#and not required to depend on the men around her

[greencloakedfae]

How do we feel about the idea that Sofia hunts Nell down so intensly could be in part due to jealousy?

Its very clear that Sofia is very obsessive about hunting down Nell to frame her for Lord Blancheford's murder. Like she doesn't really need to do all of that. She has the benefit of it being her word against theirs, and the social status to back it up, and they quite easily hold the appearance of grieving children seeking out justice for their father through hired bounty hunters and a 40 pound reward on Nell's head. And like, there is something to be said for the fear that Nell may eventually get someone of importance on her side, and as such getting rid of her permanently is in their best interest. However, I think it would add an interesting layer to the whole dynamic to explore Sofia being jealous of Nell.

Because Nell and Sofia are very clearly two characters that are supposed to be similar yet on complete opposite sides. Their connection to magic, their values of protecting their siblings, and their want to have control over their own situations are just some to name a few.

Yet, Nell is able to escape Tottenham through marrying Captain Jackson, and then continues to keep a hold on her freedom through the way she dresses and presents herself, as well as with the support of her family. She even gets offered tenancy of the Talbot. It's not without consequences obviously, we see it all throughout the show, but she still has a lot more freedom than you'd expect for a woman of that time. Sofia however is still trapped. Her whole life is dictated for her thanks to her high status, and when her father dies, she only just gets a taste of some semblance of power over her own situation through running the estate (though this would be on the down-low and probably with credit attributed to Thomas) and learning magic offered by Poynton. And even then, she's still disregarded and disrespected by the men around her.

It wouldn't surprise me if a large motivation in hunting down Nell for Sofia is the satisfaction of stripping Nell of her freedom. This woman, who is so similar to her yet just because of the family she is born into, gets to have what Sofia can't. And in a 'If I can't have it, neither can you' type of way, I think Sofia would take that and internalise it until it becomes all consuming. Probably convincing herself that once Nell has been stripped of her freedom, she will finally get her own.

[yieldtotemptation]

REPUTATION ft. Minji

minji x male reader smut

9k words

“So, you’re the one,” Minji says, an accusation to make you look up from your drink. “The one they warned us about.”

Firstly, you didn’t plan for this (you never do).

The night began, as always, with the best intentions. You promised your manager that you would follow his instructions to the letter: show face, smile for the cameras, and then slip out before the real party kicks in and you find yourself knee deep in scandal. Again.

And (if you were extra good) you would end the night by scrolling through the greatest hits on your contacts list, looking for a fellow insomniac needing to past the time, needing a bed to share.

A normal, everyday kind of night.

But yet, here you are now: cornered by the girl on everyone’s playlist, all fierce determination and pouty lips wrapped up in a tight black dress.

She doesn’t bother with an introduction—no, that would be silly—instead she just stands there, looking pretty, expecting your full attention.

You quirk an eyebrow. “I require a warning?”

There’s a smile there, just a hint, playing at the edges of Minji’s mouth, like she’s in on a secret that you’re not privy to. “Beware of male seniors. Specifically,” she adds, tilting her head to the side, raising her hand, peeling one finger off the drink she’s holding so she can point a single glossy nail at “you.”

“Hm,” is all you have to say, playing coy, like this is all news to you. Like you’re not aware of your own reputation, of the things you’ve been accused of, the things your company has scrambled to cover-up, the things you’ve actually done.

“So,” she says, so carefree, so easily charming. It’s all an act, of course, a meticulously curated ‘cool girl’ image, something well-rehearsed and played a thousand times before on a thousand lesser men, a tightrope walk between relatable and unattainable. “Should I be worried?”

You know what she’s really asking for: an assessment. Do you find me attractive? Do I tempt you? Am I the type of girl worth risking your career over?

And so, you take her invitation and do the one thing that always gets you in trouble. You look. Look at her legs, long and toned and smooth, begging to be wrapped around your waist. Look at her thighs, creamy-white and barely covered by the hem of her dress. Look at her chest, the soft swell rising and falling with every breath, her collarbone glittering with the sweat of excitement.

Look higher—at how effortlessly perfect she looks, as if she wakes up every day looking like the ideal type of every man and woman in Korea. Oh, there’s make-up, it’s subtle but it’s there, playing up her best features: the height of her cheekbones, the almond curve of her eyes, the fullness of her lips.

She’s so undeniably, obviously gorgeous: a bombshell wrapped in the guise of a girl-next-door.

It’s no wonder she’s so fucking popular.

You give her a non-answer, “Depends what they’ve been saying about me.”

Minji takes a sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving yours, her full pink lips curling around the straw as she sucks in the sugary liquid. It’s a deliberate move, so casually erotic—borderline pornographic, in fact—designed to make you want to grab her and kiss her and prove everything they’ve been saying about you right.

But she’s busy assessing you, you can tell, trying to reconcile the rumours with the reality—Can you really make a girl like her lose control? Make her beg? Make her forget about her image, her obligations, her entire life outside of your cock?

“Word gets around HYBE quick.” Minji’s eyes narrow just a smidge, she’s biting down into her bottom lip, and it has you imagining all sorts of things you’d rather she was doing with her mouth. “The girls at SM can’t stop talking about you. The guys at JYP hate your guts, so that says a lot.”  She smiles at that last point, before listing off, “fuckboy, heartbreaker, group-wrecker, industry villain.”

It’s funny, hearing your dirty laundry aired out like that, and you can only shrug, give a casual smile as if to say ‘who, me?’. It’s admittedly a practiced move, one you’ve used to get out of sticky situations before (you may have even used it as an ending pose once). “Is that what they told you?” You ask, nodding in the direction behind her.

Minji follows your gaze, glancing over her shoulder, the wall of noise and flashing lights of the club framing her face, painting her skin with a rainbow of neon shadows.

There’s her bandmates, doing a terrible job of spying, a trio of worry and concern and gossip: they’ve found their little bunny, and she’s been caught speaking to the big, bad wolf.

She muses, “we’ve all heard the same rumours…”

“And so you came to… what?”

Minji takes a step closer, close enough for you to get a whiff of her drink; one of those sugary mixes, deceptively sweet, but just as strong as the one in your own hand. “To find out for myself,” she answers, “to see if you’re really as bad as everyone says, to see if it's all hype, or if there’s actually some truth to the legend.”

“Legend,” you repeat, trying the word out on your own tongue (it sounds sweeter on hers). “That sounds a bit much, don't you think?” you ask, trying to ignore the way she’s leaning forward now, letting the top of her dress dip, revealing just enough cleavage to stimulate your imagination. A simple gesture, so perfectly choreographed that you'd think it was incidental if you didn't know better, if it didn't have you picturing what it would be like to rip that dress off her, to expose her bare tits, to grab, lick, kiss, and—

She’s giggling out loud now, like she can hear every single filthy thought racing through your mind. “I think I'd like to be the judge of that.”

There’s an alarm bell going off in your pocket, the vibration of your phone buzzing with messages—who else but your manager, demanding to know why you haven't gone home like a good little idol yet, begging you to please, please not make another mess.

But you ignore it and take another sip of your drink, savouring the burn of the cold liquor down your throat, giving you a moment to consider. You’ve got Minji figured out, you think. It's nothing you haven't seen before (nothing you haven't dealt with before). The dream girl, the ‘ideal type’ who’s growing tired of maintaining a perfect image, looking to see how far she can push, how much she can get away with (how much you’ll let her get away with).

Because she’s probably never been told no in her life. Because she's used to getting what she wants with a bat of those lashes or a pout of those lips.

In a way, coming to you is safe, because if the worst were to happen—if you were to get caught—no one for a second would believe that one of the nation's precious daughters was the instigator.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says, cutting through the din of the club like a knife, making you believe that she just might be telepathic. “You're thinking: she’s just another innocent idol playing at being naughty for just the night, but the second things get too wild, she’ll be out of here faster than you can say ‘Dispatch’.”

“Because you’re not like other girls.”

“Please,” she scoffs, dismissing the idea entirely. “I always see things to the end.”

“Alright then,” you say. She’s thrown down the gauntlet, and you’re going to pick it up, if for nothing else than to see just how far she’ll go. "Shall we do this here? I'll rip off your clothes, nail you in the middle of the dancefloor in front of all our friends and peers?"

She’s grinning now, not backing down, in fact she’s moving closer, like yes, that’s exactly what I was hoping for. “From what I’ve heard that would be tame for you. Is it true, what you got up to at Inkigayo?”

“That was in a parking lot.”

“And at M Coundown.”

"Under the stage.”

“Music Bank?”

“The staircase, of course.”

“See,” Minji’s whispering now, close enough that you can hear her over the thumping bass of the music, her breath warm against your ear, “you are a man-whore.”

“I have a name,” you reply, dryly.

“That’s nice.” She’s touching you now, her hand sliding up your chest, fingers playing with the buttons of your shirt. “Wanna hear me scream it?”

Your phone is still buzzing, and you know that you should be walking away. It would be the right thing to do: it’s far too public, she’s far too popular, and getting caught leaving hand in hand with her would be nothing short of an announcement that will hit the top of every social media platform by sunrise.

But it’s too late—it was over the second you locked eyes with her from across the dancefloor, when she caught you staring, blatant and unabashed, lingering on the way her ass bounced, mesmerised by how her hips swayed to the beat. 

You just had to let her know she was wanted.

"Look," Minji says, her hands sliding higher now, fingers idly adjusting the collar of your shirt. "There's no angle here, no game. I'm not looking to get caught or land in a scandal, and I'm definitely not looking for love or a boyfriend or whatever fairy tale shit you sing about. I just want what all the other pretty idols are getting."

She's forward, no shame in saying exactly what she wants, daring you to dispute it, but all you can do is cock your head to the side, and flash a smirk of your own. "And what makes you think you're my type?"

Minji laughs, her teeth glinting in the neon lights—you both know it's a very, very idiotic question. "Please," she says, rolling her eyes, "I'm everyone's type."

Another glance over her shoulder, where her bandmates have been pretending not to hover, and now there’s a new face in the mix: Yunjin. Her eyes narrowed to slits, her arms folded, and her jaw is clenched so tight you can almost hear her teeth grinding from here. Unlike the other three, she’s not playing the concerned friend card; she’s the pissed off mother bear, ready to pull Minji away from the walking, talking red flag.

And so adds to your stellar reputation.

Minji notices your eyes flicker in that direction, and looking back at the group with amusement, she takes it as the cue she's been waiting for. "We better get out of here before they take your head off."

It's inevitable, really, this is how it always ends up: the sweet, innocent idol lured into the jaws of the industry monster. But you can’t help it, not when she’s looking at you like that, like she wants to be eaten alive.

You know the score, you’ve danced this dance before, and you’ve got a role to play. The only thing left to do is to take her hand and lead her out of the chaos��through the throngs of familiar faces, not giving them a chance to register what you're doing, or who you're with, or what's about to occur, again.

Not like anyone could stop it now, anyway.

"So, this is how it happens," you hear Minji murmur as you lead her out of the club, through a hidden metal door, and into the cold, night air.

-

Minji tastes like gin and lime cordial, her lips sticky and sweet against yours, her arms around your neck, her back pressed up against the back-alley wall. There’s something in the way she’s kissing you—giggling between breaths—like she can’t believe this is happening, like she’s getting away with the crime of the century.

Her hands are in your hair now, tugging gently, the cool metal of her rings pressing into your scalp, begging you to kiss her harder, to burn the memory of your lips onto hers. Your tongues meet in a dance that’s more battle than ballet, and she’s matching you move for move, her teeth nipping at your bottom lip, her nails scraping down your neck.

She’s eager, she’s pressing her chest against yours, making you feel just how hot she is. But yet, there’s still that annoying voice in your head, the last shreds of your conscience, telling you to give her that final out, to let her walk away with her dignity intact, go back to her members and tell them she just had to get some fresh air.

So, you pull back, tearing your mouth away from hers, giving her room to gasp for air, to let the world come back into focus, and you ask her, loud and clear, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Minji’s panting, breaths coming in short gasps, little puffs of steam out into the winter air, and she smiles. It’s a wicked little grin, equal parts surprised and thrilled, like you’ve just passed some kind of test she didn’t think you knew existed. “Are you asking for my consent?”

You balk at that. Your reputation can't be that bad. “Is it so unbelievable that I'd ask?” Even though you already know, deep down, she’s not going anywhere, there’s a power in hearing her say it. Saying that she wants you, specifically, to ruin her.

“No, it’s just…” Minji starts, eyes big and dark. The gears are turning in her head, trying to figure out how to play this, before ultimately landing on the word, “nice.”

She pulls you back towards her, needing to kiss you again. Soft, pillowy lips meeting your mouth in a kiss that’s so inappropriately sweet, like she’s sealing a deal with sugar rather than ink.

“Yeah,” she whispers, steady, sure. “I want to do this. More than anything.” Minji tilts her head back, exposing the column of her throat, inviting you to kiss it, to suck, to bite. “I want you."

You don’t need any more convincing than that. Put your hands on her body, run them over the swell of her tits, her curves, her hips, the dip of her waist. Let her lean into your touch, needing to feel more of you, wanting you to explore her.

And you do, do it all, greedily, feeling her breath hitch when you graze her nipples through the fabric, feel her hips jerk when you trace the line of her panties.

“Are we going to—gah—go back to your place?” Minji tries to ask, her question punctuated by a moan as your fingertips dance over the smooth skin of her inner thigh, the hem of her dress whispering against your skin.

You’ve already made your decision—you're not taking her home, you're not taking her anywhere with a bed, or even a chair. You're going to have her right here, right now. There’s no need to answer her, just let her work it out for herself when her back meets the wall and your thumb finds the slick, wet heat between her legs.

“Here?” She gasps, turning to look down the darkened end of the alleyway, at the distant streetlights, at the crowds of people oblivious to what’s about to happen beneath the shadows.

“It’s not the dancefloor, but it’ll have to do,” you shrug, busy pressing your lips against her cheek, travelling up to her jaw, her earlobe.

“B-but, what if—” Minji stammers, but you’re busy toying with the lace of her panties, nothing more than a mere formality at this point, only existing to get wetter, to be unavoidably ruined by you.

“What if someone finds us?” You finish her question, nibbling at her ear. “Then we’ll just have to make sure we leave them something to talk about, won’t we?”

She’s shivering at the thought of it—the headlines, the comments, the whispered scandals that will follow you both for weeks, maybe months, maybe forever. But you can feel her resolve hardening, her spine straightening, her body arching towards yours, and she replies, “Then don’t hold back.”

The challenge is clear: she’s embracing the thrill of the forbidden, the rush of potential disaster, the heady feeling of need overshadowing the fear of getting caught.

You don’t disappoint. Your fingers slip under the soaked lace, and she’s sensitive, so, so sensitive. She’s staining your fingers, needing only the smallest amount of pressure to garner a reaction. You tease her, drag your finger across her tender folds, dare to skim over her clit, torture her with anticipation.

Whatever concerns she has evaporates as you kiss down to her collarbone—you’re going to leave a mark—and she’s already asking for more, “Please.”

She’s whining, parting her legs, desperate for you to do more than just touch her, needing you to rip through her panties and take her.

“You're right—I don’t care,” she sighs into the wind, handing her fate over to you. “I need you. Now.”

That's all you need to hear, everything you've ever wanted to hear someone as seemingly untouchable as Minji say to you. You pull down her panties, needing an extra tug as her slickness sticks them to her thighs—she’s so fucking wet for you—and you draw a circle around her entrance with your finger.

“Right there,” she cries. She’s much more honest when she’s desperate—gone is the posturing, the taunting, the act—she’s just a girl who needs to feel something real. So, you give it to her—push your finger inside, gliding in smoothly, a perfect fit around your digit.

Only knuckle deep but she’s already got you like a vice, squeezing around your finger like she’s trying to keep it captive—so wet, so tight, so fucking good. Her nails dig into your shoulders as you push in another finger, stretching her just enough to make her gasp, just enough to make her fulfill her promise to cry out your name, “Fuck—!”

Her pulse is racing like a runaway train, hammering against your lips—you’re pushing both fingers all the way inside her now, sawing them in and out of her, making her groan, making her repeat your name over and over again.

You’re in her ear, “you’ve got to be quiet, Minji.”

But she’s not having it. “Make me,” she laughs, daring you, another challenge she’s putting down.

You kiss her hard, replacing the laughter in her mouth with your tongue, muffling her cries as you fuck her with your hand, you’re going to ruin her now. You curl your fingers up to hit that spot that makes her toes curl in her sky-high heels, making her gasp, her head thunking back against the wall.

She’s trying, she really is, to keep it in, but she still needs you to keep her standing, to hold her up as your fingers delve deeper; to keep her from melting into a puddle all over your hand.

Still, you’re relentless, feeling her out, learning her rhythm, her reactions, the spots that make her sigh and fall apart. You know you’ve found it when her breaths turn harsh and ragged, and she’s rolling her hips against your hand, and there’s that noise—the sweet, slick sound of her pussy swallowing your fingers whole—and she’s whining into your mouth, “This feels so—”

“Hot,” you finish for her, watching as her cheeks flush a delicious shade of pink, her pupils blown wide, those angelic features of hers contorting with every thrust of your fingers. “You’re so fucking hot, Minji.”

And she is, she’s hot, she’s so hot around you, against you, her hips bucking at the praise, and she whimpers, your name a staccato prayer on her lips. “More,” she demands, but she’s tripping over her words—“more—please—how does it feel so—”

“I’m going to make you cum now, Minji,” you state, your voice low and sure, your fingers continuing their persistent rhythm inside her. She nods, panting against your neck. “And after that, I’m going to fuck you and make you cum all over again. Until you can’t walk straight. Until you forget every other name but mine. Do you understand?”

Her eyes flutter closed, and she nods again, a whine escaping her throat, and she’s biting her lip so hard it’s going to bruise—another mark she won’t be able to explain tomorrow.

You lean in closer, whispering, “Good girl.”

You’re finger-fucking her in earnest now, her body moving in sync with your hand, the alleyway walls echoing with the slap of skin and the wet sounds of your digits plunging into her, your knuckles smacking against her clit. She’s trying to keep it together, trying not to scream out loud, her eyes squeezed shut tight as if that could hold back the orgasm that’s barrelling down on her.

Her breaths are coming out in little pants, and you know she’s close, so close, she’s nearly crying. “Just your fingers—fuck—it’s just your fingers,” she’s repeating it in disbelief, like it shouldn’t feel this good, not yet, like she needs the mantra to keep herself grounded as your hand lights up every nerve in her body.

She’s there, right on the edge, only needing that extra push, that pressure in just the right place, just waiting for your word to send her spiralling over. “Cum for me now, Minji.”

And that’s all it takes.

You hold her steady, fuck her hard with your fingers, rub at her clit, and she’s clenching down, all tiny shakes and choked gasps, her eyes snapping open and then squeezing shut as she reaches the precipice.

"God—fuck—I can't—"

It hits her hard and fast and all at once—her whole body seizing around your hand, her cunt tightening, hips thrusting forward, needing more friction. Her mouth opens wide, but you trap her lips before she can make a sound, kissing her, tasting her, feeling the tremors of her orgasm travel from her core to the tips of your fingers.

Her hands are all over you, nails digging into your shoulders, there's danger of drawing blood. But she clutches you closer, her tongue dancing with yours as if her life depends on it. You keep going, not letting up until she’s fully made her way past the tide, and it’s a sight to behold—Minji coming apart against a dirty alley wall, the architecture of her legs threatening to come crumbling down.

When she does finally go still, when her breathing starts to even out, you break the kiss. Pull away to look into her eyes, searching for the any signs of regret or embarrassment that often follow.

But there’s something else entirely. Awe. Excitement. Like she’s just experienced something she never knew existed.

“You okay?” You murmur, the question more of a formality than anything, because she looks absolutely anything but okay. She looks fucking amazing, a breathless, boneless mess against the wall, her chest rising and falling rapidly with every inhale.

Her eyes are still glazed over, wide and dark, mouth slack and swollen from your kisses. Trying to process what just happened, the reality of it all. But still too lost in the aftermath of her orgasm to form coherent thoughts.

“Yeah,” she takes a breath. Nods, shakily. “I’m—yeah, I’m good.”

Pull back your hand, giving her pussy one last gentle squeeze; trying your best to ignore the whine, the high-pitched noise that makes you twitch.

She’s flushed, hair a disaster, lipstick smudged, dress in ruins around her waist, panties around her ankles. And she's looking at you now, and it's worship. Like you’re a secret that she’s just discovered; a secret she's desperate to keep to herself. “I fucking knew it,” she says. “The rumours were true.”

You smirk, wiping the slick off your hand on the side of your pants. Enjoying seeing her struggle to stand straight. “Ready for round two?”

Her gaze flicks downwards, to the bulge in your pants. She nods, swallows hard. “Yeah, I—fuck yes.”

There’s no hesitation now, no pretending she doesn’t know what she’s signed up for. She’s all in, and you want her, here, now, because that’s what you do—you take what you want.

Another kiss, deep and greedy. One hand posted on the wall behind her head, the other gripping her tight. Keeping her in place as you grind against her, letting her feel just how hard she's made you, make her feel everything you've got for her.

“Please, don’t stop,” she pleads, but it's unnecessary—you can’t.

Not now. Not when you're busy tugging down on her dress, leaving it to pool around her ankles. Fuck, she’s a vision, standing in the cold, stark alley in just her heels and her underwear—and there’s her tits, perky and perfect, begging to be touched.

Don’t even bother with the bra, just yank it down, the straps snapping and the fabric falling away to reveal her nipples—pink and stiff and so fucking tempting. You can’t help yourself, they’re practically calling for you to taste them, so you draw one into your mouth, feeling her gasp against your ear, her hand sliding into your hair, holding you against her chest.

Her skin is hot against your tongue, and you suck, and bite, and lick. Not stopping until she’s whimpering, until she’s pushing herself into your lips. You just can't help yourself, can't stop your hands from running down her stomach, tracing the lines of her abs, feeling them flex with every breath she takes. So fucking tight, so toned—it’s like you’re touching a sculpture, or a personal playground made just for you.

“Oh my God,” she whimpers, “so good, so, so good, how does it feel—?”

Her words cut off as your teeth graze her nipple—she’s so reactive to every touch, and it has you wondering—has she ever been touched like this before? Has her body every truly been explored like this, pushed to these heights?

“You want more?” You murmur into her chest, your fingers returning to her wet folds, your thumb reintroducing itself to her clit.

“Your cock,” she says, sucking a harsh breath through her teeth. “I want it, I need it—please—I’m ready for it.” It’s that word—please—how it rolls off her tongue, the desperation in it, how it makes her sound so needy.

You break away. Step back. “Then take it.”

Minji doesn’t miss the opportunity. Hands gentle but determined, fingers at your belt, fumbling with the buckle, loosening the zipper. She’s hungry for it, for this moment of truth, to verify for herself—what’s been talked about in whispers and rumours, what’s been taunting her all evening.

Your pants hit the ground, and she’s staring at your cock with wide eyes, and for a second you can almost see the doubt creeping in. But she swallows it down, and with a soft grip, wraps her small hand around you, stroking you from base to tip.

“So this is it,” she says, taking the full measure of your length, her thumb smearing the pre-cum over your head. “This is the cock that ruins idols. They said it splits women in half.”

You chuckle, but she’s completely ignoring you, well, ignoring all parts of you that isn’t your cock. Her hand is tentative at first, working its way up and down, feeling you grow harder by the second in her palm. You can feel her wonder, her excitement, a hunger matched only by the ache in your cock.

It's the way she’s not saying anything, just touching, feeling. It's intimate, just the two of you, the sound of her breaths, your heart beating in your ears, the distant thump of the world you left behind.

She’s gaining confidence now, each stroke more deliberate; a smug smile gracing her lips as she watches how you react to her touch. You bite back a groan, not wanting to give away how much she’s getting to you, but fuck, she’s getting good at this. She’s clearly learning on the job, eyes keen to see just how you like it—how fast, how tight—how to make you fall apart in her hands.

It’s time to reign her in, you’re heading into deeper waters now. You grasp her wrist, stopping her, ignoring her pouts and whines. “Not yet,” you say, “I’m going to split you in half with my cock now.”

That makes her grin. She does this thing, this cute little twirl, spinning around on her heels to face the wall, and posting herself up against it. Her legs spread wide, giving you a perfect view of her splayed pussy, glistening under the dim neon light. She’s got her hands above her head—she’s putting herself on display for you, like your own private Mona Lisa.

A look back at you and she catches you gawking—eyes glued to her ass, her pussy—and she winks. “Are you just going to stare, or do I have to make you fuck me?” She says it so casually, like she’s back at the bar ordering another drink. “Hurry up, please. I need it. Inside me. Now."

No more waiting, no further invitations needed—there’s teasing, and then there’s both of you craving it, dying for this.

You’re behind her in an instant, pressing her into the wall, her cheek against the cold brick, her juicy ass up in the air. You guide your cock to her entrance, the head nudging against her—she’s soaked, pussy drooling on your tip—and she gasps, looking back at you with those doe eyes, all wide and innocent—like she hasn’t been begging for this since the moment she looked in your direction.

“Fuck Minji, you're so fucking wet for me,” you say, running your cock down her slit, coating it in her juices, “so needy for me, aren’t you?

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice strained, like every moment without your cock inside her is torture. “I want it all. Every fucking inch.”

The first push is a slide into heaven—she’s tight, so fucking tight, so, so wet, like she’s never had anyone else—like she’s been waiting just for you. She’s teary, gasping, and you feel her body tense, but she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t dare ask you to stop. Instead, she arches her back, pushing herself back onto you, urging you deeper.

“God,” she’s chanting now, feeling inch after inch sliding into her, “it’s so—it’s already making me so—”

It’s slow, deep, fucking, stretching seconds into an eternity, stretching her pussy out with your girth, stretching her to fit you, to keep you, to never let you leave. It’s careful, almost tender at first—let her set the pace, let her show you how much she can take.

She’s moaning, low and guttural, and you wrap one hand around her waist to hold her steady as you thrust into her, let her get comfortable with your size, make her tits bounce with every pump, make her legs shake beneath her. And then there’s that lip bite again—she’s trying to keep quiet, but little moans are escaping her, getting lost in the night.

You ease out, then push back in, setting a steady rhythm that’s got her rocking back onto you. Minji seems like a delicate little thing, but there's a strength to her, a suppleness—she’s meeting you thrust for thrust, her pussy like pure velvet around your cock, gripping you tight, trying to milk you.

Hand finds her chin, tilting her head back so you can kiss her again—long, deep, tongue-filled kisses that make her whine and buck against you. She’s slowly, but surely adjusting to you now, her body learning the rhythm of your cock, getting used to being so completely filled.

It's in the way she's moaning into your mouth, like she's never been fucked like this before, never had someone so big, never had a cock so demanding of her tight little cunt. But she's so eager for it, her pussy so warm and welcoming, swallowing you up with every thrust.

It’s not normally like this—you’re not normally like this—but something has you asking between kisses, “You okay?”

She laughs, pushing herself back against you, pushing her cunt down on you, taking you deeper, burying your cock to the hilt. “I’m not going to break, I promise,” she says, looking over her shoulder, needing this. “I need you to fuck me—no holding back—I can take it all—everything you’ve ever given anyone else, all those other girls. I can handle it.”

“Show me.”

It’s throwing gasoline on a fire—she's asking for it, burning for it. You fuck her like you mean it—pull out all the way, force it all the way back in, hard, deep, rough. A shriek and she's wailing now, true to her word she’s taking it, taking it all, utterly lost in each perfect push into her cunt. She’s so beautiful like this, so open and raw—gone is the perfect idol, she’s just another girl getting fucked in an alley by some guy she just met.

Both hands are gripping into her hips, holding her in place, holding her upright, feeling her walls clench and release around you. Marks are going to be left there too, your fingerprints on her skin, bruises that she’ll have to hide with makeup tomorrow.

“So good—so fucking good—just—“ Minji can barely make out full sentences, let alone words as you fuck her, as you own her. “Harder! Fuck! Rougher!"

It’s like a drug, this power, watching her come apart for you, knowing you’re the one making her feel this way, knowing she’ll let you do whatever you want, whatever you need as long as it makes her come apart. And you’re feeding off of it, her words pushing you closer to the edge, letting her need for you drive you, unlock that primal part of your brain. Fucking her like this, so filthy and wrong and everything you love about this life.

You pick up the pace, driving your hips forward—"harder—fuck—harder"—until she’s shaking, her legs giving out, and the only thing keeping her on her feet is your cock and your arms.

“Fuck—I know what they said but—fuck! Is this what they all felt?” She gasps out, “is this how it always feels?”

Your lips on her neck, her hair sticking to your face, the scent of her perfume, of her, intoxicating. “It doesn’t always feel like this,” you answer, you grunt. “But you do. You feel so fucking good, Minji. So fucking perfect for me.”

“You're so big,” she says, her voice trembling, “I feel so—fuck—full.”

It’s not just the way she’s clenching around you, how she’s now able to take every inch of you like she’s been fucking you her whole life—it’s how she says your name, like you’re the only one that could ever make you feel this way, like you’re the one who ever will.

You grab her tits, squeezing them, seizing them, pinching and twisting her nipples between your fingers. All it does is make her beg, “fuck—I love it—how rough you are—” needing more of everything you have, “your hands—your cock—please don’t stop, don’t ever stop—I can take it please—rougher please—fuck!”

Something cracks inside you, and your hand comes down on her ass, the sound bouncing off the walls like a gunshot. Minji jolts, yelps, but the noise is quickly swallowed by a moan, a squeezing of her cunt around you.

“Fuck that felt—”

You do it again, and again, each slap a little harder, a little more punishing, the sting making her flesh jiggle deliciously with every impact. She doesn’t retreat, she’s slamming her ass back down on you, slapping her cheeks against your waist, needing to feel more.

“Gah—fuck—harder!”

She can’t help herself, minutes ago she could barely handle your size, now she can’t hold back from crying out for more pain, more excruciating pleasure.

Each smack, each groan, each breath that’s ripped from her lungs is a declaration of your power, of her need. And you revel in it, your hand coming down on her ass, leaving a trail of red marks against her creamy-white skin.

“More, please, more,” she calls for it, calls for the sting, the heat, her pussy clamping down on you, walls pulsing with every hit, her body needing the release that’s building up, inevitable and intense.

Her ass is nothing but a canvas painted by the strokes of your hand and the relentless pounding of your cock, and you can’t help but admire your handiwork, you're struggling to suppress the urge to lean down and kiss each spot you’ve marked.

“You’re going to be so sore tomorrow,” you say, your teeth grazing the shell of her ear.

“I know,” she answers, her voice a whine, a plea, a moan. “But this is what I wanted—to feel—to remember this—this moment—getting fucked like you own me—because you do—so don’t hold back—don’t ever hold back.”

You’re both sweaty, panting—you can feel her orgasm building, like a storm in the distance, thunder rumbling closer and closer until it's right above you, ready to break. And there’s your own, too, that delicious pressure at the base of your spine, the promise of release, coming at you just as quick.

But you’re not going to let her get there—not yet—not when you’ve got her like this, pliant and open and so in need. You lean forward, your chest pressing against her back, and slide your hand down, reaching around to find her clit.

It’s slick and stiff and wanting, and Minji screams—a high, keening sound that you want to hear again and again. You’re playing with it, swiping it with your thumb in tight circles, feeling her clench around you with every pass.

“I’m almost—God that feels so good—I’m almost!”

But you stop, pull out of her, abruptly, making her cry out, making her turn around, a mess of emotions on her face—desire, confusion, awe.

“What are you—” Minji tries to ask, but you’re spinning her around and pressing her back against the wall. Her leg comes up, wrapping around your waist, but you take it and lift it higher, testing the extent of her flexibility, throwing it over your shoulder.

She’s right on that edge, you can see it—her pupils dilate, her mouth opens in a silent scream, her body tenses, her cunt melting around you. But you weren't going to let her cum like that, not without watching her face, not without seeing the moment she cracks and shatters.

Now you’re face to face, chest to chest, her eyes needing yours to anchor herself to, needing to know what you’re going to do to her. No time for breaks—in one, deep thrust you're all the way back inside her, making her scream with the suddenness of it, the shock, the bliss of being so perfectly filled.

She groans, weeps with each pump into her, and she’s smiling through it all. “So—” she asks, struggling to form intelligible sentences. “How do I—fuck—how do I—mmmph—compare to the others?”

You grunt, barely registering the question, your mind clouded by the spasms of her cunt around you. “What others?”

“The other girls—God—the other idols,” she says, strained. “The ones you’ve fucked before—the ones you’ve ruined—how do I—aah—compare?”

You kiss her again, a bruising, punishing kiss that steals the question from her lips. You don’t need to answer that. You’re showing her. You’re fucking showing her how she compares, how she’s the best, the tightest, the wettest, the most eager. You’re showing her how she’s going to be the one they whisper about in the halls of HYBE and beyond, she'll become the story that will be told as a warning, about the sweet, innocent idol ruined in a dirty alleyway.

Your world is spinning around you now—there’s your hand on her throat, a gentle squeeze, just enough to make her eyes water, to make her breath catch. But she’s not scared, not with the way she’s grinning, not with how she’s grinding her hips to meet yours.

“Fuck—make me scream—” It’s a plea, a demand, she’s so stunning, so tortured in her need for it, “do whatever you want to me, whatever you need—just—make me cum harder—God please—harder than any of them ever did.”

Any care you had for getting caught, about the consequences of what you're doing—where you're doing it—dissipates into the ether. Nothing exists outside of the race to her orgasm, outside of your hips recklessly pounding into her, reducing her to moans and shakes and trembles.

“Cum for me,” you growl, “right here, right now, Minji—cum for me again—show me that you’re mine.”

“I was made for you,” she says, and it’s not just the heat of the moment talking, it’s something else, something deeper. She’s not just saying it to get off, she’s saying it like it’s a revelation, like she’s been waiting for you, for this exact moment.

“Prove it.”

It hits her like a fucking truck, and Minji’s screaming, filth belted from her mouth and into the night, her pussy quaking around your cock, her whole body entering into seizure. You keep going, riding out her orgasm, feeling her cum on your cock, feeling her body go rigid, her muscles tense, it’s those abs, so tight, it’s those absurdly strong contractions that have you falling after her.

“God—fuck, I—can’t believe—can’t believe—”

You’re fucking her through it, not giving her a moment’s reprieve, not letting her come down from that high, because you’re not ready for this to end, not when she’s so helpless. You hold her tight through it, let her shake, rattle against you, let her nails dig into your arms, let her cum drench you.

“Fuuuuuuck!”

It’s too much for her to take, and once the storm has finally subsided, Minji is just a ragdoll in your arms. Her legs are limp, held up by your grip alone, still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her makeup is ruined, a mix of sweat and your kisses, leaving dark streaks on her cheeks. Her hair, plastered to her forehead, her eyes half-closed, and there’s her body—marks of your teeth on her chest, her breasts, the bruises of your fingers around her hips, the mottled red of her ass, a map of your dominance painted on her perfect skin.

It’s not just the physical marks you’ve left on her; it’s the way she’s looking at you now, awe, desperation, realisation that it’s all true, every rumour, everything they’ve said about you—and she’s the latest filthy chapter in your story.

But you’re not done yet, you haven’t finished. You’re pulling out, and she’s whining, making your cock throb with her pleas. You guide her to the floor, to her knees, her dress puddled around her, the cold concrete biting into her skin.

Standing over her, looking down at your prize. “Open your mouth,” you tell her. She does; without hesitation, without question.

Grab your cock, still slick with her, and stroke yourself, watching her tongue dart out to lick her lips, seeing the anticipation build in her eyes.

It’s the sweetest, most erotic sight you’ve ever seen—Minji, the girl that's everyone's type, the girl who could have anything she wants, anyone, on her knees for you—tongue out, mouth wide open, waiting eagerly for your cum.

And then you do it—you let go, shooting ropes of hot cum, painting her face, letting it dribble down onto her chin, onto her chest, onto her toned stomach, covering her until she’s a sticky mess of lust and desire. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away—she loves the feeling of it, shivering as your hot cum hits her skin.

She holds position through it all—knees on the ground, eyes closed, a serene smile as if she’s just been blessed. And when you're done, when your cock is finally spent, she looks up at you with a grin that's pure sin.

Minji takes a finger, dips it into the mess on her chin, and tastes you. It's a bold move, it’s messy, it’s wrong, it’s perfect. There’s the glimmer of triumph in her eyes, the knowledge that she's made you do something so raw, that she made you lose all control.

For a second there’s nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, the come down from your euphoric high. Minji can barely speak, still shaky, voice in tatters. “That was—” she pauses, fumbling for the right word. “—incredible. Fuck!”

There's a rush of arrogance doing unhealthy things for your ego. “So, do I live up to the legend?”

Minji wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smears your cum across her cheek. Tries to lick it off, but decides to just leave it there. “More than I could have ever imagined. You’re not just a man-whore, you’re a fucking artist.”

You laugh at that, as you tuck yourself back in, smoothing down your shirt, trying to compose yourself, pretending like her words don’t mean anything to you, like you don’t take pride in the validation of every girl you fuck.

“How do I rank?” she asks, the question coming out of nowhere, and you blink down at her, your brain trying to catch up. “I mean, out of all the idols you’ve fucked?”

“Rank?” you repeat. "I don't keep a list, that would be..." You trail off, realising what you're about to say, and now it’s her turn to laugh.

“Crass?” she supplies. “I know, but I’m just curious.”

“You’re fucking fantastic, that’s for sure,” you reassure her, letting her bask in that compliment. “Why—do you keep a list?”

Her smile falters for a moment, but then she’s grinning again, looking even more wicked with the cum pasted across her face, and it makes you want to bend her over and fuck her all over again. “Of course I do. And you’ll be happy to know that you’re number one.”

“That’s good to know.”

But then she says, “Of one.”

And you freeze. The air around you turns to ice, and she’s looking up at you, and the world's getting smaller, and you realise what she’s saying. What she’s just admitted to you. The innocence she's lost, and she’s looking at you like it’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened.

“You were…” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Don’t,” she says, voice firm. “Don’t make this something it’s not. I wanted this, and I wanted it to be with you. I told you: I can handle it all.”

But that doesn’t stop your mind from racing, trying to process, put all the pieces together. You had your suspicions—she was so tight, so new, so untouched—and now she’s yours, in a way that no one else can claim. You wiped away her virginity, and she’s not running, not crying, not regretful.

The weight of it settles in your stomach. It's a strange cocktail—equal parts pride, guilt. You’ve ruined her, in the best way possible. You’ve claimed something precious and pure, and she’s given it to you willingly, eagerly.

“Fuck, Minji,” you try, but fail to come up with anything of substance. “If you had told me, I would’ve—”

“You would’ve what? I lost my virginity by having filthy, mind-blowing sex in a dark alley with the best cock in all of Korea,” she says, pridefully, with her entire chest, fully believing every word she's saying. “Can you really tell me your story was any better? I bet whoever it was with didn’t scream like I did. Or cum so hard she couldn’t see straight.”

You cast your mind back to the past, and you have to concede the point. “I see what you mean. But still—” You feel like you should say something. But. It’s not like you can apologise, fuck she looks like she wants to thank you so badly. “How does it feel?”

“A-ma-zing,” she draws out, rising to her feet. “Everything I’ve ever heard about, multiplied by a million. You might’ve ruined sex for me completely.”

You watch as she puts herself back together, sliding her panties back on, tugging her dress over her head and down her hips. She’s smoothing her hair back, trying to fix the mess you’ve made of her; wiping at the cum on her chin, her cheek, trying to erase the evidence of your encounter, trying to put the mask of the sweet, innocent idol back on.

But you know better. You know what’s hiding beneath that polished exterior.

“Come home with me,” you find yourself saying before you can think better of it.

Minji turns to you, eyes alight, fire in her veins, and you can feel the challenge coming. “Why?” she asks, tilting her head to the side. “You want to cuddle and fall asleep together? Wake up, have breakfast in bed?”

“Yeah,” you nod, honestly. “After I’ve fucked you senseless again, of course. But yeah, come home with me.”

“That would be nice,” Minji says, a soft smile on her face. It's surreal, this moment, so at odds with the grimy alleyway and the smell of sex sticking to her skin. She looks so pure now, in complete contrast to how roughly you were fucking her just moments ago. Her innocence wasn’t lost, it was just painted with a fresh coat of your sin.  “But—you know I can’t. They’re waiting.”

“Worth a shot,” you shrug, not bothering to hide your disappointment.

And then she produces your phone, holding it out to you. “You need to be more careful with your things.”

“When did you—”

“Now you’ve got my number,” she says. “You’re welcome to do whatever it is you want with it. But I’m hoping you use it.”

You take it out of her hands, swiping away the string of missed calls and messages, the digital proof of how much trouble you’re going to be in come morning. But for now, it’s irrelevant. For now, there’s only Minji, and the way she’s standing there, looking up at you, smiling like she’s just stepped off the stage.

“You’re going to go back to them?” you ask, gesturing towards the club entrance, to where the rest of her group are probably still gossiping, plotting your downfall.

“Of course,” Minji says. “They’re my friends. They care about me. They’ll want to make sure I’m okay.”

“And when they find out what we just did?”

“Oh, they’re going to want to kill you,” she answers. You’ve had enough of these types of conversations to know she’s not joking. “Except Dani, maybe. She’ll probably want a shot at you too. If I let her.”

"Noted," you say, trying to keep the image of Danielle, splayed against the wall like Minji before her, out of your head. "What exactly are you going to tell them?"

Minji pauses, thinking, before landing on a succinct summary. "I’ll just tell them that you fucked my brains out and then ditched me in an alley.”

You sigh, “sounds brutal.”

“Well, it is what it is,” Minji says, and she’s pressing a kiss to your cheek, her lips still sticky with the residue of your cum, the last traces of what's just happened.

You watch her go, watch as she turns away, walking back towards the club, a little stumble, a little trouble keeping steady. You should be feeling guilty, you should be regretting this, but all you can think is how good it felt, how right it felt. And you know you’ll do it again—you know it deep in your bones.

Minji turns back to you, catching your eye, catching you staring again, and she smiles. “You better go now. You do have a reputation to maintain, after all.”

[deesseshesca]

PAC : First time feeling *that* chemistry with him. (Dual POV)

(SINGLE SINCE BIRTH - ERA ~2 )

My soul craves some slow love song...

PILE 1

Is actually not going to be the first time you feel this chemistry.

You always felt it but always find a away to resist. Fighting the connection on both side.

His mom died. Maybe one of he challenges you will be facing together before you both commit to surrender to this love after months of playing cat and mouse is the death of his mother.

Both of you have a fear of being vulnerable which dramatically slowed this relationship.

Her POV The air was thick with the scent of roses, heady and intoxicating, blooming wildly around the edges of the garden. Evening had settled, painting the sky in dusky shades of lavender and gold, and the world felt quieter here softer. I stood by the fountain, my fingertips brushing the cool marble edge as I stared at the rippling water. Reflections danced on the surface, fractured and shifting, much like the emotions stirring inside me.

<<I didn’t expect to feel this.>>

Not after everything. Not after the walls I built so carefully, protecting the parts of me that once gave too much and received too little. I had walked away from him before more than once not because I didn’t care, but because I needed to know who I was without him. I needed to find the version of myself that wouldn’t settle for half-hearted promises and restless nights filled with questions.

But I wasn’t that woman anymore.

<<I see it now — he’s different.>>

His edges have softened, the fire that once burned too hot, tempered now with something richer, something steadier. His ego no longer fills the space between us, and I know deep in my bones that he’s ready. His family knows it too. I see it in their eyes when they look at me. Acceptance. Warmth. They see me as his future, even before I’ve fully allowed myself to step into that role.

But the truth was I had been fighting this. Fighting us.

<<And I’m so tired of running.>>

The moon hung low in the sky, her quiet light washing over the garden, whispering secrets only I could hear. I wasn’t afraid anymore. The unknown didn’t scare me the way it once had. Because this time, I wasn’t standing on shaky ground. I was standing on the edge of something solid.

And when I turned to look at him, standing a few feet away, watching me with that quiet intensity I had come to know so well…

<<I knew it was time to stop fighting.>>

His Mother’s POV The evening air carried the faintest breeze, enough to rustle the leaves but not disturb the peace that had settled over the garden. I stood near the patio, half-listening to the murmured conversations behind me, but my eyes were fixed on them.

My son. And her.

<<I’ve seen this look before.>>

Not on him. Never on him. But I’ve seen it in the eyes of men who have found something rare something worth holding onto.

He’s watching her like he’s afraid to blink, like she might disappear if he does. But it’s not desperation in his eyes. It’s reverence.

<<My boy learned the hard way.>>

I remember how stubborn he used to be so caught up in his pride, in proving himself. He didn’t know how to bend, and love requires a man who can bend without breaking. But something changed. I see it in the way his shoulders aren’t as rigid, in how he stands beside her, not in front of her.

He’s quiet now. Not because he’s holding back, but because he’s listening.

And her?

<<She’s not running anymore.>>

I’ve watched her for a long time, watched the way her guard would rise and fall depending on his mood. But tonight? I don’t see the woman who once held herself apart, protecting what was left of her heart. I see a woman who’s ready. Her eyes don’t hold doubt anymore. There’s only knowing.

She’s fought this love. I could feel it every time she stepped back, every time she hesitated, weighing her heart against her fears. But now…

<<She’s choosing him.>>

And he knows it.

The way they move unconsciously mirroring each other, as if their souls had already learned the steps to a dance they hadn’t even realized they were performing it’s breathtaking.

He’s ready to give her everything. And for once, he’s not afraid to show it.

<<This is love.>>

Not the easy kind. The kind forged through fire and time. The kind that bends but never breaks.

And as I watched them standing in the glow of a fading sun, their future stretched out before them I knew.

<<They’ve found their way.>>

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PILE 2

Her POV The air smelled of jasmine and warm spice, the kind that lingers long after the sun dips beneath the horizon. The soft hum of conversation filled the courtyard, where fairy lights twisted through ivy-covered trellises, casting a golden glow on the polished stone beneath my heels. I felt the heat of the summer night cling to my skin, a sensual reminder that life was ripe and full of promise.

I stood with ease, spine straight, head high but not from pride. I was light in a way that only comes after shedding burdens I once thought were stitched into my bones. I was whole now, and love no longer felt like a battlefield. It felt like home waiting to be built. And as my eyes landed on him, across the crowded space, something shifted.

<<I see him before he notices me a presence that pulses against the noise, commanding without trying.>> He looked unsure, though. A flicker of tension in the line of his jaw, a restless energy in the way his fingers grazed the edge of his glass. I could feel it that uncertainty, that hesitation and it only made me more aware of how steady I had become.

When his eyes finally found mine, I didn’t look away. I let him see. All of it. The woman who had rebuilt herself. The woman who no longer needed to be saved but was ready to be chosen. His gaze sharpened, and I felt the heat coil low in my belly.

<<I know he feels it too.>> The spark. The unspoken question hanging between us, thick and sweet as the summer air. I took a step forward, feeling a quiet power hum through me.

I was ready.

His POV The night was too still. Too perfect. The kind of night where everything feels suspended in time where decisions can’t be undone once made. The courtyard was a masterpiece of intimacy, tucked away from the noise of the city. Lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, throwing patterns across the stone floor, but my focus was caught elsewhere.

<<I see her.>> And the world narrows.

She moved like certainty, her presence cutting through the crowd like silk through air. I had been restless all night, the weight of everything I carried pressing against my ribs, but when her gaze caught mine I forgot how to breathe.

She was unreadable, and that terrified me. I could feel the space she had carved for herself, the freedom she had fought for. I had laid everything out, no walls, no illusions. Just me. Wanting her.

<<I know she has choices.>> I had seen it in her eyes, the quiet acknowledgment that she wasn’t bound by anyone’s expectations. She could walk away and not look back. But damn, I didn’t want her to.

My heart pounded, each beat a plea I couldn’t voice. The fear gnawed at me, but beneath it was something else. Something stronger.

<<I would give her everything.>> And I wasn’t sure if that would be enough.

But as she stepped toward me, I felt the ground shift beneath my feet. She wasn’t walking away. She was walking toward me. And in that moment, I knew...

I was ready to risk it all.

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PILE 3

Her POV The night was alive, pulsing with an undercurrent of something electric. Music drifted through the crowded rooftop bar, a low bass that thrummed beneath my skin. City lights stretched out around us, glittering like promises that never quite delivered. But I wasn’t thinking about promises.

<<I was thinking about him.>>

He stood across the room, effortlessly charming as always, his laughter spilling into the air like a melody I couldn’t escape. My pulse quickened not with nerves, but with something far more dangerous. Obsession.

<<And I wasn’t even trying to hide it.>>

My eyes found him without meaning to, drawn like a magnet, and I knew he felt it. Felt me. Even when he wasn’t looking, he knew. It was in the way his body angled slightly toward mine, like gravity itself was conspiring to pull us together. But beneath all that wanting, there was a quiet war raging in me.

I didn’t trust this feeling.

<<I’ve played this game before.>>

The spark. The pull. The endless chase that left me burned when I finally caught what I thought I wanted. He was different, though. Too different. And that scared me more than anything. Because if I let myself believe he was the one, I’d be giving him a power I swore I’d never hand over again.

But damn…

<<He makes it so easy to forget my own rules.>>

Every glance, every touch, every low murmur of my name lured me deeper into this mess I swore I wouldn’t make. And yet here I was. Caught in the web. The worst part?

<<I didn’t even want to escape.>>

His POV The night stretched out like a canvas, painted with the warm glow of city lights and the buzz of possibility. Laughter echoed around us, but my world had narrowed to one point of focus.

Her.

<<I could feel her eyes on me.>>

Even when she thought she was subtle, her gaze was a weight I carried like a secret. And I liked it. No I loved it. There was no hiding how she felt. The way her lips parted slightly when she looked at me. The way her body leaned in, even when her mind tried to pull her back.

<<She was obsessed, and I knew it.>>

But she was fighting it. Fighting me. And I didn’t blame her. I wasn’t some polished dream I was chaos wrapped in charm, adventure wrapped in uncertainty. And she… she liked control.

But love? Love didn’t play by her rules.

<<I wasn’t here to play it safe.>>

I wasn’t looking for guarantees or carefully laid plans. I wanted the ride the messy, unpredictable, breathtaking ride that came with loving a woman who didn’t know how to surrender. And damn, was she worth the risk.

Her fear didn’t scare me. If anything, it made me want her more. She was standing at the edge, and I could feel her heart pounding just as loudly as mine. She was so close to giving in, to letting go of all the walls she’d built around herself.

<<And I wasn’t going to push her.>>

No. I was going to let her come to me.

Because I knew, deep down, she couldn’t resist this.

<<Not me.>>

I wasn’t a destination. I was the journey. And I could feel her soul even if her mind was fighting it ready to take that leap.

So, I stood there, steady and sure, letting her chase her own thoughts, knowing they’d always lead back to me.

<<This wasn’t about winning.>>

It was about us. About feeling every twist and turn, every high and low. I wasn’t offering her a perfect ending. I was offering her a story worth living.

And when her eyes met mine again wide, hungry, and just a little afraid I knew.

<<She was already falling.>>

And I was ready to catch her.

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3. POP SHOP : 30 MINUTES FOR 15$ (TIP KO-FI) RECORDED AUDIO READING ABOUT ANYTHING.

[lizardsfromspace]

Talking about Chris Columbus made me think about what was probably the most prophetic part of JK Rowling's bad wizard books at the time

If you go back to coverage from the time (which I did verifying the info in the Chris Columbus post, discovering this) you see that she wanted a capital-d Director for it. A visionary auteur worthy of her wizard book for children. She wanted Terry Gilliam; the studio said no. She wanted Guillermo del Toro; he said no. She wanted Steven Spielberg; he said yes, then dropped out due to "creative differences" (he wanted to do it as an animated film, and chose to make A.I. instead). Then with the third movie, they landed one: Y tu mamá también director Alfonso Cuarón. At last, she would get to see what it was like for a visionary creative to tackle her work, as she wanted all along

And when it came out, there was one problem. The reviews were really, really good...and all of them were praising Alfonso Cuarón. They were saying that he had added so much to the wizarding world of JK Rowling (TM). Some were even implying he handled the material better than she did, and a few were saying that outright, because it was true

Suddenly, the prospect of her work being handled by a Visionary Aueteur was less appealing. Cuarón couldn't give less of a shit, he went off to make Children of Men, so strange how basically everyone involved in the bad wizard movies used the money from it as a springboard to kickstart a successful career doing shit they actually care about it except its writer. So two movies later, we meet David Yates, whose filmography looks like this

He does have works other than this - all of it on TV. Miniseries/TV movies and TV episodes. Though his only TV work since Harry Potter was one TV pilot.

Someone who had spent years talking about her hopes that Spielberg or Gilliam or del Toro or M. Night Shyamalan would add their Visionary Touch to her books was now happy having some random TV director handle everything forever. A random TV director who hardly does anything except Harry Potter. Whose career depends on her and her series. Anyway I'm sure she just really liked his miniseries about human trafficking a lot

It reminds me of when the director & writer of the first 50 Shades movie did a lot of editing to remove the unnecessary guff that was only in the book bc it was in the original fanfic - like pointless side characters who were only around bc they were a Twilight character in the original - & make it work better as a film, and then E.L. James fired everyone and had her husband write the sequels so they wouldn't ruin her baby. JK Rowling really wanted the prestige of her movie being made by a Steven Spielberg but didn't realize that a director like that would alter the material for film even when adapting a good book. She just wanted a famous person to enthusiastically co-sign that her book was very good and perfect and required not one change before becoming a classic of cinema. Meanwhile Alice Walker, Michael Crichton, Philip K. Dick and H.G. Wells are all better writers than JK Rowling, and none of them were granted that level of deference

Anyway who could have foreseen that the writer who made sure her film series was made as bland as possible after having one director actually dare to change and adapt her work would one day get so mad at her movie's cast no longer speaking with her she tries to remake the whole series to "replace" them

[lup-ines]

ASTROLOGY OBSERVATIONS/NOTES (18+)

by lup-ines

1. Venus-Ascendant aspects are often known as THE beauty indicators in astrology, but in my opinion, I think Neptune-Ascendant deserves the title more. Neptune-ASC aspects are often found in the beauty icons of the world, and in comparison to Venus-ASC beauty, Neptune-ASC beauty gives more of an “other-worldly”, “she’s not from here” vibe (I will make a post about this).

2. Aquarius men and Virgo men are the same people, Aquarius men are just stranger.

3. When Mars transits over your 1st, 5th, or 8th, you tend to attract more sexual partners/attention.

4. Neptune in the 11th house people are may be blessed with friends that are artistic, loving, and caring but they often have a lot of friends that are secret haters.

5. Saturn in the 10th requires a lot of hard work before you actually get the flowers you deserve. Saturn in the 10th is the definition of the underdog. Often people with this placement find that they are constantly underestimated by those who work with them, but when they persevere wealth, fame, and admiration follow them. This can also mean get praise in the later part of your life (usually after your Saturn return).

For example, Queen Elizabeth II has Saturn in her 10th. At the time of her coronation, she was only 25 years old. This caused a lot of chatter due to many people thinking that she was too young and unfit to rule as a queen. As she got older, she slowly started to gain the respect and love from the people around her and had a VERY long career (Saturn in the 10th often indicates a stable/long career life depending on how it is aspected in your chart).

6. Fire signs moons/venuses (sometimes mars) have no concept of hiding their feelings for someone. When they like you, YOU WILL KNOW. If you’re confused, they probably don’t like you.

7. If you ever find yourself in bed with an aries mars or someone with mars in their 1st, pull their hair a little bit and watch what happens 😉

8. Leo placements have celebrity energy without even trying.

9. In 2024, Gemini risings and those with heavy gemini placements will see a boost in attention (good and bad depending on your chart) and popularity because of Jupiter moving into Gemini.

[snoopychris]

busy woman

warnings: video sex, masturbation, dirty talk, kinda sub matt, matt's still kind of an ass but not as much, a few sabrina carpenter references

mateo81

free tonight?

cherrychapsdick

depends on the time? 

have to do a live stream at 6:45

mateo81

perfect

u free b4 or after?

cherrychapsdick

both 

free from 4:30-5, 6:15-6:45 and then 7:45 till EOD

mateo81

4:30 works fine for me

you’re a busy woman

cherrychapsdick 

gotta make a living somehow ;) 

mateo81

i’ll see u at 4:30 then :))

matt hopes that the click that came from his phone was silent enough to not disturb the quiet work time the classroom was given. his eyes scan the room for a few moments, noticing the way each person in the room was in their own little bubble of the world. the jocks in the back row near the right were hitting each other and stealing each others things. the more studious girls in the middle row, each listening to some different sort of music. and then there was you. you were isolated in the front row today, the headphones over your ears blasting music loud enough for him to faintly hear. your phone was tightly wrapped around your fingers alongside your pencil. he sighs quietly as he gets back to his own schoolwork, glancing at the professor besides him.

“dr thomas? my mom just texted and she needs me home earlier than expected so i’m gonna head out at 4:15 ish. all of last weeks tests are graded. grades are updated.” matt smiles, jotting down a few more ideas on his paper. he quite enjoyed the professors presence, but he still couldn’t wait to get all of the requirements needed for his masters degree. matt’s eyes go back down to his class work, getting distracted shortly afterwards when someone walks up to the desk. he doesn’t look up instantly, instead deciding to use context clues. the first thing that he uses to determine who’s at the desk is the jangle of the jewelry. the second thing is the dr martens on the feet of the person. the final thing is her voice. your voice. matt’s eyes look up at you, a small scoff leaving his lips. 

“dr thomas… i’m not feeling too good. would you mind if i left early? my works done and turned in.” your voice sounds so sweet. so… spoiled. matt thinks. he bats his eyes at you, a look of shock in his eyes. you failed your last test and you’re asking to leave early? matt didn’t get it. he lets out another scoff as you walk out the door with your professors permission, beginning to pack up himself. he bids his farewell and begins walking go his car in the parking lot, rolling his eyes when he sees you standing next to his vehicle to get into your own. 

“following me, matt?” 

matt shakes his head as you unlock your car, his arms crossing as he leans against his door. “that mercedes on daddy’s car insurance plan?” you swallow as you lick your lips, shaking your head. “no.” matt chuckles as he unlocks his car door, glancing over at you. “you have to take out a loan for it then?” his eyes widen at you, pursing his lips. he knows the answer is no. he also knows, well, he thinks, you’re lying to him about your dad’s involvement in your finances. your eyes scan his tattoo covered arms up and down, pursing your lips. “you pay for all those yourself?” “well no. when i was younger my mom helped pay for so-“ “hypocrite.” matt scoffs when you shut your car door on him mid-conversation, speeding off like you had somewhere to be. he had completely forgotten that he had somewhere to be. 

matt had never driven faster in his life. he drove like there were no other cars on the road. it probably wasnt healthy that he was doing all of this for a camgirl. it had to be a level of whipped that had been undiscovered by most men. his entire ride home is spent with nothing but thoughts of you, even if he didnt know it was you. he thought of the way he had joined each of your live streams in the past week, sometimes spending more than 20 dollars just to compliment your lingerie or to tell you to move your fingers a little bit faster. he hadnt even realized how much of his brain you had been taking up, but it was nearly all of it. at some point or another during his drive home, matt had grown painfully hard. as he puts his car in park in the garage of his apartment complex. the tote bag he uses as a backpack was thrown over his shoulder for a moment, but matt decides it would be best to hold it over his crotch, just until he gets inside. Matt’s legs move quicker than he intended them to, and he groans in frustration when its 4:31 and the elevator is still going painfully slow. when he finally reaches his floor, he borderline sprints to his door, kicking off his shoes and taking off his sweater. its quickly tossed to the side and discarded, and its 4:34 by the time he actually opens his laptop. he hopes that he’s not too late.

mateo81

hi sorry, computer died ://

cherrychapsdick

perfect timing omg 

my last one on one went late

mateo81

busy busy

cherrychapsdick

*sent a link* 

here’s the zoom

u can join anonymously if youd like :)

an exhale that matt didnt know he was holding in leaves his throat when you sent the link. he clicks it gently, making sure of two things when he does. first, he makes sure hes on incognito mode so that it doesnt show his email or anything of the sorts. the second thing he does is make sure his camera and microphone are off. when he fully joins the call, his breath hitches in the back of his throat. youre wearing a light blue set. he had never seen it before. he had even gone back one day and scrolled through all of your saved streams  and it wasnt in any of them. he goes to type a message in the chat but youre already speaking by the time his pointer is hovering over the text box. “hi mateo.” fuck.

your voice was as smooth as silk, if not smoother. “sorry i was late… my last guy took foreverrrr. can you imagine that? im dolled up all pretty and he didnt even finish.” even though he couldnt see your face, matt knew you were pouting. his fingers hover over his laptops keyboard for a moment before he begins typing, watching as youre toying with the hem of your panties. couldnt imagine that, not in a million years. I was late too, class ran late. Matt doesnt even realize what he was typing until it was already sent. he knows the chance of you knowing him is extremely slim. there was 8.1 billion people on planet earth, there was no way he would be recognizable enough to you based on the mention of a class. this subsides the anxiousness coursing through matt, palming at himself through his sweatpants. 

“you in school? college i hope… you smart? I bet you are. bet youre the top of your class. bet youre always so well-behaved… just like you are for me.” matt swallows, nodding rapidly even though you cant see him. he feels awkward only staring at you and you not seeing anything but a black screen. his fingers move faster than his brain does, typing and sending another message. can i turn my camera on? you giggle as you reach besides you to your bedside table, grabbing your skin toned dildo and holding it close to your body. “if you really want to. im not gonna force you. if you only wanna show your bottom half like be thats okay too.” matt licks his lip as he looks around the room, grabbing a long sleeved tshirt. it’s just to cover his tattoos. to subdue his fear of getting caught.

once his shirt is on and his pants are off, he positions his camera for you to see him— part of him. the part of him he’s probably the most proud of. there’s a faint click in his bedroom, and then he’s on screen. you giggle on the other side, bringing out a self consciousness in matt that he didn’t know he had. “well well well… look at you hm? y’tellin me you walk around with that thing all day?” matt bites his lip as he gives a thumbs up, groaning as he does so— why did he even do that? you giggle once more, rubbing the silicone in your hand over your clit. “well… if it helps. i’d much rather have that than this. if you wanna keep givin thumbs up… i’ll let ya.” 

matt lets out a small whimper as he begins stroking himself to your words, quietly hoping that his body language is enough. he bites his lip as he uses his free hand to type another message to  you, watching as the silicone dick slides between your legs, your underwear still on. he’s so visibly hard that it makes you almost feel bad. “all that for me?” matt holds up his thumb again, a groan exiting his lips. when you slip your panties to the side and slide down onto the silicone toy, matt just about loses it. his hand begins moving faster than he wanted it to, but he doesn’t mind. you just look so pretty bouncing like that. “wish it was you… fuck wish it was you! bet you’d… fill me up so good. so so good. mhm… holy shit.” matt’s mouth drops wide open at your words, precum leaking all around his tip. 

your eyes— even though he can’t see them— haven’t left his throbbing member since you laid eyes on it. some of the people you usually do this with are just older men who haven’t gotten it up properly in years. something about this one is different. there’s a sense of familiarity within the call. your lip is being held tightly between your teeth as your movements start to teeter, slowing down while looking at matt. “d-do you want me to cum for you, sweet boy? i can hold it if you want. make the 30 minutes you’re paying for last all 30.” matt groans at your words once more, spreading the precum over his tip. 

no. please. don’t wanna hold you back. matt’s message in the chat is clear to you, and you take it as permission to let the feeling wash over you. your cum begins to coat the dildo you were riding, the creamy white substance becoming clearer as its spread all around. “mmmmph!” you yelp, throwing your head back onto the pillow, giving matt a much clearer view at your pussy. your face remains out of sight, as does matt’s when his spurts of cum begin to coat his webcam. his eyes are tightly squeezed shut, opening them to watch you ride out your orgasm. you sit back up on your bed, sliding out the toy and tossing it to the side. “oh look at you… came all over your camera like a good boy. really had fun today. i’m sorry i didn’t make it last longer… just got really worked up i guess.” 

the pout on matt’s face is there. he wishes you could see it, but he just opts to send another message in chat. you do a lot of stuff in 15 minutes. never really came that fast before. u got a gift or sum. his typing was never this unprofessional, but he still wants to make sure there’s no evidence of matt being, well, matt. “oh well thank you. i’ll see you another time okay? oh! oh my gosh i didn’t even mention the pay. um… i should’ve before we even started. usually it’s 50 for a first time one on one. then next time it would be 60 cause like a dollar per minute. you know usually… um. because i was late and we didn’t do the whole thirty minutes just… 40… is fine… my cashapp is in my account. you text me and keep me updated okay? i’ll see you another time.” matt smiles to himself as you speak so sweetly to him, leaving the call to clean himself off. it doesn’t take him very long, but by the time he’s done, he’s gotten a few texts from his brothers asking if he wants to go out. a new bar opening or something. he hesitantly agrees, throwing himself back on the bed for a few minutes before getting ready for the night. 

the hours ticked by slowly for you, the only source of pleasure and enjoyment being long gone after your call with mateo. you wondered where he was right now and how he was doing. it was unusual. you hadn’t ever really gotten attached to any clients before. you’re pulled from your thoughts when there’s a knock on your door, standing up and looking at your roommate on the other side. “cmon cammy i need you to come with me! how am i ever gonna pull girls if there’s nobody there to distract the hot guys? hm? what’s the point of having a hot roommate if she isn’t gonna put her tools to good use!” you giggle at his words, looking back at your bed. “give me 15 minutes. i’ll be ready. can we go to that new place on hill street?” you smile, shutting the door in his face. the getting ready process doesn’t take you long, already having been slightly glammed up for some of your clients who paid more to see your face. you glance down at your lingerie set, grabbing a matching blue top from your closet— one that’s just slightly more bar appropriate. you let out a small huff as you grab your bag, walking back into the kitchen. “let’s go then.”

the bar is more packed than you or matt could’ve expected. neither of you really wanted to be here. matt would much rather be in his apartment watching tv while he watched sonic run around the living room like he usually would on fridays. crazy enough, you would rather be camming right now. you lick your lips slightly as you flirt your way into another drink, smiling at the unlucky gentleman and walking back onto the dance floor. at some point along the way, you bump into an unknown figure, groaning when it’s just matt. “what are you doing at a college bar?” he asks, his voice cocky as ever. “i’m a college student. what are you doing at a college bar? trying to pick up a younger girl or something?” you quip back, rolling your eyes. matt can’t help but notice the way your blue top looks familiar.

he’s seen the color before, but never the top itself. matt swallows slightly as he realizes he forgot to pay earlier, shaking his head at your question. “no… just here with my brothers. stay safe tonight okay? it’s new and dangerous out here.” he whispers, pushing away from you. you furrow your brows at his word, making your way over to talk to your roommate. “tucker i think our teachers assistant got laid.” you mumble, taking a sip from your espresso martini. tucker chuckles as he takes a swig of his beer, waiting for further explanation. “he was… actually nice to me for once.” 

the conversation begins to flow, both on your side of the bar and matt’s. matt can’t stop thinking about the color you were wearing. he feels the guilt eating him alive. he can’t believe he didn’t pay cherry earlier. there’s a point when chris is deep in conversation with nick that matt uses as an excuse to pull out his phone. he quickly opens cashapp, sending the money to the username he’s become so used to lately. You sent $40 to cherrychapsdick! 

on the other side of the bar, nearly at the exact same time, you felt your phone buzz in your skirts pocket. you pull it out for just a moment, smiling at the notification. mateo81 sent you $40! 

a/n: not to sound like an ao3 writer but my apologies for not writing/uploading anything... i got into a car crash and then midterms beat my ass. anyway!!!! also like... support ur writers by reblogging and commenting! but i wont force u. but also i love reading reblogs and comments.

tags (reply or comment to be added but it may be full soon i dont remember. im not a professional) @mattsstarlet @oopsiedaisydeer @marrykisskilled @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @mattsbrat @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @freshhhloveee @courta13 @sturns-mermaid @ivysturnss @slutformatt17 @emely9274 @princessesgarden @cykss @throatgoat4u @blahbel668 @ivyyyyyysposts @h0e4fictionalme-n @sofieeeeex @littlebookworm803 @allylovescody @ribread03 @cheesecakedolll @chrislova @ikyoudreamofme @jetaimevous @muwapsturniolo @sturnsrecord @13hoax @whore4mattsturniolo @sophsturns @chrissweetheart @cl1tlover3000 @applecidersturniolo @babytrapsosa @backwardshatnick @camzeecorner @leoslaboratory @princesspeach0-0 @sturniolosrtewsexy @mattswifeyy

divider creds to @bernardsbendystraws !

[laroserie]

— Various x-men characters, baking with reader

— characters ; Scott Summers. Rogue. Logan Howlett.

— warning ; no particular tw. author is not great at baking but he had a baking phase so. very sweet / fluff and self-indulgent. can be seen as platonic or romantic. reminder that author has not read the comics (only saw the films + is watching the animated series, xmen evolution and 97) and doesn't know much about some characters ( ex Rogue ) so author is doing his best to characterise them. author has favorite and it's shows. author says a cake count as a pastry and a pastry is basically any baked goods (if you do not agree. soryr that suck)

– Scott Summers.

Scott seems to be the kind of guy to be very open to baking, depending on what you want to bake.

Simple things like, cookies or a chocolate cake ? Sure. He is your man, he will be very happy to bake with you.

Now if you want to do something more complicated like, macarons or hell a pie, he will pat your shoulder and say 'Good luck with that' and walk out of the room. He is not even attempting to bake things that are too hard.

Why should he, when he can make simple things that taste good. There is no need to try some extravagant bakeries that most likely won't end up being very tasty the first time.

But with enough coercion and 'begging' (which you could call 'annoying him to no end') he will concede, but don't get him wrong - he is not at fault nor taking responsibility if it end up being disgusting.

Scott is the type to be very commending even in the kitchen, he is still the 'leader', here he will give you instructions and let you do it - until he does it himself because 'you aren't doing it properly' (he is trying to fix this habit up, don't get too angry at him).

He is also the type to follow the recipe and measurements extremely close, but if he's, for example, measuring flour and there is a bit too much but you have your back turned, he'll just let it be, let it slide, because no one else but him is aware of it, so it's fine !

He is still fun to bake around with, of course, but, he is still very, ... himself while doing so.

Once you are done, Scott is most likely to let you have the first bite - he is staring you down waiting to hear if you like it or not before trying for himself.

If the outcome isn't exactly the greatest - Scott will make it his personal mission to master it. He will not be beaten by something as simple as a pastry.

– Rogue.

If you have Rogue to bake with you, she will be overjoyed. She could be so happy that you want to bake with her, baking is an activity you usually do with people you are close to, so in her eyes you wanting to bake with her, show that you see her as someone you are close to in the very least.

She'll tell you to wait a few seconds, be gone and come back with a binder with handwritten families recipes and ask you if you wanna try one of them.

Unlike Scott, she is the type to not really care about measurements, she try to follow the ones from the recipes but if there is a bit too much flour, she won't scoop some out of it, because after all, that shouldn't change the outcome right ?

But that is, if you follow a recipe, if you don't ... let's just say there will be enough cakes - or whatever you both made - for weeks. She isn't really great at guessing how much is too much or how much is not enough.

She is absolutely the type to tease you while baking, if you are making something that requires meringues, she will do the meringue test (the meringue test is that if you take the bowl it's in and flip it upside down and nothing drop - it good, if it drop it's not) but not take any precautions, like doing it over the sink or counter. She will give you small heart attack.

Even if you don't really follow the recipes and have to change a few ingredients in the middle of the process because there isn't enough or because you didn't have it, the outcome will taste quite good most of the time. Rogue, will go and make everyone in the manor have a taste - because everyone should have a bit of what you both spend time on.

– Logan Howlett

Okay, now, baking with Logan is something that could only happen once in a blue moon. If you ask him to bake with you, he won't answer you and just give you a look that scream 'do i look like a fucking baker to you ?'.

Now that said, if you do go on your plan of baking - without him - there is a high chance that he will watch you do so, he will lean on a counter and watch you go about your baking.

He will comments on what you are doing and says snarky remarks about what you are doing - that's in his opinion - wrong.

Logan may help you when you are struggling - you are supposed to mix something together but it's a bit too hard for you, he will extend his hand and tell you to give it to him. But that's as far as he will go - and giving you the sugar that's in the cabinet next to him.

If you are making something like cookies, he will take one without asking, because after all he 'assisted' you (told you, you really sucked at mixing eggs and flour and telling you to be more organised when you bake because you are making one hell of a mess).

[feelbokkie]

L♡VE IN F♡CUS | Chapter 26

WARNINGS: swearing, alcoholism mention, hinted abuse (verbal and psychological), hate tweets

PAIRING: idol!Changbin x fem reader

GENRE: smau, crack, angst, fluff

P♡V: 1st/2nd person (depending on how you view it)

SUMMARY: Amateur concert photographer Y/n has recently been promoted to junior music journalist. Her first assignment? An exposé on the popular Kpop boy group, Stray Kids. Spending an entire tour doing in depth interviews with eight men seems simple enough, but one member isn't exactly open to the idea. Will Y/n be able to break down the walls around his heart, or will her big break turn into a big disaster?

TAGLIST: ♡PENED

W♡RD C♡UNT: 4,378

SCREENSH♡T C♡UNT: 13

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

©feelbokkie (2024) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

Everything is not going to be fine.

The peace you found listening to the gentle crashing of the waves has long since disappeared the second your phone started going off.

You watched a bit of your sister's live--which you only learned about when your phone was bombarded with nasty messages from people that you didn't even know remembered you: former classmates from high school as well as people who knew your sister that only had your number for emergencies when you two were younger, all enraged by an exaggerated version of the truth.

It was true, you did run away. When the opportunity arose for you to complete your last year of your degree in Seoul you took it. Not after mulling over it for weeks as it ate away at you. Uncertainty nearly swallowed you alive as you thought about leaving your family behind. Your mother could hardly take care of herself and your sister couldn’t manage being a mom on top of working and being in a relationship. Much of your free time, the little you, had was spent taking care of your sister’s kids and your mother all while staying on top of your classes and working two part-time jobs to help with living expenses. You felt guilty even considering going on the trip. It wasn’t necessary to go, you’d tell yourself. You could complete your degree without leaving the country. They needed you. 

You chuckle dryly to yourself as you lean back onto the sand. "Maybe this is all karma,"

Your mother's drinking got worse after you left. Not that it was great in the first place. But without you there to thin out her booze with water once she was already too drunk to notice the difference and make sure she got to work on time, she ended up losing her job. And your sister could hardly handle her kids alone without having to take care of your mother as well. Still, you sent what little money you were making from your internship back home to help out where you could.

And while you were stressed out living overseas while working and attending school in a country that was foreign to you, you couldn't have been happier. You were fortunate enough to be able to earn your degree and take a year abroad with the help of scholarships and grants. While you were working hard to maintain your near-perfect grade point average, life seemed...easier. You didn't have anyone to take care of other than yourself. You could finish your homework faster without any added distractions. You didn't have to wake up earlier every day to get everyone else ready for their day. You didn't have to deal with the never-ending piles of laundry and dishes--you found that a single person generates a lot more mess than an entire family with two small children. There was far less screaming and fighting that required your attention. Calls and texts from home were less frequent--you have your family's inability to figure out the time difference for that. As long as you sent some money home, they'd pretty much leave you alone. Unless they needed something else. For the first time in your life, you found yourself with much more free time than you knew what to do with so you'd often explore all that living in Seoul had to offer. You got to enjoy the life of someone your own age for once.

Buzz, buzz

You bite your lower lip to refrain from screaming as you pull your phone out of your pocket. The soft ebb and flow of the tide is quickly replaced by the drumming of your own heart as you silently pray to a god you're not even entirely sure exists as you check what's going on in your phone now. Amongst the texts from Wonseok, family members you weren't even away knew how to operate a modern phone, and messages from work you're relieved to see the top notification is just from one of the groups you're supposed to be following for work is announcing a comeback. You let go of the breath you weren't even aware you were holding as you slide your phone back into your pocket.

Part of you has been waiting for a text from your boss saying that you're fired. No explanation given--not that one is needed all things considered. Just two words telling you to pack all of your shit and head back to Seoul to clear out your desk before they toss your stuff in the trash along with any chance to get another job in your field.

And yet, radio silence.

A larger part of you waiting for the other ball to drop and your phone number to be leaked. You're fortunate that the number that's circulating right now is the number you had before you made the official move to Seoul. You just feel bad for the unfortunate bastard who has your old number. And as long as you don't respond to your family members and other nosey people from your past, or as long as your sister doesn't fully lose it and leaks your number, you should be fine.

"Whatever I did in my past life to piss off someone," You shout suddenly. "Or whichever deity or god that I offended, I am sorry! I'm really, truly sorry! I learned my lesson! You can stop now! I won't do it again! So please just stop! Or put m--"

Buzz, buzz

The words die on your tongue as you let out a frustrated scream, no longer having it in you to hold anything back. Your fingers grip your phone in your pocket. It takes every bit of whatever little strength you have left in your body to stop yourself from chucking your phone into the water. You stare at the dark pinks and oranges painting the sky as the day slowly gives way to the night. It's disconcerting. You should feel something, yet even the vibrant colors of the sunset seem as dull as you feel.

"Y/n noona?" His face is shrouded in darkness as the remaining light from the sun is covered by his body as he stands over you. You recognize his voice first even as he hovers over you. It’s softer than normal, almost as if he were to speak too loudly you might shatter and turn to dust before him. You’re not even sure you’re not even sure you’ve heard him speak this softly in the past few months. You’re certain, however, that if you could see his face properly he’d be wearing an expression that matches his voice.

He stands over you like that for a moment before nodding and moving out of the way. You’re almost certain he’s going to walk away until you hear him groaning as he plops himself down next to you. Without missing a beat he lies back in the sand, making your heads perfectly parallel to each other, and laces your fingers together. 

Given the events of the past week, you know that this is asking for more trouble. Anyone could just walk by and take a picture that’ll thrust you into yet another scandal. That this simple act of kindness from Changbin will be misunderstood and earn you a special space in front of the JYPE firing squad. The company will no doubt use you as a scapegoat to save the image of their artist rather than protect the collaboration and, by extension, your career.

You should pull away and just leave him alone on the beach. Or tell him to leave you alone while you try to piece together what you did for your life to know hardly any peace. But the heat from his firm, calloused hand feels like energy passing through an electrical outlet. Almost like he’s taking his own strength and giving it to you.

Changbin gently taps his fingers along the back of your hand. You can’t tell if he’s tapping sporadically or if he’s playing a song you can’t make out.

Buzz, buzz

Just as quickly as you pull your phone out of your pocket to see what's falling apart now, it's yanked out of your hand and shoved into Changbin's pocket. You stare at your now empty hand, blinking at it for a moment before letting your hand drop back into the sand. You don't try to argue for it or beg for it back. It's better than your plan of chucking it into the water. More cost effective too.

The crashing of the nearby waves reminds you how exposed the two of you are. You never told anyone where you were going—hell, you didn’t even tell them that you were leaving the hotel. And you know that none of the kids follow you on social media. So the fact that Changbin of all people managed to find you means that anyone can spot the two of you holding hands in what could only look like a romantic situation.

You try to pull your hand away from Changbin but his gripe only tightens. Not tight enough to hurt, only tight enough to let you know that it’s okay. That you don’t have to go anywhere and neither does he. His gripe only softens when he’s sure you’re not going to try to leave and resumes tapping his song against your hand.

You're not sure how long the two of you stay like that: laying on your backs in the sand while holding each other's hands. The sound of the waves got louder and the summer air cooler as the sky started to turn violet. You feel...calmer.

"Why are you here?" Your voice comes out more hoarse than you thought it would.

"I was walking and heard someone screaming in Korean." His fingers pause for a second before letting out a soft chuckle. "Living with Hyunjin has made me nosier than usual."

"No I mean--" You lift up your hand, just high enough for Changbin to hopefully get the point. "What are you doing?"

"I told you: I was walking and heard someone--"

"You shouldn't even be near me." You sit up and finally manage to slip your hand out of his. "Haven't you heard? I'm a sasaeng. I'm surprised you're not going around saying 'I told you so.'"

Changbin slowly sits up and shakes some of the sand out of his hair with his now free hand. You nearly miss it, the small smirk that creeps onto his face. "I don't think a sasaeng would put themselves in the middle of a dating scandal like that."

"if it meant their favorite idol would acknowledge them, then they would. Some stalkers are delusional like that. It's becoming a real epidemic. I remember seeing an article about it a while ago."

"Well, the fact that you know all of that tells me that you aren't one. Sasaengs can be smart but I don’t think they’re that smart. Or at least, I hope they’re not. They'd be obsessed with proving that they aren't one.”

Another pause in the conversation leaves the two of you alone with your thoughts. You pull your knees to your chest and watch the remaining bits of sunlight disappear on the water as you play with the hem of your black sweatpants. The street lamps slowly begin to flicker on, surrounding you in horrifically bright white lights.

“You really shouldn’t be reading what everyone is saying online. People are mean and stupid for no reason. It’ll drive you crazy.” Changbin speaks slowly as he carefully chooses his words, and yet there’s a confidence in his voice that makes you feel like you’re talking to a much older man. “If Hyunjin hadn’t given his devices to Chan hyung, he’d be screaming out here with you.”

You let out a deep sigh as you readjust your bucket hat over your eyes and ears. “Well, I can’t do that because I need my devices for work.”

“I don’t think reading about yourself online is part of your job description.”

“What do you know about my job?” You chuckle. He's right, most journalists don't have to read about themselves. At least, not in this regard.

“I know that you’ve done nothing but work since the day I met you. Your focus and dedication are admirable but moderation is key. Too much of anything is not good for you.”

“Aren’t you the same?” You remember all of the times you've caught Changbin furiously typing something into his phone or scribbling quickly on a piece of paper and then immediately showing it to another one of the members. It's not often, but it's enough for you to have noticed a pattern.

“No,”

“No? Haven’t you forgotten that I’ve been observing you for nearly a year now?”

“We’re two completely different people. Our situations and work ethics are not the same.”

“Why? Because you’re an idol and I’m just a journalist who spends most of her time listening to music and going to concerts?”

“Because I know when, and how, to take a break. I’m no good to anyone if I work myself to death.”

“I’m not working myself to death, Changbin.”

“I’ve seen you consume enough caffeine to take an army of elephants down in one day on multiple occasions. In every city we’ve been to, I see you and your laptop bag leaving the hotel at whatever time the nearest cafe opens--"

"Why are you up at those hours?"

Changbin ignores your question and starts speaking faster and loud enough for other people to hear him. "--When you’re not up working on the project for us you’re doing a million other projects for your job like reviewing albums and watching stages—I’m pretty sure I heard you interviewing a trainee from a survival show on a video call at one point. You have bags under your eyes probably because you’re hardly sleeping, not even on planes. What do you call that?”

"I'm like a shark." You mutter as you rest your chin between the tops of your knees and you hug your legs, your eyes focus on the last remaining bits of sunlight dancing across the water. "If I stop moving, I'll down."

"You're drowning now anyways so is there really much of a difference between working all the time and taking some time for yourself?"

The sun finally disappears over the horizon as Changbin's words bounce around in your head, echoing loudly in your ears.

You're drowning now.

You've spent your entire life observing people and learning their behaviors and mannerisms. Growing up, it was looking out for your mom and your sister's mood swings so you could figure out the best and quickest way to calm them down if they ever got worked up. As a journalist, you had to listen to every song and watch every performance and try to pick up the smallest details so you could add them to your articles. You even do it with your friends unintentionally.

You don't notice it at first, the tears stabbing at the back of your eyes until the first one escapes down your face. You bite your lower lip to keep your mouth from trembling as Changbin's words play on a loud, continuous loop in your head. Sure, you've been tired for the past few months, but you're working. It's normal. You wouldn't say that you're drowning. If you were drowning you would notice, right?

And yet, here you are mulling over Changbin's words as you absentmindedly dig for fingers into your own arms. If it wasn't for the sleeves of your hoodies, you're certain there would be prominent imprints of your fingernails in your skin. His words are so loud you can't even hear how loud your heart is beating in your chest.

You're exhausted, you can't deny that. Who wouldn't be after sitting hunched over for hours at a time staring and editing photos all day? Or working at all hours of the night in inconsistent time zones so you can sit in on conference calls in a different continent. Or spending hours at a time listening to and deciphering lyrics in a foreign language and trying to string together words that aren't robotic or similar to what you've already said. Spending whatever little free time reading about yourself online or dealing with the people who are supposed to care about you drains you of whatever little energy and money you have left.

Crash

A wave of emotions you weren’t even away you were capable of feeling washes over you, sinking you further into the sand. You squeeze your eyes shut to prevent more tears from escaping but that only forces them out faster, determined to run down your face. You do your best to try to suck the emotion back in. Changbin's already seen you cry once, you don't want it to happen again.

Changbin doesn't think much of anything when you first start sniffling. It's cold and you've been outside for a while. For all he knows, you can have allergies like he does. But when your sniffles start to get louder and your body begins to shake from choking back a sob, he hesitantly places his hand on the small of your back and takes a look at your face. His heart drops to the pit of his stomach when he meets your tear-stained face. "I didn't mean anything bad I was just--"

"It'd be easier if you went back to hating me." You choke out suddenly.

"You keep saying that. I never hated you." Changbin is taken aback by your sudden outburst, but his hand stays on your back. Slowly, almost subconsciously, he rubs your back trying to help you calm down. "I...strongly disliked you but that was more about your career than you as a person."

You can't help but scoff at his answer. It's careful. The product of a media train idol. "Well… either way it would be easier if you went back. If all eight of you stopped pretending like you care about me then none of this would have happened."

Changbin's hand stops moving on your back as he stares at you. He thinks hard about something as he stares into your eyes. Finally, he slowly opens his mouth but nothing comes out. After a minute, he finally speaks, "You spent nearly a year with us and you honestly think we're pretending?"

"Changbin, I've spent enough time with idols to know that 99.9 percent of you have personas that come out when there's a camera." You finally move Changbin's hand off of your back. You aggressively rub your hands over your face as you try to calm yourself down, effectively wiping your tears from your face. After a moment, you finally turn to face Changbin fully. "You guys are more than nice to me with the way you check in on me and bring me food and pretend to take interest but...I think that's just because I can write one article and make your lives hell. As harsh as it sounds, you're just pretending to care in a way to preserve your idol image."

"I can't speak for other idols," Changbin speaks slowly as he sits up straight, making sure to keep eye contact with you. "and I shouldn’t have to speak for the other members, but I can speak for myself. And I can tell you honestly that I care."

"I'm not just some fan. I'm not going to swoon over manufactured lines curated for fan service." You wave off.

"It is physically impossible for me to lie, I’ll burst into flames. So just look at me when I say this: I care about you.” Changbin watches your expression with furrowed eyebrows trying to discern what’s going on in your head. He figures it out just before you do and his hand flys to your mouth before you can open it. “I tried really, really hard not to back when I disliked you but somehow...I don't know you just make it incredibly easy to care about you."

"Changbin—"

"I care about you on purpose, Y/n."

More silence between the two of you. You blink repeatedly at Changbin, trying to figure out how to respond to what he said. Changbin's eyes wander for a moment, shocked at himself at what he said. You're certain that if it wasn't for the sound of the waves and the distant laughter of passersby, you would be able to hear both of your hearts beating.

“W—why?” You stammer out finally.

“I…I don’t know. I just do." Changbin looks off to the side and scratches the back of his head. You don't miss how red his neck and ears are turning. He quickly turns back to you and points a finger at you accusingly, "It’s not a crime to care about people. And you make me want to care for you.”

You gently push his hand down and roll your eyes. "I don't need you to take care of me."

"I didn't say that."

"Take care of me, care for me--what's the difference? I can take care of myself, I'm not...I'm not some kind of weakling." Your eyes drop to the ground as you whisper out the last part. Your hands find a rock in the sand and start to dig it out as you wish you weren't sitting on the beach having this conversation.

It's starting to become a habit for you, breaking down in front of Changbin. You don't even show this much vulnerability to your friends. You hate it. Crying...breaking down destroys the illusion that you've spent years creating about yourself. One that shows how strong and capable you are. One that makes think people they can't break you. That they can't walk all over you. That you aren't as weak as you actually are. That you're more human than you'd like to be.

Changbin moves again, placing himself directly in front of you. He carefully taps his finger against your forehead, making you look back up at him. Your pained expression drops when you meet his focused yet soft eyes. You freeze in place when his warm calloused hand cups your cheek. A chill runs through your spine when his thumb gently strokes your cheek.

"Letting someone care about you doesn't make you weak. It just means that someone sees something in you worth protecting." His voice quivers with unspoken emotions. You're not even sure he knows what he's feeling. He stops to think for a moment, he looks away a small, soft smile creeps up on his face. "If anything, it makes the person doing the caring weak."

"What are you talking about?" You whisper. Changbin blinks for a moment and pulls his hand away, his previous expression gone. He glances down at his hand and back at you confused, almost like you moved his hand for him. Or like it moved on it's own.

"I...I don't know. I'm just saying things. I think I'm too hungry to think straight." Changbin coughs as he quickly stands up. He sticks his hand out towards you and looks back at the street. "Let's go,"

Just as confused as to what happened, you stare at his hand for a moment before taking it and helping yourself up. "Where?"

"To eat. I was heading out to eat when I ran into you. But I also don't like eating alone so will you join me, noona? I'll pay," He speaks fast and still won't meet your eyes.

And yet, he won't drop your hand.

"That's...a bad idea." You pull your hand out of his and start to brush the sand off of yourself to give your hands something to do.

Changbin starts to help you clean off the spots on your back that you can't see. "You don't have to worry about that, trust me."

"Changbin..." The words get trapped in your throat when the two of you finally make eye contact again.

"Trust me, you're not going to get caught in another scandal while you're out with me." Changbin forces a smile and pats your head before starting to walk to the street.

"Someone might recognize you!" You call out after him.

"They're not going to say anything." Changbin turns around and flashes another smile. He waves you over once he reaches the sidewalk. "C'mon, I hate eating by myself and everyone else is busy. Please noona? They're not even going to notice you while you wear the hat I bought you."

You almost forgot that the bucket hat you're wearing is the one that he left for you outside your hotel room back in London. It's become a staple part of your closet every time you leave the hotel since you got it.

Changbin keeps waving you over with one hand and stretches his other hand out for you to take. More people walking by give the two of you strange looks before you silently swear to yourself and walk over to him. Somehow, he's drawing more attention to himself this way than if the two of you were together. You slip your hand into Changbin's and pull your hat further down over your eyes than it was before. "...fine, but make sure we sit in the far back or something. And let me order, you have a distinct voice. With my luck, someone at the restaurant will be a Stay."

Changbin does a little jump before tugging you along with him. His grip is strong enough that you can't get out of it and escape if you change your mind. "Alright, let's go--Hey, what happened to your cast?"

Changbin lifts up the hand that you're holding, dangling your arm in the air like a freshly caught fish.

"That's...a long story," You sigh, mentally preparing yourself for the lecture you're going to get from him when you tell him that you cut it off yourself earlier in the day.

"Tell me while we eat?"

"I'm already regretting this..."

"We should walk fast then. You can't take back agreeing to go with me if we're already there." Changbin drops your hands and walks faster in the direction of the restaurant while making sure to not let go of your hand.

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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[arscorpii]

little observations of episode 16 of revolutionary girl utena: cowbell of happiness

(these are just some thoughts i had. i tried to organise and articulate the ideas the best i could.)

(all dialogues are from the empty movement website)

this is a nanami-centric episode. it begins with the regular fairy-tale-like scene of utena meeting prince dios when she was younger.

this is an interesting screenshot from episode 16:

the dialogue for this scene (as in, for this specific shot):

as anyone can see, utena wasn't wearing her red socks here (she wore the red socks even when she decided to wear the girl's uniform in episode 12 [screenshots from episode 12 below, for clarity]). thus, this shot caught my eye.

another shot where utena wasn't wearing her red socks in episode 16:

the dialogue for this scene (as in, for this specific shot):

at first, i surmised that these were just animation errors because these shots lasted for only several seconds. however, upon watching and rewatching several times, the only times utena didn't wear her red socks were when she's directly confronting nanami about the cowbell. utena was the only person openly calling out nanami about it, as opposed to others who either ridiculed, ignored, or tiptoed around the matter. tsuwabuki tried saying something about the cowbell to nanami, too, but was quickly shot down by her:

generally, not wearing socks while wearing shoes can be somewhat uncomfortable, especially for long periods. it's much worse when one walks or runs while wearing shoes without socks, as this could cause skin irritations, foot blisters, etc.

when people buy certain types of shoes (or any, i think), it's common to buy shoes with a little room for toes and heels, rather than a tight, perfect fit, for comfort. when worn with a pair of socks, these shoes would usually fit perfectly. without socks, these shoes can feel loose and thus, affect gait/movements (i believe this depends on the type of shoes).

based on some readings i've done, some of the common interpretations/themes of nanami's situation in this episode (oversimplified):

exploitation and abuse of girls and women via indoctrination of patriarchal norms that simply equate them to mere livestock; raised as subservient as a calf to then be slaughtered and reduced to a piece of meat to be consumed by men.

nanami was so blinded by the love she held for her big brother that she was willing to do anything to keep that love, to maintain her bond with him. she was willing to make a fool of herself, and ignore the ridicule and concerns from others. however, deep down, she was aware of how this could all go wrong and hurt her terribly later, and all of this could very much be orchestrated by her own beloved big brother. (i hope i worded these properly)

to relate the themes of the episode to the visuals of utena not wearing socks and her dialogues: in my opinion, i think utena calling out nanami on the cowbell puts utena in a somewhat uncomfortable position (hence, wearing shoes with no socks); it's akin to challenging detrimental societal norms of a patriarchal system. notable examples that come to mind regarding detrimental societal norms are fashion and beauty standards (as in this episode). people usually don't take too kindly to the safety of their realities and status quo being challenged/questioned critically, because these are what they have been raised with, what were taught to them, and what they have been made to believe to be right and true. therefore, the person who challenges/questions these is often ignored or triggers aggressive reactions, even from the individuals who have been detrimentally affected by the status quo, in this case, nanami. "the deeper the attachment to the status quo, the greater the willful blindness." this quote by clark (2023) from his writing about challenging one's organisation's status quo felt fitting for nanami's situation (although the case with nanami definitely requires more nuances than what the quote can present).

nanami said that utena's boy uniform was very weird (dialogues above) in response to utena calling nanami's cowbell weird (2nd picture). they perceived the other's pursuit as weird because it didn't align with their ideals (an adult's fashion sense versus a noble prince). these things weren't quite the same, in a literal sense: nanami essentially wore the cowbell to appeal to the students of the academy, to be an idol of the school, to stand out, be special. meanwhile, utena wore a boy's uniform to become a prince/emulate princely ideals. however, fundamentally, both did not truly understand (at this point, at least) what these truly entailed (to be the most special girl at school versus to be a prince).

when nanami said that utena's uniform was very weird, the focus was on chu chu drinking milk from a bottle. then, at the end of the argument, chu chu was shown to have been stuck in the milk bottle, after drinking the milk. these visuals may be indicating how nanami and utena's attempts at striving towards respective impossible ideals they envisioned for themselves may be self-fulfilling at first, but will eventually have them equally trapped and hurt, you know, something like "in the end, all girls are like rose brides." (i may be wrong here)

a look at other episodes: one may say that the shots where utena didn't wear her red socks were indeed animation errors based on this shot from episode 24:

however, this shot was from the scene of episode 16 as narrated by anthy based on what was written in tsuwabuki's diary. we can see this as tsuwabuki's perspective while the previous shots as the audience's perspective (this is how i chose to see it, at least).

watching through other episodes, utena also wasn't wearing her socks when her foot was injured in episode 30, throughout episode 33, and in episode 37 when utena went on a date with akio. i pondered the correlation between utena's sans red socks moments from episode 16 and those specific events. based on episode 12, i think one can conclude that the pair of red socks was a part in which utena expressed her sense of self (because it made up her whole outfit of emulating a prince). hence, i think that nanami's situation in this episode was also a foreshadowing of utena's future, in a way (this was also illustrated with the chu chu stuck in a milk bottle imagery after drinking the milk during their argument, as above). as described earlier, utena called out nanami twice on her cowbell; on the second time, utena thoroughly explained to nanami in japanese that a cowbell is a bell that cows wear, as in the dialogues below (the following scene after these dialogues was the 5th picture; 6th picture contained the corresponding dialogues):

i think it's safe to conclude that nanami may not know what the english word "cowbell" means. this was further emphasised by utena admonishing nanami for not knowing what a cowbell is all about (see the 6th picture). everyone around her called it "cowbell" and knew what it was (what the word meant). upon explanation by utena, nanami finally came to her senses (as in, turning into a cow). relating to utena's case in later episodes, i think this could be synonymous with the fact that utena was unaware that akio was actively grooming her. several people noticed the changes in utena due to akio's grooming: juri and miki in episode 36, where juri said that utena looked more like a girl; touga asking whether utena was in love with akio in the same episode. and of course, anthy was the most aware of what akio's doing to utena throughout.

the point detailed above regarding nanami's situation in episode 16 foreshadowing utena's future can be further supported by the fact that the cowbell and the earrings akio gifted to utena were closely identical in design (interesting to note that the cowbell was purchased by anthy for her cow named nanami while the earrings were picked by touga on behalf of akio).

from my understanding, nanami turning into a cow may be equivalent to utena accepting akio's proposal to be his bride, to take kanae's place. much like a calf raised to be slaughtered for consumption (nanami's dream), akio groomed utena to be his bride. and similar to how wearing shoes without socks can be uncomfortable, utena was evidently uncomfortable in these scenes as well (the worst being episode 33). in episode 30, utena's left foot was injured. akio offered to help her, then proceeded to kiss her. akio was grooming utena to be fully dependent on him. also, since the red socks were synonymous with her self-expression, these moments (episodes 30, 33, and 37) were when her true sense of self was gradually repressed through akio's grooming. utena not wearing the red socks during the most gut-wrenchingly blatant depictions of grooming and sexual assault ⟶ how grooming and abuse can ultimately strip you of your personhood and cultivate this cycle of dependence of victims on their groomers/abusers, not being able to stand on their own feet.

after nanami turned into a cow, utena tried, and succeeded, in taking off the cowbell from nanami. i think this would be analogous to utena rejecting akio's proposal.

nanami then turned back to her human self ⟶ utena wearing back her prince outfit.

to reiterate:

critiquing the status quo may induce harsh feedback even if it's done in good faith.

nanami's situation in this episode can be seen as a foreshadowing of utena's fate in later episodes.

[inkieflame]

i just binged the entire tag for your lab au and omg i need more. anything for gem perchance?

Oh, Gem is a fun one actually!

She's relatively new to the facility at the moment. The Watchers brought her in because they had a specific request for someone with her skills from one of their renters. She's there for all the fancy occasions that you have no date to.

Plenty of rich white men are wanting to flaunt women around and show off, but not many women willingly subject themselves to that. Additionally, many formal parties (like balls) require dates to go to. These people like to rent Gem to go with them, or just to hang out with them.

She knows dining etiquette and ballroom dancing too! She's quick to please her renter, and doesn't try to run (not like she could with the corsets they make her wear)

Gem is also one of the few subjects that's allowed to have her own clothes (mostly just ballroom dresses), and she can even wear them around the facility as long as she doesn't get them dirty. This is because big dresses are heavy and the Watchers want her to keep up practice moving in them.

Sometimes she gets rented alongside one of the other girls (or guys, depending on the renter) and Gem helps teach them how to move in a corset, and how to breath so shallowly you think you'll suffocate.

When she's not being rented, Gem spends a lot of time socializing. She's friends with most of the subjects, although she avoids Ren when she can (he makes her uncomfortable. He's a reminder of the power the Watchers have).

She's whispered about escape with Etho before, but they've never followed through. It seems there's always someone out of the main facility (either rented or at another lab) and they don't want to leave anyone behind.

So they wait

[storiesofsvu]

Gorgeous Girl

Aaron Hotchner x reader warnings: teasing, alcohol consumption smut, heavy petting, make outs, nothing too kinky this time lol.

For once, being out of town for work wasn’t because you were chasing down some deranged serial killer in a distant state resulting in far too little sleep, far too much shitty coffee and coming home more exhausted than you left. While this week was technically still work, there was far less of it, a week of conferences, an hour or two of speaking and you could dodge all the rest out at a luxury sky resort in Breckenridge, Colorado. Two agents from the BAU were required to attend and you and Emily had pulled the ‘short’ straws (depending how you looked at it, of course). Some members of the team thought a week like that would be absolute torture, others thought it would just be too boring, or that having to socialize with that many other agents while representing the BAU was a walking nightmare. To you, the only disadvantage was that you weren’t taking the jet, the remainder of the team needed it, you’d be flying commercial.

You and Emily, however, were more than well prepared to have a girl’s week together off in the mountains, escaping into the small town to see what kind of fun you could find. You’d even splurged, using a bit of your own money to get a larger suite, one with a hot tub on the private balcony overlooking the mountains. One that you planned on drinking bottles of wine together in while gossiping and trash talking.

Which is why you were so surprised when you rounded the corner to your gate.

“Hotch?” You froze on the spot, confusion taking over your face at the sight of your Unit Chief standing in front of you. “Where’s Em? God, does Strauss think we need a babysitter or something?”

“No.” He chuckled at your instant annoyance, “Prentiss got specially requested for a case in New York.”

“Who has the power to pull that?”

“Her mother.”

“Ugh.” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. The surprise was wearing off and you suddenly shifted uncomfortably, pulling your blazer tighter around you, feeling Hotch’s eyes on you.

It wasn’t that the man made you feel uncomfortable, no it certainly wasn’t that. It was that he made you feel absolutely flustered. Nights when you laid alone in your empty bed unable to sleep and your hands danced their way down your body, it was him that you were thinking of, pretending they were his fingers touching you, stretching you out. That it wasn’t a silicone toy but his cock filling you so perfectly while he husked dirty words into your ear. As a result, you generally kept your head down around him, did your work and went about your life. He wasn’t totally sure that if it was that you just didn’t like him, if there was some underlying issue you had with men in power, or if it was simply that you were attempting to respect his authority.

“Sorry,” he suddenly spoke, “for ruining whatever plans you and Prentiss had. I know the two of you are close.”

“Mmhmm.” You nodded, staring out the airport window “s’okay.”

“When we get there I’ll see about upgrading, try and get adjoining rooms or something.”

“Already did that.” Your eyes flicked back to him briefly, “got one of the larger two bedroom suites that close off with like, French doors or whatever. We were planning on,” your cheeks flushed suddenly, realizing you were about to admit to your boss that you were going to play hooky, “taking…advantage of as many amenities as we could.”

“Hmm.” He chuckled, watching the way you quickly looked away so you could watch the planes drive around on the tarmac, basically refusing to look at him, “I’m sure that was all Prentiss’ plan.” That earned a huff of a laugh from you but you still didn’t dare look him in the eye, “do you have any idea how many of these things I’ve been to over the years? Guess how many times I’ve ditched out on them.” He smiled softly when your eyes flicked back to him, “places like this always have the best scotch, and the bonus is that it’s free.”

You swore he winked at you, a grin on his face that sent tingles shooting through your body and you were incredibly thankful when they suddenly announced boarding. At the very least, you and Emily had also upgraded to business class, you wouldn’t have to worry about minimal personal space for the flight, there’d be a barrier between you and Hotch. While you were distracted with your phone, he’d managed to disappear and you weren’t entirely sure where to, but you took the opportunity to open your text messages.

‘I cannot believe you.’

‘Oh come on, like I’m happy about this either. A week with my mother?! Who’d they end up sending?’

‘Hotch…’

You didn’t have to imagine Emily’s laughter, you could practically feel it through the phone as the three little dots popped up, disappeared and then popped up again. She, of course, was the only one who knew about your crush on Hotchner, she’d been planning on teasing you about it all week, hoping that maybe you’d find some other brooding FBI agent to get under while out of town.

‘Maybe that’ll work out for you. You can enjoy the view and the hot tub with him, have a nice romantic weekend.’

‘I fucking hate you.’

*

The first two days of the conference were fine, you stayed out of Aaron’s way, went to the presentations you were speaking at and did the required amount of socializing. You found that he was usually gone before you in the mornings, but there was always fresh coffee in the pot waiting for you. He made sure to respect your space as much as he could, if he swung by the suite to change in the afternoon and you were there he wouldn’t linger, and he’d make sure to change in the bathroom.

Day three was a little more on the tedious side, sitting through a lecture you would have rather slept through, one that was meant more for younger agents but they’d asked someone from the BAU to sit in and help with the question period. You ran into Hotch at lunch and he inquired about your plans for the rest of the day now that the mandatory attendance parts were done, asking if maybe you wanted to explore the mountain town, maybe grab some dinner outside of the resort. You laughed awkwardly, praying your cheeks weren’t as hot as they felt and politely declined, he shrugged, teasing that you would be missing out, but to enjoy your night in. You were incredibly glad he wandered off after that, the butterflies in your stomach nearly too much to handle as you got accustomed to the more casual version of your boss.

Dinner was spent with an old friend from the academy, laughing as you caught up over multiple courses and a bottle of wine. You said an early goodnight to them, making your way back to your suite, happy to find it empty and your eyes drifted through the balcony window, lingering on the hot tub. Figuring there was no better time but the present you quickly stripped, changing into your bikini before swiping a bottle of wine from the fridge and a spare wine glass.

*

Aaron also ended up running into a couple of old friends while out in the town, friends who had worked this conference in the past and knew exactly where to go for the best meals and fanciest scotch. Free from the responsibility of running a team he had stated to loosen up on this work vacation, a little rougher around the edges, inhibitions lowered and that all remained when he returned to the hotel room. Toeing out of his shoes he hung up his coat before starting to unbutton his shirt as he moved through the room, wondering what was stashed in the bar that he could indulge into now, potentially coerce you into a drink with him at the very least.

He could hear music echoing from the balcony and his gaze got pulled out there where he caught sight of the steam rising from the hot tub into the cool night air. His eyes lingered on you, nestled in the corner of the tub you were fully settled into the padded seat, arms extended across the backs of it, your head titled back with your eyes closed as you relaxed, hair pulled up to the top of your head to keep it dry. He could see the shimmer of water and sweat on your skin and he instantly wanted to lick up the exposed column of your neck. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as his eyes sunk lower, not missing the curve of your chest just visible above the water, hot pink fabric clinging to your skin. You were at a complete level of peace that he’d never seen before and he couldn’t help but want to see more of it, want to explore how far he could push your boundaries and began to wonder just how professional he had to remain on this retreat.

Though of course, that had technically been his idea from the start.

As soon as Ambassador Prentiss called, Emily was groaning about how much of a waste it was that she was missing the conference. It only took a raised brow from him to get her to admit the plan was to ditch as much as the two of you could, that you’d splurged for the all inclusive package and a very private balcony and jacuzzi. He wasn’t assigned to take her place, and he didn’t jump at the offer to make it not so obvious, but no one else knew about the extra perks so he simply looked like he was taking one for the team.

Figuring it was now or never he retreated to his side of the suite, changing into his trunks before swiping a bottle of scotch and a glass.

You were more relaxed than you had been in ages, warm water bubbling around your body as the wine sunk into your system. The music soothed through you, pulling you further from reality and honestly, it was pretty nice to not be chasing after some psychopath right now, even if you were still kinda surrounded by talks of crime. You were almost considering calling Emily, checking in on how things were going with the team, updating her on how things were going here, no doubt she’d have mountains of questions and teasing about you sharing a suite with Hotch.

And that was exactly how and why you didn’t hear him come out onto the terrace.

“Think you can warm me up?”

His deep voice shook through the night air and you jumped, water splashing around you as your heart nearly burst through your chest while your eyes flew open.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You swore, chest heaving as you finally took him in, trying not to gulp at his bare chest, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry.” He chuckled, ducking his gaze for a moment, watching the way you sunk further under the water to avoid his lingering eyes, “you mind if I join? Or I can come back later.” He lifted the bottle of liquor in his hand, “just thought maybe we could have a drink.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” You shook your head, “that’s fine, come on in.” You shifted further into the corner of the tub, turning your back while Hotch got into the water, wiping your hands on the towel to check your phone, unsurprised to have a couple of messages from Em. Once the water settled, you refilled your wine glass, turning back to face him as you sunk into the seat again.

“This is nice.” He murmured softly, letting out a relaxed sigh before pouring out a drink, “you and Prentiss really have a hack for these conferences.”

“Mmmhmm.” You replied over the brim of your glass, taking a hefty swig.

“You get up to anything fun tonight?”

“Ran into a friend. Had dinner at the steakhouse downstairs.”

Hotch frowned lightly, he didn’t miss the way you’d tensed up a little bit once you’d realized he was there, once he was in such close proximity and under the water with you. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come back later? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No!” You practically yelped, grimacing at how quick you were to keep him there, “I’m fine. Totally fine, promise. I just… you’re… my boss.” Your gaze was redirected into your wine glass, “never really seen you in anything other than a suit and now…” You blindly gestured in his direction and then to yourself with a little laugh, “and I don’t think a pink bikini is exactly business casual and it’s not exactly my classiest one… thought Em would be the only one seeing it.” You muttered and then let out a little gasp, suddenly glancing up, “not that I brought it so she could see it! We’re not… that’s… no… we’re friends, I don’t swing that way.”

This time Aaron laughed, taking a sip of his drink, “it’s fine. You need to relax, alright?” He raised his drink out to you and you timidly clinked your glass with his. “Enjoy this while you can.” He gestured to the view, the night sky painting the mountains in gorgeous colours, “besides,” he smirked across at you, “I’ve seen you undercover and a few of those outfits leave very little to the imagination.”

You glanced up to him, noticing the flush in his cheeks, the smirk on his lips before he took another swig of his drink. There was a gleam in his eye that you hadn’t seen before that you didn’t exactly recognize and if you’d known any better, you would’ve said he was flirting with you.

“Are… are you drunk?” You suddenly asked, nearly regretting it the moment you’d said it and he laughed again, a sight and sound that made your insides weak.

“I think I legally shouldn’t drive anywhere, but I’m still completely in control of myself.” He nodded toward the half empty bottle on your side of the jacuzzi, “are you alright?”

“I’m so sorry sir.” You blushed, ducking your eyes again, “that was inappropriate. And yeah, I’m totally fine, big lunch, big dinner, high tolerance.”

“Don’t worry about it.” His smile softened, “and you can drop the sir, we don’t need to keep up that professionalism right now.”

“Oh..” You sank deeper under the water, taking another sip of your drink. Part of you wanted to disappear while the other part of you wanted to complain you were overheating, pull yourself up onto the ledge of the tub and flaunt your half naked body. The desire to throw yourself at him was only a few glasses of wine away and you knew it. Instead, the two of you sunk into a semi comfortable silence as you continued to drink, watching the night sky.

“You know, your talk the other day was fantastic.” He spoke softly, his voice floating across the water to you, “better than any other profilers have done on the topic.”

“Thank you.” You mumbled quietly, risking a very quick glance up at him before you were staring at the horizon again. Hotch let another few moments of silence pass before he spoke up again, the corner of his mouth curving up when he asked you,

“Why so shy?”

That caught your attention, your eyes flying up to his as you clutched at your wine glass, “what?” He laughed, shaking his head at you.

“I’m just saying, you’ve been so reserved, aware, quiet on this trip. You almost seem to make yourself smaller whenever I’m around and I’m not sure if it’s because you only think of me as your boss or if I’ve done something to make you at unease.”

“Christ.” You muttered, “I thought we weren’t profiling this week.”

“Have… I done something?” He asked, near worry taking over his face and you were quick to drain your drink before jumping to action.

“No, absolutely not! Hotch, please, you’re like, the most respectful guy I know. You make me feel… well, a lot of things, but uncomfortable is not one of them.” The words slipped from your lips before you could even think about them and you glanced up, your cheeks burning to catch his eyes widening slightly before he grinned, his hand catching yours, grounding you from whatever spiral you were about to drown in.

“So tell me.” He murmured, his voice silky soft as it hit your ears, his thumb brushing over your knuckles and he gently tugged at your hand after your glass found home on the edge of the tub, “come here gorgeous.”

The pet name nearly made you melt the instant it had left his lips and you felt the fluttering between your legs as you willingly moved through the water when he softly pulled you to him once more. Your breath caught in your throat when he guided you to straddle his lap, one of his hands hesitantly resting on your hip under the water while the other continued to play with your fingers gently.

“Well?” He asked, glancing up at you with a devilish look in his eyes and you let out a low breath, “what do I make you feel?”

“Flustered.” You managed out, your heart ready to beat itself out of your chest, feeling his thumb rub against your bare skin under the water, encouraging more responses from you, “unfocused, distracted…”

“Hmm…” he leant in, pressing a tender kiss to the underside of your jaw, “is that all?”

“Christ, Hotch.” You muttered, your eyes nearly fluttering shut as his hand let go of yours, moving so his thumb and forefinger could pinch your chin softly.

“Aaron…” He insisted, his eyes boring into yours as you opened them and you nodded softly, nearly whimpering at the way his thumb shifted to trace your lower lip. “What else?”

“Absolutely and incredibly fucking turned on.”

“Is that so?” He murmured, tilting your head to the side so he could kiss your neck, his lips brushing across your skin as he spoke, “is that last part just right now?”

“All week.” You replied, your pulse racing as he continued to litter your skin with tender kisses “all the goddamn time…”

“You think about me a lot hmm?” He nipped at your neck and you gasped, your body jolting towards him under the water, “what do you think about me doing?” He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, pressing a kiss just below your ear, “hmm?”

“Aaron…” you breathed out, your head tilted back with your eyes shut as his lips continued to dance across your skin. His hand gently pinched at your hip under the water.

“Don’t go shy on me now, tell me.. what do you think about me doing?”

“K- kissing me.” You managed out, unsure whether the heat in your cheeks was from the water, the way you were already putty in his hands or embarrassment of admitting it to his face. A gasp broke free of your lips at the sensation of his hand tracing up and down your spine and you automatically arched toward him, “touching me…” The hand he had under the water toyed with the knot of your bikini on your back, his dry one moving back to your chin, tilting your face back to his.

“I want you to look at me when you say the next one.” His thumb traced your lips, “come on gorgeous girl, I know there’s more you like to think of me doing, what is it?”

“Fucking me…” Somehow you were able to hold his gaze while the words floated out of your mouth, it was likely because your brain was already in a haze, first the wine, then the heat and now utterly intoxicated by Hotch’s touch.

“Bet you think about that one the most, don’t you?” He asked with a grin and you couldn’t help but nod, “when you’re alone at night, touching yourself, pretending it’s me. Picturing me naked, my cock stretching you out until your legs are shaking and you’re seeing stars.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Oh no,” he chuckled darkly, “I’ll have you screaming my name by the end of the night sweetheart, just wait.”

You let out a whimper, it was all you had time to do before Aaron sat forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss that swallowed down any further noise coming from you. The kiss was full of fire, Aaron quickly dominating it and you were completely happy to let it happen, sinking deeper into his arms as yours looped around his shoulders. His dry hand slid up the back of your neck, fingers sinking into your hair while the other hand ventured further south, groping at the globe of your ass. You let out a small moan into the kiss, giving his tongue access to your mouth and he eagerly dove in. You could taste the scotch on him as your tongue danced with his, the smallest hint of a cigar from earlier and you couldn’t help but groan, your hands starting to play with his hair.

He pulled back ever so softly, nipping at your lip quickly before his mouth trailed across the side of your jaw, he left a feather light kiss behind your ear that caused you to let out an airy breath, your head lolling back and he felt himself twitch, hardening in his trunks. His mouth pressed lazy kisses down your neck before he made home in the crook of your neck, alternating between kissing, sucking and biting.

“Oh Aaron…” You shifted in his lap, lightly grinding against his cock and he let out a low groan onto your skin, his hands clutching you impossibly close to him. He raised his face, eyes dark with arousal as he gazed across at you before his lips found yours again and you were moaning into the kiss, grinding harder down onto his lap, a small gasp leaving your lips when you felt him getting harder underneath you.

Aaron couldn’t get enough of you, he wanted more, he wanted all of you, he wanted his hands and mouth everywhere all at once, he was drunk on your kisses alone and craved every inch of you. The lingering of your perfume was wafting through his senses, the way your lips moved against his made his cock utterly ache as you brushed against it. As much as he wanted to bend you over right then and there he would be completely satisfied just kissing you all night, the internal battle doing its best to figure out what he wanted to act on while your fingertips scratched as his head. You only broke the kiss when you felt like you couldn’t breath anymore, gasping for air, your eyes half shut, forehead resting against his while his hands soothed up and down your sides.

“God…”

“Still not the right name.” He teased, pulling a small laugh from you, one that you opened your eyes at, sitting back every so slightly before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. His hands trailed up your arms, coming to rest at the base of your neck, gently tugging at your bikini strings. “May I?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded with a wicked grin while your own hands splashed behind you to undo that knot and Hotch let the fabric fall from your skin, not even noticing it float away in the water as you sat up. His eyes raking down your body and over your chest, letting out a groan at the slight bounce as you settled, the way the water dripped down your tits, nipples hard in the cool air.

“Gorgeous girl.” He murmured, his hands gently groping your chest, squeezing your tits, thumbs flicking over your nipples and you moaned softly. “Such pretty sounds too.” You giggled softly, feeling the heat creeping back into your cheeks as his full attention was on your half naked body. His hands continued to play with your chest, rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger while yours came up to cup his face, ducking to kiss him again, unable to get enough.

Moaning softly into the kiss, his hands squeezing at your chest, you ground down onto his lap harder, feeling the bulge building between his legs. Your tongue dove into his mouth, doing what you could to keep control of yourself as he increased the pressure on your chest, pinching your nipples. After a few moments he broke the kiss, eager to duck down and suck a nipple in between his lips, teeth scraping against the pert bud. Your hands wrapped around his head, threading into his hair as you held him tighter to you,

“Fuck Aaron…” You groaned and you felt his lips curve up into a grin against your skin.

“That’s it sweetheart.” He murmured, blowing cold air onto your nipple before swapping to the other side, “say my name.”

“God Aaron,” your fingers tightened in his hair, nails scratching at his head, “that feels so good.”

He groaned in response, teeth scraping against your tender skin before he pulled off your chest, burying his face between them to leave a trail of kisses all the way up your neck before kissing you deeply again. When he finally pulled away this time his hands wrapped around your waist, lifting you while he stood,

“Up.” He instructed, “out.”

“Why?” You half laughed, finding your balance on your feet in the water as his arm wrapped around your waist.

“Well I can’t fuck you in the hot tub gorgeous.” He husked against your lips before picking you up in his arms, guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist and he was finally able to get you out of the tub.

Lips pressed against yours, tongue sliding back into your mouth he carried you back into the suite, managing to snag a towel from the back of the chair to toss down onto the bed before he let go of your legs. You let out a whine at the loss of contact, staying up on your toes to not break the kiss and he chuckled into your lips, hands groping at your ass. His hand cradled your face, pulling an inch away from you,

“Lie back gorgeous.” He muttered, stealing another kiss before nudging you back towards the bed, “I want to know how pretty you sound when you come.”

You collapsed down onto the bed and Hotch was quick to gently drop over you, catching himself with his hands as he caged you into the bed, his lips kissing at your skin again. Your arms wound around him, pulling him closer to you as your lips found his, tongue easily sliding into your mouth when he deepened the kiss. You moaned softly against his lips, back arching off the bed as your hips rocked up, eager for more friction. He let out a low groan at the feeling of you brushing against his cock through thin fabric, feeling himself throb inside his shorts. His free hand slid down your body, swiftly untying one knot of your bikini bottoms and then the other, pulling them away from your body while you lifted your hips to help before he was tossing them behind him.

Aaron cupped between your legs, palm rubbing on your clit while his fingers massaged your wetness, pressing against you, teasing you slightly as you whined into the kiss. A finger slid through your folds, spreading your juices around your cunt, dampening his fingers before he brought them up to your clit, rubbing slow circles on it.

“Aaron… please..” You whined, hips rocking up to his touch as you clutched him tighter to you.

He chuckled softly, finger dipping back down before it sunk into your pussy, pumping a few times before he added a second one. “Already so wet for me.” He husked into your ear, crooking his fingers in search of the sensitive spot inside you as he continued to pump his hand between your legs.

“Fuck…” you moaned, your body sinking into the lush bed as sparks began to fly under your skin, pleasure fluttering through you while his lips returned to yours, swallowing down your noises. His fingers twisted and scissored inside you, stretching out your warm walls while they skillfully fucked you. He curled them again and you broke the kiss with a gasp, body shivering against the bed as your eyes scrunched shut. You could feel your pussy pulsing around his fingers and you were sure your juices were dripping down his wrist already at this point. His nose nudged at your chin, giving him access to your neck again, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin while his fingers continued to toy with you. “Please…” you panted, “please fuck me already.”

Aaron’s breath was hot on your neck as he huffed out a laugh, pressing a kiss to your lips before he pulled away, sitting up on his knees between your legs, watching his fingers disappear into you for a few more thrusts before pulling them out of your cunt and sucking them into his mouth. He let out a groan at the taste of your juices, his cock aching at the thought of truly tasting you, wishing that he had more time but you were already whining again and he didn’t want to tease you anymore than he already had. Shifting, he quickly tugged his shorts off and his cock sprung free, hard and throbbing, he wrapped a hand around it, smearing the pre cum as he pumped himself a few times, his eyes falling shut while he let out a heavy sigh before a realization washed over him.

“Fuck.”

“What?” You asked, your eyes flying open, widening slightly at the sight in front of you now that he was completely naked.

“I don’t have any condoms.”

“I’m clean.” Was your immediate response, not wanting to delay things any longer, “and I’ve got an implant.”

“Are you sure?” He asked softly and you nodded eagerly.

“Please Aaron..” you whimpered, “I need you…”

He leant forward, hand guiding his cock, rubbing it through your lower lips, smearing your juices around it as you let out a small gasp before he sunk fully into you and you both let out a satisfied moan.

“God you’re tight.” He muttered, dropping over you again, burying his face into the crook of your neck as your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly deep inside you. “Fuck…” He stayed still for a moment, feeling you fluttering around him, he knew if he tried to move he risked coming incredibly early, he was already throbbing.

“Fuck you feel so good.” You murmured, arms squeezing at him gently, moaning when he nipped at your skin and that was enough to get him going.

He set a steady pace, plunging into you with a roll of the hips, cock dragging over every inch of your walls, hitting the right spots with each thrust. You clung onto him, your hips rocking up off the bed to meet his with every push, your moans getting louder as he fucked you, pleasure soaring through your body.

“Fuck…” you whined, “harder Aaron, please.”

He pushed himself up, sitting back on his haunches while he grabbed one of your legs, resting it on his shoulder groaning when he slipped even deeper into your pussy. You gasped softly, your hands clutching at the bedspread while his hips came crashing into yours, the noises leaving your lips more frequent, your eyes scrunching shut.

“Christ,” he swore at the way you pulsed around him, squeezing him tight, the coil building deep inside his gut as he watched himself disappear into your cunt. His hands grabbed your hips, lifting them off the bed as he continued to snap his hips into you and you cried out at the new angle, your pussy clenching down around him. “Gon’ need you to come sweetheart.” He grunted, “m’not gonna last.”

“Don’t stop.” You groaned, fire prickling under your skin as your body shivered, “oh fuck!”

Aaron reached down with one hand, pads of his fingers rubbing furiously at your clit and your body shook, hips jolting as he continued to pound into you. You felt the pleasure burst, pussy clenching around his thick cock, juices dribbling across your skin as you cried out.

“Oh god Aaron!” Your hips jumped in his hands, body shaking, thighs clenching around him as your peak hit, a chorus of his name and breathy swears escaping your lips, floating around the room just enough to drive him absolutely wild. “Fuck… yes! Oh fuck Aaron.”

He didn’t let up, thrusting faster, the pressure on your clit harder as he leant forward, driving into you harder as he started to chase his own peak. He grunted, hips nearly faltering as your pussy continued to flutter around him, his arm winding tightly around your waist, holding you to him.

“C’mon gorgeous. You’ve got one more in you. Come again for me.”

You let out a whine, your hands gripping at his body, nails digging into his skin and you swore you practically blacked out when your second orgasm hit, letting out a cry as you tensed in his arms, twitching as you whimpered. Aaron groaned, fucking into you a few more times as his hips faltered and he sunk into your cunt with one last heavy thrust, hissing as he came, spilling into your pussy.

Panting, he gently collapsed over you, arms winding tighter around you in an effort to solidify this moment into his memory, not wanting to forget the way you looked, the way you felt wrapped around his cock, the noises you made when you came, how your lips felt on his skin, the sweetness of your taste. Under him you were slowly catching your breath, a happy hum leaving your lips when he placed a kiss onto your shoulder. One of your hands gently ran up and down his back and you felt him relax deeper into you, letting out a soft moan. Finally he pulled his head up enough to kiss you, lips moving lazily together until he gently rolled off you onto his side, letting out a quiet hiss as his cock slipped out of your warmth. You rolled toward him, happily accepting the arm he swung over waist as he pulled you toward him again, ducking down to nip at the tender spot forming on your neck before kissing you softly.

“Well that’s one way to enjoy a conference.” You murmured, your lips curving up into a grin and he huffed out a laugh, eyes sparkling down at yours.

“Fuck the conference. Let me give you a reason to stay in bed.”

“Is that an order Agent Hotchner?” You asked with raised brow and he smirked.

“A direct one.” He kissed you again, lips brushing yours as he spoke, “no way either of us is leaving this suite ‘til Friday. That’s why room service was invented.”

“I don’t think that’s right, but I’m not going to argue.”

“Oh but you love to prove you’re right.” He teased, smiling as you rolled him onto his back.

“Yeah, but I can think of a few better uses for my mouth right now.”

*

Aaron’s suggestion was exactly the way you spent the next two days, tangled in each other’s limbs, sheets barely covering bodies while you discovered every inch of the other persons skin. By Friday afternoon you knew just exactly how to touch each other so that you would see stars every single time. Aaron was about to suggest staying the weekend for a few more days of bliss when his phone went off and you were both called back to work. The team was already on the jet, meaning you were flying commercia to California to meet them there.

You were immediately roped into a coffee run with Emily, even if it was only to the breakroom and back, she had to get her complaints out about the days with her mother and honestly, wanted to know how things went being trapped in a hotel with Hotch all week. Scooping up your coffee you snagged a granola bar from the shelf, wandering back down the hall to the team as you caught up, you shoved the bar into your pocket so you could pull open the door and your hand hit something metal, your brow furrowing as you stalled in your tracks. In turn, Emily pulled open the door, propping it so Hotch could step through, no doubt on his way to secure his own caffeine, nodding to the both of you as he said a quick thanks.

“Aaron!” You called after him, having now pulled the item out of your pocket, realizing it was his watch and he turned back to you just in time to catch it as you tossed it to him. His head titled in confusion, glancing up at you as he slid it back onto his wrist, “you left it in the bin when we went through security, I forgot I grabbed it.”

“Thanks.” A flash of a smile crept onto his lips before he turned away, making his way down the hall.

“Oh… my god.” Emily quietly gasped, smacking your arm, “you hooked up and you weren’t planning on fucking telling me?!”

“What?” Your eyes shot to her, quickly stepping through the door to make sure Hotch wouldn’t hear you, “no. Em, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Please. When have you ever called him Aaron before? And I did not miss that hickey on his neck.”

Your eyes widened quickly, remembering how you’d made home in the crook of his neck while riding him, his arms wound around you, squeezing you softly as his cock plunged into your cunt. It was the same round he’d lavished your chest, his mouth barely leaving them, under your shirt you had your own set of hickeys and bite marks littered across your body. The memories were enough to bring a tingling down south, desire beginning to flood through you as heat crept into your cheeks. That of course was enough for Emily to confirm that her suspicions were right, trying not to gape as she attempted to form a coherent response. Before she could though, Hotch came back through the door, already hanging up a call from Garcia.

“Prentiss, take JJ and head down to talk to the family, Agent,” he turned to you, “grab your coat we’re going to the crime scene.”

“Yes sir.” You nodded, your cheeks flushing at the use of the title already and a possessive look shot through his eyes lightning fast, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a very brief smirk that Emily caught and did her best to hold back a laugh. He was back across the room in an instant, handing out tasks to the rest of the team and Emily pinched at your arm.

“Well, get ready for round two in the car.” She teased and you turned to her with a smug grin.

“More like round eleven.”

_____________________________

@alexusonfire @svushots @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @emobabeyy @daddy-heather-dunbar @mrs-ssa-hotch @hotchandspencearedilfs @mina2000alex @telepathay @darlingsfandom @ssamorganhotchner @hotchsdoormat @hopedoesntknow @thehauntingofbasingse @plaidbooks @niyizh @ababanana @tommyriddleobsessed @supercriminalbean @hotchs-bitch @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @emlynblack @ivyflowers13 @ratsnestinmyhair @silversprings-mp3 @originalbrunettecharacter @elz-artzzz @ssaaaronhotchnerr @itsrainingreid @speedynana @tgskitten @madamsnape921

[kiame-sama]

I wanna bang the monster men!!! (Malleus, Rollo and Lilia specifically)

Sees requirements... Nevermind!

But seriously, imagine how odd it must be for Reader to cradle and sing lullabies to her and Malleus's eggs for 50 years or so. It reminds me of the weird high school baby egg projects. Would prolly dress the eggs in a pinafore and bib for funsies.

Hybrid bat fae human babies must be cradled like glass if the wings are that delicate. Though I can imagine Reader walking around with her babies clinging to her bust. If we look at how baby bats cling to their momma by sucking on the underarm nipple.

As for Rollo's core, call me awful but can Reader use the same fire that's used by their baby to cook meals? For early cooking lessons? I'll see myself out...

For Malleus the egg timer is dependent on love given to the egg. 50 years is how long it would take if neither parent showed the egg love. Both parents caring for and tending the egg means it could hatch within a month. Basically love and how much care is put into the egg determines how long it will take to hatch. The hatchling knows the voices and unique presences of their parents due to this love determined growth rate, making the newly hatched offspring similar to newborn kittens in that they hate everyone but their parents and will spit flames at anyone other than their parents.

For Lilia, the infant's wings are glass fragile and typically stay wrapped in a swaddle to prevent potential breakage until the bones harden up. This swaddle has to be carried around by one of the parents in near constant and even held while sleeping as the infant will become wiggly and distressed if not being held (Lilia has it covered, don't you worry). The wings remain fragile until they are several months old and the bones have time to stiffen and strengthen, similar to how the skull is not fused at birth but fuses over time. At about one year the bones in their wings are their sturdiest bones.

As for Rollo, it is very frowned upon to use the flame-pit a core is being grown in for anything other than growing the Nymph/Elemental. Even the type of wood/kindling can impact how the infant grows as some fuels burn at different temperatures or take longer to burn, some even burn different colors which can impact the final color of the infant's flame. The core will keep the fire burning so long as there is something to burn, so the main part of tending a Flame core is feeding the fire and sheltering it from the elements.

[oneshortdamnfuse]

I hate that Barbie review post going around - not because there aren’t fair criticisms of the movie, but because any fair criticism in that post is diminished by a blatant aphobic viewpoint:

What is utopian about a world without sex?

Sex doesn’t have to exist in a fictional world, especially one that depends on the imagination of young children.

Without sex, what is the material difference between Barbie and Ken being boyfriend girlfriend of just being friends? What is the nature of the desires Ken has that Barbie can’t match?

Sex is not a requirement for a romantic relationship. You can also “just be friends” and have sex with someone. We assign meaning to our own relationships. That is beside the point that when young children are playing with dolls, they are developing their own idea of what the terms “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” mean. That doesn’t often include sex.

Ken’s entire drive throughout the movie is based on the fact that the Ken doll is seen as an accessory to Barbie. He doesn’t have his own identity, and that becomes problematic as he bases his purpose around being with Barbie. He begins to believe that Barbie owes him for his dedication, which is something real men do all the time to real women. Instead of finding themselves on their own and unpacking why they measure themselves based on the attentions of women, they get mad at women for not reciprocating and they create a culture to punish women. Ken’s “desire” is Barbie’s attention, but Barbie has her own life and interests that do not include him. It’s not that she can’t “match” his desires. It’s that she doesn’t want to.

It does not have to be explicitly about sex, but even if it was about sex, again, it’s not about being unable to “match” that desire. It’s about not wanting to, and people who don’t want to have sex for whatever reason are punished for it by a society that tells us sex is necessary and owed in a meaningful relationship.

Why do the dolls have no genitalia in the real world, given that they are otherwise turned into flesh? Why did you make a point of specifying this?

You are obsessed with a doll’s genitals, which feels like a TERF dog whistle. They’re still dolls in the real world. Barbie chooses to become “human” in the end. That’s why there’s a joke at the end about her going to the gynecologist. Still, their lack of genitals is not only a joke but a reminder that Barbie and Ken are dolls who are enjoyed by children in a fantasy land that doesn’t revolve around sex.

This isn’t the only part of the post that grinds my gears, but the whole thing reads as specifically hostile to people with different lived experiences regarding sex and gender. I absolutely hate it.

[nyx-knacks-writes]

Be More Careful, Okay?

Based off of @princeloww's idea of Alec and Campbell being uncle and nephew. I think Alec is a tad out of character here, but I saw this prompt by @prompt-dealer and had an image of Campbell being chased by an angry Alec, and I couldn't resist. No spoilers for either Broadchurch or Takin' Over the Asylum, and none for princeloww's The Never-Ending Sky, either. This is just my little idea of something that could occur if Campbell were to end up in Alec's care. I take zero credit for the idea of Campbell and Alec living together and zero credit for the prompt.

“I’m too young to die!”

“Young ain’t got nothin’ to do with it!”

Alec chased Campbell around the house, literally around the outside of the house, yelling obscenities and threatening—well, Campbell didn’t exactly know what he was threatening, but chances were high that it wasn’t good. Nature of a threat, after all.

Truth be told, Alec also didn’t know what he was threatening. He’d figure that out later. However, he did know that Campbell was in deep trouble. Trouble so deep that he wasn’t exactly sure how to punish the boy. Especially given that Campbell wasn’t even his son. So round and round they went, both yelling and trying not to slip on wet grass that would surely yank their feet out from under them at the first opportunity, causing an impromptu meeting with the cold, wet, muddy ground. 

The first offense had been the shirts. Campbell had had good intentions, really. He’d come home early from school on Monday, seen that the bathroom laundry hamper was full, and decided he’d do a load of washing to help his uncle. What a lovely nephew he was, right? Right? Wrong. Despite his best efforts to sort the colored clothing from the whites and the darks, he’d missed a pair of socks. A pair of red socks. A pair of brand-new red socks the exact color of a freshly washed fire engine gleaming in the summer sun. The shirts had come out pink. Oops. When Alec finally got to see the result of his nephew’s good intentions, he’d simply sighed and shaken his head. No sense in getting mad. He could probably do with some new shirts anyway. He’d donate the pink ones to a charity shop in town. Yeah, yeah, “real men wear pink” and all that, but what was he supposed to do? Like it or not, pink was still very much thought of as a feminine color. He could only imagine the abuse he’d suffer at the hands of his coworkers if he came in wearing a pink shirt. Big, bad DI Hardy in pink? Unthinkable. So he’d donated the old shirts, added a shopping trip to his weekend plans, and obtained the new white shirts that he preferred. A little hit to the wallet, but ultimately, no lasting harm done.

The second offense had been the soup. After the Sandbrook case had finally been solved and closed, Miller had insisted Alec start taking better care of himself and get a hobby. So what did he choose but learning to cook, which would satisfy both her demands? Ever the efficient one, wasn’t he? However, some dishes required a couple of extra hands for the sake of timing, so he would recruit Daisy and/or Campbell, depending on the day and on who was around, to help him out in the kitchen. On Tuesday, he’d needed both of them. It was going to be pumpkin soup for dinner that night, since it had been so cold and rainy, and Alec had asked Campbell to add the cream, nutmeg, salt, and pepper to the pot while he began pureeing vegetables a few cups at a time and Daisy helped him to avoid overloading the food processor. Four teaspoons of nutmeg would do it. However, when Alec caught sight of the little container of nutmeg on the counter after putting the soup back onto the stove to simmer, there was no teaspoon in sight. Instead, there was a tablespoon with a suspicious coating of brown powder sitting only an inch or so away.

“Campbell,” he’d asked slowly, “how much nutmeg did ye put in the soup?”

“Four tablespoons,” Campbell answered, looking up from the knife he was washing. “Why?”

Alec cursed, cut the gas, and put the soup pot on the stove’s back burner.

“Nutmeg is poisonous in high quantities,” he said. “The recipe called for four teaspoons, not tablespoons. If we eat that, we’ll end up in hospital.” He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, debating on chastising Campbell versus just letting it go. ‘Try to read it a bit more carefully next time, aye?” he eventually said as Campbell made a point to look anywhere else but at his uncle’s eyes. “Anyone have suggestions for dinner tonight? Looks like we’ll be doing takeaway.”

The next day, Campbell really did wind up in the hospital. Not for ignoring his uncle’s warning about the soup, but instead for a skateboard accident. It had been something of an impulse buy on Campbell’s part, and while he was getting to be rather good when it was dry, he’d not yet practiced when it was wet. He’d missed the bus to school in the morning, pondered what to do, and instead of calling a friend or his uncle or even Ellie Miller, he’d decided that the best possible way to rectify this problem was to attempt to skateboard to school and ask to leave the board in the office until the end of the day. He’d load up his backpack, throw on a rain jacket, hop on the board, and sail off into the morning light, perfectly balanced and confident that as long as he was careful, nothing would go wrong. 

What actually happened was that he rolled out with all his things, made it about halfway to the building, hydroplaned on a small hill, and ate dirt. Great. One ambulance ride, a thorough wound-washing, a chunk of chin and six stitches later, he was sitting in a hospital bed as Alec chewed him out for being irresponsible and not just calling for help or walking to school instead of getting on a set of wheels that had not been properly tested for mildly inclement weather. Not that he could be too hard on the boy. His intentions (get to school without inconveniencing anyone) had been good, and the fall, given its consequences, had really been punishment enough for poor Campbell. He looked like he’d expected a bowl of cherries and gotten a cherry bomb instead: a little confused and a lot regretful. Like he was contemplating the choices in his life that had brought him to this moment. 

Thursday had been blessedly normal. No blood, no pink shirts, no ruined meals. Normal ride to school, normal day, normal ride home. He didn’t even have homework for once in his school career! Maybe he was in the clear! Maybe his little bad-luck streak was over!

And then on Friday he inadvertently dyed his uncle’s hair a bright teal. What he wanted to do was put a teal streak in his own hair. It had been something he’d been thinking about for a while, and after having such a rough week, he figured that it wouldn’t hurt to try. He’d spent the afternoon in and out of the bathroom, making sure he was doing it right and not dying the whole house at the same time, and it had come out beautifully! Not a drop anywhere but in his hair, nice clean stripe, absolutely gorgeous. His one mistake? Leaving the bottle in the shower. When he’d gone to rinse out the excess dye, he’d taken the bottle into the shower with him to check the instructions for how to properly care for the freshly dyed hair. When he was all set, he’d left it there. And what did his poor, unsuspecting uncle do when he went to wash his hair later that night? He grabbed the dye bottle instead of the shampoo. And what did he see when his hair finally dried? Bright teal. Everywhere. All over his head. No missing it. Thus leading to the lovely game of ring-around-the-house. It was a little childish, yeah, but Campbell hadn’t been sure what his uncle was going to do with him when the newly teal-headed man had stormed into the living room with murder in his eyes. The options had been limited, so Campbell chose to run. 

Uncle and nephew made the oval at least four times over, pushing Alec’s pacemaker to the limit, before Alec finally stopped seeing red and had the bright idea to simply wait for Campbell to come back around again. He snagged at his nephew’s hood when the opportunity presented itself and pulled the boy against his chest. 

“Campbell, I . . . why?” Alec asked helplessly, wind going out of his sails. “I know ye’ve had a tough time adjusting here, but why?”

“I didnae mean to!” Campbell squawked. “I left the dye in the shower by accident, I swear!”

“I know ye didnae mean to, I’m asking ye why ye haven’t been more careful! Two out of the last five days ye’ve injured or nearly killed yerself, an’ I just want to know why!”

Alec stopped for a moment, released a breath, and let it go. 

“Look, I know ye’re not happy to be here. I know nothing’s the same and ye’re not even with yer mum and da anymore. I’m worried about ye. Please, just . . . I need ye to be more careful. That’s all. That’s why I’m upset. Now please, let’s stop these Looney Tunes shenanigans an’ go back inside. It’s too cold an’ wet to be out at this time of night.”

Campbell stopped to consider that for a moment, and Alec realized what he’d said. However, the apology wasn’t halfway out of his mouth before Campbell cracked a grin.

“But I am a looney.” 

“Campbell—”

“How can ye expect me no’ to engage in Looney Tunes shenanigans when I am, in fact, a looney?”

“Campbell—”

“In fact, you ought to be thankful that I don’t engage in more Looney Tunes shenanigans just to spite ye! In fact—!”

“Campbell!”

The boy in question stopped talking, but his grin didn’t fade even a little.

“Yes?”

“Inside. Please.”

And so, the pair trooped to the door in silence, neither sure what to say to the other until Campbell paused with his hand on the doorknob.

“I’ll be more careful,” he promised. “I didnae mean to worry ye, really. I’ve just had an unlucky couple of days. I’m fine.”

“Really fine?”

“Aye, really fine.”

“And ye know ye can ask fer help any time?”

“Aye.”

“And—”

“Yes, yes, come on, let’s go inside! I haven’t eaten since lunch, an’ dinner won’t cook itself. What are we makin’ tonight?”

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Yandere! Idol! group x f! Reader

Killer Bee🩸(pt. 4)

TW: Murder, gore

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

A/N: I'm slowly making my way through these yandere x reader requests. 1 down, 4 more to go. Also, finals and move out are next week, so expect me to be a while.

Thursday

When you wake up, Honey is still on top of you, his heartbeat beating in synch with yours. You try to get off, but he wraps his arms around your body, snuggling his head onto your shoulders.

"Five more minutes with you. That's all I ask," Honey mumbles, his hair tickling your chest.

"Hani, wake up! We want to spend time with her," Sol exclaims, knocking on your door.

Honey growls as he's forced to let go of you, kissing your forehead goodbye as he puts his clothes on.

"Damn, we were both sleeping, you know. What are you guys even planning to do that requires you to be up this early?" Honey asks, opening your door.

"We want to play dress up with her," Sol replies, showing a bag full of outfits.

"Is there anything you want to do with her that isn't involved with sex?" Honey comments, making the rest irritated.

"Dude, what is your problem?! You just fucked her last night!" Jason yells, making you sigh.

"She's more than just a sex doll! What's going to happen when her body gets too exhausted?!" Honey retorts, turning back to look at your drowsy face.

"We'll just let her rest. She's basically our live-in sex doll girlfriend anyway," Haneul says, making Honey pissed.

"You know what-" Honey starts, feeling your hand on his arm.

"Can I talk to you for five minutes?" You whisper, a shirt barely covering your figure. "I promise I'll return him shortly."

You gently close the door, then hug Honey like your life depends on it.

I hope the theatrics push him over the edge.

You start to cry, and you immediately feel Honey's arms on your back.

"Please protect me from them. I don't want them touching me anymore. I only want you to touch me," You weep, making him touch your face and wipe away tears.

"Shh...it'll be ok. I'll take care of everything. Why don't you go sit down and relax while I go talk to them?" Honey comforts, kissing your wet cheeks.

Honey lets you go and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. You go into the bathroom, turning on the faucet to the tub, watching as the hot water rises.

~~~~~~~~~~

It had been 10 minutes since Honey had left, and that's also how long you had been hearing the four young men argue. It would be a lie if you said you didn't enjoy the arguing, but at least you got to enjoy a bath alone.

"AND JUST WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TO LIMIT OUR ACCESS TO HER?! SHE'S OURS!" Sol screams, combined with the voices of Honey, Jason, and Haneul arguing with each other.

You pull your hair up into a bun, then hear a large thud. You stop applying the face mask for a minute then you hear Honey's voice.

"KEEP FUCKING WITH ME! SEE WHAT HAPPENS!" Honey screams, making the other yell even more.

Eventually, their voices get too blended together, and then all you hear are three short screams, an object being knocked over, and then silence. You hear more quiet thuds from the floorboards and then footsteps to your room. You were even more scared than when you were kidnapped, and you sit in the bathtub, waiting for your fate to come. Honey comes into your room, the clothes he wore last night covered in blood. He's holding a bloody butcher knife in one hand and Sol's decapitated head, someone's entrails, and an eye in the other.

"I killed them for you. That's what you wanted, right? I got rid of them so they wouldn't be bothering us anymore," Honey says, dropping the body parts on the tile floor.

"Yeah, that's what I wanted. But won't your manager be mad?" You ask, not expecting him to actually kill his dorm mates.

"Oh...her. We'll worry about her later. You look so pretty with your hair tied up," Honey replies, his hand stirring the water and turning it bloody. "How about we get out of this place after your bath?"

"Um..yeah, that would be amazing," You reply, scared shitless of Honey covered in his former friend's blood.

"Mind if I bathe with you? I don't want to have a trail of blood everywhere."

You move to let him in, and he strips and joins the bath with you. He submerges himself underwater, making the water scarlet. When he emerges, the crime of what he did is off his face, returning his skin to its regular glass skin perfection. He moves closer to your body, his arms around your waist as his lips rest near your shoulder.

"I love you so much. I tolerated them for as long as I could, and I thought I'd be happier with us sharing you, but I wasn't. Now you're what you were supposed to be. Mine. All mine!" Honey rants, squeezing your body tighter.

You lean your back on the bathtub and sink into the bloody water, hoping that a way to get rid of Honey is a possibility for you. 

[makeila04]

The ideal woman for Russell Adler

I remember being asked this: “What kind of person would be the perfect lover for a man like Adler?”

And I replied: "Short answer: Me, lol. Jokes aside, I might be guilty of using myself as a reference here, but definitely not just any woman is for Adler—I think we all agree on that. First, I’d say that at 54, age is probably the last thing he’d care about. Whether you’re 20, 30, 40, or whatever age (as long as you’re an adult), I don’t see him caring much. What he would care about is how intelligent you are, whether you can keep up with his pace and lifestyle, because he’s going to expect you to adapt to his life, not the other way around, since he’s a workaholic. I’ve known men similar to Adler—I can even compare him to my dad in many ways, like both being ENTJs—and I can definitely tell you it’s a very complicated personality type in the MBTI. Luckily, I’m an INTJ, and over the years, I’ve learned to understand this type of personality. Someone like Adler wouldn’t want someone incompetent, dependent, or inept by his side. He doesn’t want someone who becomes a burden or someone he constantly has to protect. Adler would want a lover who energizes him, someone who fills him with energy, especially now that age might be weighing on him. He’d also want a girl who isn’t submissive, who doesn’t say yes to everything, who challenges him but also lets herself be dominated.

Adler’s personality is one that solves problems before they start. He won’t order for you at a restaurant, but he’s someone who’ll make decisions for you, believing he knows what’s best for you, often without telling you. So it’ll be a constant push and pull, which can be exhausting for many. Adler isn’t someone who’ll make unnecessary scenes, so he’ll look for someone who doesn’t create drama or scenes. No one insecure or immature. She’d have to be independent, maybe even a loner like him, since she’d need her own life because Adler hardly spends any time at home. He’d probably want a lover willing to learn, especially if you’re much younger than him or your job isn’t being a CIA black ops agent. I know he’d love it if his lover asked him to teach them things like shooting and reloading a gun, boxing, self-defense, and even if you went for a drive, he’d probably explain how to evade a car during a chase—that would be his way of saying “I love you.” The girl would have to be very perceptive because Adler won’t say “I love you,” but you’ll see it in how he cares for you—gifts, advice, shared activities, maybe even related to his work, etc. He’s more demonstrative, so he’d value a girl who doesn’t constantly ask him to say how much he loves her.

That’s why, within the MBTI, one of the best compatibilities is ENTJ and INTJ. They’re basically the same, but Adler being extroverted (ENTJ) and me, for example, being introverted (INTJ), makes it so that in social situations where I don’t feel like interacting, Adler would take over the conversation without me having to say anything, which complements me by taking a weight off my shoulders. But I understand that many people might not like this, and that’s understandable. Especially in the long term, I wonder if someone who meets all the characteristics I mentioned would still stay with someone like Adler.

Being so intelligent, you’d have to ask yourself if you want to be with someone as dangerous and unstable as him, given his life, work, and emotional scars, or if you’d prefer someone more stable and reliable than Adler, since it’s very likely he’d be distrustful even with his lover or worry that something might happen to them because of him. He’d care deeply about his lover’s safety and self-confidence above all else. It’s a bit long, but I wanted to expand as much as I could (and even then, I know I’ve missed things).

As you can see, this point is very extensive because Adler is complex, and a profile like his requires it."

And…the truth is I would like to go a little deeper into the subject. So…

Characteristics of the ideal woman according to Russell Adler

1- Intelligent, sharp, and quick-witted Not just to hold a conversation with him, but because Adler has no patience for mediocrity. He wants someone who understands things quickly, who doesn’t need everything explained in detail. He likes someone who can grasp the situation without needing many words. In other words, she must be intuitive, someone who can anticipate him, just as he anticipates others. Someone who can surprise him.

Not just any woman can be with Adler. He needs someone clever, capable of keeping up with his pace and anticipating his moves. Intelligence isn’t just measured in knowledge but in the ability to read between the lines, interpret nonverbal cues, and understand his way of thinking. It’s not enough to be clever or intelligent in an academic sense. To stand by Adler’s side, you need strategic intelligence—the ability to read people, anticipate moves, and recognize when he’s manipulating or testing boundaries. He doesn’t respect those who are easy to read or predictable; if he perceives weakness in someone’s mind, he’ll exploit it without hesitation. A woman with ironclad self-control, who doesn’t crumble under his tests, who understands his games without reacting impulsively, will earn his respect.

2- Independent, but not distant He’s not looking for someone who depends on him. He doesn’t want burdens. He wants a woman who has her own life, who doesn’t need him to be happy but still chooses him. But—and this is important—he also wouldn’t want someone who makes him feel completely dispensable. Adler is a man who needs to feel that his presence matters, that he’s useful in your life in some way. A woman who never asks for his help or advice might make him feel like he has no role in her life, and that would make him lose interest.

He doesn’t want someone who depends on him for everything. He needs a woman with her own life, capable of handling herself and not demanding his constant presence. Someone emotionally stable, who doesn’t create unnecessary drama and knows how to stay calm in stressful situations.

3- Perceptive with her emotions (and with his) Adler isn’t a man who expresses his feelings directly. He won’t say “I love you” easily, but he’ll show it through actions. His ideal woman must be sharp enough to read those signals. She must be someone who understands his body language, who knows when he’s worried without him saying it, who can read the tension in his jaw, the weight in his gaze, the slight change in his tone of voice. And most importantly: she must know when to push him and when to leave him alone.

Emotional outbursts have no place in Adler’s life. He handles situations with coldness and expects the same from those around him. A woman who confronts him with yelling or dramatics will immediately be pushed out of his circle of trust. What he respects is calculated responsiveness, strategic coldness, calmness in chaos. A woman who knows how to handle him with intelligence, who doesn’t pressure him but also doesn’t disappear, will be the only one capable of holding his interest.

4- Tough, but not impenetrable While Adler doesn’t want someone fragile or dramatic, he also isn’t looking for an emotionally impenetrable wall. His biggest issue is trust, so the woman who is with him must be someone who can be strong without becoming completely inaccessible. She should be someone who can allow herself to be vulnerable at the right moments, someone who can open up to him, even if subtly. If he sees her as completely closed off, he might feel it’s impossible to reach her, which would make him lose interest.

5- Not submissive, but not someone who confronts him all the time Adler wants a woman with character, someone who isn’t afraid of him, who challenges him, who makes him smile with clever responses or sharp remarks.

BUT.

He also wants balance. He’s not looking for a constant power struggle because, deep down, Adler is someone who needs to maintain control of situations. If she’s challenging all the time, she’ll wear him out. But if she never challenges him, she’ll bore him. She needs to know when to yield and when to stand her ground. He wants someone who doesn’t say yes to everything, who pushes him, who questions him. But also someone who knows when to let him take the lead. He’ll make decisions for her without consulting her because he believes he knows what’s best. She must be strong enough to stand up to him when necessary, but also shrewd enough to pick her battles.

While he’ll never fully let his guard down, there are moments when he’ll lower it. But this won’t happen immediately or easily. His love is a war of endurance, where the woman who is with him will have to prove she won’t break under his distance, silence, or calculated coldness. However, patience doesn’t mean submission. A woman who tolerates everything without questioning him will lose his interest. He needs someone with a strong sense of self, who knows when to yield and when to set an unshakable boundary.

6- A youthful spirit, regardless of age Not because he necessarily needs to be with someone in their 20s, but because he wants someone who makes him feel alive. Someone with energy, a desire to learn, a touch of rebellion, someone who isn’t as jaded with life as he is. A woman in her 20s might, without realizing it, remind him of what it feels like to be in motion, to feel adrenaline, to have that inner fire. But it’s also a double-edged sword because if she’s too immature, too naive, or too dependent, he’ll find her unbearable. The key isn’t age, but vitality. At 54, Adler needs a woman who revitalizes him, who challenges him, who makes him feel alive. This doesn’t mean being explosive or hyperactive, but rather someone with character who gives him reasons to keep moving forward.

7- Self-confidence and self-assurance He doesn’t want someone jealous, dependent, or insecure. He wants a woman who trusts herself, who doesn’t need his constant validation. She also needs to trust him. His job puts him in contact with danger and untrustworthy people. If his partner distrusts him or constantly demands explanations, the relationship will quickly deteriorate.

Adler wouldn’t tolerate a fragile or emotionally dependent woman. Someone needy, who seeks constant validation or expects him to open up easily, will simply run into a wall of ice. He’s not a man who comforts with sweet words or offers gratuitous tenderness. The woman by his side must be strong, but not in a naive way; it’s not enough to be independent—she must understand the harshness of the world, grasp the game he’s playing, and accept his shadows without trying to change them.

8- Apprentice and Ally in His World If you don’t belong to his world, the ideal is that you at least have curiosity about it. He enjoys teaching: shooting, self-defense, evasion tactics… His way of saying "I love you" is by sharing his knowledge so his partner can survive on her own.

Adler isn’t looking for salvation or redemption. He doesn’t want someone who tries to heal him or asks too much about his past. In fact, the woman who truly has a chance with him must be able to accept that he will always keep secrets, that there will always be inaccessible parts of him, and that his love will never be completely unconditional. In return, he’ll offer loyalty and protection, but on his own terms.

9- Ability to Read His Love Language He’s not someone who says "I love you" easily, but he shows it through actions: protection, meaningful gifts, advice, subtle gestures. His ideal partner must be perceptive enough to pick up on these gestures and not need constant reassurance of his love.

10- Socially Complementary As an ENTJ, Adler can navigate any environment. His partner doesn’t need to be as extroverted, but she must know how to adapt. An INTJ, for example, fits perfectly because she enjoys her independence and prefers to observe rather than interact, letting Adler take the lead in social situations when necessary.

11- Awareness of the Risks of Their Relationship Loving Adler isn’t easy. His life is dangerous, his mind is a fortress, and his relationship can feel like an endless game of chess where he’s always one step ahead. His ideal partner must be strong enough to handle the uncertainty, occasional distrust, and risks that come with being with someone like him.

In conclusion…

It wouldn’t be a conventional romance. There wouldn’t be effusive declarations of love or overflowing gestures of tenderness. Instead, there would be complicity in the shadows, fleeting moments of vulnerability that only she would see, protection disguised as indifference, and constant tests to measure her resilience. He’s a man of long silences, subtle tests, and constant challenges. His love doesn’t feel like a refuge, but like a trial by fire. But for the woman who can match his energy, who understands his language of war, and who knows when to get closer and when to step back, the bond will be unbreakable. Adler isn’t a man who loves lightly, but if he does, it will be a love that marks him forever.

Recuerdo que me preguntaron esto: “¿Qué tipo de persona sería el amante perfecto para un hombre como Adler?”

Y yo respondí: “Respuesta corta: yo ah XD Nah fuera de broma, quizás peque de usarme de autorreferencia en parte, pero definitivamente no cualquier mujer es para Adler pero creo que eso lo tenemos todos en claro.

Primero diría que a sus 54 años creo que claramente la edad es lo último que le importaría.

Si tienes 20, 30, 40 o la edad que sea (siempre que seas mayor de edad) no veo que le importe demasiado. Lo que sí le importaría es cuán inteligente eres, si puedes seguirle el paso y su ritmo de vida, porque te va a exigir (no literalmente) que tu te adaptes a su vida y no a la inversa ya que es un workaholic. 

He conocido hombres similares a Adler, puedo hasta compararlo con mi padre en varios aspectos, como que por ejemplo ambos son ENTJ y definitivamente puedo decirte que es una personalidad muy complicada en el MBTI, por suerte yo soy INTJ y he aprendido con los años a entender este tipo de personalidad.

Alguien como Adler no querría a alguien incompetente, dependiente o inepto a su lado. No quiere a alguien que se vuelva una carga para él o que te deba estar protegiendo siempre.

Adler querría una amante que lo vitalice seguro, alguien que lo llene de energía, sobre todo ahora si la edad le está pesando. Además querría una chica que no sea sumisa, que no le diga que si a todo, que lo rete, que lo desafíe pero que a la vez se deje dominar. La personalidad de Adler es una que resuelve problemas antes de que empiecen. No pedirá por ti en un restaurante pero si es alguien que tomará decisiones por ti creyendo que sabe lo que es mejor para ti, mayormente sin que te lo diga. Así que será un tira y afloja constante, lo que puede ser desgastante para muchas.Adler no es alguien que hará escenas innecesarias así que buscará a alguien que no haga dramas o escenas. Nadie que sea inseguro o inmaduro.

Debe ser una chica que sea independiente, tal vez solitaria como él, ya que deberá ser una chica con vida propia porque Adler no pasa casi nada de tiempo en casa.Seguramente quiera una amante dispuesta a aprender, sobre todo si eres mucho más joven que él o tu trabajo no consiste en ser un black ops de la CIA. Sé que amaría que su amante le pida o pregunte para que le enseñe cosas como disparar y recargar un arma, boxeo, defensa personal, e incluso si fueran a dar un paseo en auto seguramente te explicaría en medio del camino sobre cómo evadir un auto en una persecución, esa sería la forma de decir “te amo” de Russell Adler.

La chica deberá ser muy perspicaz porque Adler, no te dirá “te amo” pero lo verás en cómo se preocupa por ti, regalos, consejos, actividades compartidas tal vez relacionadas a su trabajo, etc. Es más demostrativo así que valoraría más a una chica que no le esté pidiendo que le diga cuánto la ama cada dos segundos.Por eso dentro del MBTI una de las mejores compatibilidades dentro de las personalidades es ENTJ e INTJ.

Son básicamente lo mismo pero que Adler sea extrovertido (ENTJ) y por ejemplo yo introvertida (INTJ) hace que, por ejemplo, me imagine situaciones sociales donde yo no tuviera ganas de interactuar con alguien y antes de que pase algo Adler ya toma la conversación por sí mismo sin que yo tenga que decir nada, lo que a mi me complementa por sacarme un peso de encima. Pero entiendo que hayan muchas personas que esto no les va a gustar y es comprensible. Sobre todo a largo plazo es cuando más me pregunto si aún alguien reúne todas las características que mencioné… se quedaría con alguien como Adler. Ya que siendo tan inteligente tendrías que replantearte si quieres estar con alguien tan peligroso e inestable, por su vida, trabajo y cicatrices emocionales, como él o prefieres a alguien no solo más estable sino confiable como Adler, ya que es muy probable que hasta pueda ser desconfiado con su amante o tema que algo le pase por su culpa. Le pesara mucho la seguridad y confianza de su amante hacia sí misma antes que otra cosa. Es un poco largo quizás pero quería explayarme lo más que pudiera (y aún así sé que me faltarán cosas). Como verás este punto es muy extenso porque Adler es complejo y así lo requiere un perfil como el suyo.” Y…la verdad me gustaría profundizar un poco más en el tema. Así que… Características de la mujer ideal para Russell Adler

1- Inteligente, aguda y rápida de mente

No solo para mantener una conversación con él, sino porque Adler no tiene paciencia para la mediocridad. Quiere a alguien que entienda las cosas rápido, que no necesite que se lo expliquen todo con detalle. Le gusta alguien que capte la situación sin necesidad de muchas palabras.

Es decir, debe ser intuitiva, alguien que pueda anticiparse a él, tal como él se anticipa a los demás. Alguien que le sorprenda. No cualquier mujer puede estar con Adler. Él necesita a alguien astuta, capaz de seguir su ritmo y anticiparse a sus movimientos. La inteligencia no solo se mide en conocimientos, sino en la capacidad de leer entre líneas, interpretar señales no verbales y comprender su forma de pensar. No basta con ser astuta o inteligente en un sentido académico. Para estar al lado de Adler, se necesita inteligencia estratégica, saber leer a las personas, anticipar movimientos y reconocer cuando él está manipulando o probando los límites. Él no respeta a quienes son fáciles de leer o predecibles; si percibe debilidad en la mente de alguien, la explotará sin dudarlo. Una mujer con autocontrol férreo, que no se desmorone ante sus pruebas, que entienda sus juegos sin reaccionar de forma impulsiva, ganará su respeto. 2- Independiente, pero no distante

No busca a alguien que dependa de él. No quiere cargas. Quiere una mujer que tenga su propia vida, que no lo necesite para ser feliz, pero que aún así lo elija.

Pero—y esto es importante—tampoco querría a alguien que lo haga sentir completamente prescindible. Adler es un hombre que necesita sentir que su presencia importa, que él es útil en tu vida de alguna manera.

Una mujer que jamás le pida ayuda o consejo podría hacerle sentir que no tiene un rol en su vida, y eso lo llevaría a perder interés. No quiere a alguien que dependa de él para todo. Necesita una mujer con una vida propia, capaz de manejarse sola y no exigir su presencia constante.

Alguien emocionalmente estable, que no haga dramas innecesarios y que sepa mantener la calma en situaciones de estrés.

3- Perspicaz con sus emociones (y con las de él)

Adler no es un hombre que exprese lo que siente de manera directa. No dirá "te amo" fácilmente, pero lo demostrará con acciones. Su mujer ideal debe ser lo suficientemente astuta como para leer esas señales.

Debe ser alguien que entienda su lenguaje no verbal, que sepa cuándo está preocupado sin que él lo diga, que pueda leer la tensión en su mandíbula, el peso en su mirada, el ligero cambio en su tono de voz.

Y lo más importante: debe saber cuándo presionarlo y cuándo dejarlo en paz.Las explosiones emocionales no tienen lugar en la vida de Adler. Él maneja las situaciones con frialdad y espera lo mismo de quienes lo rodean. Una mujer que lo confronte con gritos o con dramatismo quedará fuera de su círculo de confianza de inmediato. Lo que él respeta es la capacidad de respuesta calculada, la frialdad estratégica, la calma en el caos. Una mujer que sepa manejarlo con inteligencia, que no lo presione pero que tampoco desaparezca, será la única capaz de mantener su interés.

4- Dura, pero no impenetrable

Si bien Adler no quiere a alguien frágil o dramático, tampoco busca una pared emocional impenetrable. Su mayor problema es la confianza, así que la mujer que esté con él debe ser alguien que pueda ser fuerte, pero sin volverse completamente inaccesible.

Debe ser alguien que pueda permitirse la vulnerabilidad en los momentos adecuados, alguien que pueda abrirse con él, aunque sea de forma sutil. Si ve que ella es completamente hermética, podría sentir que es imposible llegar a ella, lo cual lo haría perder el interés.

5- No una sumisa, pero tampoco alguien que lo enfrente todo el tiempo

Adler quiere una mujer con carácter, alguien que no le tenga miedo, que lo desafíe, que le saque una sonrisa con respuestas inteligentes o con comentarios agudos.

PERO.

También quiere que haya un balance. No busca una lucha constante de poder, porque en el fondo, Adler es alguien que necesita mantener el control de las situaciones.

Si ella es desafiante todo el tiempo, va a cansarlo. Pero si nunca lo desafía, lo aburrirá.

Debe saber cuándo ceder y cuándo plantarse. Quiere a alguien que no le diga que sí a todo, que lo rete, que lo cuestione. Pero también alguien que sepa cuándo dejarse guiar.

Él tomará decisiones por ella sin consultarlo, porque cree que sabe lo que es mejor. Ella debe ser lo suficientemente fuerte para plantarle cara cuando sea necesario, pero también lo suficientemente astuta para elegir sus batallas. Si bien nunca se entregará completamente, hay momentos en los que bajará la guardia. Pero esto no ocurrirá de inmediato ni con facilidad. Su amor es una guerra de resistencia, donde la mujer que esté con él tendrá que demostrar que no se quebrará ante su distancia, su silencio o su frialdad calculada. Sin embargo, paciencia no significa sumisión. Una mujer que le tolere todo sin cuestionarlo perderá su interés. Necesita alguien que tenga un sentido del yo fuerte, que sepa cuándo ceder y cuándo poner un límite inamovible.

6- Un espíritu joven, sin importar la edad No porque necesariamente necesite estar con alguien de 20 años, sino porque quiere a alguien que lo haga sentir vivo. Alguien con energía, con ganas de aprender, con un toque de rebeldía, alguien que no esté hastiado de la vida como él.

Una veinteañera podría ser alguien que, sin darse cuenta, le recuerde lo que se siente estar en movimiento, sentir la adrenalina, tener ese fuego interno.

Pero también es un arma de doble filo, porque si es demasiado inmadura, demasiado ingenua, demasiado dependiente, le resultará insoportable.

La clave no es la edad, sino la vitalidad. A sus 54 años, Adler necesita a una mujer que lo revitalice, que lo desafíe, que lo haga sentir vivo.

Esto no significa ser una persona explosiva o hiperactiva, sino alguien con carácter, que le dé motivos para seguir adelante. 7- Autoconfianza y Seguridad en Sí Misma

No quiere a alguien celosa, dependiente o insegura. Quiere a una mujer que confíe en sí misma, que no necesite su validación constante.

También necesita que confíe en él. Su trabajo lo pone en contacto con el peligro y con personas poco confiables. Si su pareja desconfía de él o le exige explicaciones constantes, la relación se desgastará rápidamente. Adler no toleraría a una mujer frágil o dependiente emocionalmente. Alguien necesitada, que busque validación constante o que espere que él se abra fácilmente, simplemente se encontrará con un muro de hielo. No es un hombre que consuele con palabras bonitas ni que ofrezca dulzura gratuita. La mujer que lo acompañe tiene que ser fuerte, pero no de manera ingenua; no basta con ser independiente, sino que debe comprender la crudeza del mundo, entender el juego en el que él se mueve y aceptar sus sombras sin intentar cambiarlas.

8- Aprendiz y Aliada en su Mundo

Si no perteneces a su mundo, lo ideal es que al menos tengas curiosidad por él.

Él disfruta enseñando: disparar, defensa personal, tácticas de evasión… Su forma de decir "te amo" es compartir su conocimiento para que su pareja pueda sobrevivir por sí misma. Ya que Adler no busca salvación ni redención. No quiere a alguien que intente sanarlo ni que le pregunte demasiado sobre su pasado. De hecho, la mujer que realmente tenga posibilidades con él debe ser capaz de aceptar que él siempre guardará secretos, que siempre tendrá partes inaccesibles y que su amor nunca será completamente incondicional. A cambio, él ofrecerá lealtad y protección, pero bajo sus propios términos.

9- Capacidad de Leer su Lenguaje de Amor

No es alguien que diga "te amo" fácilmente, pero lo demuestra en acciones: protección, regalos con significado, consejos, gestos sutiles.

Su pareja ideal debe ser lo suficientemente perceptiva para captar estos gestos y no necesitar reafirmaciones constantes de su amor.

10- Socialmente Complementaria

Como ENTJ, Adler puede desenvolverse en cualquier entorno. Su pareja no necesita ser igual de extrovertida, pero sí debe saber adaptarse.

Una INTJ, por ejemplo, encaja perfectamente porque disfruta de su independencia y prefiere observar antes que interactuar, dejando que Adler tome el liderazgo en situaciones sociales cuando sea necesario.

11- Consciencia de los Riesgos de su Relación

Amar a Adler no es fácil. Su vida es peligrosa, su mente es una fortaleza, y su relación puede ser un eterno juego de ajedrez donde siempre está un paso adelante.

Su pareja ideal debe ser lo suficientemente fuerte para manejar la incertidumbre, la desconfianza ocasional y los riesgos que vienen con estar con alguien como él.

En conclusión.. No sería un romance convencional. No habría declaraciones de amor efusivas ni gestos de ternura desbordante. En cambio, habría complicidad en las sombras, momentos fugaces de vulnerabilidad que sólo ella vería, protección disfrazada de indiferencia y pruebas constantes para medir su resistencia.

Él es un hombre de silencios largos, de pruebas sutiles, de desafíos constantes. Su amor no se siente como un refugio, sino como una prueba de fuego. Pero para la mujer que logre igualar su energía, que entienda su lenguaje de guerra y que sepa cuándo acercarse y cuándo alejarse, el vínculo será inquebrantable. Adler no es un hombre que ame a la ligera, pero si lo hace, será un amor que lo marcará para siempre.