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#where he was mostly playing the slick confident man of the world
stardewsnail · 1 year
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Shane N/S/F/W Alphabet
Snail’s directory here
Shane’s master post can be found here
- NSFW alphabet requests are closed
Letters remaining: A, B, D, H, I, R, S, T, Z
A- aftercare
B - body part
C - cum
His cum is thick, and there’s no shortage of it. He also has range—beware the splash zone. When Shane orgasms he also grabs on to something—hands knotted in the sheets, dull nails digging into his partner’s back, hands pressed hard over his eyes. It’s the only time he gets a little loud. 
D - dirty secret 
E - Experience
Shane is experienced—he was an all star gridball player and I hc that he played in college too and could have gone pro if not for an injury. He’s definitely had a dry spell since moving to The Valley. 
F - favorite position
Cowgirl. Especially if his partner has breasts—he goes feral watching them jiggle and bounce right there for him to grab and play with. Will grab his partner’s hips and hold tight while he thrusts up into them. 
G - goofy
I think Shane has a good sense of humor but wouldn’t enjoy outright goofiness. Also if it’s early in the relationship he’s likely to take it as mocking him due to his own insecurity (both about not having the body he used to and because he finds it hard to believe somebody actually likes him. 
H - hair
I - intimacy 
Early in a relationship or in a hook up he really tries to hold back on the intimacy as a self defense mechanism (if he’s sober). Once he’s past that, it gets a lot more intimate. He wants to make eye contact while he fucks, he wants to cradle his partners face in his hands as he kisses them, he wants to treat his lover tenderly and then rock their world. 
J - jack off 
He jerks off with spotty regularity due to the alcohol lowering his sex drive. Isn’t really one to savor it tbh, he only pulls up something to look at sometimes.  
K - kink (anatomy specific)
He’s got a thing for panties—touching his partner through absolutely slick underwear, rubbing his cock on the fabric, sliding them to the side when he fucks them. Really wants his partner to watch him take their wet panties around his cock and jerk off but a little too embarrassed to ask.  
L - Location 
He isn’t too adventurous as far as locations go. I think the wildest he’d get is on a table or counter top. 
M - motivation 
 He finds confidence insanely attractive because he has none. It lends itself to him being more submissive in the bedroom (he follows instructions very well
N - no
Aside from all the illegal things I think feet kinda freak him out. Idk why, just a vibe. Nothing that would be dangerous or could put his health at risk either, and absolutely nothing is going in the back door. That is firmly an exit only in his mind. (If his partner wants it up the ass though, he is reporting for duty.)
O - Oral
He can give like nobody’s business. He wants to be drunk off the taste of his partner. He also prefers giving because then he himself is less visible. He’s a little insecure about his body so unless it’s a quickie where he’s getting sucked off with only his pants unbuttoned he’s going to be a little self conscious. 
P - pace
Fast and hard—this man gets so needy when he’s fucking his partner. Of course he varies as the situation demands but when he gets going it’s almost animalistic, no thoughts just thrusting. 
Q - quickie 
He likes sex and he’s not overly picky, especially when he’s been drinking. A quick hook wasn’t out of the norm before coming to The Valley. However, a quickie is a lot more fun with a partner than a stranger. 
R - risk
S - stamina 
T - toys
U - unfair 
I could see Shane being in the middle of the road. He likes making his partner cum so he’s not withholding too often. He does, however, enjoy being edged. 
V - vocal 
Mostly grunting and low moans deep from his chest. While he’s not the most vocal, he is the most turned on by a vocal partner. He’s also more than happy to provide ample praise 
W - wildcard 
He doesn’t have a gag reflex. Do with that what you will. 
X - x ray 
Shane is broad, with the kind of big forearms that come from years of helping out on Marnie’s farm. He’s stocky over all with a good bit of chub—more of a strong man build tempered by beer. His cock is thick. Girthy. Average length and uncircumcised. 
Y - yearning 
Alcoholism lowers testosterone and therefore libido, so he’s on the lower end while drinking. Once he switches to cola and actually has a partner it jumps up higher than it’s been in years and he’s honestly a little unsure of what to do with himself. 
 Z - zzz
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bubblegeon · 3 years
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akaso eiji in Cherry Magic 🍒
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lucyphurr · 3 years
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ushijima, sir
nsfw!! + choking, size kink kinda, sir for the first time ever bc it’s actually great, degradation, porn w sum plot, pussy smacks, squirting
(a/n: didn’t like this that much bc it was a little rushed but it’s ok, it’s good enough and just wanna see how many hq people i have on here)
“fuck! fuckfuck slow down.”
“sluts don’t get to talk, you’re just here to be useful.”
how the fuck did this end up happening? you and ushijima were supposed to just be friends, holy fuck you feel like he’s splitting you in half.
“ushi, you’re gonna break me. please slow down oh my god.”
“who the fuck do you think you are calling the shots? talking to everyone else looking the way you do, you know how long I’ve been waiting to be able to treat you the way you deserve?”
oh, right, he’s horribly jealous. you’ve never seen him so jealous, you’ve never even been this close to him before. you were all having a little get together and everyone was told to be in their best clothes, in which you wore your favorite dress. it’s not that you were flirting with everyone but you were definitely being playful, since you announced to the party of your friends that you pride yourself in your tolerance.
so you play drinking games with everyone and are just overall more friendly than usual, but with everyone except ushijima because his constantly stoic expression scared your tipsy self away. until later in the night when you’re a bit more than tipsy after out drinking the rest of the guys.
“ushii, drink with me~”, ushijima’s stomach erupted in butterflies at the little nickname, it was cute. you’ve never been that comfortable to call him that before.
“only a little, you’re not doing so good.”
“whatttt ‘m doin great.”
ushijima actually just poured water into your drinks while you both took shots, you noticed after the 4th one but honestly the water was refreshing. and it was way more fun to drink water that way, your dumbass still decided that even though you weren’t in your right mind, ushijima is kind of hot. you’ve never been so close to him because he intimidates the ever living hell out of you, he’s never been mean to you but actually rather nice. you feel bad for avoiding him all this time, but your mostly drunk self is focusing on his pretty hands and not how you should probably apologize.
“ushi, your hands are pretty.”
even though your previous thoughts of being intimidated, you grab his hand like you have every right in the world to. he visibly tensed but you obviously didn’t have to notice, the rest of the guys disappeared somewhere else while you and ushijima were easily abandoned at the bar. the brown haired man felt like his dreams were coming true by the second, he practically choked on air at your bold comments though.
“your hands are like a pretty necklace~”, you managed to slur out.
ushijima promptly took you back to his truck after you made more leading comments and started hanging off of his arm because you said you wanted to feel them, at first he just thought about taking you home until you literally climbed into his lap while he was trying to start the car.
“s’don’t take me home yet, it wouldn’t be fun like that.”
“you’re drunk, i think it’d be better if you went home. i don’t want you doing something stupi-“
“i’m not drunk enough to not know what i’m doing, ushi. just a little more confident, s’cause i thought you were a little scary before.”
this confession made ushijima feel a little bad, he thought maybe he was too mean or something to you. but his thoughts were easily pushed away because he felt like you’d let him know if you were mean to him, he always did admire how outspoken you were.
“gosh, I’m so tiny in your lap. it’s kind of sexy.”
ushijima could feel his pants tightening, he’s close to having enough of your antics. you shifted in his lap to get closer to his face, he could just drop dead right now. you were having so much fun messing with him, why didn’t you do this earlier?
“are you a daddy type of guy, ushi?”
“no, don’t call me that please.”, honestly it just wasn’t his thing, but he really didn’t want you to start pulling out the names. he wouldn’t be able to comprehend it.
“ohh~ are you a sir man? that honestly makes more sense.”
your little game was finally getting interesting for you, for ushijima, he was straining against his pants and he didn’t know how to handle it. hearing sir leave your mouth made his dick twitch, he obviously stayed silent. turning his head to break the eye contact you had with him.
“wow i’m such a genius, of course you are. also you’re not ushijima anymore, strictly sir. oh, what’s this?”
ushijima was red all the way to his ears, he was so happy you probably couldn’t see it in the somewhat dark car. he didn’t notice how you’ve noticed his boner at this point, but it was admittedly unavoidable. he choked and grabbed your hips to stop you when you decided to grind yourself down on him. he felt like all the air was knocked out of him, and he was feeling so unbelievably horny now.
“ushi, pleasee. just want you to treat me like a bitch, at this point only you can do it.”
“no, go hug up on tendou or something.”
“ahh, are you feeling a little jealous? fine, maybe I will.”
you pretended to start leaving the car, you got up off of his lap, he was upset at the lack of pressure on his dick now. your “maybe i will” really pushed his buttons, the thought of you sitting on his friends lap and calling him names that he wanted to be the only one to hear made something in him snap a little.
he grabbed you by your hips once again and threw you in the back seat. the joy on your face couldn’t be contained, you stupidly smiled at him while he climbed into the back with you. he sat you on his lap again, grabbing your face so your lips are puckered at him. you already were overjoyed at his hard grip on your face, feeling your juices wet your panties already.
“you wanna be treated like a bitch? is that really what you want?” his tone was mean, you were ecstatic.
you nodded you head still in his grip with an “uh huh”, wow he’s tall, even sitting on his lap you’re not completely face to face with him.
“gimme kith.” you tried to mumble out from his grip on your cheeks, you were feeling lightheaded from adrenaline at this point and honestly you just wanted to know what kissing him was like.
he brought your faces together and it was stiff at first, but you loosened him up after biting his bottom lip. he’s wanted to do this for so long, you’re like a breath of fresh air. you started grinding yourself down into him, you could feel how hard he was. this felt like fooling around in high school or something, it was so fun.
ushijima felt how wet you were, making your face red. he wasted no time pulling your panties to the side and sticking two fingers in, since when were his fingers so big? the stretch burned, it was so good but you have to say you did struggle a bit. ushijima noticed how you struggled, he watched your eyebrows knit together while he moved his fingers inside of you, your wetness making lewd noises.
“if you can’t handle this I don’t know how you’ll be able to take me fucking you.”
hearing him talk to you like that for the first time made you clench around his fingers, you shook your head.
“no, i- mmh, i can take it. i’ll be so good.”
“right, cause you’re a slut. how could I forget when it’s so obviously right here in front of me.”
you started bouncing yourself on his fingers, the burn was adding to the pleasure, and hearing ushijima panting into your ear made your ego bigger than it needed to be. you very audibly whined when he pulled his fingers out, you felt his dick twitch under you at your noise. he guided you to get up on your knees by your throat, feeling your wetness smeared on your jaw and neck. ushijima moved you to start undoing his belt, he noticed you were watching.
“y’know, i was a little nervous at first. asking me to be mean to you, treat you like a slut. but it’s making a little more sense now.” his tone was smug, his hand that rested on your neck squeezed down on the sides a bit. you loved the idea of how you might look to him.
he lowered you a bit and ran his tip along your slick, shivering when he pushed your bud a few times. you felt anticipation rising in your stomach when he lined himself up with your entrance, he was taking long on purpose and it was horrible.
“hurry upp~”
as soon as you finished your complaint he pushed you all the way down until you were seated on him perfectly, you let out a yell at the instant stretch. you held onto his shoulders as if you were going to pass out if you let go, pressing your forehead against his chest. you felt it vibrate with a chuckle, what as asshole.
“jackass.”
you breathed out, you felt a slap sting your ass. taking that as a warning of no unnecessary comments, ushijima slowly guided you up by your hips but you can easily tell you’ll have enough after a minute if you go now.
“no not yet, too big. augh fuck, please sir.”
“you can take it good girl, i’ll go slow. your cunt is already taking me so good, so dirty.”
your inner thighs quiver, you relish in ushijima’s face, his breath is heavy and his eyes stay at where your connected. he loved the way you’d split open when he’d lower you, your face struggling to take it. it’s all so pretty, he wanted to see you cry so bad. you were so pretty, he wanted to see you all run down and telling him thank you.
he picked up the pace without warning, stuck in his thoughts about wanting to fuck you until you’re ruined. your hands tightened their grip on his shoulders, the noises you were letting out were pornographic. he kept getting faster and your noises just get more lewd, the car windows were foggy and you didn’t think about how you’re in a car. you started to wonder if your friends have noticed, you were trying to have coherent thoughts between literally being plowed.
“ushi, wait I- fuck!” a hard slap came down onto your ass, you already know the large print will be there the next day.
“talk to me properly or i won’t listen to you at all.”
“yes, sir. i- i think we should, ah! should stop, what if the guys notice.”
even thought he didn’t stop his pace, you managed to choke out your request.
“well then maybe i should try to make you cum quicker.”
at his comment you were pushed back onto the main console, ushijima now over you. he smiled down at you, pushing your shirt up and playing with your tits under your shirt while putting your legs on his shoulders so when he sinks down your knees come closer to your chest. giving him unimaginable access to deeper parts of you, your body was already quivering. you felt like you could barely wait.
“you look perfect on almost every position, almost fucked out. tell me you want me to fuck you like a whore, beg for it.”
arousal burned in you deeper as if it didn’t before, your stomach doing flips as you looked at the man above you and already knew how you were going to be ruined.
“please, i need you to fuck me like a whore. i need it, only you’ll be able to do it right. no one else.”
what sent ushi over the edge was as you were speaking you reached down and spread yourself for him to see, you smiled at his expression as he looked down at your heat. he didn’t waste time re entering you and you realized how much deeper he would be this time, and he instantly started with a fast pace.
“fuck, slow down!”
ushi shook his head with a “nope”, his hand now on your throat and lightly squeezing the sides periodically. although you’re obviously making the most noise, you wanted to hear from the man above you more. his voice is sexy and you’d love to hear him.
“let me hear you, any way don’t care how.”
you choke out in between him squeezing your throat and thrusting into you, at first you thought he’d deny your request but he leans down and presses his forehead to the side of yours.
“i’m gonna fuck you so good you’re not gonna be able to cum unless it’s from me, only i can see you like this.”
you could only moan in response, hearing him speak through breaths and whines. you realized when he spoke into your ear you clamped down on him, he was moaning in your ear and you were being ruined from the new position of your knees up to your chest. you could feel pressure slowly building up in your core, ushijima could feel it too as your tightening around him.
“you’re gonna cum already? i thought you were clamping down on me like a slut before but I was obviously wrong, open your mouth.”
you open your mouth, his face was so close to yours you were just looking into his eyes. your eyes basically rolled to the back of your head when you felt his spit land on your tongue, you felt like you were going to cum just from that.
“u- ushi, gonna cum.”
you didn’t realize your mistake, ushijima raised himself from being pressed so close to you. his arms still holding the back of your knees so the can keep your legs pinned to your chest so he can look at the exposing position you’re in. just as you feel like your high is about to come he pulls himself out,
“sorry princess, you messed up just a little.”
you think you’re gonna be denied to cum until ushijima lands smacks straight to your cunt, originally supposed to be a punishment but it sent you over and you came. it was a ruined orgasm but ushijima was surprised when he saw the liquid pour out of you, you moaned and also let out a frustrated sound at the ruined orgasm
“i fucking hate you.”
“it’s okay, i’ll help you do it over and over again. i have to see you do that until you can’t anymore.”
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idontblushsrry · 3 years
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Love Language|| Jujutsu Kaisen
“I wanna be fluent in your love language. Learning your love language.” 
A/N: If you didn’t guess from the tagline this is inspired by the song love language by Kehlani. I’ll probably do more of these with different shows and what not because why not. If I missed anyone lmk and I can make a part 2. Also please tag spoilers appropriately esp for manga readers, that being said spoilers for the prequel? manga on Yuuta’s part.
Characters: Itadori, Fushiguro, Kugisaki, Maki, Inumaki, Okkotsu, Gojo, Nanami, Sukuna
Warnings: said it b4 but spoiler warnings in general but esp on Yuuji, Yuuta, and Maki’s parts
Plot synopsis: The 5 love languages; physical affection, quality time, words of affirmation, gift giving and acts of service, and how each jujutsu kaisen character shows their love and affection for you. Ft. a gender neutral reader!
Word count: 2352
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Itadori Yuuji
Love Language: Quality time and physical affection
Ok listen-
So for physical affection, Yuuji’s just that kind of person
He is all about giving to you
He’s holding hands with you if you’re ever walking anywhere, and if you’re not a hand holder pls pls pls let him hold your pinky he likes the reassurance
No but seriously he loves to hold you like yall could be walking in completely opposite directions and he’ll try to find some way to hold onto you until the very last second
And even then he’s all ‘:( babe imy’
‘Yuuji we just talked 2 minutes ago’
Another way he shows his love is through quality time
I think for him this is the biggest thing overall, esp as a jujutsu sorcerer bcus you never know yk but also because you’re important to him
Like remember how he literally went to occult club so that he could get out of school in time to go visit his grandpa...ye :(
He also loves finding dumb touristy things to do with you while in Tokyo or anywhere yall go together on a mission 
If you get together before he died and came back then that time he had to spend away from you literally killed him
Like my mans was goin THROUGH it
He almost considered spoiling Gojo’s secret
When he sees you again, he’s not gonna let go for like a solid day
Fushiguro Megumi
Love Language: acts of service and words of affirmation
This boy loves you so much
He loves to tell you all the things he loves about you when you’re alone
But he’s a little awkward with his words sometimes, hence where acts of service come in
He’ll immediately offer to hold your things, run to help you train or study, and if you’re cold? He’s fully prepared to never see his jacket again
Also he can’t cook but he’s fully prepared to suffer hearing Sukuna and suffering through Yuuji’s antics if it means he can learn how to make your favorite food
He also will surprise you by making you a playlist of all the songs that you’ve had stuck in your head and sends it to you randomly out of the blue one day like ‘thought you might like this’
However the best of both worlds is when he leaves you little notes throughout the day or sends you texts asking if you need anything or just encouraging you to keep going 
Negl he’s lowkey the president of the Y/N support club bcus-
You need anything? It’s yours
Cravings? Sad? Angry? What do you need bby, I’ve got it for you
Also he’s totally the type to be like you need help fuckin this person up? 
Also before yall started dating, Fushiguro was a mess
He was constantly asking to spar with you and go on missions, basically anything he could do to be near you  
End of the day, Fushiguro loves you and makes sure you know it whether it’s through his actions or his words
Kugisaki Nobara
Love Language: physical affection
So, she’s not the best with words, she tries but like someone help her bcus she is LOST
Like when she had a crush on you she was like “c’mere dumbass i wanna give you a hug”
In fact, she still is like “c’mere” but now you are dating :)
She loves you though and at first she doesn’t really know how to show it 
But one day you both come home from training and you just look at each other like ‘yeah today sucks’ and yall both just held each other for the rest of the day 
After that, she decided that she wants to do that with you but like always
She’s holding your hand, kissing your cheek when you go shopping, etc. etc.
She really loves to cling to you because she always has this fear that maybe one day you’ll get killed or just disappear so she figures might as well hold onto you for as long as we’ve got
After missions, she’s running up to you and if you aren’t prepared for the tackle, you’re probably gonna fall
On dates too, like if you guys have to meet up for a date, she’s tackling you
On the subject of dates...
She doesn’t mind PDA, and while she might hold your hand or arm so that you don’t get separated
She also doesn’t mind wiping food off your face and eating it, only to then kiss the spot on your face the food was previously at
She will split her shopping load between the two of you, however she will be slightly pouty if she’s carrying more than you (she then cheers up when she realizes she can do more shopping to “balance” the two of you)
In private she’s very cuddly and kissy which honestly isn’t that bad until it gets hot
At which point she’ll just say turn on the ac or convince you to walk around in a tank top (or something like it) so that she can continue holding you
Tbh she prefers the big spoon, but if she’s ever upset you let her be the little spoon >:(
All in all a very loving girlfriend who tries her best to show how much she loves you by glomping you at any given moment. 
Zenin Maki
Love language: acts of service and quality time
So you’re telling me that Maki wouldn’t immediately go out of her way to make sure her and her s/o can spend as much time together as possible?????
Like she’s super observant (which can cause her to be a bit harsh, see Yuuta) but she can always tell what’s bothering you
So if you’re upset that you haven’t been spending enough time together due to her being out on missions or otherwise busy she’s immediately running to finish her stuff and spend time with you.
((She’s very sorry, but on the bright side she brought your favorites!))
Maki is also an acts of service type
This mostly ties in with her kind of direct action way of thinking
She thinks she’s slick but you can always see her sneaking around to do small things like grabbing your laundry for you and folding it
She’s very much like if you love someone, you gotta prove it
Overall, dates with her are very intimate and personal to the two of you
Like she’ll take you to a frog pond you landed in during a fight once
Or you’ll take her to a street fair that serves this exclusive food that Maki mentioned wanting to try 
However, Maki shows her love through quality time and acts of service and while she does receive love from these to a degree, she is very much a words of affirmation gal
She’s not insecure in her day to day life but she has her moments, everyone does
Sometimes, she’ll feel like shit and a failure and all she wants is for you to say that she’s doing amazing and that she’s a great girlfriend.
Inumaki Toge
Love language: Physical affection
Because of his curse, he can’t exactly express how he feels about you through words
He does text you frequently throughout the day (I’ll have to do a hc abt that someday)
But he’d prefer not to be on his phone to communicate if you’re right in front of him
So he does the next best thing and just smothers you in physical affection
He loves kissing you the most
Like he could spend hours just kissing you if you let him (please let him)
But in public, he gets if you’re not a big fan of pda he’s willing to tone it down as long as he gets kisses later in private
He’d still prefer it if you held his hand or linked pinkies maintaining touch in some way
Also, unrelated, but it means so much to him if you try to understand his sushi language
He knows realistically the foundation of any relationship is communication so already he’s at a disadvantage because of his curse 
But if he sees you like take notes after he says something or start to need him to text you to translate, his heart is swelling
Like ‘omg this person loves me enough to learn a whole new language <333′
Another tangent but before you were together he was struggling so muchhhh
Like how does one express their feelings for someone without words?
If you’re Inumaki, you buy some flowers and text said person to meet you at a cafe
It took an embarrassingly long time for you to realize it was a date, but once you did, you ever so gently linked pinkies with Toge
Okkotsu Yuuta
Love language: words. of. affirmation. 
He’s literally so sensitive please tell him you love him regularly
In return he’ll be sure to tell you how much he loves you too
He knows that he can’t really be there for you as much as he’d like but he likes to let you know that he’s thinking of you
Doesn’t matter the time, if you call, he’s answering
If he doesn’t he’ll cry he’ll immediately call you back and is apologizing for missing your call
You assure him it’s no big deal but the man has his volume turned all the way up and changed your ringtone to one specific for you by the time you’ve even said hey
Aside from that, he really is sensitive
He’s been through a lot especially with Rika as well as growing up alone and bullied 
So for him, it’s everything to hear that you like having him around and don’t think he’s too much or anything like that
Of course, he gets better with time, trusting you and having the confidence in himself to not need constant assurance
That being said, if you ever just whisper in his ear, “I love you, Yuuta.”
That’s not your boyfriend, that’s a puddle of love on the floor
(Maki, Panda, and Inumaki had a field day when they saw him, Fushiguro now questions if Yuuta really is a respectable 2nd year.)
Gojo Satoru
Love language: gift giving and quality time
So Gojo doesn’t exactly get to spend a ton of time
Between missions, him beefing with higher ups, and you and him playing parent the baby sorcerers yall don’t exactly get time to go out much
In which case Gojo tends to default to two options:
He’ll either go the extra mile to try and spend time with you 
Whether that be an at home date where he tries and fails to surprise you with a home cooked meal
Or a date out at a restaurant or cafe (which you tend to visit after his home cooking efforts)
OR he’ll bring you various souvenirs from his missions
He loves to spoil you, and if he could he’d probably bring you back a whole store’s worth of stuff
But alas, airport security regulations
Anyways, he loves to spoil you especially if he can spoil you with sweets because it benefits him in two ways 
He treasures all the time you spend together, and he does try to overcompensate for his absence with gifts
Despite your assurances, it’s kind of a guilty pleasure at this point (just let him, trying to argue just goads him on further)
He doesn’t only buy you small things, he enjoys buying you outfits
And he especially likes seeing you in them 
Kento Nanami
Love Language: acts of service
Y’all remember the episode where he killed that curse that was bothering that baker lady?? Yea that
He’s literally such an acts of service boyfriend it’s not even funny
Before you got together, he would memorize your coffee order and bring you a cup pretty much everyday like clockwork
Now that you’re togehter, he wakes up before you so h=that when you wake up there’s the smell of coffee throughout the house
When you come out of you’re shared bedroom and he’s just scrooling through his phone like “mornin’”
Of course you already made the bed and ironed his clothes because relationships are give and take
And then when you leave for your jobs in the morning, he kisses you and holds the door open for you
He’ll draw a bath for you if he gets home before you, if you let him join or not is up to you
Also, if you ever get sick, he’s actually the best
Like he isn’t the best cook but he can heat up soup and tea
He’ll run to the store while you’re asleep and when you wake up, there’s like a whole tray of food in front of you and he’s like ‘it’s important to eat and drink so your body can heal’
And when you inevitably fall asleep after eating and taking medicine at his insistence, he tucks you in and clears away the dishes, exiting with little more than a kiss to your head
Ryoumen Sukuna
Love Language: gift giving and acts of service
So like Sukuna never says he loves you...ever
But he does notice if someone or something’s making you uncomfortable, and if so, said entity’s head will be presented to you later that day
You also just so happen to be the only person he can tolerate being around him for longer than 20 seconds
He also loves to give you jewelry, he likes seeing you adorned in something from him
He also isn’t gonna just handle all your problems for you, he will push you to become stronger by training with you 
He’ll also expect this energy to be reciprocated, as long as you’re pushing yourself to be better, he’s content with that
(He wants to see you grow because he’s scared that if he ever gets caught lackin one day you’ll end up dead)
He’ll never tell you or admit it, but Sukuna truly does care for you and hold you in a regard that he doesn’t have for others
So be grateful jkjk
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yinses · 3 years
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make it a show
| gojo has been away for awhile and now he’s missed … times two |
gojo satoru/reader/geto suguru
rating: 18*
rqst: okay okay why choose between  geto and  gojo? why not just have both?
a/n: why not indeed.
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it starts with an i miss you text.
gojo was on another long mission. his reputation often preceded him in the worst ways and popularity drew him across the country- and then some. for two weeks now he’d been in europe trying to clear out an infestation.
he still checked in when he could. sending short texts to probe about your day and shooting tourist pictures to showcase the better parts of his trips. he made sure to send different sets to suguru, giving you both the opportunity to snuggle close and share the crumbs your mutual boyfriend left behind.
its twenty minutes later, after said text, that gojo boasts about the free premium wifi upgrade that had come with his hotel reservation. and less than two minutes go by before he decides what he planned to do with that commodity.
above your head, gojo takes in the scene eagerly from the face of your phone.
“so what are you wearing?”
you make a choked sound somewhere stuck between a laugh and a moan as geto laps firmly at the dampening fabric of your panties. his fingers run along the elastic, cheekily plucking and letting it snap back against your skin with a smack.
undeterred, your other boyfriend mumbles something incomprehensible before latching onto your clit and toys with you through the fabric.
gojo’s bangs fall into his face as he huffs, electric blue eyes darkening with lust. “this isn’t just show and tell, you two. don’t ignore me.”
his whine is cute, you think as your back arches off the bed when geto adds suction to his play through. your gaze darts down when you feel a nibble to the inside of your thigh- a nudge to get those lips moving.
“i-uh… the purple one’s,” you manage. thankfully you’re still wearing them otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to properly reply.
“aw, why couldn’t you have worn the blue ones?”
because you sudden thrust this upon us, you wanted to remind him. nor were you exactly keen on dirting up a new pair just for some quick fun.
“drop your knee to the side, honey. i want to see suguru work.”
you comply, letting the limb framing geto’s head come to rest by his shoulders. it improves your view too, just catching his dark gaze before his head drops back down again. his fingers finally hook on the edge and drag the fabric down your legs and gojo whistles at the sight.
“i don’t know what’s wetter. your pussy or his lips. but i guess its a packaged deal given the circumstances.”
he’s the only one who chuckles at that, as usual.
geto adds fingers, slender limbs sliding through your slick and circle your entrance.
“if you’re going to eat her out properly, let me see too.” he directs his attention to you. “hold the phone up for me, sweetheart. at least do some of the work.”
its snarky enough that you almost don’t want to comply but then geto is pausing and you know its a command to follow. reaching behind, you grasp the device and settle the camera facing just below your navel. as the new sole source of focus, geto raises his head and gives a cheeky little grin.
gojo coos immediately at the sight,” hey, baby. fuck you look beautiful today.”
the frame of the phone obscures your vision a little but you swear you see geto blush at the compliment. how could he not. even in another country, gojo was a smooth man.
“wish i was behind you right now, making you feel as good as you’re making her.”
gojo was always good at this- the phone sex. but he exceeded the expectations whenever he was granted a visual.
“eat her out for me, yeah? fuck, i bet i could taste it.”
the audio picks up on the shifting of clothing as gojo shimminging his pants down his hips to free his cock. he keeps the camera at the perfect angle fit the slow fisting of his cock in the frame
“you’re not in charge here, satoru,” geto murmurs all while lowering his head anyway. his mouth latches back onto your throbbing heat and fits his tongue between your labia. the hands finding purchase at your hips urge you to grind down as the talented muscle flicks up. sparks of pleasure prickles your nerves and you reach around the phone to tug the band free from his bun. before the dark tresses could trickle down against you, you’re there to comb it back.
“fuck- toru .. he feels so good.”
there is a hitch to gojo’s voice, something of a light pant as he responds. “i can see him, honey. he spoils you so good.”
geto’s nose brushes your clit when you rock forward and you cry out at the unexpected friction. he pulls back enough to return his fingers to the slick of your sex, two fingers easily dipping into your core. your hand slides to the back of his skulls as his fingers adopt a rhythm.
gojo seems keen on torturing himself by edging his fingers along the sensitive head without providing the needed friction. the distorted pleasure in his voice sounds like something is caught but you know he’s just staving it off as long as he can. you wonder how flushed his face is right now, but you can’t bring yourself to interrupt geto enough to ask for an update.
“he’s going to fuck you so good, honey. bet you’re loose enough for it.” gojo swallows audibly and you can tell he’s pushed back yet another orgasm. “tell him you’re ready. … please.”
with a simpering plea like that how could you not comply.
the free hand not currently working you towards nirvana, slides up your stomach to cup the weight of your breast. unable to resist, your legs come up to squeeze around the protruding limb, shamelessly rocking against the muscle of his bicep.
“fucking hell, you’re such a dirty girl.”
you can only whine when geto flexes in response, or maybe its because of the fingers finally leaving you. the same wet fingers take the phone from you, leaving a tacky residue behind. the bed shifts as geto rises to his knees, shaking away your hold.
he’s looking at you properly now, mouth free. “i’m waiting on that begging.”
cheeks warm and lips bitten raw, you give his leg one last desperate hump, hoping eager desperation can smooth the way. “please fuck me. make gojo cum,” you add and to your satisfaction the man’s groan rumbles against your stomach.
geto leans over you to drag a free pillow closer. the phone mostly sinks into the plush fabric but he’s able to angle it in just right. from the corner of your eye you can finally see gojo, skin flushed and cock fat and leaking. his hand works in short jerks, thumb darting across the head the way he likes.
geto’s hands pry your legs apart again, but his attention is directed to the phone.” you going to hold out on us all night? this is a mutual exchange,” he teases.
your other boyfriend huffs, but his eyes greedily take in the sight of geto stripping bare. “i think i liked you better when your mouth is full.”
geto doesn’t miss a beat. “you normally do.”
he takes one of your thighs up and hooks it at his hip. geto takes you slowly, making you feel every inch and drag as he parts your folds with his cock. the burn is absent but the stretch persists as you babble. where gojo favored length, geto was graced with width. frankly they were right to call you spoiled, blessed with the best of both worlds.
“is he all the way in, princess?” gojo’s voice is strained as he asks as if he can’t see half of the cock still working its way in.
your tongue is thick and heavy but you manage, whimpers with eager hope the sounds might coax him to go faster. you could only ask, after all, geto rarely took kindly to unsolicited demands. “not yet, but i already feel so full, toru.”
“fuck yeah you do. always such a snug fit. can’t get enough of either of you.”
geto continues to ease himself deeper, confident and calculated, until the base nudges your clit. large hands caress the curve and down to your hip to squeeze the flesh. it marks the steady increase of his pace, hips drawing back nearly all the way before smacking back against you pelvis.
he wasn’t a quiet lover, but he knew when to take advantage of gojo’s presence. his shadow encompasses you as the edge of his teeth drag against your jaw. ”make it pretty for him, bunny,” he coos against the shell of your ear. “make him come home.” is emphasized by a firm thrust that rocks your entire body.
then he’s pulling back to haunches before gojo can complain about the obscured view.
your fingers grasp at the sheets when he thrusts into you at a sharper angle. the hand at your hip goes tighter as he fucks the tremble right out of you. you can still see gojo, teeth worrying his bottom lip as he matches the pace driving into you. able to catch the silent prayer in his gaze, you answer is with a broken whine.
“he’s really giving it to you ... and you’re taking it so well,” his breathing is short, heavy with his impending climax.
“he’s so deep, toru. i feel like there isn’t even room to squeeze him. geto groans when you try, hissing through his teeth as he picks up the pace. you try to maintain eye contact with the distant shaman but he’s not doing a good job either. blue eyes greedily take in everything there is to offer, darting from the jiggle of your breast to the bead of sweat forming on geto’s temple.
everyone’s tipping the edge. you can feel the palpable tension in the air on the brink of snapping.
your vision whites out the moment he starts to spurt, thick strands bringing the arc of his hips to a sloppy grind. the harsh pant against your lips is a brief warning before he swallows your tongue eagerly, groaning the remnants of his release into your mouth.
in your ear, gojo follows the sentiment, breathing heavily. you can imagine the mess he makes of himself, chest white with sticky streaks of cum. he is very much out of breath but chuckles anyway as geto pulls himself free.
“messaged received. i’ll try to get home soon.”
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tricksters-captain · 3 years
Text
Benny Watts/The Queens Gambit imagines - From Pawn to Pen Part 1
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AN: So I watched the Queens Gambit in one day and I am officially obsessed with it. And how dare it bring back my crush on Thomas Brodie Sangster... Due to this... Have a fanfic...
Overall Summary: You’re a young journalist for Chess Review, with a love for chess and a desire for knowledge. One day at a tournament, you come across the famous Benny Watts...
Pairing(s): Benny Watts x reader
Word Count: 2,504
Warnings: (I know nothing about chess except what the show taught me so bare that in mind), none really
Another state, another tournament. 
Your work had you travel round to even the smallest of Chess Tournaments to try and get the dirt on up and coming chess players or already existing champions. 
You inhaled the familiar smell of a hotel lobby, taking in your surroundings as people bustled about the place. 
It was one of the bigger tournaments fortunately and so you were hoping to run into some champions which tend to give you better pages which equals better pay. 
You walked up to the front desk, your eyes scanning the small tables as far as the eye could see where chess boards were being studied in case you recognised any chess players. 
You did but they were all the standard normies that showed their faces at these events. No one noteworthy yet. 
“Can I help you?” The slim man behind the desk with slicked back red hair flashed you a toothy smile as he greeted you. 
“(Y/n)(Y/l/n).” You introduced yourself and the man soon flicked through his booking sheets to find your reservation. 
“Room 209. If you just head down this hall to the elevators, it’s on the second floor.” The man pointed towards the elevators where you managed to spot the flash of bright auburn hair entering one of them. 
Beth Harmon. 
You smiled with relief as you started to sew the piece in your head already. 
“Thank you.” You took the key and made your way down to elevators. 
As the elevator door dinged open, some commotion by the entrance of the lobby caught your attention. 
The peak of leather through the crowd told you who it was. 
Benny Watts. 
Even better. You now had two top chess players you could focus on. 
You decided to let the celebrity champion settle into his hotel before you mobbed him as a journalist and you also needed to freshen up after travelling. 
You travelled so much that you barely bothered with your apartment. It was mostly rented out to other people besides holidays like Christmas where you actually could return home. 
Everything you had was basically in two large suitcases which you dragged across the United States and Europe following chess players around. 
You mainly liked travelling around Europe. You previously worked for a Parisian chess magazine but this year you took an offer to work for Chess Review which brought you back to the states. 
You had mostly done smaller tournaments all year round so hadn’t had the pleasure in meeting Benny Watts or Beth Harmon yet. 
Benny Watts had been one of the biggest names in chess for years now and Beth Harmon was a rapid rising star. 
You knew this would be your big break in Chess Review to stop being handed the small tournaments and to document the important ones like the US Open. 
You opened the door to your hotel room and smiled when you saw how nice it actually was. 
You had stayed in some crap holes recently. 
You dumped your suitcases to one side and immediately turned on the shower so you could relax your cramped muscles and feel a bit cleaner.
You undressed and let the hot water cascade down your back, covering your hair and face as you tipped your head backwards. 
You took your time in there before getting out and blow drying your hair. 
By the time you had washed, done your hair and make up again; it was time to pick a dress for the evening so you could go get something to eat. 
You went for your favourite navy blue skirt and cream sweater, both hugged you nicely but were still modest, before slipping on some shoes. 
You took a small purse to put your room key in and then left for the restaurant/bar that was in the hotel.
The restaurant was filled with chess players and spectators all buzzing with excitement about this weekend. 
You managed to find a small table away from the majority of the hustle and tucked yourself away with your notepad. 
You liked being a fly on the wall most of the time. You enjoyed observing, studying and learning about people. ‘People watching’ as some would call it. 
The waiter brought over the cocktail you had ordered along with some grapes, cheese and crackers to munch on. 
After writing some of the thoughts down that came to you in the shower, you looked up to see who was around you. 
There was no sign of Beth Harmon which wasn’t unusual as she was known for practising in her room before tournaments. 
You scanned the groups before your eyes stopped on him. Benny Watts. 
His slick blonde hair fell slightly by his eye, his hat on his lap as he talked to the surrounding fans and admirers. 
The man loved talking about himself and loved talking about Chess even more. 
You watched him for a moment, the way his eyes were alight as he laughed amongst his peers. 
Benny must've felt someone was watching him because a second later, his eyes met yours for a brief moment. 
You looked down and pretended to write something down as Benny turned his chin this time to look at you again. 
You were used to being invisible and in that moment you felt extremely seen. 
However, the man didn’t move from his chair or even look another time after that. 
You popped a grape in your mouth before taking a large sip of your drink. You’d have to talk to him tomorrow and you knew that but for the first time, you actually felt the bubbles of nerves rise in stomach.
“May I buy you a drink?” A voice brought you from your thoughts and you looked up to see Henry Cavilla, one of the regular American chess players whom you believed you’d seen only two months before in Denver. 
“I’m fine, thank you.” You declined politely but the man sat down anyway, joining you at your table. 
“I insist.” Henry’s smile spread widely on his lips as he waved a waiter over. “I saw you in Denver. You’re a journalist, am I right?” 
“Yes. For Chess Review.” You had to hide your irritation at his boldness.
“How long you been doing that?” The man asked, 
“Well I’ve been a journalist for three years, but I’ve only been at Chess Review for 6 months.” You admitted honestly as the man ordered two drinks for the table. 
“What’s a beautiful girl like you doing reporting on chess? Thought you’d be more into what Beth Harmon was wearing than her Sicilian defence.” 
“I could ask you a similar thing? What’s a mediocre, chino wearing, middle aged   misogynist doing at a chess tournament where Beth Harmon and Benny Watts are playing?” You couldn’t help but let the words slip out of your mouth, slapping the man right round the face. 
You watched the man’s smile drop following a small burst of laughter echoing through the restaurant. 
Your head snapped round to see it was Benny Watts laughing, staring directly at your table. He must’ve heard what you said despite the rest of the restaurant noise. 
“Listen here, sweetheart, you’re just a skirt hired to keep your boss man happy and to fuck the chess players into a one page interview so you can get your paycheck to fund your morning after pill from planned parenthood and buy yourself some clean panties you’d sooner have off anyways.” You hit a nerve with what you said and he seemed to hit one right back.   
You threw the two new drinks in the mans face, causing most of the restaurant to stop and stare at the commotion as he jumped to his feet to retaliate. 
You snatched your notebook and fled the scene before anything worse could happen or you get thrown out of the tournament all together. 
You fell back onto your bed, kicking your shoes off as you did. 
It wasn’t unusual for men to be putting you down, especially in the chess world and the journalist world but tonight you just weren't having any of it. 
You groaned as you pushed your hair out of your face, replaying the event in your head. The way everyone stared after you threw the drinks in his face. 
You did not need to be the centre of attention this weekend. 
You put yourself to bed with the television playing so you could stop scolding yourself in your head and distract yourself to finally get some sleep. 
The next morning you woke up early, getting ready quickly and making sure you had everything you needed for a full day of reporting. 
You skipped breakfast, only taking a black coffee before you entered the battle field.
The chess boards were still being set up and from across the room you spotted the familiar hair colour that belonged to Beth Harmon. 
“Beth? Beth Harmon?” You crossed the room to greet her. “I’m (Y/n)(Y/l/n) from Chess Review. I was wondering if I could get an opening statement before the tournament goes ahead this weekend?” You asked politely, trying your best not to attack her verbally this early in the morning, 
“Uh, of course. I’m feeling very confident this weekend that I’ll quickly rise to the top, concluding the tournament opposite Benny Watts.” Beth admitted, 
“Are you scared of Benny Watts?” You asked, 
“Scared? No. I am merely curious to see how our game goes.” Beth admits. 
“Well, good luck, Beth. I hope to catch up with you sometime this weekend for a brief interview of how you play your games if you don’t mind?” You asked politely, silently begging she’d say yes. 
“I’ll speak with you tomorrow night. It’ll be the middle of the tournament so there’ll be plenty to talk about.” Beth was extremely nice in offering her time and you took it gratefully. 
You left the girl to her own company and returned to the lobby where you could see a crowd already gathering. 
“Mr Watts.” You spotted the leather jacket and hat as the man entered the breakfast room. 
The man turned when he heard his name being called across the lobby and you quickly jogged to catch up to him. 
“You’re the girl from last night who put Henry Cavilla in his place?” Benny Watts smirked at you as he recalled the previous nights events. 
“Um.” You felt your cheeks flush in embarrassment. “I was just wondering if I could get a statement before the tournament began?” 
“You’re a reporter?” Benny cocked his eyebrow at you, his eyes scanning you up and down shamelessly. 
“Yes. For Chess Review.” You informed him. 
“Follow me.” Benny nodded his head sideways towards the table he was heading to and you did as you were told. 
“I was wondering how you were feeling about this weekend and possibly going up against Beth Harmon?” You asked as you sat yourself down opposite the man. 
“I won’t be possibly going up against Beth Harmon. I fully expect to be going up against her. Out of everyone here, she is the only person I see as potential competition.” Benny admitted, picking up his knife and fork as his breakfast was set down on the table. 
“Are you sure there’s no one else? Harry Beltik went into his tournament in Kentucky assuming no one but Cullen was any competition to him and yet Beth Harmon came along.” You stated, jotting down some notes to avoid watching the man eat. 
“Well then, they’ll just have to surprise me.” His eyes locked onto yours when he spoke. His lip just edging into a smirk. 
“Thank you for your statement.” You felt your stomach flip and you jumped to your feet, gathering your things. 
“Would you not like a full interview or was the three sentence statement enough?” Benny cocked his head round as you began to leave. 
“It was four, actually.” You corrected him, tapping your notepad with your pen. 
The man huffed out a short chuckle. 
“I’d be grateful for an interview later on this weekend, Mr Watts, if you don’t mind?” 
“I’ll find you when I’m ready.” Benny told you and from the look in his eyes, that’s what he really meant. 
The day went by quicker than expected, it was impossible to watch every game of the day so you watched Beth’s and Benny’s and you filled yourself in with the plays of any others that would make good press. 
You loved watching the game being played, you always tried to predict the outcome and 9 times out of 10 you got it correct except with Beth Harmon and Benny Watts.
They surprised you and it was thrilling to watch. You admired Harmon’s intuition and her attacks. Watts had always been an interesting watch all through his career but you’d only seen him play a handful of times in person before today.
In the evening, you received a call from the big bosses asking how everything was going. 
“I have an interview set up with Beth Harmon and Benny Watts.” You told them with confidence. 
“Good girl. Now get those interviews done quickly and send me a draft as soon as you can.” Your boss ordered before ending the call. 
You sighed, running a hand over your tired face. 
You picked up the bottle of wine you had in a metal cooler to see it was empty. Room service had taken so long to bring it up previously, you decided to just slip your slippers on and head down to the bar to get one final glass of wine before bed. 
You were wearing a nightie so you pulled a coat on over the top in case you bumped into anyone.
As you walked down the hall, you could hear the familiar voice of Benny Watts behind you. 
He was spewing some chess facts to whoever he was with as he walked. 
You peaked behind your shoulder to see he was heading to his room which was three doors up from yours. 
He spotted you too. 
You went into the elevator to head down to the bar. 
The bar was still busy despite the time and you had to wait for your wine. 
You took the glass and returned to your room. 
Your eyes couldn’t help but linger on the hotel room of Mr Benny Watts as you thought of tomorrows games. 
“You’re not stalking me, are you?” Benny startled you as he came up from behind. 
“Jesus...” You gasped, spinning round to face him. 
“Trying to get the dirt on who I’m sleeping with?” The man cocked his eyebrow, his hands tucked in his tight jeans. 
“Seems like the other way round since you keep appearing behind me.” You referred to earlier. 
“Maybe you just like being in my way?” You couldn’t deny that Benny Watts, the Benny Watts, was flirting with you right now. 
“Goodnight Mr Watts. Good luck tomorrow.” You gripped your door handle tightly. 
“Please, call me Benny.” 
(NEXT PART HERE)
890 notes · View notes
karliahs · 3 years
Note
hello! this is over 500 words, i hope you don't mind. i just like this whole part so much i couldn't cut it XD if it is a bother just cut from the end until it's 500. love you!
Tim had always noticed people, collected little details about them in his head whether he intended to or not, but he thinks his observations used to be about happier things, though it’s hard to remember exactly how he was, how he felt, before - it wasn’t the kind of thing he ever tried to memorise, the kind of thing he ever thought he could lose. Now he finds himself taking note of the coworker who comes back from their lunch break with faint puffy red marks around their eyes, or the older guy who checks his phone with something like dread in his eyes. Danny would have called it his older brother instincts (but what good did those instincts do him? ).
Tim blinks back to the present, realising he’s been pushing a napkin over the same spot of floor for a while now. Jon offers him a hand up, though he braces himself on the bar with his other hand before he does. Tim takes care not to let Jon take too much of his weight as he’s hauled back up.
“Ah, thank you. And apologies, again,” Jon murmurs, gesturing awkwardly at Tim’s lightly-beered clothes.
“Happens to everyone,” Tim says easily. Jon still looks lightly anguished, and Tim silently wishes this could have happened to someone else, someone with the confidence to laugh it off. “I’m always convinced I’m going to drop something when I go in the silent study bit of the library,” Tim offers.
“Ah...that worry hadn’t actually occurred to me,” Jon replies, solemn enough that Tim can’t really tell if he’s joking.
Tim finger-guns. “Any other anxieties I can stir up while you’re over here?”
“I’m quite capable of stoking my own neuroses, thank you.”
Jon glances over his shoulder at the tables the rest of the department are occupying, perhaps doing the same thing as Tim and trying to psyche himself up for some more hollow smalltalk. Tim notes that his jacket seems slightly large on him, but in a way that kind of works. The collar of his shirt is slightly out of place beneath it. There’s a lump forming in Tim’s throat, even though nothing is happening - nothing but standing close to someone, noticing the little signs that they’re real and alive entirely independent from him. He’s aware, as he always is, of the hollow pit in his stomach, pain ebbing and flowing but never gone, new flares thrown off from a familiar wound, now pulsing with a kind of loneliness. All this, just from standing close to someone and trying to make them feel better about a mistake that didn’t matter.
“I...might go out for a smoke,” Jon murmurs eventually.
And here’s where Tim could say sure, wave him off and go back to moping, buy everyone an obligatory round, flex his meaningless chat muscles and be home by half 9. “Mind if I join you?” he asks instead, and to his surprise Jon nods immediately, as if he’d been hoping Tim would say that.
They duck outside to find dark clouds have given way to an anticlimactic drizzle. They stay close to the pub, shielded from the rain by the slight overhang of the roof. Jon fumbles with a lighter and Tim finds his gaze drifting over the rain-slick streets. It’s been a while since he’s been...anywhere, really, other than work and his flat. Longer than he can remember since he was outside in the never-quite-dark of the city.
Despite himself, Tim finds himself admiring the buildings across the way, modern painted shop-fronts on the ground floor giving way to weathered brick and occasional stone carvings above. It was the first thing he’d loved about London, how you only had to look up to catch a glimpse of its history, and it almost wounds him all over again, that that love isn’t gone too. It would be easier if he was just one thing, all the way lost. It would be easier if he didn’t still love the world that killed Danny.
Jon lights his cigarette, and silently holds the lighter out to Tim. Tim shakes his head, and Jon doesn’t question him about why he’s come out here if he doesn’t smoke. Doesn’t press about the way Tim must be looking; he knows he’s never had much of a poker face. Danny tried to teach him poker, on a visit home from uni; Tim left for six weeks and came back to playing cards and strategy guides everywhere - his brother, who never sit still even in his own head -
“Where were you, before this?” Jon asks. Tim wouldn’t have pegged him for a smoker, but he looks immediately more relaxed with a cigarette in his hands. Nice hands, too. It would be easier, if he didn’t-
“Publishing,” Tim answers, before he can drift again. He wants to say more, to make sure this undemanding presence isn’t going to leave his side, but his throat is still tight. “You?”
Jon frowns, as if debating something to himself, then gives a tiny rueful smile. “Tesco.”
Tim grins. “Was it a haunted Tesco?”
“Only by customers,” Jon replies, dry as bone.
from: please leave a light on when you go
HELLO, this is 1000 years late and for that i apologise!! i absolutely do not mind that it is over 500 words. tbh i'd do these for whole fics if enough people were interested!
Tim had always noticed people, collected little details about them in his head whether he intended to or not, but he thinks his observations used to be about happier things, though it’s hard to remember exactly how he was, how he felt, before - it wasn’t the kind of thing he ever tried to memorise, the kind of thing he ever thought he could lose. Now he finds himself taking note of the coworker who comes back from their lunch break with faint puffy red marks around their eyes, or the older guy who checks his phone with something like dread in his eyes. Danny would have called it his older brother instincts (but what good did those instincts do him? ).
i think i've talked about my tim just genuinely loving people in general feelings in another one of these answers, but it continues to be true. makes sense to be for a character demonstrated to be both smart and gregarious. i also wanted to muse on how formative traumatic events both change us and don't - tim still cares about the people around him, but now he's unconciously looking for pain
i am not immune to older brother tim feelings...i am especially not immune to them being directed at jon...
Tim blinks back to the present, realising he’s been pushing a napkin over the same spot of floor for a while now. Jon offers him a hand up, though he braces himself on the bar with his other hand before he does. Tim takes care not to let Jon take too much of his weight as he’s hauled back up.
part of the reason pre-series jontim is so fun is thinking about what would draw these two together. one answer is that i imagine jon as someone who would want/need a particular kind of consideration from those he's friends with, and i imagine tim as someone who's very good about noticing what people need and working around it without it being a huge thing
i was surprised that dyspraxic jon is not already a tag! or even just 'dyspraxia' does not seem to be a tag. i've read a lot of good fic involving various mobility issues for jon and this is a hc that i think makes sense (and that i hope i portrayed sensitively)
apparently the only tims i write are just regularly dissociating. i have no justification for this except that grief is really good at displacing you from time and also it's a convenient narrative device for dipping in and out of internal monologue
“Ah, thank you. And apologies, again,” Jon murmurs, gesturing awkwardly at Tim’s lightly-beered clothes.
“Happens to everyone,” Tim says easily. Jon still looks lightly anguished, and Tim silently wishes this could have happened to someone else, someone with the confidence to laugh it off. “I’m always convinced I’m going to drop something when I go in the silent study bit of the library,” Tim offers.
“Ah...that worry hadn’t actually occurred to me,” Jon replies, solemn enough that Tim can’t really tell if he’s joking.
Tim finger-guns. “Any other anxieties I can stir up while you’re over here?”
“I’m quite capable of stoking my own neuroses, thank you.”
lifting tim's fear here directly from my uni days. quiet libraries...so good at making me feel like i'm about to start emitting 1000 noises (i now work in a library but it's not a quiet one so we're mostly good)
jon who is jokes in a v specific deadpan way that a lot of people don't get...a good headcanon
trying to inject the right amount of slightly awkward formality into jon's dialogue is hard but fun...that last sentence i think i thought about a lot even though it's a short/simple thought. gotta make it sound like a short/simple Jon thought
another reason they would like each other right off the bat - banter
Jon glances over his shoulder at the tables the rest of the department are occupying, perhaps doing the same thing as Tim and trying to psyche himself up for some more hollow smalltalk. Tim notes that his jacket seems slightly large on him, but in a way that kind of works. The collar of his shirt is slightly out of place beneath it. There’s a lump forming in Tim’s throat, even though nothing is happening - nothing but standing close to someone, noticing the little signs that they’re real and alive entirely independent from him. He’s aware, as he always is, of the hollow pit in his stomach, pain ebbing and flowing but never gone, new flares thrown off from a familiar wound, now pulsing with a kind of loneliness. All this, just from standing close to someone and trying to make them feel better about a mistake that didn’t matter.
jon in big jacket...as the kids say, hot jon rights
i've also talked about this in another one of these but man. the little details that make it feel real that someone is there close to you. when you are lonely the reality of other people right there just out of your reach suddenly drives home
"a mistake that didn't matter" tim is always thinking about the mistakes that did matter :(
“I...might go out for a smoke,” Jon murmurs eventually.
And here’s where Tim could say sure, wave him off and go back to moping, buy everyone an obligatory round, flex his meaningless chat muscles and be home by half 9. “Mind if I join you?” he asks instead, and to his surprise Jon nods immediately, as if he’d been hoping Tim would say that.
i think jon here is like i think i am enjoying talking to this person but on some level would be relieved to stop, so i will take a punt as to whether or not he is also a smoker and let fate decide. luckily for him tim is not a smoker but he does crave human connection
They duck outside to find dark clouds have given way to an anticlimactic drizzle. They stay close to the pub, shielded from the rain by the slight overhang of the roof. Jon fumbles with a lighter and Tim finds his gaze drifting over the rain-slick streets. It’s been a while since he’s been...anywhere, really, other than work and his flat. Longer than he can remember since he was outside in the never-quite-dark of the city.
Despite himself, Tim finds himself admiring the buildings across the way, modern painted shop-fronts on the ground floor giving way to weathered brick and occasional stone carvings above. It was the first thing he’d loved about London, how you only had to look up to catch a glimpse of its history, and it almost wounds him all over again, that that love isn’t gone too. It would be easier if he was just one thing, all the way lost. It would be easier if he didn’t still love the world that killed Danny.
mostly my reaction when i have had to be in london is some level of :/ but maybe i do think fondly of some of it. cities at night...the weird mash up and modern & ancient in uk buildings that i always took for granted until i didn't. also hello architechture-buff tim
rereading this it's just very obvious to me that i wrote this during lockdown...like oh imagine going to a place and seeing a person. magical. effervescent
i do love them huddling close to keep out of the rain here...thematically appropriate, it is sad battered people against the world time, and also circumstance bringing you literally close to someone and having that change/spark something
the last line distresses me, the person who wrote it. i don't know if i have much to add to it really. sometimes the most painful part of living through something is waking up the next day and finding that you are still alive and a real person capable of being touched by the world
tim blames both himself and the world for killing danny. sure hope that blame and hatred doesn't rise up and send him into a spiral of self-destruction some day. would be a real bummer if that happened and ultimately led to his death via clown murder explosion
Jon lights his cigarette, and silently holds the lighter out to Tim. Tim shakes his head, and Jon doesn’t question him about why he’s come out here if he doesn’t smoke. Doesn’t press about the way Tim must be looking; he knows he’s never had much of a poker face. Danny tried to teach him poker, on a visit home from uni; Tim left for six weeks and came back to playing cards and strategy guides everywhere - his brother, who never sit still even in his own head -
“Where were you, before this?” Jon asks. Tim wouldn’t have pegged him for a smoker, but he looks immediately more relaxed with a cigarette in his hands. Nice hands, too. It would be easier, if he didn’t-
“Publishing,” Tim answers, before he can drift again. He wants to say more, to make sure this undemanding presence isn’t going to leave his side, but his throat is still tight. “You?”
Jon frowns, as if debating something to himself, then gives a tiny rueful smile. “Tesco.”
Tim grins. “Was it a haunted Tesco?”
“Only by customers,” Jon replies, dry as bone.
thank you for choosing this passage because now i have noticed/will edit the last sentence in the first paragraph, which is missing a word and does not scan right (should be 'who could never sit still even in his own head')
'Nice hands, too. It would be easier, if he didn’t-' hot. jon. rights. also connecting the 'maybe it would be easier if i wasn't still alive and real and capable of feeling' thing to noticing, appreciating, wondering if he wants something with jon
jon has definitely not told anyone else at the institute that he was in customer service before this. proud of him for this brief moment of trust. also between this and martin having told tim about his CV, i think people just look at tim and are like yeah here are my career-related secrets
i also just love imagining jon in customer service. and as someone who did not work in customer service at the time of writing this fic but now does, i mostly do not view customers as hauntings (library patrons are mostly chill) - unless it is 10 minutes until we close, in which case they are the absolute bane of my existence
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cyberdva · 3 years
Text
take me home- b.c.
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Summary: Staying with Stray Kids over the holidays via the first-hand invitation from Chan sounded like the perfect vision. When New Years’ roles around tension grew, in the coming days you’d have to leave and someone needed to confess the secret scratching at his core for years on end. With a little plan from your best friend’s bandmates, this new year would be one to remember forever.
Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of Anxiety, and a Makeout Scene
Word Count: 2.3k
Stray Kids Masterlist
Main Masterlist
A/N: (Gender Neutral Reader!!)  hey everyone! it’s sort of a tradition for me to write a short little fic for new years. this time i chose to write about chan since he’s turned my life around and brought so much positive change into my life. i’m forever grateful to him and stray kids. thank you for reading all of my sappy drama. life is going to get better!
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Being away from the same place you’d called home for the past who knows long felt strange. Don’t get me wrong, it was a major relief to be able to roam around a different area after the entire world was basically held captive in their own minds for the better. Having a second family in the form of an idol group, led by the most talented person you could think of, gave an excuse to seek refuge in their dorms, but this time they nearly begged for your presence for just a few days. Listening to Felix and Seungmin plead over the phone, ironic desperation laced in their tone, for a month and a half took a white flag waving on your behalf. Putting eight celebrities, and countless others, in the possibility of danger was the glue holding you back. Nights of pondering aimlessly always led to the same conclusion. Staying and going was a bitter conflict. Flabbergasted by all the trouble you got yourself into, the thought of leaving was a knee-jerk reaction. Either Felix and Seungmin got their way or the other way around, and if an agreement couldn’t be reached a full-on melancholy would forge in its place.
“Y/N…” Chan’s voice faded in and out with vigor, a perfect speech was freshly prepped in his mind wanting nothing but to have you here with him next week, “I have a question. You have to listen to the whole thing until you answer, okay?” His teeth grazed a chunk of flesh dragging in backwards in anticipation. 
“I’ll come visit.” There was a cold breeze, lacing the darkness with foreign excitement, a feeling you had last had back in freshman year when Chris came home to visit you  Training was the main priority for him, his young mind opened up the new group his company yearned to produce. Either lead a normal childhood or give the future its star-studded path. It hurt to see him go, more than anything had before, but when your bedroom door slowly creaked open it was worth the wait. Chan still remembers how you hugged him, tightly with so much emotion, it made him come to terms with the feeling brewing in his own mind. Truly cliché, but the way butterflies bubbled in his stomach and hands shook like leaves on a palm tree stuck in a brawny gust gave him desires which laid discrete too prolonged. Your response ignited that same lust, Chan’s voice hitched in between the words collapsing from his delicate lips. It brought a stunted tint to your cheeks, a rare occurrence in general. 
The man’s eyes fluttered in amazement, “Y-You’re serious, not joking right?” Fingertips grazed the dew buttons nearing the edge of his phone, mimicking his posture at the moment.
“Do I not sound serious?” A puff of humor fell from your mouth, “Just make sure I don’t regret it, I’ll text you tomorrow Chrissy.” Left in his own bewilderment, it only had now begun to register the weight of the situation. His only lover, one-sided in his wit, of a near lifetime, was coming just for him, and his annoying ‘children.’ 
“I fucking hate that nickname.” 
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“Are you even old enough to have alcohol?” Buzzing with anticipation, the young woman dashed past an elated Minho forcefully dancing with Hyunjin, who looked about to pass out from drained practice from earlier on. Your hands clutched onto a champagne bottle, it still has a hint of frost to the touch. Jeongin flashed her a pout and gave swift retaliation, “It’s not for me! Hannie told me to open it for all of us!” His long fingers snatched it right back into his possession. 
Changbin laid motionless on the couch, "It’s five minutes until midnight! Seungmin could you go grab Chan, I have no clue where he is.” A nod came from the other man, his footsteps faded in a quick manner. The aura swelled cheer through every inch of your body, it has been so long since you’d last experienced such an amazing weekend with the ardent people. Something did feel off, and everyone noticed. Chan just wasn’t as sociable, his time was mostly spent scrambling on his phone or just in utter silence. 
An abnormal amount of time passed and Seungmin was nowhere to be found. Your legs cracked a bit as you stood up, your mission was to now find that man-child if it was the last thing you did. Nerves jittered across your arms and wrists, it lingered in the small crevasses between tight joints. You were in love with Christopher Bang and this moment was the same as any other with him, but that sentence never fully processed in your mind. Instead doubts about confessions replayed constantly, it was an anxiety pressed down to the base of your concerns, yet it still bobbed for attention every now and again. 
“You alright?” Placing your body against the hard doorframe of Chan’s room wasn’t the brightest idea. A hard chunk of metal pressed directly into your thigh making this conversation more awkward to begin with. Chris was at a small wooden desk, still working his creativity to death, even during a celebration. His large, slick headphones fortunately didn’t block out the sound of your tender voice. It came as a surprise to him, normally Chan wasn’t this jumpy. Even a small amount of embarrassment tainted the normally confident persona of himself. He quickly spun around and tilted his head in recognition, silently motioning you to speak. 
Moving from the uncomfortable stance you continued, "You’ve been acting really weird lately. You know you can talk to me about anything. I’ll always be here for you no matter what.” Scanning his face for any reaction probably made things a bit worse, his posture caved in on itself and you couldn’t help feeling bad for possibly brining up something he clearly didn’t want to talk about. For the one moment he looked up at you it brought pang of guilt over your chest. 
A sigh escaped you unconsciously, “Sorry if I made you upset or anything, I’ll let you work some more, but at least get some rest later.” Chan shook his hands in retaliation as you spoke, slowly getting up from his seat as he did.
“I don’t know how to say this,” his eyes darted every which way except for you, “I should’ve told you a lot earlier and I regret not doing that and shit, but just listen to me.” You slowly bobbed your head up in down in a confused likeness. He radiated uneasiness in an odd, eager way. The silence between each sentence ate away at your mind. 
He reached out for your wrist, slowly moving it up waiting for consent, “Y/N, we’ve known each other for a really long time and ever since second grade I’ve…” he stopped. Now your agitation grew, what was he even talking about? His breathing staggered, “I’ve had like the biggest crush on you.” Did I just hear that right? A wave of panic took control over the two of you.Still yet to response, and react fot that matter, to what Chan said it made him start to plung into some sort of hysteria. 
Finally words pieced themselves together, “You’re in love with me?” He nodded, “Why didn’t you say anything.” When Chris would say he was shy you never thought it was to that extent. Imagining how hard that must’ve been to conceal wasn’t that difficult, your feeling for the man definitely were the exact same. Back in high school all your friends would be graced to hear your stories about how Chan is so hot, how much you miss him, how you’re going to marry him, and more and more. It was tough to never see him in person, it stung when you would call him in the rare date he was allowed to. 
“I like you too, ever since first grade for me.” His spirit turned into the complete opposite of before, now with a crimson shade of disbelief painted across his lug, “Your ears are red.” You laughed, his hands reached to tuck his hair back over the spectacle. 
“What do we do now?” The question floated in the air with the intensity of the conversation peeling away. Neither adult fully understood what was happening. The importance of their relationship crumbled away with small banter and painful jokes.
A bright idea formulated in your mind, “We could kiss.” Chris blankly took in what you said and graced a devious smile, “I like that idea.” Chan grabbed your waist and snatched you closer to his body, which was strangely warm. Not like you were complaining. Brushing a few obscure hairs away from your face he peered extensively at your stunning features, taking them all in. It wasn't long until Chan smashed his lips into your own and you eagerly returned the kiss.
For the next few minutes the two were engulfed in a kiss, making the whole room sway and trip over its own feet. Your grip on him became tighter and you locked your fingers together at his back, making sure you wouldn't lose him. After a few more minutes Chan began to push his lips to your neck, making sure to explore every inch of your skin with his tongue. You giggled and clutched him closer. Your lips caressed his chin and his neck, kissing every inch of them and playing with his eyelashes. Chan opened his mouth to kiss your neck but you put a finger on his lips, but he kept going. You heard footsteps coming closer even with the small noises coming from the older one. 
“I found him…” Seungmin walked right through the open door and adjusted to the scene in front of him, “Ew!” his face contorted into a disgusted look, “I found Y/N too.” Now that your expected make out session was confirmed, the rest of the boys peaked down the hallway with oddly happy faces. Chan was beet-red and began muttering quick apologies under his breath. Adorning a beaming smile you took his hand and guided Chan back to the rest of the group, “You talk too much, but that’s why I love you.” 
“Love me? Well, um I love you too.. I have for a really long time.” Your heart swelled from his cumbersome behavior, he really never changed much from his youth. With that said your cheeks flushed and a broad smile spread across your face, as your entire body flushed from head to toe. The boy had a way of making your cheeks do a very special kind of glow. With only a minute and a half on the clock it was awfully laid back. Normally people go all out on New Years, but everyone just wanted this one to end as quickly as possible. Spaced away from his large crew you noticed that there was a rather large difference in Chan’s mind and the way he acted. In front of his members there was a much more dominant manner to his actions. He really cared about them, luck was the only way to describe how you felt about knowing him so personally. 
Felix was the most thrilled of the bunch, "Twenty seconds left!” He bounced up and down with his grin growing wider than before. Whenever Felix was around the atmosphere automatically lit up. He just has that special feeling to him. While you flashed backed into your mind thinking about random anomalies Chan was gazing at you with piercing eyes and when you threw a glance back at him, he stayed still. Out of the blue, grabbing your hands and holding it tight.
“Ten!” This didn’t feel wrong, nor right, never in a million years did you think your childhood best friend would keep the same feelings for you tucked away. Trying to fill that void with one night stands, relationships that never ended well, and even distancing yourself from Chris wasn’t ever the answer you thought it was.
“Nine!” He was hidden in plain sight, could you be labeled the fool in all of this? Really Chris could too, it took so long to face the truth.”
“Eight!” Putting his career on the line is the next discussion, if fans or media found out about the two of you his contract could be terminated. The hate he faces already is too much, you would never want to hurt him.
“Seven!” The harmonic combination of everyone’s chants was relaxing, calming the storm of thousands of ‘What if..’ questions piling from your brain.
“Can I kiss you?” Chris was now right by your ear, burning straight into your sight. You jerked your body back in reflex, not expecting him to be so close.
“Six!” 
“What do you mean?” It was obvious, your mind felt as if it was short circuiting. This was not the first idea that popped into your head when you decided to come visit.
“Five!”
“Yes or no, hurry up.” From the tone of his voice you could tell he was dead serious. Time was running out.
“Four! Three!”
“Uh sure..” You swore a small sparkle in his eyes glistened at the response, his entire face lighting up. 
“Two!” Chris leaned closer, grabbing your chin delicately. His finger stroked the sides of your chin as his lips filled the gap and connected with yours. His lips were firm but soft and somehow you felt safe in his embrace. The kiss was soft and feather light. It lasted for maybe a couple of seconds before Chris pulled back. Your lips were still slightly swollen and her lips felt like they were on fire. You breathed slowly and opened your eyes to find him gazing at you.
"That was... good," you said a bit dazed.
He gave you a half-grin. "You're a natural." Your face broke out into a full smile still trying to wrap your head around all of this. 
“Do you mind?” Did everyone see that? Slowly your head turned to face the apparent audience all giving different reactions.”
“Minho, why don’t you kiss me like that?”
“Shut up Jisung.” Maybe this year won’t be so bad after all. 
-
-
-
“One day i’m going to marry you!”
“Chris were only like twelve, you’re going to find someone a lot better one day.”
“I don’t think i’ll ever find anyone as perfect as you.”
“Stop it!”
“I’m serious! I love you Y/N! Forever!”
“Love you too Chrissy, hurry up before we’re late for your swim practice!”
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cyberdva 2021
107 notes · View notes
dovechim · 4 years
Text
lost in the funhouse (m)
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⇥ 9.7k
⇥ warnings: psychological manipulation, spitting, slight blood play, oral (both receiving) unprotected sex (y’all know to wrap it right), impregnation risk, cream pie, dirty talk, name calling, Daddy kink
tldr; prisoner Namjoon is here
⇥ a/n: if you had any plans for the Valentine’s Day weekend, throw them all out the window. Happy Valentines Day from yours truly 💌
You’re used to the world being in different shades of grey. Both in the literal and figurative sense. Everything around you is doused in that dull colour, from the austere steel gates every 20 metres, to the security guards in their grey uniforms twirling their batons and sporting the big guns. This place is crawling with security cameras, with the state-of-the-art technology designed to keep the madhouse in order.
Hope World Mental Asylum for the Criminally Insane. A slightly ironic name, seeing as one couldn’t find an inkling of hope in this place no matter how hard they tried.
The prison orderlies bow as you walk past them, and you give them a smile in greeting. The staff here are nice enough. The security guards always treat you with respect, but you’ve seen the way they rough up an inmate who steps out of line. Though you suppose they’re trained to only react that way to the criminally insane. Still, they keep order in the asylum, and with the rowdier inmates that you see, you feel a bit better knowing that they have your back, although you could never believe that any of these people would ever hurt you.
Like you said, your world isn’t black and white, and neither are these people. They come in many shades of grey, and it’s your job to see them for who they really are, not for what the world has labelled them as.
Your heels click along the concrete floor as you walk past the cells of all the inmates, braving the catcalls and hoots along the way. In your white coat that conceals your figure, you feel secure, confident, not in the least bothered by the rowdiness and lewd comments thrown at you. The pristine white of your coat stands out amongst all the grey like a blinding light, painfully out of place, and the prisoners know that. They jeer as you walk past them, but you only give them your angelic smile, greeting them and asking how they’ve been.
You are late to your 2pm slot. A last-minute scheduling, a case that has been dropped by many junior psychiatrists until it was handed to someone more senior, like you. You’d thoroughly familiarized yourself with his case file last night, but when you step inside the cell that you always use for consultations, nothing prepares you to face your newest patient.
He is not bedraggled or covered with the dirt and grime that seems to be everywhere in this place. On the contrary, his blonde hair is slicked back neatly, parted on the side and revealing his forehead. His glasses are perched high up on his nose, even his prison issued jumpsuit seems to fit his lithe frame perfectly. The grey material is pulled tight over his shoulders, rolled up to his elbows in a manner which emphasizes his biceps. The front of it has its buttons undone to reveal a thin, white undershirt that clings to his chest. The rest of his body, however, is concealed behind the desk he is sitting behind.
But what pulls you in is the look on his face. Many of your patients are often broken products of the system, some of them don’t say a single word with you during your session, others ramble on incoherently. One of your patients had a condition where they’d laugh uncontrollably every other sentence. It’s all part and parcel of your job, nothing you haven’t seen before. But this man looks… interested.
He is well put together, intelligent, bright looking eyes tracking your every movement. His hands are laced together on top of the cold metal table that might have been repurposed from an operating table. His unwavering stare unsettles you as you take your seat. For the first time since you started working in this place, you feel uncertain, like you missed that last step coming down the stairs.
For a moment, you wonder if someone looking in on this scene would be able to tell who the psychiatrist is.
“Good afternoon, Mr Kim,” you place your manila folder down on the table.
He smiles serenely at your greeting.  If he is surprised at the formal way you refer to him, rather than his prisoner number, he doesn’t show it. “Hello, Doctor. Nice of you to make time for me today.”
“It’s my pleasure,” you nod at him, already even more impressed with how well-spoken he is. His voice is smooth, he sounds as if he could be giving a speech at the UN.
“You know, you have quite the reputation here,” Namjoon leans back in his seat, entirely at ease as he takes in your appearance from head to toe. His stare feels intimate, and then it occurs to you that just as you are here to evaluate him, he is appraising you as well.
“Oh really? Do tell,” you are genuinely interested now. “I figure you probably have an in with the rest here. You could really be helping me out.”
“Well.. let’s see. Graduated from college at the top of your class. Could have gone on to become a prestigious surgeon, have your own hospital and all that. But no. You chose to go into psychiatry. Chose to damn yourself, sully your pretty little self working in a place like this, just to figure out madmen like me.” Namjoon says all this in a matter of fact tone, as if he were reading an instruction manual. But the scary thing is, he is spot on. “So now you spend all your time locked up in this madhouse, talking to men who think about doing the most perverse, fucked up things to you while you sit right in front of them.”
“Is that what they say, or is that what you think?” You maintain a smile on your face. You’ve heard far worse before, but you never let any of them faze you.
“You caught me there,” Namjoon’s façade breaks into a sheepish smile. “Most of it, yeah. My assessment of you, doc. The angel in the madhouse.”
“You’re right. Mostly, anyway,” you admit with an easy shrug. “I did choose psychiatry over general surgery. You’re good at reading people.”
“It’s what a psychopath like me specializes in,” he says this easily, as if he is talking about being good at math or how quick he is at learning to ride a bike. “We read people. Just from their mannerisms alone. We observe them, get into their heads, and we get inside of them. In the most intimate way possible.”
“You know, that isn’t too far from what a psychiatrist does either,” you twirl your pen, watching his eyes follow the motion like a lion stalking its prey. “You and me, we aren’t too different.”
Namjoon lets out a loud, full bellied laugh. “Oh, doll. We couldn’t be any more different. You’re so… good. A good girl. And I’m anything but.”
“What are you, then?”
Instead of answering, he fixes you with an amused look.
“People aren’t black and white, Namjoon. Just because you’re not good, doesn’t mean you are evil. Life doesn’t work like that.”
“I beg to differ. You know, here you have the guys who think they’ve done nothing wrong. In their point of view, they are the good guy, right? But then you have guys like me, guys who knowwhat they’ve done.” He leans forward now, sliding his hands along the table until you are painfully aware of how close they are to touching yours. “Who enjoy breaking people.”
You can feel his breath on your skin.
“Oh, I’ll enjoy breaking you, doll.” He finally sits back with a smile that sends the slightest hint of nerves fluttering in your stomach.
The buzzer rings, signaling the end of your session, and he gets up of his own accord, holds his hands out for the handcuffs that are slapped onto him by the prison orderlies. Before he leaves, though, he shoots you a salacious smile over his shoulder.
“See you next time, doll.”
*
“Tell me, doc. Aren’t you curious at all?”
“About what?”
In this room, there are only two of you. But you know that at any one point in time, there are eyes on you. There are armed guards keeping watch outside this cell, ready to strike should anything go wrong.
“I said last session that I was thinking of doing the most perverse and disgusting things to you while you sit in front of me, all prim and proper. Don’t you want to know what they are?”
He wants to elicit some sort of reaction out of you. Namjoon is watching you closely for any reaction at all, but you know his tactics all too well. He is trying every trick in the book, starting with the one he thinks will work best. Practically dangling bait in front of you, hoping that you will bite.
Today, he is wrapped up in a straitjacket, his arms crossed over his front because of a transgression committed earlier this week that deemed him a threat. Yet, his mannerisms aren’t the slightest bit affected. He speaks with the confidence of a foreign diplomat, his eyes roving about your person as if he owns you.
“I thought you said it was the others who were thinking of me like that. Not you.”
Snagged, Namjoon lets out a small chuckle. “You got me there, doll.”
His admission does not fool you. Someone like Kim Namjoon wouldn’t let themselves get backed into a corner or admit something that they weren’t already willing to give away. It’s all just a game to him.
“You’re so pretty. As always,” Namjoon smiles, a charming grin that makes your heart beat a little faster. “You know, we all love seeing you. It’s the only thing that brightens our days in here.”
Seeing him face to face like this, it’s so hard to differentiate him from the Kim Namjoon that you know from his casefile. Multiple homicides, drug use, violent crime, and worst of all, the torture he subjected his victims to.
Looking at him like this, he could be your English professor in college.
“Do me a favour will you? Just one, tiny little thing,” he implores, an innocent look on his face.
Wariness creeps in at the edges of your consciousness, but you find yourself pushing it away.
“It depends on what you’re asking for.”
“My favourite colour is purple.” His next statement catches you even more off guard, because you expected something outrageous like demanding to shorten his sentence or get him on parole. “But everything is just so fucking grey in here. The only spot of colour we- Iget to see is you.”
He leans forward, with some difficulty now with his straitjacket. Namjoon’s voice has dropped to an intimate whisper, his eyes dipping down to linger on your lips. It prompts you to lean forward as well so that you can catch his next words.
“Wear something purple for me, won’t you, babydoll? I just need some colour in my life,” he begs so prettily, and it’s such an innocent request, you can’t find anything insidious in it. “But for our sessions only. It’ll be our little secret.”
His voice trails off, and you can see the hint of possessiveness in his eyes that sends a thrill down your spine, that holds dark promises of what would happen if you wore that colour for someone else.
The buzzer rings. He doesn’t wait for a confirmation from you, just gets up obediently and turns to the guards. The heavy doors close, and you are left alone in the cold, sterile room.
*
“Dr _____... I live for these moments with you.” Kim Namjoon isn’t his usual, composed self today. His eyes are alight, dancing with mirth the moment you walk into the cell.
He spots the lavender blouse that you have on today, covered by your doctor’s coat, of course. Namjoon only has a few seconds to take in the lemon-yellow pencil skirt that you have on before you take a seat opposite him. He is smiling like the cat that caught the canary.
“Thank you for honouring my request,” he says with another charming smile, and today because the straitjacket is off, he reaches across the table with his hands, long and slim fingers laced together.
“It was a minor inconvenience, of course,” you sigh dramatically. “Didn’t have anything purple in my wardrobe, I realized. Had to go on a shopping spree and treat myself for the first time in a long while.”
“I’m sorry you enjoyed yourself because of me,” Namjoon banters back, and you giggle with your hand over your mouth.
He watches you laugh with a smile that crinkles the corners of his mouth, emphasizing his dimples.
“What is it like outside, doctor?” He asks with a beguiling smile, tilting his head as he watches you digest the question. “What’s the best thing you love about being outside? Is it the colour of the sky, or the warmth of the sun on your skin?”
Again, his questions are so innocent, that you can’t possibly believe how many people he’s tortured and murdered. How many of his own gang members he killed. Kim Namjoon’s innocent dimples are on full display as he searches your expression.
“I like… I like how the sky is boundless. At any one time, if I look up at it, I feel… free. Like I can go anywhere I want to.” Your thoughts wander, taking you outside of this sterile, heavily guarded prison cell until you can almost feel the breeze on your cheeks. But then, the heavy clank of a prison door somewhere outside brings you back to reality, and you realise what you’ve just said in front of someone who’s been sentenced to this mental asylum for life.
A part of you expects him to lunge across the table for your throat. But Kim Namjoon has not moved a single muscle. Instead, the smile on his face is ever present, dimples and all, and you can’t help but detect something sinister in it. But instead of making you feel uneasy, it thrillsyou.
Is this what it feels like to be dancing with the devil?
He lets out a contented sigh, as if he’s living in the memories you just described. “So innocent, doctor. That’s what I like about you. You remind me of how the world would look like if everything was good.”
Somehow, his approval feels good. It feels right.
“Do me a favour, will you?” Namjoon opens his eyes from his brief escape into fantasy. “Dance for me, little swan.”
“Dance?” You hesitate. “I can’t dance… I don’t know how to…”
“Then twirl,” he says, not giving you time to fumble about in your own lack of self-esteem. “Twirl for me, pretty thing.”
You reluctantly get up, seeing the hope in his eyes as he watches your every move. You are more self-conscious than you’ve ever been in this place, especially so when he bids you to take off your doctor’s coat. Without it, without the sense of validation and authority it affords you, you begin to feel like the tables have turned between you and Kim Namjoon. That really, he’s the one evaluating you.
You leave your coat on the back of the chair. Placing your feet together, you start to spin slowly, feeling the brush of your skirt against your thighs elevate your heart rate. You go faster, feeling the breeze of your own making caress your hair. All this while you are aware of his eyes on you, tracking your every movement like a predator stalking its prey. A laugh escapes your lips as you put your arms out for balance; but all it takes is one misstep, and suddenly you find yourself in the arms of a mass murderer.
Kim Namjoon sets you upright again, his lithe arms feel strong as you clutch his biceps. His frame towers over you, and it is only then that you realise how much power he exudes, just from his aura alone. How did he even move that quickly?
“Careful, Doctor. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt, now would we?” The beats of your heart count off the seconds that he holds you in his arms, and it feels like an eternity before he lets you go. “Only I get to do that. Only I can hurt you, babydoll.”
His eyes dip to your lips, and he places his hand on your chin, running a thumb along your bottom lip. You feel the pad of his thumb dampen with your saliva, and you can hardly breathe.
“You would look good with red lipstick,” he comments casually, dropping his hand from your face and taking a step back.
As if on cue, the buzzer rings, and the prison orderlies rush in to corral him into his handcuffs, lead him back to his cage. He keeps his eyes on you as he is dragged out of the room, on the way your chest heaves as you struggle to catch your breath.
*
A knock sounds at the door of your office. A little hesitant, but more insistent the second time round.
“Doctor? You’re late for your session with Prisoner 120994.” It’s the intern who does the administrative scheduling for the psychiatrists, Jeon Jeongguk. The number catches you off guard for a moment, until you connect the dots. You haven’t thought of Kim Namjoon as Prisoner 120994 for the longest time.
You take a moment longer as you stare at your reflection in the small hand mirror, contemplating the red lipstick on your desk. But it clashes with your violet cardigan, and the whole look is just messy.
The knock comes again, and you hastily throw off your cardigan, apply your lipstick, and gather your white coat.
“Dr _____, you’ll be la- oh. Um, Prisoner 120994 is waiting, Dr _____.” Jeongguk awkwardly swings the door open wider so that you can get past him. “You look… you look different today. New lipstick?”
“Just trying something new,” you shrug it off casually as he follows behind you like a puppy.
“Not only today, you’ve been looking different lately!” Jeongguk is quick to add on.
You are almost halfway to your consultation cell, but Jeongguk is still following you. He doesn’t let up until you stand before the armed guards. They open the door, and you see that Namjoon is already seated in his usual seat. He cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of you, his usual charming smile primed to greet you, but it fades when he sees Jeongguk.
“… the new style looks really good on you!” Jeongguk is bright eyed as he grins at you.
You cast him a cold glare. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to work, intern? I don’t need an escort to walk me to my sessions.”
Without waiting for a response, you enter the cell, the door slamming behind you. Shooting Namjoon an apologetic smile, you sit down across him, arranging your files on the cold metal table in front of you.
“Who was that?”
“Oh, it was…” your voice trails off upon seeing the dark look on his face. “It was our admin intern. He’s young, so he’s still pretty immature. But he gets work done, so…”
Namjoon is no longer interested in your answer. Instead, he is appraising your person, from the way you nervously arrange the papers on the desk, to your inability to meet his gaze.
“The lipstick doeslook good on you, Doctor,” he relents finally, and you are able to relax for the first time since you stepped foot in this cell a few moments ago. His gaze feels more intimate than ever as he practically eye-fucks you, lingering on the low neckline of your light blue strappy top. “But it seems like you wanted Jeongguk to see it instead of me.”
“No! Jeongguk is… he’s no one. No one compared to you,” Feeling like a scolded child, your cheeks heat up in shame.
“Aren’t you forgetting something else, too?” Namjoon is relentless, raising a brow at your outfit of choice today.
At once, you jump to your own defense, but your voice trails off in uncertainty. “It clashed with the lipstick! And so I didn’t know…”
“Did it?” He expresses doubt, his eyes still eating up every inch of exposed skin on your chest. It ignites a fire in your lower belly, makes the entire room heat up.
“But I wore something else that’s purple,” you’re quick to continue, eager to earn back his approval.
His eyebrow perks up with a lazy, lethal interest, like a jaguar flicking its tail, contemplating a potential kill. “What is that, babydoll?”
Your heart is in your throat. Knowing exactly where the security cameras are located in this room, you angle your body as you scoot your chair closer to the table. Then, you lean forward ever so deliberately until you’re sure that he can get a good peek of your lilac lace bra down your shirt, and the smirk of approval sends adrenaline singing through your veins.
This is so wrong. You could be fired for this.
But then why does being wrong feel so right?
“Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me,” he lets out a single, vehement curse, his eyes unable to leave that sweet spot of your cleavage pushed together by your bra. “Today it’s your bra, but next time… next time I’ll be sucking on your pretty pink nipples.”
Hearing him praise you is the best feeling in the world. And even better is how he can’t take his eyes off you.
Taking advantage of the fact that the security cameras in this room are only filming your back, you reach into the sleeve of your coat and lower the straps of your top, so that it falls down your chest, fully exposing your breasts in your lilac lace bra to his view.
“Now I’m not forgetting anything, am I?” You voice is breathless as you watch his eyes travel greedily across your cleavage, licking his lips. “We should continue our session like this.”
Namjoon lets out a chuckle. “Oh, babydoll. You think I can concentrate on what you’re saying if you look like that?”
“Then don’t,” the words come out of your mouth, and you didn’t even realise you were this brave.
“Remember those perverse, disgusting things I mentioned during our first session, Doctor?” He leans forward for a better look at your breasts, watching as they begin to heave up and down because of your heavy breathing.
“Yes. I want to hear them.”
“You’re so… good,” Namjoon whispers, as if to himself. “I want to hurt you so, so bad, babydoll. Fuck every single hole you have until you are brimming with cum. I want to tie you up to the bed, legs spread permanently and make you my little cum slut. Just a receptacle for holding my cum, and if you dare to let any spill out, I’ll choke you with my cock until you pass out. When I finally let your pretty little pussy have my cock, it won’t be vanilla sex like you’re used to with that loser Jeongguk. I’ll brand you with my cum, and you’ll be my breeding slut. Forever reduced to carrying my babies. I will own you. I will break you so good, baby doll, and I will hurt you really, really bad.”
“I can take it,” you answer eagerly. “Anything you want to do to me. I can take it. I want it.”
He laughs again, almost in delight at your compliance. “So obedient. So innocent. You don’t know how badly I can hurt you, babydoll.”
You shake your head vehemently, leaning forward to offer him a view of your cleavage. “I don’t care. I want it.”
A slow, satisfied smile spreads across Namjoon’s face. “If you really want it, babygirl…”
“Yes, I want it,” he has reduced you to incoherency.
“… you’re going to have to help me with it.” Namjoon reaches forward to trace a pattern on the top of your hand, and it feels like your nipples are so hard, they’re aching for his touch. The single point of contact between you and him has your entire body heating up, your thighs rubbing against each other, and your panties drenched.
You nod immediately. “Anything. Whatever you need.”
“If we’re going to fuck, we need a place where we won’t be watched. As much as I want to hurt you, that sight is for my eyes only. I don’t like sharing my toys with others.”
“I understand-“
“Now, there’s going to be a system maintenance next Monday, exactly three days from now,” Namjoon continues calmly, his eyes razor sharp as they lock in on you, no longer clouded with lust. “All the security systems will be offline until the first bedcheck at 6am. At exactly 3.05am, there will be a change in shift, and there won’t be anyone watching my cell. It takes 9 minutes. You need to come and get me out of my cell. And then… then we can talk about how bad you’re willing to get hurt.”
“How will I… how will I get the key?” It doesn’t even occur to you to question how he knows all this information.
“You’re smart, babygirl. You’ll figure it out,” he strokes your chin with his thumb, admiring how your red lipstick smears when he brushes it against your lips. “Already a mess for me. I can’t wait to wreck you, baby girl.”
“I’ll do it,” you reassure him, only to be rewarded with his approving smile.
“Cover yourself, babydoll. The buzzer is about to go off.” Namjoon sits back in his seat as you snap back into reality, following his instructions as you pull the straps of your top back on your shoulders. He looks a little sorry to see you covered back up.
As predicted, the buzzer rings, and the doors fling open.
The guards come in to take him away, and you don’t even question his near supernatural ability to keep track of time so accurately, even though there isn’t a clock in this room. Even you lose track of time during your sessions with him, forgetting to look at your watch that you keep hidden.
All you can see is him.
*
“Everything okay? You’ve been stirring that coffee for the past five minutes.” A voice jerks you out of your daze.
Min Yoongi, the head prison warden, strolls in lazily, twirling his all-access card in his hand. You almost salivate at the sight of it. It’s all too convenient. His access card is the only way for you to get into the room with all the keys to the prisoners’ cells.
He slips it into his back pocket carelessly.
There’s no one in the common pantry that all the staff in the mental asylum share. It’s the perfect chance.
You turn around, immediately spotting how his eyes are drawn to the low neckline of your top. So the rumours were true. Just a little bit of cleavage and the man will roll over like a puppy begging for a belly rub.
“Just tired, is all,” you smile jovially, dropping the empty coffee sachet on the floor not so accidentally. When you bend over to pick it up, you make sure he gets a good look down your shirt.
As you straighten up, you catch a glimpse of his dazed stare. You take it as an opportunity to step closer so that your bodies are almost pressed up against each other.
“Say… what are you doing this weekend? Are you free, by any chance?” You let your eyes linger on his lips, angling your head so that more of your neck is exposed to him. You can feel his breath, hot and heavy on your skin.
“Th-this weekend? Su..sure, I’m free, yeah,” he stumbles over his words, hands coming up to hover around your ass, still unsure of himself.
You gently coax his hands, his right hand resting on your butt cheek, and the other on your waist. He gropes your ass immediately, unable to control himself. In return, you giggle playfully, sliding your hand down to his ass in a show of flirting as well.
Closing the gap between your bodies, you press your breasts against him, lowering your lips to his ear. “You should come over. My roommate is out and we’ll have the whole place… to- our-selves.”
You emphasize the last three syllables, noticing the way his breathing picks up as a result. You deftly slide your hand out of his pocket, patting his ass as you wink at him. “Call me!”
As he watches you go with lustful eyes, your step has an extra flourish, hips swaying to give him a good show. But what he can’t see is the satisfaction on your face as you kiss the access card, sliding it into your bra for safe keeping.
*
Having worked in Hope World Mental Asylum for the Criminally Insane for the past nine years, you know your way around it like the back of your hand. The guard routes, security camera positions, emergency exits. Basically, you have the map of it memorized.
Earlier that week, you signed yourself up for the graveyard shift, which of course no one wanted. No one even asked why you wanted that shift, all too glad to clock off and leave you alone in your office.
The silence is deafening as you watch the minute hand crawl closer and closer to the ‘1’ mark. At 3.04am, you get up silently, having dressed in a black hoodie and black jeans, with sneakers to go along with it. You let yourself out of your office, clutching the access card as you make your way to the control room where all the keys are kept.
From your office to the control room is only 50 steps. Less than a minute later, you are in and out, grabbing the keys from a hook labelled ‘120994’.
From the control room to his cell is another 80 steps. It takes you one minute to get to his cell, and you see him pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. He stops as he spots you, his features lighting up with a dimpled grin.
Another 10 seconds to unlock his cell. And then he is out.
The caged beast is no longer so.
You expected him to sweep you into his embrace at once, kiss you until you can’t remember your name. But all he does is take your hand in his, breaking into a run and forcing you to keep up with him. Your footsteps are silent as he leads you down the rabbit’s hole, twisting and turning until you lose track of where you’re going.
Down flights and flights of stairs, out of a door labelled emergency exit that you never came across before. And then it is down a dark tunnel that never seems to end.
When he finally stops, you are out of breath. “Wh-where are we?”
Namjoon is not winded in the slightest. It’s obvious that he is at peak physical condition, and he turns to you, front buttons of his grey prison issued jumpsuit undone. “We’re underground, babydoll. A place where they’ll never find us.”
A quick look around tells you that this might have been a medical ward a long time ago. Operating tables, not unlike the one you have in your consultation room, are strewn about. Only thing is, these tables have limb restraints attached to them. Broken syringes lie on the floor, electroconvulsive therapy machines are abandoned in the corner. Years of disuse has not done this room any good.
You should feel vulnerable in a place like this that could have come from one of Stephen King’s novels. Trapped in close proximity with a madman who prowls the room’s perimeter.
But all you feel is exhilaration and anticipation for what is to come.
You watch his biceps tense as he runs his fingers through his hair, turning around to face you. “A place where you’re all mine.”
He stalks towards you, eyes glinting in the darkness. “We have all the time in the world, babydoll. And I told you before. I’m going to break you so, so bad.”
“I want it,” your voice comes out in a near whisper as he backs you toward the wall, caging you in with his lithe arms.
His broad shoulders pin you against the wall, and he forces your chin up so that he can finally kiss you. Namjoon’s lips are rough, his teeth not showing mercy as he owns your mouth. His hands roam the expanse of your body, groping first your ass, then palming your breasts in his large hands.
He is like a drug you can’t get enough of. Every lick of his tongue is intoxicating, his lips pull you in deeper into your descent. There’s no going back now. But of course, you knew this all along.
Namjoon pulls away with swollen lips, toned chest panting as he picks you up around the waist. His strength only serves to make you even more beguiled by him, and you have to touch his biceps to feel how they tense and strain under your weight.
He treats you like a ragdoll as he tosses you onto the metal table, climbing onto of you and spreading your thighs with his legs. Namjoon takes a moment to admire how pretty you look with your hair all splayed out across the metal table. In a single motion, he strips your body of your black hoodie with a crazed look in his eyes, annoyed with not being able to see and touch your bare skin. He brings both of your hands up by your head, straps them in with the restraints before you even realise it.
Namjoon has his thumb on your chin. “Open,” he orders, and you obediently part your lips.
He spits right into your mouth, admiring the way his saliva is collected on the back of your tongue.
“Swallow, then show me,” he demands, and you swallow down his spit, opening to show him an empty mouth. “That’s my babydoll.”
He kisses down your body, looking for the first time, unhinged as he feasts on the sweetness of your skin. Namjoon fascinates himself by spitting on your breasts, watching his spittle run down the crevices of your body, into your cleavage, soaked up by your lavender lace bra.
Then, in a sudden movement, he tears your bra to pieces, the underwire ripping your skin and making you gasp in exhilaration. The raw display of strength, the primal desire in his eyes as he sees the crimson stain on your pretty, smooth skin. One finger swipes across the newly made wound, gathering the blood and bringing it to his mouth.
“Sweeter than I imagined,” he says as if in a trance, mesmerized by the way your blood tastes.
Then he dips his finger in the crimson liquid once more, tracing patterns down your belly as he caresses your waist, until he comes to the waistband of your jeans.
“I had hoped you would be in slightly more suitable attire… but I guess this is for practicality’s sake,” he muses, flicking open the button with practiced ease. Namjoon slides your jeans down your legs, hands lingering on every inch of exposed skin as he goes. He tosses your jeans somewhere on the floor, leaving you in your flimsy lace panties that are already soaked to the core.
He brushes two fingers experimentally against the wet patch. “Tell me darling. How would you like to live dangerously?”
When he pulls your panties down, you are so wet that you can smell yourself. Embarrassment heats your cheeks as Namjoon scents your arousal, biting his lower lip in response.
“Look at you. Already so wet, your pussy is begging to be destroyed.” He spreads your pussy lips with two fingers, exposing your delicate insides lewdly as he examines you thoroughly. “Tell me whose pussy this is.”
“Y-yours, it’s yours. Forever. If you want it.” You respond immediately to the warning tap on your inner thigh.
Namjoon chuckles, a low, dangerous sound that you can feel directly in your core. “We’ll see how well it can take cock first. I’m going to tear your pussy apart, then we’ll see if you still want to offer it to me.”
When he reaches your ankles, he imparts a kiss to each one before he straps them in. You can feel the leather restraints tight against your skin, so that you are left spread-eagled on the metal table.
“So perfect,” Namjoon smiles to himself, licking your essence off his fingertips. “Just waiting for me to break you.”
Every second that you don’t feel his touch on your body is a moment of torture. “Namjoon,” you sob, arching your breasts to the ceiling.
“Beg for it,” he whispers, slapping your breasts roughly so that he can watch them bounce under his force. He pinches your nipples hard, reveling in your screams as he tweaks your pleasure. “All you have to do is say the word. ‘Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty…”
“Please,” you gasp, thighs aching with the strain of trying to rub against each other. You can feel yourself dripping onto the table underneath you already. “Pretty please.”
“Good girl,” Namjoon sighs in delight, taking in the trails of dried blood on your tummy. Your hardened nipples are begging to be tasted, but he isn’t done with them yet.
He spots what he’s looking for on the floor a couple of paces away. Leaving your side to pick them up, he attaches the electric clamps onto your nipples, causing you to wail out in pain and pleasure. Of course, there’s no current active between them, since this place has been abandoned for god knows how long, but this will have to do.
“Now, let me eat my babydoll’s pussy.” He finally invites himself to feast on the delicacy in between your legs that he’s been dreaming of ever since the first time he set eyes on you.
The first lick has you thrashing on the table, tears leaking and streaking your mascara down your cheeks. His tongue continues to probe your clit, circling it torturously as two fingers plunge themselves into you without warning.
Having this intelligent, well-spoken man who could probably run for president in between your legs makes you heady with desire. The lust filled moans reverberate in the empty, abandoned medical ward, mixing with the filthy sounds of Namjoon as he tongues your cunt. Two lithe fingers are buried deep, thrusting and seeking out that sensitive spot inside you.
The word slips out before you realise it. “Daddy… let me cum. Wanna cum.”
He pauses at this, letting out a harkened laugh with your juices still dripping from his mouth. “A pretty little girl like you, with a Daddy kink? Oh, this is too perfect. I’ll fuck all the daddy issues right out of you, babydoll.”
And then his tongue is back on your clit, he adds another finger to your cunt to stretch you out even more. Your thighs are twitching, heels banging against the metal table as you convulse under his touch.
“Don’t cum.” He commands, slapping your clit sharply. “You’re not allowed to cum until Daddy says.”
“Please, please stop, I can’t hold it back,” you beg and please, thighs straining to close. You are almost at the edge of your orgasm, one more lick of his devious tongue would send you right over.
Namjoon gives a disappointed sigh, eyes flicking to your tear stained face. Like a predator toying with its prey, he decides to let you off just this once.
“Fine. Meanwhile, I’ll use your pretty little mouth.” A series of movements follow, and you strain your neck to catch a glimpse of what he’s doing.
And it is a glorious sight. Namjoon pushes the sleeves of his prison issued jumpsuit down his well-muscled arms, exposing the thin white shirt underneath. It clings to his defined chest, slightly matted with sweat. But the real prize comes when he pushes the jumpsuit below his waist, and you realise that underwear is probably the only thing that is not prison issued.
The sight of his long, hard cock, angry and red greets you. One hand pushes the rest of the jumpsuit down, the other strokes his length and gathers the precum on his palm to provide a better glide. He catches you staring with a smirk, his abs tensing as he puts on a show for you.
Namjoon kicks his jumpsuit off, walking to the head of the table. He strokes your cheek gently, then slaps it hard, leaving a red imprint behind. He digs his fingers into your cheeks, forcing you to tilt your head up uncomfortably to make eye contact with him.
“Open,” he says, as if you were nothing but another orifice to pleasure himself with.
You can only imagine how much he’s been dying to do this. When was the last time he got off? Your lips part obediently, offering your throat as a vessel for his pleasure.
He rests his cock on your bottom lip, smearing his precum all over your chin. Namjoon grasps himself and moves the tip of his cock to your reddened cheek, spreading the precum over the imprint of his hand. Satisfied with his handiwork, he finally slides his cock into your mouth, and then you are filled with the taste of him.
His cock is hot and heavy on your tongue, his pre cum fills your throat with its saltiness as he thrusts hard. The tip of his cock hits your throat, and you can already start to feel how raw it is as he face fucks you. His balls are hitting your face repeatedly with every thrust, so you have to close your eyes and surrender your mouth to him completely.
“Your every breath belongs to me,” Namjoon emphasizes his statement with every thrust of his cock. “If you breathe, it’ll be because I allowed you to. Got that, slut?”
He punctuates this with a slap to your breasts, causing your nipples to twinge from the clamps. Namjoon then releases the clamps and tosses them aside so that he can bend down to take an abused nipple into his mouth while he fucks your face.
Every few thrusts, Namjoon buries his cock all the way in your throat, forcing you to deepthroat him. Your throat convulses around him as spit and precum drip out the sides of your mouth. Then, he decides to push his cock all the way in and keep it there, actively depriving you of your air supply. His balls are heavy on your face, smothering you.
“Shit!” He pulls his cock away from your mouth after what seems like eternity. “You have such a good mouth for cock-sucking, babydoll. Do you ever suck Jeongguk’s cock like that? Hmmm? Tell Daddy what a cock slut you are.”
You shake your head vehemently. “No! I’m just a cockslut for you. Only you.”
Namjoon chuckles darkly, before shutting you up as he places his balls on your chin. “Shut up and suck my balls, slut.”
You lave your tongue around him, taking one of his testicles into your mouth and playing with it, careful to keep your teeth from grazing them accidentally. By now, your makeup is smeared all over your face, sticky precum coating every inch of your skin, and he has rubbed his balls and cock all over your face, treating you like a sex doll.
You can feel how heavy his balls are as you switch to the other one. Namjoon groans, almost in pain as you suck dutifully.
“Fuck, I have so much fucking cum for you, babydoll. I want to fucking drown you in cum. But the only place I’ll be putting it is in your pretty pussy. Good girls like you love having a cum filled pussy, don’t they? You can’t live unless your pussy has been well-fucked and creamed. You’ll let any random man fill your pussy with cum, won’t you?”
You make a muffled sound in your throat, and Namjoon sighs impatiently, as if anything you have to say is an inconvenience to him. He pulls his balls from your mouth. “What is it, slut?”
“I’ve- I’ve never let anyone cum inside me before-“
“Oh? Never let another man cum inside you?” He reacts with genuine surprise, slapping one breast harshly again. By now, your tits are red and swollen with his handprints all over them. “Never felt a man’s cock pulse as he paints your womb with his cum? Never felt the warmth of his semen in your pussy, travelling through your pretty little body in search of your egg?”
“Never,” you say truthfully, entirely enraptured by his dark, gleaming eyes.
For a moment, he is silent, and you almost think that you can see a glimmer of something that you haven’t quite seen before when it comes to Namjoon. It is soft, tender, but gone in a split second before you had a chance to ascertain that you saw it for real.
“Then I’ll be the first, babydoll.” The luscious grin is back as he makes his way in between your legs, cock probing your inner thighs and staining them with pre-cum. “Beg for my cock.”
You perform for him, as if on cue. “Please, please, please, fuck me. Fuck me so hard and break me, Daddy. I can take it, I promise. Be the first man to cum inside me.”
“What would your parents say if they saw you like this, hmmm?” Namjoon runs the tip of his cock against your slit, slapping it a few times. “All bound up, legs spread, mouth used and begging to get fucked by a madman. Begging for a criminal’s cock.”
Your laugh sounds foreign to your ears. It resounds in the dim room, it is unhinged, on the verge of catatonic.
“They would be proud of me,” you say with a wide grin, and it prompts a belly laugh from Namjoon.
“Give it to me, Daddy,” you bite your bottom lip, canting your hips up in invitation. “I want it all.”
Namjoon gazes down at you with a look of deranged pride at your bruised and broken body, finally feeding you his cock one inch at a time. He spreads your pussy with two fingers as he thrusts the rest of the way in, marrying your hips together with a flex of his thick thighs.
“So fucking tight, I’m going to have so much fun ruining this pussy,” Namjoon all but cackles as he begins to fuck you, every stroke deep and purposeful.
You can only giggle, all caution thrown to the wind as you watch the sweat start to collect on his body. “I’m already broken, Daddy. Use me as you please.”
So Namjoon doesn’t stand on courtesy. He pumps in and out of your cunt, watching your breasts bounce violently from the force of his thrusts. Your walls mold around his cock as if you were made for him, made to take his fucking like his very own plaything.
He places his hands on either side of your waist as he ruts into you like a filthy animal, and you can see from the way his muscles strain and flex that he is putting every single ounce of energy he has into fucking your pussy. Namjoon’s eyes glimmer with a primordial urge, and you let yourself fantasise that you are his last meal. That he is an inmate placed on death row, and his last, dying wish is to fuck a baby into you.
Your pussy clenches involuntarily, and Namjoon slaps your cheek hard.
“What were you thinking about, slut?” He demands, keeping up the brutal pace as the head of his cock assaults your cervix with every thrust.
“M-making you a baby daddy,” you confess with a sinful leer, mouth open and gasping in pain as he slams into your cervix again.
“Oh? Babydoll read my mind,” Namjoon’s lips curl into a nefarious smile. “Ever since you walked into my cell, all I wanted to do is get you pregnant with my child. Fill you up with so much cum so that there’s no way you won’t get pregnant by the time I’m done with you.”
“Do it, please,” you beg, pussy dripping at the thought of him making you heavy and round with his child. It would be your greatest pleasure to carry his baby, to feel a part of him grow inside you, to walk around in public carrying the baby of an insane criminal.
“I’m gonna make you remember how well I broke you,” Namjoon growls into your skin, his voice is a deep rumble as he brands you with his cock. His girth feels as if it is splitting you apart, you can feel the head of his cock so deep, that if you were to touch your stomach, you might feel his cock there. “For the rest of your life, babydoll. I’m gonna cum so deep in your womb, gonna put a baby right here.”
His hand comes to rest on your lower stomach.
“Then I’m going to let you go with a womb full of my cum, and you’re going to walk out of this place with my baby inside you. You’re going to grow so big and swollen that when people see you, they’ll know you’ve been fucked by a psychopath,” Namjoon licks a stripe up your neck, his teeth sinking into the lobe of your ear. “Inseminated by a madman. Bred by a criminal.”
“I’ll give you all the babies you want,” you are desperate to feel him pulse inside you. “Visit you in prison and let Daddy knock me up over and over. Be your little prison breeding slut.”
A derisive chuckle comes from him as he fondles your clit. At this stage, you are so fucked out, cock drunk and desperate for his cum. You couldn’t possibly have any idea what he’s planning.
“That’s right, babydoll. Now stay still and let Daddy do his job. We only get one chance, so Daddy’s got to make sure he fucks a baby into you now.” The urgency in his voice is lost on you as his hips start to hammer into your cunt, driving his cock so deep until you are crying from the intricate mix of pain and pleasure.
You have no idea how you managed to get this far without cumming, but the tension in your lower belly is right at the brink of snapping. Still, you wait for his permission, and judging from his breathing, he is getting close. His thrusts are getting sloppy, his face buried into your shoulder as he chases after his release.
“Cum for me now. Squeeze my cock like the whore you are,” Namjoon breathes into your shoulder, finally giving you the go ahead.
His resounding groan as he fucks into your tightening pussy encourages you to let him hear how good he’s making you feel. Your screams of his name echo inside the abandoned room as your pussy clamps down around his cock, trying its best to milk him dry of every drop of cum.
“Milk me, you fucking cumslut, squeeze me dry,” he demands, slamming into you one last time before he releases with a loud groan, every pulse of his cock sending spurts of semen deep into your womb where it belongs. His fingers tighten around your thighs, leaving behind blue black bruises. “You better get every drop of cum if you want to get pregnant, whore.”
And you work for his cum, the aftershocks of your orgasm making your walls clench around him rhythmically. He is so deep, you can feel the spurts of his cum directly at your cervix, bathing it generously as your womb swallows it down greedily.
When you feel as if the spurts of cum have stopped, you expect him to pull out. But you realise that his cock still remains hard in your well fucked cunt. Namjoon’s chest is heaving, sweat dripping off every crevice of his muscled torso as he slowly begins to thrust his cock in and out of your creamy pussy.
“Daddy’s got to fuck his cum inside your womb,” he says with his eyes glued to the mess between your legs, watching his semen froth up on his cock. “Be a good doll and don’t let any of it escape.”
His thrusts are slower, but deeper now as he makes sure that his balls hit your ass with every thrust. You can feel how sloppy your pussy is, even if you can’t see the cum on Namjoon’s cock. Your inner thighs are wet and sticky, and you whine like a spoiled toddler.
“Daddy… you’re fucking me so hard.It’s all coming out,” you say with a pout. “How am I gonna give Daddy a baby if he fucks all his cum out of my pussy?”
A definitive throb of his cock inside you tells you that you hit his soft spot. “Daddy’ll have to fill you up again then babydoll.”
This time, a finger circles your clit, pulling the knot in your belly tighter as he fucks into you. You tense up immediately, feeling incredibly sloppy as he fucks the cum deeper into your pussy.
“Can I cum? Daddy, can I cum?” You beg, feeling his cock twitching as he hits you with deep thrusts.
“Cum for me, babydoll. Pull all that sweet cum deep inside your womb where it belongs. Give us a baby,” he cajoles, and the squeezing of your sweet, cum slippery walls in your orgasm rewards him. “Fuck, take my fucking cum. Take all of it!”
For the second time that night, you feel his cum flood your pussy, and he tilts your hips up as he roars his pleasure, fucking your cervix raw and open. His thrusts slow as his spurts of cum weaken, and soon, he is plugging your pussy up with his cum.
“My pretty babydoll,” he runs his tongue up the side of your face, kissing the side of your mouth. “Took my cum so well. It’ll be a miracle if you weren’t pregnant after tonight.”
“Daddy…” you eyelids flutter in exhaustion.
He gives you a final kiss on your forehead, smearing the precum on your face one last time before he pushes himself away from you.
You hear him fiddling with the restraints at your wrists and ankles. A moment later, your limbs are free, and you adjust your position so that your thighs are close together, cradling the precious gift of life that Hehas bestowed you with.
“Rest, babydoll.”
You hear his voice getting more and more distant as he moves about the room. Attempting to open your eyes to follow his movement, you see him rummaging for something in the drawers, and then the sound of paper tearing.
“Wh- what are you…?”
Then, he is back by your side, a large, warm hand on your forehead, forcing you back down again. A pinprick on your arm, and then everything goes black.
*
When you wake up, it is to darkness and musk.
And god, the ache in your entire body.
You move your legs, grimacing at the stickiness in between them. When you sit up, you can feel globs of cum leak down your inner thigh. You run your fingers through it reverently, bringing it to your lips for a taste and closing your eyes in sheer pleasure as you lick every bit of His cum.
How much time has passed? How long were you out cold for?
Glancing around, you slowly recall the events that transpired. The warmth in your slightly swollen belly that reminds you of the life that you have been tasked to nurture. The used needle on the ground beside you that is probably the reason why you were knocked out.
A giggle passes your lips as you scan the room for any traces of Him, but of course, he isn’t here anymore. But it doesn’t matter. He’s long gone, escaped into the night like thin air.
But he chose you.
You want to jump up and down, hug yourself in delight. But you mustn’t spill any more of His cum. You have to make sure it takes, make sure your belly becomes swollen with his child, just as he intended, so that he can see from wherever he is.
You throw your head back as catatonic laughter takes over you, peals of it resounding in the dark basement of the abandoned medical ward.
*
EPILOGUE
Your lips curl up in a secret smile when they ask. Words of ‘Congratulations! Who’s the baby daddy?’ only make your heart race.
Your swollen stomach is increasing in size with His gift, slowly, day by day.
Min Yoongi’s curious eyes linger on the swell of your belly. “You know… you never gave me your number that night.”
But you ignore him, stirring your coffee serenely.
“And, next up on the nine pm news. Sightings of mass murderer Kim Namjoon in the vicinity have been reported, but two months after his escape from the Hope World Mental Asylum for the Criminally Insane, police still haven’t been able to track him down. The state has initiated a full-scale manhunt for the criminal, but all efforts have proved to be futile…”
You stroke your belly with a peaceful smile, looking at his picture on the television screen. Handsome as ever.
They should just give up. No one in this entire world can find Kim Namjoon. Not even you.
But you’re not worried. Because you know he’ll come back for you, and meanwhile, you’ll proudly show the world how swollen you are because of Him. And when he does come back, it’ll be to fuck another baby into you.
Because after all, you are his chosen. His one and only.
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olderthanthemorning · 3 years
Text
Be My Mistake (Draco Malfoy)
pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader, ex!George Weasley x Reader
summary: trying to get over someone by getting under someone else doesn’t work out as well as everyone claims (based on the song “be my mistake” by the 1975)
wc: 2.4K
warnings: angst, some steamy scenes but no smut
a/n: hello! this is my first imagine and first time i’ve written anything for fun in actual years! i’d love feedback!
****
Be my mistake Then turn out the light She bought me those jeans The ones you like
You fell next to me, still breathing heavily, and I rolled over onto my side, staring at the jeans that were thrown haphazardly across the room before we climbed into my bed. They were worn and hugged me in a number of places, all of which were right, according to you. In the moments after you said this, I couldn't think of a witty response, because your attention only reminded me where the pants came from. How I pulled them out of the gift bag and shrieked, and looked at him, who knew I had been eyeing them for weeks now at the local vintage store. I remember throwing my entire body onto his, trying to encompass all of my love and appreciation into one embrace, and the small laugh he let out. He wrapped his arms around my waist, where your hands had been moments ago. It didn't feel the same, though. You both have large hands, but his are rough and calloused contrasted by the warmth they always seemed to possess. Yours are smooth and gentle, but still obviously in control. Pale and slender, they're like icicles at times, but I don't mind, I'm thankful for the differences on nights like this one. Your soft snores bring me back to the present, and I turn back to see your eyes closed, so softly that it looks like you could open them at any moment. Your lips are parted slightly, your bare chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, a time signature to dance to. I take in the sight for a few seconds before turning again, my back to you as I strain to reach the small lamp and turn off the light. As I close my eyes, I wonder if tomorrow will be the day I wake up and find enough fulfillment in your hands to forget his.
I don't want a hug I just wanna sleep The smell of your hair Reminds me of her feet
I remember starting to cry as your lips moved with mine. It was silent, but unable to ignore. Bitterness and salty tears entered my mouth and ruined the moment. I remember feeling pathetic as you pulled away and open your eyes in concern, I mean who cries during a hook up? You kept asking me if I was okay and what was going on. I just want to keep going, I wanted your touch engulfing me so I couldn't think of anything else. I want to feel you and no one else. If it had been any other time I probably would've noticed the uncharacteristic softness in your tone as you tell me I can stay with you that night. I could tell you're trying to find a way to ask what was wrong, why I'm so upset, but I'm not interested in having a heart to heart with the boy I was sleeping with about the boy I was in love with, and how they weren't the same person, so I ignore your obvious curiosity. All I want is to sleep, and you're more than content to agree, preparing the blankets. You offer me one of your shirts to sleep in, but I shake my head and decide to just use mine. After a few minutes of silence, I lay down and think about how your bed is colder than I recall. You pull me into your chest, close enough that I could feel your breath, and smell your scent. Most of our encounters had smelled like sweat, sex, and desperation. But tonight you smell like rain and mint, and there was a musky wood smell left over from your conditioner. It brought me back to the summers with George. Running through the grass after a rain, our feet stomping through puddles that exploded and coated our legs in water and bits of mud. Trying to beat each other to the bottom of a hill, only to slip on the slick ground, tackling the other on the way down. His mother would scold us for tracking mud in the house, but would wrap us in towels and blankets and hand us cups of hot tea nevertheless. He would wrap his long arms around my shoulders for warmth and place his head on top of mine, humming a nameless melody. He whispers "I love you," but it's almost as if it's not to me. He speaks it to the room around us, as a quiet declaration. A way to let the place he loved, the place he grew up in, know how he felt. I feel more hot tears fall from my closed eyes onto your pillow and feel myself slip into sleep. The last thing I remember is your thumb wiping away the wetness on my cheek. It was slow but assured, like you had been practicing the motion for months.
So don't wait outside my hotel room Just wait 'til I give you a sign 'Cause I get lonesome sometimesSave all the jokes you're gonna make While I see how much drink I can take Then be my mistake
The portraits in the corridor are all sleeping as I slink back towards my common room. I can tell I've had about half a drink too many as I stare at the ground and try to feel like the hallway was moving sideways. The party in the Ravenclaw tower had been a good one, aside from the slightly pretentious music playing. I make a note to tell my roommate that the cute boy from your herbology class had asked about her again. A curse escapes my lips as I trip over my own feet and catch myself in time to look up and see you leaned against the wall next to the portrait entrance. "New day with the new legs, huh?" a knowing smirk creeps across your face and I roll my eyes. "Verrrrry funny, Draco. You been waiting here all night?" I approach him and link my hands together behind his neck, pulling him closer to whisper in his ear, "I can sneak you upstairs if you want." You frown, becoming aware of the alcohol on my breath and sigh, "No, I actually think you should go up to bed. I'll talk to you in the morning."
"You're no fun," the skin on your neck is sweet and tender and I start to pepper it with kisses, trying to convince you to stay, "come on, I know you want to."
"No, you're drunk," you lift my arms and duck under the hold I have you in.
"Then why are you even here?" I can feel a spark of agitation growing in my chest, fueled by the heat left behind by the alcohol. "If you didn't come here to for that then why did you come at all?"
"I came here to talk, y/n, I didn't think you would be wasted." You scoffed and looked away, you thought after all the nights together, it wasn't a surprise you wanted to see me again.
"Please, that's not what this is. It's just sex. You know that." I turned away in annoyance, looking around to focus on anything but your eyes burning into my back.
"You cried to me and you sleep in my bed, I'm sorry if I thought that meant it was maybe more than sex!" I can hear the frustration in your voice.
I whipped around, "well it's not! it's just fucking. I told you that from the beginning. I don't know why you're getting attached, you're not my bloody boyfriend!" On the last word I push you, huffing in anger, pieces of my hair dangling in front of my face.
You back up, mostly out of shock, as my push couldn't actually throw your large frame off balance. There's a glimmer of hurt in your eyes, but mostly it's a look of defeat as you just say, "clearly," pressing your lips into a thin line and spinning to walk away down the dimly lit hall.
"That was brutal," a portrait of an older man holding a french horn said looking at me.
"Fuck off," I say before turning to say the password and enter the common room.
I shouldn't have called 'Cause we shouldn't speak You do make me hard But she makes me weak
A week later you're in my room again, loosening your tie and slipping your hands under my sweater. Neither of us had said anything about the argument, but what we were doing didn't require talking, so it wasn't brought up. Your lips are on mine, full of longing and lust, frantic to continue. Our tongues fought for dominance as I fell backwards onto my bed, you fell on top of me, your firm body flush on mine. It's hungry, like we are both searching for something in each others' lips. You taste like spearmint and cigarettes and kind of like darkness, like kissing cold shadows. It was a refreshing vapor that left wherever you touched tingling. It was like the reality of a cloud, misty yet powerful. It wasn't like kissing George. Kissing George was like that feeling of waking up for a split second in the morning and being able to close your eyes again and be reemerged in the amazing dream you were having. It was relieving. It made me think about the song that goes "I'll stop the world and melt with you," because that's what it was like. I was completely at his disposal, vulnerable and open, but so was he. He tasted like honey and citrus, which reminded me of warm summer days. The kisses were often broken up by laughs as we stumbled around whatever room or corner we were in, George usually hitting his head on something, and me kissing it better as he buried his face in my neck, covering it and my shoulder in smaller kisses.
You bite my lip and I moan, remembering who I'm with. Opening my eyes, I can't help but feel a small drop in my stomach, like something was lost. I try to focus on the feeling of your hands on me, needy but confident, but I can't push the feeling completely away. It sits near me on the bed side table, not interfering, but waiting, watching, knowing that it'll have my attention once you and I are finished.
And don't wait outside my hotel room Just wait 'til I give you a sign 'Cause I get lonesome sometimes Save all the jokes you're gonna make
While I see how much drink I can take Then be my mistake
On my way to my table for breakfast, I make a deliberate detour to the Slytherin table. The usual gang surrounds you as you laugh at their jokes between sips of juice. Your smile is casual, and you look happy. You always look more beautiful when you look happy. I barely have to stop as I lean down and whisper in your ear, "meet me outside my common room during free period." By the time you turn to look at me, I've continued walking to my table. In the past, most of our interactions happened after nightfall, but I was feeling different today, confident almost. If Pansy didn't like me talking to you, she could bring it up with me, herself.
The first two classes of the day tick by at an agonizing pace. It felt like every fifteen minutes I would check the clock only to see that it had been two. Thankfully, the period had ended and I headed towards the familiar path to the common room. It had been a dull lesson, the continuation of the previous day's lecture on the various types of confundus charms, and how to know which to use depending on the size of the recipient, and how many fingers they had. I think if I had to lose a finger I'd choose my right ring finger, because it wouldn't hinder my ability to make pinky promises or make rude gestures. I know you wouldn't choose that one, though, because that's the finger that you wear your favorite ring on. The silver should make you're skin look even paler but the jewelry just extenuates the divots and curves of your slender fingers. I can't help but notice this is the first time I've ever been able to think about that ring without rolling my eyes.
The corridor outside my common room was pretty empty, seeing as most students were in class. There is no sign of you yet so I decide to sit on the floor and wait. I wonder if you've been having as much trouble in potions as I have. Probably not, you were always so clever in that class, maybe you could help me study. Imagining a nook in the library with a table that is ever-slightly too small for all of our things. Our elbows would touch and we would look up at each other and giggle, but other than that it would be silent. Yes, that would be nice. Another few minutes pass by and I can feel myself begin to grow impatient. Surely you can't still be kissing a teacher's ass? A voice starts coming from around the corner and my head lifts in time to see two fifth year boys walk past, one giving a detailed run down of the most recent quidditch game. I pull a book out of my bag and flip through the pages of muggle poems from my muggle studies class. Stopping every few pages, I find myself enjoying many of them. They are short and concise. I can appreciate their ability to say such grand declarations in so few words. Even the words themselves are mischievous, alone they mean nothing, scenarios of everyday life. However, in context, they dance with others to create metaphors. It was almost how wizard photos would capture a movement, a specific moment, rather than just an image. I come across a single sentence that reads, "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more." At first it means nothing. In fact, it takes an entire minute for my mind to drift back to George. I'm almost proud that it takes so long, because I know a few weeks ago my mind would've been occupied before I even read the statement. The time on my watch tells me it has now been an hour since I expected to see you leaning against the very wall my back pressed against now. For a second time I come to a thought that I probably should have come to sooner. You're not coming.
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Note
How would you imagine each of Michael's Phases would react to finding you asleep, while you waited for him to finish his daily antichrist things and come back home to you? 😇😈 Fluff/Smut? Whatever you find fitting! 🖤
Thank you so much for sending this in! I hope you like what I’ve come up with! I’m not exactly sure where Grunge!Michael fits in, so I did skip that one.
* There’s one little section of smut for flavor. But it’s been a while so I apologize if it’s shit! *
Hawthorne!Michael
The fires were burning low in the academy as Michael made his way through the sleek halls to his bedroom. He knew it was late, and he paused with a wince when his door creaked on its hinges as he pushed it open. Michael peeked his head around the edge of the door to try and find where you were. Soft light from a low-burning candle illuminated your face resting on his pillow, your lashes dusting your cheeks as you slept, and he smiled softly. 
The book you had been reading on advanced magical techniques and incantations had fallen from your hand and laid open on the bed next to you. He carefully picked it up and moved your bookmark--a balck satin neck ribbon from one of his uniforms--to the page you had been reading. Descensum. Of course. Even with his powers growing stronger and his confidence in his ascension as Alpha, he had still asked for your help in making sure he was as prepared as possible. He needed this. He needed to prove himself, and you wanted nothing more to see him succeed. You’d be lying if you said you had been particularly worried about the final task after hearing of the previous failures by others. But Michael wasn’t like the others.
The mattress dipped as he sat on the edge of his bed and stroked the curve of your cheekbone with his thumb. Michael leaned over and pressed a kiss to your temple. He didn’t bother changing. He simply loosened the ribbon at his neck, removed his jacket, and slipped under the covers to pull you close. His arm wrapped around your waist, and he tucked his head against your neck. As powerful as he was, he felt stronger with you wrapped in his arms. 
~~~~~~~~
Sojourn!Michael
He had been lost. Mentally, physically, emotionally. Spiritually even. His father had abandoned him--just like everyone else. Except you. Michael smiled tiredly when he spotted your figure wrapped in a knitted throw blanket on the porch swing. You always waited for him to stumble back home, leaving the porch light lit for him. He was sure he’d find a cold meal still sitting at his spot on the table, too. A lump rose in his throat as he watched the gentle breeze rustle through your hair. You deserved better. You deserved someone strong and confident in their abilities. 
You wrapped the blanket tighter around you in your sleep, resulting in a soft and deep chuckle from your lover. He made his way to you, gently scooped you up in his arms, and opened the door with the slight kick of his shoes. You whimpered softly at the disturbance, but didn’t wake, and buried your face against his neck. The dusting of stubble on his jaw tickled your cheek the closer you snuggled into him. His warmth was a nice contrast to the chilled outdoors, and the heady smell of his skin lulled you back into your slumber.
Michael sat on the sofa with your head in his lap, carding his fingers through your hair, and trying to get the wild beating of his heart under control. He was always like this after a day of “work”. His mind ran at miles a minute with questions and concerns, and his blood rushed through his veins at the restrained panic. The gentle feeling of your chest rising and falling against him helped as he focused on mimicking your steady breaths. Before he knew it, his head was resting against the back of the couch and your breaths had synched in peaceful sleep. No matter how lost he was, he always found his way back home to the one who kept him grounded. To you. He would become the man you deserved, the man that demanded the respect and fear of others, the man that kept you safe.
~~~~~~~~
*Fire&Reign!Michael (Smutty Smut Smut Smut) 
Michael’s gloves creaked as he tightened his fists at the memory of the day’s successful meeting. He’s held the entire room, each person eating out of his palm, as he addressed the Cooperative. They practically held their breaths for him. This was what purpose felt like. It flowed through him stronger than anything he had ever felt. Well...almost. Desire consumed him so quickly and completely when in your presence that he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to (which he never did). Michael embraced his urges now, and he’d never felt more alive. Just the thought of you waiting in your room for him was stirring his arousal. Pleasure and pride often went hand in hand, after all.
A smirk tugged at his lips as his eyes landed on your form asleep on the sofa. What a beautiful sight to celebrate the end of his glorious day. With an elegant twist of his wrist, the flames in the fireplace burned brighter to light the room. The satin night dress he had given you had ridden up and gave him a tantalizing view. His fingers, still clad in vibrant red leather, trailed lazily over your bare legs, up your exposed thighs, and danced over the silky fabric at your hip. He knelt between your legs, placing one around his waist, and kissed along your neck and collarbone. A practiced swipe relieved you of the lace covering your core, and his fingers quickly slipped along your folds. The sleepy moan from your lips encouraged him further, and his teeth nipped at the sensitive skin on your neck.
“Michael…” The murmur of his name made him chuckle in satisfaction against your skin, and his gloved fingers easily pushed into you when your hips shifted.
“You know I fucking love it when you say my name.” Your eyes fluttered open at the husky whisper. It was even better to wake up to the real thing. Michael was skilled at playing your body. He knew just the right angle to make you arch and writhe against him. Before long, he removed his fingers and pressed the wet digits against your lips. “Come on. You know what to do.” Your lips parted obediently, and you hummed at the taste of your own arousal and warm leather on your tongue.
The long day and earlier thoughts of how exactly he wanted to ravage you when he returned left him impatient. The sound of his belt and zipper made your eyes sparkle in excitement, and you eagerly parted your legs to give him more room to settle against your hips. With one sharp thrust, he seated himself fully inside of you. He groaned into your neck but didn’t pause long before setting a pace driven by sheer carnal need. Michael knew what he wanted, and he was going to chase it with pure abandon. Your hands reached behind you to hold the arm of the sofa, the deep and rapid thrusts of his cock forcing you across the piece of furniture until his hands gripped your hips roughly to hold you in place. The pressure of his fingers on your skin, his teeth on your collarbone, the sound of skin on skin and his groans of pleasure filled you with more sensations than your sleep-addled brain had been prepared for. His face was slick with sweat and your back was starting to stick to the black leather sofa. Gasps and moans fell heavily from the pair of you amidst the erotic symphony echoing in the room.
Your hands reached up into his soft, blond curls and tugged. The action earned you a string of curses and a sharp thrust that perfectly reached the spot inside you that left you seeing stars. Michael did it again upon hearing your gasp and relentlessly targeted your g-spot, even as his hips began to falter. One of your hands remained in his hair while the other ventured downward to drag your nails lightly along his clothed back. A shiver ran through his body, his cock twitching within your trembling walls, and he growled in your ear. The possessive sound coupled with the feeling of him perfectly filling you was the tipping point. You came around him with a cry, your pulsing core drawing him deeper still, and he roughly jerked your hips up to fuck you through your orgasm. He was so close, and your release only drew him closer. Your legs locked behind his back to urge him on, needing to feel him fill you completely. A chorus of moans continued to fall from your lips, each one praising his name, and he buried himself as far as he could before granting your own desires. You moaned in satisfaction as pulse after pulse of his seed filled you, his teeth sinking into your collarbone to muffle his groan as he claimed you as his in every way.
“Today went well, then?” you panted. Your fingers stroked his damp curls from his face as he held himself over you.
“Oh yes.Though I was very much looking forward to the end.”
~~~~~~~~
Outpost!Michael
Michael pinched the bridge of his nose after closing his laptop. More bad news. R&D was having difficulties with virtually every project they needed to accomplish for the Sanctuary to flourish. While the people at Outpost 3 were insignificant and of no concern for the future, he wasn’t alone. He wanted this to work for the both of you. You were his future, and the both of you together were the future of this world. If nothing functioned to help you survive, what kind of future was that? He couldn’t broach the subject of a family with such uncertainty looking ahead.
Michael ran a hand through his hair and sat back in his chair. That was enough for one day. He grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and straightened the shoulder to make sure his immaculate presence reamined. He tucked his laptop under his arm and began climbing the spiral staircase to his rooms. Michael passed a few of the Outpost residents in the hall and remained aloof to their gestures and acknowledgements. Any show of interest would only encourage, and he was more than done with his interviewees for the day. 
The air in your shared room was warm and humid, and he spotted your laptop closed on the table. The door to the bathroom was mostly shut except for an inch that let a sliver of light stream from the room. Thick air carried a familiar smell that made Michael smile--your favorite bath soap. He tossed his coat across a chair in the corner of the bedroom and unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves. Michael rolled his shirt up to the elbows and entered the bathroom. It must have been some time since you’d started your bath from how far the candles had burned down. Bubbles still covered the surface of the water, though, some still stuck to the skin of your shoulders and chest as your head rested against the back of the tub. You must have read the emails, too...
Michael knelt beside the tub and swirled his fingers in the water. It was still warm, but he could feel the surface beginning to grow tepid. His powers leached into the water and increased the temperature back to a pleasant heat that released some steam into the air. His long fingers caressed your arm until you woke enough to blink up at him.
“May I join you?” Michael whispered. He rested his head on one arm bent across the edge of the tub while the other continued to raise goosebumps over your skin.
“Of course.”
Michael needed no further invitation. He stripped himself from his formal attire, kicking his cropped pants into the corner and tossing his shoes away. You slide back to give him room to step into the tub and sit in front of you. He moaned softly as he sank into the warm water, his tense muscles slowly beginning to uncoil as the water soothed his stress. Well, the water and the gentle circles your thumbs began to make along his spine and shoulders.
“How did the interviews go today?” you asked quietly.
“About as well as expected. Every one of them believes they deserve to be saved,” he muttered, waving his hands dismissively as if they were talking about something as inconsequential as the weather.
“Do you think they have any idea they won’t be leaving this place?” Your lips danced over his neck and shoulders, and he tipped his head back to rest on your shoulder to look into your eyes. The smirk on his lips said it all.
“Not a fucking clue.” You chuckled together and cupped your hands in the water to wet his hair while his head was still tipped back. He’d grown it out over the last year, giving him the look of maturity that matched his behavior. Everything was smooth and calculated now, from the application of the dramatic scarlet eyeshadow he wore, to his fashion, to each word he used to trigger the responses he needed in interviews. He had grown into his power and wielded it with his beauty as a dazzling weapon.
After sufficiently soaking his hair, you ran your fingers through the long silken strands and used your nails to massage his scalp. Michael sank against you more with a sigh and pressed a kiss to your lips. You happily returned it and pulled away to trail your lips along the tendon of his neck. He reached up to cup your face and bring your lips back to his in a deeper embrace. Perhaps the future was a bit uncertain, but this one aspect would always be clear.
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yeoldontknow · 4 years
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Colour Show (M)
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Author’s Note: happy birthday to my heaven and heart, the music in the dark, the light of the universe, the glow of the stars - park chanyeol. this fic has gone through 4 title changes, 6 iterations in word count length, two plot changes, and about two years of insecurity and uncertainty from me. this is just a word for the wise: dont ever give up on your WIPs. they will always have a home, even if you think theyre a lost cause <3 | this work is entirely an act of fiction. it features subjects which may be uncomfortable to read, including but not limited to: non-traditional and indecent sexual acts, sex in public spaces, and themes of voyeurism. please do not read this story if any of these themes make you uncomfortable or you are under the age of 18. Creative Content Contributor: @chillingkoo​ who made this utterly stunning banner for my birthday because she is an angel ;~; Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female)  Genre: smut; public sex; DJ!au; romance; au Summary: While out at a night club, the DJ catches your eye. He’s confident, enraptured by the music he creates, and glows beneath the lights. With your eyes on him, the world begins to fade. But little do you know, he has his eye on you, too. Rating: NC-17 Warnings: explicit sex; public sex acts; mentions of drug use; masturbation; fingering (female receiving); themes of voyeurism; dirty talk; unprotected sex; creampie; explicit language Word Count: 10.5K
Hours in, the only thing you can truly feel is the heat. 
Against your skin, it presses - all consuming and overwhelming and aggressive in its effort of making a home of you. Inside and out, even against the malleable tissue of your lungs, it lingers, the sweat of your body stinging as it rolls down your arms and your neck. Bodies are pressed together, your body against other bodies, foreign and comfortingly unfamiliar, their closeness helping you reach transcendence. 
For one night, these men and women are your lovers - you see them as such, even if the technicality of semantics means it is not true. Symmetrically and asymmetrically, it does not matter, so long as you can touch them, feel them press against your core, teasing. All that matters in this moment, skin to skin contact with endless, nameless faces, their own flesh making you feel wet with life. Hand to the wall, a gentle chill spreads across your fingers, refreshing and rejuvenating the movements of your limbs. This kind of breeze is vital between the joints of your knuckles, just as is the vodka that slowly dries on your lips. 
Hugging your body against the concrete, you stand with your eyes closed and lips parted, tongue dragging along the flesh to fight back your thirst. Your hips grind in time with the beat, smearing your shape and essence into the paint - you imagine the wall is breathing, imagine your sweat leaves stains and it swallows them whole, hungry for the taste of you to linger on its tongue. Beneath your clothes, your skin is slick, glistening beneath the lights, the glitter from your cheeks dotting the paint to birth constellations of ecstasy. 
With anxious fingers, you tug at the fabric of your dress, the sheerness of the skirt sticking to you like a second skin. It’s been dampened, either by sweat or stray drops of vodka, clinging to your flesh ceaselessly. Wrinkling your nose for a moment at the feel of it beneath your fingers, you continue to roll it up, exposing the length of your thigh, rustling it back and forth to cool you.
Coursing through your veins is an energy, a live wire that seems to have been torn from your nerves and moved to live inside your blood, plugging into your sternum to dictate the rhythm of your heart. It’s the music that does this, the music and its hypnotic beat. From your position against the wall, you eye the platform upon which the DJ works, a lonely god and the maker of it all.
Even from this distance you can see the tips of his ears peeking out from under the headphones, the flush at his cheeks swallowing every light whole and turning him into something radiant and gold. It’s foolish to want him, foolish to eye him as though you are possessive, have been granted permission to be so, as though he might want you, and as though he is somehow yours.
From the moment you entered the building, you felt the music within your pulse, hauntingly familiar and hauntingly mimetic. Something about the way he looked, something about the way he spun records, something about the way he seemed to exhale the sound, made you needy. When you saw him, you realized it was not the music but he himself who lived inside you.
He was the one who built this version of your spirit, with practiced hands and a smirk at the corner of his mouth. He was the one who rearranged all your soft pieces until you decided you wanted him, you needed him, and little other than your sensual destruction would suffice. 
He was the one that made you crave a great undoing, and for this you were delighted.
Snaking a hand beneath the hem of your dress, you ground your feet into the floor and press harder against the wall, keening against it with reckless abandon. In this kind of all consuming dark, the music drips down and deep into your soul, sugary sweet and not unlike syrup, and you release a small whimper of pleasure as your fingers scratch against your thighs. Heavy bass rolls around you, decides to make a home of your ribs, and the vibration against all these fragile corners makes wetness pool between your legs. 
Biting your lip, you turn and open your eyes to watch the DJ, watch the way his hands fervently make the world, powerful and paradoxically delicate. Everything about the noise of him is synthetic, records spinning with knobs and computers, and yet he remains the most authentic thing about the space.
Around you, people have made themselves into the shapes of people they wish they could be, that they would like to be. Tonight, they have made armor of tight clothes and painted lips, but he exists beyond their orbit. Black shirt and jeans, he’s simple, hiding in plain sight and making sure that he is noticed. 
He makes sure he is wanted.
And you want him. Oh, do you want him. 
Watching him feels like kissing candy, sweetness without the purity, and you drag your tongue across your lips once more as your hands tease the line of your underwear. Briefly, your lip curls to reveal your teeth, a threat of wanting to all who dare approach you, before they clamp down, cheeks twisting your expression into a pleasurable sneer. 
You’re wet, soaked just from the sight of him, but you can  see his hands from this angle and that makes it easy to pretend it’s his fingers that slip under and drag along your slit. It’s his fingers that seek your heat and learn you, know you, become a master of you.
Again, you whimper at the touch, smile impishly and keep watching him, glad your sighs are being swallowed by the music. No one can hear you, no one is even paying attention to you, and it makes you feel like this space belongs to you. 
Like this, this space and this man are yours.
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Across the room, atop the stage platform, Chanyeol watches your display in his peripheral as he works. Pursing his lips, his tongue laps eagerly on the lollipop sucked between his teeth, imagining the sweet wetness on his tongue is yours. It takes concentration not to let his gaze wander up your legs and thighs, to where he can see the dark outline of your hand. He’s drawn to it, to your center, starts to think of it as a golden ring of purpose, and lets the blood rush to his groin as he imagines his fingers joining yours. 
Thoughts race through his mind at a speed he’s not used to experiencing outside of a high, the adrenaline rush of wet lips and wet fingers enough to make anyone feel drunk. 
He wonders how wet you are, wonders if your fingers are slick already or if you’re merely teasing. He wonders if you’re high, if you’re only this brave because the molly or the angel dust have made you feel limitless or if this is just another Saturday for you. Are you used to being hungry for skin and flesh, or is this all his? Are you hungry, just like him, for something a little more? Something a little more alive?
He’s got a lot of questions, and he grits his teeth on the lollipop stick to keep himself focused. 
At this distance, he can see the way the light plays on your hair and skin, the smooth expanse of your chest glistening and glowing. Part of him feels envious of how liberated you are, remembers how he too used to come to clubs to get fucked and get high until he decided to make a home of it. Now, the thrill has started to fade, wet women and coke covered teeth too common to really seem dangerous. Now, he works through it, totally sober and drunk only on the bass he makes himself, gets hard beneath the narcissism of it all and doesn’t feel ashamed. 
And, if he’s honest, you’re the first exciting thing he’s seen in months. 
It’s when you bite your lip that he finally lets himself smile, doesn’t care if the expression is a give away because you’re too lost with yourself to really notice. He’s sure your fingers are in deep, to the knuckle judging by the way your hand seems to disappear and your eyes fall closed. This is when he calls you a chameleon, thinks the way you subtly take on the shades of the lights is something unnatural, something bewitching, a power you keep locked within your core. Turning up the treble, twisting the knob with the same affection as he’d curl his finger inside of you, he decides you were made for this: for the dark, for the sweat, for the music, and, thus, you were made for him. 
Lots of women have fit this role, but tonight the bill is yours.
You look good like this, wanting and waiting and fucking your hand. Still, he thinks you’d look better on top of him.  
A hand claps him on the back, sending his body arching forward slightly, though it does not interrupt his rhythm. Mostly, he finds he is upset he has been interrupted in his astute observation of your display, irritated that he has to look away. 
‘It’s two, mate,’ a gruff voice shouts, pulling one of his headphones off. ‘My turn.’
Chanyeol simply nods, let’s the beat run and closes his laptop so Joel can take over. He doesn’t bother to pack up his things, knows his manager will take care of it, knows that his manager is probably used to this behavior - the detachment that follows him from one club to the next, and the way he seems to find himself a warm, pliant body the moment he steps off stage. He does not dwell on how his manager feels about this, about the bodies and the bumps of blow that seemingly line his bedroom, and he does not particularly care. Tonight, all he cares about is the warm flush on your chest and the way your body arches in time with the music.
Tonight, all he thinks about is how it will feel to have the whole length of his cock buried inside you, and little else. 
Chanyeol takes his time approaching you, slows his steps and orbits around you like a lonely, hungry moon. Tucking the lollipop into the side of his cheek, he shoves his hands in his pockets and leans against the opposite wall, having his fill while filling himself with thoughts. You appear to be his age, wearing the number like a badge of honour in the corner of your eye; old enough to be in command of your body, in command and beautifully aware, but still young enough to get off on the risk. 
Greedily, his tongue swirls around the lollipop, lapping at the flavor with vigor, and he imagines his tongue pressed between your folds, sucking at you with the same intensity. With your head thrown back, your fingers probe at your center, doing what his tongue does not, ass pressing back against the wall in an almost violent swivel before you run a hand through your hair. Your fingertips hit someplace deep inside, some unfathomable depth buried in the center of your core, and your lips pull into an ecstatic smile, laugh swallowed whole by the roll of bass and the timbre of an electronic drum.
At the sight of you in pleasure, he feels lonely, a heady need taking over, creeping down his spine and pushing his shoulders back. He’s used to this, used to the way desire puts tension in his neck and makes the base of his spine start to ache. To prying eyes, hollow eyes that move over him slowly through the haze of cocaine, he’s animalistic in his advances towards you, but to him, he’s simply under your spell. There’s a strength and purpose to his steps he usually forgoes for a casual grin and an impish glint in his eyes, but then, he assumes, you’re different if only because you’re bold - if only you ignite in front of him like a match. 
The lollipop falls slightly from his lips as he watches you pull your hand away from your core to smell your fingers. Lips parted with wanting he watches you, tongue wet and mind filled with visions of sucking at your clit with the fullness of his lips. Coloured lights move over the slick shimmer of your fingers, and he imagines you to be sugar sweet and bitter at the root.
Chanyeol doesn’t hasten his steps, rather he takes his time moving towards you, waiting to see if you’ll taste yourself for him. He expects that you will, is delighted when you do, and knows that he will likely taste just as good to you.
He bites down on the lollipop, chewing the candy as he tosses the stick to the floor. The lollipop dissolves, but it’s sweetness remains.  
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Acutely aware that you are being watched, the delicate hairs on your arm stand on end at the feeling of a body approaching, thick lidded eyes opening only slightly to see the tall shadow of a man come into view. You don’t pause for him - if you’re being removed from the premises, you at least want to come before you leave. But the stranger doesn’t speak, just looms over you with a lopsided grin, one that is neither accusatory nor satisfied, simply luxuriating in your show. 
Recognizing his ears in the dim glimmer of the lights, you smirk, silently pleased that you have become a magnet, that you have somehow lured him from the pedestal your desire, and your pussy, placed him on. Drawn to one another, you angle yourself towards him, an open display of interest. Cocking your head to the side, you smile, but do not stop the motion of your fingers. You want to make sure he sees. 
Somewhere in the distant haze of your kind, you wonder if he’s drugged, high on something other than music or blow, something hard enough to make his posture so sure and confident. It doesn’t take long before you realize he’s simply drunk on lust, much like you. There’s no bloodshot tint to his eyes, no lazy gaze that wanders from one warm body to the next. Even with his dilated pupils, you know he’s been blown wide open by longing, by a hardness at his center his jeans that begs to be touched. 
‘I could see you all the way up there,’ he comments, gesturing vaguely towards the stage, though his gaze on you does not waver.
You smile, impish and glorified. ‘Good.’ He smiles back, welcomed by this response. ‘I wanted you to.’
He steps closer, aware now that your focus on him is a mirror of his focus on you, consensual, open, and welcoming. The lights from the club highlight his features, cutting mercurial shapes as they nestle beneath his cheekbones, but even in the dim lighting you can see him clearly. The glaze in his focus is neither empty nor wired, simply hungry, trapped in a state of perpetual craving, and you like the way the slick feel of it makes your skin feel like gold. You like this feeling, the way his eyes mean to unmake you, as though he is peeling back your skin to live inside your ribs. 
You like this feeling, find that it turns you into a kind of phoenix, and so when he stands fully in front of you, illuminated and combating the shadows, tall and just as hot to the touch as you, you let your hands settle at his hips, cocking your head to the side coquettishly. In kind, his hands move to yours, swaying idly, assuming you mean to dance with him. He’s being polite, and you wish he would tighten his grip, let his fingers press bruises into the flesh with intent, but you remind yourself not to rush. 
So often, you spoil the moment with your natural prosperity for impatience.
Still, the motion and movement of his hips is invigorating, encouraging in its closeness. Strengthening your grip, you press against him, grinding into him, slow and unblinking. On contact, he lowers his head, and you take this as an invitation, letting your lips fall to his ear, breathing hot and wet against the shell.
‘I liked your show,’ you murmur, hoping your voice carries above the heavy drum and bass, reaching right down to pull at the intimate pieces of him. ‘You made the beat sound alive.’ 
Tilting his head to the side, his lips and nose graze along your temple as he speaks, a heady combination of amusement and surprise lacing through his words. ‘I could say the same to you,’ he teases. ‘I’m surprised you were listening.’
The low rumble of his voice catches you slightly off guard, deeper and richer than you would have imagined it to be, powerful in a way that commands your attention. It drips, not unlike chocolate and honey, down your tongue, making a home in the center of your ribs, the warmth of it settling in your belly and making your thighs clench around nothing. You feel your breath hitch, lungs constricting at the gravel in the underbelly of his tone, the thickness and the vibration resonating suddenly making you feel parched. 
‘I felt it,’ you say, curling your lips into a pout that gently touches the lobe of his ear. ‘Isn’t that more important?’
It’s an honest statement, one that makes him start without pulling away completely. Instead, his grip on your hips tightens, drawing flush against his groin, keeping you in place. Something about your words had an effect on him, enough for him to mumble a small growl of possessive vulnerability. This close, you can smell him, the music of his cologne delicately kissing the crevices of your tongue. Over time and through the night, it’s mixed with the natural scent of his sweat, enough to briefly make you lightheaded by the force of it, moaning at the intensity. 
Pieces of you ache as you pull back slightly, regarding him with heavy lidded eyes; pieces that long to be touched and long to be near him, his mere presence making the air feel thick. Beneath his skin, you imagine the blood moving in his veins like wildfire, exhilarated by your words. It fascinates the way you don’t just merely see the corner of his mouth turn upward, devilish and playful in its slow reveal of his desires, but you feel it. All over you, you feel it.
The heat of his smile walks down your spine, building a wetness between your folds that makes you bit your lip. His own gaze wanders over your skin, over your cheeks, down your neck and shoulders, to where his hands linger at your hips. Matching his smile, coy and coquettish, the knowledge his gaze as lowered, as best it can, to the curve of your ass beneath the hem of your dress makes you feel emboldened. And so you grind against him, slowly, handling your hips to rub over the hardened bulge beneath his jeans. 
Licking his lips in approval, a tight moan rumbling through his sternum like thunder, he lets his eyes wander back up to yours, lingering momentarily to admire the plump fullness of your lips. 
Moving one hand from your hip, he comes to cup your cheek, easing your head to the side with a gentle and careful touch. It’s his turn to offer delicate attention to your ear, the touch of his lips barely there, whispers on the wind of primal desire. When his lips move, the softness of the skin sends shivers down your nerves, the strong, confident diction in his voice an erotic experience of its own. 
‘There’s a lot I can make you feel,’ he breathes, hot and heavy and smirking at the way you seem to bend beneath his touch, malleable.
Proving that he means it, that he means everything he says, he pulls back just enough to keep his gaze trained on yours, serious and heated. As though waiting for your denial, he inches closer still, pressing a knee between your legs to part them. The tease of feeling him between your thighs forces a sigh from your lips, and he smiles, knowing. Leaning to drag his nose along the slope of your neck, the even exhale of his breath cascades down your spine and into your core, making your walls clench in arousal.
You don’t hide the way this makes you laugh, the sound loud enough to be heard over the drum and bass. ‘You’re terrible at pick up lines.’
It’s a half-hearted comment, a truth nestled between a lie. Yes, he is terrible at pick up lines, but he is exquisite in execution.
Unfazed by your teasing comment, he joins you in laughter, the deep richness making you terribly aware of the wetness between your thighs. ‘Most of the time, people can’t hear them. They just want to be handled.’
He hangs onto handled as if the word itself is a tactile experience, a physical contact that makes the world around you bend. It seems unfair he should hold so much of you, so much and so tightly, and so you glide your hands along the waistband of his jeans, toying with the hem of his shirt. 
tilting your head just enough to let your lips graze his ear, you scratch your nails into the soft skin that lingers beyond his belt. It's soft, warm, supple, the sweetness of a man so unlike the way his hands clutch at your body. He whimpers slightly at the contact, lips parting to release a small, barely there sigh. Smiling to yourself, you continue your ministrations, hoping this will entice him enough to handle you.
Forming your lips into a pout, kissing at his ear as you speak, you whisper, ‘Then why are you taking your time?’
A dark chuckle rolls through his chest, his grip tightening possessively.
‘Because you’ve been greedy,’ he states, leaning back to regard you with a dark, hungry stare. 
Stepping forward until you are pressed flush between him and the wall, he considers you, gaze dominant and commanding. With slow, teasing rolls of his hips, he guides the hardness of his erection into your mound. Eyes on your skin, he watches the flush of desire that blooms across your chest as he does this, mesmerized by the way it smears itself across your neck, contagious enough to make your skin burn hot. Something about his gaze pierces you, makes the nerves along your skin feel sensitive, stimulated to the edge of a precipice and lingering on anticipation.   
‘And I’m selfish,' he finishes. 'I want to feel you first.’
He guides his hand between your bodies, the base of his palm massaging deftly at your core. With the sudden direct pressure, your hips roll up into his hand, a current of electricity wandering down into the base of your spine. Naturally, your legs part wide, feet sliding across the floor just enough to make room for him where you want him most. 
‘Can I touch you?’ he mumbles, cocking his head to the side as he watches pleasure morph your expression. The force of his palm increases, echoing his sentiment of how badly he wishes to feel you first. 'Can I feel all of you, on the inside?' 
Anyone else, anyone less magnetic or compelling as him, and you imagine you would have laughed at the turn of phrase. On a boy, such questions of permission would have made you laugh, aware that you were dealing with someone who did not know how to read a woman. On him, his politeness and quest for permission feels liberating, placing you in a position of control - leading your pleasure with the power you deserve. 
Nodding, unable to form words, you simply hum, whining at the loss of his hand, lonely and needy for his touch. He keeps his eyes on yours as he lifts his hand to his mouth, sliding two fingers inside, all the way to the knuckle. Not once does he blink, hollowing his cheeks, gaze heated, as he sucks and sucks, gaze piercing. The sight of his lips, pulled down to a soft, full pout, mixed with the anticipation of the strong bone of his fingers, puts a wetness at your core that makes you feel as though you are dripping with eagerness for his touch. Hot to the touch and feeling volatile, you arch your back against, lifting slightly from the wall to let your breasts press against his chest. 
Smirking at your impatience, he pulls his fingers from his mouth and eases his hand beneath your dress. With his thumb, he guides the waistband of your underwear to the side, teeth coming to bite his lip on contact and feeling how wet you are - how wet you made yourself for him during the course of his set, and how wet he will soon make you, teasing your folds apart to make room for his hand. Leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours, he guides his middle finger into your core, one long stroke against your walls that has you gasping.
His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against him and ensuring you are caught beneath the umbrella of his warmth, stimulated and aware, now, by and of nothing but him. His finger continues its slow, deep caress, and you roll your hips into him, the solidness of his finger a bliss you had craved from the moment you saw him perform. Reaching your own arm between your bodies, you cup your hand and rub the base of your palm over the erection trapped beneath his jeans. Growling, he tilts his hand just enough to let his thumb press a slow circle against your clit, appreciative and teasing.
‘Tell me your name,' he whispers, the roll of his voice a live current that cascades down your neck. 
Consumed and swallowed by him, you smile. ‘Y/N.’ 
Your name is a gasp on your lips of pleasure, his thumb pressing at your clit in time with the thrust of his finger. Clutching him a little tighter, you roll against him once more, desperate for the fullness of his touch. 
Almost sweetly, he returns your smile, though the seduction of his intent nestles aptly between his words. ‘Isn’t it nice hearing the sound of your own name like that?’
‘Tell me yours,' you mumble, tongue rolling across your lip to moisten the flesh. 
Distracted, his eyes trace the motion of your tongue and offering you the brief delight of witnessing the thickness of his eyelashes as red and blue lights swirl overhead. ‘Didn’t you see the show?’
Chuckling at the almost innocent egoism of the sentence, you make to speak before he curls his finger in your core, hitting a new angle that steals your breath. Furrowing your brow, you lick your lips once more, gathering the strength and focus to speak. ‘People don’t come to clubs for the DJ.’
He smirks at your coy teasing, presses his thumb against your clit in a firm circle while his index finger comes to settle between your folds, his fingers making a light v shape. 
'Funny,' he mumbles, alluding to the obvious pun but does not say it. Instead, his focus settles on your features as he thrusts both fingers inside you, your moans coming in light bursts. 'My name is Chanyeol,' he clarifies. 'Do you want me to take you home?'
Biting your lip, cup his erection beneath your palm, pressing in time with his thrusts into your folds. ‘Are you a shy boy?’ you question, teasing though not altogether sincere. A pink flush rushes to the tip of his ear, and you pull your hand from his groin to let the tips of your finger gently caress the tip.
On contact, his eyes flutter shut, lips parting on a sigh. ‘Not really,’ he manages, eyes opening once more fixing you with an impassioned stare. ‘Do you want me to fuck you here?’
His free hand moves from your waist, knees bending to pin you against the wall, as he rests his hand against your throat. Like this, he tests your boundaries, watches you with an erotic, eager fascination as you bend and give over entirely to him, your walls starting to clench around his fingers, willing him to remain inside. 
Feeling your skin flare and your gaze darken, possessive and possessed, you swallow thickly. ‘I want you to fuck me.’
Leaning down, Chanyeol captures your lips with a wet, light kiss, his tongue escaping behind the kiss to lap sweetly at your bottom lip before pulling back just enough to let his breath tickle your cheeks. ‘Do you want everyone to see?’
The sugar from his kisses settle between the thin crevices of your lips, your tongue flicking out to gather them.
‘You’re used to being seen,' you counter breathlessly.
You grind into his fingers hands coming to grip at his shoulder blades as you feel your orgasm start to settle at the base of your spine, the coil in your belly threatening to tighten behind the fire he has put into your blood. 
Humming in agreement, he adds a third finger, slipping inside you with ease, your wetness coating his palm. ‘Are you?’
Shivering and stimulated by the size and thickness of his strong fingers, you simply nod, clutching to him as your grind into him, desperate. Taking this as a sign of your oncoming orgasm, Chanyeol increases the pace of his thrusts, his thumb tapping at your clit in time with his fingers, forgiving and almost apologetic for keeping you on edge for so long. With the new, invigorated force of his thrusts, your moans come louder, his hand lingering softly at your throat as he bends down to swallow your sounds, kissing your lips deftly and with a deep intensity that provides encouragement. 
Around his fingers, your walls clench, thighs tightening as your heart begins to battle against your chest, the burn of your orgasm making your thighs and legs sting with the effort of keeping upright. Sensing this, Chanyeol removes his hand and replaces it at your waist, his hold strong and comforting. Held tightly against him, his breath all over your skin, his fingers curling at your core, knuckles gliding roughly at your walls, the thickness of this penetration, you find yourself consumed by him. 
Your head rolls onto his shoulder, wet gasps of breath panting into the skin, stimulated and driven to an edge of pleasure that makes your muscles ache. 
'I'm -' you gasp. 'I'm going to come.'
The clenching of your walls comes without your control, the intensity of the pleasure unmaking your semblance of reality as he thrusts and thrusts his hand into you, a promise of something larger, thicker, and heavier. 
Gently, he eases your head back, and you whimper, eyes squeezed closed as you rest against the wall, readying to let your orgasm take you.
'Eyes on me,' he commands, voice rough. The thunder clap of his words as your eyes opening, vision blurred by pleasure. He smiles. 'Eyes on me when you come.' 
The heavy arousal on his voice is what sends you over the edge, your brow furrowing as you choke on a gasp from the force of it. The lights of the club paint his features into kaleidoscope of pleasure, his smile the focal point as sound drowns and the rush of your blood fills your ears. Shuddering, the waves of pleasure course through your muscles, walls clenching tightly around his fingers, the shudder of pleasure rattling your bones until your feel weightless, burned into nothingness by the force and prowess of his touch. Your back arches forward, sending your chest into his, still as you keep your gaze on his, seeing without seeing, the world little more than smears of ecstasy.
Chanyeol holds you tightly, clings to you - the only tangible form your nerves can discern. His grip on you is reassuring and unwavering, keeping you secure against him and the wall as your limbs struggle to regain their strength. Your walls continue to clench around his hand, the aftershocks of your orgasm still igniting along your skin.
'Beautiful,' he whispers, tucking your head against his shoulder and mumbling into your hair. 'I knew it would be beautiful.' 
You cling to him, the air in your lungs little more than a burning ache as you struggle to catch your breath. Against his strong frame, your mind swirls with the tactile feel of him, the smell of his cologne clouding your senses until your world is comprised of nothing but him. Anchoring you against him, you feel safe, comforted, his fingers stilled inside you, ensuring you remain tethered to him.
He's careful as he pulls them out, delicate and fast enough that he does not cause you pain. The affection of this action catches you off guard, makes you nuzzle into his neck, your feet feeling the earth return once more as your bones reform beneath your skin. Not once does he relinquish his grip on you, almost greedy with his touch and holding you close until the strength in your hands returns, pressing into the muscles of his back and shoulders. 
Slowly, the world recreates itself around you both. The heavy bass from the speakers, Chanyeol's breaths against your skin, the throng of people as they talk, yell, dance, clink glasses, the world a cacophonous resonance beyond his arms. 
'Better?' he asks, kissing against your hair as he speaks. 'Can you stand?'
Nodding, you pull back from him, breathing heavily and feeling dazed. The smile on your lips makes your cheeks hurt, painful in the way it seems locked in place, and you’re unsure how long it has been pulling at the skin. 
For a moment, you simply regard one another, Chanyeol flushed and warm, looking pink and heated even under the purple and blue lighting that hits him. He, too, breathes heavily, lifting the hand that had been inside you to his mouth, sucking the fingers once more. Eyes falling closed, he moans at the tastes, hollowing his cheeks to suck them clean. The sight of him pools new wetness between your thighs, whimpering at how sensitive yet needy you are. 
When he pulls his fingers from his lips, he keeps his gaze on yours, heavy lidded and pupils dilated to a blackness that makes your breath hitch. Slowly, he drops to his knees, delicately grazing his fingers up the outside of your legs. Falling back against the wall, his barely there touches make you bite your lip, gazing down your body to him as he watches you with intent. His hands find the band of your underwear, thumbs dragging along the skin of your hips and making you tremble. Gripping the band, he guides them down your legs, nudging at your ankles to ease you out of them.
Licking your lips, you watch as he rises to a stand once more, his own mouth parted. For a brief moment, you see him not unlike a kitten, someone who has been so close to the strong scent of desire, they've opened their mouth just enough to swallow it whole. Bunching the cotton into a ball, he places it in his pocket, and cocks his head to the side, waiting, perhaps, for your words of protest.
It's a possessive thing to do, an action no one has ever done with you before, and while you aren't entirely certain what to make of it, you admit you are relieved the soaked fabric has been removed from your core. The light breezes that makes its way up your skit is refreshing, liberating, and, for this, you are grateful. 
‘Come home with me.’
This, you realize, is not a question. Chanyeol keeps his eyes on you as he speaks, asking to be polite, just like always, but, this time, knowing that you will follow. Wordlessly, you regard him, eyes glassy and feeling yourself still drifting into the world that he has built, just for you. Reality clashes with the universe he has made, a universe of light and bliss and pleasure; a world that smells of wanting and delivers ecstasy, while the world as you know it lingers outside - beyond your reach.
Cold, is how you have come to see it, now. Empty of wonder without his hands to pull it from your bones.
‘I told you I’m selfish,' he continues when you offer him no reply. ‘I want all of you, and I want to be the only one who sees.’
It does not go unnoticed by you that, for two people so enraptured and aroused by sound, music, and sight, the drive to his house is altogether eerily quiet. But this, of course, does not mean the longing has dissipated. 
Confined in the limited space of his car, the world seems to narrows, arousal and longing seeming to seep from the pores of your skin. The leather of the seat, initially, was cool to the touch, but the heat of your body has warmed it, made the flesh of your thighs feel moist with wanting. Your legs remain spread on the seat, aware that your wetness will drip onto the fabric, wanting him to miss you and smell you long after you have departed. 
Chanyeol grips the wheel with a white knuckled determination, eyes trained on the road as you keep your eyes trained on him. Even over distance and time, the fullness of his erection has not reduced. Instead, he keeps his eyes on the road while your eyes study the tent in his jeans, wanting to feel the thick, veined heat of his cock pressed against your tongue, mouth and soul full of him. You wonder how he would feel, just as forceful and commanding as his hands; how he would sound, your shy and sweet boy, vocal and loud and yours, begging for release.
‘I can feel your eyes on me,' he announces, words clipped and voice thick, full of a gravel that makes him rasp.
At the sound, your walls clench around nothing, the ghost of the memory of his hand returning once more, aching for his cock, his tongue, his essence, to fill you. He, too, has parted his legs wide, making room for the heaviness of his cock and balls, uncomfortable while remaining steadfast in his urgency to get home. 
‘Do you like it?’ you ask, enunciating the syllables of your words, ensuring he hears the wetness you hold in your mouth, reminding him the wetness you carry between your legs. 
Almost imperceptibly, he nods, swallowing thickly as your eyes trace the motion of his Adam's Apple. ‘You’re making me so fucking hard.’
Impish and almost cruel, you spread your legs wider, knowing he will see the motion from the corner of his eyes. Legs spread, you lift the hem of your dress to reveal the fullness of your core, leaning back into the seat with a prideful grin. 
‘God, I can fucking smell your cunt,' he mumbles, eraser ting his grip on the wheel to keep himself composed.
Cocking your head to the side, you let your hand fall between your legs, running your left index finger over your folds, gathering the wetness. Chanyeol's shoulders tense, aware of this motion, a grin of gleeful pride tugging at your cheeks as you lightly gather more. Carefully, you reach over, letting your finger glide along his bottom lip, smearing your juices over the skin. 
A hungry growl rumbles through his chest, his tongue coming to lick at your fingers he sucks it into his mouth. The wet muscle laps circles over your finger, pulling a light, breathy moan from you as he licks it clean. When he releases it, your hand falls to your side, muscles feeling limp.
‘Fuck,’ he whispers, words drenched with lust, the full force of your wetness on his lips making him breathless. ‘The smell and taste of you is going to drive me crazy.’ 
A fire blossoms in the pit of your stomach, grounding you in the iron core of his words. It’s rare for you to want someone this way - enough to go home with them, enough to let the pleasure extend beyond a single moment of your own pleasure, enough to want to feel more of him. But it seems fair, you think, the resolute notion that he made you this way, used sound and vision to move you in a perpetual state of cosmic need.
He did this, and it’s only right that he finish it. 
The stairs to his flat are crooked, framed by a dimly lit hallway where the shadows on the walls are impossibly tall, lingering seductively on the paint. You’re sure you’re making noise as you climb, awkward and fumbling against his body as you hold him or he holds you, or perhaps you hold each other, soaked and stained now with the essence of one another, and blended into one cosmic whole. You’re sure you are loud but you do not hear your footsteps, ears ringing from the sound of the music and the sound of his hot breath. 
Chanyeol trips on the last step, both of you laughing at a level neither of you can discern but you watch the way his chest heaves as he laughs, watch the way his cheeks turn pink and feel yourself begin to float. Outside, dawn is kissing the sky, painting it gold and blue, but inside, against his door, Chanyeol paints the world in a kaleidoscopic myriad of beauty. It reverberates along your skin, vibrating down to your core and making your thighs clench with wanting. Like this, he is a bright spot, a sun trapped against the frail magic of bones, and the risk of being burned by his hot hands does not outweigh the burn of his tongue against yours. 
The peephole for 6B is rusted, the wood tarnishing from age and neglect, but his door has been painted black, and even in your stupor you fight to suppress a laugh, recognizing his Rolling Stones reference. 
This is usually where people apologize or make excuses - for the state of their flat, for the unexpected arrival of you in their lives; the implication that they always assumed they’d be lonely and longing, all of these things a lie but somehow reassuring in their simplicity. Excited, and therefore encouraging. But Chanyeol doesn’t apologize. You’re aware that he does not need to, that he wears your juices on his lips and fingers, yet you imagine that he doesn’t ever. 
Chanyeol operates outside of expectation, and therefore likely never apologizes for the state he is in when he receives pleasure. 
Upon entry, you are acutely aware that the flat is small, a studio, and it strikes you that this space could barely contain him. It's small, small enough that you cannot fathom the breadth and reach of him would have room here, the full length of his wingspan likely larger than the square footage of the space, but he turns you, pulls you to his chest and steals your lips in a hungry kiss, silencing any further thought in your mind. Languidly, he moves his mouth over yours, cupping your cheeks with hot hands, a fervor that makes his skin hot. In kind, you wrap your arms around his neck, fisting your hand in his hair, rough and hard and needy.
He’s gentle in the way he walks you backwards, does not move his lips from yours, simply moans over your tongue as he wastes no time in guiding you to the mattress and box spring in the back corner. Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, his hands move to your hips, pulling you firmly against him, the hardness of his erection pressing into your belly. Even through the fabric of your dress, the heat from his fingers radiates onto and into you, spreading like a fever through your blood. Chest flushed and tight, mind fogged and consumed by the flavor of his tongue as it glides over yours.
The backs of your calves bump against the mattress, staggering you into him just enough for the kiss to break, both of your sighing in discontent. Your vision blurs at the edges while Chanyeol regards you with half lidded eyes, lips pink and swollen. Arousal pools between your folds, dripping over to smear your thighs at the sight of him, trapped in a blissful state of arousal, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. His tongue comes to run across his lips, breathless in the effort of learning to breathe without your mouth on his, and you lean forward, capturing the pink muscle with your lips to offer a brief, gentle suck before pulling away.
Chanyeol raises himself to his full height, and for a moment you find yourself overcome, awed by the length and the power that is carried in the steel of his spine. He’s strong, rigid, and so impossibly soft - warm to the touch yet immalleable beneath your hands, the muscles in his arms and back solid enough for you to consider him your anchor in a storm. Emboldened, he lifts his hands from your hips and grips the hem of his shirt, pulling it over head. Eyes on yours, gaze unwavering, he drops the shirt to the floor, the red smears of desire burning beneath his skin. And, just as slowly, he moves his hands to the waistband of his jeans, undoing the button with a hungry, euphoric stare.
You follow suit,fingers guiding the hem of your dress lightly over your thighs, revealing more and more of yourself to him, a thrill of provocative seduction racing over your synapses as you watch him swallow thickly, captivated by the slow reveal of your skin. 
‘This is unfair,’ you murmur, whispering your dress just over your core, delaying the pull of the fabric overhead. ‘I’m wearing so much less than you.’ 
Chanyeol laughs, a deep rumble that would go unnoticed if your attention had not been entirely tuned to him. Rolling back his shoulders, he cocks his head to the side, considering your words and the state of you - already missing underwear, wet enough to want and need him again - guiding your shoes off with a smile.
‘The shoes count, right?’
You keep your voice innocent, soft and sweet and so unlike. you, a game that you have learned to play and know that he will continue willingly, if only because he has already felt you come around his fingers, unafraid of being witnessed and found.
‘Of course they do,’ he replies with a slight nod, his own voice a gentle caress that raises gooseflesh along your skin. ‘But you didn’t give me a chance to catch up.’
With that, he thumbs his zipper down and flays the jeans open, your gaze dropping to the muscles that lightly carve his hips and the soft patch of hair that leads down below his briefs. Mouth running dry, the muscles in your thighs tighten, body parched and starved for the graze of your teeth over his skin. Your grip around your dress tightens as he eases his jeans down his legs, your focus torn between the erection that springs to full attention and the length of his legs, strong and powerful, hands already imagining the feel his ass beneath your palm. 
Chanyeol steps out of his jeans, kicking off his own shoes in the process, thumbing the band of his briefs as he regards you, lips falling into an expectant pout. 
‘I believe it’s your turn.’ 
Running your tongue over your teeth, you smile, eyes locked on the fire that lingers in his gaze, pulling the dress over head. He hisses at the sight of you, no underwear and the lace of your bra sheer enough for the delicate circles of your nipples to be seen. Slipping his hand beneath his briefs, he nods in encouragement, gripping his cock and easing it over his length, pumping himself as he watches. Emboldened and unshy, you let your dress fall to your feet, reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra. 
You’ve done this before - countless times with men and boys and people who never really understood how to handle you. But something about Chanyeol’s possessive, unwavering stare makes you feel comforted, secure, empowered. He pumps his cock slowly, admiring you with a focus that speaks of learning, of witnessing the person before you, rather than rendering the curve and shape of their body to a mere tool of pleasure. With his eyes on you, the colours of the world seem to come into full focus, brightened by being the center of his attention. 
Your spine straightens, desire laces itself around places you did not think to associate with wanting - your hips; your breasts, aching for the firmness of his touch; your neck, desperate to be held; the backs of your knees, imagining the gentleness of his caress as he wraps you around the sharp angles of his body. These new aspects of your warning and of your body restructure your perception of yourself, your womanhood. With Chanyeol’s eyes on you, you feel important, sacred, and you chuckle to yourself, a muted, almost reticent, sound he does not seem to notice, bemused that it is in the quiet, morning grey of his apartment that you should feel so alive.
As your bra joins your dress on the floor, he nods to the bed, hand still stroking his cock without urgency.
‘Get on the bed,’ he commands, gently. ‘Show me how you touch yourself.’
Again, something about this feels unfair, his words slithering through your ribs and into your core, still wet and tingling with the memory of his hand. ‘What about you?’
Almost too sweetly for an encounter such as this, he speaks, the weight of his words a contrast that pulls at your nerves. ‘I’ll get mine when I’m inside you.’
You’re aware the smile you offer him is lewd, wet lipped and tongue heavy as your body instinctively puts the sensation of his cock between your walls. Clenching around nothing, you moan at the thought, emboldened and enticed, finding yourself altogether too impatient to take your time. 
Easing yourself back on the bad, you keep your eyes on him as you move, settling on the center of the mattress and spreading your legs wide. Resting on your elbows and cocking your head to the side, you let your left hand fall your core, the pads of your middle and index finger almost leisurely in the tender way they spread your wetness over your slip. Biting his lip at the sight, Chanyeol uses his free hand to guide his briefs down over his hips, pulling his cock free as he pumps himself, enticed by your display. 
The sight of his hardened length makes you feel empty, hollow and hungry and restless, a keening whine escaping from the back of your throat as you slip your fingers between your folds, wanting something as solid as his cock to keep your satisfied. You take your time easing your fingers in and out, pressing your knuckles against your walls and spreading your folds apart for him to watch, and he matches your pace, running his thumb over the purpled head of his cock as he watches your core spread. 
No one has ever asked this of you, asked to see the way you make yourself in pleasure and cared enough to remain poised in the act of witnessing. Neck red and ears burning, Chanyeol works at keeping his composure, and so to do your nails drag along the black cotton of his sheets, keeping yourself calm and keeping yourself from calling his name. No one has ever asked to learn you this way, not with such intensity, the glistening of precum on his tip enough to reassure you that he yearns for you, just as badly as you yearn for him. 
Picking up your pace, you press the base of your palm against your clit, applying pressure without offering too much stimulation, wanting his hand, his fingers, his mouth to be the thing that bring you over the edge. Head rolling back, you feel your fingers get coated with more juices, imagining the way his mouth would feel at your neck, the way his breath would feel on your breasts. Biting your lip, your skin begins to feel taught, nerve endings starting to flare in anticipation of his biting kisses. 
With the ringing of your ears beginning to dim, you hear the way he gasps between the slick sounds of your juices, his breath coming in uneven exhales and your own exhales pulling soft whimpers from the center of your core. Like this, his apartment becomes alive with both of you, the quiet loudness of these sounds enough for you to drown, your hips rolling into your hand, desperate to be full of something far longer than the delicate smallness of your fingers. 
Without warning, the speed of his strokes increases in pace, his grip tightening as he watches the way your pleasure builds and builds at your core and along your neck, nipples hard and pink and painfully ignored. The threads of your orgasm pull at you, tightening within your thighs, your toes clenching and unclenching against his sheets as your own pace begins to increase. It remains distant and far off, a promise demanding to be kept, and you close your eyes, focusing on the erratic, electric shiver it offers you. 
‘Stop,’ comes Chanyeol’s voice, tight enough to break. 
When you look at him, he stands at the foot of his bed, hand off his cock though it remains beautifully hard, eyes full of lust. He crawls onto the bed, a prowl that has you staring him onward and into you, your legs instinctively widening to welcome him home. Wrapping each arm under your thighs, he pulls you to him, keeps his eyes on yours as he uses his nose to guide your hand away, lowering his face until he is close enough to press a kiss to the center of your slit. 
It’s the only warning you have before his tongue glides into your core, the hot wetness of it tearing a moan from the marrow of your bones. His fingers tease slow circles at the sensitive skin of your groin, his tongue curling inside you and making sweat build at the base of your neck. Falling back on the bed, you feel your back arch as he hums against you, letting the low baritone of his voice vibrate into you, rattling loose a pained, needy cry that echoes off the walls. Pulling his tongue from your core, he removes one of his arms and eases two fingers inside you, stretching you wider than he had at the club, his lips wrapping around your clit at offering a powerful suck.
Crying out, your hand falls to his head, your hips rolling up to ride against his mouth messily, carding your fingers through his hair. The same way the dawn between to peek, gold and purple through the window beside the bed, so too does your orgasm, your hips feeling tight and your toes curling into the sheets once more. Your hand falls to your breast, massaging what you can, aching to be consumed and pressed and full, clenching around his fingers.
Feeling the force of your walls around his knuckles, he swiftly removes his fingers and lowers his mouth back, letting his tongue return to your core, drinking you down with an eagerness that makes you feel soaked. You’re dripping - with him and into him, thighs smeared and sheets stained - dissolving beneath the intensity he delivers to every choice he makes, this time your pleasure being his sole focus. His fingers press at your clit and you tremble, shaking and feeling yourself begin to be unmade. Somehow, he has learned your cosmology, learned its genetic make up and learned how to shatter it, his tongue and hand at your core enough to burn you to ash.
Feeling your orgasm build, no longer threads of a promise but the scorched tattoo of desire within your veins, you swallow thickly and gather your voice. ‘Cock,’ you announce, a whimper mixed with a moan. 
Pulling back, Chanyeol stills his fingers and regards you, black eyed and wet lipped, licking you from his lips as he awaits further command. The sight of him, so consumed by you, painted by you, makes you gasp, a thirsty sound that makes you feel impossibly small. 
‘Cock,’ you repeat. ‘I want you inside me. I want to come around you.’
Nodding, he swallows you down and moves up your body, nestling between your legs until his chest is pressed against yours. Breathing deep, he lets his hand caress your cheek before he tilts your head back against the pillow and captures your lips in a heated kiss, his tongue tracing the curved inside of your mouth, ensuring your taste yourself on his tongue. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you grind up into him, his cock trapped between you as you suck at his tongue, drinking what you can while your fingers etch their prints into the soft silk of his skin.
Reaching between you, he grips his cock and positions it at your entrance, tiling his head back enough to watch you with concern. Furrowing his brow, he runs the tip over your slit, a whimper of frustration splintering between your ribs, a pathetic sound that you don’t bother to hide. Chanyeol eases himself inside you, slowly, taking his time to make sure you feel the full length of him, allowing himself to fill you completely as he watches the way the pleasure of this stretch morphs and contorts your features. 
Buried to the hilt, he remains there, keeping still and letting you adjust while he angles himself down, cupping your breast in his hand and sucking your nipple between his teeth. The sudden stimulation as you clenching around him, your eyes widening at the sudden eroticism of the action, and he releases the nub, his eyes squeezing shut.
‘Fuck,’ he chokes out. ‘You’re so tight, if you keep doing that I won’t be able to last.’
Smirking, you roll your hips upward, encouraging him to move, kept on edge for along you fear you may come apart on impact, clenching as you do so. Both of Chanyeol’s hands come to your hips, stilling your actions with a fierce stare that moves directly into your core, hot and severe and so desperately sensual. 
‘Is that how you like it?’ he whispers, regarding you with an impish smile.
He does not wait for your reply, simply guides his hips back, pulling himself out before thrusting back into you in one swift motion. Choking out a moan, your fingers press into his skin, nails scratching hard enough to leave marks as he sets a brutal, unforgiving pace. Burying his face in your shoulder, he pours his moans into your skin, your own moans the shattered, broken gasps of intense pleasure, his piercing thrusts deep enough to send the mattress roughly back into the wall. 
The smell and feel of him makes you feel dazed, your focus narrowing to only him - the wetness of his breath, the force of his thrusts, the press of his thumbs into your hips, enough to leave bruises that will leave you aching for him for days. Legs shaking, your eyes begin to water, your concept of reality starting to dissolve into nothing but the feel of him inside you, the almost painful way he drives himself into you, pleasure burning beneath your skin, mind numb with nothing but the desire to come. 
Widening your legs to take him in deeper, you angle your head back and feel him press against your spot, mouth opening on a silent gasp. In this single moment of ecstasy, you watch the dawn fully break through his window, the first golden beams of morning light spilling over his skin, and for a moment, you feel as though you are fucking the sun, holding fire and gold and magic in your hands, eyes watering as tears of lust and love and pleasure build in your eyes.
‘Can I come in you?’ he asks, biting at your skin after he speaks, his thrusts unrelating in the pace they keep. ‘Can I come - I want to come inside you.’ 
His words smear into nothingness, reaching through the haze of your fogged mind, high and drunk and alive on the pleasure each snap of his hips delivers. The way he asks, the way he blooms, the way he knows how to keep you wired on nothing but him, for a moment you feel not unlike the moon learning how to collide with the stars, seeking their light.
Tightening your legs around his waist you nod furiously against his skin. ‘Come in me,’ you affirm, breathless and lost in space and time and pleasure. ‘Come in me.’ 
Once more, he moves his hands between your bodies, finding your clit with ease as he swirls his fingers in messy circles, tapping in patternless coordination. Gasping for breath, the universe blooms behind your eyes, your orgasm a colour show that brightens the sun, the dawn, the sky. Chanyeol comes alive beneath you, your thighs trembling as you feel wetness spill from you, smearing him and yourself, drenched by the force of your pleasure. Against his chest, you tremble, shattering by the force of his touch and his thrusts.
Inside you, Chanyeol spills, his thrusts shuddering with a violence that feels sinful, the heat of his come spilling into you, warming you, much like the beams of the sun in the morning haze. He moans as he comes, long and thunderous, a storm that breaks against your skin, cosmic and unyielding in its force. Your name echoes off your bones, off the clouds, into the distance as he thrusts and thrusts, slowing with each move of his hips until he stills inside you, panting for breath as you cling to him, feeling vulnerable and so impossibly alive. 
You aren’t sure how long you stay like that, breathing with one another, stroking his hair as he kisses at your neck. Over time, your breaths align, breathing together in a unison that feels harmonious, musical in its cadences. Chanyeol softens inside you, mumbles a soft curse as he pulls out, rolling onto his back not before he pulls you to his chest, keeping the same even rhythm of your breath as you watch the day bleed and break, dawn turning into early morning much too soon for your liking.
Eyes feeling heavy, you feel yourself begin to doze when he inhales sharply, taking the opportunity to speak.
‘I’m gonna think about your face when you come for a week,’ he announces, still gazing up at the ceiling as his fingers stroke idly down his spine.
Smiling, you glance up at him, lifting your hand to trace along the hard edge of his jaw. ‘If you take my number, you won’t have to only think about it.’ 
Taking his turn to glance down at you, you smile at one another, letting the morning and the light carry you. And, in your hands, you hold the sun, the morning, and the music, the waves of the universe vibrating, lovingly, beneath your fingers. 
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reachexceedinggrasp · 3 years
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So the majority of the shows I’ve seen lately can be charitably described as ‘light entertainment’, including the ones with dark elements or more weighty, ponderous plots. They might be entertaining or interesting, they just... don’t stand up to scrutiny. Turn your brain off because this isn’t that carefully or skilfully made and you’ll only be annoyed if you start thinking about it as a whole. Including the last couple 'tragic’ historical dramas I’ve watched, which were not effective tragedy for that very reason. If you’re going to kill off the main cast, you have to earn it, and overwhelmingly writers don’t. Anyway, I’ve been getting despondent about whether stories which actually hang together and form a coherent narrative unit with consistent themes are the exception rather than the rule.
(And I feel like that should be a pretty low standard to meet, it’s sort of Step 1 of ‘being a story’: be about something! Communicate something, no matter how basic it is. Dead simple stories with rock basic messages can be revelatory! Just do it well!)
I’ve seen very little genuinely focussed or meaningful storytelling in my ventures for what feels like a long time. Basically, I can kind of count on one hand the number of films or dramas or whathaveyou I’ve seen from the last few years where it felt like the filmmakers were in complete control of their story and everything in it was purposeful and intentional. Most things have felt slapdash or shallow or fleeting. Story elements and character choices come out of nowhere just to derail already concluded arcs and fill screen time with empty repetitious drama, not to serve a meaningful narrative purpose. I would be watching with zero confidence anything in particular was going anywhere or that the writers knew where that should be. It’s just throwing shit at the wall, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants type writing all the time and it fucking shows.
But then I watched Money Flower.
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Money Flower is different. Money Flower is towering head and shoulders above every modern drama I’ve ever seen. Titanically good writing which rises above its genre and makes conventions seem radically new and fresh not by reinventing them or deconstructing them, but by playing them straight, taking them seriously, and committing 1000%. This is all your familiar rich family tropes but with masterpiece execution, infused with consequence and meaning because they’re all driven by the psychology of complex three-dimensional characters. So many moving pieces and none of them are random or unmotivated. Just... GOOD WRITING. And I want to make the point that it is this wherein art lives. The difference between a rank Lifetime movie and Romeo and Juliet is not novelty or tropes or plot twists- it’s execution.
This show is such a perfect example that it is not ‘mere events’ (aka plot) or novelty or shock value or cool ideas which separates something brilliant and timeless from forgettable schlock; it is solely and entirely execution. It’s writing itself, if you know what I mean. You can describe many of Shakespeare’s tragedies and history plays as soap opera plots. What makes Macbeth a deathless masterwork and Death Wish Hollywood wank isn’t a fundamental difference in subject or genre. It’s Shakespeare’s characterisation and purposeful storytelling. It’s the poetry of the dialogue. It’s the craft of writing. Most of Shakespeare’s plots are based on existing stories or on historical events and that has never mattered because novelty is not an inherent good or of any inherent artistic value.
Like, this is the problem with storytelling right now blah blah GOT, shitty endings everywhere etc. because power over the audience (can’t let anyone guess the plot, looking ‘clever’ with meaningless callbacks) and novelty are valued over narrative structure or things making sense or emotional verisimilitude. We have so many writers thinking being ‘shocking’ is all it takes to be a genius. It’s easy to be shocking if your story makes no goddamn sense because things that don’t make sense are literally unpredictable. Not in a good way, though. A great twist or sudden swerve needs to be unexpected but inevitable in hindsight or it does not work. I should be able to rewatch your thing and think ‘oh, of course! you can see it was [x] all along!’
We have so many popular writers now who are so shallow they don’t think anything needs to make sense on a character or emotional level. They don’t think their story has to be about anything. Substance is irrelevant as long as the surface is flashy enough. That has no staying power, you can only watch it once and you will forget about it quickly.
However, if you have ever wanted to experience the constant heightened stakes and High Drama of a soap opera without being annoyed at how ridiculous it all is and while actually giving a shit about the characters because they feel like real human beings, if you’ve wanted to feel repercussions when characters make choices, and get the emotional payoff that is the entire point of drama- now you can. Watch Money Flower. And let me tell you, it is fucking riveting. This show is mostly made up of people sitting in rooms talking and yet it is heart-pounding excitement nearly every episode. It is profoundly traditional and by the book while being totally fresh. It’s the most engrossing and satisfying artistic experience I’ve had in a long time.
Like, THE TENSION, THE DRAMA, THE REVEALS!!! You can, in fact, spend most of 24+ hours on the edge of your seat about family problems and business mergers. It seems unlikely, but that is the power of this series, it creates insanely high stakes and mesmerising suspense out of the most commonplace ingredients. Familiar plot elements become brand new and surprising under the deftness and tightness of this narrative. The plot itself is certainly 100% melodrama but it never feels like a soap opera and is never ever soapy in in a pejorative sense because it handles its classic tropes with such maturity and nuance that it's like you've never seen them before. The writing is incredible.
It is on an entirely different level than the vast majority of dramas, with a total self-assurance that keeps the pacing relentless yet unhurried- taking its time to let the impact of events be felt, the narrative always knowing exactly where it’s going and how to get there. The characters are all multi-faceted and unpredictable without ever being incoherent, their motives and goals always being gradually uncovered in more detail that only makes the storytelling and characterisation even tighter, even richer. The twists and cliffhangers are always mind-blowing but always earned, never cheap or nonsensical, and I can't remember ever thinking that about another show. (There’s literally one exception towards the very end where something a bit random happens for reasons of pure symbolism- it’s a misstep imo but it’s minor in the scheme of things)
Every time I started to doubt the writing, started to think ‘oh no, they’re going off the rails’, they showed me I was wrong and they were in total control. The only 'problem' with the show is that the drama is also profoundly painful to watch unfold, particularly in the beginning, because it's a story where everyone makes terrible life choices and moral corruption is everywhere. It's hypnotic though, like a car crash. If you can handle something dark, insidious, cerebral, and character-driven there is nothing I've seen in the same vein that can approach its brilliance. It’s like The Magnificent Ambersons as a slick modern revenge drama. There is also (PRECIOUSLY!!) a core of stunning romanticism around which all the horrors revolve and that saves it from becoming hideous or cynical. There is a chance for redemption and a new beginning after all, in spite of all appearances.
The ending has apparently been controversial, and it is definitely not quite as climatic as you would have expected given how powerfully climatic almost every regular episode is, but it's a good ending. There isn't full closure, they don't provide final resolution in a bow, but to me it's an ending about hope. It suggests optimism for our characters and I was satisfied with that. It's extremely rare for a 'revenge story’ to allow this kind of room for healing and it can do that because, imo, we discover in the end that it wasn't ultimately vengeance in Pil Joo’s heart. He has not become a tragic hero who will be consumed by the cannibalistic darkness of revenge, his quest was for justice. He teeters on the edge of the abyss but he avoided falling in; he didn't sell his soul, at least not irrevocably.
He is nonetheless a very tragic figure and an anti-hero, but despite having dedicated his life to bringing down the Jang cabal, it’s not that he’ll stop at nothing. He will make any personal sacrifice no matter how desolate, he lives as a mere husk of a man, and he facilitates enormous emotional harm to others in service of his goals, but he has ethical hard lines he never considers crossing. His sense of decency and compassion is never extinguished; he does care about the collateral damage he is causing even when making justifications for it. It’s important to him to give people as much agency as possible in their choices, to mitigate the damage done by his schemes as much as he can. To try to prevent harm coming to undeserving bystanders. Not that this makes it okay that he uses people, which he does, but the point is he never completely surrenders his moral compass to avarice. He’s never okay with burning down the world or ruining innocent lives just to get to his target.
Pil Joo is less a vigilante and more an avenging angel, he wants justice more than retribution. He wants fairness and a better, safer world where what has happened to his family won’t happen again. The reason this story never becomes Sweeney Todd (aka: a full on tragedy where we see the inevitable outcome of lust for revenge) and the reason he can survive twenty years spent pursuing someone’s downfall is exactly that principle. Searching for retribution would have destroyed him, he would have become the very thing he hated, but instead he goes as far as necessary to publicly expose the Jangs for what they are and then willingly submits to penance for his complicity in their crimes and tries to atone with the people he hurt along the way. Purged, he’s symbolically reborn and takes back his real name to maybe finally have a chance at the life he should have had. He moves on, content, a positive force. He’s capable of healing from the ordeal because he realises he doesn’t need retaliation, just seeing them stopped and facing consequences for their actions is enough.
The love story is a superbly poignant part of this. Their love is the ‘victim’ of his revenge and it will forever be impacted by it, but it’s not something that can be killed, so there’s still hope. Mo Hyeon’s bookending rescues of Pil Joo from death mean first that he has a purpose he must fulfil and then the second time that he has freedom to finally live as himself, for himself. There’s a future. And maybe they can be together there. I’m emo about it.
Anyway, if there was the slightest doubt about me becoming a long-term Jang Hyuk fangirl, it’s been put to rest. This performance is easily one of the best I’ve ever seen, period. No contest it’s the best I’ve seen in a tv drama. It’s also the most subtle and masterful turn he's delivered in his whole career. He's so restrained, but he is giving absolutely everything; he has total control over every microexpression, every gesture, every molecule in his body. There is so much simmering under his surface, so much going on in his eyes; the layers and depths are endless. The intensity and sharp intellectual focus he brings to the character is breathtaking. Everyone else is doing amazing work too, but he is almost constantly on screen and has this spectacular command of such a sprawling story, such a complex character, and he makes it look effortless. All artifice has melted away. The fact that being so tightly contained is in stark contrast to the bombastic element in many of his other roles renders its delicate precision even more startlingly impressive. I thought he was a great actor before, but I didn’t fully appreciate what he was capable of until Pil Joo.
#money flower#kdrama#writing#jang hyuk#long post#I've written a bit before about revenge and how it will inevitably lead to tragedy#so I wouldn't without explanation even call MF a 'revenge drama' because it turns out it's a complicated yet beautiful 'hope' drama lmao#it's actually a 'romance' in the Shakespearean sense#like the Winter's Tale#I guess we just call that 'tragicomedy' now but I don't find that word very helpful or descriptive#I don't think anyone actually know what you mean when you say that#anyway the first writing that is every bit as good as the production/acting side I've seen in what feels like forever#I just feel like everything is great characters in a mess of a story or brilliant performances elevating a bad script or good start-bad end#like no one knows what they're doing any more or why#but this show is incredible#it's only not perfect because the last four episodes are not up to what you'd expect for the rest but they are still really good#just not perfect#the last episode has problems but they're not with the concept of the ending at all- the concept IS perfect#and apparently I'm the only one who thinks that lol#apparently a lot of people did not understand what was happening and some misread it as a dream sequence#(this is an insane take to me- it's really not confusing or ambiguous at all)#(bc God forbid the main character not die and have a chance to heal after his absolutely miserable life?)#but yeah it's the only time anything feels rushed or not quite smooth#and one major character's fate isn't as satisfying as it could be#but I felt like I was never going to see something as engrossing as this again for a while there#anyway anyway NEW OTP#I didn't even get into it because no one cares about my giant rant here but it's SO traditional while being VERY different idk#the romanticism was so unexpected in a show that seems like it's going to be intensely cynical- it's  handled with such gravitas#romance with gravitas is PRICELESS to me#the best swerve ever is for a show to NOT be cynical when it seemed so dark- that's a plot twist I can get behind
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centipedall · 3 years
Text
Bored Meetings
It was a sunny Thursday afternoon, sometime in July. I was in my cubicle, silently crunching numbers and desperately wishing that I could get home to my wife. She had the day off- some kind of water problem at her work, I think- and so she was probably watching TV or playing video games or going for walks. I wanted to be back with her so badly, to enjoy this beautiful summer day and live our lives. Unfortunately, I was stuck in this stuffy office, running numbers for some company that does god-knows-what, trying to use the bathroom as much as possible so that I could do as little as possible.
I had just gotten ready to go on one of these superfluous bathroom breaks when my boss knocked on my cubicle. I jumped, looking at him and trying to seem busy. “Ah, Mr. Percy! What, uh, what do you need?”
He looked away from me as he spoke, “Mr. Thomas. The board wants to see you. Please go to the thirty-first floor and speak to the secretary. I believe she has the information you need.” He started to walk away, then paused and turned. “I’m sorry.” He said before trudging away.
I had paled at the mention of the board. They were every office worker’s worst nightmare. Every month or so, they invited a couple people up to perform “surprise presentations” for them. I had heard horror stories about the board- that people would slip up once and get demoted almost instantly. Or worse.
I couldn’t handle a demotion. We had just bought the new house and- ugh, it would screw everything up. I needed to do this perfectly. I gathered up my pencils and a good amount of paper and walked out the office to the elevator. Roughly half of my coworkers avoided looking at me during my walk of shame, and the other half were an even mix between fake smiles of support and pure fear and grief. I got in the elevator, pushed the button, and went up about twenty floors.
The thirty-first floor was essentially a large hallway. It had a tiled linoleum floor with a simple blue carpet in the middle, leading up to a small brown door. Beside it was a desk built into the wall, where a woman sat reading a magazine. She had large, horn-rimmed glasses and short, heavily styled brown hair. The woman wore a pink sweater that said “Secretary” on it in big sparkly letters.
I timidly walked up to her. She didn’t look up from her magazine until I coughed, at which point she gave me what was quite possibly the most condescending glare in the world. I wilted, but to be fair, a redwood would have wilted under that. “I believe the board wants to see me?”
She put her magazine down, opened her mouth, and pure liquid venom dripped out of it. It took me a second to work past the pure hate and realize what she was saying. “Mr. Thomas, correct? I have you down to enter in an hour. You will be reporting on your work performance over these past two months. Please wait on a bench, and do not waste any more of my time.”
I nodded and then sat down on the bench. About fifteen minutes in, another guy sat down next to me. His hair was slicked back, and his face was vaguely handsome. He wore an expensive suit, with an expensive watch, and expensive shoes. The guy fidgeted for a little bit, then looked at me and offered a handshake.
“Gabe Joseph. I work on the twenty-fifth floor. I’m a major executive. From the new merger. I’m pretty confident- this is gonna be a cinch. Just gonna blast through my standard presentation- turn on the charm and lie.”
“I- uh, I don’t think that’s gonna work. I heard really scary stories about them.” I paused, then realized how rude I was being. “I’m Carl, by the way. Carl Thomas. I work in accounting on floor eleven. I’m obviously not as important as you. So I’m gonna keep working on my thing. Sorry.” I looked back down at the paper I was writing on. It had a basic script for my presentation- what I’d been doing the past few months and why I was important to the company. Fortunately, I was allowed to read off of it- at least from what I’ve heard.
He scoffed. “Whatever, man. You’re probably gonna freak out and barf. Screw up your presentation instantly.” He looked away and muttered, “Idiot.”
I didn’t look back at him. It wasn’t worth my time. Instead, I finished my script, memorized it, and then looked around the room. The ceiling was high. Weirdly high. It went up at least two more stories. The walls were strangely patterned too- it reminded me of waves, or fish swimming through them. But the walls were plain. Like completely plain- just beige. I looked back down at the floor- I had a headache all of a sudden. And the meeting was in three minutes.
I stood up, my joints cracking, and moved my body a little. Got the blood flowing. My head still hurt a little bit, but it was time. I went over my presentation one last time, looked back at the napping Gabe, and then opened the door and walked into the boardroom.
It was dark, and large- huge, even. The size of a warehouse. It smelled like salt- or tasted like salt? I couldn’t tell the difference. There was also a distinct odor of fish and wet wood. The whole place was humid like a rainforest, the almost liquid air weighing heavily on my cheap suit. It was weirdly cold, though. Enough that it felt like the water should have frozen. Behind me was a damp concrete wall, and in front of me was a simple wooden stool in a spotlight. The stool and what was on it were the only two things in the massive room. On the stool was a water-warped plank of wood, roughly two and a half feet long. It had a pair of googly eyes on the front. The fake plastic pupils were looking down at the soaking carpet-covered floor, but I could still feel something staring at me. The Board was eager.
I pulled the papers out of my pocket and started my presentation, reading from the script. “I- hello, ladies and, uh, gentlemen. Of the board. My name is Carl Thomas. I’m an accountant on the eleventh floor. Over the last fiscal quarter, I’ve primarily been responsible for streamlining the budget of my department, the Yogurt Division.” I worked for a food company? “As you can see, we’ve outpaced the Steel Division-” What? That can’t be right. “-the Steel Division. By eighty percent. I believe that is primarily because of me. As you can see by my graph here-” I pulled out a paper I’d drawn on, “-since I joined, our profits have increased. My boss, Mr. Percy, has given me professional compliments, as can be seen when you request my HR reports.You can also ask my coworkers, and they will report that I have not only been a boon to our company, but I have also been kind, helpful, and friendly in our interactions.” Alright, time for the finisher. “I truly believe that I am one of the most effective workers on the eleventh floor. I am not only beneficial to this company, but to my coworkers. I hope this presentation is informative. Thank you. Are there any questions?” God, please don’t have questions.
The Board had no questions. Instead, I felt a blast of warm, dry air from behind me. That small brown door was behind me. I exited through it, back into the waiting room. I stumbled over to a trash can and vomited. Ugh. When I stood up, I realized how dry my clothes were. Really, the only wetness on my was the film of sweat on my forehead.
Gabe gave me a pat on the back. “Nice one. Told ya you’d barf.” He sauntered past me into the waiting room. Just before the door closed, I heard his opening line. “Hey guys. Listen, we both know how stupid this is, so- wait, what?”
I stood there for another minute recovering. The secretary called janitorial services, probably for my throw-up. I had mostly managed to recover when they arrived. The elevator dinged and two men in ballcaps walked out. I waved at one of them, making a grunt of apology, but they walked right past me. I heard a slamming noise from behind me and I turned.
The brown door was wide open, and Gabe’s body was tossed out of it. He landed on the ground with a thump. His body was swollen, soaking wet, and partially rotten. His eyes, genitals, and clothes were gone, rotted away. His mouth was wide open, and water trickled from it. There were hundreds of small, moving lumps beneath his skin. As the janitors dragged him away, one shifted up to his mouth. The lump disappeared as a small goldfish fell out of his mouth and onto the floor. I watched it flop on the ground until it died. Then I walked into the elevator and back down to my floor.
When I exited the elevator, everyone on my floor looked directly at me. I waited for a second, then gave them a thumbs-up. The room erupted into cheer. I smiled wearily and walked back to my cubicle. Within two minutes, my boss entered.
“Hey, Thomas, congrats on the successful presentation. I bet the Board really liked it! And, uh, as congratulations, I’m letting you go home early. Presenting to those guys really, uh, really takes a lot out of you, huh?” He gave me a fake, but knowing, smile. “I have to do it at least four times a year.” He sighed. I had never felt more empathy for someone than in that moment.
I nodded eagerly. “Thank you, sir. I’ll get out of your hair right now.” I quickly gathered up my things and left work early.
When I got home, my wife was pleasantly surprised. I declined to tell her about the Board- it didn’t feel right, to talk about that outside the Board’s Room. Instead, I told her that my boss had given me the day off because of my performance. We spent the rest of the day together- we went for a lovely walk, somehow managed to perfectly tie in a racing game, and then I whipped up a mean spaghetti for our dinner. We cleaned and watched a little TV, and then she told me about the really cool painting her coworker had made. We went to bed a little early, although we got to sleep a little late. The next day, I got up and went to work in that little two-story building, looking forward to the next day my wife and I would get to spend time together.
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chickensarentcheap · 3 years
Text
Best Part of Me -Chapter 77
Warnings: none
Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @alievans007​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​
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“Easiest way to do this is to park on the east side of the Sultana Kamal Bridge,” Esme instructs,  face emotionless and eyes riveted on the road in front of them.
The closer they get to the city center, the more powerful the anxiety grows; gnawing at her stomach and tying it into knots and painfully tightening her chest. The mere thought of being in Bangladesh itself has been nerve wracking enough, but being minutes from the downtown core and from the single most traumatic event of her life has her body and mind rebelling. Incessant nausea accompanied by a pounding headache; her heart thundering in her chest and sweat gathering at her temples and along the nape of her neck.  She feels light headed and repeatedly wrings her perspiration slicked hands together and bounces her leg up and down. The beginning of the ride had been tolerable, but when weather beaten high rises and smaller, derelict apartments began to appear on the horizon, the situation became far too real. It’s terrifying and puts her already frazzled nerves on high alert, and there’s nothing she wants more than to tell Koen to stop and turn around; go back to the house and get someone else to do the dirty work. To find a way back to Mumbai and her children; wait the situation out and hope  and pray that they can go home sooner rather than later.   But it isn’t that easy. She can’t simply walk away and wash her hands of it. Not when Neysa and Aarev are being held captive and especially not when her own family is being threatened.  There’s not a single escape   that doesn’t involve going directly into town. And unfortunately, the quickest way in -and out- is over that bridge.
“You sure about that?” Koen asks, a frown curving his lips. “Doesn’t seem easy. Or smart for that matter.”
“It’s way too crowded right downtown,” she reasons. “Especially at this time of the day. This is prime market hours. I’ve been here; I know what the streets are like and I know they’re crowded and damn near impossible to navigate in a car.”
“And if shit goes down, we have a hell of a long way back to our ride,” he informs her.
“If shit goes down, it won’t matter where we’re parked. Thirty inches away, thirty feet, thirty yards, thirty miles. If something goes wrong, we won’t make it back to the car no matter how close it is.”
“So how do we get back? If something does fuck up?”
“We don’t. At least not until nightfall. We find somewhere safe to hunker down until things have calmed and we can start moving again. And that’s IF we get that far. You do realize what will happen to us if we’re caught, right? If Asif’s people catch on or the cops figure out we’re connected to Tyler? Chances are, we won’t survive long enough to see the sun go down.”
“Jesus Christ…”
“I know places where we can hide out if we need to. But they’re only good if we can get to them. We have to get into town and be smart and be quick. The longer we’re there, the higher the chance of things going to shit. I learned that the hard way. I don’t want you to learn it too.”
“But if we…”
“You have to listen to me!” Esme snaps, and he blinks at the force in her voice. “I’ve been here before. I know the city and I know the market area and I am telling you that the best thing to do is park on the east side of the bridge. There’s a clearing there; it’s where we got Ovi out. And if you want to get out of this, you’ll learn from my mistakes. Because I made enough of them seven years ago and I don't want to make any now. I have too much to lose and I won’t let you fuck this up!”
Silence descends on the car, and she places an elbow on the ledge of her window and her palm against her forehead. Eyes closed as she battles both increasing nausea and the flood of tears that threaten to escape. It’s all too much; the sunlight glistening of the waters of the Buraganga, the cityscape in the near horizon, the faint outline and expanse of the bridge in the distance, even Amir Asif’s home -still occupied and majestic; looming down river.
“I’m sorry,” her voice trembles. . “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
“That was hardly yelling, kiddo. You’d make a great third wife if you think THAT’S yelling.”
She manages a small laugh. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m just stressed and tired and scared. And this baby has me hormonal as fuck already.”
“You know, that last part could have been prevented had you just told him to roll over and go to sleep,” Koen teases, then drops a hand from the steering wheel and lays it on the back of her neck, gently massaging. “It’s okay, sunshine. I get it. I understand.”
“This place...Dhaka...that bridge...it’s nothing but horrible memories and a lot of suffering and a lot of trauma and nightmares and bullshit. I do NOT want to be here. I don’t even want to be in Bangladesh. Or Mumbai. I just want to be home; with my husband and my kids and my dogs. I want to wake up in the morning to the sound of the ocean and fall asleep to it at night. And I want to sit on my back porch and watch my kids play and hear them giggle and squeal. And I want to cuddle up to my husband knowing he’s safe and sound and that there’s no one out there that wants to hurt him. That’s all I want. And I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”
“It’s not. It’s definitely not.”
“I almost lost him to this place once, and I don’t want the second time to be successful. I know I pride myself in being a strong, independent woman, but I can’t lose him. I CAN do this life alone...raise the kids by myself...but I don’t want to. That man is my entire world; he’s my best friend and he’s my lover and he’s my confidant. He’s my ‘person’. And if that makes me weak and pathetic for saying all that, I don’t give a shit. It’s true. I love him in a way I thought I could never love another human being. And I’m not ready to let that go. To let HIM go.”
“It won’t come to that,” Koen assures her. “I’ll see to it. That it doesn’t happen.”
“Tyler showed up at a time in my life when I’d given up on ever trusting a man again. Mark was a terrible person, he destroyed me in every possible way and Tyler came along and he picked up those pieces and put them back together and he never once complained about it. He just did it. In his own way.  He always talks about how I saved him, but he doesn’t realize he did the same thing for me. That he saved me in every possible way a person can be saved. If I'd never met him, I probably wouldn’t even be here. Because I was just as much of a mess as he was and just as ready to give up on everything.”
“I never realized it was that bad. That YOU were that bad.”
“There’s a lot of things people don’t know.  That only Tyler knows. But believe me when I say that I was broken and I was lost and he found me. We found EACH OTHER.  And he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t care how cliche it sounds or who hears me say it. It’s the truth. And I didn’t let Mahajan or Asif’s people take him from me. I didn’t let them the first time, and I won’t let it happen this time either.”
“You’re a tough little shit," Koen praises. “You know that?”
“A tough little shit bawling like a baby in front of you? Yeah, that screams tough.”  She uses the backs of her hands to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Don’t tell Tyler I got like this, okay? He worries enough. He doesn’t need to know about my mental breakdown.”
“Your secret is safe with me, kiddo. But I’m afraid I have some things to say that might make you cry some more.”
“”Oh great! Just what I need; looking like a wreck on the job.”
“Now this is all between me and you, because we both know how embarrassed he gets about feelings and emotions and all of that crap. Just between us, yeah?”
Esme nods.
“First, I have to start off by letting you know that he is wildly and crazily, head over heels,  in love with you. More than he thinks he could ever possibly tell you. So if he doesn’t say it a lot, just know he’s feeling it.  That every time he looks at you, he sees his entire world in front of him. The most beautiful, incredible woman on the planet.”
“He told you that? That came out of his mouth? Was he drunk?”
“Stone cold sober. He does say things WHILE he’s drunk, but those are triple x rated, so…”
Esme laughs. “Of course they are.”
“He is terrified of losing you. Right scared shitless. And he isn’t scared of much and he certainly doesn’t admit what he IS scared of. He doesn't want to do this life without you, and he’s pretty convinced he wouldn’t be able to. I’ve seen women come and go out of his life; mostly one night stands or girls in different places he could go to for getting his rocks off.”
“Nik?”
“Nik meant nothing. He’s not lying when he says that. There wasn’t anything there; at least not for him. And I knew his ex. Sarah. Spent some time with her.”
“”Yeah, I had the pleasure of meeting her. When they shipped him from the hospital here to the one in Sydney.  That was a...pleasant...experience.”
“He thought he was in love with her.  High school sweetheart, mother of his first kid. She treated him like complete shit and they’re both at fault for how that whole thing ended up. But when you came along? When I first met you at the hospital and I talked to him about you? I could tell you were different. That what he was FEELING was different. And I saw how he looked at you; how his whole face just lit up when you walked into the room. The way he’d smile at you and how the whole tone of his voice would change when he talked to you. He had it bad even then; I could tell.”
“Maybe he was still caught in the afterglow of those five days.”
“It was more than that. We all knew it. And I’ve known Tyler a long time; I’ve seen him at his worst. And when you came along, I could see how badly he wanted to change. How much he wanted to be the man you needed him to be. That you deserved. And he worked at it. He STILL works at it. You could have easily walked away after Dhaka. Even with a baby in your belly.”
“I didn’t want to walk away.” Esme says. “I wanted to be with him. I wanted to see if we could make something out of nothing. And we did. We made something so amazing.”
“No way he was letting you go. He knew he had a good thing.  He wasn’t going to fuck that up.”
“We were both a mess. And somehow we’ve managed to not make an even bigger one and not totally screw up our children.”
“Those kids are incredible. They’re beautiful. The best of both of you. And they’re here because you looked past just how messed up their daddy was and you saw the potential in him. He was screwed up, but you still managed to see he was a good person...a good man...under all that. And you gave him a chance. To prove that he mattered. That his life meant something.”
“His life has always meant something to me. And it means everything to his kids. He’s our entire existence. He’s the one that keeps it all together when it feels like it’s falling apart. And it WILL fall apart; if something happens to him. If he doesn’t make it out of here…”
“He will,” Koen insists. “I’ll make sure of it. I’ll make sure he gets out and gets back to you and those littles. I promise.”
She gives a  small, hopeful smile.
“And thank you. For taking care of him like you do. For giving him this life. And for loving him like you do.”
“Your voice…” her voice cracks once more. “...you are going to make me cry again..”
“Some things just need to be said,” he reasons, and runs a palm over the top of her head and down her hair. “Just in case.”
****
“We have a problem.”
It’s difficult to make out what she’s saying; a mixture of poor signal and the near deafening sound of vehicle horns blasting and impatient, flustered yelling of people gathered around her. But there’s no mistaking THAT tone of voice. Fear and worry and a whole lot of anxiety.  He had  just managed to fall asleep -a combination of pure mental exhaustion and another handful of meds- when the phone rang; startling him awake and leaning him disoriented and lightheaded. The extra dose of dilaudid making his head spinning; drowsy despite the nap and sweat beading across his forehead and the back of his neck.  And he grimaces as he sits up on the couch, wincing as he stretches his legs out in front of him and then reaches across his body to rub his shoulder. All those drugs and it STILL persists; that dull, incessant throb deep within the joint and the numbness in his hand.
“What’s wrong? You okay?”
“We parked on the south side of the Sultana Kamal bridge. I figured it was easier to walk in then deal with the traffic and the crowds around the market.”
“Good thinking.” he praises. “Definitely the best way to go. What's the problem?”
“They’ve locked the bridge down. All of the bridges, apparently. They’re not letting anyone through without showing proper ID.”
“You got it, yeah? The one Anil got for you?”
“I do. But that’s not the point. If they’re doing this, they know you’re here. How the hell would they know? We were so careful; coming from the airport.  How do they know you’re here?”
“I have no idea.”
“Someone is feeding these people information. Someone inside. You need to call Anil and let him what’s going on; tell him he needs to figure this out. How are you supposed to do an extraction if you can’t even get into the city? They will kill you on sight, Tyler.”
“I’ll have to figure that out. Is it just the cops?”
“Military too. This is some serious fucking deja vu. As if being on this bridge isn’t bad enough…”
“Are you okay?”
“Not really,” Esme admits. “They have pictures of my husband that they’re comparing to everyone that walks or drives across. So no; I’m not okay.”
“I need you to stay calm. I need you to get over the bridge, get shit done, and get back here safe and sound. I know it sucks; being there on the bridge. But I need you to stay calm. If they see you freaking out, they’ll know something is up. So I need you to settle down.”
“What do we do? If we can’t get out? What do you want us to do? If they lock the city down completely?”
“You call me. You call me and I’ll come and get you. You find somewhere to hide you and I will find a way to get there and get you out.”
“They’ll kill you. If they see you…”
“Better me than you.”
“And if we get caught?”
“Don’t fight them. Let them take you. You fight, they’ll make it worse on you. And if that happens...IF you get caught...I still come get you. Right now, I need you to just relax and get shit done, okay? In and out. No mistakes. Not a single fucking one.”
She gives an uneasy laugh. “No pressure, right?”
“You’ll be alright. You’ve got this. You’ve done this kind of thing hundreds of times.”
“Not when there’s so much at stake, I haven’t. I feel sick. Like really sick.”
“You’re working yourself up. Just try and stay calm. I wish I was there with you; I wish I was the one keeping an eye on you.”
“I wish that too. I’d feel a lot better about all of this if you were here.”
“And it should be me. With you.”
“Koen has things under control. I trust him. Not in the same way I trust or as hard and as deep as I trust you, but…”
“You’re going to be okay. You run into any trouble, you call me. You call me and I’ll get you out.”
“I love you, Tyler. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too. You’ve got this. I know you too.”
“I’ll call if I need to,” she promises, and then disconnects the call.
Sighing heavily, he tosses his cell onto the coffee table and then leans forward and places his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.   It’s his worst nightmare; her out on the street without him to keep an eye on her. As much as he trusts Koen and knows his friend would stop at nothing to keep her safe, he also knows Koen’s limits. He hasn’t been on the job that long, and despite his years in the military, he simply doesn’t have the skill level or the experience that Tyler has. And it's hard as hell. Being able to do nothing but sit back and wait while his entire heart is out there walking around, putting itself in danger.
He feels nauseous, and both his head and his heart pound furiously. He squeezes his eyes shut and drops his chin to his chest; attempting to steady himself -and his nerves- with long, slow intakes of breath through constricted lungs. It’s the start of a panic attack; he recognizes the fast, irregular heartbeat and the twisting and knotting in his chest and stomach, the perspiration that dampens his hairline. All he can think of is the worst case scenario; Asif’s people grabbing her and spending days...even weeks...making her beg for mercy and eventually death. Doing disgusting and horrendous things to her; abusing her in ways that will make his nightmares seem tame. And they’ll make sure he witnesses it; whether it be through photographs or videos or even forcing her to call him.
His eyes snap open as he reaches for his cell phone; prepared to call Anil and let him know of the hurdles awaiting him in the city center. Pausing when his eyes fall on the bottle of meds sitting nearby. He’s already tripled the recommended daily dose and it’s not even past noon. But there’s no denying the pain; the throbbing in his shoulder and knee and the gnawing in his stomach. And his hands violently tremble as he reaches for the bottle, resorting to using his teeth to twist off the cap. Feeling shame and guilt as he lets four pills drop into his mouth and then swallows them dry.
****
“Something’s not right,” Esme says, as she drops her cell phone into her bag.
The heat is stifling and the humidity nearly unbearable; the Dhaka sun bright and punishing as it beats down on the pedestrians crammed shoulder to shoulder on the bridge. She refuses to acknowledge her surroundings. Choosing to walk along the curb as opposed to near the railing; keeping her eyes straight ahead and never looking down at the ground or out at the river. It’s still too hard; the memories still so fresh and vivid.  Easily able to recall the exact spot in the cracked and dirty sidewalk when he’d been dying in her arms and she’d resorted to sticking her fingers in his neck to save his life. She can still hear the staccato of gunfire and the cries of the wounded and dying and smell spent lead and spilt gasoline. Still able to see the burnt out shells of cars and trucks and mangled, bloody bodies.
“There’s nothing right about any of this,” Koen grumbles, a hand resting protectively on the small of her back, keeping her half a step in front of him as they make their way to the checkpoint.
“That’s true. But I meant with Tyler. Something isn’t right with him.”
“He seemed fine this morning.”
“He is FAR from fine. Things have gotten so much worse since the night he was jumped. The pain is intense and he’s suffering more and more and I don’t know what else I can do for him, other than forcing him to go to the doctor when we get home.”
“Just keep loving on him like you do and taking care of him. I know he appreciates it; Even if he won’t admit. And Lord knows he’s stressed and he’s worried and he’s got a lot on his mind. Makes sense he’s not himself.”
“It’s more than that. He didn’t sound like himself. He sounded...off. He didn’t sound like Tyler. I KNOW his voice; I know its changes and all the different ways it can sound depending on his mood. And that? I haven’t heard that Tyler in a long time. Since our battle trying to beat Oxy. He almost sounds like he’s on it; he’s groggy and just out of it and his accent is even thicker. It’s hard to explain.”
“He was probably napping. You probably woke him up.”
“No. I know what he sounds like when he first gets up in the morning or when he wakes with the baby. It wasn’t that. I know it wasn’t. It’s weird, right? That I notice those things? The changes in his voice? That must seem weird to you.”
“He’s your husband; You spend that long with someone, you notice things. Even the smallest of them.”
“How come you didn’t stay married?” she asks. “Why didn’t any of your wives work out?”
“Marriage isn’t for everyone, sunshine. I happen to be one of those who can’t be married AND happy. I just can’t. Can’t be tied down like that. I like not having to answer to anyone. Doing what I want, when I want.’
“But did you love either of them?”
“Love is...subjective.”
“Humour is subjective. Love is love. You either feel it or you don’t. So did you? Love either of them? Tyler said he liked the second one. What was her name? Kim? He said she was really nice; that she seemed crazy about you. How come you didn’t hang onto her?”
“She was friends with Sarah. His ex. So once they split up for good, it kind of made things difficult between Kim and I. I know he fucked up...HUGE…but I also know what she was like. I know she was always cheating on him and doing him wrong. A lot of us didn’t even think the kid was his.”
Esme arches a brow. “Really?”
“We had our doubts. For good reason, too. He’s never told you that?”
“No. I guess he’s never felt a reason to. But knowing Tyler, it wouldn’t have mattered to him if Austin wasn’t really his. He would have loved him and taken care of him anyway.”
“That big heart of his is going to be his downfall one day.”
“Nik doubted Millie. Hell. I think Tyler even doubted Millie when I first got pregnant. Which is understandable.; I totally didn’t blame him for questioning it. But her? Even when Millie was a baby and even a toddler, she tried putting it in his head that Millie wasn’t his.”
“Which is bullshit,” Koen says. “I mean look at the kid and look at the father.”
“Right? She looks just like him! There’s no way he could ever deny her. Nik’s been a thorn in my side since day one. And I just…” she grimaces and lays a hand against her stomach. “...oh god...I feel so sick.”
“It’s the heat,” Koen reasons. “You shouldn’t be standing out in it like this.”
“It’s everything. The heat, the noise, all the people, the smell of the water...” she draws the neck of her t-shirt over her mouth and nose. “...this isn’t good.”
He moves his hand up to the back of her neck, keeping her moving forward. And when they reach the front of the line, he rummages through her bag for her ID and presents it -along with his own- to the police officer manning the checkpoint.
“Bandha,” the officer orders in Bengali, motioning for Esme to remove the shirt from her face and the ball cap from her head. “Bandha!”
“Now what’s the point of that?” Koen questions. “She’s clearly not the bloke in the picture you got there. She’s clearly not a bloke at all.”
The officer ignores him, pulling a second picture out from underneath the photo of Tyler. A black and white shot of her from the job in Ireland. When she’d sported short, red hair and glasses. And she feels her stomach jump clear into her throat.
“Look, my wife isn’t feeling well,” Koen explains, as he wraps an arm around her shoulders and draws her tight into his side. “We just found out a few days ago that we’re having a baby; our first. And she hasn’t been having a good go of it and the sun’s making it worse. It's obvious she’s not a bloke and she’s definitely not the girl in that picture. So unless you want her throwing up all over the place…”
“I really do feel sick,” she whimpers. “I need to get somewhere to puke.”
“I know, honey,” he presses a kiss to her temple. “And I’m sure this nice policeman understands.”
The officer looks towards the nearest colleague -likely a higher ranked officer -for help. And receives a nod to allow them to pass.
“Have you seen them?” The first officer inquires, showing the two pictures in her face.
“Haven’t seen them a day in my life,” Koen says, and quickly whisks her away.
****
“That was way too fucking close!” Esme finally allows herself a sigh of relief three blocks later, and tucks her hair back under her baseball hat. “Why the hell would they have a picture of me?”
“Asif’s people aren’t stupid. If they know Tyler’s in town, they also know he’s not dumb enough to show his hand just yet. Guess they figured he’d send you in his place.”
“This is fucked. Way more than I first thought it was. How do they even know Tyler is here? Nathan made the most sense as the mole; he disappears and then shows up out of the blue, being held captive by them? A week and a half later? That makes no sense. They would have let us know if they had him. They take pride in shit like that.”
“So you don’t think it’s him now?”
“I still don’t trust him. Something IS shady about him. But he wouldn’t know that Tyler is here. So there has to be someone else; someone on the inside. Two moles.”
“That’s reaching, don’t you think?”
“It’s the only way any of this makes sense. Nathan was the one who told Mahajan’s man where Tyler was that night and what areas of his body to target. They knew, Koen; they knew to go after his shoulder, knee, AND back. They even went after his neck; right where he was shot and the surgeon had to repair that vein. They knew. And then Nathan takes off and doesn’t show up until a week and a half later?”
“But they have him,” he argues.  “Asif’s people. They have him and they’re fucking him up pretty good.”
“It’s all bullshit. I’m sure of it. And there has to be a way to prove it. Tyler can’t just go in there trusting him. He can’t. There has to be a way to find out Nathan is in on this. We just have to figure out what it is.”
“Whoa...whoa...whoa...you and I don’t need to do shit. We’re doing enough being here.”
“I’m going to ask them to let me see him with my own two eyes. When we find out where he is, I want to go in and see him for myself. I’ll know if he’s lying or not.”
“Are you fucking insane?  You can’t go into something like that. That is not your job.”
“If it prevents Tyler from going in and Nathan backstabbing him? I’ll do it.”
“You think he wants you to? You think he wants you to go in there? Put yourself...and that baby...at risk? He’d never allow that.”
“I don’t need his permission.”
“Normally I’d agree with you, but this is fucked. This is a horrible idea. Let someone else figure it out. This is not up to you. You’re doing enough. MORE than enough.”
“But if I…”
“No more,” he orders. “I won’t hear of this. Not a single word more. You mention it again, I will tell him. Hear me?”
“I hear you. I wont talk about it again. It was just an idea.”
“A stupid ass idea.”
She rolls her eyes.
“So what are we looking for?” he inquires, a hand on her shoulder as her eyes scour the market.
“It’s not WHAT I’m looking for. It’s WHO I’m looking for.  And I’m hoping he’s still here.”
“You want to be a little more specific, or…”
“I met a vendor the first time we were here. He sold handmade jewellery. Tyler got me this…” she holds up her right hand; showing off the simple braided leather and beaded bracelet she sports. “...from him. But he’s way more valuable than just his jewellery. He keeps his ear to the ground. BOTH ears. He was able to find out things for me like that…” she snaps her thumb and index finger together. “...and if he’s still here, I’m hoping he can still help.”
“A lot can change in seven years,” Koen reasons.
“Nothing has changed here. It still looks the same, sounds the same, smells the same. That’s where we stayed,”  she nods towards a rundown hotel across the street. “Third floor, second room. The balcony that has the rug hanging over the railing. THAT hasn’t even changed. I bet the toilet is still broken and I bet they haven’t painted the dirty walls or put in a proper shower head. Nothing’s changed; not a goddamn thing.”
For several minutes she searches the market. Attempting to blend in with the other shoppers; making small talk with both buyers and vendors, picking up various objects and studying them, purchasing  food items for the safe house and small trinkets that would appeal to the kids. Koen sticks close to her side; hand never leaving the small of her back, never speaking yet offering pleasant smiles and nods in greeting.
“Here! Over here!” she suddenly exclaims, grabbing him by the wrist and yanking him behind her. Pausing at a vendor tucked alongside of a busy laundry, nervously rocking back and forth on her heels chewing on her bottom lip as she waits for the owner to finish up with a customer. And she notices the look on the older man’s face when he regards her; his eyes narrowed and head tilted to the side. And she sees the glimmer of recognition. “Do you remember me?” she asks. “I know you’ve seen a lot of people since we met, but…” she removes her head and shakes her hair free. “...do you? When we first met, you commented on my hair. About how long it was and how the sun made the red in it sparkle. Do you remember?”
A bright, wide smile spreads from ear to ear. “My friend!” he gleefully cries, and hurries around the side of the table to warmly embrace her. “You haven’t changed a bit!” He presses a kiss to each cheek. “As beautiful as ever!”
“Thank you. But believe me, I’ve changed a lot. How are you? You look wonderful.  Life’s been treating you kind?”
“It’s been fair to me. I can’t complain. Well I could,  but no one would listen,” he chuckles. “You’re back! In Dhaka?”
“Just for a few days. For work.”
“And your husband? He is still your husband?”
“He is. He is still hanging in there. We have five kids now.”
“Five children! Big family. Last time I saw you, you just had the one. A little girl.”
“Amelia. Millie. She just turned six. And she’s so smart and so beautiful. She looks just like her daddy. They’re back at the hotel; the kids wanted to go swimming and he offered to stay behind to take them.”
“Good guy that one!”
“Yeah, he is. A very good guy.And this is my brother. Kyle.” She lays a hand on Koen’s shoulder. “The one I told you about.”
“The fireman?”
“That’s me,” Koen smiles, abandoning his accent  and shaking the hand offered to him. “Thought I’d keep little sis company.”
“I was wondering if you could help us.” Esme says, and begins admiring and surveying items for sale when she notices curious bystanders watching them intently. “I could really, really, REALLY use your help.”
“With what?”
“I need information. Do you still have an ear to the ground? You still have people you can trust?”
He nods.
“Have you seen the picture floating around? The man everyone is looking for? The mercenary?”
“Looks very much like your husband. I only saw him with a  hat on when he was here though. And sunglasses. So I couldn’t say for sure. I didn’t think it was him. A mercenary? That doesn’t seem like a job for someone like him. He was always so friendly and good to me.”
“His name is Tyler Rake. My husband. And he IS a mercenary. Seven years ago, we came here to find a kid that had been taken by Amir Asif.”
“Mahajan’s kid?”
“That’s why we were here. And we found him and everything went to shit. All that trouble on the bridge? That was us. That was ALL us. And I need your help again. And I’m willing to pay. I’m willing to pay VERY well.”
“What do you need?”
“Amir Asif is dead, but in some ways, he’s very much alive. I know he has people trying to avenge him. Carrying on his business. And they've grabbed friends of ours.”
“A woman and a teenage boy,” the vendor says. “And a mercenary.”
“I work for the people that want them back. I need to get word to Asif’s people that I’m in town and I’m ready to negotiate. That I have access to the money they asked for, but I’d rather talk first. And I need proof of life. For all three.”
The vendor nods slowly.
“Can you do it? Get the word out? To the right people?”
“I can.”
“But will you. Will you do that for me?”
“I will.”
“I need it done right away. As soon as I walk away. It’s important it gets done right away.”  She reaches into her bag and pulls out a pen and small notebook, tossing open the cover and hastily scribbling her cell number. “Tell them to text first. They text with a number that  I or one of my people can call. Tell them we want to talk and start negotiations. ASAP. But  nothing will happen unless we see with our own eyes that everyone is alive. That is the only way they’ll get what they want. Tell them I’m in charge. Not them. And that I’ll give them their money, but I’m NOT giving them the man they want. That’s non negotiable and it’s never going to happen.”  She tears the paper from the notebook, then removes a hundred dollars from her wallet and hands both to the vendor. “Thank you.”
“This is too much!” he exclaims. “Way too much! You are too generous!”
“You deserve way more than that, believe me. Thank you. You have no idea how much this means  to me.”
“At least take something.” he says. “For yourself. Your children. Especially your little girl.”
Selecting three  bracelets -for herself, Millie, and Addie-, she slips her hat back onto her head and bids farewell, giving an appreciative smile and a small wave as other customers approach.   And she grabs  Koen tightly by the hand as they slip into the crowd.
*****
He doesn’t hear the phone until it’s on the second ring, and he hastily  rinses the soap and shampoo from his body and hair, leaving the water running as he tosses open the door. Wincing and limping as he hurries across the room and grabs the cell from the ledge of the sink. He’d thought a shower - alternating between ice cold and steaming hot- would help alleviate both the fogginess in his brain and the multitude of aches inhabiting his body. But so far it’s done nothing.
“Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.”  Relief rushes through him at the sound of her voice. Much calmer...brighter...than it was the first time around. “We just got back to the car. It didn’t start out too good though.”
He uses his shoulder to hold his phone to his ear and snags a towel from the back of the door, loosely wrapping it around his waist. “What happened?”
“They had my picture. At the checkpoint.”
“What the fuck..”
“It was an old one. From Ireland. When I had glasses and my hair was red and short. I almost passed out, I swear.  And I had my hat on and my shirt over my mouth and nose because the smell of the water was going to make me puke and they were going to make me take both off.”
“Jesus Christ…”
“Koen handled it. He told them I was his wife and that it was pretty obvious that I wasn’t the guy or the girl in the pictures. That I was pregnant and feeling sick and unless they wanted me puking everywhere, they’d let me through.”
“And they bought it?”
“Yup. But that was a close call. Way too close. And then I saw  Farhad. On the way back across the bridge.”
“Did he see you?”
“No. I pretended I needed to tie my shoe and by the time I stood back up, he was past us already. I swear...when I saw him...I have never been that angry in my entire life. I know he was just a kid when he almost killed you, but I was so fucking angry. He’s out there walking around like nothing ever happened and meanwhile he’s caused so many fucking problems! If you run into him, you better end him once and for all.”
He uses a second towel to vigorously rub at his hair as he heads out into the bedroom. “Esme…”
“I mean it, Tyler. I won’t have peace until he’s dead. He’s not a kid anymore. There’s no reason to spare him now.”
“Baby, that’s revenge.”
“And sometimes revenge is needed. And I need it. I need that peace of mind that I haven’t had in seven years. So if you run into him…”
“What’s the chances of that? That I’ll actually run into him?”  He hasn’t told her about Farhad’s involvement in Neysa and Aarav’s capture, or the pain and suffering he’s been inflicting on them.  Nothing good will come of that; it will serve only to stoke that already simmering fury and need for revenge that’s been eating away at her for seven years.
“What’s the chances I’d run into him on the bridge?”
He sighs, then grabs his discarded jeans from the back of the chair by the window.
“That little bastard is still out there, walking around. Look at the damage he’s caused. To you. To me. To us. He shouldn’t get away with that. He deserves to pay for what he did. HE NEEDS to pay.”
“You’re just working yourself up. That’s the let down from the adrenaline talking. Or the hormones. Maybe a mix of both. In an hour you won’t feel this way.”
“I’ve felt this way for seven years. It’s not just going to go away. Not unless I know he’s gone.”
“We’ll talk about this when you get back. Talk. Not fight. There’s no sense getting into it now. Everything else went okay?”
“I got the word out. I don’t think we’ll have to wait very long.”
“You’re fucking amazing. And I love you. So much.”
“I love you too.  I just wanted to let you know that we’re okay. I know you were probably worrying yourself sick. And Koen did a great job. He kept an eye on me; not a single hair on my hair was disturbed.”
“So he lives to see another day.”
“Basically,” she laughs. “I’ll see you soon.”
“You definitely will,” he assures her, then presses END on his cell.
****
“That was pretty fucking intense,” Koen declares, as he guns the ignition and peels out of the clearing, leaving a cloud of dirt and dust in his wake.
“Right? I nearly peed myself a couple of times. You saved my ass on that bridge. And you go to live out one of your fantasies.  You got me to be your wife for a few minutes.”
“I would have preferred a few minutes of something else, if you know what I mean.”
“Well you’ll have to keep dreaming about THAT. I’m a one man woman. You’ll have to live vicariously through him.”
“Lucky bastard,” Koen grumbles.
“He knows it too. But I’m pretty lucky myself. That’s something I should probably tell him more often. Even hard asses  probably like to feel appreciated once in a while.”
“You ask me, you SHOW him how much you appreciate him.”
She smiles at that.
“So that was him? The guy on that bridge. That was Farhad?”
“Yeah,” Esme nods. “That was him. The little prick that shot Tyler in the neck. From behind. A total bitch move.”
“He looks like a little bitch.”
“That kid almost took everything from me before it even started. He’s the reason I can’t let go of that place. The things I saw, the things I had to do? That’s all because of that fucking kid. And I can’t forgive him and I can’t move on; I can’t leave the place behind if he’s still here. I just can’t. What if Tyler did die that day? I would have gone home and found out about Millie and I would have gone through it all by myself.   She never would have known her dad. I wouldn’t even have had a picture to show her. All that I would have had was those five days in Dhaka. Those memories of it. That’s it.”
“But he DIDN'T die,” Koen points out. “He made it. Because of you. If you hadn’t stepped up and put your ass on the line…”
“Don’t do that,” she begs. “Don’t put me on a pedestal. I did what I had to do because I felt he deserved to live. And because selfishly, I wanted more time with him. But I don’t deserve praise and I don’t deserve praise for doing something anyone would have done.”
“Not anyone would have done it and you know that. You saved him. And not just on that bridge, either.”
“I just don’t feel comfortable with it; people thanking me and praising me and thinking so highly of me. Tyler deserved to live and that’s why I did it.  Because he’d more than made up for the mistakes he’d made and he deserved another chance.”
“And not everybody would see it that way, either. Would see HIM that way.”
“Well I saw him that way. I’ll always see him that way. And that’s why I want revenge. For him.”
“You want the  kid to die?”
Esme nods. “And if that makes me a bad person, so be it. But it’ll give me peace. I’ll finally be able to let go of this place. I NEED to let go of it.”
“I’ll do it,” Koen offers. “I’ll take care of the kid. For Tyler. For you.”
“You’d do that? For us?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I would.”
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flickityfics · 4 years
Text
Don’t Play With Fire, Chap 7 First Day of Work
Um..to answer your concerns Sokka there's no need to worry. This may embarrass you to read but its all perfectly normal in women's body. The throbbing and slick you've mentioned is from arousal and the ones you mention that come randomly isn't always arousal but the way the body is trying to self clean or protect your genitals from tearing and dangerous bacteria's. Sometimes your vagina can even..well for lack of a better word let's just call it sweating, so for example say you're moving around a lot and you feel you're self dripping but its a different feeling from arousal just hot and a wetter feeling which again all normal, if you're feeling uncomfortable just wipe yourself and go through the day. I'm Glad you're taking my advice seriously and it's good to hear you're doing well with your situation. So far I haven't found anything about body swapping? gender swapping or transference of any kind I'm so sorry. Just keep staying low and being careful, we'll figure this out soon.
                                                                                                                                                              -Suki
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Sokka, It's great to hear from you! We're still putting up fliers of Appa around Ba Sing Se and looking all around places. Toph and Katara are always fighting though, Katara won't let us play our tricks on anyone or even explore or relax, its all work work wor-  
                                               Anyways Sokka you better be pulling your weight and not having Suki cleaning up after you and do try to stay out of trouble okay, I do worry you know, we miss you a lot.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  -The Gaang
Sokka laughed hard seeing Toph's lone foot print right underneath his sister's and Aang's writing, seeing that told him more about her than words ever could. He really missed his family/friend group. Before he could get any sadder he folded the letter and stuffed it in his pack heading to work, he'll write a responding note later tonight.  
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Sokka was full of energy heading towards his new job. He's curious to know how different it'll be from the other ehem manlier jobs he's done. 'Honestly how hard could a girl's job be? Katara complains all the time but I bet she was just being dramatic'  he figured. With everything double checked and his breakfast packed he went out for the semi-long walk to work.  Upon arriving to the building, Sokka went straight through the door finding the elder lady waiting for him.
"Hi, so what will I be doing today?" He asked with all the enthusiasm he could muster.
"We start by checking our list of customers who dropped off their laundry, with the other workers we'll go wash together then hang all the laundry to dry and fold, lastly we pack and send out the clothes." she explained.
"Alright sounds easy enough." Sokka followed along as she gave him a tour of the place and areas he'll be needing to know.
After a few tiring hours did he have breakfast, the work ended up more tiring and tougher than expected but he got the hang of it pretty fast and turned out he was the fastest and strongest there which turned out some of the girls didn't like. On his first day an older girl by few years was sabotaging all his work trying to get him trouble and after explaining that to the elder boss lady was he able to stay working. 'women are crazy, guys just nod at each other, find their spots to work, get paid then leave without any word to one another'  He couldn't believe how cut throat it was working as a girl alongside other girls. Just a few more hours and he'll be able to relax and enjoy Zuko's company at the Jasmine Dragon, 'oh my god I didn't just think of stupid fire bending Zuko as nice company?! I've got to get a hold of myself, I'll just blame this dumb girl body and girly brain, ick .'  He mentally shook himself from the strange feeling that came over him towards another guy.
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Sokka came through the door of the tea shop dramatically falling in the doorway trying to catch Zuko's eye. He spotted Zuko in the kitchen and waved to him obnoxiously, he could honestly say he liked the perplexed and fearful look in the other boys face from the scene he was causing. Walking towards the kitchen, he sat himself down waiting to tell Zuko about his day.
Since Zuko looked like he was trying to ignore him, he caught the uncle's attention instead, "Hey old man when's the jerk's break?" To other's he may seem like an uncouth girl but he really didn't care for appropriateness right after work.
"You can't talk to him lik-" Zuko was just about to rant when he heard his uncle guffawed loudly.
"Oh nephew don't worry about my feelings, I love this young lady and her wily ways, its quite refreshing from your gloomy moods." he expressed. Zuko could only scoff at his uncle's slight rub towards him.
Sokka stuck his tongue at Zuko watching as he just rolled his eyes in return.
"I'll let my dear nephew  off for the rest of the day. Please take him away and show him how to have fun for once in his life." His uncle practically begged.
The two conspired against Zuko and all he could do was hang up his apron and get dragged by Miyuki's whims, he'll never admit to either of them that he likes getting pushed around, he'll keep that to the grave.
"Great! Let's get a table, I've got tons of stuff to share about my day." He grabbed Zuko by the arm and lead him to a free spot.
Sokka waited to be settled at the table, ordering before turning around to unleash his rant. He was weirdly giddy wanting to tell Zuko about his day.
"You won't believe my day." Sokka shook his head tiredly, "So I get there, the boss lady is nice but oh man some of those girls are mean. I had one try to sabotage my work by telling me to place stuff in the wrong place and they're very particular about where things go so that messed me up some. The washing part was tougher than I thought, I had to wring and scrub the clothes til my fingers cramped and wrinkled, ugh it was tiring. Drying was easier and folding strangely calming, the whole clean-up routine was just easy and besides the rude girls, I liked the job overall and think I can stick with it." He ended with a flourish, elbows on the table smiling at the fire prince, laughing internally with Zuko's stoned-face reaction to his long-winded story.
"Sounds like a frustrating day to me, welcome to the job world I guess." Sokka could't believe Zuko's flippant reply, he honestly thought he would be more caring to his woes and again what's with himself wanting Zuko's sympathy?
"Excuse me, that's funny coming from someone whose probably never had a hard labor job before. I'm guessing you had it easy since your uncle was able to provide you one. You don't know the struggles of running around and being told flat out no or when you finally get lucky it only lasts for so long before you're replaced or treated like crap and running yourself exhausted for people who don't care but keep abusing you til you can't go on anymore." Sokka had no idea why he was throwing everything at Zuko. His emotions just started bursting maybe its the way he knows Zuko's privileged, entitled fire prince jerk that he is has everything handed to him and  just pretending to be undercover as some regular civilian to get to Aang. He could only huff in annoyance at himself and Zuko for letting his emotions get the better of him, he decided it was just best to stay quiet and not look at Zuko lest his hostility for the guy becomes more prominent.
"Well, I do find serving customers and cleaning after everyone frustrating and tiring most days. I've been assaulted by older women pinching my bottom cheeks, jealous boyfriends harassing me when their girlfriends try to be flirty at me, even got some few girls who stalked me for quite some time or the rude customers I hate who are disrespectful to me but mostly my uncle, I just want to burn them to a crisp, nobody disrespects my uncle and his beloved tea shop in front of me. I actually do know how hard laborious work can be especially with not much help and little pay." Zuko looked at the girl in front of him with all the openness he could muster. He knew she had it rougher than him but it wasn't like he didn't have his own hardships, they were just different from hers.
Sokka huffed in annoyance even more hating being so temper mental while Zuko explained himself calmly and free of judgment for his part. 'why am I such a child?'  he thought lamely.
"Ugh, sorry for being rude, I guess I'm more annoyed at the fact that I got turned down for most jobs just because I'm a girl. I know I can do the tough jobs, I've done them before and I like working hard and with my hands so it makes it more frustrating not even giving me a chance just by one look at me." He drummed his fingers nervously on the table still embarrassed about earlier.
Zuko couldn't help finding Miyuki's mannerisms and  temper cute, just seeing her emotions displayed out in the open and being ridiculous was refreshing and exciting to witness. Most of his life was closed off of emotions and barely a few months now he's been trying to open up to his feelings, they were scary but freeing and seeing Miyuki so unafraid of her emotions filled him with more confidence each day.
"I get it and if you'd like something more.. uh manlier to do, I can train you in dual wielding after whenever you'd like." He offered.
"Oh? Is that a date dear Lee?" Sokka jumped on the chance to embarrass him, something about seeing Zuko so flustered had him feeling awesome. He liked being back in control and harassing the poor teen.
"Ugh no, if you don't want the training then I won't bother." The tips of Zuko's ears went red as he looked glaringly at Sokka.
"Nooooo, I want the training really." To soften the blow of annoying Zuko did he mentally shrug and go for a kiss to the bender's cheek. He gasped in total surprise as he felt heat around his lips and a waft of what could only be the fire bender's particular scent, it was in his nose so thickly and strangely addictive he wanted to keep his nose to the other's cheek and soak it up forever even be mixed in it. 'What 's wrong with you?! Why are you smelling another dudes scent, stop! Stop it nooooow!'  he couldn't believe how soft a cheek could feel and was that a bit of scruff he felt, it felt so rough on his lips he actually didn't like that. Finally did he pull away and hope to agni the shudder he felt coursing through his body didn't show outwardly.
Zuko was surprised from the peck, it happened so fast but had him feel deeply warm from such a sweet kiss. "Um, how uh- or I mean.. What else did you like about the new job?" Yeah, his brain was done for.
Sokka rolled his eyes playfully, "How bout we talk more about it on the way to walking me to my place?" He held out his hand nervously.
"Okay." Zuko agreed grabbing her hand walking out the shop and down the familiar path to Miyuki's place.
The two caught up with each other's day, some more teasing, awkward flirting and plans for the next time they meet unaware of the mischievous moonlight's gaze upon them.
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