fit as a little girl pretty well actually. But im not a woman and I don’t think I was really a teenaged girl either. I know my interests have remained relatively consistent, and that my obsession with Sherlock and doctor who was a very Teenaged Girl interest. And I didn’t really know how to talk to other boys without flirting. But I tried. I tried to be a teenaged boy even if I didn’t realize it. I swear to god, in my own way, I was a guy. I am a guy.

#words with mikey #more gender stuff #it’s nothing I haven’t said before I just need to write to articulate things correctly in my brain

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chlozo0808 · 2 years

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Comp Het Anxiety

This idea hit hard for me and really helped:

“Actual Attraction: You’re nervous because you’re excited to get to know someone. You find them attractive first and because you’re thinking about your attraction to them, you get self conscious because you hope they might like you too. “

VS.

“Compulsory Heterosexuality: You’re nervous because you are aware that he is attracted to you, and because he’s paying such close attention to you– especially if he’s pushing boundaries or getting too close into your personal space– you become self conscious because you know he’s watching you. You blush because you’re uncomfortable. “

I’ve always gravitated towards guys groups because that’s where I felt the most relaxed. I could never maintain those friendships because comp het made me comply when it came time for them to decide who gets to pursue me. For example, in college I was hanging out with one of these guys in his room and talking about life. He asked me if I was interested in one other guy in the group, and I felt comfortable saying that I wasn’t into him. But later into the night, he started dimming the lights and my anxiety began to grow. He then confessed his interest in me. I started to really panic. Not knowing how to reject him (I knew he was attractive and I should have been interested in him) and freaking out internally, I said I was interested in different guy in the group. Out of all the guys, I chose the only one that had showed zero interest in me. I literally remember that I hadn’t thought of him literally at all until the moment I was put on the spot like I had to choose.

My nervousness around women is constant. I’ve worried about what women thought about me and was very self-conscious around them. I’ve always been more worried about how I came across to women and if they liked me. Recently, I’ve fully accepted the fact that I’m not straight and let myself to be attracted to women. This was helped my anxiety tremendously and makes relationships easier for me with women. It isn’t creepy to look at and appreciate women.

This is constant trying to impress women is a sharp contrast to the infrequent nervousness that arises only when men show interest in me. It’s normal for women to sit back while men pursue them. Even crazier, I thought it was totally fine for me to never initiate sex, orgasm, or moan without forcing it, but it was to cry afterwards, get bored, and just pray he would finally orgasm already. Idk why there isn’t more talk about how comp het leads women into having almost entirely unwanted sex LOL.

But to be real, comp het for me was was a really traumatic, anxiety-ridden, and totally isolating experience. I have countless other stories. And yes, our heteronormative society will continue to try to get us to comply. To me, rejecting comp het has allowed me to be myself, which is the only way to create real connections. Regardless of the forces and stressors I face, I have support now from people that I know I can trust to be myself with. My support system has only increased and the male gaze was an overhyped achievement that can’t ruin my life anymore.

#comp het compulsory heterosexuality #lesbian

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sisterspooky1013 · 2 years

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Diversion

Rated Mature / Read it here on AO3

“You any good at pinball, Scully?”

She heaves a sigh and moves to stand beside him in front of the Addams Family themed pinball machine. Mulder flicks the lever and sends the little silver ball up and around an image of Morticia and Gomez gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Can’t say that I’ve played it much. I always gravitated more towards the dartboard,” she answers, casting her eyes around the crowded bar surreptitiously.

They’re here on loan, keeping an eye on a potentially violent suspect that Kersh’s team is investigating for money laundering. The target is up at the rail, nursing a cocktail and watching the door. Waiting for someone, it would seem.

Scully shifts uncomfortably and resists the urge to adjust the battery pack for her earpiece, which is tucked carefully under the strap of her bra. It’s concealed by a cardigan worn open over a black tank top that shows a little more cleavage than she’s entirely happy with. Her jeans are uncomfortably tight as well, a pair she had purchased shortly after her cancer went into remission when she was about fifteen pounds lighter.

They’d been instructed to dress casually enough to fit in at a dive bar in a rough part of town, and too-small jeans and a cardigan were as close as she could get with her conservative wardrobe. Mulder’s jeans and black T-shirt are typical fare for him, and she grumbles internally at the different standards of fashion for men and women, though she can admit to enjoying the way his eyes momentarily widened at her outfit when he picked her up. She takes a sip from her beer, a prop that is now room temperature.

“Come here, I’ll show you the ropes,” Mulder says without looking at her, moving one arm away from the button on the side of the machine and gesturing for her to step in front of him.

She gives him a questioning look and waits until he meets her eye so he can see it.

“Play the part, Scully. We’re on a date here, and I’m trying to impress you with my pinball skills,” he says with an impish smile that makes her belly tumble.

She’s only recently come to terms with the fact that she is insanely attracted to him. Beyond a passing acknowledgement that he’s a good looking man, which she knew within five seconds of meeting him, she’s now painfully aware that despite her brain’s knowledge that nothing can or will ever happen between them, her body would very much like to find out what those deft pinball-wizard fingers can do. She sometimes suspects that Mulder has similar urges based on the long looks he gives her when she removes her suit jacket, or the less than covert glances he’s made in the direction of her breasts since they arrived here, but so far as she can tell he is of the same mind: it’s simply not an option.

“Agents, what’s your twenty? I’m not picking you up on our internal surveillance.”

The crackle of Agent Foster in their ears distracts from his invitation and Scully answers back, her eyes on Mulder’s face so it doesn’t appear that she’s talking to herself.

“We’re by the pinball machine. Do you need us to move?”

“Do you have eyes on the target?” Foster asks, his voice tinny and just a little too loud.

“Yes,” Scully answers, “we have a clear view from our location.”

“Then no need, stay where you are.”

Out of her periphery, she sees another man enter the bar and head straight for the target. She holds her position standing beside Mulder as he plays the game, able to look just over and to the side of the machine to keep a sightline that shouldn’t appear suspicious. She turns to Mulder, giving him a soft smile.

“Our target has company,” she says for the benefit of Agent Foster. “White male, mid-forties, shaved head.”

“Yep, we’ve got eyes,” Foster answers.

She leans into Mulder a little, watching the target and his new friend as they engage in a very intense discussion, heads bowed. Each man pauses to look around the bar intermittently, and she has the thought that they could use some pointers on not being so obvious. As though the universe decides to call her out as a hypocrite, the target looks their way and locks eyes with her.

Slowly, she turns her head towards Mulder and rests her chin on his shoulder.

“The target just made eye contact with me,” she says to the side of Mulder’s face, and he smiles and nods in feigned response.

“Is he still looking at you now?” Foster inquires with some irritation.

Mulder steps back from the pinball machine, slaps the top as though frustrated with the outcome, and quickly looks around.

“Yep, he’s staring us down,” he responds, gesturing to the machine.

“Well whatever the fuck you’re doing, do something else. Act natural,” Foster admonishes.

Mulder grabs her wrist suddenly, pulls her to stand in front of the pinball machine with her back to him, and steps up close behind her. She lets out a little surprised squeak, her body tensing as he places her hands on the sides of the machine and covers them with his own.

“Let’s play some pinball, Scully,” he says against her ear. He slouches a little to rest his chin on her shoulder, though her exceptionally high-heeled boots help compensate for their substantial height difference.

She swallows, trying to relax as Mulder touches her hip to move her slightly. He launches the ball with a snap before he returns his hand to cover hers. His chest is firm against her upper back as he presses her fingers into the buttons and sends the ball flying with pings and dings.

“How’s our target, Foster?” Mulder asks casually before he forcefully slams the buttons on both sides, tightening the space she has to stand in.

She keeps her eyes on the game, too afraid to risk a glance towards the target knowing she has little control over her response right now. She can smell Mulder’s deodorant and feel the stubble on his chin catching in her hair as he moves behind her.

“He’s talking with his bald friend. Crisis averted,” Foster answers, and she relaxes just a little.

Mulder continues with the game, and while it’s her fingers that are being pushed into the buttons, she’s paying it no mind. All her attention is focused on not pushing back against him, not increasing the pressure of his torso against hers, which is what her body is begging her to do.

“He’s on the move,” Foster announces, breaking her focus. “He’s headed out into the alley. We don’t have eyes out there, you need to follow him.”

Mulder steps back, then threads his fingers between hers and tugs her in the direction of the back door. Her mind is reeling, trying to refocus on the task at hand instead of the feeling of his rough palm against hers. Near the alley door, she stops by a man with a cigarette tucked behind his ear.

“Can I bum a smoke?” she asks, and Mulder gives her a curious look.

The generous stranger hands her a cigarette and then flips open a silver zippo, lighting it before holding it out for her. She can feel Mulder’s eyes on her as she leans forward with the cigarette between her lips to accept the light, taking a drag and blowing the smoke up towards the ceiling.

“I didn’t know you smoke,” he says with genuine surprise, and she turns to regard him, the cigarette perched between her fingers in a way that engages the muscle memory of a hundred nights out in college.

“I don’t,” she says matter of factly, adding after a pause “anymore.”

Mulder retakes her hand and leads her into the alley where they find a spot against the brick exterior of the building among other patrons who prefer to pollute the fresh air outside instead of furthering the haze inside. The target and his bald friend are huddled near a dumpster speaking animatedly but quietly. Scully leans against the wall, crossing one arm over her chest before she props the one holding the cigarette against it. Mulder stands in front of her but off to the side just a touch so he doesn’t block her view.

“We’ve got eyes,” she says softly, taking a drag with her eyes locked on Mulder’s.

He looks at her intently, his eyes darting around her face like he notices something new. Holding eye contact, she puckers her lips and blows a stream of smoke off to the side so it doesn’t get in his face. He looks between her and the cigarette and then leans forward slightly, jutting out his chin.

She extends her arm and twists her wrist to offer him the filtered end. He wraps his lips around it carefully and takes a long drag, his eyes on her mouth. As soon as he releases it she brings it back to her own lips, relishing in the knowledge of his saliva still coating the paper.

“Keep me in the loop, agents,” Foster admonishes, and Scully tears her eyes away from Mulder to steal a glance at the target who is glaring at them suspiciously.

“He’s looking at us,” she says to Mulder and Foster simultaneously, smoke escaping her lips haphazardly as she speaks.

“Jesus Christ, I don’t know what you two are doing out there but do it better,” Foster growls.

Mulder takes the cigarette from between her fingers and pulls in a quick drag before he tosses it to the ground and steps towards her. She regards him with a mixture of fear and excitement as he stoops a little and grabs the backs of her thighs, lifting her up and pinning her back against the wall while he steps into the space between her legs. She reflexively loops her arms around his neck, her heart racing.

“You keep an eye,” he directs her, then tucks his face into her neck and brushes his lips along the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

She stifles a gasp, closing her eyes briefly as her thighs clench around his waist. His mouth is warm and his breath tickles the tiny hairs at the back of her neck in a delicious way. Cracking one eye open, she takes a look towards the dumpster and sees that the target is no longer paying them any attention.

“He’s not looking,” she breathes out.

Mulder doesn’t back off, just slowly drags his lips up and down over her neck. She feels the wet flick of his tongue and to her horror, a little hum escapes her throat. He steps closer to the wall, his pelvis now pressed snugly between her legs.

The two men seem to talk for an eternity, each looking with great interest at something the bald one is holding. She tries to keep her eyes open as much as possible, but Mulder has begun placing open-mouthed kisses up the length of her neck, and is now trailing them along her jaw. When he reaches her chin, he pulls back and looks at her with hooded, lustful eyes. Her chest heaves and if she’s not mistaken, there’s a distinct bulge in his jeans that is pressing against the seam of her thigh. He licks his lips and hers fall open in response, her tongue dancing inside her mouth in anticipation.

“Target unchanged?” he asks, his eyes on her mouth.

“Affirmative, unchanged,” she responds, and he begins to lean towards her.

Both their eyes remain open as his face moves closer to hers, the faintest brush of his lips making her hips flex against him independent of her control. She hears a little groan in the back of his throat before he presses his mouth to hers, their lips melting together like butter in a hot pan as both their eyes slam shut. He tastes like tobacco and hops, and she feels her joints turn to jelly, her weight held fully by his hands gripping her legs just below her ass cheeks. His tongue slips out tentatively, sliding along the inside of her top lip and making her clit throb against his erection, now fully pronounced and pressed against her vulva through both their jeans.

The door to the alley slams closed and she snaps her head over to see that the target and the bald man are gone.

“Shit, target is on the move,” she says, scrambling out of Mulder’s grip and onto the pavement.

He stays near the wall momentarily to adjust his jeans and then follows her back inside the bar. She scans the crowd, searching for the target, and finds him near the back wall of the bar. The target points angrily at the bald man’s face as he reaches into his jacket.

“It looks like he’s reaching for a weapon,” she hisses into the microphone.

“We’ve got backup headed inside. Make sure he doesn’t leave,” Foster urges her. “Create a diversion or something.”

Scully looks around frantically. Diversion, create a diversion. She turns to Mulder, who stares back at her blankly.

“Fuck you, asshole!” she screams at him, and his mouth falls open in shock.

She pulls her hand back and gives him an apologetic glance before she brings her open palm hard across his cheek with a crisp smack. Mulder winces but doesn’t recoil, blinking at her as he slowly brings his hand up to touch his reddening cheek.

An awkward hush has fallen over the bar, though November Rain continues to play at a volume that suddenly feels inappropriate. Scully glances around and sees that the two men had stopped talking to watch the scene unfold, but are re-engaging in conversation.

“Yell at me,” she hisses to Mulder through clenched teeth, and he shakes his head a little as though he’s just now understanding that this is the diversion.

“What the the fuck was that?!” he shouts back at her, dropping his hand from his face and gesticulating wildly.

“What the fuck was that out in the alley?” she screams back, realizing too late that it’s a question she genuinely wants the answer to.

She shifts her position so she can see the men, who watch them with interest. Everybody loves a little barroom drama, she thinks.

Mulder gives her a haughty look.

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it,” he says bitingly, and she gasps at the accusation.

Reaching to the pool table beside her, she picks up an abandoned half-drunk beer and flings it into Mulder’s face.

Someone in the bar shouts “tell ‘em, girl!” while someone else complains “hey, that was my beer!”

She can see a tiny smile threatening the corners of Mulder’s mouth as beer drips off his chin.

“So you did like it, then,” he says levelly, not loud enough for the men to hear.

She can feel heat rising to her cheeks, and isn’t sure what to do next.

“FBI, freeze!”

They reflexively hold up their hands, waiting to be ID’d and sent to join the rest of the law enforcement outside.

———

“You’re free to go, agents,” Foster calls over his shoulder as he leads the handcuffed target to a squad car. “Thanks for your help.”

They bid him farewell and begin their walk to where Mulder parked his car several blocks away. Without their cover, she suddenly feels exposed and awkward. She crosses her arms over her chest and shivers.

“You cold?” Mulder asks, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

“A little,” she answers softly.

“Well, it could be worse,” he offers. “Your shirt could be soaking wet.”

She casts him a guilty look and he smiles at her.

“You wouldn’t happen to have been fulfilling any long-held fantasies back there, would you, Scully?” he cracks, and her stomach drops.

She avoids his eye and opens and closes her mouth, trying to form a reply, when he continues.

“Throwing a drink in someone’s face? Seems like something every woman has to do at least once in her life, I would think,” he elaborates, and she heaves a relieved sigh.

“That and the slap both,” she says good-naturedly. “Sorry about that by the way.”

He shrugs. “It’s an honor to be slapped across the face by Dana Scully,” he says with pride, and she can’t help but smile.

They walk in silence for half a block and the crackling tension between them tells her that they are both thinking about the same thing.

“Did I earn that slap, Scully?” he asks suddenly, and she glances over to see a regretful look on his face.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“I mean the alley. Was that...did I cross a line?”

She blinks at the pavement, remembering his hot lips on her neck, the firmness of his groin against hers, the cigarette-infused taste of his tongue.

“No, it’s fine. It was for work. It was necessary,” she says in a very business-like tone, and he nods in acceptance.

They reach his car and he approaches the passenger side with her, much to her confusion.

“The automatic locks aren’t working. Let me get the door for you,” he explains, and she waits while he unlocks and opens it.

He keeps his hand on the top of the open door as she steps forward to get in. Before doing so she stops and turns to face him. His expression is soft and open and there’s something significant in his eyes, something he’s not saying.

“What if it wasn’t just for work?” he asks softly, and she feels a flush in her chest.

She doesn’t know if she should pretend that she doesn’t understand what he’s saying, or deny it, or admit to him that she wants nothing more than to continue what they’d started. He reaches out and brushes his fingers along the place on her neck where he kissed her and she closes her eyes.

Then suddenly his fingers are gone, and when she opens her eyes he’s halfway to the driver’s side, a solemn expression on his face.

The drive back to her apartment is very quiet and very awkward, though perhaps they each have different reasons for feeling that way. She suspects that he feels as though he’s been dealt a rejection, and she feels as though she wasn’t given enough time to accept his advance.

“See you Monday,” he calls to her as she steps out of his car in front of her building, and she nods.

She pushes the car door closed and walks slowly inside, her mind racing as she thinks through what happened and what he’d said.

What if it wasn’t just for work?

What does that mean? That he wanted to kiss her? That he was, in fact, the one who was fulfilling a long-held fantasy?

She slumps through the front door, toeing off her boots and tossing her cardigan over the back of a dining room chair. Walking determinedly into the kitchen, she plucks a half-full bottle of wine off the counter and retrieves a glass, then pulls the cork from the bottle with her teeth and fills the glass nearly to the brim. She’s just swallowing the last of several big gulps when she hears his knock at the door.

“Hi,” he says shyly when she opens it for him, the wine in her hand. “You, uh, you left your jacket in my car,” he adds, extending his arm to hold out her wool overcoat.

“Oh, thanks,” she says in response, taking the coat from his hand.

They stand there awkwardly- she holding wine and wool, he stuffing empty hands into his coat pockets. There’s an expectant something hanging in the air, something that needs to be addressed.

“Mulder-”

“Scully-”

They both start at the same time and then stop, offering smiles that are half-cringes.

“I’m really sorry,” Mulder begins, “I feel like I made things weird when I...did that.”

She’s not entirely sure if he’s referring to the alley or what he said by the car. There’s only one way to find out.

“Did what?” she asks softly.

He looks at her and she feels her heart rate pick up, the now-familiar lustful look in his eye making something coil in her belly. She swallows, her lips parting and her breathing slightly labored.

Mulder’s eyes dart around her body. To her lips, to her breasts that are heaving with her panting breaths, to her eyes that are as wide and as fearful as they are excited. He steps forward, invading her space, and pulls his hands from his pockets. Taking the wine from her hand, he pours half of it down his throat in a long drink and then sets the glass on the table near the door.

“Was it okay that I kissed you?” he asks earnestly, fear and preemptive regret in his voice.

“Yes, it was fine, Mulder. It’s okay,” she answers, aiming to assuage his concern that he’s offended her somehow.

He chews his lip contemplatively, searching her face with his eyes. He’s still standing incredibly close, so close she has to crane her head up to look at his face given that she doesn’t have shoes on.

“Would it be okay if I kissed you again?” he asks with equal amounts of hope and terror.

“Right now?” she asks breathily, but before he can answer she says, “yes.”

He leans down toward her, his hands moving to cup her jaw as she pushes up to the highest tips of her toes that she can manage. His lips are soft and eager, the hum in his throat one of relief and desire, wanting more even as he’s being sated. The slip of his tongue against hers feels familiar and dangerous, another in a long list of things they’ve done that they really ought not have: embellished 302s, rental cars returned with hidden damage to the undercarriage, non-itemized receipts concealing margaritas, and now this kiss. She leans heavy into him as he tastes every corner of her teeth, her hard and soft palates, the four quadrants of her tongue. She drops her coat to the floor and wraps her arms around his neck, allowing him to pull her close so she can feel for the second time tonight how much he wants her.

It’s too fast.

She pulls away and takes in his swollen lips and the dinner-plate size of his pupils. She knows that he would happily follow her into her bedroom, and the throb between her legs begs her to do so.

“Maybe you should go,” she says tightly, forcing out the words that she doesn’t really mean.

“Okay,” he answers, releasing his grip on her waist and stepping back.

He walks stoically back into the hallway, his head hanging with defeat. She can’t let him leave thinking she didn’t want that. Thinking she doesn’t want more.

“Mulder,” she calls to him, and he turns back, hopeful.

She opens her mouth with intent to invite him to dinner tomorrow, or ask him to get coffee in the morning, or wish him a good weekend.

But what comes out is “maybe you should stay.”

He walks determinedly toward her and a surge of adrenaline and desire rush through her body. They really ought not do this, but the 302 has already been submitted, the rental car has already been damaged, the margaritas have already been drunk, and she has already tasted his kiss. It’s too late to make the right choice.

It all happened so fast.

That’s what she’ll think later, reflecting upon his return to her doorway, and the urgent way he scooped her into his arms. Swept her off her feet, quite literally, kicking the door closed behind him.

The evidence of their desperate journey into her bedroom will be evident by the bowl of fruit pushed off the dining room table when he set her there as they divested one another of their shirts, the lamp knocked on its side by her foot as he carried her down the hallway, and the bra that she will find behind her headboard exactly three weeks later. She will tenderly run her finger over raised scratches on her arms and legs, a purpling bruise on her hip, and beard-burn on the insides of her thighs from his second-day stubble. She’ll wince as she touches between her legs in the shower, at the tenderness there and the slickness of his cum. Wincing because it hurts after so long without, and because they didn’t use anything.

Later that night, lying in bed on sheets that still carry the smell of his body, she’ll stare up at the ceiling with some mix of terror and delight, recalling the awkwardness of their goodbye at her doorway when it was all over, when they looked up from the resolution of a tension that had run between them since the day they met and saw the other standing there, somehow still existing even after they’d done the unspeakable. Seeing that the world didn’t end.

And she’ll wonder if it hadn’t all been one long diversion, distracting them from what was happening right in front of them the entire time.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #x files #x files fanfic

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therealvinelle · 3 years

Note

You or The Muffin made a post on your dream cast(s), but I’m not really familiar with those references/actors (with the exception of Bowie and Jean Claude Van Damme and Clint Eastwood I think you mentioned). Is there anyone you would choose that’s a little more recent (80s-present)?

Our dream cast.

Our dream voice cast, for those interested.

Fun fact, both those posts were composed together, so yeah we share these opinions. We composed this one together as well.

Keep in mind that this list is... well it's for Twilight as I would make it. Which means that of course we’re casting a Didyme, nevermind that she’s been dead for thousands of years, but Denali who?

And once again we’re disrupting the time-space continuum and casting big name actors you’ve definitely heard about as they were ten, twenty, or thirty years ago.

Alright, so newer and shinier Twilight fancast, this time with a few alternatives because decisions are hard:

Alice: ... Audrey Hepburn.

I'm sorry. I tried. I tried to be modern, but I got to Alice and originally we thought Saoirse Ronan, appearances be damned because Ronan is a great actress, only to realize Ronan should be Renesmée.

So we're back to the dream cast. Audrey Hepburn was a tiny, pixie-like, yet ridiculously beautiful woman. Like Alice, her growth was stunted due to prolonged starvation during the War, so she's the perfect casting in a way no modern Western actress is going to be. She was also an amazing actress, just absolutely magnetic each time she graced the screen. She would be a fantastic Alice.

Aro: A young Tom Cruise.

Cruise is an absurdly beautiful man, and at 173 cm he is the right stature as I could never cast a tall actor for Aro. He's a very good actor, so I'm sure he'd be up for it. Also, he'd look great with chalky petrified vampire makeup on. He'd pull it off. I want to see this.

Optionally: Cate Blanchett

Yes, she's a woman. But that's what acting is all about, you play someone you're not. It's more a thing in theatre than in film that men can play women and women can play men, but I say fuck the rules, we're doing it theatre style. And Blanchett absolutely have that enigmatic, ethereal, otherworldly quality I'd want for Aro.

Bella: A young Sarah Michelle Gellar

Gellar is a petite beauty, she is spunky yet adorable, and very charming, the people of Forks and the Cullens would very believably gravitate towards her. Most importantly she has the acting chops to pull it off. She would portray an amazing Bella.

Caius: Daniel Craig

The man is the right age, he's someone you don't mess with. Craig has perhaps a touch too charismatic, but he's good enough that I'm hopeful he could tune it down.

Carlisle: A young Leonardo DiCaprio

DiCaprio is ridiculously attractive and has a bad case of The Babyface™. Watching him try to convince people that he’s 30 years old and has adult kids would be absolutely hilarious, and very faithful to the books. He’s a talented actor, too, very versatile.

Optionally: David Tennant

Tennant doesn't look the part, he is handsome but handsome in that particular way when flawed features come together handsomely. He does however have the perfect charm, gravitas, and energy for the character, so I think he could make a great Carlisle.

This is where the magic of movie adaptions come in - you’re not going to be able to translate directly from text to screen, that’s impossible. If you embrace that and make some bold choices, you stand to make a truly spectacular adaption. One of the reasons why the Twilight films failed is that they were too faithful to the books while failing to understand the spirit of them, whereas the TV miniseries adaption of His Dark Materials switched a lot of things up and is absolutely amazing for it.

Demetri: Robert Downey Jr.

Ridiculously charismatic and talented actors cast in bit parts and making them shine is a passion of mine.

Didyme: Cate Blanchett

Look, Blanchett had to be in this somehow, and we could think of no one more appropriate. She has too much enigma for Esme, is too womanly for Alice, and once the idea for Didyme was had it was hard to weasel out of.

Cate Blanchett would be convincing as Aro's sister, as a woman who haunts her lover and brother even thousands of years after her passing, an enigmatic and divine woman who can never be forgotten.

Also she's my fancast for her brother, so this works out quite nicely. Why cast someone who merely looks like Aro’s actor when you can just cast the same actor.

Edward: A young Johnny Depp

Very few men are otherworldly beautiful. There are countless handsome men, yes, and many beautiful ones, but Depp has extreme and symmetrical features that come together beautifully. Robert Pattinson does too, for the record, so what makes me prefer Depp is the fact that he is an incredible actor. Pattinson is good, but Depp is the kind of talent who can power through even the worst scripts, give him nothing and he will give you the world. He’s on Al Pacino’s level, this man can salvage anything.

Emmett: Terry Crews

Terry Crews is a mountain of a man, he's massive. He'd nail Emmett's infectious cheer, too. He has a very symmetrical and attractive face that follows the golden ratio beautifully, so I could buy him being a vampire.

Esme: Anne Hathaway ten years ago. Ref one, ref two.

She’s out of this world beautiful and has the perfect Esme aesthetic. Hands down best Esme. The fact that she’s a very good actress helps.

Felix: Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson

He’s got the physique for the part and would be absolutely menacing.

James: Brad Pitt

Brad Pitt is a character actor who tragically got lost in the blockbuster scene. He’s good, he deserves cool parts. So yeah, Pitt as James. I think he’d be absolutely amazing for the part, it’d be the kind of performance where you can tell the actor was enjoying every second on set.

Jane and Alec: Child Dakota Fanning

Fanning was a good choice for Jane, it's just that she was slightly too old when she was cast (and they made her look even older!) and the screenwriters had written a different character than the one in the books (and not for the better - I’m all for changing things in an adaption! But, well, she was Marvel levels of bad villain). And as Alec is a bit part and supposed to be nearly identical to her, I’d just have Fanning play him as well.

Jasper: Clint Eastwood, every time.

Optionally: feels like blasphemy to even have an “optionally”, but here we are. If you somehow haven’t heard of the guy, then… er. No, sorry, I’ve got nothing. Know that I tried, though.

Marcus: Tom Holland

The man has such babyface, which fits since Marcus is 19.

Just Tom Holland, sitting around, looking young and depressed.

Renata: A young Natalie Portman

Yes, yes, Renata is a bit part, I know that, but this is my Twilight we're casting for so I do what I want.

Portman fits the physical description for Renata, and I find that description to be relevant to her character. She's a teeny tiny woman charged with protecting the most important man in the world, and gifted with intouchability. Portman looks is beautiful enough to fit the bill for a Twilight vampire, and tiny enough to stress the absurdity of this 5′0″ woman being anybody’s bodyguard, nevermind Aro’s.

Renesmée: Child Saoirse Ronan (Though Adult Ronan works too, she’s my cast for the hybrid gremlin period.)

She was an extraordinarily talented child actress, and she’s beautiful while odd-looking. I could absolutely believe I was looking at an otherworldly hybrid when looking at her.

Mostly I think Renesmée is going to be a very hard part for anybody, as the given actor will be portraying one of the most ridiculed characters in recent pop culture. It’ll take major talent to get the audience to care about Renesmée, but I think Ronan, if anybody, could do it.

Rosalie: Margot Robbie ten years ago

She’s out of this world beautiful, and more importantly she’s an incredible actress. She would be incredible for the part.

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voiceless-terror · 3 years

Text

Outside the Lines

for @archivalpride month! the prompt was ‘sharing clothes’ so I decided to add on a bit to my More than Enough archives polycule fic. you don’t need to read it beforehand, though. 2.2k words, cw in the tags.

Jon likes Sasha’s clothes. Particularly, her cardigans.

They’re warm, oversized things in pastel colors, chunky cable knits and ancient pullovers, smelling faintly of jasmine and sandalwood. There’s always one draped over the back of her chair at work, at home. Sometimes a pile of them.

“Just in case,” she said knowingly, when Jon mentioned the teetering pile on the back of her office chair.

“Of what, a blizzard?” he replied archly, to which she had no response.

But Jon runs cold, so it makes sense that he’d like them. And eye them. And eventually, borrow them.

“You look good in pink,” she said casually, walking by him cozily wrapped up, surrounded by books for his latest case. “You should wear it more often.” Jon just grumbled in response.

It now sits on the back of his chair.

Point is, they’re not strangers to sharing clothes. Once they move in together, the lines blur even more. Jon’s scarves become hers, her jackets become his. It’s nice when the someone’s scent begins to remind you of home. Embarrassingly, he’s come to think of it like a hug when she’s not around. Perhaps she feels the same way, but Jon’s not going to bring it up. He’s not that maudlin.

“You need to stop me from online shopping,” she groans one day, dropping a pile of clothing into his lap that must have been from the newly-arrived and altogether giant box he found on the steps of their flat. Jon had raised an eyebrow as she guiltily hauled it to her room and got to work. “I swear, I don’t remember ordering half of this.”

“Far be it from me to get between a James and her phone,” he replies, picking through the pile of utterly un-Sasha-like clothing. It’s all floaty tops and tiny skirts, nothing like what she usually gravitates toward. She certainly has more...adventurous tastes, when she’s intoxicated.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you at all,” Jon retorts, picking up the most offensive piece from the pile with his thumb and pointer finger: a muted brown, and yet somehow sparkly miniskirt. He raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Really?”

“I was not in my right state of mind, you know that.” She ran a hand over her face, refusing to look him in the eye. “Anyway, see if there’s anything in there you like. Otherwise, it’s all going back.”

Jon very much doubts there’s much in here for him - not a chunky knit in sight. The tops aren’t too bad, but a bit too sheer for his liking, and if he’s going to layer, he’d rather be comfortable than fashionable. He pushes the pile off his lap when something catches his eye. Buried beneath two very loud shirts is something black, with bits of lace. He pulls it out to find a simple black dress, high-necked with pearl buttons and slightly puffed sleeves. It’s modest, but covered in a delicate lace pattern. His grip tightens incrementally. “You don’t like this?”

Sasha peeks her head around the corner. “S’bit short on me. You should try it on, though. It’s cute.”

Jon flushes. It’s something he might’ve worn in uni, when he and Georgie made a night of it and Jon had just enough liquid courage. Now, though, it doesn’t fit with his professional persona and strict uniform of blazers, vests, and button ups. He needed to be taken seriously, and he didn’t feel he could do that if he was...experimenting, as his grandmother would phrase it. His hair he still wears long, the only vestige of that life he kept. “Oh,” he responds automatically, “I couldn’t.”

Sasha blinks. “I think you’d look really nice. Put your hair up, maybe add some earrings.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not.” She comes behind his perch on the sofa, gathering his hair up in her hand and pulling it from his face. “Leave a few pieces out, y’know, artfully messy.” She takes the dress and pulls it up against his body. “What do you think?”

“Um, maybe,” he barely manages to whisper. It feels nice, right. He can see it in his mind’s eye - it looks very him. Not feminine or masculine, just pretty. Just Jon. “I’ll think about it.”

He thinks about it. The dress hangs in the back of his closet, untouched and passed over many a morning. He tried it on and Sasha had been right- of course she was, she’s good at that sort of thing when not inebriated. Maybe one day he’d wear it out - not to work, but to drinks or something.

Maybe.

It’s not until months down the line that he tugs it out, on one of those days where he feels like his body doesn’t make sense and names sound wrong in his ears. Drinks with Tim, the newest recruit to their department. Hard won drinks, if Jon might add; Tim was just starting to open up to them. He tugs the dress over his head and digs through a plate on his dresser for the long silver earrings Sasha gave him last Christmas. He studiously avoids the mirror on his way out the door, throwing his bag over his shoulder and standing in the doorway, as if waiting for Sasha’s reaction.

This was a bad idea, he thinks as his palms start to sweat. You look ridiculous, you shouldn’t have- his thoughts are interrupted by a gentle hand tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. Sasha smiles at him.

“Oh, you’re perfect.”

Tim thinks so too.

----------

“Oh man, I’ve got to get rid of that.”

Tim motions to the blazer in Sasha’s hand. “Hasn’t fit me since uni. Y’know, when I got these guns.” Sasha rolls her eyes as he makes an exaggerated motion with his arms. They’ve been cleaning out Tim’s apartment for the past few hours, she and Tim in the bedroom while Jon sorted through his books in the living room. She suspects he’s doing more reading than sorting.

“Why’d you keep it, then?” She holds the hanger up, smoothing the fabric out with her hand. It’s heavy, quality fabric. A shame to get rid of it.

“Dunno, just one of those things,” he shrugs, throwing another pair of joggers onto the bed. “It was expensive, but I only ever wore it to interviews for internships and the like. You can toss it in the donate pile.”

She hums idly, making no motion to get rid of it. She’s rather fond of blazers, has quite a few in her collection. They’re nice when she wants to be a bit more dressy and professional. A woman’s outfit can occasionally be her armor, particularly in academia, and nothing says ‘take me seriously’ like a nicely fitted jacket and skirt. Never mind how it makes her feel. But this is very much a men’s blazer, barely a nip at the waist and with nothing to outline the curve of her body. And yet.

She shoves it in her bag. If she doesn’t like it, she’ll throw it out.

_______

When Jon and Tim are tucked in bed, she tries it on.

She doesn’t know why she’s being so secretive about this. It’s not like Jon and Tim will care, it’s just clothes. Lord knows she’s encouraged Jon to wear whatever he wants, and there’s no surefire way to get Tim blushing like wearing one of his pullovers. But there’s something that feels a bit transgressive about it. She was generally drawn to more feminine looks, growing up as a tall girl there’s an inherent (perhaps taught) idea that making herself look smaller and delicate would make her more appealing. Appealing for what? She always wanted to ask. But she knows the answer now. It’s taken near a decade to get the slouch out of her posture and to get comfortable wearing heels.

It seems silly to feel so cowed by a blazer. She’s thirty years old, unmarried and living with two partners. She stopped playing by the rules a long time ago. Her hands shouldn’t be shaking. For Christ’s sake, just put it on.

She slips her arms into the sleeves, pausing to inhale the leftover scent of Tim, his laundry detergent and the after shave he occasionally wears. Her entire body warms, like stepping into a bath. She slips the rest of it on, pausing to adjust the shirt underneath. When she looks in the mirror, she can’t help the grin that fills her face. She looks good. Her broad shoulders fit the line of the jacket perfectly, her curves hidden and barely even suggested by the cut. It is decidedly not feminine.

She likes it.

It takes her twenty minutes to drag herself from the bathroom and back into bed. She lies awake through Tim’s light snores and Jon’s murmuring, filled with a strange, nervous excitement. It’s just a blazer, she thinks to herself somewhat giddily. It’s just clothes. But when she throws it on that Monday morning and steps into the kitchen, she starts to think it might be more than that. She walks a little taller, feels a bit more at home in her skin. Tim choking on his orange juice when he sees her is just an added bonus.

“Glad you kept it,” he stutters out, once he manages to stop gaping.

She’s glad too.

______

Martin’s sitting on Jon’s bed, watching as he runs a brush through his hair.

Jon’s hair is lovely, long and shiny. His own he keeps rather short, though the curls are getting a bit unruly these days. When he was a child, his mother insisted he keep it long, just like she insisted on a great many other things. But he shed all of that, got as far away from it as possible. And yet, eyeing the silvery tray on Jon’s dresser, he has to admit he’s curious.

It’s full of delicate, pretty accessories- hair clips and necklaces and earrings. Jon’s like a magpie, collecting shiny things; though this collection is mostly gifts from the three of them. It’s a little dance they like to do- Jon sees something in a store, stares a little too long, insists he doesn’t need it, and eventually it ends up in their flat.

Their flat. He’s still getting used to it. He’s never felt at home anywhere, but he’s starting to think he has one now. Listening to Jon hum as he cooks, Tim reading aloud from his recent article deep-dive, Sasha butting in with a comment - these are all good things. The background noise to his days that used to be filled with silence.

And he’s never been around people so at home with themselves. Martin is so used to putting an effort into how he presents himself in the world, he’s never enjoyed being misconstrued. A strange, delicate balance of pride in who he is at war with a desperate need to be understood and accepted. Palatable. Easier to put yourself in a box with clear labels than to deal with the confusion and the questions. Any passing thought or fleeting impulse that goes outside the lines is dismissed.

But nothing about his situation now is easily labeled, to be honest. It’s hard enough explaining his relationship status to others, though Sasha has a little spiel ready to rattle off at a moment’s notice. They’re all so comfortable with each other, with themselves. It makes him both a bit braver and a bit more afraid.

While Jon scurries off to flick through his closet, Martin gets up, walking over to the collection and picking up the small moth broach he’d gotten him on one of their first dates, before Tim started to come along. The memory brings a smile to his face.

“Oh, it’s lovely, Martin.” Jon had immediately pinned it to his jacket, before reaching down to grab a bag at his feet. “And ah, actually- I got something for you too?”

A little Highland cow plushie. So he had been listening to his rant on Scotland the other day. It still sits in place of pride on his desk.

“Do you want to try one?” Martin jumps at the sound of Jon’s voice, dropping the pin unceremoniously back into the pile as if he’d been burnt. He turns around, prepared to voice a thousand excuses, a knee-jerk reaction.

“No, it’s-”

But Jon’s already sorting through the pile with clever fingers, hand lingering over a thin barrette with a tiny, gold flower. Pretty, simple. Martin’s hand itches to reach out but he draws it into a tight fist. Admiring is one thing, but actually wearing it-

“C’mere.” He thinks he should refuse but instead he leans down, lets Jon’s fingers wind their way through his hair and feels a settled weight against his head.

“There.” Jon smiles. “That’ll do quite nicely.”

He looks in the mirror. Oh.

It’s barely even noticeable, just a small clip bringing the longest of his curls behind his ear. But Jon’s right. It looks nice. It goes with his hair and it doesn’t feel feminine or wrong, just a comfortable weight against his head reminding him he belongs, he’s loved. And that Martin’s still himself, even if he steps outside of the box every now and then.

“You don’t have to keep it in if you-”

“No. I like it.” He straightens his spine, tilts his head. Smiles. Jon smiles back.

Yeah. He likes it.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31803076

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mrsgiovanna · 3 years

Note

Is it possible for me to get some headcanons about Giorno in love with reader who's already in a relationship with one of the other guys? 👉👈 If that makes any sense, haha. 🐞

Hii M 🥺, lol yall really want this man to yearn for and steal reader-chan away😅 here you go hun with some Gio thrown in for good measure 🥺😍🐞

When Fugo stopped by the Don's study to quickly fetch some documents Giorno didn't expect to find you there as well.

When Giorno spotted you he froze for a moment, being immediately taken with how lovely you were, although you wouldn't have guessed that from the stoic expression he wore.

Intimidated by his imposing figure, you politely greeted him and shuffled closer to Fugo, who got the hint and formally introduced you to the Don, whose velvety voice betrayed the sharp angled features of his handsome face.

Since that chance meeting, Giorno battled to get your face out of his mind, your voice constantly looping in his quiet moments. He was aware that you were dating Fugo, so he tried to dismiss it as a simple crush, not wanting to get in the middle of his friends relationship.

As the days went on however, he ran into you on more than one occasion having an opportunity to talk to each other as well, which unfortunately had resulted in his feelings intensifying for you as you both had come realise how many things you had in common. He appreciated your witty humour and you loved how his eyes lit up when he laughed.

Conflicted by his feelings, he remained cordial when the group of you socialized, bringing along a date of his own on certain occasions, however, he always found himself gravitating towards your company, and if you were honest with yourself, you didn't mind his company, he was ever polite, always mindful of his company and had a magnetism about him that compelled his audience to listen when he spoke.

Before long, you both had forged a friendship of your own. This hadn't gone unnoticed by Fugo however, who had become more perceptive of the way the Don behaved around you.

During a quiet moment when Fugo and Giorno are alone, wrapping up their duties for the day, he decides to come straight out and ask Giorno if he has feelings for you.

"Giogio... There's no easy way for me to ask this... But I've just noticed a few things recently and I need for you to be honest with me... Do you have feelings for (y/n)? Stunned by Fugo's question Giorno is silent for a moment, contemplating how he should answer. Fugo was one of his most trusted, valued allies and the last thing he wanted was to hurt him... But he couldn't help how he felt for you.

"Fugo... I..." sighing in between his reply, he decided to be honest, "I do have feelings for them, I'm sorry, I guess I haven't been hiding it very well. I think it's best if I take a step back, I don't want to get in the way of what you both have and being friends seems like it's not working. I'm sorry, it was never my intention to act on those feelings at all,"

Fugo's expression darkened, hating the situation. He appreciated Giorno's honesty and didn't blame him, a person couldn't help who they fell for, however none of those facts made the situation any less awkward.

The two men sat in an uncomfortable silence for a moment, each unsure of what to say until finally Fugo suggested that he leave, and that he stops bringing you around as often as he did, to which Giorno agreed.

Once Fugo had left, he pulled out his phone and stared at your name on the screen for a while, deciding against contacting you again, resolving that he would watch over and love you from afar.

I hope you're well my sweet, have a wonderful day /night 💖💕🌟🐞🌠🌟

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wwilloww · 4 years

Text

sugar | ksj

A/N: This story was commissioned by @jamaisjoons through @ficswithluv‘s Changes With Luv project. Thank you so much for your donation. I had so much fun writing this Jin and exploring these characters so—I hope you enjoy it! A million thousand hundred THANK YOUS to @unlikelylittlemiss and @ot7always for beta’ing this!

After many hours of technical difficulties, I’ve formatted what I hope will be the final version of this story. So far I think it’s the favorite one that I’ve written, so if you like this piece, please let me know! It means the world to me when I hear from you all.

|| masterlist || moodboard || ao3 ||

©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

Seokjin traces the rim of the crystal glass, absentmindedly watching the crowd around him swell and sway like a tide. His eyes sweep over the sea of faces, but he doesn't find what he's looking for.

He swirls the golden liquid around the glass and takes a slow sip, wetting his lips with his tongue as he relishes in the comfortable burn of peaty scotch sliding down his throat.

Finally, his gaze captures what he's been searching for.

You. Dressed in a slim asymmetrical white number, sheer fabric draping delicately over one arm. You're unmistakable.

Above you, thousands of shards of crystal hang as if suspended in midair, the art piece paling in comparison to the presence you command. The venue is dimly lit, but the blend of candlelight and starshine is enough to illuminate your face and paint your features in a dance of shimmering light.

He watches the million-dollar sculpture light your slight smile and curious eyes with a silver radiance. The pinkish light of a neon sign had bounced off of your features in an almost identical fashion the night you met.

ONE YEAR AGO

It was chance. Two strangers, anonymous in your settings, both searching for an escape. After finishing your first ever commission, you were desperate to get out of your cramped, barely-affordable studio, while Jin wanted to slip away from the pressures and strict culture of his high-end gallery. Neither knew who the other was, but you gravitated to each other nonetheless.

He sees you first as you shoulder through the front door of the dive bar, your rain-drenched jacket slung over your back, your eyes bright and intelligent. But you were the one to approach the tall, broad shouldered man first, riding off the high of a completed project. You buy him a drink—and then a second. You don’t talk about work tonight. Don’t talk about your lives. You’re both so absorbed in the other that you’re oblivious to the scent of tobacco smoke drifting over you, or the sounds of a rowdy pool game behind you. After four hours cozied up at that bar as the rain pours down outside, you invite him back to your tiny, paint and plant addled apartment.

Once you arrive back home, your roommate nowhere to be seen, you quickly offer him a drink. You hurried to the kitchen to dig through the fridge to find something— really, anything—to serve the handsome man standing in your living room and curse yourself for not getting groceries this week.

“Who is this?” Jin asks.

“Huh?”

“The painting. Who is it?”

You turn to find him staring starry-eyed at your most recent project, hanging above your couch.

“Oh, that. Moi.”

“Who?”

“Me, dummy.”

“You? You paint?” He’s looking at you, eyes wide and curious.

“Yeah, if you can call it that.”

“You can definitely call it that,” he says sternly. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He reaches out as if to touch it, but freezes, fingers held an inch away from the canvas.

“You can touch it, if you want,” you offer.

He shoots you a flabbergasted look, as if to say really?, and you nod at him as you pull out plastic cups from your sparse cupboard. You pour two glasses of wine and hold one out to him as he comes back to you.

“I was always told not to touch the works of art,” he says, taking the glasses out of your hand and setting them down on the counter. “But this just makes the experience all the more memorable.”

You hiccup at his attempt at dirty talk, not used to men who know what they want, who are willing to spread their desire so plainly before you.

He kicks apart your legs, pressing a thigh against your heated core. He lowers his lips just enough that they almost brush up against yours.

“May I?” he breathes against you. You nod and suddenly he’s captured you in a kiss, the plush of his lips moving heatedly against you. You wrap your arms around his neck and he sighs at your touch. When you break apart, his eyes dark with lust and your breath quickening in your chest, you don’t hesitate to take his hand and lead him to the bedroom.

Before you can step inside, he swings you around and picks you up. Your legs wrap around his waist and you can feel his length pressed hard against you. He backs you against the doorframe, your spine hitting the wood—but you don’t even notice it. All you can feel is the way his cock is jutting against your clit.

“Look at you, grinding yourself against me.”

You groan as he thrusts his clothed cock against you.

“Bed. Now,” you demand.

He walks towards the bed, still holding you, still kissing you, until his knees hit the mattress. And then his grip is loosening and you’re thrown onto the soft surface of the bed, a gasp rushing through your lungs. You watch as he pulls his shirt off, revealing a toned chest. You didn’t think the man in front of you could get any hotter, but as he crawls up the bed to hover over you, you’re proven wrong.

“Please, god, fuck me,” you groan as he kisses you.

It’s all he needs to hear.

The next morning you wake to an unfamiliar arm wrapped around your waist and morning breath tickling your ear. You smile as the details of last night come flooding back.

“Morning,” you grumble, feeling the man shift behind you.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he replies, a heavenly rasp edging his voice.

His hand comes to trace your waist and you let out a quiet moan, your senses softened by sleep. A smile flickers across your lips as his hand dips lower, casting warmth over your hips, your pelvic bone, and finally, your lower lips as his hands explore your body.

“You’re so wet I could just slip right into you, no problem,” he says as he runs his finger along your slick folds. You twist yourself around so you’re on your back now with Jin pressed against your side. Without breaking eye contact, you reach down with one hand to wrap around his length. With your other hand, you grab his hips, pulling him towards you—he takes the cue and straddles you, his hands coming down on either side of your head. You pull him closer so that the head of his cock is pressed against your entrance. “Now?” he asks.

“Now,” you reply.

Despite your wetness and the stretch from last night, he’s still a tight fit as he slides into you. A delightful ache threads through your belly and you arch your back to better accommodate him.

“God, how are you this perfect?” he groans once he’s buried entirely within your walls. He settles his weight against you, giving you a moment to adjust to his girth. “What would it take to get you like this again?”

“Get me into the Whitney,” you joke.

“Done.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. “You’re hysterical.”

“I’m not joking.”

You search his expression for any sign of a joke, but you find none. “Wh-what?” you fumble.

“I’m serious.”

His gaze is calm and collected as if he had just agreed to buy you breakfast—not kickstart your art career.

“Do you not know who I am?”

“Why the fuck would I know who you are?”

His eyes widen for a moment before he breaks out in laughter.

“Oh, well then, don’t worry about it.”

As his chest shakes as he chuckles against you, you’re reminded of your current position. You look down to where your bodies are joined, his cock hard and not even fully sheathed within you.

“You’re not, like, some kind of serial killer right?”

“Uh, no.”

“Okay, well then I literally couldn’t care less who you are.” He smirks at you and you pout. “Can you please just fuck me now?”

He chuckles. “It seems you have to keep asking me for that.” He thrusts into you with enough force that your body slides several inches up the mattress and the two of you groan as you adjust to his girth. He relishes in the tight throbbing of your cunt. and he relishes in the tight throbbing of your cunt.

He fucks you slow and hard, each thrust slamming into your body, making your toes curl and your back arch. You both come quickly, relishing in the feeling of one another and the pleasure rippling across each other’s face.

“I’ll be honest,” you say, as you pull your shirt over your head. “I kinda liked it when you pushed me around last night. We should do that again.”

“After breakfast though?”

“After breakfast.”

A month later, you had been scrolling through your email when you saw a message from an unknown sender.

Subject : Acceptance to Whitney Museum of American Art.

————————————————————-

Thank you so much for your submission to our open call for pieces exploring “identity and landscape.” We are thrilled to inform you that your art has been accepted by our committee and will be displayed in our upcoming exhibit. Your piece explores these themes in a manner that took the committee’s breath away…

Your phone slips out of your grasp and drops to the floor, cracking the screen in the process.

You’d been submitting your art to them for years, and yet why was it that only after that strange comment Jin had made that you got in? Could it be more than just a coincidence?

The rest of the day is filled with half blossoming excitement and half mortification. Had Jin done this for you? You had been frequenting the museum since before you could hold a paintbrush, and trying to get into their gallery since you began painting professionally—but then all of a sudden as soon as you meet this mysterious stranger, your dream was placed right into your hands.

Three days later, you’re standing in front of the biggest art event you’ve ever been invited to, staring at a very large, very expensive banner that features none other than Jin.

CURATOR OF THE YEAR, the text reads.

Oh. Oh.

It all makes sense. Do you not know who I am? he had asked. You should have known. His name was plastered on every major art exhibit in this city. You had heard about him a thousand times before, but never even thought to connect the dots between the Kim Seokjin who visited your apartment several times a week and reorganized your fridge and the Kim Seokjin. He was a curator, but more than that he was a mentor of sorts. His approach to work was one of a kind: he led the artists he took under his wing with a gentle, guiding touch. Instead of shackling them into contracts or monetary and social debt like others in his position did, he gave them the tools they needed and allowed them the space and support they required to flourish on their own. This kind of business structure not only led to artists all over the world adoring him, but came back to repay him a thousand times over.

You never got into the Whitney on your own merit, you think. It was all Jin’s doing.

After you collect your jaw off the floor and enter the building, you almost immediately spot Jin.

Taking a deep breath to calm the swirling emotions in your belly and mustering all the courage you had, you tuck your painting underneath your arm and stomped up to him.

He’s standing, admiring a large mural. His face is painted in contemplation. For whatever reason, it reminds you of the feeling of standing in a spring clearing, in the middle of nowhere, letting a gentle breeze wash over you. You shove that feeling away as you stride up to him, stopping a foot or two behind him.

“Jin?”

“Hm—?” Jin spins on his heel. “Oh, what a pleasant surprise.” His eyes light up. “I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days, I was worried something was wrong.”

“I got into the Whitney.”

“Wait, what? That’s amazing!”

“And I figured out who you are.”

His eyes widen.

“Before anything else, I wanted to thank you for your help. I…” You shake your head, trying to wrap your mind around what’s just happened. “I’m not really sure how to thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. I didn’t do anything.”

“I’ve been submitting to the Whitney for years and I’ve never even gotten a rejection email from them. And then I met you, and—and then it’s done. I’m in.” You look to him for an explanation.

“Okay, I admit,” Jin says, running a hand through his hair. “I put in a good word for you. But I did nothing more than mention to the board that I had seen your art and that I was very impressed by it.”

“That’s too much,” you frown.

“It’s not. It literally took thirty seconds of my time. And I did it because I genuinely believe in the vision of your projects.”

“If they believed in the vision of my projects, they would have accepted them without your name attached to it,” you snap.

“I—I’m sorry,” he says, looking down. “I didn’t realize it would upset you. I thought it would make you happy.”

You sigh, putting your hand on his arm. You only speak when he looks at you. “I’m upset, but I’m also really excited. I just—I want to do this on my own. I don’t want it to because of someone’s name. I want it to be because of my work. And I know that’s romantic and maybe not super realistic, but I need you to understand that that’s what I want.” You take a deep breath before continuing and he slips his hand into yours. “And more than that, I want to make it clear that I’m not just seeing you because of your status.”

“I understand,” he says softly, squeezing your hand. “So you’re seeing me now?”

You flush at your slip of tongue.

“I-I mean—”

“I’d like to see you,” he says. “If you’ll have me.”

Seokjin quickly became a constant fixture in your life. While he stopped involving himself in your work (and immediately after your conversation in the gallery, had quickly excused himself to make several calls to call off different projects and potential buyers) he did insist on buying your art supplies, moving you into a larger studio, and helping you work through the complicated process of finding grants to apply for. And of course, Jin was always ready to take care of your other, ahem, needs as well.

Your relationship quickly developed. You talked about the ins and outs of sex and your roles in the bedroom, but somehow never seemed to move the conversation about what you were to each other outside of your sheets—or the closet in the gallery, or the bathroom of your now-favorite bar.

PRESENT DAY

Jin sets his half-full glass down to make his way over to you. As he stands from the bar, an arm slides into his elbow, forcing him to turn away from you.

Your heart thrums in your chest as you stood at the top of the marble stairs, looking down into the outdoor amphitheater where tonight’s gala was being hosted.

You had arrived solo on your own instances. Even after a year together, you were still hesitant to show up as Seokjin’s date, knowing you were more likely to garner the title “girlfriend” than “artist.” Still, the thought of seeing Seokjin sent goosebumps chasing down your skin and you smiled softly to yourself as you searched the crowd for the tall man. You had come straight from your studio and there was still paint and paper mache stuck beneath your fingernails, a fact that didn’t quite fit into the posh environment you were in, but one that made you feel grounded nonetheless.

"Hello, darling," a deep voice sings into your ear. "You're looking particularly ravishing tonight."

You turn, expecting to see Seokjin. Instead, a strapping young man, unfamiliar but recognizable to you, stands in his place.

"Jeon Jungkook," you address the famous photographer as he takes your hand and presses a kiss to it. You suppress the urge to grimace as his lips meet your skin. The young man is undoubtedly handsome—there's no denying it—and you shyly look down as his eyes rove over you like you are a piece of art to be appraised.

"I've seen you at these events for quite a while now."

"Have you now?"

"Always on Mr. Kim's arm, too. Don't you think he's a little... maturefor you?"

It’s not like we’re together, you want to respond, but you hold your tongue. There was only a seven year age gap between you and Soekjin. And yet, because he carried himself with such discipline and stature, this was a constant question you had to navigate whether it came up in terms of your relationship with, working or otherwise.

“Speaking of Mr. Kim, have you seen him anywhere?” you ask, smiling tightly.

Jungkook takes your arm and turns you, pointing through the crowd.

There he is. Jin is dressed impeccably in a light-colored suit, the cut accenting his tall frame, broad shoulders, and narrow waist. You smile upon seeing him and wave, but he doesn’t see you.

There’s a flash of blonde hair and suddenly you realize what’s occupying Jin’s attentions.

You frown as you watch the woman's arm snake around Jin's. Tonight was supposed to have been a chance for the two of you to spend some quality time together, surrounded by beautiful art and artists, to see each other without interruption — but then again maybe a gala wasn't the best choice for quality time.

"There's something about you," Jungkook muses, oblivious to your distraction. "A light in your eye. Passion. You know, I would love to photograph you some time."

You glance over Jungkook's shoulder to see the woman with her hand gripping Jin's bicep, obviously trying to capture and hold his attention. And yet Jin's gaze is fixed on you. You meet his eyes, only to let a ghost of a smirk dash across your lips, before returning your focus to Jungkook. Even though you know Jin’s attention is only focused on you, you figure you might have some fun with the current situation.

"Oh really?" you say, blinking up at him flirtatiously. "And how would you have me?"

Jeon Jungkook was known for his abstract and mythological concepts. His photos were stunning, portraying story and eroticism at their most intellectual and beautiful.

"Aphrodite. No doubt."

Original, you think, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

"Hm," you hum, as if mulling it over. "Tell me more." Your switch from professional to outrightly coquettish startles him and he stumbles over his words for a moment before regaining his composure and leaning in.

"Pink lighting. Texture? Hm, dove wings. I've been playing with fabric lately—" Jungkook falls into the description of his concept, flowing so quickly through the smallest of details, almost as if he's thought this through before, specifically for you. Instead of listening, you watch Jin out of your peripheral vision. "I can almost imagine the magazine spread now."

Your attention snaps back to the young man in front of you and as an idea flashes across your mind, you do your best not to giggle and to remain serious. "You know, I would love to be spread out for you." You smile innocently and Jungkook gulps.

"I, ah—” Jungkook is stopped mid sentence as a hand is clapped on his shoulder.

"Jeon," Seokjin nods at the younger man, a stiff smile painting his face. "I see you've met my—" Your eyebrows shoot up at the slip, but Jin quickly catches himself. "YN. One of the best painters I know."

Jungkook scoffs. “Uh, yeah, obviously.” When he looks up to find you and Jin staring confusedly at him, he clears his throat. “I mean—what I meant to say is her talent is underrated. Which you probably already know.” He smiles sheepishly.

“Alright, then,” Jin says.

“Aw, thanks, Jungkookie,” you say, swatting his shoulder and you watch as the young man flushes while Jin’s brow raises in question at the use of the pet name.

“Drinks?” Jin says, breaking the quickly rising tension between the three of you. Taking your elbow he leads you towards the bar and Jungkook quickly trots behind. He orders another scotch and you shake your head, “Nothing for me.” As Jungkook leans over the bar, Jin steps behind you, his hand coming to rest gently on your waist.

“Behave,” he whispers.

“Hm?” you hum innocently, brushing your hair over your shoulders.

“At this rate, you’re asking to be punished,” Jin growls.

You smile sweetly up at him, pinching his cheek playfully before realizing where you are and who might see. You quickly snatch your hand back, hoping no one saw.

Jungkook turns back with a martini in hand. Interesting choice, you think.

“You sure you don’t want anything?” Jungkook asks you.

“She already said she didn’t want anything.” Jin answers for you.

“I can speak for myself, thank you very much,” you cut in, crossing your arms. “But no, maybe later.”

A long moment of silence hangs between the three of you.

“Well, don’t mind me then. I have a couple of people I need to speak with.” Jin nods at the two of you and turns on his heel. You watch his tall frame, tracking where he’s going. The game is on.

It seems as the night drags on, Jin is purposefully ignoring you, knowing it’ll rile you up just enough. He continues to engage with artists and experts from all over the globe and Jungkook hangs at your side. Beyond the awkward flirtation he keeps throwing your way—which you don’t blame him for, considering you keep egging him on—he’s quite an intelligent young man with a vision.

After half an hour of Jin’s lack of presence, you’re bored and tired. The two of you wander around the gala, looking at the art pieces. When you see Jin hovering near one in the corner, you gently guide Jungkook over. As you approach, you realize why Jin has been spending so much time over here.

The eight by ten piece that you had sold to an anonymous buyer last week is hanging on the wall. The bright oranges and deep blues seem to shimmer and swim within the space compared to the crystal, silver, and gold pieces that pepper the event tonight.

“This is yours, right?” Jungkook asks. “I’d recognize the style anywhere.”

“Uh, yeah, I just didn’t expect it to be here. I sold it to an anonymous buyer last week. I have no idea how it got here.”

Jungkook looks confusedly at you. “Hm. Weird.”

You stare blankly at your own art for a while, puzzling over how it could have gotten to this level of a gala. The buyer from last week had said nothing about the gala. But here it is in front of you, big and commanding—and marked with a $500,000 price tag? The proceeds of tonight’s event were going directly to charity and still your mouth hangs open as you ogle the string of zeros in front of you.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?” Jungkook asks, breaking through your reverie. “I don’t mind getting it for you.”

“That’s so kind of you,” you smile, knowing that tonight’s event hosts an open bar. At that moment you notice Jin’s gaze finally, finallyresting on you. “Actually, your drink is looking pretty good to me right now.” You take a step closer to Jungkook, meeting his gaze and resting one of your hands gently on his elbow. He shudders under your touch. As much as he puts on a confident front, you know your forwardness unravels him just enough. Without breaking eye contact, you reach into his martini glass and pull out a green olive. Opening your mouth slowly, you purse your lips around the round fruit before sucking it into your mouth. You open your mouth just enough for Jungkook to see how it rests on your tongue.

Jungkook’s jaw is hanging open.

“Oh my god.”

Suddenly, a hand is clasped onto Jungkook’s shoulder. He spins around to see a towering Jin. Jin’s features are relaxed and calm, but you catch the hard edge in his tone, even as it slips past Jungkook’s awareness.

“Jeon, I was just talking to an up-and-coming dancer earlier tonight. He’s looking to partner with a photographer for a project. I mentioned your work to him and he would love to talk to you.” Jin turns Jungkook to point to a handsome man standing across the room, a sun-filled smile dancing across his lips.

“Wait—really?” Jungkook looks flabbergasted.

“Of course, I admire your work,” Jin says.

“Wow, thank you. I really appreciate it.” He reaches out to shake Jin’s hand. “Thank you so much, sir.” A smirk threatens to break Jin’s calm demeanor.

“Anytime.”

Jungkook turns to walk towards the dancer but spins back towards you. “Don’t, uh, don’t go anywhere, yeah?”

“Sure.”

Once Jungkook is out of range of hearing, Jin steps closer to you. "Upstairs. Now."

Because tonight's gala was in part hosted by Seokjin and his company, it took place in the courtyard of one of Seokjin's highrises.

With the ghost of a smirk playing on your features, you turn on your heel, head held high, and make your way to the elevators.

It’s just like him to make you wait.

Twenty minutes after you arrived in the penthouse apartment, Jin was nowhere to be seen. So you kick your heels off and make your way to the fridge, finding an open bottle of your favorite wine that he kept in stock just for you. You pour yourself a glass and make your way to the gigantic kitchen island, leaning over it and scrolling through your phone. You know Jin would expect you to be waiting ready and in position for him, but tonight you feel like pushing the limits.

A gentle ding echoes through the living room. You click your phone off and look up just in time to see the silver door of the elevator slide shut behind him.

Seokjin runs a hand through his hair, loosening the strands from his perfect slicked-back look. You nearly salivate at the sight of him unbuttoning the top button of his dress shirt, even as your heart beats like it is ready to jump straight out of your chest.

You gulp as his eyes land on you. Finally.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” you say.

“Have I?”

“Are you punishing me?”

“You won’t need to ask me if I’m punishing you when I’m punishing you. You’ll know.” Despite the coldness of his words, there’s a playful glint in his eyes. You know his anger is for show and not genuine. The direction you're headed is a space the two of you have carefully mapped out, experimented with, and discussed over the course of your relationship. When he slips into this role, it's for both of your pleasure, and never as an outlet for his anger. "So no, I'm not. At least, not yet."

"Jin—" you say.

"Sir," Jin corrects.

"—Sir," you repeat, standing up from the island and walking slowly towards him. You bat your eyes and saunter over to him, pressing yourself against his chest as you take one of his hands and guide it under your dress. His eyes widen when he realizes you're not wearing any underwear.

"God, you're wet."

"I wanna cum," you state matter of factly. You thought your directness might startle him, but instead, his composure remains unaffected.

"You misbehaved all night long," Jin murmurs in your ear. "But maybe if you're a good girl for me and take your punishment, we can talk about you cumming."

And just like that, his hand is gone.

"Are you gonna be good?"

You don’t respond. Instead, you smile sweetly at him. You meet his gaze but don’t move. He cocks an eyebrow and pulls you tight against him with one hand as he pinches your chin with the other.

"You thought you could use this pretty little costume of innocence,” he says as he plays with the sleeve of your dress, a sneer painting his face. “Dressed all in white, and so elegant too. You thought you could hide the whore you are beneath a dress like this?"

His grip on your hips tightens as he pushes you forward, turning you forcibly. It shocks the breath out of your lungs. He pulls you back, your ass flush against his hard but clothed cock. His hands grab your shoulders, steadying you.

"I'd like to fuck you in one of these cute little outfits sometime. But not tonight. Tonight I want you entirely bare." The next thing you know, the sound of ripping fabric fills the space and your dress falls down in shreds at your feet.

"My-my dress," you gasp.

"A shame.” He feigns a pout. “You looked so good in it. But you look even better like this."

It briefly flashes through your mind that you're not sure how you're going to be able to leave, as you hadn't brought a change of clothes—and then that concern is quickly replaced by the confusion as he bends down to examine you.

"When was the last time you touched yourself?" Jin asks as he runs a finger over your slit. You shudder at the sensation.

"You were the last one to touch me."

“So you’re telling me you’re ready to flirt with any man who approaches you, make him think you’re gonna let him fuck you, but then it’s all for show?” He slips a single finger into your cunt. “What a tease.”

“For you,” you gasp as he hooks his finger and hits a particularly sensitive spot. “I would never.”

“Never what?”

“Never fuck another man.”

“Your actions tonight tell me something else.”

Your brow furrows as Jin adds a second finger.

“I-I just wanted you to pay attention.”

"That’s all you wanted, hm, little one? My attention?"

"Yes, sir," you mumble back.

"Good. You have it." He pulls his fingers from your dripping entrance and stands.

Your brows furrowed in frustration. "I want more," you say.

"And I want you to behave yourself when we're out in public together. It seems like neither of us is getting what we want, hm?" When you pout, he chuckles. "But I bet you can make it up to me. Take your punishment like a good girl. And we'll see if we can't both have what we want." You nod, eagerly. "Go bend over the couch and wait for me."

You quickly lay yourself over the arm of the black leather couch that stretches across the sprawling living room. Jin disappears into one of the back rooms for a moment, but you soon hear his footsteps echoing on the marble, approaching you from behind. He rests a hand on your bare ass, roving over it in slow circles before coming to kneel down beside you.

"Safeword?"

"Peaches."

His eyes search yours—checking, making sure you're really okay with this before he continues, that same awareness never leaving his eyes. "Good. You'll use it if you need to."

You nod.

“You know why I have to do this right?” Jin asks, his voice calm and clear as he stands and steps out of your line of vision. You can hear the clink of a belt buckle as he doubles it up in his hand.

“I disobeyed you.”

“And?”

“I didn’t listen when you asked me to stop.”

“And what exactly did I want you to stop doing?”

“Flirting with him.”

“Who? Say his name.”

“Jeon Jungkook.”

He chuckles. “I want that to be the last time his name leaves your lips tonight. Understood?” You nod, wholeheartedly. “The poor boy. You left him so hard and eager for your pretty little cunt. I bet he thought he was going to get to fuck you after all that teasing. Tell me, is that what you wanted him to think?”

“Yes,” you admit.

“And yet, after all that work and you were so quick to drop him just for me. I’m going to spank you and you’re going to take it like a good girl. Seven hits. Count for me.”

That’s when the first hit lands. The air in your lungs whooshes out of you in shock. After the initial pain, a soft warmth spreads through your cheeks.

“I said, count.”

“One,” you say, your voice strong.

The belt comes down on you a second time, cracking against your other cheek. “Two.” Your nails dig into the leather of the couch and his hand spreads across your ass, soothing over the spots where he’s hit you. The feeling of his fingertips against your skin brings coolness to the surface of your burning skin and the contrast sends arousal spiraling through your core.

“Good girl.”

Smack.

“Three.”

On four, you realize you’ve been holding your breath. The number comes out as a gasp, a puff of air and you realize you’ve been holding something else in. Shame. Guilt. Upset.

On five, you let out a particularly loud yelp, your cry of pain mixing with emotion and cutting through your pronunciation. Jin's hand immediately brushes across your sore ass to smooth over the most recent hit.

"Color?" he says softly.

"Green—green, please, keep going," you pant, tears threatening your eyes.

“Only two left.”

On six, you feel something split within you. You know it isn’t just about tonight, about your disobedience or your flirtations with a strange man. It’s about holding back. It’s about letting your brattiness build a wall between the warm thing that’s been building in your chest and Jin, the man who keeps showing up for you.

“Seven! M’ sorry!” you call out as seven comes down on your ass. The wall splits open within you, sending a flood of emotion and endorphins through your body. All you want is to fall into this sensation. The one where he’s here for you, and you can let him be here for you.

Jin smoothes his hands over your ass one final time. You wince slightly, knowing it’s going to be painful to sit for the next couple of days. And yet all you can feel is a golden glow, pulsing through your veins, tinting your perception. Your body feels lighter, the space around you more spacious, and the look in Jin’s eyes is glowing.

Jin pulls you up to your feet, searching your eyes to make sure you’re alright. He finds a strange, new warmth in them, one that spills out completely for him. And something close to daze.

“No hands.” Still, you can’t help but reach out to him, lacing your fingers into the front of his shirt. “I said, no hands.” You refuse to remove them. He’s suddenly stepping back from you. "You can't seem to listen, can you, little one? Hands behind your back." You stare blankly at him. "I won't ask you twice."

You bring your hands behind you, clasping one hand around a wrist. He circles around you until he's out of your range of sight. You hear the tearing of fabric and then the cool brush of what you assume must be your dress wrapping around your wrists as Jin expertly ties them together. When the knot is tight and secure, he walks slowly back around you so you're face to face.

"Kneel."

Your knees hit the cold marble floor.

"Suck my cock."

"But—" You attempt to protest, your hands still tied behind your back. Your voice trails off as his eyes harden.

His belt is already open and you take the cold metal in your mouth, leaning your head back as you pull it out of the loops. It's an awkward angle, but you do your best and soon it falls to the floor with a clink. You glance up at him, searching for validation. His gaze is still hard, but there's a glimmer of a smile—pride? delight?—hanging at the corner of his lips.

"Keep going."

Leaning forward, you nudge your nose along the hard length sporting in his pants. His arousal is more than apparent through the fabric of his pants: thick, and long, and impossibly hard. Without breaking eye contact, you stick your tongue out of your mouth and slowly trace it up the length of his covered cock.

His hand tightens in your hair and you yelp as pain shoots into your scalp.

"I asked you to do something. Are you getting distracted?" What was once painful has quickly turned into a delicious pleasure as your face flushes, the hand in your hair teasing tingles down your spine. "Answer me." He grips your hair tighter, forcing your head back even further.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

He releases his grasp just enough that you're able to lean back to the tenting bulge in his pants, but still does not release you fully.

Carefully, you suck the button of his slacks into your mouth, expertly sucking and tonguing the cold metal until you feel it slip through the hole, before moving down to pull the zipper between your teeth and tug it all the way down. You gasp as you realize he's not wearing underwear and your cunt contracts around nothing. You're face to face with his bare cock.

"Sir, may I?"

He nods and you immediately lean forward to lick a broad, wet stripe up from the base of his cock to the tip. Without the use of your hands, you find yourself relying on the movements of your upper body and your mouth to pleasure him.

Slowly, you lick around the angry red head of his cock, teasing a light gasp from him. You continue to do this until you know he’s just on the edge of frustration and before he can say anything, you purse your lips around him.

As you take him into your mouth, you’re particularly aware of the remainder that you’re unable to fit. Usually, you would wrap one or both of your hands around him, stroking him where you couldn’t reach. But now that’s inaccessible to you.

Relaxing your throat, you attempt to take him deeper but choke at the sensation of his thick head hitting the back of your throat.

"You're so good at this, almost as if you were made to have your mouth stuffed with cock."

His praise urges you to take him deeper and press past the urge to gag. Taking a deep breath, you edge forward, allowing him to slip into the tight confines of your throat. He hiss at this and his hands tighten in your hair, this being the first time you’ve deepthroated him. Tears well in your eyes, blurring your vision as you continue to ease him deeper within you.

He begins thrusting into your throat. If you could reach up to wrap your hand around your throat, you would feel the protrusion of his cock pressing forward through the skin of your throat, visible and bulging.

You choke around him and he audibly groans at the sensation.

Jin looks down to find tears streaming out of your face, chin wet with drool. The sight of you, so lost in your actions, strikes something in his chest. As you meet his gaze, your lips so pink and pouted around him, the glaze in your eyes filled with adoration, his hips buck and he thrusts into your throat.

“I’m gonna cum,” he growls. “And I want you to swallow every last drop of it.”

He grabs your head as he fucks up into you one last time, pushing your nose against his pubic bone. You can feel his cum, hot and bitter, sliding down your throat. He doesn’t release you until he’s done. Finally, he pulls you off of him, your lips releasing from his spent cock with a pop.

Air comes rushing back into your lungs, replacing the black spots that had started to pepper your vision with starshine as you look up at Jin clearly. His forehead is shining with sweat and his cheeks are flushed in pleasure. He’s never prettier than he is now, spent with passion.

Jin quickly regains his wits as he pulls you up and takes his thumb to wipe the combination of drool and cum from your chin.

Something gleams in his eye.

“Up against the window,” he orders.

“Wha—”

Before you can finish your sentence, Jin is walking you backward until your back hits the cold glass. You gasp at the sensation of your heated ass cheeks mixed with the cold spark of the smooth surface.

With your back against the glass, hips pushed towards him again, he kisses languidly up your stomach. There is a gentleness in the way his lips whispered against your skin that shoots something through your chest and leaves you wanting more of whatever it is.

You gather yourself enough to look down and see his plump lips pursed around a nipple. As your eyes meet, he bites down around the swollen bud, and you whimper. He continues to bite and suck your breasts, drawing increasingly lewd sounds from you.

But then his lips leave the tender flesh of your breasts and kiss their way upwards to your neck. For a moment you think his gentle side might return, only to squirm beneath him as his teeth graze the delicate skin. Before you know it, his lips are pressed against you and he's sucking the skin in between his teeth.

"You'll leave a mark!" You exclaim, bound hands struggling to escape from where they’re still tied behind your back But he's quicker and stronger than you and he holds you down, stilling your movements, before continuing to suck and bite at your neck.

"Good." He moves his mouth to the hollow of your throat, sucking a bruise to the surface of your skin. "I want everyone to know exactly who you belong to. I want you to wear me, so no one even has a doubt in their mind whose slut you are."

As you look down, you realize he’s hard again. It’s not uncommon for him to be up and ready to go for a second or third round. His cock is red and rock-hard, and as he realizes what you’re looking at he smirks.

“Like what you see?”

“Yes, sir.” You swallow. “Want it—want you.”

“Do you think you’ve earned it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You took your punishment well,” he muses languidly. “And you sucked Sir off so well, too.”

He drags a finger through your slit, forcing you to buck up into his touch.

“Please—” you gasp.

“Since you asked so nicely—” abruptly, he spins you around so you’re facing towards the window. “I’ll fuck you. But I want everyone to see exactly the kind of slut you are for this cock.”

“But—”

“Color?”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. From this far up, you can see the gala, still in full swing. Even from this height, you can see their individual faces and you know if any of the people in sparkling gowns and tailored suits were to look up and squint, they would see your fucked-out form pressed against the window of the penthouse, your hands bound behind your back thrusting your chest forward obscenely. The thought sends a flood of arousal to your cunt.

“Green.”

“Good.”

At that, you feel the head of his cock brush against your dripping entrance. Jin looks down to see his huge cock resting against your red cheeks. You look tiny compared to him, and the sight makes him even harder. As he grips the base of his dick, he pushes gently against your entrance, the bulbous head slipping inside. His cock twitches as he hears you moan.

Jin is undoubtedly the biggest cock you’ve ever fucked. Even after months of him filling you, he was still a tight fit. While you often used lube to ease the slide in, tonight you were dripping wet, your arousal coating your swollen lips and beginning to run down your inner thighs. Slowly, he pushes into you. The sensation of being filled, of being stretched by him has you moaning, the sound filling the spacious apartment.

“You’re such a good slut for me, you take this cock so well,” Jin says as he presses the last inch of his length into you.

Kim Seokjin is a man of control. Despite the painful ache in his cock and the burning desire to pound into you, he isn't done drawing out your pleasure. Torturously slow, he slides his cock in and out of your tight cunt, his thick head dragging against your walls. You whine wantonly, pushing back against him.

He stops.

"Please. Sir," you nearly sob. "Need you."

"And I need you to use your words. This is mine." He reaches down to spread his palm over your sore ass, spreading you even further open for him. The sight of you impaled on his thick cock is one he’ll never get used to. "And I'll do what I want with it."

He can feel you shudder at his words, knowing that his possessiveness affected you just as much as it did him.

"You like that?" he growls. "Knowing you're mine? You're stuffed full of cock and still you want more. What a greedy slut."

"Please, Sir. Need you to fuck me," you beg. Still, Jin makes no indication of moving. "Please. Need you to show them who I belong to."

That does it.

“You. Belong. To. Me.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust, his cock spearing through the tightness of your walls.

“Fuck,” you hiss as he lifts your leg. The head of his cock begins to hit the knot of pleasure that’s tightly wound within your cunt. “Sir, you feel so good.” It’s all you can think about.

“He’s down there, isn’t he?” For a moment you’re not even sure who he’s talking about, so lost in pleasure and the sensations he’s teasing out of your body. “He could look up at any moment and see you like this, tits out, pressed up against the glass, letting me ruin you like this.” You moan at his words. “I bet you would like that, slut.” He punctuates the final word with a particularly hard thrust.

Your pussy clenches around him and he moans as he feels your tight walls grip him tighter.

“I think there’s a part of you that loves the idea of the world watching you get fucked.”

"Gonna—gonna cum," you gasp, your words stuttered out of your mouth by Jin's rough thrusts. "Sir, please, can I come?"

"No."

"Sir, please."

"Did you not hear me?" he growls. "Listen, or I'll stuff that pretty little mouth with something less pleasant than my cock."

You throw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut and clenching your abdominal muscles in an attempt to hold back the waves of euphoria that threaten to wash over you any moment now.

“Please, sir, need to come. I’ll do anything.” The tears that have been threatening to run down your face finally spill over as you’re split in pleasure and discomfort. “Please, anything.”

Jin releases your leg with a grunt and pushes your legs together, making it a tighter fit for both of you. With one hand he pushes down on your lower back, arching it for you. His other hand comes to wrap around your bound wrists, using the grip to power his thrusts into you. Somehow the new angle makes him seem even bigger than he already is and you mewl.

“Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Jin,” you force out, trying to find your words through the pleasure that he’s pounding into you. “Only you.” Too late, you realize that you had used the wrong name for him and you gasp, ready for whatever correction he deems fit for you.

But it seems that’s exactly what he wanted you to say.

“Good girl. Cum. Now.”

As soon as the sound has left his lips your orgasm barrels through you.

“Jin!” you cry. You throw your head back, white overtaking your vision. Your cunt pulses around his hard length, spasming for what feels like minutes. Your breath freezes in your throat as sparks of pleasure flood your body.

Watching you come unraveled around his name is what does it for him. He groans as his orgasm washes over him, sending waves of pleasure throughout his whole body. He shudders against you, releasing ropes of cum into your still-pulsating cunt. You can feel his cock twitch against your oversensitive walls as he empties himself into you. His breath is heavy against your neck as his arms tighten around you. As much as you love the Jin in control, these moments when he releases all pretenses are precious to you.

Even as he stays sheathed within you, you can feel his cum begin to drip out of your cunt, running down your thighs. When he finally pulls out, the mix of your combined orgasms gushes out of you and you frown at the proceeding sensation of emptiness.

As you slump against the window, your eyes fluttering closed in pleasure and exhaustion, you feel Jin’s large hands ghost down your arms, releasing the fabring binding your wrists together. When he’s done, his hands come to rest on your hips, turning you as he kneels down in front of you. You gasp as you feel him swipe two of his fingers through the swollen folds of your cunt, as he collects his own cum. The sensation splits you in overwhelm.

"Open," Jin commands, standing up. You open your mouth and he slides the two cum covered fingers past your lips. "Suck." Dutifully, you press your lips around him, swallowing around him until he pulls out, not a drop of cum left on his fingers. His eyes burn in desire, and if it weren't for the exhaustion apparent in your posture, you know he would be ready to go for a second round. "Good girl."

You smile softly up at him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He holds you close and the two of you simply breathe together. You feel comforted against his large frame, his breath flowing easily and freely through him, your own body finding solace in the soft rhythm. He holds you like that for what feels like forever before he tips your weight into his body and leads you to the sleek leather couch. There, he sits down, pulling you into his lap. You curl up against his wide chest, nestling your nose into the crook of his neck.

"How are you?" he asks as he brushes the hair out of your eyes.

"Feel so good," you murmur, eyes fluttering shut in the afterglow that radiates throughout your whole body. Every muscle in your body feels warm and stretched.

"Do you want me to bring you to bed?" After all this time, Jin knows how sleepy you get after a scene like this.

"Mm, surprisingly not sleepy. Just... happy."

He holds you for a while, and you bask in the feeling of his arms wrapped securely around you and the light brush of his steady breath against your hair.

“Earlier,” you begin slowly. “You slipped. You started to call me ‘my’—and then you stopped. What were you going to say?”

Jin is quiet and for a moment you wonder if you misspoke.

“Honestly?” he finally says, his voice brushing over you like a soft breeze.

“Honestly,” you repeat, twisting into him to look him in the eyes. There’s something desperately gentle in his gaze. You could fall into it.

“Honestly, I don’t really know where my mind was going in that moment.” He pauses, chewing over his words. “But, I would like to call you mine—in some way.”

“Yours?”

He nods, shyly. “Mine.”

“Sure, I’ll be yours,” you grin, snuggling into his chest.

“Yeah?”

“But only if you’ll be mine, too.”

“I think we can arrange that.”

Seokjin pulls you tighter and just holds you like that for several minutes before he stands up and disappears into the bedroom for a moment. When he returns, he's holding a slim black box, which he hands to you.

"Put this on," he says.

You open the box to reveal a small black number.

"We're going back?" you ask.

"Only to get our winnings," he grins back to you, pushing his hair back again. "And to show everyone just exactly how much I won tonight."

“What do you mean, winnings?”

“I made a purchase tonight.” He presses a kiss to your lips. “The most colorful piece in the whole building.”

“—You?”

Jin smirks and comes behind you to zip up the beautiful piece of clothing. He traces over the bruises blossoming on your shoulders and neck with a gentle touch before pressing his lips to each and every one of them.

"Only if you're comfortable," he adds softly as you melt against his touch. There's no doubt you're tired. But still, the idea of finally walking into an event with Jin—no pretenses, no questions, no secrets—just together, has a thrill sparking in your core.

“I’m always comfortable with you,” you grin, taking his hand and leading him to the elevators.

|| masterlist || moodboard || ao3 ||

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