#but for the ones who are always overstimulated and have high sensory experiences its so pointless

[autisticlee]

sometimes I have autistic realizations that hit really hard.

I'm listening to a podcast (science vs) episode about meditation and what it does/how you do it/if it works. first there was an example of a meditation for mindfulness and focusing on breathing and how it feels. I was thinking how that seems pointless because i'm always aware of how it feels to breathe: my chronically stuffy nose, asthma, ribcage/back hurting if I breathe too deep/etc. but I already knew I have to think about breathing more than most people or I might accidentally hold my breath, and my chronic stuffy nose is very annoying to deal with.

then this part i'm at now talks about how most people go through taking a shower without really realizing they're doing it, like they arent feeling the shower sensations and just go through the motions. so mindful showering is feeling the water on your skin, feeling the temperature of the water and how it changes, etc. "being present, knowing what it feels like, knowing you are there and alive and having that experience..." and that's what mindfulness is.

the thing about me, due to being autistic, i'm basically practicing mindfulness 24/7 against my will. my sensory units in my brain are on constant overdrive and I cannot turn them off. i'm aware of every sensation and feeling and sound and etc at all times and can't ignore them.

the big realization this gave me is that...I'm profoundly aware of being alive and present. i'm overly aware of what i'm experiencing at all times. while most people can use mindfulness to ground themselves from overwhelm and anxiety caused by every day life worries, I GET anxiety and overwhelm from mindfulness-like experiences.

how do i tune things out and turn off my brain? I need an anti-mindfulness method that isn't dissociating out of my mind 😅

#autism #autistic #actually autistic #mindfulness #any other autistic people feel this way ir have this experience? #I feel like mindfulness could help the autistic people with low sensory feeling and need more stimulation #but for the ones who are always overstimulated and have high sensory experiences its so pointless #ive had it suggested to me so much and it always sounds so absurd to focus deeply on things i cant ignore...... #its exhausting to be unable to ignore them so making me focus more on them would possibly throw me into a panic attack? #brains are interesting #i dissociate a lot and its always the first thing people suggest. but i think one reason i dissociate is #my constant unintentional mindfulness i naturally do that i cant shut off 😅 #sometimes the way to turn it off is to dissociate to hell and back lmao

[the80srewinders]

So I posted the truth on why sysmeds are the way they are. How they attack people who they feel are invalidating them and anyone who disproves their false reality they hide in. How they bait the people they want to smear. And I got a comment on that post that proves as an example of that.

First, I'd like to start with this is blatant misgendering: I have never gave any gender clues on this account about me (host.) I never used a feminine name here, and the name I chose is gender neutral and common with masculine aligned people, non binary or transgender. I don't advertise my pronouns here because I like some form of anonymity, and the name I use on here is not my real name as an alter, host at that, or anywhere- its a way of keeping anonymous, somewhat. So what this person did was assume gender or intentionally use "girl" knowing there is a chance I might not be. That alone says all you need to know about this person.

Yes, the body is special needs. Not revealing too much for safety, but we have immune system issues and psychological issues other than DID and CPTSD. But how does special needs even come into this? Even if you're referring to the ableist stereotype on people who are both mentally and physically disabled, it still doesn't mean they can't be plural from trauma. Or at all.

You don't need trauma to be a system. You might need it to be a DID/OSDD system, but even that hasn't been proven yet and as of this writing (February 1 2024) it is not listed as a requirement in the DSM or ICD. There have been people with DID/OSDD who report no trauma although those numbers are small. People have spread the "DID/OSDD forms from trauma only" view without knowing that for a fact- sure its what causes most cases of DID/OSDD, including ours. But if you read the science behind how DID develops, a high ability to dissociate is all that's needed besides overwhelming experiences. This could be sensory/overstimulation in an autistic child (and many people with DID/OSDD also have autism, maybe sensory/overstimulation trauma causes or paves the way for DID/OSDD in them) or frequently having needles and other scary or invasive medical treatments as a child. DID/OSDD is commonly associated with the most severe abuse when it's not always the case. If DID/OSDD is a disorder caused by trauma then why can't "mild trauma" be on that list if it causes dissociation? What seems like "mild trauma" is severe to a small child in the age range DID/OSDD develops.

And about the "have a horrible life" comment, thank you because it's obvious I have or else I wouldn't have DID to hear you tell it, right?

That's also not something to say to someone who is still struggling with their trauma. Being a so called traumatized person going out here and saying hateful comments like that only proves that you let your trauma turn you into a miserable toxic exclusionist, when we built ourselves into better people because of our trauma. You know trauma is a serious and sensitive subject, and you should be just as serious and thoughtful when talking to other traumatized people.

Also I'd like to add the use of delusion in this context is ableist. Delusions are often painful to the people who have them and people with DID/OSDD can experience delusions, as can anyone with any mental disorder. The brain is complex and no one will fully understand it, which is why we're always going to advocate for everyone's lived experiences.

#dissociative identity disorder #actually dissociative #other specified dissociative disorder #osddid #dissociation #pro endo #endo safe #syscourse

[lil-ghostie-things]

Tonight, I'll take a shower (My life as an autistic young person #26)

(I wrote this text a few months ago to help people understand how taking a shower can be overstimulating and exhausting for autistic people / people with sensory issues in general. It is inspired by my personal experiences, but it is not written from my point of view. The POV given is that of a young autistic person who uses the pronouns she/her and has a woman's body. I still chose to include it in my "My life as an autistic young person" series because I think we are right in the topic. Hope this clears any misunderstandings and will give you a little insight into my character's mind!)

Tonight, I’ll take a shower.

That’s what she’s been repetitively telling herself for almost a week now. She knows she’s dirty and she feels dirty too. The hair that hangs on her shoulders is oily, sprinkled with dandruff flakes that make her scalp itch and way darker than usual. Her skin’s itchy too, stud with eczema patches and small wounds which the origins are unknown to her – are her nails really that sharp? She looks at them, wavering suddenly, and realises that she should have cut them a long time ago indeed.

Well, I’m going to cut them. She heads for the wardrobe where the small pink safety scissors are kept, takes them and goes back to her room.

After having pulled the trash can near her bed, she trims the nails of her left hand with a careful concentration, then the nails of her right hand with a bit more difficulty. She hesitates for a few seconds before drawing her feet towards her to trim the nails painted in light blue.

There, now that’s done. She goes upstairs once again, cleans the scissors before putting them back in the wardrobe. It is very important for her that every object has its own place in the house so she can find them easily. Her memory isn’t that good lately, and there’s no point in drawing on it even more.

She closes the wardrobe, sighs then lets her prying gaze wander over the living-room. She needs scissors – real scissors – to cut her armpit hair, but she already knows that she won’t find any. Her relatives hid all of them so she won’t “mess about”, as they always say. It disrupts her plans, but it doesn’t bother her that much.

Because she is well aware that she’d be able to mess about once again.

***

TW: mention of eating disorders

TW: mention of self-harm scars

TW: mention of physical violence (scars left on the body) 

TW: mention of sexual assault

Alright, I’m going to take a shower. Here and now. Suddenly I feel like taking a shower.

And there she goes, pulling together the clean clothes she has chosen and hopping up the stairs. Head held high, she heads straight for the bathroom, hangs up her clothes, goes back and takes a towel, and finally locks herself up in the room.

And there she is, before the big mirror that reflects her from the head down to the waist. She looks at herself, or rather watches herself. She’s observing this stranger who copies every one of her movements, tilts her head just like her, knits her brow just like her. She then lifts her hand, slowly waves at her – the other person waves back at her, greeting her in return, and her smile lights up her face all of a sudden. Her face darkens right away – she doesn’t like her smile. She’s been insecure about it for a while. It’s weirdly shaped, her lips rolling up and baring her teeth just like a beaver, too much of her gums exposed.

Feeling immensely frustrated, she unbuttons and unfastens her clothes with shaking, clumsy hands, weighs herself (oh crap, she slimmed down again), looks at her naked body in the mirror for a moment. Oh dear. There’s the rub.

Something that people often seem to forget is that there’s actually many people who got a complicated and not so healthy relationship to their body. Some people suffer from eating disorders and have a completely distorted vision of their body, believing themselves to be fat while they’re not at all. Some people are fat for real and hate the way they look. Some people are skinny, deemed too slim and hate the way they look (this applies to her.) Some people have a normal weight and hate the way they look.

Well, this is complicated anyway. And let’s not forget the people who have been injured and wounded, whether they self-harmed or have been harmed by other people. These wounds can leave marks that scarred but will never disappear. And we must not forget the people who have been sexually assaulted and hate the body that’s been subjected to such a disgusting physical attack.

Anyway, this is not the time to lose oneself in such deep reflections, that’s not going to transform the world. What she can do is loving herself first and foremost. So, feeling reassured, she sends a last smile to her reflection before turning her back and getting in the shower.

***

And that’s where the ordeal begins.

Sounds of water running.

Water splattering her body.

The temperature going abruptly up and down when she turns the tap in search of the perfect warmth.

Feeling like drowning when the water spreads all over her head.

Wet hair stuck to her nape.

Quick! Quick! Choose the shampoo with the sweetest smell (here, sweet almond, “moisturizing & detangling”, that’s it.) Quick! Quick! Cover the whole hair with shampoo. Quick! Quick! Rub with both hands till it foams.

The smell of sweet almond that tickles her nostrils. (She may like this smell, but it still makes her dizzy.)

Fingers saturated with the foam from the shampoo. (It gets a burst of laughter out of her because it brings her back fond memories. Oh, the good old days where her parents were in charge of bathing her…!)

Leave on your shampoo at least two minutes, so it will have time to act on the hair. Humming a familiar song in order to self-soothe, she proceeds to the next step.

Quick! Quick! Choose a body wash with the most discreet smell (here, a body wash which the smell isn’t specified, that’s it.) Quick! Quick! Rub it on your whole torso down to the hips and wait another few minutes.

Astonished, she looks down at herself, runs her hands along her waist. Did she slim down? That’s what the weighing scale whispered to her before, but she refused to believe it until then. Her left cheekbone is a little hollower too. Oh sh– shoot! Yet she tried hard to eat more! It looks like all the efforts she makes are never rewarded…

And once again, to distract herself and divert her own attention, she starts to sing softly. She doesn’t dare singing in a louder voice since she could incur her family’s wrath, but that’s something she can’t help doing when she’s stressed out or struggles to express her feelings. Hearing her own voice, that she thinks of as one of her few strong points, comforts her an awful lot. That’s also her way of stimming.

The two minutes have largely passed, for her hair just as for her body. Quick! Quick! She rinses her back and torso to get rid of all that foam that bubbles on her skin. Quick! Quick! She rinses her hair, running the fingers of her left hand through the thick strands to make sure they are “slippery” enough. Quick! Quick! She follows the choreography again for the lower part of her body.

Now clean as a new pin, she finally steps out of the shower. She dries herself, patting vigorously her hair that has mysteriously brightened up, letting guess some blonde hair locks. She puts on slippers and the clothes she has brought.

Before unlocking the door, she breathes out a long sigh of relief. She should be clean for a few days at least.

#my life as an autistic young person #autism #actually autistic #autistic adult #disability #actually disabled #autism and showering #lots of love #the sun will still rise tomorrow

[lebenspurpur]

hi!! i love your blog! could you do an nsfw alphabet for amanda young, please??

Thank you :>

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Amanda really has to grow used to take care of someone. She's been alone for a long time and therefore didn't have a lot of aftercare to do.

She's surprisingly good at being tender and caring. That's an even bigger astonishment for herself, after all, she thinks she's this evil, bad person.

She's very good at stitching people up so when something gets out of hand (or it doesn't and you're just hardcore), she's going to treat you fast and efficiently.

If you've earned her trust, she also won't say no to cuddling afterward. Amanda finds a lot of peace in your warm body pressed against hers, arms enveloping you tightly.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Her favorite body part on her own body are her arms. Amanda is surprisingly strong and it comes to good use when she's trying to please you.

Her favorite body part on you is your mouth. The acts of pleasure your lips and tongue are capable of are endless and Amanda loves it.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Amanda loves when you come on her tongue. There's something very pleasing about it to her.

Otherwise, she doesn't think about cum all that much. It's a normal thing, something that she doesn't really think about.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

This shouldn't really be a surprise but Amanda has her own "traps" for sex. She won't talk about them unless she has to punish you.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Amanda has experience but her past lovers weren't really good lovers. Therefore, her idea of sex is not the best so the first time you two hook up, she's quite astonished herself.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

She likes when you're on top of her, hands on either side of your hips as she admires your body in its glory. It doesn't matter if she's sitting up or not either, she just likes the feeling of you on top of her.

But really, anything will do as long as she has a little bit of control.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Amanda is usually serious but she can be quite sarcastic.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

She doesn't have time to shave. And before she met you, she didn't even have a reason.

Amanda doesn't have a lot of body hair but it's quite thick.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Amanda is a little bit scared of intimacy and romance. Until now, those feelings only hurt her.

As soon as she trusts you, sex is one of her more intimate moments. She likes to whisper praises, I love you's, and other sweet things into your ear during your orgasm. A reminder of her feelings.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Amanda only really masturbates when it's absolutely necessary and she has time to do it. So not really often.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Bondage, overstimulation, and sensory deprivation are some of her favorites.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the "do")

Everywhere except any place, John could come in. Which aren't a lot considering that man is on the brink of death.

The bed will always be her number one but really, get her horny and she'll take you wherever you're standing.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Little sweet actions. Holding her hand. Kissing her palms. Complimenting her. Buying a gift for her.

Amanda is touch and affection starved and she gets riled up when she receives any.

Also, wearing revealing clothing can do the trick.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Amanda hates, and I mean loathes, not having any control. Nothing makes her panic more, even if she trusts you.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Amanda loves receiving as much as giving. She doesn't have a preference at all.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Amanda usually likes rough, longer sessions that leave you tired and bruised.

When she's emotional, one sensual round is also enough to please her.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Amanda loves quickies, due to her relatively busy schedule. She always makes time for some, if you're down for it.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Amanda is all for risks, but only if you respect her absolute no's.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Amanda, though a former drug addict, has some stamina. She might not be able to go forever but it's enough to make you beg for her to stop.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Amanda owns a shit ton of sex toys of every kind. It's like she's collecting them.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Amanda is quite unfair. Teasing you makes her feel really dominant and also proud that she's the one in control.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Amanda is more on the quiet side but as soon as she lets down her guard, she moans shamelessly.

Otherwise, she talks a lot. Praising, cursing, she'll never shut up.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Amanda likes biting until she draws blood. Or until you draw blood. She doesn't care who bites whom.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture, or words)

TW Body image, scars, and all that shit

Amanda is pretty muscular. She might not look like it but that's because her muscles come from hard work, not hours of workouts.

She's pretty skinny due to not eating a lot. You can definitely see her ribs shine beneath her pale skin.

Very beautiful breasts, I imagine. Kind of small but with pretty, dark nipples.

Skinny, pale legs, painted with scars. Her labia is a dark red that looks very aesthetically pleasing compared to her white skin.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Amanda's sex drive is a little bit higher than average. It also really depends on her schedule and whether she has time or not.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Amanda takes a while to fall asleep. Calming down is something she struggles with so she prefers to cuddle, admire your sleeping body, before she rests herself.

#amanda young #amanda young x reader #saw franchise #saw #saw 3 #amanda young headcanons #slasher x reader #slashers #horror x reader #horror

[honeymoonjin]

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 namjoon x reader x hoseok x taehyung || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 20.5k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 smut, surprisingly enough this is literally pwp

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 in an effort to tame their increasingly bratty girlfriend, namjoon and hoseok take their sexual exploits to a new level and hire a professional dom to run a session with them in a bdsm dungeon

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 HELLA smut, dom Namjoon, dom Hoseok, dom Taehyung, sub + bratty reader, roleplay, BDSM, mxm, overstimulation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, unprotected sex, protected sex, foursome, oral (m receiving), spanking, BDSM furniture, degradation (name calling), gagging, electrical play, orgasm delay and denial, use of sex toys, possessiveness, use of safewords, BDSM machines, fingering, masturbation, multiple orgasms, choking, squirting, sensory deprivation, fucking machine, vaginal sex, anal sex, creampie, double penetration, triple penetration?, nipple play, i guess tae is technically a sex worker, pet names, sexual hierarchy, fully consensual slave-owner dynamic (not between the main characters)

a/n: this is a sequel to Hot Fuzz (namseok x reader) but can be read on its own. also, this contains other members wink wonk but i’m keeping them a secret to save the suspense. a million thanks to @hobiandcoffee​ , @jhspetitegf​ and @honey-boyyoongi​ for their help. couldn’t have done it without your help! also happy early birthday @jamaisjoons​ i hope this ruins you xxx

----

“Alright, he’s coming over. Remember our rules, princess?” Namjoon’s fingers wrap around your chin, digging in just enough to press your bottom lip into a pout. You do your best to nod, but his grip doesn’t waver. He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Yes, Daddy,” you murmur, feeling your heart warm when he smiles proudly at you. It’s relatively cool in the large space, and the contrast of the air with Hoseok’s warm body pressed against you makes you shiver.

The three of you had been waiting at the bar for the past ten or so minutes. Both you and Hoseok are practically vibrating with nervous excitement. The latter is on the bar stool next to you, looking very on-brand in black pants, combat boots, and a thin white tank. As always, his fingers are laden with rings, but it seems this time there’s a theme of silver bands, some with engravings or textures, others plain. You can’t help but wonder what pattern they’d welt on your ass if he spanked you. Perhaps today was a day for testing their limits as well as yours.

Namjoon, however, is the epitome of calm. Although both of your boyfriends had always been the ones in control, it was Namjoon who took charge earlier tonight when you were all getting ready. It was him that bought you the black lace bralette and matching miniskirt you were currently wearing; it was him who picked out what panties you were allowed to wear, before deciding nothing was better. It was him who booked you an appointment for waxing a few days prior so that you would be bare for him, able to feel everything. And now, as he kept your eyes fixed on him, he retained that composure. Going for a more subtle getup to Hoseok and you, he almost looked like he could walk into a high-profile business dinner and fit right in. Deep grey pants cinched at the waist with a belt were paired with a simple dress shirt, complete with expensive gold cufflinks.

The room is loud enough that you don’t hear the third man approaching until you hear his voice. You turn to look, but flush when Namjoon only lets your chin go after a moment, patting you condescendingly on the cheek. The newcomer, as he stands beside Namjoon and looks over the three of you, is decked out in leather, latex and buckles. A shot of anxious energy runs through your body as you look over how professional he looks. Leather pants, lace-up boots, and a latex top that is unzipped all the way to the middle of his chest, exposing a deep triangle of golden flesh. When he reaches out to shake Hoseok and Namjoon’s hands, a buckled strap around his bicep flexes slightly. You clench your thighs together, wishing Namjoon would’ve let you wear panties, anything to stop you from leaking onto the vinyl of the upholstered barstool.

“RM, Jay,” the man greets cordially, a surprisingly smooth-toned voice accompanying his fine-boned face. “My name is V, the sub will call me Master. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, my name is Y/N,” you supply helpfully, but V turns to glare at you with narrowed eyebrows. Your smile drops.

“I was under the impression you read the email, sub,” he says steadily, words just sharp enough to provide a threat. “The scene was to begin the moment I arrived, which means you shouldn’t be speaking out of turn.”

You blink, turning to Hoseok for back-up, but he shoots you a salacious wink and looks back over to V. “She did read the email, yes. We’ve been having problems with her not following our rules, actually, so it’s great that you could fit us in for a session.”

You pout and jab Hoseok playfully in the side. On a normal night, your boyfriend would teasingly warn you, or perhaps you’d get a light spanking, but now he goes tense, eyes past you. You frown, and twist around, only for your blood to run cold.

“Did you just hit Sir?” V asks coldly.

“I just poked him,” you defend.

His eyes flare. “You aren’t making this very easy for yourself, little sub. I wouldn’t be testing my patience so early on in the evening if I were you.”

You pout and hunch over in your seat. “I’m sorry, um, Master, but I didn’t hit him. I just poked him,” you repeat petulantly.

His lips stretch into a disbelieving smile, sharp at the edges. “You’re right,” he affirms, “there is a difference between hitting and poking. Tell me, little sub; if I bend you over that bartop right now and flip up your skirt, which one do you think you’ll be getting?”

Namjoon intervenes, placing a hand on your knee and squeezing it gently. “Just apologise to Hoseok, baby girl. That was your first strike, but we know you must be nervous.”

His touch calms you, and you turn to your other boyfriend with what you hope is a cute pout. “Sorry, Sir,” you mumble, “I won’t do it again.”

“Good girl,” Hoseok replies warmly. “Now, we have some things we’d like to discuss, so just sit nice and pretty for us, hm?”

“And remember our rules,” Namjoon reminds you firmly. You nod dutifully and wriggle around on the stool a bit, getting comfortable as the three of them begin discussion.

For a while it’s admin stuff - payment, prior experience, limits - and you let yourself zone out, eyes curiously roaming the room that’s laid out in front of you.

Never having been to a BDSM dungeon before, you had sort of expected some sort of medieval, dimly-lit basement, but it’s comfortingly clean, tidy, and in fact to one side of the room there seems to be a social area where a pleasant hum of chatter fills the air. Some are dressed like V, others more incognito like Namjoon. There are women with fluffy tails between their legs, men wearing nothing but a jockstrap. On the far side of the room, a lady old enough to be your grandmother rests her feet on the bare back of a middle-aged man, whose arm muscles tremble violently.

But of course, this isn’t just a social gathering, and the majority of the room is taken up by what almost seems like an open-space office. It’s a large room, with two hallways at the far end that lead into what you know are the private rooms, available by booking. You had tried an interrogation room with your two boyfriends as a way of branching further out into BDSM, and only now are you realising how much of a baby step that was. The sights in front of you are far more intense and varied, and you shift in your seat, feeling Namjoon’s hand still resting on your knee, as you wonder which of the toys you’ll be using tonight.

Although the room is fairly loud with pleasured cries and sounds of impact, vibration, and electricity, it’s not terribly packed or crowded. The larger pieces of equipment are spread out around the room, and there are plenty of free spots. Men and women in plain black clothing rush around cleaning stations between uses, and even more keep watch over the crowd, stationed throughout the room. Each one has a little neon badge on their breast, and white lettering stamped on the back of their shirts that say DM. From the induction pamphlet you three had received when signing up, you knew this meant Dungeon Monitor, and they were the staff there to take care and keep an eye on the scenes. It reassured you to see just how many of them there were.

Occupying yourself with watching floggings and fucking machines and elaborate bondage only entertains you for so long, however, and you tune back in to the conversation, kicking your feet lazily back and forth. One rule of the dungeon was that all subs had to remove their shoes, since they’d be the ones getting up on the equipment and it was easier to avoid property damage that way, but you feel strangely vulnerable feeling the cold metal of the bar stool’s legs against your skin.

“Oh, wow, that long, huh?”

“Well, she was trained and had experience with suspension before that. Besides, there were two different spotters at the event to…”

You huff, feeling boredom make you restless. You only had the guy for one evening and here Hoseok and Namjoon were having a chat with V like they had all the time in the world. You glance up; nobody heard your noise of frustration, so you subtly inch your foot out to where Namjoon stands across from you, running it up and down, hitching his pant leg a little. As V continues to describe some encounters he had, Namjoon turns his head to you slightly and gives you a questioning stare. You pout at him, enough that he’ll notice but not so much that you’d draw unwanted attention from V.

His face clears out into an encouraging smile, and you perk up, expecting him to play with you a little or at the very least suggest to V that you properly begin the session. But, to your horror, he simply clears his throat, interrupting V mid-sentence. “What is it, baby girl?”

You shrink back, feeling three sets of eyes heavy on you. “I’m bored, Daddy.”

“You’re bored,” he repeats with a gentle tone that you would hear an adult use on a small child. “And what do you want me to do about that, hm? I was in the middle of a conversation, baby.”

“It’s rude to interrupt,” Hoseok pitches in.

Your mouth drops open. “I didn’t interrupt, Namjoon did!” The man in question tenses his jaw at your lack of a title. You swallow nervously, turning back to Hoseok. “I just don’t get why we’re still just sitting around at the bar, Sir. Isn’t chatting a waste of time?”

“Do you always speak to your doms that way, sub?”

You huff and stare at V. Needy for attention, boredom has always made you reckless, and so far he hadn’t done anything except empty threats. You shrug.

With his dark hair swept back off his forehead, you see the disapproving lines as he narrows his eyebrows at you. “That’s not an answer.”

You shrug again, with more emphasis. You do your best to stop from flat-out rolling your eyes, simply casting them upwards in frustration. “No, Master, I don’t. Because normally by now we’d actually be doing something.”

Namjoon sucks in a breath, and Hoseok tenses. You know you’ve fucked up by the way V’s back naturally straightens and his shoulders drop, slowly shaking his head.

“I warned you,” the master chides, “but little brats like you don’t listen. It’s clear that whatever I do will be a ‘waste of time’ as long as you have that attitude. Get off that stool and bend over it.”

Your stomach swirls anxiously, though it’s not entirely negative. You swallow, mutely shaking your head.

Undeterred, V turns to your boyfriends on either side. “Jay, bend her over and push up her skirt. RM, hold her torso down.” You squeak out in surprise as Hoseok doesn’t hesitate, picking you up and dragging the stool out further into the room before pressing you down onto it. V follows you with a languid pace, and you hear him cracking his knuckles. “It’s no wonder you called me, boys. Your sub is completely out of control. You have to teach her discipline if you expect to get anything out of this.”

You wriggle under the palm that pins you against the upholstery of the bar stool, Namjoon crouching so that his face is in your eyesight. His mouth is hard but his eyes are muted with sympathy. “You’re making us look bad, baby girl. Maybe if you take your punishment well, we can give you a reward, hm?”

The cool air on your ass as Hoseok lifts your skirt to rest on your back has you hissing in a breath, and with dawning horror, you realise the area around you has gone quieter. You make a noise of discomfort in your throat, and Hoseok gives one of your cheeks a light teasing pat.

“Everyone’s watching you, kitten,” he reveals with an edge of humor to his voice. “They wanna see your pretty little ass get lit up.” When he speaks again, it’s further away and in such a low murmur that you can’t make out what he’s saying. He confers quietly with V for a few moments, and you curl your toes into the carpet, unsure how you feel about your body being on display to so many strangers like this.

After a few moments, it goes silent, and you hold your breath, getting a fright when a stinging hand comes down upon your right cheek. “Ah, Sir,” you cry out in surprise.

“Wrong,” a voice says flatly, an unfamiliar hand brushing over the mark. You gasp and try to wiggle away, rising on your tiptoes to escape the touch. Namjoon gently shushes you, brushing your hair back from your face as V chuckles, his voice low with satisfaction. “Where’s that foolish confidence gone now, hm?”

When his hand comes down again, it’s on the other cheek and twice as hard. You whine at the sting, expecting another soothing rub or snarky comment, but he doesn’t give you the chance, instead raining down hit after hit, palm cupped slightly to increase the noise. Namjoon and Hoseok hold you down as you desperately shift away, trying in vain to tuck your ass away or twist out of their grip, but he doesn’t stop. You lose count sometime past eight, and your flesh heats up with each one, but still he continues. You feel the warmth spread; hits on your ass are spread evenly around but you also feel smacks that land on the tops of your thighs and, when you part your legs slightly to adjust your position, one lands right on your bare pussy. Though you can’t hear what he’s saying through your whimpers and cries, you can hear him laugh every now and again, kneading your tender flesh or giving you a pinch. He’s showing off.

When the air stills, you’re trembling. Your cheeks are on fire, not only your ass but also your face as you blush violently, tears running in hot tracks down your face. Vaguely, you hear your boyfriends praising you, hands lifting you up off the stool. Your vision swims with being raised so suddenly but Namjoon lets you lean on him, wrapping his arms around you and burying his chin in your hair.

“You did so well, baby,” he promises. “So well. Do you understand why he had to do that?”

You sniff and nod weakly.

“Good girl,” he croons, and your heart swells.

After a few moments, you feel another pair of hands on you. You turn, standing on shaky legs, and see Hoseok squeezing your shoulder. “We’re ready to play now, kitten. You still want us to play with you?”

Nervously, your eyes slide behind him to V, but instead of the disapproving hard stare you were expecting, you’re faced with sparkling eyes. Pride. The look of a teacher when their student finally grasps a difficult concept. It’s a look that you hope to see again. You turn back to Hoseok, blink away the last of your tears, and nod. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s my girl,” Namjoon praises warmly, and pats your extremely sore ass to get you moving.

You jump at the contact, but quickly hurry forward to follow the two men in front of you as they wind their way deeper into the room. You realise zoning out during their conversation perhaps wasn’t the best idea, since you now have no idea what they’re going to do and, being in the scene, have no way of asking.

The smell of arousal is heavy in the air, along with faint wisps of various scented lubes and wax play candles. You bite your lip as the modest crowd of people that had stopped to watch your punishment slowly return to what they’re doing, not after eyeing up your ass, which no doubt is bright red if the stinging heat is anything to go by. Your fingers itch to pull your skirt back down, but you’re unsure if you’re allowed to, and while you wish to continue poking and prodding your doms throughout the evening, you want to wait until your flesh isn’t so tender. Besides, a little reward for being a good girl sure sounds nice right about now. You keep your eyes low, conveniently resting them on the sight of Hoseok’s ass in those tight black pants, and try to ignore the slickness of your inner thighs as you walk.

You’re stopped suddenly when that ass halts in front of you, and you stumble to prevent yourself from smacking right into him. You look up as Namjoon comes around to stand beside them, a hand resting gently but possessively on your shoulder.

“I’m excited for this, baby girl. I know it’s something you wanted to try, and I can’t wait to see you up there.”

Up? You swivel in the direction he’s looking, where a massive contraption is bolted to the wall, two long, skinny blocks crossed over in a narrow X. Heat floods to your core as you recognise the equipment.

“A Saint Andrew's cross,” V explains easily, like he’s given the spiel a thousand times. “Named after Saint Andrew, who got crucified like this rather than the traditional way. Although I’m sure you’ll be having a lot more fun than he did.”

While you had done all this research before in anticipation of this evening, there was something far more electric about hearing it while the cross itself stood before you, especially since you knew you were about to be on it. Your mouth opens to breathe out a curse, but you snap it shut quickly.

V notices this and his lip twitches at your obedience. “Alright, little sub. Undress now.”

You blink. Somehow this hadn’t occurred to you. Taking a surreptitious glance around the room, it seems nobody is paying much attention to you; everyone around you is either a DM or actively engaging in their own scene. Still, you hesitate, before reluctantly slipping down your skirt and unhooking your bra. You cross your arms over your breasts and press your thighs as close together as possible, avoiding the eyes of the three men around you.

“For someone that was so concerned about wasting time, you sure did take a while to obey me, sub. Next time I expect you to do as I or your other doms say the moment we say it, understand?”

You stare at the way your toes curl between the fibres of the charcoal carpet. “Yes, Master.” You say it quickly, forcing the words out, and he sighs in displeasure.

You can feel rather than see his dark gaze on you. The tip of one of his boots taps impatiently in the corner of your vision. “Your two options are obedience and the use of your safeword. Anything else and you will receive due punishment. It’s clear to me your doms are soft on you; I can assure you, I am not. I won’t hesitate to discipline you without mercy.”

As much as your mind screams not to, you can’t help the grin that twitches at your lip at the thought. You duck your head down further, hoping he missed it.

Of course, no such luck. “Oh, it seems the sub likes the sound of that,” he muses in a humored tone. “Maybe you gentlemen picked a good one after all.”

Hoseok hums, reaching forward to squeeze one of your ass cheeks. You gasp, biting your lip at the heat that flares up under his calloused fingers. “Our pretty little painslut,” he confirms. “Get up on the cross, kitten.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, embarrassment curling in the pit of your stomach at how throaty your voice is already. You feel wetness smearing all the way down to the bottom of your thighs now, and if your core doesn’t get some attention, you might just go crazy.

With shaky legs, you step up, the bottom of each plank having a narrow platform just wide enough for a foot. The distance isn’t too far, with your feet spread apart a bit wider than your hips, but the waft of cool air causes you to clench. Like always, when approaching something new, you feel your heart seize up in equal parts arousal and anxiety.

With your back to the cross, you’re faced out onto the crowd, and you feel yourself go weak, all too aware of just how many people in the room there are. It’s filled up a bit over the past half hour or so, and while nobody actively ogles you, there’s nothing to stop them glancing up to catch you, naked and with thighs glossy. You buckle at the knees slightly, crouching to close the gap between your legs slightly.

Hoseok tuts. “Don’t go shy on us now, kitten. Arms up.”

Instinctively your hands lift in the air, but you pause. “Sir?”

“Yes, kitten?” He steps forward, close enough that you can just about feel the heat radiating off his body, giving the feeling of confidentiality - even as your two other doms watch you like a hawk behind him.

You swallow hard, lowering your voice to a whisper. “What are you going to do me?” Even asking the question sends a delicious shudder up your spine.

He grins, eyes bright. “That all depends on if you behave for us. Are you gonna be a good slut?” You nod quickly, though a part of you is already planning how you can rile them up while tied down. “Say it, kitten.”

“I’m gonna be a good slut for Sir.”

His grin sharpens into a sneer as he steps back, joining the two others. “I’m not the only one here, remember? Say it to them, too.”

Your hands find each other, wringing them to vent your embarrassment. Namjoon has slipped his hands casually into his pants pockets, and he tips his head to the side with a slight smile, expectant. V maintains his stoic posture as usual and just cocks an eyebrow, arms crossed. You clear your throat, eyes darting once more around the other patrons of the dungeon. “I-I’m gonna be a good slut for Daddy…. And I’m gonna be a good slut for,” your gaze lands on V, too far away for you to be sure, but you think you see his eyes dilate. “Master,” you finish. He gives you the most miniscule nod, you would’ve missed it had you not already been watching him.

“That’s right,” Hoseok affirms, and steps forward again. “Now I won’t ask again. Arms up.”

This time you don’t waste a moment, holding them up in the air over your head, feeling the cold metal of the buckles lightly brush the tops of your hands. You look up with a frown, only to see the fastening points too high up. You look back down with a disappointed pout.

Hoseok is staring at you in bemusement and Namjoon has delicately covered his mouth to laugh, but V just pushes past the two, crouching down suddenly to crank a lever on the cross beside your left foot. You squeak as that platform begins to lift, and to save yourself from tipping over, your hand flies down and steadies yourself on his shoulder. You manage to catch your balance and quickly go to lift off your hand, wary that he might’ve considered it breaking the rules, but his hand darts up the second your fingertips slip away from the leather, wrapping tightly around your wrist.

You freeze in uncertainty, but he simply switches planks and adjusts the other platform so that the two are even, with you higher up than before. Once he’s done, he tips his head up to look at you, and you feel yourself shrink back at the heat of his gaze. Somehow, even though you’re above him, he has a way of exerting his power over you with that one look.

Suddenly, your awareness is brought to the heat between your thighs, and how close he is to it. As if he can read your thoughts, his eyes slip down to stare openly at your exposed pussy. A hot strike of shame makes your toes curl on the wooden platforms as his nostrils flare, and he looks back up at you again with a slow grin.

You take a shuddering breath, bracing yourself for a scathing comment, but he just stands up in one smooth movement, silently taking your wrist up to hold it against the corresponding post, nodding to himself when your wrist slips nicely into the leather cuff. He buckles it efficiently, and you feel your heart pick up when the natural weight of your arm pulls on the tight circlet of leather, reminding you of your vulnerability. Your other arm is hoisted up and attached before you even realise it, rendering you spread-eagled on the cross. Your ankles remain free, but the wrist attachments are still high enough for you that your body is completely stretched out, heels barely brushing the platforms.

He steps back, bends over to murmur something in Namjoon and Hoseok’s ears one at a time, then promptly leaves. You feel an odd stab of disappointment as you watch his receding figure snake through couples and small groups at different stations, until he goes out of sight. “Where’d he go?” you murmur unhappily.

Hoseok frowns and surges forward, raining a sharp swat down on your breast. Your eyes squeeze shut and your hands instinctively jerk, but you’re unable to cover yourself. You startle when he gives the same treatment to the other breast. “What an ungrateful little slut,” you hear him say. “So desperate for another man’s cock. Filthy.”

Another voice from slightly further away, softer. “Are we not enough for you anymore, baby girl?’

You open your eyes and shake your head adamantly. “No, Daddy,” you plead, “I was just curious.”

Namjoon has on an expression he rarely gets. Normally the softer of the two, he now presses his mouth into a tight line and furrows his brow. “And now you’re lying to Daddy,” he comments flatly. “If that greedy pussy of yours isn’t satisfied with two cocks, you should just tell us.”

Your pout deepens. “It isn’t that, Daddy! I was just having fun with three.”

After a moment, the tension in his face clears. “Ah, baby’s just having fun, hm? Special occasion?” You nod sulkily. “Oh, well there’s nothing wrong with that, baby girl. Daddy wants you to have fun. But if you wanna have fun you need to learn to follow the rules. And you didn’t even ask nicely.”

Your chest eases, the crisis averted. “Thank you, Daddy, I’m sorry. Please can you tell me why Master V left?”

Hoseok barks out a quick laugh. “He didn’t leave, kitten, he’s gone out back to get some toys for us to play with.”

You mouth opens and closes, unsure whether you’re allowed to talk back. You take the chance, curiosity getting the better of you. “But Sir, there are so many spare trolleys with toys on them here already.”

“I thought you deserved my personal collection,” a third voice says from your right. You glance over quickly, sticking your face out to see past your forearm, as V returns with what looks like a massive toolbox, metal painted black, and sets it down beside you. “Employee perks,” he explains shortly. “Some of our equipment isn’t safe to be used with untrained individuals for safety reasons. Others I just have a personal preference for.” He’s not speaking to you anymore, rather your two boyfriends. “Has the sub behaved while I’ve been gone?”

Hoseok raises an eyebrow but Namjoon beats him to it. “She most certainly has. Waiting patiently for her reward.” You blink at Namjoon, surprised, but the dark glimmer in his eyes just tells you that you’ll pay for his generosity later.

“Well, then,” V begins, flipping open the catches on the top of the chest, flipping the lid up, “let’s begin.”

You watch in anticipation, muscles in your upper arms twitching as he digs around. You can’t see anything from the way the lid blocks your view, but after a moment he pulls out a bottle of...lube?

“What’s that?” you ask curiously before you can think better of it.

V lets out a bitter scoff, passing the bottle - unlabeled except for a faded E written in Sharpie- to Namjoon, before turning back to his toolbox. “That mouth,” he remarks harshly, “will get you in trouble, little sub.” He lets out a low growl as he rummages around more hastily, and the sound rushes straight to your core, heat flaring. “I don’t even have a gag for you, normally my subs know not to run their mouths around me. Guess I’ll have to make do.”

He straights up, pulling out a long trail of thin rope, soft red nylon looking positively sinful as it runs over his tanned fingers. He loops it a few times, before collecting the bunch, one thick cylinder of rope, about two fingers wide. His lids are low when they focus on you, that proud glimmer long gone. “Open up.” You obey him without thinking, scrunching your nose as he fastens the rope around your head, strands of hair getting pinched between the individual lengths. The girth is enough that your jaw hangs a little open, and you curl your lips and bite down on the rope in an effort to prevent drooling.

“Now, I won’t give you another strike because you were asking a question. But that better be the last time I hear you speaking out of turn. This isn’t fucking Sunday School, I don’t need you asking questions. Look at where you are right now, princess. Tied and gagged, naked with your dripping pussy on full display. We could do whatever the fuck we wanted with you right now. Your pretty little boyfriends could leave right now to get an early night and leave you in my hands. Maybe I’d get sick of your attitude and walk away myself, leaving you available to anyone who wanted to play with you. How long do you think it would take a DM to notice the sub that was getting fucked by everyone in the room, hm?” You shudder, core clenching, as you remember the pure arousal that hit you when you felt V’s unfamiliar hands on your ass back at the bar. Your eyes slip shut at the thought, and you hear a chuckle. “You continue to surprise me, little sub. It seems that no matter what I say or do as punishment you go weak at the knees. I’ll have to think on how I’ll discipline you properly. In the meantime,” he breaks away from you to walk back to your boyfriends, patting Namjoon on the shoulder. “Like we discussed?”

You tilt your head at this comment, though Namjoon and Hoseok both nod, the latter biting his lip with a dark look in his eyes. As the two approach you, V falls behind, using the toolbox as a stool, legs splayed across the carpet lazily. You turn your attention back to your boyfriends, who have stopped at the foot of the cross, one to either side.

Namjoon lazily thumbs the cap open and closed; with every plastic click, you feel your core clench. He smiles at you, eyes glittering. “Most patrons of the dungeon don’t get to play with the toys we’re gonna play with, baby girl. We had to come here last week for a safety briefing.” You lower your brows in confusion and your boyfriend stays in character, tipping his head to the side innocently even as his eyes glitter with amusement. “What, did we not tell you that? Jay, did you tell our girl what we were preparing for?”

Hoseok’s eyes are nearly black. He doesn’t turn to Namjoon when he’s addressed, eyes heavy on you. “I guess I must’ve forgot,” he replies flatly, not even attempting to convincingly lie. “Wanna guess where we’re gonna put it?” His lip curls in amusement as you stare it him, hands tied and mouth gagged. He laughs darkly. “Oh, that’s right. You can’t. I suppose you’ll just have to sit back and take it, hm?” He takes the lube back off Namjoon and steps even closer, until you can see the shimmer of sweat on his temples and some strands on his hairline sticking to it.

You groan around the rope, steadily growing soaked with your spit. Tentatively, you push your hips forward as much as you can off the wood of the cross, whimpering in question. Hoseok, head ducked as he cracks open the bottle and squeezes some lube onto his fingers, misses it but your other boyfriend just chuckles.

“Not that greedy pussy of yours, baby girl,” he teases, “it’s so sloppy we wouldn’t need any lube at all. No, this is for those pretty little nipples of yours.”

You shudder, ass falling back to smack against the planks again. You moan out a word around the gag, though, as Hoseok’s slicked-up hands latch around your stiff buds, you know they all understand you. Why?

Namjoon’s eyes light up. “Do you know what the E on the bottle stands for, baby girl?” When he says the next word, he enunciates every syllable, the harsh sounds of the consonants cracking in his mouth, sending shivers down your spine. “Electric.”

As if rehearsed, V stands up off the chest, swinging his leg aside to open it back up, digging in deep and pulling out what looks like an electrical cord; the flat, black ribbon splitting off into two and ending on either end in delicate peg-like contraptions. Nipple clamps. You take a deep breath, chest soaring. Nipple clamps were one of your favorite toys to use in the bedroom. Many a time, even in your more vanilla forays, you’d bat your eyelashes and press out your chest and ask one of your boyfriends to pretty please put on the clamps, even just for a little bit, but you were used to bright silver, not this sleek black. You watch in curiosity as V ducks down again, pulling out what appears to be a remote - a rounded, roughly egg-shaped device that fits comfortably in his hand. Electric. Your jaw goes slack around the spit-slick ropes in your mouth. Your eyes are heavy on those two black pegs as they sway loosely in the air, and you feel yourself tremble, the muscles in your thighs weaker than they were before.

Hoseok’s fingers, still slightly cold from the air in the room, feel even more stimulating as they tweak your buds, coaxing them into stiff peaks as the lube makes it difficult for him to get a grasp. You suck in a harsh breath through your nose as he slips and scratches a fingernail across the top of one, your eyes finally breaking from the nipple clamps and onto him as he apologetically pats your breast with a rakish grin.

Without looking, he accepts the proffered toy, wrapping ring-laden fingers around the remote as he jokingly snaps one of the clamps in his other hand, opening and closing it like a tiny set of jaws. Slipping the black device into his pocket, he stands directly in front of you, slightly taller than you even as you’re raised on the platform of the cross, and licks his lips teasingly.

“This is how it’s going to go, kitten,” he instructs in a sultry tone, “we’re going to put these on, have a little fun. But you’re not allowed to cum, okay? A good girl always asks first.” You narrow your eyebrows at him, huffing around your makeshift gag, and his eyes light up, tip of his tongue remaining just past his teeth as he chuckles. “Mm, you can’t exactly ask if you’ve got that thing in your mouth, now can you?” You shake your head obediently, hoping he can read the pleading look in your eyes. “Maybe I’ll take it off later.”

Your shoulders droop. You let out a disappointed whine, but your boyfriend just laughs at you, shifting his focus down to your breasts as he palms one roughly, a thumb stroking over the nipple before he’s bringing the toy up to it without ceremony.

You crane your neck down, moaning as the sight of him affixing the black clamp to your glistening nipple is paired with the delicious pressure it brings. Your head tips back again, eyes falling shut in bliss as, for the first time in the evening, you receive some decent stimulation. You let out a groan, hands balling uselessly into fists high above your head as your other nipple receives the same treatment. You can’t help but whimper, back arching to follow him as he deftly tugs on the electrical ribbon between the two, ensuring they’re fastened correctly, but no doubt also doing it just to watch you squirm.

“That feel good, kitten?”

You garble affirmation and nod, moaning again as he continues to play with the cord, a dozen teasing flicks of his wrist to keep the warmth of pressure on your nipples rising. All is still for a moment, and you crack your eyes open to see Hoseok falling back to stand beside V, letting your other boyfriend take his place.

Your attention is immediately caught by the object he’s lazily tossing back and forth between his hands. A slender, curved vibrator. Your eyes light up, and it’s clear he sees the apparent joy on your face as he approaches.

“I did say this was a reward, baby girl,” Namjoon reminds you, looking sharp as ever in his dress shirt. His straining erection is clear to see even through the black pants, and a quick glance to Hoseok shows you he’s faring the same. You had hoped their desperation would have led to their cocks being inside you already, but you would happily settle for a vibrator, as long as something was filling you. Surreptitiously, you sneak a look over to V’s crotch as well, a dark glee lighting up inside you when you see the outline of a bulge running halfway down his thigh. Holy shit.

You swear your heart stops for a second when you look away, only to be faced with V himself as he stares you down, clearly having seen you ogle him. You sigh, muffled through the wet rope, as you feel smooth silicone slip between your soaked folds, but you can’t break your gaze from the man sitting atop his box of toys.

Languidly, like he has all the time in the world, the dark-haired man rests a hand on his thigh, and lets a single finger lay right where his head sits underneath the fabric, and swirls it, gently outlining his own erection, a promise of what could be to come. Your mouth waters even more, and the only thing that pulls you back is a sudden onslaught of sensation; somehow, as though they were timing it while you were distracted, Namjoon plunges the vibrator to the hilt inside of you just as an odd yet intense tingle in your nipples makes your very nerve endings shiver.

You let out a surprised yelp, smothered by the gag in your mouth, and flinch as the cord between your breasts is yanked roughly, very nearly dislodging the clamps with how vigorous the motion is. Your gaze shoots in front of you to Namjoon, the normally reserved demeanor alight with something deeper, something more possessive.

“Do we need to take him away?” Namjoon asks in a sharp tone. Without looking, without changing his stern expression at all, he flattens his palm against the base of the vibrator and presses, twisting it inside you, as deep as it can get. You whine lowly, attempting to rise on the tips of your toes to escape the sudden stretch, but he simply reaches out and grips your chin tightly. “Yes or no,” he spits out, “do we need to take him away or will you start behaving for us?”

You sniff as the base of his palm barely misses your clit, but articulate a vaguely disyllabic answer, asking for the latter.

“You promise to behave?” he confirms, and you hum your agreement. “Well then, I’m sick of your eyes being on him when you should be focussing on me. On us. Understood?” He releases your jaw so that you can nod in response. “Good. Now, before we continue, I want this gag off. I’m sick of you blabbering like a baby when I ask you a question.”

Simultaneous rage and humiliation flare in you at the statement, but you stay silent, all too relieved to finally be freeing your mouth. The ropes have been getting heavier as your spit is absorbed, and when he finally undoes the knots, accidentally ripping out a few hair strands with them, your jaw aches as you close it again, muscles sore from being held wide for some time. You lick your lips to soothe them and swallow the saliva that’s been pooling in your mouth, but your relief is only enjoyed for a few moments before Namjoon continues.

This time, instead of grinding the vibrator inside you - sadly still turned off - he begins thrusting it, gently tugging at the nipple clamps one at a time, or flicking them with his finger to get you to whimper. Your sounds are so much louder without the muffling, and you find yourself trying to keep your mouth shut, moans bubbling in the back of your throat as he strikes your g-spot with each thrust, the gentle curve in the silicon rubbing against that spongy tissue.

“Good?” he asks simply, picking up the pace as your abs clench with the urge to grind against the intrusion.

“Y-good,” you make out between pleasured whimpers, whole body shuddering when the sparks of electricity return, a lower intensity level but in regular thrumming instead of a single pulse. The stimulation merges with the vibrator inside you, warming your whole body with pleasure, but something is missing. “Turn it on,” you breathe out desperately, before adding a belated, “please, Daddy.”

Namjoon’s lip quirks in satisfaction. “My baby girl is so needy. Can you promise not to cum for me?”

You pout in disappointment. “Daddy…” But he doesn’t back down. “Yes, okay, I won’t cum, Daddy. Can Hoseokie come over too?”

“Ask him, princess.” While Namjoon waits, he takes out the vibrator with a wet noise and you hum unhappily at the emptiness in your core.

You bite your lip, turning to the man behind Namjoon with a glint in your eye. “Sir, please come touch me. I need you.”

Hoseok, always the one to be a little more susceptible to begging, makes his way forward, absentmindedly tapping the bulge in his pocket where the remote is. He smiles softly at the puppy dog eyes you send him, as you arch your chest enticingly.

You return it, though your smile quickly turns mischievous. The cool varnished wood of the cross has calmed down the sting in your ass, and you’re feeling like you could do with some more punishment. Besides, your arms are starting to ache from being held up so long. “Good boy.”

The warmth in his expression drops in an instant, and his lip curls. Like lightning, his hand dives into his pocket and you yelp as a sharp bite of electricity runs through your nipples and through your whole chest, making you tremble violently as your muscles contract.

“Okay,” you hear V say quickly, standing up off the chest and rushing over to you. As your shivers continue, you feel him firmly grab a hold of the black electrical ribbon between your breasts and tugs roughly, yanking the clamps right off your overstimulated nipples. You howl and instinctively try to curl in on yourself, the leather cuffs digging painfully into your wrists. You can see the hard lines of anger in his face, and duck your head, turning your face slightly to the side as you await punishment, but it seems the leather-clad man isn’t annoyed at you.

He stalks over to Hoseok, who has stepped back a little in confusion, and shoves his hand without ceremony into the other’s pants, drawing out the remote and chucking the two items back into his chest, kicking it shut with a metallic slam. Whirling back around, he draws his chest up, looking unbelievably intimidating even over your boyfriend. “Never,” he spits, “ever take your anger out on a sub,  no matter how bratty she may be. Yes, she deserves punishment for acting out and we’ll give it to her but that doesn’t mean you can use her as a punching bag.” With a jaw clenched bitterly, V shakes his head. “This is why I don’t let non-professionals use my equipment. Lesson fucking learned, I suppose.”

You watch with wide eyes as he approaches you slowly, hands on his hips. “Colour,” he requests quietly.

You swallow, eyes darting to your boyfriend, whose eyes are on you, rueful. Namjoon stands beside him, hand on his shoulder, and leans in to whisper quietly. “Green,” you say after a moment. “Yellow then, but green now.”

V nods after a moment, gaze running over every inch of your body thoroughly, paying close attention to the angry red of your nipples. “Alright. We continue, without any electric play.” Taking the slick vibrator off Namjoon, he chucks it into a plastic bag inside the chest that you can just make out a label on that reads ‘to be cleaned’. He stands over the box of toys for a moment, considering, before turning back around, glaring at you. You gasp, feeling that the scene is back in full swing now. “And the sub. It’s clear to me no matter what equipment I use on her, she drips for it.” You push your lips into a scowl when you realise, though his eyes are heavy on you, he’s addressing your boyfriends instead. “Maybe the problem here is that she enjoys the punishment she gets from you so much that she acts out constantly to receive it. Of course punishment can be fun, but when she’s as out of line as she is now, you need to teach her a lesson. So, if toys won’t work, we’ll try something else. Someone else.”

Your back straightens and your gaze trains on him warily. You have to bite your tongue to hold back a retort, and his eyes dance gleefully at the way you clench your jaw.

“Jay, RM, it seems to me that your sub likes being punished so much because you’re the ones who will give it to her. So, with your permission, we’re going to be changing it up.”

Your mouth drops open in indignation as the two nod calmly. “What about my permission?”

With a dark glare, V reaches out and grabs tightly onto one of your abused nipples, making you wince at the pinching sensation. “This far into the evening and you still can’t stop running your mouth. If you recall, sub, involving other individuals in play was something you ticked off on your application.”

You can’t help yourself. “Not for punishment, though,” you counter in a low whine.

His eyebrows lower. “I’ll keep the play safe, but beyond that I have no sympathy for you, you little brat. Use your safeword, otherwise it’s in your best interests to start following the rules.”

You smother your pout with another scowl and turn your head to the side, biting hard on the inside of your cheek when he releases your nipple with a final tweak and the blood rushes back in achingly.

He waits for a moment, letting out a heavy sigh when you remain silent. “Fine, then. We’re going to go find someone who wants to play, and you can just wait right here.”

In shock, your head snaps back and you look out onto the room, at all the people playing and watching. If your doms left, you wouldn’t be able to fend them off. Your heart rate increases, and you send your boyfriends a concerned look.

V catches it, and grins. “Don’t worry,” he remarks smugly as he reaches into his back pocket, “we won’t leave you up here alone. My friend Jimin over there is a DM, he’s been supervising us all night in case you hadn’t noticed. He’ll come stand by you while we’re gone.”

You look off in the direction the dom nods in and see a blonde-haired young man in the black shirt and neon badge, strolling over from the corner of the room closest to your station. He sees you staring and throws you a rakish grin, lifting an arm to run a hand through his hair cockily. God, you think, he better not want to make conversation while I’m stuck up here.

A plastic click draws your attention back in front of you, where V has what looks like a felt pen. “Washable ink,” he explains, “just to be safe.” You go completely still as he brings it forward to draw it in swoops across your chest, over the tops of your breasts. The tip of the pen tickles, and the ink is cool, a bright purple. Once he draws back and caps the pen, you draw your chin into your chest to try and make sense of the large block letters. It takes you a moment to reverse them in your mind, but you suck in a breath through your teeth when you work it out. TAKEN.

As you try and read, he speaks once more. “Wiggle your fingers,” he instructs calmly, and you look up, doing as he asks with a tinge of confusion. “And make a fist.” You do that two, feeling the very tips of your fingers are a little numb, otherwise the rest of you is fine. You realise he’s checking in to make sure the blood hasn’t completely left your extremities from being held above your head. As always, he manages to uphold safety without impairing the scene. Without further comment, he turns from you, converses quietly with the DM, and leaves, your two boyfriends in tow.

Left alone with the stranger, you watch warily as he sighs out and takes a seat on the carpet in front of you, kicking out his legs. “Ah,” he hums happily, stretching his arms in front of his chest. “This is the first time I’ve sat down all night. Standing sure gets tiring.” With a cheeky smile, he glances up at you. “Although I don’t need to tell you that.”

You simply stare at him quietly, unsure if you’re still on the ‘don’t speak unless you’re spoken to’ mode. Though, to be fair, you haven’t exactly been following that much tonight. “So, your name’s Jimin?” you ask after a moment.

He lets out a surprised laugh at your attempt at small-talk. “You know, normally the subs Tae gets me to supervise- ah fuck, V - normally the subs V gets me to supervise are way more timid than you. You a sucker for pain or something?”

Looking out onto the multiple stations in front of you, you shrug as much as you can within the restraints. “When in Rome.”

He runs his tongue over his teeth, eyes roaming over you. “God, the one day I’m DM-ing...” He looks out and perks up. “Fuck, that was fast. I guess they had no problem finding someone interested.”

Your eyes dart out into the crowd, craning your neck to glance around a few people watching a nearby scene, searching for your boyfriends or V. In front of you, Jimin is standing up hastily and brushing the seat of his pants, and you curse the fact that you can’t get up on tippy-toes to look over him.

“Nice to meet you,” he farewells cordially. He holds his arm out for a handshake and then realizes his mistake, shaking his head in embarrassment and turning away, quickly rushing back over to his corner. Your eyes widen as he leaves prematurely, glancing around to make sure no strangers approach, when you see the familiar broad frame of your boyfriend returning to you, his grin big even as his eyes are lidded with lust.

You smile at him warmly. Even five minutes without Namjoon makes your heart swell when you see him again, and you wiggle your hands in a grabby motion, making his dimple pop out when he smiles. There’s something else though, a sly quirk to his lips, and it makes you pause.

Behind him is Hoseok, wearing a look of satisfaction and contained excitement, and you can’t quite see past the two to see who might be following them.

As they get closer, you see V, but he’s a decent few paces back, and you don’t understand the distance, until you see a glimpse of bleached hair just past Hoseok’s shoulder. Your two boyfriends split up once they break through the lingering people, and step inside the station, one on either side of you, but further away than you’d like.

The owner of the pale hair is revealed as he walks through the two of you and you gasp in shock. Not at him, but at the man behind him. You have to lower your gaze quite a bit, because he’s crawling on his hands and knees, neck craned up to look at the light-haired man in adoration.

The two of them make quite the pair; the dom is wearing slick clothes, tight pants, a black turtleneck and leather jacket, and his hair is brushed back to reveal darker brows, undyed. Though he’s much smaller than any of the men around him, including the one that follows him like a dog, he has an undeniable presence, with the borderline apathetic yet critical gaze he adopts as he looks over you, head tilting to the side. He comes to a stop in front of you, and his sub remains slightly behind him and to the left. With thickly corded muscles in his arms and shoulders, he looks physically like he could pick any one of you up one-handed, yet he waits patiently on his hands and knees, looking unexpectedly soft with a baby face and a delicate garter set for underwear that accentuates his delicate waist.

“Position,” the standing man says in a barked command. Like clockwork, the sub sits back up to kneel, hands resting gently on his thick thighs and head bent down respectfully. As he waits, you can see a band of leather around his throat, studded with what almost looks like diamonds. “Good boy,” he praises, even though he doesn’t lift his gaze off of you. Still, the sub visibly trembles at the praise, toes wiggling happily on the carpet behind him.

V arrives last, and rests a hand warmly on the stranger’s shoulder. “Sub, pay attention.” The young man kneeling glances up, and a fond boxy smile rises on V’s face, one you only saw once after you took your spanking. A strange unfurling of jealousy opens in your chest. “Not you, slave. Eyes on the floor.” The slave quickly drops his head, trembling again when the dom reaches out to pat his cheek, like a sign that he’s not in trouble.

Master V keeps his gaze on you as he squeezes the shoulder of the man beside him. “Sub, this is Master Min, and his slave Koo.” Turning to your boyfriends to include them as well, he addresses the doms. “As discussed, I think the sub could benefit from a positive example of a good sub. Of course, she doesn’t have to do all the things Koo does, every dynamic is different, but she could learn a lot from his behaviour. More than that, Koo is much like her in what he likes, but he and Min have incorporated it into play so that it doesn’t require punishment to get what he needs. Perhaps your girl is such a brat because she’s feeling unfulfilled. RM, Jay, you can get her down.”

“Down?” you mumble without realising, luckily quiet enough that the others don’t overhear. With a confused frown on your face, you let your boyfriends unbuckle you from the cross, wrists first. Your shoulder muscles ache when you lower your arms, and thick red bands line the skin of your wrists, which you thumb at with a smile while they bend down to undo your ankles.

“Lean on me, kitten,” Hoseok instructs softly, and you wrap your arms around him tightly, letting him grip your ass and pick you up off the cross gently so you don’t fall. He lowers his torso so that your dangling feet drag on the carpet, but you whine and lift them, linking your ankles around his back so that you’re latched on like a koala. He laughs softly at your whine. “You don’t wanna walk, hm?” You shake your head, thriving at the physical contact even as your bared pussy soaks the bottom of his white tank top. He pats your hair, and your heart warms. Especially after he was so angry at you earlier, the intimacy feels more than comforting. “You might want to stretch your legs, though, before we move on…” He trails off teasingly, and you draw your face up, seeing the mischief in his eyes.

With a pout, you let your legs lower to the ground, supporting your weight steadily before you take your arms off of Hoseok’s shoulders. You look around at the others, awaiting further explanation.

Namjoon steps forward, sharing a glance with V and then Hoseok before cupping your face softly. “We’re gonna go watch Min and Koo play, okay? They’re gonna show you how to be a good sub for us.”

“Where do you want to do your scene?” V asks Min.

The dom glances down at his sub, who still has his neck bent, dark hair glossy from the lights overhead. “Koo,” Min calls softly but firmly, and the young man looks up immediately. “Do you want to pick which station we go to?”

With doe-like eyes, Koo shakes his head. “No, Master. Wan’ you to pick.”

“Uh-uh,” the dom chastises with a tut, “we talked about this. Big boys choose when they get offered. Don’t make me regret my generosity.”

“Sorry, Master,” he replies quickly, “Kookie would like the bed tonight.”

“Alright, then. Go check if it’s free for us first. You may walk.”

Almost reluctantly, the sub stands up, and you widen your eyes at just how tall he is, rising above his master to almost match Namjoon’s height. If it wasn’t for the way he clasps his hands together and ducks his head so submissively, and if it wasn’t for the collar around his neck and the garters on his thighs, you could easily mistake him for a dom. Physical appearance wasn’t everything, you supposed.

As you wait, V disappears too, mentioning something about more equipment he needed, and by the time a DM comes over and lets you know that Koo has found and reserved a bed on the second floor, he still hasn’t returned. Min offers to flick him a text, and after you’re allowed to put your skirt and bra back on, the four of you walk through the middle of the room to reach the set of stairs at the far corner beside the bar. All of upstairs is like a mezzanine floor around the edges of the room, with doors that go off into separate rooms. With Namjoon on your left and Hoseok on your right, you ascend the stairs, taking the left path to walk around the mezzanine. Each door is labelled: medical A, medical B, dungeon A, filming A, and so on, but you’re taken by what you can glimpse over the protective barriers, looking down onto the first floor.

You can see all the different stations from up here, all the people who occupy them. The bar reaches out in a semicircle, with curved rows of stations flowing out like petals or ripples, the smaller ones closer to that social area, and the biggest ones along the walls. There are more people than before, probably close to capacity, so it’s a wonder Koo managed to find exactly what he wanted without it already being taken.

As you walk, you can feel the obscene slick between your thighs, wetting all the way down to the sides of your knees. It feels uncomfortable, though nothing like the remaining fire of your nipples as they rub slightly against the fabric of your bra. More than anything, though, you still feel so needy, so wanting. Though there aren’t any clocks in the room downstairs, much like a casino, you managed to glance at Min’s watch as he strolled, and see that it had been over two and a half hours since the three of you first arrived, and you still hadn’t been even close to cumming. And now V was making you sit down and watch other people fuck instead of you. You were starting to realise just how clever he was with his punishments.

Distracted, you almost bump into Min as he halts in front of a door, which has a plaque at eye level reading ‘domestic’. He knocks, and instead of Koo answering the door like you expect, it’s V. You widen your eyes and follow the men inside the room in curiosity, wondering what equipment it was exactly that he had left to retrieve.

It’s immediately obvious. In the soft, romantic, bedroom-styled set, one thing stands out like a sore thumb. Past the foot of the bed, closer to the opposite wall, is a chair covered in undone leather straps. The black leather and silver buckles are totally at odds with the warm neutral shades of the room, and the soft, freshly washed linen and blankets on the large bed. More so than that, however, what really draws your attention is the hole cut out in the base, and the dildo that sticks through, attached to what can be described as nothing else but a machine, a motor which is plugged in to an electrical socket on the wall. The two back legs have wheels attached to them, so that should you tip the chair back, you can roll it around rather than having to lift it. All-in-all, it looks extremely expensive and extremely intimidating. You swallow down the saliva that collects in your mouth at the sight of it.

Other than the fucking machine, the other notable accessory is the sub kneeling beside the bed. He doesn’t look up when you all file in the room, even as his fingers curl into the lush carpet when he hears his master’s voice.

“Good boy, Koo,” Min praises warmly, “such a well-behaved slave tonight. Are you being extra good for our guests?” His eyes crinkle in satisfaction as the boy’s thick hair bobs with his enthusiastic nodding. Min approaches him, placing a hand on the sub’s cheek to lift his face up. He runs his fingers over Koo’s lips, who obediently opens his mouth, tongue flat. The dom places two fingers inside, slowly sliding them deeper in, up to his knuckles. “Are you gonna keep behaving for me?”

Koo’s eyes are wide, and you can see the way his nostrils flare as he breathes in through his nose, trying not to gag. Instead of nodding, he gargles out an affirmative hum, and Min’s lip curls proudly, drawing his fingers out and wiping the spit off on Koo’s cheek, the younger boy’s eyes fluttering shut even as his mouth still hangs slightly open.

“Kitten,” you hear Hoseok say, drawing your attention back to him. He has an evil glint in his eye as he grins. “Don’t you wanna rest those pretty little legs of yours? You must be feeling so weak. Why don’t you take a seat?” He gestures grandly to the elaborate contraption across from the bed, and although he’s stating it as a joke, you know it’s nothing less than a command.

With shaky legs, you walk over, hovering uncertainly. V steps forward, manually rotates the wheel so that the dildo lowers past the base of the chair, and lets you sit. Your skirt is so short that there’s no cover at all, and you can feel the very tip of the cold silicone brush over your folds. Once you put your back directly against the chair, and let your feet loosely rest on the carpet, you adjust your hips slightly so that it’s pressing against your entrance, and you glance up at your boyfriends for approval, feeling the budding excitement and nerves in your chest.

Namjoon comes over to help V do up the buckles, starting to bind your legs to the chair. “Now, baby girl,” he says conversationally, “Master Min and his slave are very kindly letting us watch them, so you better be a good girl and enjoy the show quietly. I’m sure you can learn something from Koo here.” He stands back up again, leaning over to fasten your left arm as V does the right, and soon enough you’re completely immobile for the second time in the evening. Namjoon grips your inner thigh, massaging the flesh with a humored smile. “And don’t forget, no cumming without permission.”

He reaches behind you, lifting something off the back of the chair, attached by a cord. You look over, to see something akin to a half-sized TV remote, with several settings and options. He winks at you, and presses one, watching between your legs carefully.

You gasp and tense up when the dildo begins to move, pressing up into you unbelievably slowly. Even though it penetrates you at a glacial pace, clearly just to make sure you’re at the right angle to take it safely, it’s an odd sensation having something push up into you so unforgivingly. No matter how hard you clench, it breaches your walls deeper and deeper, until just when it’s about to be too far, it begins to recede again. You let out a heaving sigh as it slowly pulls out of you, before coming to a stop.

“Good?” he questions, though you know by the way you’re already angling your hips better against it that he can see you are enjoying it. Nonetheless, you nod, and he hums happily. “Alright. Now we’re gonna sit quietly and nicely and watch these two gentlemen, okay?”

You go to nod again but let out a surprised yelp as he steps right behind you and tips the chair back. You feel your chest lurch as the legs slip out from under you, but they stop when you reach a 45-degree angle, and slowly you’re rolled a little closer, facing the two men directly. More chairs are pulled up; Namjoon and V on one side of you and Hoseok on the other.

Your hands grip the arms of the chair tightly, fighting the urge to reach out to your boyfriends, who barely give you a second glance, though Namjoon’s hand slips behind your hair to rest on the nape of your neck, the weight of it as both a comfort and a reminder of who was in control here. You tilt your head back and hum happily as his thumb lazily rubs back and forth, keeping you calm.

In front of you, Min takes one last look out to make sure you’re all seated, before turning back to look down at his slave. “Koo, why is that mouth of yours still open?” The younger shuts his mouth quickly with a barely-audible pop, and swallows, eyes as wide as ever. “Does it feel empty, hm? Want something between those pretty lips of yours?”

The sub nods, thighs clenching with visible excitement as Min sits on the edge of the bed beside him and spreads his legs. Though you notice the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips, he remains still kneeling patiently. All it takes is a nod from his master, however, for Koo to dart forward, hands fumbling eagerly at Min’s belt, tugging it through the belt loops of his pants so voraciously that Min’s hips almost get pulled off the mattress. You widen your eyes at just how spirited Koo is about sucking someone else off. As much as you didn’t mind giving your boyfriends blowjobs, you would always much rather their cocks somewhere else. But as you sit tied to the chair, the threat of the blunt tip of the dildo resting dormant between your outer folds, you feel a heat build in your stomach at the display of total devotion.

As Min lifts his hips to help Koo pull down his pants and underwear, not a moment is lost before the submissive wraps his lips around him and sucks him down as far as he can manage on the first go. Min’s chest heaves with a surprised huff, and a lazy grin tugs at his lips. “That’s it, good boy,” he breathes through a sigh of pleasure, and even though the comment is clearly not directed at you, you feel yourself dripping with need.

You turn your head to the side, towards Namjoon. As you do so, his hand comes around to brush fondly at your cheek. Rather than verbalising it, you wiggle your hips slightly against the chair and the dildo below and pout pleadingly at him. He flicks you a genial smile and takes his hand away from your face to fiddle with the controls.

Your mouth drops open silently when you feel the dildo push up into you, at least twice the speed of the tester run, though still slow enough that it makes no noise.

A violent shiver breaks goosebumps across your arms as you feel a warm breath waft against your opposite shoulder. “Don’t forget to keep quiet,” you hear Hoseok remind you. When you look over to face him, your noses bump, and even as your heart skips a beat at the proximity, you’re leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips.

Half-expecting him to pull away, you feel your insides go weak when he indulges you, slipping a hand around your neck where Namjoon’s was earlier to pull you closer, grounding you with deep swipes of his tongue even as the dildo fucks up into you on it’s slow yet insistent cycle. If you arch your back just right, you can get it to brush against your g-spot when it enters you, and your breath picks up, kisses growing sloppier as you begin to regularly grind against it, quiet moans smothered by Hoseok’s mouth.

When he finally pulls away, you blink open your eyes in just enough time to see a fat string of saliva between you, which stretches until it breaks, spattering on your chin. Hoseok gently shifts his hand to grip your jaw, guiding your attention back onto the two men in front of you.

You suck your slightly swollen bottom lip into your mouth to muffle a groan at what you’re greeted by. Min has a hand firmly bunched in Koo’s hair, holding him down onto his cock as the sub writhes and clutches at Min’s knees, whining. After a moment of struggling, Koo is pulled off him by the grip on his hair, and he sucks in heaved gasps of air, eyes watering. Through the involuntary tears, you can see the same hazy look in Koo’s eyes that you sometimes saw on yourself when you went to the bathroom to clean up after a scene with your boyfriends. It’s clear to you that even as he gurgles and trembles helplessly when he’s pushed back down, he’s loving it, and his gaze doesn’t leave Min for a second. Above him, though lidded with pleasure, you can see the adoration and fondness in Min’s eyes too. It’s undeniable just how much they love each other.

Your breath catches in your throat as the pace is suddenly picked up on the machine, a gentle metallic whir piercing the lull on your end of the room, and your gaze shoots over to Namjoon as the dildo rocks up into you fast enough for you to begin to shiver. When you do, you see it’s not Namjoon that has the remote, but V beside him. With one arched eyebrow, like he’s testing you, V holds a single finger up to his lips and mouths ‘shh’.

Your nails dig into the wood of the chair, and you bite down harshly on your tongue to prevent any moans escaping, nodding shakily. His eyes sparkle with mirth as he smiles, handing the remote back to Namjoon. Your eyes follow the transfer and look up at your boyfriend’s face, but he’s more focussed on what’s going on in front of you, a confused turn to his lips.

You stare forward, and see that the two have changed positions slightly. Barely coherent with the fucking machine driving up into you at an infuriatingly regular and unforgiving pace, you do your best to focus in to what’s going on.

Min is still on the edge of the bed, however he’s leaning down as Koo whispers something in his ear, ducking his head shyly once he’s done. Min sighs, but gives his sub a warm smile and gently pinches at his nose and pats his cheek, looking up at the four of you.

You let out an involuntary guttural whine when the dildo comes to a sudden stop, halfway inside you. Your walls clench around the couple of inches still inside, too shallow to get any real pleasure, but too deep to be able to rock your clit against it. It seems Namjoon has turned it off while V stands up and consults with Min.

You stare, thighs clenching and unclenching at the strange and unsatisfying sensation of the dildo. After a moment, V returns, walking leisurely over to the wall and unplugging the machine. Your mouth drops open in confusion.

“Sorry it’s such a quick show, folks, Kookie is apparently getting a bit shy.” Min tucks himself away and crouches down to press a soft peck to the younger man’s pink cheeks. “We don’t get to come here that often, I think he just wants all my attention on him, isn’t that right?”

Koo’s teeth come out to bite at his lip, failing to suppress a sheepish smile. Caught out, he nods cheekily.

Min weakly slaps his cheek, a playful scolding. “Well, you’ll get your wish, Kookie. The others are going to leave now. You wanna give them a kiss goodbye and say thank you?”

The sub is granted permission to stand up, and bounds over to press a quick kiss on V’s cheek, then Namjoon’s, before he reaches you. His eyes widen at your state, eyes hazed with pleasure and bare pussy leaking down the opening in the chair, and does a double take like he hadn’t noticed it before. Lightning fast, he ducks down and quickly presses his lips against the top of your cheekbone. You turn your head slightly to receive it, his lips unbelievably soft and still a little wet from saliva. He murmurs a quick, “thank you for watching” in your ear and moves on, doing the same to Hoseok before returning to his master, standing until he’s given the command to get on the bed beside him.

Koo quietly leans into Min’s clothed-chest and lets the older one wrap his arm around his shoulders, keeping him close. The two stay entwined like that, conversing under their breath, as your doms stand up and begin to unbuckle you from the chair, carefully lifting you off of the dildo.

You let out a grateful hum as Namjoon effortlessly lifts you into his arms, one hand under your ass, where your arousal has totally soaked the back of your short skirt. You feel more than hear him speak with the others, as his chest rumbles against your ear, and you let your eyes fall closed, wrapping your arms and legs around him tightly and snuggling in. Perhaps it was seeing the tenderness between the two men you had just watched, but you felt your bratty streak begin to settle down, just wanting to be close with your boyfriends.

You hear a door open, and suddenly you’re moving as Namjoon walks out. You let out a groan. “‘S it over?” you mumble into the warm skin of the crook of his neck, breathing in his natural musk paired with the simple cologne he had put on earlier in the night.

He chuckles. “No, baby girl. We’ll find somewhere else to go. Do you still want to keep playing? It is getting quite late.”

You sit up, blinking at your surroundings as they lurch around him, making your way back around the mezzanine towards the stairs. “I wanna keep playing, Daddy. Where’s Hoseokie?”

“That’s Sir to you,” you hear a voice from over your back call out. Hoseok must be leading the group. You clutch onto Namjoon tighter as you begin to descend the steps to the main playroom. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to find a station, kitten. It’s closing time soon so most of them are taken or blocked off for cleaning.”

“Let’s just fuck on the floor,” you quip back, reveling in the hearty laugh that shakes Namjoon’s shoulders.

“As much as I liked seeing you at our mercy, I have missed your snark, princess,” your boyfriend admits. “Bear with the no-speaking rule when V is around for tonight, and we can rework our rules tomorrow.”

You hum, wiggling your toes as the strength gradually returns to your limbs. “Where is V?”

Hoseok’s voice is thick with humour. “Weren’t you listening, little sub?” He laughs as you kick out weakly at the pet name your ‘Master’ had chosen to use. “He got called away. Something about helping out a sub that came alone or something.”

“Oh.” You can’t quite work out if what you’re feeling is dissatisfaction at still not having cum the entire night or disappointment that the other man left without saying goodbye. “Where are we gonna play, then?”

Namjoon grunts with exertion. “Okay, down you hop.” You do as he says, joints stiff as you slip in front of him to follow behind Hoseok. Namjoon’s voice continues from behind you. “We’re going to find that Jimin dude and ask if he knows of any free spots. Keep an eye out for him, baby girl.”

The use of ‘baby girl’ rather than just ‘baby’ gently reinforces you that the roles are still in place. Although having to move locations, your two boyfriends - as well as you - clearly want the scene to continue. “Yes, Daddy,” you affirm compliantly.

It takes a couple of times circling and winding between stations before you spot him. He’s not in that same corner from before, but instead you find him at the bar, nursing a glass bottle of coke. He looks up in mild interest as you approach, before widening his eyes once he recognises the three of you.

“V’s studious apprentices,” he greets warmly, eyes lingering on the wetness on your thighs visible past the hem of your skirt. “How may I be of assistance?”

Like it’s choreographed, Namjoon and Hoseok both reach out to touch you; Hoseok, slipping his fingers into yours, and Namjoon placing his hand possessively around your shoulders. You smother a smirk at the way Jimin’s eyes dart up and waver back and forth, sizing the two doms up before his shoulders lower in defeat.

“We just wanted to see if there were any free stations,” Hoseok explains. “I figured if your job is to supervise, you’d know.” Hoseok takes another glance at the languid curve of Jimin’s body as he leans against the bench, and the coke bottle dripping condensation over his fingers. The unspoken implication of Hoseok’s statement hangs in the air, as your two boyfriends share a look over your shoulder.. When he thinks your boyfriends aren’t looking, the DM flicks you a cheeky wink. The moment the two men turn back, his face falls frigid again.

“I’m on break,” Jimin explains petulantly, gesturing to the neon badge which has been unclipped from his shirt and is resting beside the cardboard coaster. “But no, sadly there aren’t. The last hour and a half before closing is our busiest time since everyone figures it’s their last chance to get in a scene. We do have five different stations in the process of being cleaned, though.” Using the neck of the half-empty bottle to point, the DM indicates a few different spots that are cordoned off with orange tape, the same neon as his badge. “That one just began a minute or so ago, so that’s out of commission for the night, that one has been being cleaned for a good twenty minutes but it was wax play which is quite difficult to get out of the furniture without damaging it, and those two on the far side have been reserved already. Your best bet is the sawhorse down past the restrooms, but you’re looking at a good fifteen, twenty minutes for them to finish up.” Spiel done, he lowers his eyebrows and quirks his lips smugly. “So yes, I suppose I was the right person to come to. And if I was on duty, I would’ve been able to go over and reserve it for you, but since I’m not, you’ll just have to fight to be the quickest to snatch it up. Pity.”

Hoseok’s grip tightens around your hand. “Thank you for your help. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” His nostrils flare, and you feel a tug on his wrist as he begins to pull you away.

Jimin holds his defiant stare for a moment longer before breaking out into a cheery grin, giggling at the matching looks of confusion. “I’m just messing with you! I’m not even on break, us DMs get one free drink a night to keep us going. Come on, while you wait I can grab you a spare trolley and you can use some of the toys at the bar if you want. We actually aren’t allowed to reserve stations, though; so sadly you will still have to snag the spot when it opens up. Come with me, I spotted a free trolley down here.”

As the four of you make your way through the gatherings of people, you remark at how quickly you’ve accustomed to the place. The smell of sweat and arousal has increased over the evening, but you barely notice it, and it’s easy enough to tune out pleasured cries and cracks of whips even as you walk right past them. As your two boyfriends mutter behind you, you hear Jimin murmur to you and jog to catch up and walk beside him.

“2 years,” he starts with a self-satisfied grin, “2 years I’ve worked here and I still marvel at the way I can one-up even the most hardcore dominants. I swear this job has increased my confidence like nothing else.”

You laugh. “You do that often, then?”

“God, yeah,” he admits easily. “Gotta make things fun when you can. As long as I’m serious whenever a scene is taking place, or there’s a situation, the owner kinda lets me take some liberties.”

“Who is the owner?” you question curiously. You can’t help but wonder what type of person would open a business like this.

Jimin smiles with mirth but doesn’t answer. “Well, here it is,” he states instead, reaching out and grabbing an unclaimed trolley that was previously sitting abandoned by a set of stocks. “Looks like there are some things missing, but it’s the best you’re gonna get this time of night. People aren’t meant to hog them for more than two hours but it’s kind of a courtesy thing, not a hard rule, so there’s not much we can do.” He looks up as your two boyfriends join you. “You folks need anything else?”

“That’s all,” Hoseok says shortly, still clearly not over the jig Jimin pulled. “Come on, kitten, let’s go find a table.”

Rather than the bar, which Jimin returns to to finish off his drink, you’re tugged unceremoniously down to the small socialising area, which is all but empty by now. They’ve even lowered the lights, and your eyes are happy to have a break from the brightness of the main play area.

In the far back, there are a couple of booths, all vacant, and Hoseok sits on the side in the corner, gesturing for you to sit across from him. You slide in, sighing at the plush upholstery that soothes your still slightly aching ass. Once the trolley is pushed up beside the outer edge of the table, Namjoon slides in beside you, moving over to the middle of the seat so that you’re pressed snugly between him and the wall. You gasp at the sudden warm of his body flush against yours, and feel need wash through you for the thousandth time this evening. Your mouth opens to plead for something, anything, but he beats you to the punch.

“Baby girl, we know you’re probably feeling pretty desperate, hm? You want our cocks?”

You let out a moan at his words. “Yes,” you croak, “please.” A violent shudder runs through you when you feel the tip of a shoe run up your shin, and pushes at the knee closest to the wall until you’re parting your legs. You glance over at Hoseok, who’s leaning back languidly in his seat, though his eyes are predatorial and his grin is sharp.

Namjoon’s eyes dart over to Hoseok, then at you, and finally down past the edge of the table, where your skirt is rising up dangerously high as Hoseok keeps you spread open. “We should get you ready to take us, then.” Your mouth drops open in a silent moan, incoherent as Namjoon reaches down in one smooth movement and cups your pussy, two fingers dipping in automatically with how sopping wet you are. “Fuck,” he hisses, but you just bite your lip and try and rock your hips forward, wanting him deeper.

Hoseok feels you shift and tuts, pinning your leg more firmly against the wall. “Careful, kitten,” he warns, “do you really want to risk punishment when we only have-” he breaks off to consult his watch, “twenty-three minutes before closing?”

You swallow and force yourself to stay still, but that doesn’t stop you from clenching tightly around the tips of Namjoon’s fingers, drawing another hiss from the man.

“Besides,” Namjoon drawls, massaging his palm against you slightly so that your clit got the slightest hint of friction, “if you want both of us we better prepare you first.” His eyes don’t leave yours, a caramel smile tugging at his lips as those fingers slip out, only to seek another entrance lower down. “Will you be good for us?”

You nod hurriedly, shakily, as a single finger teases at your rim. “I’ll be good, Daddy.” Your voice cracks on the last word, but it just makes him grin, flashing teeth wolfishly.

You exhale roughly when suddenly he pulls away from you, sliding to the outskirts of the booth. With glossily wet fingers, he slaps your bare thigh, pinching lightly at the flesh. “Face down, ass up,” he commands, “we can’t prepare you properly if you’re sitting down.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Hoseok’s foot leaves you too, and the dark impatience in his eyes as he cocks his head forces you into action. As you scramble to bring your knees up on the cushioning, you cringe at the audible wet noises and the slipperiness of your thighs. You groan at how empty you feel when you arch your back obscenely for them, cheek planted against the seat.

Your face is below the table, and it takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the darker setting, sighing in relief as you feel the calloused palms of your boyfriend roam over your ass, hips and thighs. About fucking time.

You let your gaze rest lazily on Hoseok’s ringed fingers as they rest on his thighs, framing the tent in his crotch that you can barely make out in the shadows, eyes falling to half mast as you feel Namjoon collecting your slick on a single finger, before beginning the first press into your puckered hole.

You take deep breaths, forcing your muscles to relax, and let out a high whine as it sinks suddenly to the base knuckle, crooking inside you exploratively.

“Good girl,” Namjoon passionately praises, placing his free hand on your lower back to keep you arched for him as he fucks you on his one finger until you’re relaxed enough to take a second.

Your jaw is unable to close and you feel drool gathering in the corner of your mouth, and you squeeze your eyes shut at the intense sensation after so much deprivation. It’s not until he works his way to three fingers, curling and scissoring them inside you, that you hear a masculine grunt and crack one back open. The sight that greets you makes you clench violently around Namjoon, and he has to lightly smack your ass for you to relax again.

Across from you, with legs splayed wide, Hoseok has reached into his pants, tucking his cock out so that just the head peeks out past the waistband of his underwear. Even in the dim lighting, you can see how flushed it is, a deep purple-red that glints with precum when the lazily thumbs at the slit, just enough to keep himself on edge but not nearly enough to get close to cumming.

Automatically, your hand slips off the seat and stretches out to reach for him, but you cry out when Namjoon’s hand snakes around your elbow and roughly tugs your arm away, pinning it to your back. You feel the muscles in your thighs shiver uncontrollably as he plunges his fingers repeatedly into your tight hole, almost too much at once.

After an uncountable amount of time, the three of you are made to pause when the electrical crackle of a loudspeaker resonantes through the room. You let out a frustrated groan as you hear it declare the club to be closing, instructing all patrons to make their way to the exits or the showers, Namjoon’s fingers slipping wetly out of you moments later. Bonelessly, your hips fall to the side and bang on the tabletop.

“Dammit,” you whine hopelessly. “Please, Namjoon, I’m gonna go crazy, just fuck me quickly now and we can finish at home, please.”

“All this time,” a familiar voice calls out in bemusement, “and the sub still hasn’t learnt to refer to her doms by their appropriate titles.”

You jump, hustling to push your knees back down and twist, sitting down normally again to look past Namjoon. Master V stands just past the booth, hair more tousled than when you had last seen him and dark red lines across the exposed skin of his sternum where someone had clearly scratched him. “What are you doing here?” you ask automatically, mind not even comprehending the fact that you’d broken protocol yet again.

V simply raises his eyebrows at you warningly before turning to your boyfriends. “If you wanna stay longer, you can. Employee perks,” he explains. “The one catch is that you can’t use the stations because they all need cleaning at this point.”

Hoseok purses his lips together in thought. “That’s fine,” he dismisses. “We can find someplace. Anyone thirsty?”

You blink, not understanding the statement, but clearly the others do. Namjoon wraps a strong arm around your torso, just under your breasts, and pulls you off the seat so that your back is pressed against his chest and the tips of your toes barely brush the carpet. “Hey-!” you squeak, feeling even more worked up now that the time restraint on the club had interrupted your fun yet again.

Without missing a beat, V and Hoseok reach out, latching tightly onto one ankle each and lifting you so that you’re swinging horizontally between the three, dipping at the waist.

You grumble as they carry you away from the tables, following the edge of the room to arrive at the bar. Jimin has left, as have everyone else, only the last few stragglers making their way to the exits. “Are you finally gonna fuck me then?” you complain in frustration. You swear to God if you don’t get at least one of them inside you in the next five minutes, you’ll go insane.

V, not even turning back to look at you, scoffs. “You haven’t learnt a fucking thing, have you?”

“What?” you fire back, too consumed by a lust-driven haze to care about consequences.

“Right now, little sub, your body is ours. We get to decide whether you get fucked or not, so this whole time you’ve been making trouble when you should’ve been sucking up. If you don’t get what you want, that’s nobody’s fault but yours.” His nails dig into the sensitive skin around your ankle, and you feel it raise, as you’re lifted higher in the air and unceremoniously dumped on a surface taller than a table, and narrow. You crane your neck up, eyes wide as you see where you are. As V temporarily lets go to walk around the edge and rejoin on the other side, you realise they’ve splayed you out on the bar, one man on either side to keep your legs wide open, and Namjoon’s hand rising up your chest to wrap lightly, warningly, around your throat, pushing your head back down so that you can only see him and the high ceiling above. V’s voice comes from below, a stern growl. “So far tonight you haven’t done a single thing to earn one of our cocks in that messy pussy of yours, understand? Now you have to lie back and take what you’re fucking given.”

“This isn’t fucking fair,” you cry out in frustration, tears pricking at your eyes. “I just need to cu-um.” Your core feels neglected, almost painful in its longing for sensation. As you attempt to kick your legs out, you realise something. Your hands are free.

As fast as you can, you shove both between your legs, one plunging three fingers deep into your pussy, the other rubbing frantically at your swollen clit. You let the tears fall, sobbing at the relief, but it’s short lived. With a disappointed shout, Namjoon grabs your hands together with his free one. You howl as he rips them away from you, keeping them captive pinned to the middle of your torso.

Hoseok slaps you sharply right on your folds, making you jump. “This is our pussy, kitten. Paws off.”

“Please,” you scream, “I’ll do anything, come on!”

Driven half-mad by need, you barely hear V as he mutters to the other two. “Okay, she’s there. It’s time.”

You look up in confusion, as much as you can with the weight of Namjoon’s hand around your neck, and immediately your eyes roll back into your head with relief. A steady thrum of power reinforces what you saw. V holding a battery-run Hitachi vibrator.

The second he places it against your clit, you see a white-hot flash behind your eyelids as the powerful vibration sends you violently into your first orgasm after what must be over four hours of waiting.

“That’s it,” V coos, voice dripping with pure satisfaction, “take it all.”

You moan, a low garble in your throat, as the pleasure ripples through you, tingling in your fingertips and the skin of your calves where Hoseok and V hold on tightly, keeping you prone on the benchtop even as your muscles seize and tense as much as they can, feeling like you need to curl up into a ball around the epicenture of your orgasmic euphoria.

“Tha-ank you,” you sob out desperately, hands digging into the soft flesh of your stomach, the only part of your body you can really move as you’re pinned down by the strength of your three doms.

“Thank Master,” V commands shortly.

Tears pool in your temples as the pleasure begins to slowly settle, even as the vibrations continue. “Thank you, Master,” you praise mindlessly.

“Thank your other doms too,” he reminds, twisting his wrist so that the vibrator pushes your hood aside, resting against your bared clit, and you let out a weakened scream as the pleasure begins to prickle, overwhelming you.

“Thank you, Daddy, thank you, Sir,” you make out through shudders, your eyebrows knitting, unsure whether what you’re feeling is pleasure anymore or just pain. “N-no, too much,” you protest, swearing colorfully when V simply runs the Hitachi back and forth across your clit, sending sharp spikes of stimulation through you.

“No?” Hoseok questions rhetorically. “I thought you wanted to cum, you greedy slut.”

“Too much,” you repeat weakly.

“I don’t care,” he counters, “cum again.”

You let out a loud sustained moan as pain returns to pleasure in a hot flash, and you’re pitched over the edge again, tensing up and trying to grind your hips into the sensation as you gush over it, and all over V’s hand. You hear him laughing at you as you go fully limp, energy gone as your nerves run alight through your body.

“Not so brave now, are you?” he remarks dryly, chuckling again when you simply let out an incoherent moan.

You expect he’s made his point now that your body has given up the fight, but instead all you get is a warning click before he’s turning up the power of the vibrator to another level.

You hear yourself yell out, louder than you’ve been all night, unable to stop from screaming and shouting in stuttered moans as you’re wracked with blinding, overwhelming pleasure. “Not again,” you beg, “no more, I can’t-”

Your protests are cut off by a strong call coming from far away. The vibrator is clicked off immediately, and you go lax in relief, though your pussy continues to tremble uncontrollably as you pant on the sweat-soaked bar.

You don’t have any energy to look up properly, but you tiredly turn your head to the side to see an unfamiliar figure approach.

He’s dressed somewhat like Namjoon, with dress pants and an ironed shirt, but a deep navy suit jacket finishes up his outfit, hair carefully styled so that even as he stomps over, it stays in place swept to the side to reveal some of his forehead and brows. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, making a racket after closing?”

Master V pauses, his grip on your calf instinctively loosening. “You said we were allowed to, Jin.”

“I didn’t expect you’d be bringing so many friends,” Jin defends, “normally your subs are so quiet that it’s never been a problem.” His gaze falls on you and you hiccup as the last of the shivers run through you. “What are you doing to this poor girl?”

A tired smile plays at your lips in relief. Sure, it was a little embarrassing having what must be the owner of the place walk in on you, but at least Hoseok and Namjoon would have no choice but to leave with you. You’d have an Uber ride to recover, and then by the time you reached your apartment they’d be so desperate that they’d give in straight away and fuck you. You just about hum audibly at the thought.

“I thought I taught you better,” the stranger criticises with a disappointed look as he approaches to stand at the edge of the bench.

V bites his lip, placing the Hitachi on the counter in resignation, flicking your boyfriends an apologetic look. “Sorry, Jin, I-”

“If you’re gonna overstimulate a sub, you need to make sure she won’t wake the neighbors,” Jin interrupts, picking up the toy himself. “And for fuck’s sake, use one of the pulse settings so her clit doesn’t get used to it. You in the white shirt, tighten your grip around her throat.”

Your eyes widen and you open your mouth to protest, but Namjoon effectively cuts you off by pressing you more firmly to the bench, thumb and forefinger on either side of the column of your throat, intruding on your airways enough to make you groan gutturally.

You jump as you feel a sharp pinch on your inner thigh. “Alright, sub, your safeword is now making two fists and shaking your hands. Do it know so I know you can.”

The pressure on your throat eases slightly as you suck in a breath and follow the owner’s command, relaxing your hands again once he grunts in affirmation.

The pulsating whine of the vibrator fills the air after he clicks it back on. “Good, now lie there and shut up while I show these men how it’s done.”

The brief respite on your poor clit clearly isn’t enough as the second the toy is placed back on you, you let out a shriek that’s cut off midway as Namjoon tightens his grip around your throat again. You thrash as much as you can, but now that Hoseok and V both have two hands on you again, there’s no way you can overpower them.

“Bend her knees,” Jin commands, “open her up for me.”

You moan, drooling unwittingly as they obey, feeling your pelvis shift up so that you’re fully vulnerably to the attack on your abused clit.

“This way,” the boss instructs, “no matter how much she wriggles, she can’t escape it, and you’ve got free access to everything else too.”

Crying out as incomprehensible stimulation is forced on you by the flickering of the toy over your bud, you scratch and grab and bat at the flesh of your stomach, careful to make sure you don’t curl your fingers into fists.

When your third orgasm tears through you, all sensation cuts out for the briefest second, everything going black for one blissful moment before you’re taken over by the warm rush, feeling release like you never have before. Namjoon releases his grip on your throat, and the sudden return of oxygen pitches you into euphoria, too far gone to do anything more than whimpering.

Jin holds you there, in that totally mindless state for a few more trembling seconds before he flicks it off and dumps it on the bartop. “Got my fucking sleeve wet,” he mutters to himself, before reaching out and massaging your inner thigh reassuringly, relaxing the muscles. “Have you ever made your girl squirt before?”

Namjoon’s voice is reluctant. “Not yet.”

“Looks like you have some more learning to do yourself, then. Sub; are you still with us?”

You’re shaking like a leaf, but Hoseok helps prop you up, letting your leg flop weakly off the edge of the bench. You look down and see the wet shine of the table between your legs, and the dark splotches covering Jin’s suit. “Wh-why would you do that?” you question, your voice wobbling from sheer exhaustion. “Aren’t you meant to be professional?”

His eyes darken, a brow arching delicately. “You seem to forget what my profession is, young lady.” Lifting his gaze to include the three other men, he lets out a patient sigh. “The night cleaners will be arriving in a couple of minutes, and I will not be fronting a late fee if they have to wait around for you jokers to get your rocks off.”

Namjoon nods understandingly. “That’s alright, we can be out of your wa-”

“So if you’d like to fuck her,” the owner continues on, “you’re going to have to come do it in my office. It gets cleaned last, so you’ll have more time.”

Your mouth drops open.

Namjoon and Hoseok share a glance with each other, then at V. Finally, Namjoon reaches down and brushes back some of the hair back that had gotten stuck on your face. “It’s up to you, baby girl,” he says with a fond smile. “Either the two of us can take you home and fuck you there, or you can stay here and have all of us.”

Your mouth waters, eyes lingering on V, how sinful he looks with black locks low over his brow, tanned skin beaded with sweat. Your gaze lowers, taking in the way his erection strains under his pants. This whole time, he had been calmly in control, always composed, even when you had acted out more than you ever had before. You wanted to see him how he’d seen you; out of your mind with pleasure. You wanted to see him let go. “I wanna stay, Daddy.”

“Then we’ll stay.”

The way to Jin’s office is longer than expected, and your legs tremble so violently that the group of you move at a near-glacial pace up the stairs to the second floor, going to the right instead of the left like last time when you reach the mezzanine. There’s a side corridor that you hadn’t noticed earlier, the entrance partly concealed by a lube-and-condoms refill station. You take that, the five of you winding down single-file with the owner himself taking the lead, down to V at the rear.

Upon arriving and being let inside, you loiter uncertainly just inside the doorway beside your two boyfriends as Jin walks behind the desk and takes a seat. Even if it wasn’t for the fact that the evening’s protocol forbids you from speaking out of turn (as if you ever really followed it), you can’t bring yourself to form a single sentence.

Luckily, Hoseok can. “Aren’t you gonna leave?” he asks brusquely.

Jin smiles patiently, holding his palms out in a broad gesture. “This is my office. I said you could use it, and you can.” He lets the statement hang in the air as he loosens his tie with a shit eating grin. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You swallow hard and look over to the other men.  Even though you had been seen by an entire club of people downstairs in your most vulnerable moments, they were all occupied, and there were so many that it didn’t feel real. Now, with Jin’s eyes heavy on you, waiting, there’s something far more intimidating about it.

Hoseok has a glimmer of something in his eyes, and murmurs in Namjoon’s ear, grin stretching across his face as he whispers, until Namjoon shares that same look. Without speaking, your younger boyfriend makes his way over to one of the chairs and sits down in it. It looks expensive; deep maroon upholstery with a mahogany base. He spreads his legs wide, and silently pats his thigh, eyes locked onto you.

You bite your lip and walk over, feeling a strange pressure in your chest at the silence. All eyes are on you. You just wish someone would say something. You bump knees with Namjoon still standing, but pause.

“Have you gotten all shy on us now, kitten?”

You mentally sigh in relief, turning to Hoseok and nodding. He doesn’t smile but his eyes crinkle as he steps forward, flattening your hair with his palm and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“I think I know what you need,” he answers, “to take the pressure off.”

You blink in confusion as he leaves your side, strolling around to desk to the owner, who’s seated at his desk chair, aimlessly swivelling back and forth. Jin stops when Hoseok plants himself between the man’s knees and reaches down. With wary eyes, Jin waits as Hoseok fully loosens the man’s tie, slipping it off completely and bringing it back to you.

“Turn around,” he commands firmly, and you obey without thought, feeling comforted in his guidance. The fabric falls down sideways over your eyes, and you gasp silently in realisation as he fastens the makeshift blindfold with a knot at the back of your head. “Better?” he questions, and you nod hastily, already calming down and not feeling so exposed. “Then go sit on Daddy’s cock.”

You shudder, feet stumbling as Hoseok’s hand on your back guides to to the chair, almost tripping over one of Namjoon’s shoes. The seated man reaches out and grips your hips and you let your knees buckle, straddling him in the armchair. The feeling of his hard crotch rubbing against your still-sensitive core is enough to make you let out an unconscious whimper, and he chuckles lowly in your ear as you let your head rest on his shoulder.

“Joonie,” you mumble. Immediately, a sharp swat  lands on your ass, and you jump. With no other context, you don’t even know who did it. It didn’t feel like Namjoon’s arms moved at all. “Daddy.”

“Right,” he states with a squeeze to your hip. “Sit up, Daddy’s waited for that pretty pussy long enough.”

You whine and comply, raising yourself up on your knees, tilting your chin as your ears desperately train in on the delicate sound of a zipper being lowered. You hiss in a breath when you feel his cockhead run through your folds, catching the overstimulated tip of your clit, before pushing it back to rest snugly at your entrance. Your thighs ache with the need to sit, but you force yourself to wait, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt over his shoulders tightly.

The guiding pressure of his hands on your upper hips are your only instruction before you begin to sink down onto him. Even if you weren’t blindfolded, you wouldn’t be able to see a thing anyway with the way your eyes squeeze tightly shut, eyebrows knitting together as your mouth drops open. He’s big, thicker than the dildo on the fucking machine but just about as hard, swearing profusely when your wet heat envelops him inch by glorious inch. You’re so wet from the previous teasing and orgasms, and so needy to be filled, that the moment he bottoms out in you, you’re steadying yourself on him for leverage and beginning to ride him, head tipping back in ecstasy.

“Good, baby girl?”

You bite your lip and nod, feeling him strike nerves deep inside of you with every bounce. “So good, Daddy, fuck.” He rewards your compliment by propping his feet on the floor and beginning to thrust up into you, grunting with the exertion. A warm curl of pleasure begins to build deep inside you at the satisfaction of finally being fucked properly, and you work your thighs, meeting him halfway on every thrust, deepening his reach.

Your body stiffens when he suddenly pushes down heavily on your hips, halting your thrusts and holding you pinned fully onto him. “No, Daddy, please, don’t do thi-”

“Sh, don’t worry,” Namjoon soothes quickly, palms gripping meaty handfuls of your ass and massaging them reassuringly, spreading you apart. “We aren’t going to tease you anymore, princess, but you don’t want Daddy cumming before anyone else has joined in, now do you? Who do you want next? Who’s gonna fill that tight little ass of yours?”

You shudder, but your answer is immediate. “I want Sir.”

“Ask nicely.”

You turn your head blindly around in the direction you vaguely remember Hoseok last standing in. “Sir, please, I need you inside me. I’ll be good.” You startle, clenching tightly around Namjoon when you feel a hot breath on the back of your neck, and Hoseok’s hands - cold where the rings touch you - run up your back to rest on your waist.

“Okay, kitten. Ass up for me.”

You whine and obey, tilting forward so that your back arches forward onto Namjoon’s solid frame and your hips are tilted back for better access. You can’t help but clench when you feel the blunt head of his cock pressing at the tight right of your ass, muscles fluttering around the attempted intrusion. Namjoon swears as his cock is milked by your walls, but Hoseok simply swats you on your ass, matching the sting of the strike from earlier.

“Take it,” he hisses, before you hear him spit, the fluid landing on you, some slipping in as you fight to relax your muscles. He pushes in again, and this time you accept it, crying out as he thrusts forward, fucking up into you in one smooth motion. As you adjust to both men inside you, you feel the lubed-up rubber of a condom around Hoseok. Almost delirious with the sensation of fullness, your mind cooks up the image of Hoseok fiddling with a condom packet, trying to be quiet as you bounced on Namjoon’s cock. A smile tugs at your lips, but it’s dropped when Hoseok suddenly draws away and snaps his hips, plunging in to the hilt at the same time that Namjoon bends forward and begins to bite at your nipples through the fabric.

“Is something funny to you?” Hoseok asks through a tensed jaw.

You wince at the feeling of teeth around your sore nipple even as deep pleasure makes your toes curl. “No,” you protest weakly, another moan being ripped from your throat as Hoseok begins a regular pace. With every thrust, you feel the wall between Namjoon and Hoseok, the two of them filling you in a way you had become addicted to over the years. “God, don’t stop.”

“I know something that’ll wipe that smirk off your fuckin’ face,” he huffs out, and your heart skips a beat until you hear a third voice.

“Open up, little sub,” you hear V mutter, and you moan when you feel his cock tapping teasingly on your cheek.

You open your jaw wide and stick your tongue out, turning your head to the side his cock was on, waiting for it. You hear him chuckle and pat your tongue with the head, salting it with his precum before sliding down. Your mouth closes around him and sucks, and he lets out a low groan, his hand on the back of your head as he guides you.

Even though it was a relief earlier, now you curse the blindfold. There’s nothing you want more than to watch V’s face as he finally comes apart on your tongue, and the image of it alone makes your mouth water, deepening your bobs as you strain to take him all in. While most cocks feel large when they’re spreading your jaw, you know he’s long, so long that even as you gag and splutter around him, your nose doesn’t once touch the skin of his stomach.

“God, look at you,” he praises, a thumb pressing at the corner of your lips to wipe away drool that had slid down, before jerking his hips so that you choked on him once again. “Do you finally feel satisfied, you greedy girl?”

You gargle around him in agreement, and he curses, fingers tightening on the crown of your head. Although they’d lain dormant while you were adjusting to a third cock, your boyfriends’ hands are all over your torso, lifting you up so that they can simultaneously fuck into you, and you let out an inhuman whine around V’s dick, one hand flying off Namjoon’s shoulder and behind you to push at Hoseok.

V tugs you off his cock with a handful of hair and you gasp in lungfuls of air, feeling the cold air on your wet chin and cheeks. You take the chance to use your already-battered vocal cords. “Too fast,” you complain, gripping Hoseok’s wrist as he grabs your ass, keeping you spread. With that, V’s cock is thrust unceremoniously back into your throat and you cough around it, but hollow your cheeks and flick your tongue on his underside, moaning when your boyfriend heeds your words and slows down, opting to grind into you, slow and deep.

“This better, kitten?” he questions, rutting himself against you.

You go to whine enthusiastically, but a new noise takes you by surprise. An unfamiliar groan. V pulls you off him again and as you gasp to catch your breath, light pierces your eyes. You wince, panting, as the blindfold is ripped off. After adjusting to the brightness, you let him guide your gaze across the desk, where on the other side Jin sits, legs spread, gaze heavy on you with his eyebrows furrowed in focus.

He’s breathing heavily, and a flash of movement attracts your eyes downwards, where an angry red cock lies up against his stomach, a fist firmly running up and down it in indulgent tugs. His knuckles are glossy with precum and his pupils are blown wide, and you feel your mouth water at the fact that the image of you alone was enough to make him this desperate.

That thought lights a fire within you, a need, and you bend down to take V in your mouth again, freeing a hand to reach out and jerk off what doesn’t fit in your mouth. He swears at your renewed efforts, gathering your hair into a ponytail so that it doesn’t cover your face. As you do this, you grind yourself between the two cocks you’re impaled on, moaning wantonly at the way they shift inside you, alternating.

Namjoon groans and slips his hands around your hips more firmly, keeping you steady so that he can begin to fuck you, frenzied and desperate. “I’m so close, baby girl, keep that pussy open for me.”

You moan around V’s dick and his hips stutter at the vibration, clearly near his end too by the way he begins to lose control. You blink up through teary eyes, taking him down your throat and breathing through your nose so that you can finally watch him. The crease in his brow and the slackness of his jaw as he’s overcome by pleasure sends hot pleasure straight to your cunt.

Every time Namjoon or Hoseok thrust up into you, that spark of pleasure is ignited further and further, until you can’t even suck off V properly anymore, taking him out of your mouth to suckle at the sensitive skin instead, reaching lower to massage his balls.

The moment Hoseok reaches around to thumb at your clit and Namjoon lowers his mouth to your neck to suck a violent hickey, you’re gone. Your orgasm takes you by surprise, and you collapse, forehead knocking on Namjoon’s shoulder as the two men continue to fuck you through it, moaning sinful nothings into your ear as you gush over them, shaking bonelessly.

Above you, you hear the slick sound of V jerking off and you force your head up with the last reserves of your energy, groaning as you feel Hoseok and Namjoon release inside you; Hoseok into the condom and Namjoon painting your walls. V looks like he isn’t too far off, and he reaches down to tug at your bra, pulling it down to expose your breasts.

“You better not fucking cum on her tits, kid,” Jin warns, “I just had this carpet deep cleaned. Sub’s mouth or the trash can.”

V twitches his eyebrows with a salacious grin, not stopping for a moment. “You heard him, little sub, open up.” You lick your swollen lips and stick your tongue out, humming around the rush of cum that fills your mouth, swallowing it down. After wringing the last few spurts out, he sighs in satisfaction and draws himself out, tucking his slowly softening cock away.

You tremble violently when Hoseok pulls out of you, leaving you empty, but nothing can prepare you for the void inside you when Namjoon follows suit, immediately cupping his hand over your soiled pussy.

“Keep it in, baby girl,” he commands, “you’ve been so good for us.”

You hum warmly at the praise. “Tired,” you mumble mindlessly, letting him bundle you up on his lap as Hoseok took off the condom, knotting the end and leaving to discard it.

Namjoon pats your hair down, smoothing out the mess. “Come on, princess,” he murmurs in your ear as he looks out across the desk. “This kind young man let us use his office. Are you gonna let him use your mouth?”

Your eyes darken with exhausted lust as Jin stands up, one hand holding his pants up and the other still jerking hurriedly at his length. You nod, opening your mouth in submission as you wait for him to come over.

“Good girl,” Namjoon mutters, “you’ll let anyone take you, won’t you?”

Jin stops in front of you, gripping your hair and tipping your neck back so that you’re at the right level. You whimper as Namjoon palms your breasts possessively, rolling your nipples between his fingers as you take Jin into your mouth as deep as you can with your aching jaw. You work to bring him to the edge, knowing your energy will be fully depleted any minute now, and the owner groans at the effort.

“But whose tits are these, princess?” You gargle out a response around Jin’s thick cock, tears pricking your eyes. “And whose mouth is this?” Namjoon moves a hand up to wrap his fingers around your jaw, holding it open so that Jin can thrust inside. You groan, your reply trapped in your throat by his dick. Namjoon’s other hand leaves your tits and slips down, swiping his fingers through the cum that seeps out of your abused core. “And whose pussy is this?” You scream your reply, choking and sputtering as a hot wave of cum runs down your throat, soothing the rawness. You swallow it down and collapse back against Namjoon, spent.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room is your collective panting. Finally, V speaks. “Well; that was fun. Did you enjoy yourself, little sub?”

You let an exhausted smile tug at your lips as your eyes flutter shut. “Yes,” you sigh. “Thank you, Master.”

He chuckles warmly. “Guess you learned your lesson tonight, after all.”

#bts smut #hoseok smut #namjoon smut #taehyung smut #bangtanarmynet #ksmutclub #thekimlinenet #smutcentralnet #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #bts x reader smut #hoseok x reader smut #taehyung x reader smut #namjoon x reader smut #yoonkook smut #jin x reader smut #dom namjoon #dom taehyung #dom hoseok #dom jin #dom yoongi #sub jungkook

[the-new-anime-girl]

Hiii!! I just read your post about Gojo and sugar and overstimulation and I need mooooore info!!! I really like it and I want to read it with details, could you do a long post about that?? (I don’t care if it has ten page on Word, I’ll gladly read it <3) have a wonderful day and stay safe!!!

Thank you for the ask, it really surprised me in a good way when I saw it, and I hope this post is satisfactory! Don't be afraid to ask for clarifications, I'll use my still-shallow understanding of psychology to answer to the best of my abilities!

Now, MANGA SPOILERS FOR JJK (Mainly Flashback arc)! Enjoy :)

Let's begin with my hypothesis that Gojo is especially sensitive to some types of physical touch, in this case pain. I think that's because of the infinity (which he used only in battle as a teen but seems to always use as an adult). Gojo isn't used to being injured and feeling pain like that. As an adult he may even be unused to everyday pains like stubbing a toe.

Him being unused to any serious pain may explain his intense reaction during the fight against Toji.

When he is suddently gravely injured for maybe the first time and that pain persists over time (I don't have the exact time but we can assume at least almost half an hour from the first fight with Tojo to the rematch), his brain could register the sensory information extremely dangerous and set off alarms Big Time™.

As an adult I also think the continuous use of Infinity against almost anything and everything could lead to Gojo feeling understimulated in spite of all the information (or visual stimuli) he gets from the Six Eyes.

People who are chronically understimulated seek out experiences which stimulate them in the sense that the nervous system is aroused (activated). Activities like this include parachuting or gambling. Gojo uses the physical 'stimulant' of sugar, but he could also be arousing his nervous system in other ways, by seeking out excitement. (I'm actually wondering if his teasing of other people to get reactions is one of those ways).

Before diving into excitement we need to talk about the mechanisms behind why we approach or avoid things -we need to talk about BAS and BIS.

Firstly, and more interestingly in this case, is BAS. BAS stands for Behavioural Approach System, its the signal we that encourages us to approach something, like food, warmth or friendly people.

People with highly activated BAS are very sensitive to rewards and more likely to approach situations that can give them good rewards, in spite of significant risks!

People who are understimulated may have more BAS tendencies, so could this be another part of Gojo's character?

Well, he doesn't seem to have a strong BIS. BIS stands for Behavioural Inhibition System, and it's what makes us avoid something. People with very active BIS are more sensitive to punishment, and can often avoid situations in fear of a negative outcome, despite the possibilities of great reward.

To me Gojo definitely feels more like a person dominated by the BAS. And why would he not be? He is The Strongest™, he doesn't have to worry about most fights because he always has his raw power to fall back on. If he goes all out with no restraints he will always win, so there is no reason not to approach a situation if he wants to. And I'm not saying he always succeeds, even in the fight against Jogo he doesn't learn anything and Jogo gets away, but he wins the physical fight.

And even as Jogo gets away, Gojo doesn't seem sad or angry, he is happy -smiling and joking with Yuuji!

In most fights that Gojo participates in he seems calm and collected, but often times he also seems glad! For example with how he in the fight itself jokes around and toys with Jogo, reveling in mocking him.

This is his personality, but that is ofc influenced by the underlying psychological mechanisms and processes. So this behaviour could be seen as him entering fights giddy because he is chasing a possible high reward.

And this could be another way for him to seek the excitement he needs because he feels understimulated, and is spured on by his strong BAS.

The excitement and arousal Gojo seeks in fights may be what makes him reach optimal level of arousal. This is another mechanism I mentioned in my original post, but to put it simply optimal level of arousal refers to activation of the nervous system and how well one performs a task. If a task is easy or well-practiced we can perform it  our best under pressure (but not too much), but if we're new to the task even smal amounts of pressure can make us fail miserably.

Gojo seems to reach optimal level of arousal during fights, he always performs well in the fights themselves. As stated in the manga, Gojo is in his element when he fights alone. Easy fights don't push him, so he seems more at ease there, but harder fights (early Shibuya *cough* *cough*) definitely makes it seem like he is "in the zone" -optimal level of arousal, I would rather say!

Returning to his fight against Toji, I would argue that the overwhelming sensations he felt on top of the effects of the Six Eyes pushed him out of optimal level of arousal, which made him falter and fail.

But it was also in that near death experience that he "grasped the core of cursed energy", suddently understanding a lot of previous unavailable information. All of this combined probably made his brain go 'haywire', firing off and obscene amount of signals even as it was being regenerated.

All of this activation in Gojo's nervous system could have been too much for him, and made him (at leas feel) overstimulated.

(just a note bc I love talking about psychology; overstimulated ppl often want to receive less stimulation and people with naturally more stimulated nervous systems therefore seek less excitement in daily life, preferring fewer people and more quiet.)

Gojo seemed ecstatic in the rematch against Toji -Toji even asked (in the translation I read) if Gojo was high. As the rematch began Gojo was giddy and excited talking about his new knowledge, shouting and laughing. This lends itself to the reading of Gojo being overstimulated, since one symptom I didn't touch on in the original post, is feeling overly excited. At the same time, near the end of the rematch, Gojo seems to have calmed down and become more detached - thinking calmly about Amanai, his emotions and motives, while also quoting Buddha.

When Gojo meets up again with Getou, he looks exhausted, the tiredness from before the fight finally catching up to him.

This time he falls bellow optimal level of arousal, the excitement he may have gotten from the fight is over, and after Getou stops him from massacring the cult there is nothing left to do. As the stressful situation comes to an end, there is nothing he can do except wind down as the adrenalin leaves his system.

I don't have anything more to say for now, as I feel I've covered everything I wanted to in this post (and god it became longer than I thought it would!). I hope it was a little informative, and if you read the entire thing, thank you! <3

#Jjk #Gojo Satoru #Jujutsu kaisen #Jjk manga spoilers #Jjk analysis #Jujutsu kaisen manga spoilers #Gojou Satoru #Satoru Gojo #Satoru Gojou #once again im posting in the evening when Im a little tired so ill have to check this again tomorrow and see what new spelling mistake I did #oh well

[uwuowotf2waslife]

The mercs with an s/o who is on the autism spectrum? If you want to

 as a person with diagnosed autism( ASD that later changed to SCD but concidering my countrys lack of proper diagnosis and non-existant support when i was growing up, im not sure,it might was a result of chronic abuse or i was a really weird kid) its my duty to answer this ask,

always know that you are perfect with all your imperfections 

just because maybe your brain is wired different it doest make you less of a person

you are poetry

Scout

-my boy has adhd ( probably undiagnosed until he was examined by Medic) so you two might have a little problem at the begining.

-he might be the closest to a jack russel in human form, but he cares about you and is willing to sit down and do his research so he can understand you and your struggles. He isn’t a hypocrite, he is a hyperenergetic bundle of daddy issues and is sure he will annoy you from time to time, he annoys pretty much everyone except his mom on rare occasion, he is a hanfull and he knows that years now. But he also has come to understand that everyone has struggles and little things that make them more special than others.

-if you have problems with communication , he’ll be your mouth .Problems with sensory overstimulation? he will escort you to the safest place and hug you tighter than he thought hes capable of. People mistreating or bullying/insult you? the bat is in his hands and his ready to hit home runs on their balls. You might not be the perfect couple, you will struggle like every couple and have fights and arguments, but he is ready to phase every difficulty that comes on your way. He loves you and he is here for the ride even if its bumpy.

Soldier

-( I and i think a big part of the community claim he is actually autistic) Probably the most tricky of the mercs, since at one side he might completely relate/understand you and the relationship go smoother than soft butter on bread, or he might have problems communicating the relationship problems with you.

-as all relationships you two must sit down and communicate your problems. Believe me he isn’t mentally retarded ( a horrible misconsumption ive seen being thrown around), yes he is stubborn and can’t read social cues to save his life, but he is a loyal beefcake with a golden heart hardened by a lifitime of war. He knows he isn’t the perfect man, he has nightmares and panic attacks on the regualr after so much trauma in his life. But he also knows that if he S/O needs him, it doesnt matter if its a small or big thing, he is ready to go through hell and back to make them happier or more comfortable 

-you can’t stand loud noises? copy that privet, he will stop yelling/ screaming around you. Certain things make you uncomfortable/ anxious? hes at your side and he is ready to snap necks...you have his heart and his adoration, he ain’t a coward or a pansy, you’ll win over any challenge that comes your way like the absolute unit you are and he is there to assist

Pyro

-fresh from the start they can recognise you have autism, i lowkey think they might be ( actually in young adults asd and mild schizophrenia can be mixed and confused by not good qualified doctors, its been years since i read that study so correct me if im wrong) or have really good gut insticts. Either way, they know you are struggling and trie in subtle ways to help you

-did an important call without stuttering? hug and smooch on the crown of your head, completed all your work/homework? they will cover you in stickers and cuddle you in their pillowfort, stood up for yourself? my girl theyll make a huge cupcake tray and youll two will eat while watching sappy disney films

- you won’t struggle as much, i see them as more easy going than other members of the team. But they also have big issues that may create problems in the relationship that you both need  to work on. They are more than a handfull and they aren’t unaware of it, they spended years locked inside their own head doing god-knows how vile and harming things to their mentality and body, they can’t believe they are alive and they wake up every day next to the most beautifull human being they have come across their lif, ( Y/n). You will bond slow but strong , you are their sunshine and theyll make sure their sunshine shines no matter what they have to do

Engie

( lowkey i think is canon he has some form of high-functioning autism, just hide its behind the southern warm and soft hospitality)

- when you confess, he hugs you ( a big thing coming from him since i dont consider him a touchy fella)  and returns the confession that he is too. He knows each person experiences different so he won’t press you for explanations or description of what you have is excactly. He just assures whatever happens, he is there to help you with

- doesn’t really change how he views you, but he takes the initiative for things like talking to strangers, calling to order or things that you struggle with, but he doesnt baby you. You are an adult person and will be treated as that, even if sometimes he feels he needs to “help” or “protect” you

-one of the most  easy going of the mercs, but his work is his priority so there will be long arguments about it. He understands your frustation, but he is a workaholic years now before you came in his life and can’t bring himself to change that. His work is his routine, the only comfort he knows and the only place that accepted him for who he is. But, he will be more elastic and have more breaks/ days off even if it means the project will be finished an hour or two later, unless it has an urgent deadline. He knows he can be very cold and emotionless, he is an engineer, not a spy for that reason. Furthermore he has his own times when he is stubborns or has an anger explosion because something broke/didnt meet his expectations or got way too invested into something that turned to be worthless/ uselless so he isn’t the one to judge if you are in a sour mood or you have your own “ explosion”. After all said and done, late at night when you are both alonein his workshop he will just cradle you in his arms and make a silence promise to always be there for you through thin and thick ( as we say to go through 40 waves and 40 more ) because you are something that no machine or creation can emulate or recreate, you are ( Y/N) and you are the love of his life.

Demo

-arguably one of the three more knowledgable of the mercs in the topic of mental health department. Being raised in an orphanage i doubt he didnt had at least a dozen other kids who had from high to moderate to severe autism ( during the 20th century it wasnt uncommon for people with autism to be thought less human or that the family of said people couldn’t provide for them in severe cases so theyd be dropped on orphanages and psychiatric hospitals)., so he has some first hand experiene with what autism is. It isn’t something for him in all honesty, after so much trauma and hardship in his life he is at peace that peopleare different and their brains are rarely wired the same

-he also know he isn’t ideal, he acts really stupid when he is drunk and his alcohol consumption alone is a very big problem for any relationship he ever had in his life and i doubt he is the image of psychological perfection, but he also knows that if you are willing to keep him around you have seen him wasted out of his mind, he is more than willing to put up with anyof your quirks or difficulties.

-you want to stim? go ahead he’ll leave the room/the house so you can stim to your hearts content, you want to stay? sure thing lass, hell sit in a corner and drink a bit while you have your thing. Work/ school/ home life is stress full and you are in the verge of a breakdown? he has already wrapped you like a burrito and he is holding you while you cry/vent, you dont want to be touched at that moment? hell take you to an open field and you can blow things up to get all those feelings out of you. He isn’t ideal, he is at peace with that, but now that you appeared in his life, you became the apple of his eye. He’ll cherish you and protect you both as body but as a mind and a soul for whatever shit life throws at you, he was never one to back down a challenge.

Heavy

-due to the language barrier and his nature as a quiet man it’ll take him some time. If you bring it up he’ll simply nod and run to Medic or Spy for translation. He isn’t shy to do a doctors worth of research so he knows what he has to deal with, he knows his english is broken and would prefer to have a migraine over the amount of books hes read than make you feel uncomfortable. Probably will ask advice from Medic ( the most qualified on the team) untill hes satisfied he knows enough.

-probably the sanest of the mercs, but he isn’t perfection. He had to endure famine and death from very early in his life, always be the stone his family anchored on and most people on his life, so he has his own big problems. At one side he is used to so many things, he is somewhat indiferent. You aren’t harming anyone nor its life threatening, so it doesnt really change what he feels about you. All people have flaws, noones perfect and if they do think they are perfect, they are very, very wrong. I won’t lie to you, some times hell get confuse with your behavior or will get tired of being the “ anchor” of the relationship, but he will never admit it. He survived the Gulags and years in Siberia, this is nothing but a walk in the park for him. He isn’t a fuckboy, he doesn’t want you just for some fuck and then hell forget you exist, he is much more sentimental than he appears to be. He beginned this with you because he sees you more than a body, he sees you as someone he wants to spend the rest of his life with even if itll be a challenge, he was never a quiter and he wont be now.

- don’t expect much communication help from him, unless its in russian. But whenever you feel the tiniest bit of self-doubt or anxiety his arms are open to embrace and warm you with  his love. He might was raised among anarchy and war, but he is a gentle giant with a heart bigger than Russia herself. He knows you two will struggle especially on the communication domain but he is willing  to do what it takes to make your life easier/ less challenging. He came here to stay, only if you allow him 

Medic

-Arguably the most medically qualified of the mercs, but considering the era of his studies hes at least rusty on modern terminology and general understanding of what autism is. Nontheless his a doctor ( with or without a medical license) and i doubt he ever followed the rules of ethical and unethical medicine. He is a healer primeraly and he can’t claim to be the most mentaly stable of the team.

-he might be many things, he knows hes at least crazy by normal standards and has made extremely questionable choices in his life,but he cares for the people he is close to, lovers and collagues alike. He won’t try to ‘change’or ‘medicate’ you; unless you specifically ask him for, like yes he has defied any sort of ethical medicine and has played god many times in his life, but he knows that if he changes you, you won’t be ‘you’. You will be you still, but nothing more than a lobotomized version of yourself and he fears that. Let’s be real, he probably choosed you because you are a smart individual ( that includes both street and book smarts alike) so if he “killed” your smart he would essentially kill you and this doesnt sit well with him.

-feeling down? no worries, the doctor is here ( afterhe finis hes re-connecting snipers new kidneys). Stressed? Archimedes will be your own personal cheerleader and the rest of the flock won’t let you all stressed and alone while Medic is working. In the simplest of works,he wants you to know that  he might be a madman on the field and the medbay, but he is also your lover and that means he cares about you. He doesnt care if act a lil strange or you have some special things about you, guess what? he doesnt cares. H e never cared and he will never cared, all the greatest minds had something  special about them and you are no exception. He chosed to have a relationship with  you and you accepted the love request of a surgery-happy maniac , im sure he is beyond equiped to handle you in all aspects. He might not be the most touchy but he will make his point across that you are someone who means wayy to much for him to change

Sniper

- ( i highly think he is autistic, just the way hes potrayed in most fanfics he acts lowkey autistic, mostly in the communication and sociable part) growing up in the middle of nowhere probably he has never even heard ‘autism’ as a word , so his very lost. (another headcanon of mine is that he is also iliterate) You need to explain to him what autism is and how it affects your life. He has a non-pleasant expression on his face, because he realises most things that you say what that “autism”is and the thing it has are things he actually  has and felt throughout his life. He looks like hes having a religious expierience and when you are done he only nods and hugs you almost mechanically.

-he will need some time, not because ofyou, but because of him. You might think he is breaking up with, butin reality he just needs some time alone to sit down and think about all the things you said. Its one of the biggest revalations he has experienced on his life and it has hit him like a wall of bricks.

- after a few days he will return to the base and will ask you to meet with him on the most secluded of his snipers nest. While you prepare for the upcoming breakup, he actually showers and wears somet hing nice for the first time in a while. He goes out of his way to make the sniper nest a bit more “ comfortable” even bribe spy into giving him one of his fancy wines. Once you go up the nest and you two meet, he is the most clingy he has ever been and almost drinks the whole bottle out of pure anxiety. Once his tipsy enough he actually confesses that from the things you said, he found out hes also autistic. Que him basically clinging you like a broken koala baby while half-sobbing to expell all the tension he  has inside him. Please pet his hair and rub his back,he will melt and quit his rugged manly man persona for that moment. He needs you there, he needs your soft touch to ground him while his whole life comes crushing down and a weight he never imagined is being lifted from his shoulders.After that, its quaranteed you two won’t be seperated ever again, he needs you to ease all this pain he has gathered from his troubled life and he will provide you the world and the stars.

Spy

- he knows what autism is( as a spy he should know about human psychology/mental disorders just to know how to impersonate any person with or without issues) and he is a very observant man. He has above average attention span and knows how to read body language so he has figured you are autistic a long time ago. He is just waiting for you to open up about it or confess it, but he also knows the social stigma around autism so he keeps his mouth shut because he really doesn’t want you  to feel uncomfortable or ‘naked’ in front of him

- i heavily headcanon him to be at least depressed/having an ugly anxiety disorder or even a dissosiative disorder considering a big part of his life is carefully crafted theater , so he can’t say he is any more better than you.Furthermore he never really cared about what society thinks about mental ilnesses, whos here to judge who sane and not? he has seen so much shady things behind closed doors of “ pure” people he has lost all respect for what society thinks its normal and what is weird or not acceptable. Yes he follows the rules of “good” society but thats more of a habit than a need. Plus have you seen what the good ol’ society behind close doors? yap youll need a good bible study and some church to wash away the sins.

-eventually when you confess to him,he doesn’t really act. He knows its a heavyemotinal moment for you but he can’t open up for his own problems, at least now. But he will embrace you for now and say all the sweet words you need to hear...untill the same time he gets drunker than he can and confesses to you in french all his psychological troubles while he cries on your chest. He won’t let go unless he wants to vomit and he will cling to you for dear life while he experiences one of the ugliest meltdowns he has experienced in the last decade. Probably will wake up with a monster of a hangover, but once he feels you wrapped around him and feel your heartbeat on the bones of his back something will meltin him. He will gather whatever strenght he has, turn around, give you one of the most genuine smiles he has ever given in his entire life and peck your lips bore he starts whining and requiesting you to either kill him or fetch medic. Perhaps one day hell say all the things he wants to say in you mother tongoue but for now, just know he will cherish you and love you like the most exquisite poetry that has graced his life

#tf2 #tf2 imagines #tf2 facts #tf2 self insert #tf2 spy #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 pyro #tf2 medic #tf2 heavy #tf2 sniper #tf2 engie #tf2 demo #so #all #long post #autism #relationships dynamic #mentall health

[taendrils]

fame & surrender (m.)

― ❝ever the curious cat, you can’t say no when notorious rockstar V extends an invitation to get to know him better after your televised interview. skin to skin, you become acquainted, and you end up discovering what really goes on behind the scenes in the forms of glistening bodies and alcohol stains on your curves.❞

• genre: smut with plot, 90′s setting • warnings: dom!tae, big dick!tae, alcohol mentions, sexual tension, exhibitionism, dirty talk, mentions of orgies, condescending praise, sensory play, cum play, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation • pairing: taehyung/female reader ft. jimin • wordcount: 18.4k words

ROCKSTAR AU.

The screams you hear are shrill, sounds that tighten into themselves and spread the growing anticipation for what is about to step on stage. 

It wasn’t a matter of who, it was a matter of when, and one of power. A supposed distraction which crawls too deep and makes it uncomfortable either way–the stretch of pulling yourself out of it too empty and painful, the time spent discovering more too consuming and a notch more demanding. Word travels around in big cities if your name carries enough weight, even faster if its heaviness comes from pure metal instead of the alloy they shape in the industry. The words reflect the effect, however unassuming they might be, and with the heavy riffs of a guitar supporting his every claim, it’s possible even for atheists to catch their glimpse of God.

Of course it’s not a matter of who, you chuckle, since there’s only one person who can make everyone feel like this. With the weight of his name pressed against everybody’s lips, a contained sound which catches between them and gets free reign as it is released, it’s easy to pinpoint how their teeth want to grip into it again. The gospels he put out, the ink he splattered and swallowed to build the charm into who he was and stain the raw talent so the corrupted could lose themselves in it–they all served as contour for a distinct identity. His identity. Half boldness and half self-assurance, his rebellion is compelling to watch, since his mouth strictly speaks for his own and never caters. He sings for himself, never for you. But oh, do your loins catch fire when he puts on a show.  

It’s entirely lucky for him and fundamentally damning for you that after the four years in the spotlight, he not only owns up to, but deserves every bit of cockiness that he has.

On screen, he has the allure of an idealistic presence, but face to face the same V is tough to get used to. You would be at ease if you were one of the faces who followed after the motion of his hand, who got lost in a stare from him and lived as a subject of fantasy for the rest of the night, but the knowledge of your reality punctures the tissue of your lungs. It overwhelms you beyond your composed façade, the fact that the breaths you let out would burn under the stage lights and the ones you took couldn’t offer you any stability, as each had to pass by his word. Constricted by the tips of his fingers and depth of his answers, the wait leaves you trapped and focused on nothing but him–and you have a feeling he’d love hearing all about it.

He said so himself, he’d always been a greedy man.

Even now, you are not doing anything, choosing to direct your focus on stifling your nerves; yet his presence leaves you intimidated. Lids closed, he rests on the guest chair, sitting alone before the artists rush to him, pampering his skin and blending dark shadow into his lashes. He still looks alone. A part of you wishes to speak to him, but you’re much too aware that at one wrong move, all eyes would be on you, his eyes would be on you. Despite the instructions you were given and how your head runs dizzy with filtering your thoughts, something deeper reaches and pulls at your essence: curiosity.

Curiosity in itself has been your rise and it won against the lack of both experience and exposure, which put you as a ‘fresh face’ in television. Many stories swayed you and tempted you to search for their hidden meaning, for the side others will not even dare think to look for. Solving the riddle didn’t satisfy you, finding its roots did. And Kim Taehyung, the man behind the notoriousness seemed to have buried his under a pile of personas he came to adapt in his life. The thing is, they all seem to contradict the man sitting a few feet away from you.

His silence is nostalgic.  

It comes to you as a tender shock, since you’ve been watching him for weeks prior to receiving your schedule, listened well to his past interviews and kept a careful eye on his mannerisms. Almost a year ago, the past spring season caught him in the last interview he would give before the one with you, head tilted as he stared the interviewer down with raised brows and tongue prodding at his lips. His posture was relaxed, yet his gaze held a different story–the game changed, as it does on stage when he’s singing; or rather playing.

He doesn’t play with the honesty of those who lie behind closed doors but rather toys with it in a secret meant for your eyes, with the way he throws his head back and bends the way his microphone demands. Up close, his half-lidded gaze is unfocused yet untamed, and it moves towards an end only he knows. He grips all that is inanimate with the tightness of a viper’s fangs and reserves the delicacy of a lover for when he touches himself, fingers trailing from the ends of his mouth to his jaw and through his hair. More often than not, the actions make you wonder how it would feel if the nailbeds stained on his jawbone would be yours.

You need to know more, you realize in your haze, and despite your conscience, you straighten your top and push your shoulders back.

“V?” You approach him with mismatched steps, clipboard resting on your hip, over the high waist of your dress pants. “Ten minutes till the interview. They are giving us twenty and we’re closing the show.”

The audience around the two of you clears out as you stand before him, taller in your heels as he slumps in the chair. Gone is the melancholic air once you make eye-contact, drive fuelling into his grin as the chains of his dangly earring catch the vanity lights. He looks every bit the sin he claims to be, far overstepping the sinner title.“Got it. Thank you for telling me.”

His words have you nodding, easy enough to shake off some of your anxiety but not to the point of letting your guard down. You purse your lips, feeling like you’re missing something despite being the one to schedule things around for your segments. Everything is too calm, and from your position, with him standing down it is unsettling, like a game of chess with the kings sat on their opposite colour. Then it hits you: it’s too empty, too intimate for a backstage meeting. The band who was supposed to perform with him at the end of your interview is not here, and neither are any of the main instruments. An acoustic guitar which is nothing like the electric beauties he uses in his concerts lays against the shelves of the vanity, cream wood against pristine white next to all black.

Your head comes up empty in its search for a way to ask him about it. “Your staff…the band, they–”

V stares at you with his head tilted as if he’s about to eat you whole. The glint in his eye is dangerous and it makes you feel like a prey put on display; only this time you’re playing yourself in front of him and he doesn’t have to put a finger on it.

“Oh, them?” he grinned. “They had a little bit of a rough time last night, but I made sure to come and see you all face to face.”

From the rumours you’ve heard about his backstage persona, him taking pity leaves you taken aback. Entertaining a feeling and seeing it solidified before you hit differently, you come to phantom after his words, as you thought you were prepared by studying him so much and even rehearsed what you would say to him. The pressure of doing well in your first interview made you overthink and analyse every possibility of how it might go. And you’re prepared, you swear you are–the replies lie at the back of your throat–yet you can’t say anything.

“I’m surprised,” he says and studies you, careful to drift your attention back. His facial expression changes quickly, adapting to your current emotion but his stability never wavers.“There was no one to show me around here. In the other one they showed me the camera work, we sat and drank a bit…you guys must be busy here.”

You turn like a toy on arches yet he stops you, gentle. “I wasn’t asking you. Just making conversation, I won’t be here for long anyway.”

You bow your head, slumping your shoulders at his confession–like you’ve been taught to behave around the stars here. Conflicting emotions settle in the pit of your stomach, a simmer of anger closing down on a thread that’s stuck in your neck and prevents you from talking. His condescendingness is palpable, he is good at what he does–having you start to dread your current position. A desire for more morphs in the heavy rise of your chest. You want more status, more power, to be considered beyond your position so you wouldn’t have to bow to the likes of him or act as his entertainment.

“It’s such a shame, right? Not many people call me up for interviews nowadays. I can’t seem to figure out why…”

He doesn’t look at you, rather ponders on the questions–equally demanding and mischievous, innocent enough so when cherubic eyes shift to yours, you are compelled to answer.

“Why do you think that is?”

Your mouth closes on its own as you take him in, leather pants and dress coats, choker adorning his neck, caressed by the tips of his hair. Such a presence is the first to ask.

It startles you, since you were not paid for your opinions and they didn’t weigh much either. Despite being displayed on television, you had little influence over those in higher positions. To know your supervisors are choking on the chains this man tugs on for the moment as they roll your little strings between the creases in their fingers makes you bold.

“I think… they don’t know where to start with you,” you say, voice barely passing a whisper. Seeing how he doesn’t stop you, a part of you pushes you further, the taste of disobedience lingering on the tip of your tongue and frustrations coming out through its flavour. “It scares them that they don’t know how to handle you.”

“And you do?” he challenges, getting out of his seat in slow movements. The balance acquired through your distance is thrown off and it leaves you more vulnerable as his weight settles in your personal space.“Or do you need more practice? You can ask your questions here too.”

You’re pulled towards him with how his voice deepens and he plays with its inflexions. You’ve heard these in his concerts, how he dips into growling tones and tastes the ending syllables. Your eyes, captured by the metal resting on his collarbones switch to meet his, and so he switches to the gentleness of the whisper again. “I’ll sit pretty for you while you ask. But I can only promise that if we’re here.”

“There’s no camera here though,” you state, lost in the eye contact, lost in how your throat constricts when you watch how his mouth curves.

“What reason do I have to misbehave then?”

He is toying with you, mischief now clear in how he quirks his brow and smirks, the line of professionalism being pulled by its threads, and your heart thumps to the bass of his voice. The threat of a clock skims by since your heartbeat no longer follows its normal course, running erratically–over what, you don’t know. The disobedience through your interaction flares up and directs itself towards him, and it builds in your chest, top too tight for the heavy breaths your taking.

“How about me? What reason do I have to bother?” you throw, careless to how your words drown the established boundaries. You have no sense of repercussions. You wonder what he’s going to do next.

His lips purse as his eyes drift down before a chuckle leaves him, breathy sound meeting a restless tongue, as he runs it over his lip. Pause, break, exhale. Steps, composure, lungs–“You’re right. Who am I to demand this from you?”

“I’ve been getting too comfortable. I take from others like they do to me,” he says it with a nonchalance which almost tricks you into thinking it’s a fact. “It’s not your responsibility to give into a brat like me, mm?”

The way he’s coming close to you, head tilted so his soft breath falls upon your cheek, instead of asking, it’s rather tempting you. You had a responsibility to keep your eye on him, you had plenty others to ensure a smooth flow, to avoid being overwhelmed on air where your slip would be replayed again and again. Giving into him, however–it was a voluntary action. He was merely suggesting to proceed.

You slowly shake your head, indications forgotten but still rooted deep within you, regrets sinking in at your impulsivity. You should’ve been more careful, not get caught up in his presence since the stakes have already risen beyond your influence. So why are you still yearning to push further?

Always attentive and attuned, V seems to sense your hesitation, as he takes a step back. You can’t discern between lines of arrogance and satisfaction on his face with the ease he may do it to you–reading into the conflict on your face. The contrast between the impersonality of his stage name and his interaction with you, how he asked for privacy upon sight, how he came to you… Who were you speaking to? The man, or a character?

His baritone keeps you alert, yet there’s a tint of safety to it, of the privacy you’ve been given since the beginning. And once again gentle syllables surround and silence your doubts.

“There’s no reason to get involved. For you, I’ll behave.” He extends a hand for you to shake, and you take a moment to grasp his hand, to soak in how the long fingers engulf your own. “If you promise to do it slower.”

You look up to him in question, but his voice doesn’t waver.

“My name…” he trails off as his thumb swipes across from your palm to yours, “You should say it like you want me. That’s how it gets the charm.”

He winks and pulls away, teasing yet ever the unassuming in the way he claims the public’s attention and bites into it. You follow after him on set, mentally preparing for what’s to come when he plops on the couch, legs crossed and gaze ready to claim every inch of the gold in your veins. The cameras are set in front of you, on your left and right and above, though the most careful eye you want to catch is his.

“Welcome back to Late Night Blues!” you grin as the framework zooms out, catching more of the background and bringing light to the couch your guest was leaning on.“Now that we’ve covered the latest pop-sensation news, for our last segment, we’ll sit down with popular singing figure V and look back on his latest album–Chaos and Disorder.”

You ensure your voice slows down at the mention of his name. Your confidence returns as you spot how he further relaxes into his pose, thighs spread and elbows resting by his sides. He’s watching you with his head tilted, lashes fluttering as you continue your introduction. “Chaos and Disorder, the sixth album of his career and the fourth to be attributed to V has sold no less than four million copies, three months after its release. This is a huge step from the latest album, which neared a million in eight months and saw an additional five-month hiatus.” He nods at your mention of past achievements, brow rising to tease. “How does it feel to have such a reception not even half a decade into your career?”

V pauses, chest rising with the deliberate breath he’s taking and the joviality on his features melts in the slightest under the heat of your question. “Looking at the pictures and flashbacks over the years, it’s…it’s a little surreal, not gonna lie. I mean, my songs are received well, I’ve established my style and I have a clear direction of where I want to go from here. I’m not scared to experiment–I’m doing what I was born to do and I get paid for it, does it get better than that?”

You laugh, and it’s laced with genuineness once you catch his confident expression. “Sounds like the dream life. Are you any closer to it, or has anything changed with your most recent release?”

“Well, not much has changed–I’m keeping it like it’s been. I’m constantly evolving, trying to look on my whole being and reflect on what I want to do better for the next time.”

“It’s rare for a musician to be praised by media and be so loved by fans throughout the years. There have been other acts to approach the same subjects as you do in your music, but it’s a rare instance to get such a wave of support, especially as you continued on with your new stage name.” You can sense the waves of truth through your question’s blinds, your own curiosity having you lean in more–the effect of his presence is an internalized fact.

The industry in itself always seeks for profit, engagement and shock value, and the ways of achieving it are rarely held in moral qualms. Yet, despite its nature, it pushes against acts promoting too much deviation from the norms, though along with his arrival, the aesthetic gained more popularity. The tabloids like him a little too much and they exploit him with the same controlled vigour, praise every line he sings and every line of skin the leather doesn’t cover. It should have eaten him, should have manipulated his essence and disturbed the covalence of his atoms till this moment–if only he wouldn’t fight against it.

“I’m happy they like me for now, they–they’re very passionate. Instrumental does half my job though, if they keep praising me and my voice it’s gonna get to my head.” He chuckles, shaking his head as if he takes his time to bring the thought back onto the surface.“What are we gonna do when my pride gets too big for my body, when I start to think I really am special?”

“It could become a thing they’ll love you for,” you say as you shrug, slight pout crossing your features, and he nods in acknowledgement at your posture. Your shoulders are high, propelled by the reminder of your ability to stay in character after your backstage conversation. “The interest in going against the norms in different domains has even been documented by your fans through polaroids of their creations. They’re even mimicking your pose, and the choice seems to be popular–what made you take the step from your real name to this? Does it have a relation to the peace symbol?”

“Mm, so many questions…” he ponders, eyebrows furrowing yet there is no trace of malice in his words. “Peace is not a common theme in my songs though. I don’t know if it’s a good example, but it’s a nice juxtaposition, using such a symbol to say ‘fuck you’ to whatever you’re given, whether it’s on air or not.” He makes sure to match the emphasis with a grin which widens till it’s all teeth, glints of mischief reflecting as he strums the chords of permission with his words. He’s probably satisfied with your cracked composure when he sees you taking a deep breath at his cursing, already picturing your director’s face at his disrespect–and the fine about to follow.

You remember his last hiatus, how they milked his name until they ran out of news and ways to market his style. No new club appearances or ads, no encounter with the media that would soil his image, no proof to adhere to the rumours about his notorious behind the scenes life, followed by the silence that came in February. The layer of quietness shredded to pieces as the explosion of his last album ripped into the general public. A break again, no words to the media, until your interview which was losing track the more he spoke, the more he ripped into you too.

It must be natural for him to misbehave, to strive for a tight grip on the attention he’s given, and he’s working it however he wants to. Even as the brattiness he used to display is making itself visible in tight-lipped smiles and head tilts, it doesn’t hold much of a bite. Innocence sits pretty on his cheekbones and runs through a body that’s chiselled and polished from every angle–and his voice, his speech patterns never disappoint either. You’d let him talk as he pleases if this was any other situation, but you’re much too aware of the eyes following you, the neutral figures behind the scenes who don’t watch–they scrutinize.

“So yeah, feels good that guys like me are the backbone of our genre right now and I get the opportunity to tear the house down while still having people openly supporting my message,” he adds in response to your silence, and you suppose he means it as comfort.

Your eyes switch between him, the camera and the dark backstage background, fidgeting in your seat to process the rest of the lines you lost as his answer came. The loss of control has you vulnerable, and your muscles lock into themselves, constant pressure leaving your hands rooted on the cards. The idea of forgoing them entertains the rotten part of your conscience, and you choose to ignore the bullet points laid in the middle, jumping instead to the next section.

“With such a broad range of tracks with influences in R&B and funk, it’s hard to classify your music in one genre. You’re constantly experimenting with new sounds and vocals, is there any space left for reflecting yourself or who you want to be in your lyrics?” Despite being sudden, the transitions you use to fill the gap sound natural to your ears, and the thread of your story is steady, leading up to the more pressing questions assigned–that’s until it splits.

“I don’t know about that, you’ll have to tell me.” He shifts from his position, crossing his legs and redirecting his attention to you. The distance between you does not shift–it’s the implications which seep through his casual tone that make it so intimidating. “You know me well–you did your homework, right?”

The balance sways too much and ends up bending to his corner, down to its foundation. He is too relaxed, too confident, while you are too scared to breathe. You now understand why he accepted the interview instead of turning it down like he has done with those he received in the last months. You’re confident in your belief, yet his tone sets off a range of possibilities running through your head regarding what he might continue with. None of them are clear to discern between, but they can somehow prepare you for his next hit.

“Those of you in the media assume you know me best, no? I could play any tune and I’m sure one of you can spot what’s made up and what’s really me,” he tells with the same calamity and inflections from the sphere of truth, which would make one believe and comply. “You wouldn’t waste your time writing all those articles if you didn’t.”

“Are you thinking about if you were to play something for us?” You’re treading on thin ice, but he is nonchalant even as he is confronted with your question, though the glint in his eye says otherwise.

He’s caught on.

“Yeah, ‘course…if I were to play. Fine, I’ll play something for you.” Faster than you’d expect, he picks up the same acoustic guitar at his feet before settling it in his lap. “Any preference? Anything that you love?”

“I…I Rock, Therefore I am,” you say, and you’re surprised at how stable your voice comes out. Your choice could never reach his level of boldness and neither could it reach your previous one, but it has risen since you have started. You brought to light a track which is essential to him and his message, while still coming back to the album in question. You’re doing anything you can to give continuity to your interview, to constrain his deviation and criticism even though it doesn’t have to do with you, and it is more than transparent.

“Mmm, that’s a good one.” He nods, licking his lips as he pats the guitar in a similar rhythm. “I could accompany you, since nobody’s gonna focus on me with you here. Would you like to sing?”

You pause, looking at him with wide eyes. “But…but I’m not a singer.”

“Neither am I,” and the way he challenges you as he’s beaming sets your loins on fire.

“I–I don’t know what to do. I’m sitting with such a presence, and he’s the one telling me to sing,” you stutter as nervous laughter bubbles in your throat. The thought is so ridiculous you are even admitting to vulnerability, certain that he is toying with you again. You stare at him, bottom lip caught between your teeth as the hint of a smile plays on his own and gods, he is beautiful. All delicate features and sharp corners, tight grips and careful fingers, who could say no to him?

You shake your head, overwhelmed tears glossing over your eyes, structures tinted by admiration disbelief shaping your confession: “You’re killing me.”

“That’s the idea.” He chuckles, brightening up, and the creases near his eyes deepen as he urges you on. “Give me a little, come on.”

The melody starts, and the temptation to get lost in it thrums under your skin, sinking part of your doubts in a muted place. As of now, he is commanding your limitations, and his demand is too innocent to further cause you trouble. Previous instructions made you approach him with such hesitation, told you to comply with his wishes and not press him too much about them. But what were you supposed to do when he was telling you to take the spotlight from him in a set put together to serve an opposite purpose?

In a soft murmur, you begin the first verse after the chorus, foot tapping the floor cautiously as you fixate on him–waiting for his reaction.

“There we go. Let it out, sugar.” He continues strumming, bobbing his head to as you end the verse before you’re tongue-twisting your words as you near a faster part. “Good, good–this is way more fun than those stupid photoshoots.”

You giggle into your hand, beyond embarrassed at what you did, so much that it drowns your sense of the current reality. What comes next is allowed without much thinking. “How did you end up there?”

“My manager wanted the extra promo and hey, money is money.” He shrugs. “I need something to fall back on in case this whole singing thing ends up failing me. Might have to work a little on my body for photo shoots, but I think I have the face for it. What about you?”

From your peripheral vision, you see the main cameraman raise his hand, fingers splayed out and signalling the five-minute warning, and any intention to answer dies in your throat. The lightheartedness shared between the two of you vanishes without any trace and the previous pressure lays over the back of your head and bends your vertebras bit by bit.

You peek at the script, checking on what you already knew. Sure, you enjoy listening to him, he has cooperated for a majority of your time together, he’s answering your questions–just not in the way you anticipated. He starts off with your lead, yet he turns it around just as fast, reminding you of the rhythm and bass in his songs, the crescendo that he builds and drops at his own will.

One part of the flashcard you’re holding threatens to rip, you realise as your grip tightens more and more and the paper holds no real barrier against pain. The tips of your nails dig into your palm and the foundation for the smile you have built shatters the more you realise you could never reach a balance. None of it made sense with your current situation.

Pleasing the directors meant filled-out grins that were unmovable, thoughts already printed and the cover of undivided attention as you rehearse what you’re told. You had no real basis on your guesses of what pleasing V meant, but it came clear that he didn’t sit well with rehearsed ideas by how he eyes your mouth. More time is ticking away, counted with the beats of red in the camera lights. It’s ironic how before even considering him for an interview, you’ve pushed for more freedom in your interaction, and now that it came to you without meaning to, it forces you to reconsider your position. Your stomach sinks the more your grin lifts.

And at once, it drops. You nod to yourself, almost frantic, and you have no conscience of disturbing your hairstyle or the golden pins in your hair. You’re hyper-aware of everything that’s keeping parts of you in place, and instead of building composure, this time they have you hesitant and self-conscious. Even the way your heel sinks into the floor has your balance off–there’s nothing natural about how you’re sitting, back straight and chest pushed out. The imposing status which came with performing these acts leaves you bit by bit, and you sink with the weight in his stare. He’s expecting more.

You recall your next lines, you are supposed to ask him about future collaborations, you’re supposed to ask about him feeling threatened by rising stars, but the transition sounds wrong to your ears. Who out there is doing things like him? Who has a more distinct identity, who sits on top of the balance between brattiness and maturity? He would never feel threatened. You can’t find it in yourself to believe, so with the utmost care, you move your shaky hands from your lap and put the script down, ignoring the anxiety which flares up in your gut.

What about you?

“Of course you do,” you breathe out. “It would be a pity though, seeing how well you’re doing now.”

“Hey, I’m talking about you too. That’s a face you want to capture, I’m sure the audience agrees.”

His compliment stirs up the same simmering warmth, but you remain impassive, your goal now becoming clear in your mind. “My influence is nowhere near yours, I won't have a lot to give up. You're sharing a lot with this album, expressing your wishes and reprimanding current society. Is the title connected to your vision, to what you'd like to see as a future for us?”

“Partially? Chaos and disorder, fame and surrender…those are things you have to experience for yourself before daring to speak out. They’re ideals, fulfillments–well, in a sense.” His candour sets a new spiral of hope within you, glazed with uncertainty–you feel you should stop hoping as if you know him. These feelings would soon vanish, you recognise, but now they are your main influence, and all you feel a sense of is hurt at how easy you are for him.“When you want to reach any of these, you give too much of yourself, and there’s always the chance to feel empty once you did. And it's...it's one of those things you're wishing but you're also scared of.”

You don’t know him, you don’t–

“Did you have those thoughts when you released your first songs? Speaking from experience?” you ask as if you’re testing the syllables for the first time.“Your style changed over the course of the albums, even your instrumental, the–the sounds refer to different emotions…”

It is his turn to remain quiet, to gaze at you like he depends on you to give more so he has the courage to answer. His eagerness slips from him like sand and it pours on your fingertips, and you wish to pry further into the space he let you open.

“Did anything… did the inspiration arise from your lifestyle?”

“My lifestyle?” he grimaces. He grips his sheer shirt, pulling it to cover his sternum. “What do you mean?”

“Talking about your first release, Stigma. The feelings of resentment and not being worthy made your audience empathize and relate to it, a–”

“Did you?” He’s focused on you, any hint of the teasing he has been playing with gone. Confident demeanours evaporate, and you’re met with an image you’re seeing for the first time–he doesn’t match the image of a notorious rockstar, he looks like the song’s writer awaiting your verdict.

Stigma, such a personal piece, released as a studio version in his early twenties. The melody you listened to until the pieces of glass in his chest grew into yours and brought conflicting emotions, desires of forgiveness. The ode missing any rights to say sorry, for abandoning and being unable to protect, which is too far from the man in front of you. The one who a spotless image and has no care in the world about who he touches. If he was closer, you’d tell him all about it, explain in your best terms how it touched you. You’d further consider the possibility that he hasn’t changed much from the man he was then, emanating the same warmth. You’d soften your gaze and let your mouth fall open the way it should without time stopping cold.

Instead of pinning you with his stare, you imagine he’d smile and mirror your expression. He wouldn’t make your sphere this small, like he wants to take from you and only for himself. He’s not downplaying his intensity, almost pleading with you to answer, like it was a moment shared between the two of you and nothing else, like he needed your answer. He doesn’t budge. He waits and wants.

“What do you need forgiveness for?”

And when you’re too scared to give, he still speaks.

You don't want to break yourself apart from this moment, content with the tension and the constriction in your chest as it is allowing you to see bits of him not yet explored. Your silence makes you feel you went too far to keep him close, built the same hope to him, as your willingness to tell him about it scatters. There's not enough time to explore his true depth, no time for you to open up and bloom as he must have liked. Two fingers up serve as a reminder that your conversation is nearing its end, and you're hyper-aware of it, lips rubbing against each other and pulling bits of lipstick off their creases.

“It's a lot... a lot of responsibilities that I've neglected,” you say because you can't find it in yourself to leave him empty and he carefully follows your trail. “Do you think it’s a responsibility now? That you’re the face of a genre right now, are you pressured to put out songs that deliver strong messages?”

What you wished to avoid on your part manifests upon his, as his mouth opens in recognition and his body falls back on its ordinary, relaxed position, at the same distance it was in the beginning.

“Responsibility? It sure doesn’t feel like one. Freedom and responsibility–they’re not tied together. I have no sense to be a role model, but if the public takes my actions, my lyrics and makes them into something freeing, then all props to them. That doesn’t have to do with me personally.”

“What should we expect for this year? Is promotion going to continue with no televised appearances or are we looking at another possible hiatus?”

“You'll have to wait and see, but I…I wouldn’t call it a hiatus. I’m never far enough from music to say I’m taking a break from it. I’m still gonna sing, I’m still gonna write.” He looks away from the cameras, head leaning on his hand–“I just leave it for me sometimes.”

The last finger up rushes you to the written ending, gazing for one last time at V, but your previous excitement is replaced by something more demure whose rise blossoms from underneath your vocal cords.

“What a way to end this. Thank you to V for joining us here today, and thank you to everyone else at home watching. Make sure to tune in next Friday for more in-depth looks at our latest stars! Have a good night!”

He stares at you, forgetting any acknowledgement of your mention, and while you get up to bow, he remains seated. You don't stay and question, choosing to have this moment for yourself, to collect your breath before you walk backstage. As you reach your corner, you squeeze your eyes shut, wasting no time to take your blazer off and hug your shoulders, letting your head rest in that space. It doesn't erase the past hour in its entirety, but it silences your thoughts, and you're grateful for the moment of silence you get as the rest of the crew wraps up for the day.

The volume rises with your guest's voice again and you turn around to follow the sound, “PD! What a great choice you’ve made with this one!”

He says his congratulations as he grasps the man's hand and shakes it once, impassive. “Thank you for having me on your show, I look forward to working with you in the future,” His attention switches to you as he notices you staring back, and he makes a point to pat your director's shoulder before dropping it entirely, “If you’ll allow me, I’d like to congratulate our interviewer too. Don't want to keep all of you for too much.”

The same hand hovers over the small of your back as you lead him back to your vanity, and it only grips when you're under the safety of the lights and his body covers you from the rest of the scene.

“Before more pleasantries, I want to know whose idea was it to ask those questions? And don't lie to me.” His gaze is intense, yet his demeanour screams calm to the point where even his demand sounds gentle. “Was it you?”

“I…well…the writers are the ones responsible for my speech, but I was curious too,” you say as your eyes linger on the ground. “You gave me a hard time. I had to ask things of my own since none of the ones from before were working.”

He nods as if he takes it all in, and you switch back to him, wanting to grasp his expressions, understand his actions better.

“Curious too, huh...Did I satisfy?” He quirks an eyebrow at you, tongue prodding at his cheek. “Or would you like to know more?”

“I...of course I want to.”

“I’d like you to have dinner with me. Have more with me.” He’s testing your reaction more, next words slow and languid as they roll off his tongue, “Would you?”

“Are you… are y–…”

“If you’ll take me.”

You don’t register what comes first, your nod or how he grins before gripping your hands and bringing them to his lips, quick, grateful. No longer are you surprised at how your heart jumps, you find the feeling pleasing–after all, it's better not to worry about it. There are much more putrid thoughts eating at you.

You never know what to expect from him, and you guess it's one of the things that incited you the most about him. It left space for you to make your assumptions, to twist the narrative in any way you liked about his stare, his intentions. His contribution, the invitation he extended rose hopes for you to give new meanings to his actions and mould yourself from those pointers in the time you spent away.

You talked to him for such a short time, yet it was enough for you to wonder. You wondered why and where he would take you, if he would choose places which suited his fine taste or matched the raw core of his character. If he wanted his girls like he guided his grip, a little caught up and tight around the edges or loose and ready to move with his flow. If he left enough space for you to squeeze deeper within the cracks you have scratched across his surface.

An address and a time is all that has been given to you, and you should be more nervous, since you were left in obscurity for the most part of this meeting, but all you feel is a thrill that moves along your spine and makes your chest rise up and your smile widen. You had no qualms yet regarding what he needed from you, and you found that in moments where your face wasn't grazing his line of vision he wasn't too keen on revealing more. It did not bother you, since you’ve seen him more in passing, a word here, a promise and a thankful smile there. He mentioned how he would love for you to meet him soon since he'll be leaving town in the next two weeks to perform at the Arts Center. You can't blame him for his decisions, you really can't, because he needed the privacy, and hadn’t it been for his clear sincerity, the depth of his words would have risen and vanished like smoke later when you lost sight of him.

It was an interaction which needed you to be close, needed you to speak it into the existence in the rhythm of his exhales, or else the string would be broken and the linearity of him opening up further would lose its path. The invitation was there, no shame or misunderstandings: he knew he was the lock and you the key, and he dared for nothing else than you opening him up yourself.

That's how you chose to go for now, sure and easy to open, had everything loose on you as opposed to the constriction you felt in your first interaction, part from the clothing and part from him. You smooth over the material of your two piece as you step out of the taxi and into the lobby of a four-star hotel with the same uncertainty you felt upon approaching him; only that this time it diminishes when you catch sight of the same metallic choker, sat over the dip between his exposed collarbones.

Taehyung raises from his seat when he spots you, a tint of a smirk gracing his lips when his gaze follows the curve of your hip and falls into the nets of your stockings.

“I’ll have to apologise,” he muses as his hand hovers over your waist in the same way he did before, fingers brushing against it only serving to make you more alert. “A rundown bar full of beer and rowdy bikers is more my style, but all of them were closed. I hope this will do.”

“Disappointing indeed. I didn't take you for a man with such elegant tastes,” you say, yet your tone is teasing–he had all the ground to represent any style, class or level of luxury there was. And by the fine silk that gave peeks to the planes of his chest and his smooth stomach, there was no doubt he loved to be surrounded by the same delicacy that his voice gave into the world.

“But I'm standing with you, aren't I?” He slows his step as he leads you towards the elevator, pushing the button for the secluded area on the second floor. The gold of the chandeliers and dark of the night painted between the window frames accentuate the atmosphere, making his words sound all that more intimate. “And I still want to sit with you. I say I'd need a little taste for that.”

You cater to his wish with a smile and he lets you pick where the two of you will sit. The place is crowded for this hour, and you find yourself at ease within–there are not many faces paying attention to you, most who do choose to watch are glued on V. On Taehyung. The Taehyung who left his leather in his closet for a shirt opened at the first two buttons. Each wrist tinks with the gold he wears around it, complementary with the fine chain that starts at his cartilage and meets the diamond stud on his earlobe. The colours only serve to complement his tan skin, a portrait of holy aura which shifts its focal point when he takes a glass of champagne from the tray and returns in your proximity.

“Is this usual, or did you need a change of scenery for now?” Now. The moment where you're closer to him than before, where you sit on stools next to each other and wonder out loud, part confirmation, part you wanting to know more about him, to hear him talk and never stop.

“How much is this for another interview?” he retorts, fingers rubbing the glass surface of the counter as he leans his head into his left hand, eyes on you. Mischief suits him well and paints a splitting image of a poster problem child for all the right reasons. You lick your lips as you watch him, pondering on the right answer when he changes the game, plays you as he likes, “Then how much do you want to know me?”

“I...I told you already. I was curious too,” you pout, chest constricting for the same right reasons and this time you can't control it. You had an eagerness about you which you didn't explore till now, didn't know yourself how much it aches when you let it free and you’re met with the wrong reaction. Sure, you were young and starry-eyed and willing to be swayed, a dream for the producers out there–but too much eagerness also showed inexperience you wished to avoid.“I could ask the same about you.”

The pure that Taehyung saw in you comes and goes, and he hopes he can see it clear enough to cut through and sink his teeth into it. This game that you're playing, the bits of vulnerability that you give him, they all serve to tease him, to pull him in more. He knows how the rules work and does not mind bending to them as long as it meant more of you. He's looking to prompt you, get the things you want from him out of you, so he lets out a soft 'oh?' and waits for your reaction, waits for you to continue.

“You...you didn't invite me here for nothing,” you whisper, fiddling with your thumbs as you lean in more as if you're telling him a secret he sees as endearing. “You want to find something out as well.”

“And if I do?” He chuckles, tongue toying with the edge of his canine, making a show of the syllables that make his mouth gape. “Will you be nice and tell me what I need?”

Your career path has led you into being taught what to say, and your mind doesn't grasp all the meanings in his message and the speed at which he turns things around. Without a clear string, it's too easy to get lost in him, to say yes baby, I'll do what you ask. He doesn’t try much though, and you suppose it’s a trait quintessential to him since you haven’t seen anyone behave similarly in recent years.

Because of him starting at your current age, the four years of experience place him ahead of you in the search for answers. The bits and pieces you found about his private life, you discovered he’s never tried to flaunt his experience to anyone–but in the league he is in, you imagine he is not lead by his impulses with the ease that you are.

A fight for control from two different sides of you, that's what it is, in which imitating his game is too dangerous but letting him win is overwhelming to your senses.

“Words,” he reminds with sweetness pouring out with every hit of tongue on the roof of his mouth.

One beat, then another.

“I made the time,” is what he says when you remain quiet, “I wanted this. All I ask is for you to talk to me.”

“What would you like then?” You tiptoe on a high edge, one which gives him far more reign than you have wished for.

“I'll let you ask your questions, answer the best I can,” he suggests, the steps pleasant to your ears. “Then I'll ask mine. I only want your honesty. Can you do that for me?”

The intensity of his gaze, laced pretty in carefulness has your shyness taking over and your head dropping down to stare at how you continue to play with your hands that are grazed by his long fingers. Other times, his touch served to bring your focus back to him, but now you concentrate on the opportunity he offered as his fingertips linger on your skin.

“What made you take that step?” you make eye-contact when you're sure your voice doesn't waver. “You had a stable career, not the best. But how could you know breaking off from your label was the best option? You had enough there.”

Your breath leaves you at once in a mirror gesture of his, since you're aware you dipped into the curiosity of others before you, the one he was asked at his past interview. The one where he made sure the media didn't toy with his boundaries, answers echoing deep within the man who overstepped his status. V stared at him with a fire untamed, questioned about the other's worth to talk to him in such a way, and the same fire is reflecting against you, only that it burns in both his hazy eyes and your belly.

“That's a little personal,” he comments, and his fingers squeeze your own. “Are you sure it's worth it?”

You know you made a bold move, maybe even too bold for you, but the impulse does not care about the implication. The rough edges and insistence to never cater brought you to him, and in his way, he was an inspiration, a dream forbidden for ordinary people like you. In his way, he ended up laying a foundation where you’re free to live through him as you wish–and you needed to further your fantasy.

“I followed their ways,” he begins with a calamity uncharacteristic to how he's looking at you right now. “And I'm not saying that they're bad, but in time I realized my way was the best way. I got to that point where I was comfortable with them telling me what to do and what to write because I had a promise it'll be well.”

“And it was.”

“But it wasn't what I wanted to do. On stage, what you see, that's part of me. I didn't want to sell it, to act and be a character, and I...” His stare is blank as he ponders over his thoughts before the corners of his mouth rise on arches, and the core of his composure changes, lifted to his usual spirits once again. “What you see is what you get.”

It's a surprise to you how it hurts. Your past assumptions match his description and with the discovery, you feel like too much of a familiar for him, a place you were never supposed to reach in any daydream of yours. You couldn't have anticipated anything close to it, for him to speak to you with such candour, but, unlike you, boldness has always been a trait of his. Chains pull at your heart's desire and deep down you wish for him to stop, but the temptation, the stakes, they're all too high, and the possibility of him telling the truth, you can't–

You can't stop now.

You lean in, and your hand slithers under his so that yours is now half-covered by gentle fingers. “We saw a different side of you before that. We saw Taehyung, the music you made before, the vulnerability–”

He hisses at the mention of his real name but doesn't press it further, too caught up in you. “Those are me too. But it's not what the public wishes to see until way later. Why shouldn't I have fun then? I'm not stupid, I–”

“You didn't seem to care about it when you started out,” you interrupt, a habit unheard of from your part coming to light because of images of the man you admired, the one on stage and the one in front of you not matching.

“I didn't know a thing when I started out. I didn't care about implications or labels or processes, I wanted to sing. They sure were quick to tell what they thought about that.” Patience hasn't been a nice cloth for him, and now it wears him down, trying to hold down the revolt simmering under his skin. His tone remains gentle, but you pick up on how he is abstaining from saying more.

“I didn't know I'd make music on demand and that I'd be either ogled or treated like I'm loitering. The label didn't anticipate for me to be the teenage girl's dream or some rebellion the tabloids get to write articles about.”

“But the attention you get...do you hate it?” You're aware of the superficiality of your questions, but you don't have enough experience or knowledge about him to add anything of value. You hope for him to continue.

“I don't. I like that my word has worth. I don't like that I had to compromise and give up songs with emotional value. I hate that I can't have an actual impact unless I act upon this part of my personality.”

“I don't understand.” The assumptions you made and narrative you pushed for yourself make it impossible to wrap your head around him telling you he wanted to continue the way you did. The route he's taken is plausible by itself, but with his attitude and his image in mind, with what he is presenting, you'd associate it with anyone else but him.

“What is so hard? They don't care about my emotions for now. No one made a career out of feelings.” The air he takes tastes bitter, and it's obvious by how it filters through his clenched teeth. “They'll be happy to see me in a scandal, b...break down a little, and I can't stand for it. Better to let it out early than have it be my downfall later.”

The single word sounds foreign to your ears in the situation where you allow for the both of you and no one else. They, he says, but you have a feeling it's half meant for you as well. You have no time for offence, his guilt is your guilt–you spoke in plural too, when you were too scared to speak for your own person. When you wished to detach yourself from the situation, to take the blame and place it onto others, onto another evil which would minimize your own interest.

Thoughts of personal feelings mingling with those which said your curiosity rose from the media's obsession–just like the others. It makes the situation blurry. Maybe you were a copycat looking to get her entertainment, maybe your head was empty and you'd get your excitement from the exploitation of his emotions. Maybe you saw a distorted image of yourself in him, one who instead of wondering and searching attempted to act and not let herself be pushed around.

Your job, your status, your inferiority in media–none of those had to do with anything you were asking right now. You craved to know for yourself, and the realisation sets another ache in your chest. What made it such a thrill that at the slightest loss of composure you would do anything to keep pushing once the barriers were lost?

For what did you need to always go deeper, and why did it satisfy you so much, pushing his buttons further until he snapped?

“You can't know if that's true.”

“Humour me, how many people would have listened then? Two? Thirty at best?” He shrugs, reminiscing of his teasing aura, yet stiffness is palpable in his movements. “I don't take directions from anyone in what I say or the person I am. Beyond that...”

He sighs and leans into his free hand, and the action further brings him in your line of vision.

“I'll be kind and say it's up to the audience.” The grin he gives resembles the mannerisms of the puppet he makes himself seem as it is pulled up against his will. “My job? I talk back, I sing, I make my money. That's all.”

The lines supposed to differentiate you from the mass of his supporters blur, since there was comfort in anonymity, in making statements which cannot be traced back to you. Before you can ponder more over your decision, you find yourself speaking.

“No, that's not what the audience asks for. They want a model for those with attitude, a reason to justify their actions. They can watch you, grow with you and if you succeed, they'll think they're the ones who made it.”

“I'm not looking for that.”

“It's not about what you–” are looking for, but it dies on your lips. There is pain and truth in how the public doesn't care, each selfish in their own purposes, as it was what all of you were made of. Dreaming and chasing an industry that benefits off exploiting your being, for the illusion of spotlight. To assure you will not be forgotten.

That’s what you craved as well, why you are pursuing your career and why for the first months, your satisfaction with your job has been held constant. Seeds of doubt blossomed here and there, yet none of them grew enough to have you fully aware–until him. You felt it with him, what it means for the light to be on too long, for the things you meant to be private to burn under the watchful eye of hundreds.

You can’t say how much you have left, but with how he has been holding on, he still has a say in it.

“Guess I've been lucky then, huh?” In this position, luck was subjective. With the minor role you have, your actions will never be justified the same or thought of as your original intentions. For him, whether he plays nice or not, there will always be reasons to defend and despise him for, no matter if he’ll ever do it again. “Living with the idea that I get to decide what matters. That's not the case.”

His reaction is not entirely triggered by you, but also the obsession regarding ownership of his work, with releasing music on his terms and at the time he felt like it. Topics of money were mentioned, but you're sure there was no issue with money from his side, and your theory is validated by the lack of articles about royalty scandals in the last two years. Irony seeps through the cracks whose foundation crumbles more and more.

“You might be right. Did they tell you to say this for confirmation?”

“Nobody’s telling me what to do,” you huff in indignation before your body takes a more mellow stance, “It’s just… It’s how it works. Always about them.”

“You think you know what this is about?” he prompts, and panic settles in your gut, mixing with rotten curiosity when you spot how his jaw ticks.

Chaos and disorder, fame and surrender, you need to experience those for yourself before you speak out.

“I–I learned a thing or two.” Of course, it's nowhere near what he learned, but you have your pride, you have to fight to reach his level. Fame is the only thing that's missing from your list, as living in the sphere of disorder comes with the erratic hours of your job. It’s not about having similar experiences though, it’s about drowning another boundary, one for which you're purposefully provoking him.

“Is it enough for you to talk to me like that?” He furrows his brows as he speaks, and you'd take it for a display of superiority if it weren't for the desperate edge in his tone, one which tells you he is demanding the respect he deserves. “I don't get it. What do you want to see in me?”

He doesn't let you answer when he sees you hesitating, prompted by your lack of self-assurance, by how you can't own up to the things you ask.

“Are you not the same?” He continues, but instead of the rebellion he accustomed you to, he sounds defeated. “You're also in the public eye. Did you think it would be different for you? There you have it, what happens when you grow.”

Throat stuck with thorns, you struggle to get the words out. “I'll never be like you. Our fields, our personalities... they're different. There's no one to back me up if I don't move as they like.”

No one. Your face falls when you realise your mistake, realise how you denied it in front of him. He had the status to afford to mess with you and leave you the consequences to sink into. With time taken to reflect, you don't see him as the shadow of a persona. You're sure about who he is now, the one who challenged you and provided you with the safety to get out of the norms he kept breaking.

“Then why ask in the first place? Why go off track? I got the script beforehand, the dog got on his knees for me to be on his show,” he retorts, careless at how anger and disbelief pour out of his mouth with the loss of composure. He looks lost as he switches from you and returns, he is searching your eyes for an explanation. “Was it some sort of plan? I knew everything you were gonna ask, I thought there would be no more surprises, but–”

“But?” you press, newfound desperation making its way through you and pulling you towards Taehyung. V. You can't comprehend the single letter anymore, don't care about whatever peace symbol or the relations, part of your past which brought you here is erased. You care for now, for him, for Taehyung.

Taehyung. His name is so pretty. Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung.

“Why?”

“Because I–because they–” You babble, too lost into chasing more of him, elbow sliding on the counter as you lean closer–until you're centimetres away from his face. Your thoughts turn frantic when you see his head down and hear nothing else from him, and you're reminded of the same nostalgia you saw backstage the first time–how more than ever you want to soothe it. You're scared to touch him, to offend or unnerve or do anything which would bring him back to you when you don't have the right words to mend his ache.

There's so much to say, how they never planned to make such an effort, how it was you and your curiosity and no rehearsed plan could have saved you since he was too much for you to handle. You gulp, throat dry and incapable of more when you hear his shaky exhale. It pains your heart and your breath when you force yourself to whisper, yet all you manage is a whimper when he looks up, hazy eyes staying open for one last moment before his forehead softly falls against your own,

and your world shuts.

His shaky hand reaches out, but it never ends up touching you. The shadow of his figure falls upon your exposed skin–you see it when you look down to hold onto the last bit of control you still had.  The brightness of your dress deepens into a much sultrier colour where his shadow brushes it, and he gasps when he sees the same connection. He's lost, and that leaves only innocence on his features, innocence that screams his need for guidance and begs your palm to settle on his neck. You crave for nothing more than to steady him, though all your touch does is bring him closer. With his lips hovering over your own, your heart breaks and falls into the pit of your stomach where it melts into heat. Why, why, why.

“Why me? Why are you not leaving me alone?”

He is too much, too close for you to think of anything else and it weighs on your conscience, manifests as a visceral press on everything that made you whole. The syllables sound broken, whispered in a breath you swallow as you lean in more, thumb stinging with the sensitivity of the touch when it brushes against his bottom lip. He has given it to you. Whatever state of mind or information you needed from him, he has given it up in place of being raw and open for you despite your ties with a world looking to break him apart. It's hard for you to pin what he expects from you now, if he expects pride to swell in your chest instead of the ache building in your core. You can't think beyond this moment, you can't care about anything else.

You want to kiss him. You want it so bad.

“I have no responsibility towards anyone, I don't owe anyone anything. Just like you had no responsibility to deal with my tantrums and how you still have no responsibility to give into me.” His lips tremble, and you catch the movement, fixed on nothing else but his open mouth and the laboured breaths he's taking. “You'll only do it if you want to. Why is it so hard to understand,”

“I'm sorry,” and you hope the broken words can convey their meaning. The distance cuts through you with the realisation of how far you are from attempting to seal it with a kiss.“You don't seem to take yourself that seriously, maybe it's why everyone assumed–”

“But that's what I'm doing. I am looking for someone that can take me seriously.”

You're locked in the sensation, locked up with the anticipation which prolongs the moment and you wait for the trigger to be pulled. He presses on, but the effect never comes.

"Oh, in that case, I–I'm..." you mumble, lost when your expectations aren't met but Taehyung silences any apologies you had when you feel his hands on you.

He cups your cheek with the utmost care, and it's unclear whether he wants to bring you back to earth or to bring you closer so that his mouth swallows the breaths you've been taking over his bitten lips. His hand glides up and down, uncertain in its movements as it descends to your neck, one step away from covering it whole. The delicacy of his gestures has you chasing after the warmth, head following after the motions of his palm, bending how he likes, easy.

“You risked so much. No one knew how he was going to react.” He takes you back to his previous question, the reason why he sought you. He's talking about the PD, the man in his forties who let no ground for the younger staff to express themselves, had no consideration for his employees when the cameras were off unless he had something to gain from it. Of course, he was not the only one with authority over you, but he is the one whose characteristics you can list in the eight months you have worked under him. You recalling how revolted you were in the first weeks–complaining to your mother endlessly before swearing you will not be rendered by it. If you weren't part of the situation, if that scene was not part of your current reality, you suppose you would react the same, but now the thoughts leave you voided of any emotion.

Taehyung is right, you are aware, but you cannot process it.

“Who would you have done this for? A friend?” He smiles for the show, eyes closed as his lip drags across your jaw, shy. “A lover?”

You let get lost in the sensation, let him play you as he wishes in hopes to avoid his question. His lips tease the curve of your jaw, but he never takes it further: he holds you in place as you search for an escape to cling to so you won't say it–how you wouldn't have done it for anyone who wasn't him.

“Your honesty. That was all I asked.” He sounds like he's begging, tampering with his tone and letting you see him for what he is to weaken your resistance. A fighter who refuses to die off gently. “That's my question. Indulge me a little, won’t you sugar?”

The plea shakes your entire being, and only when he moves to say it into your ear you can breathe again. You're brought back to a thread of reality he pulls at, though his presence and aroma still linger. You can feel your surroundings, and they still mess with your senses when you notice the gold all around you, how your thighs are resting between his spread ones. “I'd do it for anyone who needed it.”

Taehyung laughs in your ear, and the vibrations run shivers down your spine. “Quite the interesting answer. After what I've told you, I didn't think there was any way left for you to surprise me. Didn't take you for a liar.”

With how wrecked you feel, body walking the line between tight and boneless, you can't understand how he can be so sharp and articulate. How much experience does he really have with strings to bring a new star to light, alternating between your loss of control to his vulnerability which goes away on whims. You're taken aback by how his voice is drained of emotion and replaced with a sensuality that serves to tempt you. It comes naturally to him, and so you suppose that is why it’s easy to forget, because with him experience every moment in the present. You see him as a new person with each reply.

“I'll lead you back if you don't want this. I shouldn't have to beg,” he whispers and you jolt, too shocked at him suggesting leaving as he rests in your space, touching and breathing on you.

“I can’t,” you admit, weak, “I don’t want to humiliate myself.”

“How is it humiliating? You did not feel a thing when you asked me those questions. You had a lot to say before,” he teases with his tint of condescending before setting on gentle. “We can talk another time. We can do it when you’re ready.”

He gets up and waits for you, and the graveness sinks your stomach to the ground. You walk the same pace, steps slow and deliberate, and you fix your gaze on the floor to avoid looking at him, as if you'd announce your defeat, your weakness if you were the first to do so. Every move bringing you closer to the point of departure gives more heaviness to your legs and alarms ring in your head in the rhythm of your heartbeat. You need to say something, you need to stay–

“It's still a truth, no matter if you choose to believe it or not.”

He says nothing, smirking when he spots traits of him in your stance, in your words. “Pretty games for a pretty girl. Too bad I won’t get to play them.”

You press the elevator button, the indicator lighting up to signal the following descend from the tenth floor. Crossing your arms in indignation, you lean against the cream wall and in his personal space, looking at him from under your lashes. “You can’t say that, you’re hurting my pride.”

“Come on, I have no intention of doing that, I’m just trying to work you a little, get my entertainment. It gets tiring–kinda lonely after a while.” He is rambling, distracted by the change of position and how you seem to be pulled in his direction. He gulps, eyes wide at his own actions, as if he surprised himself by holding onto a mask that cannot stay any longer. In your mind, the meaning blurs. You can't make the difference between the two variants of his truth: if he is selling you the transparency or if it is a figment of your perception. Acknowledging how it might not be an act would only bring you back to where you were before, too scared to admit you’re wishing for it to be true.

“Is this why you want to hear this from me?” you urge, pulled towards him no matter the implication or how much you lie to yourself that you're not affected by it.

“Yeah. You don’t know how lonely it is. You don’t know how bad it is to be in need of a touch,” he smiles but it's full of need and bitterness, the heat of his exhale falling on your neck as he speaks into it. He's far too close for you not to notice every move, how your hairs rise as he noses along it.

“There’s all these people–” you protest, but instead of pulling away, you grip the hair that's touching the nape of his neck. You're not sure if you mean for an ode his audience, or a warning about the people around you whose interest you lost, but who could turn around any minute at the slightest sound.

“So? Are they going to touch me? Fuck me how I like it?” he demands, chest pressed against yours, and it's so rare to anything dirty spew out of his mouth. The effect is far more powerful, far more wrecking. Oh, how it bites. “What do they have to give to me?”

What do I have, you mean to say, but your thoughts are blurred by the groan he lets out as his lips seal over your own, hand pressing on the wall to steady himself as he presses into you more. His pace is frantic, hands gliding across your body and your rationality spreads all over the place till you have no sense of surroundings, till all you can register is his touch. The first sound is what gets to him, makes him push his knee between your thighs and spread them as his for the taking. You can't take it, impatient in your gestures as your splayed out fingers travel across his ribs, searching for more material to grip. Half-lidded eyes meet yours before falling on your jaw. His fingers reach to caress it for the briefest second, gentle hand pressing over of your throat as he sucks hard enough to bruise.

You can't explain it, how much you like him filling up your space, how much you like it that at every angle there's a piece of him on top of you. How he can't wait any longer to take from you, how he pins your wrist away as his other hand reaches and toys with the ends of your dress, lifting them so he can grip the fuller part of your thigh and wrap it around his own. Satisfaction floods your senses, since there’s no way around it anymore: you’re getting a side of the real him. The part of him who is reckless, who can't wait to rip the same hems apart so he can reach deeper, move your underwear to the side and make a mess out of you.

Despite the roughness, despite how he handles you in a way you can’t do anything about it, you still feel safe. But it's not enough right now, no, no. You crave to lose that sense as well, to get so lost you'll never find your way again. You crave his mark, yes, you want for him to soothe the desperation eating at your conscience with no regards, take the pure part of you and wash it away with traces of his tongue. You’re about to voice it over his mouth when the sound of the elevator opening brings you back to earth, and you hold onto him to find a balance for your weak legs.

His hands cup your cheeks in support, like he fights to pull away but he can’t, heavy breathing falling over your lips–only that this time he bites at them and soothes the sting with another kiss.

“I'm not some tragic story. All that they say about me, my lifestyle and the shit I thought you were going to ask–those are true as well.” He grins, no regards to the people who pass by you. “Not even a little bit curious about those?”

Your body lights up at the words, familiar with the rumours of the things they do after performing, though it holds no fear or judgement. You couldn't say no to him right now, not after he kissed you, the dark red of your lip around his mouth a clear reminder of your act. A reminder that you’d love for your stain to reach deeper and take parts of him yet unknown.

Too lost in the possibility, you choose not to answer and pull him inside the elevator, hands brushing the satin as they glide down his back till they reach his hip bones. You don't think, pressing him against you once again as your hips drag against each other. He nods against your neck, a wrecked chuckle passing him as your breaths become weaker, needier.

“Fine. Eyes on me and I’ll show you.” With that, he distances from you and turns to press the button for the penthouse, eyes flaring with promises of more than you could handle.

The doors to the elevator open, the foreign space they hid making you shift closer to Taehyung, whose hand now remains tight around your waist. Throughout your interactions, you've made yourself one between the tints of gold, shone and felt burned under the bright lights–each colour scheme bringing the best version of yourself for everyone to see. This time, with no shame, dark surrounds you and overshadows your presence. With the exception of the ambient neutrality of the walls, all around you can find leather and recklessness, people who drink in motion with the bass, images you’ve taken as universal truth before meeting him.

The penthouse covers the same surface as the private area, might be even bigger at a deeper glance, only that the silk on tables and the big windows are replaced by accent walls and liquor stains on wood. You can't name most of the bottles you see, much less the faces, but you catch sight of the signs of luxury, how the drinks are adorned in coloured glass and cursive writing. Seems like that's the place Taehyung left his leather at, as everyone has a quintessential part from its element, from pants to chokers, to jackets that sit pretty over bare skin. At its core, the scenery is modern, but it keeps tints of the classics, with an imposing chandelier being the only source of light, the bulbs inside covered in translucent reds. Pairs of eyes turn to you as they see you, careful to move with him at once.

A shadow of scarlet falls upon the centre, where most of the group sits, where most of them turned to watch the both of you, giving meaningful glances to Taehyung and studying your figure, from the crossed model on your stockings to the slight rip in your dress. He grins when the attention lingers on him, pulled by his string, and he turns to you with mock curiosity gleaming in his eyes. “Looks like anything you've imagined?”

“I haven't got to that yet,” you confess, thoughts of Taehyung's presence alone overwhelming you. “Is this the place–the place where...?”

You haven't considered this aspect of his life in its entirety, too caught up in untangling the wires lost from the start of his career and up to the point of now. As you see him, he is in control of every aspect of his identity, making active choices of where and when he'll show his vulnerability–it's hard to imagine him losing that control without his will like the ones here seem to do. Your mind swims in all the possibilities, mixing the scenery with what you have heard and what you have experienced with him. His inhibitions were limited regardless, though their level has yet to be discovered.

The picture snaps on the newspapers you read were blurry and inaccurate but captured the same essence: he hung around places where someone could mingle, make relations, drink, hold no inhibition when it's about feeling each other, no matter the person, no matter the number. Places where he had the opportunity to deviate from whatever it was imposed from his lifestyle as a songwriter and a chance to experience the fantasy people associated with his kind. As the clarity of the area is faded by incense, opulence drowns your remaining senses. You feel out of it, and oh, how you'd shame this if it was anyone else but him.

Him, you think, for him it's not enough. He deserves more than that.

Taehyung ponders over his answer, slight pout shaping his mouth, confirming all your thoughts. He does deserve more. “For now.” He leads you towards the corner where the appetizers are, parallel to the line of instruments and sound equipment. Ever so careful, he avoids the centre where people stare and nod at him. “They needed a place to bring all the instruments till we move to the next city.”

“I'm sure this is the case,” you state without much conscience, and there would be more sarcasm laced in your tone if it weren't for your disbelief and closeness to Taehyung, which has you reconsidering the roots of this place. “What do you do here?”

His brows raise, free hand gesturing towards the groups. “You're free to do as you like.”

“I'll stay with you” you blurt, feeling your cheeks heat up at how fast you made your choice. “I mean, of course. Is this the rule for everyone?”

“Well, who am I to tell them what to do? Mm?”

“What if they ask you to?” The question has you holding your breath as you watch his gaze darkening, the intensity from moments ago blazing in his eyes. He reaches out to cup your face, thumb massaging your lip and your lids are already dropping when he presses deeper–moments before a hand slaps upon his shoulder.

“You said you wouldn't be here tonight,” the man says as Taehyung cuts to him, confusion morphing into acknowledgement. “We didn't expect to see you so soon.”

His tone is snarky, more scolding than playful but you suppose it is a casualty since Taehyung smiles at him. The latter mentions how he was not planning to do so, and his eyes travel to you by instinct, making the stranger watching with intent, doll eyes sharp as they study you. Taehyung introduces him as Yoongi, mentioning how he plays the keys and works for his previous label, the one deciding to stay while Taehyung left.The dark-haired man nods at you and disappointment spreads under your sternum at how he doesn't pull you closer to introduce yourself like you've seen around here. Like you've seen the two women in cut-out shirts do, shake hands and whisper to each other before embracing. Last you've seen them giggling, tangled in each other as you passed the fuller part of the crowd. Thoughts of sticking out too much overshadow past desires, and anxiety climbs up your spine once you make eye-contact with Yoongi again.

“We worked on a couple instrumentals together. And this is–”

His talk is interrupted by another presence, and if Taehyung had the looks and emanated the thrill of the rockstar, the man in front of you had it pouring out of every pore. While Taehyung is a subtle controlling aura, asking for what he wants through tints of games and teasing, the other man's smirk tells you he had no qualms about being upfront about his needs. His body tells the same by the open shirt halfway down his chest and the way his hands lay his pockets, how he stands with his legs spread. Even with the blur around, you can make out shades of messy pink hair and coloured drops of sweat which have dripped down his forehead. He looks like the kind of wanderer you'd lose yourself in with no mind, one who seems like he doesn't care for hiding, skin glistening and pairs of hoops hanging from the cartilages. Crystals adorn the translucent silk brushing his chest, sticking to bits of skin where sweat has sunk in. It didn't take a lot to figure out that if Taehyung was the core of this place, this man was a split image of its surface.

“Jimin, good to meet you.” His aura shifts and you're marvelled at how young and pure he does look when the grin he wears emanates warmth and self-assurance in the way Taehyung's does. “The one responsible for all of this.”

You suppress the reflex to bow your head as you introduce yourself, aware that there was no room for respect and formality in a place like this. He seems to lose the last tints of shame as you take him in, and you presume he wouldn't mind more arrangements with you. Jimin, in all his careless glory, is a pretty face the tabloids wouldn't mind. A face you wouldn't mind seeing every night from your TV screen as you breathed out the worries of the day. While fine taste suited Taehyung the best, Jimin's luxury was written in the same cursive next to the signature of his name.

“Say, how did you meet V?” Jimin throws, focused on you, and Taehyung's hand on you splays out, a change of position which lets you know that he is listening, more carefully than you'd like to consider. Heat is still simmering under your skin as a reminder of his touch he is not keen on letting you forget, back arching when his hand moves to your stomach over your belly button. It's not fair, he can't demand answers from you when Taehyung pulls you in like this and you feel his solid body on yours.

You can't think when he touches you like that, with warmth burning at your side and your mind focusing on nothing but how hard it is to bury the urges of following the trail of his mouth. Pressure lays upon your shoulders but it sinks in your stomach and manifests in how you pulse from it. It's too much, the attention that makes you feel small under their gazes, makes you steel yourself to hold eye-contact with the man in front of you. “I was with him in my last interview.”

Jimin's face lights up in recognition, and a wicked curiosity stains the previous warmth of his smile. His gaze is lost in the red marks on your throat before switching back to your eyes, not bothering to hide his interest. “The bold one, huh? Are you like this always or is my Taehyungie over here making you act like that?”

“Jimin.” What comes off your date's lips is a warning, but he fights against his lips curling. “You're too much.”

Fake innocence settles over the man's features as he tilts his head at you two, peering at how Taehyung's holding you. “What, you can't blame me for wanting to know. I'm sure she had her questions too.” With another glimpse at Taehyung, Jimin abandons the focus, taking a step closer towards you. “Did he satisfy? It's hard to get him to talk when he insists so much on being an ass.”

Another one and he'd be in your personal space, body pressed to your front.

“He's a little impatient, isn't he?” Jimin chuckles, but the connotations are open enough to include you in his game. “I didn't expect him to bring you here so soon.”

“She wanted to know.” Taehyung shrugs and says nothing else.

“Did she? In that case, you can ask me all about it.”

Although Jimin himself resembled the protagonist of any fantasy you’ve had arisen from the crescendo of the moonlight, had the boldness you so much enjoyed in his approach, you couldn’t comply. Your presence there was owed to Taehyung. Your interest laid on discovering parts of him yet unknown, untangle webs from such a complex character that details beyond him overwhelm you–aiming to get to know Jimin would be too soon, too much.

“I asked him,” you begin, words forming with difficulty. “I do want it...from him.”

Jimin purses his lips and nods with you. “Such a sweetheart, and so eager to ask...him. Who gave you the reign for it?”

The question makes your blood boil and your walls rise in defense, possibilities of forgoing the thoughts you've had of him running rampant. A part of you feels that Jimin's approach comes from how protective he needs to be, of both the collective and Taehyung. You're sure exclusivity must be kept, and the stamp comes with being a judge of character, an ability to look beyond and into the transparency of outsider intentions. With the way you're clinging to Taehyung, you can't understand how Jimin might think you're here for any other reason. More than pissing you off, it is upsetting you.

“What did you do to deserve it?”

You unlatch from Taehyung in need of something to prove, hoping that Jimin can see through you without your use of words or the need to scream for it. Despite how fresh into the scene you are, you can figure out that once you have to say what you mean, the words lose their value.

“Or what will you do, hmm?” Your breathing is heavy as Jimin zones into your lips. The tension lays a thick web in your stomach that's grows all that more intricate when he arches an eyebrow at you, provoking you with the same vigour. Anger and craving tighten against each other like vines, you wish to prove him wrong so bad it fades the lines of morality you built. Teeth clenched, you take the remaining step towards him and break the barrier as you fist his shirt before turning around and roughly pulling Taehyung into you.

You feel restless, impatient in your own skin as you cup his face and slam your lips against his, and he lets out a choked moan as presses against you, grip tight as he sits you on the table. The sound of glass shattering is deafening to your ears before you sink underwater, muffled by his breath. Your tongue licks at his bottom lip and he opens his mouth further and lets you lead as you fall back, dragging him with you and spreading your legs further to accommodate him better.

There is a rush you get at the fact you know Jimin is watching, the image of his expression stirring you on further and making you spread your legs as much as you could to bring Taehyung closer in his rut against you and prove something to the man. Your thigh knocks against Jimin's hip on purpose, and his fingers fit themselves into the dark nets, and oh, how you like it when he pulls on them.

“Take a shot with me.” Jimin offers to Taehyung as big hands drift to pull your skirt down, until he could slip his fingers under your stomach. Taehyung struggles to break apart from you, the softness of your lips molding on his tempting him to forget anything about paying attention. You whimper against them, rotten satisfaction burning your loins as you feel his hands falter and how the rhythm breaks, and you can't stop thinking it's all you. You're making him feel like this.

“I’m not drinking,” Taehyung states as he lifts your thigh to press deeper into you, rough drag of his cock against your clit.

“From me. He'd drink from you though.” You break apart at the affirmation and look at Taehyung to confirm, mouth gaping at how wild his eyes are, though there is no sign of denial. Confused, you grab a cup and wait for Jimin to fill it, turning back only when the whiskey nears the tip of the glass. He doesn't budge.

“Not like this,” Jimin tutted, tipping the glass so the liquid falls on your exposed skin, over your low piece and hipbones, and before you can express your shock you feel Taehyung pulling down your skirt, drops dipping into your belly and gliding further down. He falls to his knees, grabbing your hips and pulling you close to his mouth as his tongue cleans it all up, lips sucking on the skin there, so close and yet nowhere near enough.

“I could show you more,” is uttered through reddened lips before big eyes plead for your confirmation.

“Here?” you ask when he takes a step back and fumbles to take the belt off. Molten pleasure runs through your core at the idea and it lights up ablaze when you're met with his smirk.

“Where else? I'm sure that they don't mind.” He looks like he wants to say more, but something is stopping him. “Come here,” he motions as takes his belt off.

You take deliberate steps until your thighs brush against his, hands rising to splayed over them. There’s a hesitation on your part, used to him making the first move–some could say it’s shame burning in your belly at the faces watching, distant memories that remain in dark corners of your mind as the star twirls in his toybox. Taehyung stares at you with his head tilted and intensity sharpening his features no sooner than you feel the leather of his belt snaking over your shoulders till it reaches the back of your neck. He pulls on it teasingly, bringing your face to his. “I said closer.”

He leaves a fleeting kiss on your lips, enough to have your mouth chasing after his.

“Usually you're so well-mannered, why is it so hard to get you to listen baby? I've been patient with you,” Taehyung pouts as his hand reaches between your legs.“I think I deserve an apology.”

“I'm sorry,” you mumble as you throw your arms around his neck, face attempting to hide there as his finger massages over your underwear before deciding against it. He dives in, sliding his fingers in and circling your bare clit. Your mouth gapes at the sensation and at just how easy it would be for him to go further.

“Who are you speaking to?”

“I'm sorry, Taehyung.”

“That’s right, say that again,” he commands, but his voice is breathy. “Say my name again and I’ll give you what you want.”

“Why are you teasing her like that,” Jimin, whose presence you have forgotten about makes your breath hitch up in your throat. “Can't you see how bad she needs you?”

Your unfocused gaze falls on him, leaned against the same table Taehyung kissed you on with Yoongi not too far apart. You’re aware of how Jimin’s eyes devour you, taking in the image of your loss of control, but you’re not shy. You’re grateful for him, for the interruption, believing that his provoke Taehyung into hurrying up. And hurry up he does, unbuttoning his shirt, giving you all the space to roam over bare skin and over the band of his boxers.

Based on first impressions alone, Jimin is slim and chiseled, straight line defining his abdomen. He is a stark difference from bodies you have seen before, and trying to get used to it grows the surprise you have when you get a peek at Taehyung, who is solid in all the right ways and feels warm under your hand. A tiny sound from the back of your throat leaves you when you squeeze his shoulder and splay your palm on his chest, finding how his heartbeat matches yours.

“And just how am I teasing?” Taehyung smirks, pushing one finger into you, making you clutch the collar of his shirt. “Hear that? That’s what he believes.”

His free hand drifts higher till it reaches the belt still resting on your neck, gripping it to have his mouth brushing over yours as he takes his time spreading you open and curling them. “Am I so mean to tease such a pretty baby when she’s already this gone for me?”

You can’t say anything, too focused on trying to push back against his fingers so you’re getting more of him. Your head shakes in an attempt to soothe him before his tongue licks into your mouth and laces with yours, hints of champagne still on his tongue. When he parts, he takes the belt in his grasp and raises it until it reaches eye-level, the hand slick with you remaining on your mouth. “If I were teasing, I’d say this.”

You let your eyes close as the leather wraps around your eyes, presses on your lashes. You're more vulnerable like this, more easy to be watched without a shame in the world but you can't find will to care about it, too busy running your mind with possibilities of what Taehyung will do. The action heightens your other senses, hyper-aware of every move happening around you, so it comes as a no surprise when you feel Taehyung leading you backwards, pushing until your back makes contact with the table.

“I’d say you know me.” It is not a hypothesis, it is a statement, one that has been tested throughout your evenings and which gave you an illusion of hope. “I’d ask you to tell me where I'm touching and I'll let you cum.”

You don’t grasp the full meaning of his words until another hand lays softly upon your shoulder and your back arches from the touch. “Yes, yes–” you breathe out, pushing your chest up to slide the touch lower, to dismiss the softness in place of something bolder. The blazer you are wearing is pulled down and the skin to skin contact intensifies as you’re left with your two piece before you’re pulled into another body, bold teeth grazing the zipper of your top. Your back is left exposed, top still hanging by the straps on your shoulders, and no further move is made. It leaves you feeling that much more vulnerable.

Footsteps are heard to your right and the grip on the belt is released until another one takes Taehyung’s place. You can’t make accurate guess, but you follow the motion of his fingers, know that the large palm below your breast and brushing over your rib belongs to him before he moves again. Others are too soft, respectful almost, and your train of thought is confirmed when lithe fingers dip into the curve of your waist. It’s all too much, trying to keep up with his trail when the touches mix and hands intertwine and lay upon the other on your body until his fingers fuck into you again, making you moan into his mouth.

“Taehyungie, look at how much she likes it.” Jimin says into your hair, marvelled and Taehyung’s pace increases, a third finger teasing at you.

You’re getting closer to your orgasm, voice left free and inhibitions gone as you whine and whimper at the smallest touch, at every motion inside of you. Your reasoning pours from your mind right between your thighs, yet no matter the moans and how wrecked you feel, you still can’t prevent your mouth from speaking, questions left unanswered still gnawing at you. “Do you do this with a lot of people?”

“I do,” he admits freely, breathing into your neck, and you hold no judgement. He seems to press himself deeper into you as he anticipates your next question. “Most of the time with however many Jimin wants. You should see him, he's very demanding.”

His reply births another meaning to his words and spreads heat to your core, burning the remaining sanity you had so hard you jolt, clenching around his fingers. Taehyung, surrounded by more bodies. Oh.

“In the future, you could join us if you ask. Jimin doesn't seem too upset about it.”

“Aren't you happy? You'll have to ask.” Jimin teases, and he seems to hold it over your head, yet all his remarks do is make you roll your hips harder into Taehyung.

“That’s all it would take to make me do so much.” Taehyung pauses to laugh, a little wicked and breathless and right as you want him. “Scream your name? I’ll scream for you. I'll do it if you want it.”

He scissors his fingers inside of you to support his claim, that you throw your head back, sense of reality alternating the balance. Jimin holds you still, darkness muting everything else surrounding you.

“Ask me.” Taehyung demands, adding a third finger, and the knot in your stomach tightens until the friction has the fibers breaking the foundation apart. “Ask.”

“Make me cum,” you whisper, defeated. “Please make me cum.”

At your plea, he press on your clit, touch firm and tight and you unravel, thighs shaking as Taehyung mutters little praises. Before you can catch your breath, you don’t register how he keeps going until you feel how sensitive you are, body trembling against him but he is relentless, tone sweet and apologetic. “I’m sorry baby, you’ll need it.”

You hiss at the overstimulation, unable to register what he is talking about until head of his cock pushing against your sore clit and slides further, length reaching your stomach. You gasp as he repeats the motion, your thighs closing around him.

A higher, sultrier voice speaks and tangles you deeper into Taehyung’s nets. “Look at him, such a wicked man, and you'd let him touch you? Let him stretch you open? My, my.”

“Jimin's right. You'd let me do whatever I wanted, right?" he taunts as he pushes in inch by inch, stretching you beyond what you'd normally take. He's so big. "What a little deviant.”

Your moans are swallowed once he thrusts into you messily, all senses of morality gone. Yes, you would do whatever he asked, you realise as he sets a rhythm, slow and reaching depths that haven’t been stained before. Your morality ends in downfall as your head falls back, dizzy. In your haze you can’t think of anything else, only Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung, how let him take and take no matter who is watching and what might come after.

“Do you even care about the consequences?” Jimin's condescending tone makes its way to you, the world outside is so muted you hear it right by your ear. You whine, ashamed and needy, because you don't and you wouldn't even consider them if it meant getting your pleasure. Jimin takes it as a cue to push you further. “Oh, you don't, you're so close, you want it so bad, yeah? Poor baby.”

“Ah, fuck–please.” You can’t help begging when plump lips kiss behind your ear and the grip loosens, belt falling off your eyes, and you can’t understand how he’s in front of you, inside of you, moaning because of you. It’s not possible that you have such an effect because how far up he is, how unreal he is.

Taehyung gazes at you with unspoken promises and primal need to claim, and you want to scream how you’re his for the night, and you’d remain that way for other times, titles which dance to the night in fear of what the light brings spinning in your head.

As much as he toys with the idea of sharing, he is possessive, you can sense it in the way he grips you harder than the others, how he groans and keeps you at a closeness where your breaths mingle. You can sense it in how his body shields yours despite the setting and how he asked for you in the open and under scrutiny.

It turns out you get a sick pleasure from it, from the low pitch he can't shake off, familiar yet contrasting the playful aura resting within the shape of a classy surface. From what you have noticed, Taehyung as a man and in regards to his own self must not allow anything far away from the untouchable. Like this, he looks disheveled, messy from his sticky hair to his clothes and down to the way he is handling you.

“Look how well you're taking it, you're so good for me, shit.” He mouths at your neck and grips your chin before tilting it down, fixing your eyes on the motion of cock sliding in and out of you. “Gonna let me be a man, mm? Watch me stretch you out?”

You can’t nod, the breaths you’re taking and nothing else overwhelming you as you get closer, knot building so soon and with no regards to your feelings. Your hand travels and reaches into your thighs, opens you further for him as he fucks harder, faster, until your toes are curling in your satin heels.

“Oh–fuck. Too much.” you cry out when coming down from your orgasm you still feel him rutting into you.

“I know baby, I do–” he gasps, pace turning frantic as he pulls you to his chest, little whimpers leaving you at his insistence. You can't make out the ties between how weak his voice is and how hard he fucks into you, chasing his release. “Just a little more.”

He uses the last bits of his energy thrusting in deep, slow drags of his cock into you, a primal growl makes its way from his chest before pulling out of you.

His cock pulses on your stomach as he cums, and your fingers follow its path, bringing them to your mouth for a taste. The substance stains your lips as you dip it in, craving to swallow though you can't bring yourself to do it. An urge deep within tells you to await his request, tying you to him, “Open up.” You obey, letting him see his cum in your mouth, how your tongue swipes across it and Taehyung coos, reaching to caress your jaw. “Want more of me? Close.”

He drags his finger down your neck, throat bobbing under his thumb as you swallow. “Very good, such a sweet girl.”

You find comfort on the feel of sturdy wood, still pulsing from sensitivity and need, Taehyung's embrace holding your threads to reality. The bass is thumping along with the beat of your heart, but you can't hear anything else for now, senses surrounded by a thick fog that clears up only when you feel another hand turning your jaw. Jimin drags the wet tissue across your mouth, careful not to miss on the corners and you stare at his plump lips, remember how wild his eyes were as he dug the same fingers into his thigh, pushing himself not to touch you any further.

Your fingers circle his wrist, guiding his soft gaze to yours. You pucker your lips and he grants your wish, covering them in a gentle caress, almost shy. His touch barely there, treating you with such tenderness it has you whimper at the contrast between his words and his kiss.

“I…” Taehyung watches you with expectations gleaming in his eyes as you push your hips up. He stills them and bites his lips as Jimin taunts him further, poster troublemaker for all the right reasons.

Taehyung has no reason to hide. He doesn’t play with the honesty of those who lie behind closed doors but rather toys with it in a secret meant for your eyes, with the way he throws his head back and bends you the way his body demands. Up close, his half-lidded gaze is unfocused yet untamed, and it moves towards an end only he knows. He grips all that is inanimate with the tightness of a viper’s fangs and reserves the delicacy of a lover for when he touches you, fingers trailing from the ends of your mouth to your jaw and through your hair as he fucks deeper into you. More often than not, the actions make you wonder how it would feel if the nailbeds stained on his jawbone would remain as yours.

“How is it?” he asks through the haze you’re in, messy hair and scarlet around his mouth, expression far overstepping the sinner title. “Feeling sated?”

It must be natural for him to misbehave, to strive for a tight grip on the attention he’s given, and he’s working it however he wants to. Even as the brattiness he used to display is making itself visible in full smiles and head tilts, it doesn’t hold much of a bite. Innocence sits pretty on his cheekbones and runs through his tongue, through your body that’s covered by his marks and feels coarse from every angle.

What is about to follow makes sense to you, because it is a matter of when, and one of power. A power you surrender as pleasure pushes at you until it stings, until you shake your head and shake off any past thought you have wished to bring into this.

“More,” you say and spreads you further and claims his space till there’s no part of you he hasn’t covered, no root left untouched. He nods and teases you in the way it makes your head swim as buries himself within you to the core, taking and taking until his lips are over yours again, bitten and about to taint the tears on your cheeks.

A moan tears out of him as he praises you more, voice rough with effort, and he seems to have the same reaction you do as he hears himself talk. The words reflect the effect, however unassuming they might be, and with the heavy breaths of a clear desire supporting his every claim, it’s possible even for atheists to catch their glimpse of God.

a/n: for my sweethearts who might have caught it, taehyung’s character is partially inspired by prince and his songs, and the interview scene was inspired by his interview with maria bartiromo in 2004! scream to me about him please. chaos and disorder wasn’t much of a happy album for prince, but i thought the title was cool. i killed 2 of my 3 braincells writing this and slaved away for ur consideration ok byye

#kwritersworldnet #networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #btsguild #kwordsmiths #thekpopnet #ktaenet #bts smut #taehyung smut #bts x reader #taehyung x reader #bts scenarios #taehyung scenarios #bts x you #taehyung x you #v x reader #v smut #bts fic #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fanfic #bts aus #rockstar au #kpop smut #kpop scenarios #bangtan scenarios #bangtan smut

[transastronautistic]

I have some friends that watch the good doctor and I’ve only seen one episode but I wanted to know if you think it’s good representation of autism and if there is anything I should know before I watch it because it looks really good?

Ah yes hello!! Overall I think The Good Doctor is a fantastic portrayal of one autistic person – it does not try to represent All Autistic People, and that’s a good thing. It’s not perfect, but it’s pretty great. I find a lot of Shaun’s actions and experiences very relateable as an autistic person.

I’ll start with some general content warnings so that you know what to watch out for when starting the show; then I’ll go through the pros and cons of its portrayal of autism.

Content warnings for the show:

Anti-autistic ableism. Other characters are often ableist towards Shaun. This is usually portrayed well, in my opinion – it’s what I would expect from other surgeons and from some patients when an autistic surgical resident comes into a hospital; but it’s not always fun to watch. As the season has gone on, ableism from the main characters has (mostly) decreased, luckily! They’re learning. However, spoilers for a later episode, one character pushes Shaun into a meltdown at one point

Abuse, animal cruelty. In some of the earliest episodes, there’s emotional abuse of Shaun by his dad as well as very cruel bullying from his peers, and there’s also brief animal cruelty.

Death of a sapphic woman. In one episode, a sapphic woman dies after being injured and we see her wife grief. That was really hard for me to watch; if you message me I can tell you which ep and give you more details.

Death and surgical gore stuff, as you would expect in a medical drama.

Weaknesses in its portrayal of autism:

Non-autistic actors and consultants. Shaun is played by Freddie Highmore, who is not autistic. It definitely would have been cooler to have an actually autistic actor. And the main “autism consultant” of the show is Melissa Reiner, who isn’t autistic herself but works with “families who have children on the Autism spectrum.” (The explanation of her work with autistic kids is not worded super great but at least aba isn’t mentioned, so hey, maybe her therapy is actually good?) Still, the portrayal of autism feels real and accurate enough that I’m surprised that the actor and consultant are not autistic; wherever they’re getting their information, it’s working for them.

Not a diverse portrayal of autism. Shaun is a white man, most likely cis and probably straight – just like most portrayals of autism already in fiction. Some people genuinely don’t realize that people other than white men can be autistic, and lack of diverse representation doesn’t help fight that misconception. The only other canonically autistic character so far was also white and male. (I do want to note that the actual show has a lot of racial diversity and some great female characters, though. So it’s not horrible in terms of overall diversity.)

Claiming Shaun has savant syndrome. I don’t think Shaun has any traits that can’t be explained simply by autism; they didn’t have to give him savant syndrome. I feel like they did it just to explain his high intelligence…as if autistic people…can’t be smart? idk. What do other autistic folks think about that?

Functioning labels are used in the show. I don’t recall Shaun ever calling himself high-functioning, but other characters sometimes call him that.

Infringements on Shaun’s agency. A character who is near and dear to Shaun keeps pushing Shaun to get a caregiver despite Shaun clearly not wanting one, and it’s annoying me. Still, if the overall message ends up being that this is a bad thing (the arch isn’t complete yet so I’m not sure if it will or won’t), then I’d move this point over to the show’s strengths.

Strengths in its portrayal of autism:

Switching between person first and identity first language. Since autistic people ourselves will often switch around saying we’re autistic, have autism, or are on the spectrum, I like that the characters switch around their language too. I tried to keep count of which language Shaun used most, I think it was fairly evenly split between have autism and autistic. 

Autistic traits without overdoing it. Some fiction crams a ton of traits into one character as if to be autistic you have to express the whole list of traits…I don’t feel like this show does that with Shaun. But here are some of the traits he does express:

 sensory overload – Shaun responds to unfamiliar and/or overwhelming environments by rocking or fiddling with his toy knife, and seems to be semi-verbal during them: unable to answer questions but able to reply to statements. He rocks when distressed.

special interests – it is clear that human anatomy is a special interest for Shaun; when a traumatic thing happens engaging in this interest is the only comfort he has. I write more on the show’s treatment of special interests in this post (with show spoilers).

routine

samefoods!

high spatial intelligence

difficulty understanding sarcasm and flirting

trouble expressing to others what he plans to do sometimes

uncomfortable with physical contact, though he usually tolerates it and at at least one point initiates it on his own terms

at least one shutdown and one meltdown are depicted

repeating phrases – some being instances of echolalia, others being an attempt to make people understand

fixation on what needs to be done; he calls it perseveration – he won’t stop thinking about a thing if it spikes his interest or seems out of place to him or is a puzzle to be solved

Stimming! The word stimming has only been used one time in the show so far; I do wish it was used more often, especially since the one instance of its use was for the behavior of the teen-aged autistic patient featured in one episode – that was an example of anxious, overwhelmed stimming, so it would be nice to have them use that word to name an instance of positive stimming as well, in my opinion. But anyway, whether or not they call it stimming Shaun stims a lot! It’s usually in more subtle ways, which gives me the feeling he’s been taught to repress more overt stims, which makes sense with his history of abuse and bullying. Some of his main stims include holding his hands folded, pacing, and rocking. When he’s upset or overstimulated he raises his hands near his head and at one point when melting down hits his head.

Breaking down some stereotypes.

Even though they call him “high functioning,” Shaun does not fit the usual definition of that label. He needs less support for some things, and more for other things. There are times when he is selectively verbal.

Shaun evinces deep compassion for people, which is nice when “emotionless, heartless robot” is a common stereotype about autistic people. At the same time, the way he expresses that compassion and his emotions is not a neurotypical way, and some characters miss it.

Shaun gets crushes and seems to have a sex drive. Fiction tends to make autistic characters completely desexualized or else over-sexualized in a creepy way (like in Netflix’s Atypical, where the guy doesn’t respect boundaries or consent). While I personally am not a fan of some of the ways they portray Shaun’s sexuality, it is cool that they’re trying to dismantle the usual stereotypes.

Shaun is able to establish meaningful relationships, contrary to a really hurtful stigma about autistic people. His relationship with his brother as a kid, his relationship with Dr. Glassman, and his friendship with Claire are some examples. Something I appreciate about his friendship with Claire is that she doesn’t expect him to make all the effort at communicating her way – she tries to communicate his way, too.

Portraying anti-autistic ableism as a civil rights issue. In the first episode, the discussion around whether an autistic person should be “allowed” to be a surgeon is framed as a civil rights issue – Aaron talks about how not long ago a Black surgeon or a woman surgeon would not have been accepted at the hospital, and it’s likewise bigoted to reject a surgeon simply for being autistic. He notes how the same arguments were used – did they have the emotional control, what would the patients think – to bar women and Black people that the hospital is now using against Shaun.

Do other autistic folks have any thoughts on the pros and cons of autistic representation in The Good Doctor?

#autTGD #autisticwatchingthegooddoctor #the good doctor #autistic representation #doctor shaun murphy #chatting tag #averygaypost #Anonymous

[adorainetheria]

Alters talk about things that should be simple,,, but aren't.

Part 1- Noise

Sound is one of, if not the most refined sense we have. We can hear, remember and echo a sound exactly. But can't handle a lot of sound at once. We get overwhelmed and overstimulated quickly, partly because we have Autism so our sensory experiences are different, and partly because of trauma. Either way, it's the one thing we hate- All the noise! Oh, the noise, noise, noise, noise!!

"Calm down, it's just some noise."

My mind doesnt process sounds like you. All the sounds I hear in a given time I hear and process at the same time and the same volume. I cant tune things out. Noise reminds me of having to sit and listen to my parents fight .. which always ended in screaming "Get off of me! You're hurting me!" from my mom. So its memories too. 🌦

You dont understand how much is tied to noise for me... for you noise is just noise. But for me, when theres a lot of noise all I can remember is being locked in a room with a speaker that played a horrifically loud and high pitched droning sound for hours and hours on end. Just to break me down, make me tired, overwhelmed, scared, overstimulated, submissive and primed for abuse.. So noise isnt just sounds for me, it's memories too...🦖

Well, it's not just noise. For you it might be, but with every loud sound it get taken back to hearing my step father screaming my name before he bursts in the room and tries to choke me. Or when he punched through my bedroom door to get to me. So no. Not just noise. 🌊

When we get overstimulated we get really grumpy and snappy. We dont interact well with others, we're more likely to yell and be mean if we're overstimulated. Our body gets tense and we get anxious. If we stay in that situation, it feels like our stamina is lowered 5% every minute. After overstimulation we try and lay down in a dark room with music to calm down. 🐱

We have a LOT of sounds inside too! And it's all going at once. It might be talking, commenting, music, arguing, crying, laughing stuff like that. But when things are loud outside, they're loud inside too, so everyone who's near the front feel overwhelmed. And everyone in the body will feel it afterwards. 💖

[basburrry]

The Benefits of Commuting via Bicycle

Some people may see cycling as a boring or dangerous activity, and there is definitely a stigma to being a cyclist, but in this post I will show the many benefits of cycling. Before I begin, I will state that I love bicycles, and have a pretty sweet one that I ride around Davis. I also have a road bike that I use for exercise, but that one is not relevant to this post. In my opinion everybody should have one, since they are fun to ride. That being said, I have a lot of research about why cycling is good for personal health and the environment, so I hope that this post can help convince some people that cycling is pretty cool.

A pic of me with my helmets

My bike. Her name is Brandy

I’m going to start with the physical health benefits of commuting via bicycle, since they are some of the most immediate and important factors that affect individuals.In “Health effects of Active Commuting to Work: The Available Evidence Before GISMO (Schafer 2020),” it is emphasized that sedentary lifestyles are a major risk factor for a myriad of chronic illnesses, and that 150 minutes of exercise per week is the standard for maintaining a healthy level of fitness. This journal included a study where there were 305 sedentary subjects in four different test groups, who were all tasked to commute via bicycle instead of driving or using public transit. It was concluded that, “When synthesizing statistically significant results, measures of VO2max increased in all four studies (Schafer 2020).” VO2 max is a relevant measure for this study, since it is the measure of how efficiently your blood transports oxygen through your body during exercise (AKA a direct show of heart strength). With cardiovascular disease becoming a large problem in American health, this development has the potential to extend many people’s lifespans. Commuting will not turn you into a world class athlete, but it is proven to have fitness benefits.

Both of these people are raising their VO2 max, just at different speeds

Along with the physical health aspect, mental health and stress relief is a commonly stated benefit of riding your bike. It is a common sentiment that physical exercise is a great way to relieve stress and improve one’s mental state, but the truth of these claims is sometimes disputed. Personally, I enjoy exercise very much when I am stressed, as it is a solid release of the nervous energy that builds up in the body. Commuting by bike is a solution to two major problems that arise when driving a car. First off, being stuck in traffic can be very stressful to some people. In the paper, Why are Cyclists the Happiest Commuters? Health, Pleasure, and the E-Bike (Wild, Woodward 2019)” It is stated that driving in high-traffic areas can lead to the driver becoming overstimulated and quite stressed. Drivers more often than not describe their commute as stressful, while cyclists are more likely to enjoy their commute. Some of the central reasons for this are described to be “a high degree of commuting control and  ‘arrival-time reliability,’” “enjoyable levels of sensory stimulation,” and “The ‘feel better’ effects of moderate intensity exercise,” among other factors. These three factors are the holy trinity of reasons that people generally enjoy cycling to work more than driving. The freedom and control of not having to deal with traffic is a big deal to many people, let alone the physical health aspect of the commute. 

This could be you if you rode your bike more

Now we have passed through some of the personal benefits of riding a bike around if possible, but now we will cover how much it can benefit the environment. While people know that cycling is better for the environment than driving, it is important to highlight how much better it is. To start, one must burn fuel in order to drive, while cycling uses none. In an article on bayareabiketowork.com, it is stated that “each car produces another 1.3 billion cubic yards of polluted air” in its lifetime among other pollutants. Along with this, the brake pads produce pollution. Bicycles use a similar braking system (if you have rim brakes on), but they do not produce as much force, and therefore wear down less pad material per stop. If you were to not have a car and only own a bike, then you would be cutting many of the environmental effects of producing a car as well. The average automobile weighs roughly 2,800 lbs according to Google, while a cheap road bike will run under 25 lbs. This would make a heavy road bicycle 0.89% of the weight of an automobile. Along with this, bicycles are much easier to maintain, and one could reasonably ride a bike until the frame breaks if they take good care of it.  Although there is not very much research on the benefits of commuting by bike, many people have compared the environmental downsides.

One of the larger points to focus on when it comes to this topic is how much a car emits versus a bicycle. According to Frances Stevenson in the article, How much does Cycling impact your carbon footprint? And how much?, producing a car emits 313 grams of CO2, and it would emit 271 g of CO2 per kilometer driven. This is much more than a bike, which costs 16 g of CO2 to produce, and 16 g of CO2 to ride for one kilometer (food costs). These stats show that bicycles are much less costly to produce and operate, the CO2 saved over time would be a huge number. If you were to replace a 1 mile drive out and back every day with a bike ride, one would save more than 299,482.5 grams of CO2  from being put into the atmosphere. I say more, since I subtracted the total yearly cost of driving a car 2 miles per year by the total cost of riding a bike 2 miles daily per year, but one has to take into account that most of the cost of operating a bike is from food which is a cost that drivers also partake in, but was not accounted for. Obviously there are certain trips that cannot be made by bicycle, but it would be easy for anyone to replace a mile trip in the car with a bike ride, barring a physical disability. 

All calculations done by me

Now, I need to get to the scary part of cycling. I’m going to be honest and say that cycling is inherently dangerous. I have been hit by a car and had to spend time in the Intensive Care Unit, albeit this is a very rare experience. There are some things that you can do to be a little safer on the bike, though. For starters, one of the best ways to stay on your bike when riding aroud town is to stay away from parked cars. The left side of the bike lane is much safer than the right, since people love to swing their doors open without looking and obliterate cyclists when they are parked on the street. Secondly, you should always look out for cars who might turn into you at any moment. The person who hit me turned without using their blinker, and many other people do. These two situations area majority of car on bike accidents, so doing these two things may save you a lot of pain. Oh, and most importantly, WEAR YOUR HELMET. I ASSURE YOU THAT YOU DO NOT WANT TO GET BRAIN DAMAGE BECAUSE OF AN IDIOT IN A CAR. That is all I have to say about safety.

This is the silver 2010 Honda Accord that hit me. That dent was made by my hip. This happened over 6 months ago and my hip still looks fucked up. I am blessed that it didn’t shatter into a million pieces though.

 Action shot. Sorry for not wearing a helmet

In conclusion, commuting on a bike is pretty beneficial to the user. It has a chance to lower stress, increase heart health, and lower the burden that people have on the environment. Reductions in stress and increases in VO2 Max may prove to be very valuable to people in the long term in regards to heart health, and the reduced carbon emissions speak for themselves. While some people may not be able to ride their bike to work, there are many areas in which gas can be saved, such as other short drives. Although it can be dangerous, the guarantee is that if you get hit, you get a fat settlement from the driver’s insurance company. I’d say that it evens out in the end. 

Works Cited:     https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ii_9tTRSUcxUPBNUrJfxLmIJVGAiQL1AvxshjMIfPuE/edit?usp=sharing

Pushing. Peep the Nike Zoom Monarchs on my footsie wootsies

#cycling

[infpisme]

10 Life-Changing Pieces Of Advice For Empaths And Highly Sensitive People

“And those who were seen dancing were thought insane by those who could not hear the music.” ― Nietzsche

Highly sensitive people are too often perceived as weak or broken.  But to feel intensely is not a symptom of weakness, it is the characteristic of a truly alive and compassionate human being.  It is not the sensitive person who is broken, it is society’s understanding that has become dysfunctional and emotionally incapacitated.  There is zero shame in expressing your authentic feelings.  Those who are at times described as being ‘too emotional’ or ‘complicated’ are the very fabric of what keeps the dream alive for a more thoughtful, caring, humane world.  Never be ashamed to let your feelings, smiles and tears shine a light in this world.

Of course, that’s easier said than done, because it can be so confusing, right? … Why you get overwhelmed by run-of-the-mill tasks that others take in stride.  Why you mull over slights that ought to be forgotten.  Why subtleties are magnified for you and yet lost on others.

It’s like you were born missing a protective layer of skin that others seem to have.

You try to hide it.  Numb it.  Tune it out.  But the comments still pierce your armor: “You’re overthinking things.  You’re too sensitive.  Toughen up!”

You’re left wondering what on earth is wrong with you.

I know, because I was in my mid-40s when I stumbled across the term ‘highly sensitive people.’  This led me to discover how delicious it feels to be one of thousands saying, “You do that?  Me too!”

Since then, I’ve learned that many sensitive people feel isolated from others.  They feel misunderstood and different, and they usually don’t know why.  They just don’t realize that they have a simple trait that explains their confusing array of symptoms and quirks.

There’s even a scientific term for it: Sensory Processing Sensitivity.  Dr. Elaine Aron, a psychotherapist and researcher, estimates that 15-20% of people have nervous systems that process stimuli intensely.  They think deeply.  They feel deeply (physically and emotionally).  They easily become over-stimulated.

According to my research several successful historical figures were highly sensitive, such as Albert Einstein, Martin Luther King, and Steve Jobs.  I see this as great news, because it means us sensitive types aren’t inherently disadvantaged.

But when we don’t realize how to handle our sensitivity, we end up pushing too hard to keep up with everyone else.  We try to do what others seem to handle with ease, and try to do it better than them.  And this leads to problems.

For a time, we do a first-rate job of using our natural gifts: we’re creative students, conscientious employees, and devoted family members.  But when we hammer on beyond our limits, doing so can eventually take its toll.  It shows up in things like unrelenting health conditions, muscle tension we can’t get rid of, and being endlessly fatigued or on edge for no good reason.

If you resonate with any of this, here are 10 actions you can take to stop struggling and start thriving:

1. Quit searching for someone or something to fix you.

Sensitivity is a temperament trait, not a medical disorder.  So nothing is inherently wrong with you.  Sadly, though, many certified health practitioners don’t understand this because sensory processing sensitivity is a recent area of health research.

Sure, highly sensitive people are more likely to have allergies or sensitivities to food, chemicals, medication, and so forth.  And they’re more prone to overstimulation, thus quicker to feel stress — which can lead to other health issues.  But sensitivity in itself is not something that needs fixing.

Successful sensitive types realize that they’re not “broken.”  If your mind is exhausted from busily researching yet another solution to take away your “flaws,” know that the answers to living in harmony with your sensitive nature lie inside you.

2. Tell yourself, as often as necessary, that you are not a fraud.

Impostor syndrome isn’t exclusive to highly sensitive people.  Many conscientious and high achieving people fall victim to this nagging fear.  But the simmering discomfort about being found out is often constant for a sensitive person.

Why wouldn’t it be, considering you’ve spent a lifetime of feeling different from others and trying to fit in?  Maybe you blame your tears on dust in your eye during that cheesy TV commercial; or you sign up for the company fun run, even though you hate running and you know you’ll feel ashamed of how long your body takes to recover.  But even if you grew up displaying your sensitivity with pride, it’s unlikely you escaped the cultural pressure motivating you to disguise your real self to fit the norms.

Successful sensitive types respect that their nervous systems are wired differently from 80-85% of people.  If you’re constantly thinking about who you should be but aren’t, and what you should be doing but can’t, understand that valuing your achievements and signature strengths allows you to show yourself as you truly are, more comfortably — even when you’re the odd one out.

3. Seek out kindred spirits (and know that you are NOT alone).

You probably feel different and alone.  But the truth is, you’re not.  Many have experienced confusion in isolation before discovering that hordes of people have some idea of what it’s like to be you.  They’ve felt the surge of power that comes from being supported by like-minded souls.  And they want to pay it forward.

The key whenever possible is to hang out with sensitive people who are already flourishing, or at least open to those possibilities.  They understand not only how to manage their sensitivity, but also how to wield its superpowers.  They know what it’s like for you to feel endlessly under siege, and they can offer firsthand experience and wisdom to help you make your sensitivities work in your favor.

Successful sensitive types appreciate and relish the strengths of sensitivity, in themselves and others.  If you’re feeling unsupported or misunderstood, find a sensitively knowledgeable coach, mentor, or community who gets you … and nurture that connection.

4. Look for the hidden positivity in every situation and soak it up.

The brain is a powerful filter that molds experiences and perceptions of reality.  If you think the world is a dangerous place, your brain is wired to hunt for evidence of danger.  If you believe it’s a loving place, you spot more loving opportunities.  What you focus on, you get more of.

As a highly sensitive person, the more negative the environment, the more you suffer.  But the opposite is also true — the more positive, the more you thrive (even compared to others).

Thoughts are stimuli for your nervous system.  One of the most important things a sensitive person can do is acknowledge the negative (not ignore it — because what you resist, persists), but then let it go… immerse yourself in positive thoughts and situations that make you feel good, or at least give you a soothing sense of relief.

Successful sensitive types decide to see the world brimming with opportunities to feel grateful for, and to marinate in that positive vibe.  If you’re feeling at the mercy of your emotions and circumstances, understand that your thoughts (and the emotional charges they trigger) are always within your control.

5. Find new spins on old flaws.

Your gifts of sensitivity include deep reflection and an instinct to see all angles and consequences.  But by being so deeply tuned into details, you’re easily overwhelmed and exhausted by unyielding stimulation.  And when you don’t understand why you feel and behave in the ways you do, it’s easy to frame these as flaws.

In truth, these “weaknesses” are simply your unmet needs and unique gifts to nourish.  In reframing your past and nurturing your present, you set yourself up for success in your future.

Successful sensitive types rethink old perceptions in light of their deeper understandings of sensitivity.  If you’re weighed down by the hypersensitive and neglected (even, despised) parts of yourself, seek to discover the other side of the coin … where you’ll find some of your greatest strengths: intuition, vision, conscientiousness — and the list goes on.

6. Treat yourself with compassion.

As a highly sensitive person you are deeply compassionate.  So much so that putting others’ comfort and needs before your own is second nature.  On top of that, you’re often your own biggest critic.  You push yourself hard, and then you beat up on yourself when you miss the mark.  You criticize yourself in ways you’d never dream of judging others.

Controlling your nagging inner critic is essential to self-compassion.  But contrary to popular belief, you shouldn’t do so by relentlessly ignoring it.  Deep thinking is one of your gifts, so why not embrace that power?  Take control by hearing your thoughts without judgment (after all, there might be gems of wisdom hidden deep) and then pivoting to thoughts that trigger kinder and more loving emotions in your body.  From that better-feeling place, you’re better able to choose actions to care for yourself and others.

Successful sensitive types show themselves the same loving compassion that they’re naturally good at giving others.  It may feel selfish or vain at first, but it’s not.  If your critical inner voice is devaluing who you are, answer back with self-kindness … this is the antidote.

7. Create healthy boundaries, not rigid emotional walls.

We live in a culture that values “take a painkiller and push on” far more than it values sensitivity.  We grow up hearing: “no pain, no gain; survival of the fittest; life isn’t fair — get used to it.”  We admire those who show grit to prevail over their terrible plights.

As a highly sensitive person your reflex reaction may be to freeze up or struggle to toughen up.  You build walls to shield yourself from hurt …  Emotional walls, such as suppressing feelings or creating dramatic turmoil to distract from the real causes of pain.  Physical walls, such as piling on layers of weight to hide behind.  Mental walls, such as tuning out with alcohol or drugs.

Or, you may let all your boundaries collapse at once, thereby unconsciously absorbing others’ energies and feeling devoured by unpredictable events and emotions.  You try to escape the feelings by getting caught up in overthinking everything: endlessly planning and searching and analyzing, while completely losing touch with your intuition.  And in the process you confuse conscientiousness with overwork, empathy with over-identification, compassion with over-tolerance.  So you beat yourself up about how you know you should have better boundaries.  It’s a vicious cycle.

Successful sensitive types embody gentle but firm personal boundaries.  If you struggle to put your own needs first (which doesn’t come naturally to a highly sensitive person), make a conscious choice to practice the skill of saying “no” with love and grace, or carving out alone time to recharge … and decide to feel good about that.

8. Tune in to your body (to avoid seesawing between emotional extremes).

Many highly sensitive people learn to ignore the messages their bodies are sending them.  They switch it off to avoid overwhelm or they tune in to others’ needs instead of their own to meet what’s expected of them.  Does this sound familiar?

Doing so leaves you swinging like a pendulum.  Too much, too little.  Too fast, too slow.  Too in, too out.  Back and forth between being over-stimulated and mind-numbingly bored, dieting and then bingeing, or exercising hard and then needing several days to recover.  And so on and so forth.

Successful sensitive types tune in to the physical sensations in their bodies; they accept that it’s not always comfortable, but they trust their bodies to guide them.  If you have a habit of hiding from feelings or passing the point of overwhelm, learn to recognize your body’s subtle signs of overstimulation.  You’ll spend less time being thrown out of balance, and more time swaying gently within your nervous system’s range of optimal arousal.

9. Design healthy habits that fit your unique needs.

Eventually, it all catches up with you.  Grueling hours at work, followed by hard sweat at the gym and keeping on top of chaos around home — all fueled by crappy diets and minimal sleep or downtime.  It’s an easy trap to fall into because you’re simply living the way you see most people get by on.

What’s more, some seemingly healthy habits hit hard on a sensitive nervous system — like “health” foods that are heavily processed and pumped with sugar and artificial additives, or intense exercise that’s not balanced with ample recovery time. If you allow too much stimulation and too lousy replenishment, you run the risk of chronic illnesses (as many sensitive types have learned the hard way).  At the same time, if you overprotect yourself, your genius goes unexpressed, and that also can lead to stress and ill health.

Successful sensitive types practice habits that truly nourish them.  If you struggle with energy or well-being issues, prioritize habits that nurture these areas of your life (such as more sleep and alone time), and limit those that over-stimulate or drain you (such as too many high pressures activities — even if they are so-called healthy).

10. Stop smothering your sensitivity.

After a lifetime of being bombarded by stimuli, it becomes second nature to push sensitivity out of the conscious awareness.  Tuning out from relentless sensations, for example, so you can pretend you don’t give a darn.  Toning down intense feelings (good and bad) so you aren’t on a roller coaster.  Suppressing emotions to get a break from feeling anything at all.

This self-protective mechanism might fool your conscious mind, but it doesn’t fool your sensitive body.  This oozes into your health, your relationships, your career, every aspect of your life … or, it builds tension inside until something has to give.

Successful sensitive types let go of the grasp for control.  When you free the energy used to hold yourself tight, you free the gifts of sensitivity that have been lost to you: empathy, creativity, and heightened joy, to name a few.  And you allow your true potential to blossom.

By MarcAndAngel

#hsp #empath #highly sensitive person #empath problems #infp #life advice #empath advice #hsp problems #hsp advice

[susantregre]

Sensory Processing Might Look Different Than You Expect

Sensory processing is a term becoming more and more familiar to parents.

However, there are still a number of misconceptions, and sensory processing might look different than you expect.

There are often sure fire ways to know your child has sensory issues. However, there are also some  behaviors that get overlooked. It took me eight years to really understand that this was an issue for my child, and I wish I had seen the signs earlier.

Sensory Processing Might Look Different Than You Expect

When looking at sensory processing, parents often assume that their child with sensory needs will become overwhelmed by and shy away from too much stimulus.

Loud noises will be challenging.

Crowds will lead to melt downs.

Tags and socks that aren’t straight will drive a child mad.

They often have problems with textures so picky eating can be a symptom.

A child with sensory needs may not want to touch slime, foam, or other such materials because the feel will agitate them. When working with or parenting kids who respond to sensory experiences in this manner, parents quickly and appropriately turn to exploring the idea of a sensory processing disorder.

However, the paragraph above doesn’t describe my own child at all, and yet we are still exploring sensory issues.

I had a friend recently describe the struggles with her son. She could have been describing my own child.

I asked, “Have you considered sensory processing?”

She said, “That doesn’t resonate at all.” She continued to explain that he doesn’t have any of the issues I’ve just described above. It took talking to her about how sensory needs look different in different kids for her to say, “Oh my. That might be exactly what we are dealing with.”

I explored some of the common misconceptions about sensory processing, but what I want people to understand is that each child has been created unique.

How sensory needs manifest in one child might look extremely different than another child.

While some people think it is all about the child naturally avoiding stimulus due to sensory overload, the opposite can be true. The need for sensory experiences can be great and yet the brain has a hard time regulating the sensory event. Therefore, a child craves and seeks out the experience, but it leads to a negative behavior outcome.

Some sensory experiences can be calming to a child and others might result in an explosion of emotions. This was hard to recognize in my child. The frustration and agitation would be bottled up and the meltdown would often come later than the sensory experience, making it difficult to tie the two together. 

Let me describe some of the things we experience just in case you say, “Oh my. That’s my child.”

My child can go from 0 to 60 in a matter of seconds.

When things don’t go her way, there can be a melt down. I believed that she was just acting spoiled, not recognizing that this might be part of how she was made.

What her occupational therapist discovered in testing is that she has a highly developed visual cortex. What an amazing gift, right? But with all positive traits, there can be a struggle that comes alongside it. The sensory struggle that pairs with a strong visual cortex is that often times these individuals have a strong visual movie playing out in their mind.

Since they have everything planned out visually, when real life deviates from that plan, the brain has a hard time processing the change. The result can be extreme frustration as their brain is already locked on to what should be happening. The outcome experienced in the home is a melt down or fits of rage.

My child craved sensory experiences. She wanted nothing more than to be around a lot of people and seemed to seek out things that might overstimulate. She was that creative child who wanted to paint, but she didn’t want to just use paper and a brush. There was a desire to touch the paint and perhaps paint the walls rather than just the paper provided. She loved to get into nail polish, glitter, shaving cream or gak.

As a mom, I sought to give her a lot of sensory experiences. Frustration as a parent would set in when she would seek out these experiences on her own, getting into the craft closet and exploring what glitter and glue would look like on her dresser or bed sheets. Clothes would be drawn on, often scribbling on her clothes at an older age. The sensory need would consume her, but rather than having a calming effect, it would often escalate hyper or out of control behavior to levels that were unmanageable.

Other sensory experiences were extremely calming to her, as we discovered more in therapy. She had a high need for pressure on her body, which explains the tight and intense hugging that occurred and wasn’t always welcome by the recipients. The desire to wear jeans that were too tight could also be understood. It explains all of the rubber bands stacked on her arms and wrists. It even gives answers to why  waddling was the one way to calm her as a baby. Wrapping her body tightly in a blanket or letting her chill in her Lycra swing is now a strategy we use to calm when she becomes overloaded. 

Some of the more commonly thought of sensory issues apply to her too: a desire to chew everything, a need to move and have vestibular input, and the fact that she easily becomes agitated.

One reason it was hard to identify a need in my child is that she is extremely bright.

She performs high academically and has never had obvious behavioral issues in school. She is well liked by teachers and peers. What we didn’t realize is that she had developed coping strategies at school for the areas in which her body was screaming against her. When she felt overwhelmed, she would push her feet intensely into the ground. She would keep her hands in her desk to bend the corners of a notebook over and over again. Her water bottle would be chewed on throughout the day. The stress experienced by any over-stimulus would also build up throughout the school day, and she would let out all that tension at home. This made the after-school experience challenging for our family.

  Identifying sensory processing as a need is not an excuse for allowing negative behavior to continue, but it’s a recognition that I, as the parent, might need to seek out different tools and try different parenting strategies to teach each of my children in a unique way – just as they are each uniquely made.

In therapy, I am reminded that our goal is to give my child and myself the strategies to positively handle the challenges that may come. Further, the occupational therapy is aimed, not to pacify, but to actually create new pathways in the brain.

I am hoping our story might give you some of the tools, answers, and understanding about sensory processing.

It may have caught you off guard that sensory processing might look different than you expected. Light bulbs might be going off in your own brain about some of the behaviors you see in your child. I know that the description of my child is only one snapshot into a sensory kid, and that there are many other stories that deviate from my own and yet fall under the same category. The goal is to become educated and equipped while loving and parenting your child well.

I would encourage you to seek more information if this describes your child. You also might find these 35 sensory aids and ideas to help with SPD a great resource.

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