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ja3yun · 3 months

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Love Me Tender | S.JY

bf!jaeyun x gf!reader warnings: smut (mdni), soft-dom jake, oral (f. rec), unprotected sex, cream pie, wax play, knife play, bondage, leather gloves, pussy slapping (once), nipple play, not proof read, anything else lmk. wc: 10.2k synopsis: when your tender, loving boyfriend jaeyun overhears a conversation about you wishing he was a bit rougher in bed, he vows to make sure you're completely satisfied, catering to all your hearts desires. a/n: hi! this is something i had sitting in my mind but also this is for my girl @yzzyhee because i genuinely cannot express my love or gratitude more than semi-dom, blonde jake. i hope you love it, mars and just know that i am and always will be proud of you, no matter what.

“It’s great and, fuck, I love him so much. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me. It’s just…”

Just what?

Jaeyun halts abruptly outside your bedroom door as your muffled voice drifts through the wood. Having just returned from work, he had eagerly sprinted up the stairs upon seeing your shoes by the doorway, signalling your presence. Now, that excitement has dissipated, replaced by a creeping anxiety that crawls over his skin.

His mind races through every minor mistake he might have made in the past week to prompt you to discuss your relationship with someone else. No, you haven’t mentioned his name, he can’t fathom the idea of another man being the ‘best thing that ever happened to you’, so he jumps to conclusions.

Was it because he didn't clean on his day off last week? Or perhaps because he brought home that stray dog and begged you to keep her, even though neither of you had the time to give it the love it deserved? Jaeyun bites his bottom lip, pondering the meaning behind your words.

Leaning closer, he presses his hand against the door frame and hovers his ear just above the slit in the door to hear you better. In his eyes, everything in your relationship is more than fine, so he’s desperate to understand how he can fix whatever is wrong. If Jaeyun is determined to do one thing right in his life, it’s to be your perfect boyfriend.

The house is as quiet as a hairdresser's salon on a Monday morning, the silence thick and suffocating, until you break it with a sigh. “I just wish he was a bit rougher,” you finally say aloud, causing Jaeyun’s eyes to widen and ears to perk up.

Of all the things in the world, he never expected you to say that. What do you mean rougher? He taps his foot on the carpet, as if trying to hurry your conversation along to hear your explanation. “He’s not bad in bed, far from it actually; he does this thing with his tongue that sends me to heaven…”

You trail off, and Jaeyun can vividly picture how you’re standing: your pretty pink lips caught between your teeth, a coy smile on your face, and your thighs rubbing together as you shift on your feet. There is a tiny swelling of pride adding to his emotions as you speak.

He knows how much you love his tongue, so much so that you’re often begging for it most nights and cumming on his face within minutes. His mind flashes back to those nights, your moans echoing in his memory.

That’s why it’s so hard for him to grasp what you’re talking about. He is rough with you to an extent - spanking your ass, sometimes tying you up, even pulling at your hair. Was that not enough for you? He’s always been scared of hurting you, even in those moments, so he can’t imagine going further than that. The thought of causing you pain, even unintentionally, sends a shiver down his spine.

“Yeah, exactly,” you agree with whoever is on the other line, “I want to just be manhandled and fucked like in the books we read or those Twitter porn videos. It’s just never going to happen, not with Jaeyun.”

Jaeyun’s body grows hot with nerves, goosebumps rising on his skin at your implication. Not with Jaeyun. What if you get bored every time he makes love to you and eventually leave him for someone else, someone who can fulfil those fantasies? The idea of losing you to someone else, someone who might treat you with the roughness you crave, makes his stomach churn with dread.

Oh, no. No, no, no. He cannot and will not let that happen. He refuses to lose you over something like this.

“Anyway, he’ll be home soon… No, I can’t say anything. You know how much he loves me. If I start asking him to edge me or bring a knife to a love fight, he would freak the fuck out,” you laugh disheartened, intending it as a joke but the sentence coming out as distant longing.

Jaeyun’s breath catches in his throat at the mention of a knife. You don’t mean a physical one right? It has to be a metaphor and you don’t want him to actually bring out the good kitchen knives and chop you up like yesterday’s salad? He’s not even a chef, never mind a butcher.

He hears you say your final goodbyes to your friend, causing him to silently run back to the top of the stairs, creating the facade that he has just arrived home. Just as he gets into place, you swing open your bedroom door and jolt back for a moment, surprised to see him there.

Swallowing the mix of hurt and apprehension, Jaeyun flashes the smile you fell in love with at first sight and walks over to you, pretending he didn’t hear a thing. “Hi, baby,” he says as chirpily as he can manage given the circumstances, walking towards you with an air of forced nonchalance.

“Hey, Jaeyun,” you say, looking him up and down with furrowed brows. “Babe, why are you so… all over the place?” The question isn’t misplaced. Despite his best attempts to conceal his true emotions, his body betrays him. His chest heaves as if he’s out of breath, his face is still flushed with a mix of embarrassment and nerves, and his hands tremble slightly.

“Oh, just those stairs, you know how they kill me,” he lets out a tense chuckle, trying to pass it off as his aversion to the gym.

Narrowing your eyes, you pout sceptically at his response, clearly not buying it. Your boyfriend might not frequent the gym, but he certainly plays football every Wednesday with his workmates, and his stamina during sex is nothing short of impressive. There’s definitely something else going on.

Now it’s your turn to get bitten by the anxiety bug. Surely he hadn’t overheard your conversation with Yeojeong just now? You would never be able to forgive yourself if he did because, in your mind, it wasn’t a complaint, just a small, wistful desire. But if he overheard, he might think it meant you were dissatisfied with him, even though that couldn't be further from the truth.

You blame the dark romance BookTok recommendations you've been indulging in for your sudden craving for a little, or a lot, of spice. That, and the three-month fascination you had with Ghostface after watching Scream 6.

Before your mind can wander to your boyfriend wearing a delicious mask as he pounds into you, you shake your head to clear your thoughts and smile widely, choosing to believe him over your own worries for a change.

Encircling your arms around his waist, you place a kiss on his chest as you always do, hoping the tenderness and love from your lips reach his heart. “I would say go to the gym with me, but I like you just as you are,” you say gently, hoping that if he did, in fact, hear the conversation, it will put his mind at ease. That, and because you mean it wholeheartedly.

There isn’t a man in the world that could compare to your boyfriend, and you wouldn’t want to change any aspect of him. Not his tardiness, not his gentleness, and certainly not his soul.

Jaeyun feels your warmth and the sincerity in your voice. Your words provide a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. He wraps his arms around you tighter, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I love you so fucking much, Y/N. You know I would do anything for you, right?”

You look up at him and nod. “I know, baby.”

It’s strange how you are both having a silent conversation with your words. Each of you is reassuring the other, yet meaning different things. You are telling him that despite your own fantasies, he would never have to change just to meet them.

Jaeyun, on the other hand, is conveying his commitment that he’s about to fulfil each and every single one of them.

_____

Jaeyun waits anxiously for the sound of your keys jingling in the lock as you secure the door behind you. The moment he hears it, he springs into action, heart pounding with a mix of determination and trepidation. He’s taken the day off work specifically for this - a day to explore a world he has no right to be stepping into, but one he is compelled to understand for your sake.

As the sound of your footsteps fades away, Jaeyun makes his way to the bedroom, his sanctuary of comfort and intimacy. Today, however, it feels like uncharted territory. The room is filled with reminders of your shared life: photographs capturing moments of joy, your favourite books stacked neatly on the nightstand, and the scent of your perfume lingering in the air. It all feels both reassuring and daunting.

Jaeyun sits at your shared desk, his heart pounding as he opens your laptop. Rather than logging into his own account, he attempts to access yours. It’s not that you’ve ever hidden anything from him; he’s just never needed to know your password or lurk in your browsing history. You’ve always been an open book. That is, until now.

Determined to delve into your private world to better understand and satisfy your cravings in bed, Jaeyun convinces himself that his intentions are pure. Logging into your account and discovering any form of porn you might own feels inherently better than randomly searching the internet. Surely, you must have a treasure trove of knowledge about your desires just sitting in plain sight, waiting to be explored. He just needs the password to unlock it.

Staring at your account login screen, he watches the cursor blink patiently in the password box. His mind races, trying to guess what it could be. The first thing that comes to mind is your anniversary. With a confident smile, he types in the date, knowing that it’s his own password as well. But when the message ‘Incorrect Pin’ flashes on the screen, his confidence wavers. He sits back, eyes wide with surprise.

What could it possibly be, then? Jaeyun runs through a list of possible passwords in his mind: your birthday, the name of your favourite pet, maybe even a significant place. Each attempt is met with the same frustrating result—‘Incorrect Pin.’

After a few more failed tries, he feels a pang of guilt but pushes it aside. This is for the greater good, he tells himself. This is to make you happy. He takes a deep breath and thinks more deeply about what the password could be. Something personal, something meaningful. He recalls moments you've shared, your inside jokes, and your shared passions. Then it hits him: your favourite band.

If there was another Jaeyun in your life, it was Lee Jaeyun from TO1. He’s not a jealous person but for that man, he is the most green-nosed, spiteful gremlin. Day after day he has had to hear about him despite the short answers and disinterest he shows, it doesn’t deter you in the slightest. It doesn’t help they have the same name either.

Pulling out his phone, he searches for the leader’s date of birth, already resigned to the idea that this will work and that he will have to somehow get you to change it before he becomes the human embodiment of envy. Typing in ‘160800’, the computer finally unlocks with ease. His face falls as the screen reveals your desktop, confirming his suspicion. Maybe to save himself the tiny heartache, he should have just searched for all of this on his own account; that’s what he gets for snooping, he supposes.

Jaeyun takes a moment to compose himself, shaking off the petty jealousy that flares up. He reminds himself why he’s doing this: to better understand your desires and make you happy. With a sigh, he begins navigating through your files, searching for anything that might give him insight into your fantasies.

The wallpaper is a picture of you and him on your third date to the petting farm. You both were covered up to the heavens, puffer jackets, scarves, and gloves to match since it was a bitingly cold winter. Jaeyun had insisted you go to the Christmas markets since it was one of the most romantic things to do; taking pictures under the lights and riding the swings, all while sharing kisses and nuzzling his nose with yours in an attempt to stay warm in the night.

But you had other plans. You wanted to see the cows and pigs instead, petting them and feeding them with the guidance of the farmer. It was one of the best dates of your life, Jaeyun had never seen you on such a high and he has still to replicate the elation on your face from the picture. Despite both of you getting covered in mud and earning a cold from the trip - that just meant cuddles in bed the next few days which then resulted in the first ‘I love you’ being shared - he is so glad you talked him into it.

His heart pounds at the memory, a fond smile growing on his face. There is no better joy to him than seeing you happy. And that brings him back to his original task.

Clicking on the browser, Jaeyun goes to your bookmarks first, scouring for anything that could seem on the darker side. However, it’s filled with movie links and furniture you’re considering buying when you redecorate the living room.

He then recalls something you said on the phone about BookTok and frantically searches for the app on the computer. Once he sees the familiar logo, he clicks on it quickly and heads straight for your favourites. Luckily for him, you are a folder freak and categorise everything, so it’s easy to scroll past the TO1 edits, cooking recipes, and things Jaeyun would like folders to find the coveted book rec folder.

He clicks on the first one and grabs his phone, ready to make a list of every kink that is hidden within the reviews. Two hours and fourteen minutes later, he finds his mind completely immersed in your fantasy world filled with CEOs, bikers, vampires, guns, knives, BDSM, corruption, cockwarming, and many, many, other things. Each paragraph and trigger warning becomes more outlandish than the last, and he realises he may have bitten off more than he can chew.

Jaeyun is thankful there isn’t anything that seems too brutal in there, but there are definitely some things he just point-blank refuses to take part in. Personally, he can’t imagine you are into some of the more extreme aspects either, but he understands that some elements come hand-in-hand with books like these. A few ideas are swirling in his head, however. There are things he doesn’t know if he can do, but for you, he will try his best.

As Jaeyun jots down notes, he starts with the milder kinks and gradually works his way up to the more intense ones: dominance and submission, rough play, role-playing, and bondage. These are things he feels he can explore with you, drawing inspiration from the confident and assertive male leads he's encountered in your favourite books. He imagines scenarios where he takes control, ties you up, and whispers dirty things in your ear—thankful to those characters for providing him with some content to work with. His pulse quickens at the thought, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through him.

Yet, there is one recurring theme that stands out among all your fantasies:

Knives.

It’s something you verbally pointed out in the phone call and is flagged as a potential trigger in almost all of the books you've favourited. The mere thought of it makes Jaeyun’s cheeks flush and sends a chill down his body. The idea of causing you harm, even in a controlled and consensual manner, is unsettling to him.

But Jaeyun is committed to understanding and fulfilling your desires. He knows this is about pleasing you and embracing your fantasies to keep his role as your perfect partner. There must be safe ways to explore this particular kink, ways that satisfy your cravings without risking harm.

So, with determination, Jaeyun rolls up his sleeves and cracks his neck from side to side, preparing himself for a deep dive into your kink. Tonight, he will make sure you never have to go back to those books again.

_____

Walking through the door, you see the lights entirely out, causing a bit of alarm to ring inside your chest. Jaeyun is always home by now on his days off, so it’s strange that the house is in darkness.

“Baby? Are you home?” you whisper-shout, just on the off chance that he has decided to take a nap and it’s run through to 8pm. He has been working hard the past few days, so exhaustion is granted, but it’s just not like him to at least wait up for you.

You take off your shoes and place your bag next to the door, waiting for a response that never comes. Arching a brow, you look around, seeing that the house is in peak condition, just the way you left it this morning. Jaeyun is notorious for leaving a pint glass on the table and a plate that held his lunch on the coffee table, yet, nothing.

Gingerly, you make your way up the stairs, the balls of your feet never hitting the surface as you tiptoe slowly. You can’t understand why your mind went straight to a man murdering your lover while you were away, yet, your brain has conjured up this picture in your mind. The thought makes your heart pound and your throat go dry; if there was one person you couldn’t live without, it was Jaeyun.

“Baby, please answer me?” you say a bit louder at the top of the stairs, hoping he’ll respond and dispel any worries that are currently stabbing in your heart.

There is a soft flicker coming from your bedroom, a golden hue seeping through the glass pane at the top. It doesn’t smell like a fire, and you don’t own a lamp like that, so your curiosity is piqued. Your favourite scent of vanilla and amberwood engulfs the hall, causing you to drift rather than charge to your bedroom. The familiar fragrance calms your nerves, making you feel like you’re being welcomed home in the most intimate way.

Reaching for the door, you timidly open it, your hand trembling slightly. As the door creaks open, the soft glow of candlelight bathes the room in a warm, intimate atmosphere. The bed is adorned with fresh, crisp linens, and there are petals of your favourite pink and yellow tulips scattered over the floor. You’ve never been one for roses, and Jaeyun knows this, opting to get you only the best. The sight of the room, meticulously prepared, tugs at your heartstrings, filling you with a blend of love and anticipation.

You step further into the room, careful not to disrupt the scene before you. The effort Jaeyun has put into this is clearly extensive, and you would hate to mess with it before he has the chance to show it off to you. That does beg the question, though: where is he?

Just as you mentally ponder his whereabouts, you feel a pair of hands grip your shoulders, massaging you slowly. The sensation is different, though; it’s not Jaeyun’s normal soft touch. His fingers feel chunkier and are clearly covered by something. A shiver runs down your spine as the mystery deepens.

“I thought you were never coming home, baby,” he whispers into your ear, his lips softly grazing your lobe as he speaks. The sensation of his proximity and the lower octave of his tone instantly travels down to your core. There’s an edge to his voice that you’ve never heard before, making your pulse quicken with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

You twist your head to look at him, but the darkness of the room prevents you from fully seeing his beautiful, strong features, however, that big nose and blonde hair are still prominent enough to make you weak. What you do notice in addition, though, are the thick, black leather gloves that hold you in place. The sight of them makes your heart race; they add an unexpected, thrilling element to the scene.

In confusion, you reach up to touch them, the feeling of them oddly cool despite the heat invading both the room and your body. “Jaeyun, it’s like 16 degrees outside, why are you—”

“Shh, I’m doing something special for you. Just relax, Princess.” The use of “Princess” sends a jolt through you. It’s a term of endearment reserved for special occasions: birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays. It must mean you are either forgetting a crucial moment in your relationship or he’s up to something. Boyfriends don’t do “something special” without a reason.

Turning your body to face him, you eye him with intense scepticism. “What did you do wrong?”

He laughs, but it’s not his usual heart-warming giggle. It’s mocking, as if you have the nerve to ask the question. “Me? I think it was you who did something wrong, baby"

Okay, now you really are confused. There is nothing you have done wrong, and you know it. Plus, if you did, Jaeyun would whine about it to you right after and make you give at least three kisses as an apology. Now that you look at him, you take in his appearance. His beautiful blonde hair styled to fall just slightly over his usual puppy eyes, the water ducts of his eyelids are painted with a subtle liner, and there is a red tint to his lips, only making them more enticing. The cute boyfriend you love so dearly is nowhere to be seen, instead replaced by a smug-looking man with eyes glaring into yours.

What you don’t know is that Jaeyun’s heart is pounding in his chest, and the fire in his eyes is determined to see this plan through. He needs everything to go well, and that means staying in character and giving you the fucking you deserve, the one you crave so bad.

“What did I do, Jaeyun?” you ask a bit breathlessly, a frown forming on your face at the prospect of hurting your man. The idea of disappointing him gnaws at your heart, yet the unfamiliar intensity in his eyes sends a thrill through you.

It almost cracks Jaeyun’s well-curated persona that he spent all afternoon figuring out, from the white shirt with the collar open and the sleeves rolled up, the gloves on his hands, to the daring glint in his eye. He’s determined to give you everything your heart desires tonight. He softens his gaze, just a touch, and his hand gently runs over your cheek, the once thoughtful and endearing gesture now turned slightly sinister with the leather of the glove, the cracks bumping over your blushed skin.

“You did something bad, Princess, something I’m going to have to punish you for,” he replies to your question, never actually answering it but rather giving you more queries. His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument, and it makes your heart pound in your chest. You’re torn between trepidation and arousal, the lines between them blurring as you stand before him.

He takes his eyes off of you, giving up the harsh stare, and focuses on your work shirt. “Take it off,” he instructs demandingly, his eyebrows arching expectantly. His tone leaves no room for hesitation, and your hands move almost automatically.

Almost under a spell, you nod, fumbling with the top button. Your mind is racing with trepidation and nervousness as you try to process this new side of your boyfriend. You aren’t complaining; he looks fucking hot, and the way he’s directing you is making your legs shake in the best possible way. The atmosphere in the room is charged with raw, electric energy, every second stretching out with heightened anticipation.

He watches the first few buttons pop open, but you’re going far too slow for him, causing him to take action. He grabs the flimsy collar of your pink shirt, ripping it open with tenacity. Buttons fly across the room and clatter against the surfaces of the floor and the chest of drawers, your shocked gasp echoing the sound.

A smirk marks his face as he sees the pretty white bra holding your perfect tits up. He loves your body more than anything, and honestly, he isn’t thrilled about marking it up tonight. However, the more he thinks about it, something is enticing about the marks being made by him. His desire to please you is interwoven with a burgeoning sense of ownership and dominance, the sight of you laid bare before him stirring something deep within, the persona of being dominant now enveloping his whole demeanour.

“Are you wearing the matching panties?” he asks carefully, knowing full well you never leave the house in an odd set, scared of the bad luck it could bring.

Nodding, you already know what he is asking and unzip your black, matt skirt, letting it fall to the floor as you stand in nothing but the lingerie set you bought spontaneously, and by fuck are you glad you wore it today. It was not intentional, your expectations of coming home were not to this but rather a quiet night in the way you usually do, but something compelled you to the sexier underwear today. Perhaps in the back of your mind, you knew something special was going to happen.

Jaeyun takes you in, staring blatantly at your body and thinks of all the ways he is ready to take you tonight. He wants this to be the best fuck you’ve ever had and you are making it so easy for him to do so.

“Fuck, you are so beautiful, Princess,” he compliments, looking at you with hungry eyes. The gesture should make you feel insecure but it only fuels your need to have him closer. Blushing you look down, which he quickly rectifies, grasping at your jaw tight enough for you to feel commanded but not hurt, and brings his face closer to yours. “Get on the bed, on your knees and wait until I tell you to move.”

If your pussy could cry, it would. Your typical love-making boyfriend is now showing his more dominant side, and it’s driving you wild. You move to the bed, your legs feeling like jelly, and position yourself on your knees as instructed. The air is thick with anticipation, your body aching for his touch.

Jaeyun watches you, his eyes dark with desire. He takes a moment to appreciate the sight before him: you, waiting obediently, dressed in nothing but that perfect lingerie set. His heart pounds in his chest, a mix of love and primal need fueling his actions. He wants to make you feel things you’ve never felt before, to push the boundaries of pleasure and trust between you.

Walking towards you, he climbs onto the bed, positioning himself behind you. His gloved hands run down your back, the cool leather a stark contrast to your heated skin. “You look so fucking perfect like this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion and desire. The sensation of his gloved hands on your bare skin sends waves of pleasure through you, making you arch your back slightly, seeking more of him.

He reaches around to cup your breasts, squeezing them gently through the lace of your bra. The pressure is just right, enough to make you gasp and press back against him. “Do you like that, Princess?” he asks, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Yes,” you breathe out, the word escaping you in a rush of need.

“Good,” he replies, his hands moving to unclasp your bra. “I want to hear you tonight. I want to know exactly how much you’re enjoying this. And if I need to stop, say the word and I will.”

Before you can fully comprehend his words, Jaeyun reaches to the side of the bed, retrieving something. The air is thick with anticipation, the suspense almost tangible. The idea that your typically gentle boyfriend has transformed into someone so dominant is exhilarating. Your heart races as you wait for his next move, the atmosphere charged with excitement.

Suddenly, your hands are bound together with a silky pink ribbon. The fabric is soft against your skin, a stark contrast to the intense emotions bubbling inside you. A shiver of need runs down your spine, your breath hitching as Jaeyun tightens the ribbon around your wrists. This gentle restraint heightens your vulnerability, making you feel even more exposed and ready for whatever Jaeyun has planned.

He ties the ribbon into a delicate bow, his fingers moving with confident precision. The care he takes with each loop and knot sends a wave of warmth through you, reminding you of the love and trust that form the foundation of this intense experience, one you didn’t ask him for yet somehow he knew you wanted The bow rests softly against your skin, a symbol of the control you've willingly surrendered to him.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his voice filled with admiration and desire. Leaning in, his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, "You’re perfect like this, Princess."

His words send a rush of heat through you, particularly to your core, your body responding to the deep, commanding tone. Every touch, every whisper, ignites a fire within you, your anticipation almost unbearable. The sensation of being bound and at his mercy only heightens your arousal. This is what you have been craving and he is feeding you full.

Jaeyun's gloved hands move slowly over your body, exploring every inch of your exposed skin. The cool leather contrasts with your warmth, sending shivers of pleasure through you. He traces the curve of your neck, the swell of your breasts, and the dip of your waist, his touch both gentle and firm. Each caress leaves a trail of tingling sensation, your body hypersensitive to his every movement.

Kneeling behind you, his chest pressed against your back, he whispers, "You trust me, don’t you?"

"Always" you breathe out, your voice a mix of need and certainty. You trust him completely, ready to let him guide you through this new and exhilarating experience. Although you have always dreamed of this, you still don’t really know what to expect but if Jaeyun is on the other side of it, you feel more than safe.

His hands sliding down your arms to rest on your bound wrists. He holds them gently, the ribbon a reminder of your submission. "I’m going to make you feel so good, Princess."

His words are filled with love and adoration despite the commanding edge in his tone and grip. While he is playing the role of a dominant, the tenderness and affection he has for you remain palpable. He is still your loving boyfriend, and he will ensure you feel cherished and safe throughout this experience.

With a careful, guiding touch, he lays you down on your back, your bound hands resting against your stomach. He moves your legs so you're completely flat and comfortable against the mattress. The vulnerability of your position heightens your awareness of every sensation, yet you surrender yourself to him with ease, trusting him completely.

Jaeyun's smile is a mixture of pride and desire as he observes your obedience. He climbs over you, reaching for one of the candles on the bedside table. The soft glow of the flame illuminates his face, casting shadows that dance across his features, making him look even more enticing.

Sitting himself firmly over your core, he holds the candle above you, the wax slowly beginning to melt. The anticipation sends shivers through your body, the heat from the candle contrasting with the coolness of the room. This was something you always wished to try, granted, it was on him rather than you but you welcomed the experience nonetheless.

"Are you ready, Princess?" he asks, his voice a husky whisper filled with promise.

You nod, your breath hitching in your throat. "Yes," you manage to whisper, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement.

His eyes lock onto yours, ensuring you are fully present in this moment. "Tell me if it’s too much," he instructs, his tone softening for a moment. He wants to be rough with you but also let you know that you are in control to stop and go as you please.

"I will," you promise, trusting him implicitly.

With that, he tilts the candle, allowing a drop of hot wax to fall onto your bare skin, just above your breast. The sensation is sharp and intense, a sudden burst of heat that quickly cools, leaving a tingling trail of pleasure in its wake. You gasp, your body arching slightly at the unexpected sensation. Instinctively, your arms move to reach for him, but bound by the ribbon, all you can do is stretch them above your head, your fists clenching. There is nothing you can do because if you interfere, he will simply stop, and that is the last thing you want.

So, you bear the mingling pain and pleasure, wiggling under him with lust as your arousal soaks the freshly made bed. Each drop of wax is accompanied by the heat of the flame, adding to the wonder you are feeling. The mixture of sensations – the heat of the wax, the coolness of the air, the firmness of the mattress beneath you, and the weight of Jaeyun’s body – creates a symphony of pleasure that envelops you completely. Your breaths come in short, shallow gasps, your mind consumed by the intense, intoxicating experience.

Your legs kick involuntarily as he moves the candle lower, dripping the hot wax into your navel. The feeling is overwhelming over the sensitive area, making your whole body yelp and your hips buck up into him. Each new drop intensifies your arousal, your body responding eagerly to the mix of pleasure and slight pain.

Jaeyun's eyes darken with satisfaction at your reactions, his dominant persona growing stronger. The wax paints your body like paint on a fresh canvas, telling a story of your shared passion and want. The sight is so beautiful he can’t believe he created such a masterpiece.

Satisfied with his work, he sets the candle aside and runs his gloved hands over your body, tracing the cooling trails of wax with a gentle touch. The contrasting sensations of the smooth leather against your heated skin make you shiver, your body hypersensitive to his every touch.

"You're doing so well, Princess," he praises, his voice a low, soothing rumble that sends waves of pleasure through you.

His hands move lower, parting your thighs as he positions himself between them, his body sleeking to lie half on and half off the bed. The anticipation is almost unbearable, your body aching for his touch, for his tongue. He leans down, his breath hot against your core, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest.

Nothing makes you happier than when Jaeyun is between your legs and that skilful tongue of his is making you cum over and over again. With your hands tied to grant you just enough freedom, you reach down into his hair and grasp it, guiding him closer to where you need it most.

“Jaeyun, please, I need you so bad,” you whimper, the tone of your voice desperate and needy much to his satisfaction.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "God, I love it when you beg," he murmurs, his lips curling into a knowing grin. If there is one thing he always makes you do in the bedroom, it’s begging, and fuck does he eat it up every single time.

Without an ounce of hesitation, his mouth descends upon you, his tongue circling your clit with fervour, his lips creating a comforting cocoon around his actions. The grip on his blonde hair is harsher than before, your fingers threading through with ease as you push him further into your heat, his nose subsequently grazing just above where he is focusing. The sensation sends shivers down your spine, each flick of his tongue sending pulses of pleasure through your body.

His still-gloved hands grip your thighs and push them apart, holding you wide open for him as he sucks and licks with velocity. His eagerness to please you is seeping through, the boyfriend that you know and love with a need to make sure you’re receiving the most intense experience of your life. The leather of his gloves against your skin adds an unexpected thrill, a reminder of the control he holds and the lengths he is willing to go to make you feel incredible.

Sucking on your bud, his eyes glance up at you with a mischievous glint, watching your every reaction. The connection between you deepens, a silent communication passing between you, the love he has for you evident in the sparkle you see flash before you. Your breath hitches, and your back arches off the bed as his tongue works its magic, each movement precise and deliberate; your body is his instrument, and he is playing it masterfully, drawing out notes of ecstasy that resonate in your very core.

Your moans grow louder, more desperate, filling the room with the sounds of your pleasure. Jaeyun's grip on your thighs tightens, his determination evident in the way he devours you. He knows exactly how to push you to the edge, his tongue and lips working in perfect harmony to bring you to the brink of orgasm.

"Please, Jaeyun," you gasp, your voice barely a whisper, laced with need.

His response is a deep, satisfied hum against your clit, the vibrations adding another layer to your mounting pleasure. The combination of his skilled mouth and the teasing flicks of his tongue drive you wild, your body trembling with the intensity of your arousal.

Just when you think you can't take it anymore, he increases his pace, his tongue moving faster, his suction stronger. The world fades away, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of his mouth on you, the heat pooling in your belly, ready to explode.

With a final, powerful suck, he sends you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing with pleasure, your moans turning into cries of rapture. He doesn't stop, prolonging your climax, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you're left breathless and spent.

Jaeyun laps up all of your juices like a dog craving water in the summer sun, his eyes closed to enhance his senses as he cleans you up. He loves nothing more than eating you out, seeing it as an honour rather than a chore. The taste and smell of you drive him wild. He continues to slurp your essence, even though you’re squirming each time the tip of his tongue drags along your clit.

“Jaeyun, it’s too much,” you gasp as he nibbles around your sensitive area, each touch sending shivers through your body.

Removing his face from your cunt, he licks the wetness from his lips with a sadistic smirk, his eyes predatory and ready to ravage you at any moment. The intense gaze makes you shudder with longing, the need for his cock so obvious that you’re moving down with your legs, your pussy chasing his still-clothed erection.

But Jaeyun has other plans, much more sinister plans.

“Don’t be so needy, Princess,” he growls, slapping your pussy once and snapping his fingers. “Move up.” The command in his voice leaves you no room for error or hesitation. You move up, the restraint on your wrists making it a little more difficult than anticipated.

As you lay your head on the soft pillow that carries his scent, Jaeyun smiles in satisfaction, reaching under the bed to find something. If it’s anything like the silk ribbon that is still bounding your wrists, you’re excitedly awaiting the reveal. The prolepsis is almost too much to bear, your heart pounding in your chest as you watch him find exactly what he is looking for.

When his hand re-emerges, it holds a knife: the handle thick and enticing, the blade sharp and dangerous . Your eyes widen in a mix of fear and excitement, your breath catching in your throat. This is all you’ve ever wanted, a fantasy you’ve kept hidden, and now it’s coming to life. How did he know?

The sight of the silver glinting in the candlelight sends a thrill through you, your body trembling with a potent blend of arousal and trepidation. If there was one thing you never expected Jaeyun to do, it was this. Often, he would apologise during sex if he pressed into you too hard, so you can’t understand what the sudden change is about.

Tying you up, slapping your pussy, all of that you could understand, none causing enough damage to scar you, yet the knife he wields is an instrument meant to deface you in some way, to hurt you which is exactly the opposite of anything Jaeyun has ever wished to do upon you.

Rolling the knife between his covered fingers as though it is a drumstick, he looks at you menacingly. “Does this shit turn you on? A knife?” he scoffs at the question he doesn’t expect an answer for. “It can do so much damage yet you finger yourself over the thought of it, don’t you?”

All the novels you’ve read suddenly come rushing back but you swore you never spoke to him about this before. Knives aren’t exactly a common bedroom item so for him to know this tiny detail about your fantasy is so…

…The phone call. He did hear it.

Your heartbeat quickens with a mixture of love and anxiety. Jaeyun is doing all of this for you because of what you said, going to extraordinary lengths to fulfil your desires. Most wouldn’t care to cater to your wants, yet here he is, stepping out of his comfort zone just to please you. The realisation floods through you, bringing a wave of gratitude and affection.

Jaeyun notices the shift in your expression immediately, smiling knowingly. “Oh, yeah, I know all about your twisted fantasies,” he smirks, pointing the knife to himself. At first, panic grips you, fearing what he might do, but to your relief, he catches the blade on his shirt and drags it down with force, ripping the material effortlessly, and leaving his torso exposed. “And I’m going to make sure every single one of them comes true.”

Taking in the sight of his abs, you whimper, longing to touch them, yet you resist, keeping your hands firmly above your head in obedience. Jaeyun’s body causes butterflies to erupt in your tummy, the movement stirring your arousal even more.

He brings the knife to your chest, pressing ever so lightly. He spent considerable time practising the pressure of the blade on various objects, ensuring he wouldn’t hurt you in any way. His meticulous preparation is evident as he caters to your needs without going too far.

Your lungs tighten as you feel the cold steel between your breasts, the sharp tip piercing just enough to feel it but not cutting you. The sensation is electrifying, a blend of fear and excitement that heightens every nerve in your body. Your breaths come in shallow gasps, your chest rising and falling rapidly under his touch.

“Just breathe, Princess,” Jaeyun murmurs soothingly, his voice a gentle counterpoint to the sharpness of the knife. His eyes never leave yours, maintaining a connection that grounds you even in the intensity of the moment. The trust between you is palpable, a silent understanding that he will never truly harm you.

He moves the blade with precision, tracing patterns over your skin, each touch sending shivers down your spine. The cool metal contrasts with the heat of your body, creating a tantalising mix of sensations that leaves you breathless. Your nipples harden, the chill of the knife adding to your arousal.

Jaeyun’s eyes darken with desire as he watches your reactions, his own arousal evident in the bulge pressing against his trousers. The power he wields, the control he has over your pleasure, fuels his own need despite his own worries, making him more determined to give you everything you desire.

The knife slides down to your stomach, pressing lightly against your navel. The sensation is both thrilling and terrifying, your body trembling under his ministrations. You can feel every inch of the blade’s journey, the delicate pressure a reminder of his control and your submission. The cold steel creates a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your body, each touch sending shivers down your spine.

“Is this what you wanted, Princess?” he asks, his voice a seductive whisper. The intensity in his eyes makes your core tighten, your need for him overwhelming. The power dynamic between you amplifies your arousal, each moment of vulnerability intensifying the bond you share.

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe out, swallowing air as your mouth dries up in complete lust for the man. The anticipation and desire build within you, each second stretched taut with expectation.

Jaeyun pouts mockingly, the corners of his lips curling into a teasing smile. The blade digs a tiny bit deeper, just enough to nick your skin but not draw blood. The sharp sting elicits a gasp from your lips, a mix of pain and pleasure that sends waves of heat through your body. The sensation is electrifying, your senses heightened by the thrill of the knife's edge and the knowledge of Jaeyun’s precise control.

His eyes never leave yours, the connection between you unbreakable. The trust and love you share make this moment possible, allowing you to surrender completely to his whims. His free hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips tenderly, a stark contrast to the harshness of the blade against your skin. The leather of his glove traces your lip and you suck on it gently, sparking a twitch in his cock.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re like this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “So perfect.”

His words, filled with adoration and possessiveness, send another wave of arousal through you. Every touch, every word, is a testament to his dedication to you, his willingness to explore your deepest fantasies.

His lips lean into yours, the edge of the blade now scarily close to your tender area. You quiver, scared yet enthralled at the idea that one move could change the pace of this night. His plump lips peck yours, leaving you longing for more, but he is already pulling away, sitting back up and looking thoughtfully at the knife in his hand.

“It’s strange that you crave this. I’m still trying to understand what it is about it that you love so much,” he questions, the shine of the steel hitting the candlelight once more. “Is it really better than my cock?”

You shake your head frantically, never wishing to set doubts into his head about his ability to please you. That cock has done more for you in the two years you have been together than anyone has ever done in your life. The planets that rocket has taken you to is more than you could ever wish for, no kink could ever top it.

Swiftly, he flicks the knife in his hand, the blade digging into his glove. To be fair, the whole reason he put on the gloves was exactly for this reason. Initially, he was going to spread you open and fuck you with it handle first just like in the books he skimmed on TikTok, but as he kneels between your thighs, power in his hands, he realises this is his opportunity to show you just how little you need this to satisfy you.

Licking his lips, he drags the handle down your slit, causing you to mewl out in want. At this point, you’ll take anything, all the teasing from him and greed to be fulfilled inside your body is too much to ignore. You need to be stuffed by something and you need it now.

The curve of the haft sits teasingly at your entrance, begging to be inside you, or rather, you’re begging it to be inside you. Your hips lift instinctively, seeking the pressure and the pleasure that promises to follow. Your breaths come in short, desperate gasps, your eyes locked onto his, silently pleading for release.

Jaeyun’s eyes burn with an intensity that matches your own. “You want this, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. The way he looks at you, with a mixture of dominance and affection, sends shivers down your spine.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Please, Jaeyun, I need it.”

His smirk widens at your admission. “Too bad, Princess,” he suddenly chucks the knife away, the metal clattering against the floor as it slides out of reach. Your eyes widen in shock and confusion, a whimper escaping your lips at the unexpected turn of events.

“But-” you begin, your voice cracking with desperation. Jaeyun silences you with a finger pressed to your lips, his expression softening just a fraction as he leans in close.

“Trust me,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “I know what you need more than you do.”

With that, he shifts his position, his body pressing you down into the mattress with a delicious weight. He whips off his gloves and his bare hands roam your body, fingers tracing over your sensitive skin, sending sparks of pleasure wherever they touch. The sensation of his skin against your flesh is intoxicating and desperately what you need, heightening your awareness of every movement.

Jaeyun’s mouth moves down, his lips enveloping your breast, taking a nipple between his teeth and tugging lightly. You gasp, the sharp pleasure shooting straight to your core, your hips lifting instinctively to seek more contact.

“Jaeyun,” you moan, your voice a desperate plea. In response, he lavishes attention on your other breast, his tongue flicking over the hardened peak, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

“I love it when you say my name like that,” he growls against your skin, his hands moving to grip your hips with a possessive intensity, just harsh enough to bruise you tomorrow. “Give me your wrists.”

Obliging, you offer your tied hands, presenting them as though they are a gift from you to him. The look in his eyes is fierce and tender all at once. He takes one of the ends of the bow, biting it gently before pulling, undoing his knot from earlier. The scene before you is so sensual that a tear rolls down your cheek, falling onto the bed beneath you.

The ribbon falls between you, resting on your body adorned with drops of wax. Jaeyun leaves it there, loving the way it decorates your skin. His eyes trace the path of the ribbon, admiring the contrast against your flesh.

He leans down, kissing the tear-streaked path on your cheek. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his voice a mix of awe and adoration. “And you’re mine.”

His words send a shiver through you, the possessiveness in his tone amplifying your desire. His hands slide down your sides, fingers tracing the curves of your body with reverence. Every touch and every movement is deliberate, designed to heighten your pleasure.

Jaeyun’s lips follow the path of his hands, trailing kisses down your stomach, pausing to nuzzle the delicate skin just above your navel. His breath is warm against your skin, the sensation sending sparks of anticipation through you.

“Tell me what you want, Princess,” he murmurs, his voice a seductive growl. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I want you,” you breathe out, your voice trembling with need. “I need you inside me, Jaeyun.”

He smiles, already on his way to unbutton his slacks and take them off, trying his best to do it gracefully while still kneeling on the bed. Once his cock is free, his right hand grasps it firmly, stroking it with laziness.

The tip of his cock looks so delectable, the red, angry tip is begging to be satisfied, meaning he is enjoying this just as much as you are. Holding you steady, he positions himself between your thighs. The anticipation is almost unbearable, your body aching for his touch, for the feeling of him filling you completely.

“Please,” you beg, your voice breathless with need. “I need you, Jaeyun.”

“More than a knife?”

“Fuck the knife, I only want you, baby. Forever,” you whimper out, your pussy instinctively bucking up to find his cock, like two magnets destined for one another, just like your hearts. Never in your dreams did you think you could find a man like him, someone so easily willing to love you and everything you are, even the desires you hold deep in your heart.

His eyes gleam the same way they do when you tell him you love him or leave him to go to work. It’s adoration and acceptance that runs constantly throughout his blood and bones. The connection between you is palpable, a silent agreement that no matter where your fantasies take you, the love and trust you share will always bring you back to each other.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Jaeyun eases into you, the feeling of him stretching and filling you is pure bliss. You both let out a collective sigh, the initial penetration electrifying every nerve in your body. The sensation of him inside you, coupled with the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress, is overwhelming in the best possible way.

“God, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice thick with gratification. He pauses for a moment, allowing you both to savour the connection before he begins to move.

His thrusts start slow, each one measured and deep, designed to draw out the pleasure and build the anticipation. Your hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you arch your back, meeting each of his movements with equal fervour.

The room fills with the symphony of your passion, the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, the creak of the bed, and your shared moans of ecstasy. Every thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, your senses heightened, your body responding to his every touch.

“Jaeyun,” you gasp, your voice a breathless plea. “Harder.”

His eyes flash with a primal intensity, and he complies, increasing the force and speed of his thrusts. The bed shakes beneath you, the headboard tapping rhythmically against the wall as he drives into you with a fierce, unrelenting pace.

You grip the sheets tightly as the tip of his cock bruises your cervix, his hips moving with pure desire. This is the hardest he’s fucked you in his life, the grip on your waist and the powerful thrusts enough to leave marks. His lips devour yours in a passionate kiss, adding to the perfect blend of love and rawness you’ve been craving.

Tears well up in your eyes as he takes you to greater heights than anyone has before. You've never needed elaborate kinks to feel satisfied; you just needed Jaeyun. Yet, as he dominates you now, you realise how intoxicating his control can be. Maybe he could adopt this dominant persona more often because he is undeniably skilled at it.

Every movement, every touch, and every word from him ignites a fire within you, building towards an explosive climax. The room echoes with your shared moans, the bed creaking in protest as he thrusts into you relentlessly. Each sensation, from the sting of his bites to the deep ache of his penetration, pushes you closer to the edge of euphoria.

As your bodies meld together in passion and rhythm, you feel a deep connection that transcends mere physicality. It’s a dance of trust and desire, a symphony of pleasure orchestrated by the man who knows you intimately. In this moment, wrapped in his arms and lost in the ecstasy of his love, you realise that Jaeyun is not just fulfilling your fantasies - he’s surpassing them, guiding you to realms of bliss you never dared to imagine.

“I’m close, Princess,” he mutters, his head burying deep into your neck as his hips falter slightly.

You nod eagerly, your nails digging into his back to convey your urgency, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. His cock feels so snug inside you that when you tighten involuntarily at his words, he’s drawn deeper into your depths, unable to resist your passionate grip as you cascade violently into orgasm.

“Fuck, Jaeyun!” you scream, your mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut, surrendering to the overwhelming wave of pleasure that engulfs every one of your senses. The intensity of your release leaves you trembling, your body quaking with the aftershocks of ecstasy as he continues to drive into you, prolonging your shared ecstasy.

In the midst of your euphoria, you feel Jaeyun’s own climax building, his movements becoming more urgent and erratic. His moans mingle with yours in a symphony of shared pleasure, the culmination of desire and connection that binds you together in this intimate moment.

As he finds release within you, his body stiffens with the force of his orgasm, his breaths ragged against your skin. He drawls out a long and desperate ‘fuck’ as he released his seed inside of you, painting your walls a pretty shade of white, the warmth of his cum somehow a soothing balm over to your shaking rapture.

Both of your hearts are racing as you come down, each of you just lost in sloppy kisses and hands roaming over one another. This was easily the most intense orgasm you have ever had thanks to the build-up that Jaeyun has provided and he feels the exact same way.

In the quiet aftermath, as you lie entwined and breathless, you revel in the depth of your connection with Jaeyun. Each gasp and whispered declaration of love reaffirms the bond you share, a bond forged through trust, intimacy, and the unrivalled pleasure of loving each other completely.

You look at him, his eyes still dazed but present. “I’m sorry you heard that phone call. I promise, I love you so much and you are enough for me, I don’t need anything more than I just need you.” You hope the words come across as sincere and heartfelt because you mean every syllable of it.

aeyun’s expression softens as he reaches out to cup your cheek, his touch warm and reassuring. “I know, Princess,” he murmurs, his voice tender. “I love you too, more than anything. Nothing can shake what we have. I just wanted to make sure you knew that I can do more if you just ask.”

His words sink deep into your heart, reminding you of his unwavering commitment and willingness to fulfil your desires. You feel a pang of regret for not confiding in him sooner, for letting fear hold you back from sharing your deepest fantasies with the man who loves you unconditionally.

“That’s the thing,” you say softly, your fingers lightly tracing the contours of his face. “I was afraid. Afraid that if I told you, it might change things between us. I love you so much, Jaeyun, and the thought of losing you scared me more than anything.”

Jaeyun’s gaze holds yours with such tenderness that it melts away your remaining doubts. “You’ll never lose me, Princess,” he reassures, his thumb brushing over your lips. “I want us to explore everything together, to share in each other’s desires and pleasures. Your happiness means everything to me.”

His sincerity washes over you like a soothing wave, filling you with a sense of relief and newfound courage. You realise now that true intimacy lies not only in physical connection but also in emotional honesty and vulnerability.

“I promise to communicate better,” you vow, meeting his gaze with determination. “To trust in us, in our love, and to share everything with you, no matter how wild or unconventional.”

He laughs heartily, his pretty teeth coming into display as he shakes his head. “I’ll do whatever you want, baby. Just say the kink and I’m there.”

You nod and press your lips against his, your body instinctively laying upon his, your thighs now straddling his side as your tongue explores his mouth with fervour. You hope everyone in the world gets to experience the love and trust that you and Jaeyun have,

Drawing back, he looks at you a little seriously, causing you to sit up straight. “We do need to talk about your computer password being Lee Jaeyun’s birthday and not mine,” he says half jokingly, half serious

Narrowing your eyes, you look deep into his. “Now, how do you know what my computer pin is?”

Instead of giving you an answer, he pulls you in closer, enveloping your lips with his as he swirls his tongue gently with his, hoping to distract you from the question It should only take a few more orgasms to make sure you never remember the question, saving him the scolding he would get for checking your password.

Maybe he’ll gag you this time, just in case.

perm taglist: @immortalvee @sunpov @heeseungspookie @strawberrysavi @monstanctiny21 @diorsyun @heexzbae @pockettwinzz @yzzyhee @baekhyunstruly @zeeloveshee @haechonly @berryblog @emi-en @no-mannerism @jaehoonii @notevenheretbh1 @iikeustar @shawnyle @addictedtohobi @jiminie-08 @emberuby @nctislifue @lilyuwon @skzenhalove @heeshlove @idkdykilr @chocminteu @y4wnjunz @rikibun @ivesti @parksunghoonsgf @branchrkive @brownsugarbaybee @xxbluestrifexx

#enhypen smut #enha smut #jake smut #jaeyun smut #enha x reader #enhypen x reader #aj writes #enhypen hard hours

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orchidbreezefc · 5 months

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ok. years have passed and we've had some distance, so i'm finally gonna take the leap of faith that tma fandom is finally ready to hear me on this. let's talk about tannins.

161 was the first tma episode i heard on early release, and i felt the bit where martin declines wine and cites tannins was pretty obvious in its implications. cool, got it, say no more.

imagine my surprise when i was one of maybe three people i saw read between the lines there, in a fandom famous for red stringing--a fandom that immediately caught the much less obvious thread of ignition sources in the same episode. i'll spell it out: alcohol is an issue for martin.

maybe it just felt obvious because addiction is a pet issue for me--as it is for jonny, who has said everything he writes is filtered through a lens of addiction. i don't know if that's due to his own experience or a loved one's, and i won't speculate; i also don't know if martin personally struggled with drinking or just avoids it for fear he would, but alcohol would fit what we know of his family. his dad walking out and his mum spiralling into bitter wallowing and verbal abuse? i'd bet one or both of them drank, yeah.

on a basic level martin tries to decline alcohol, and that alone should have raised eyebrows given what we know of martin and, again, a fandom that dissects everything. we already knew martin "K" blackwood lied about his personal life and his family in particular, especially pre-canon, which is when this flashback took place. i was shocked that everyone took his flimsy excuse at face value with no further questions.

and the excuse is flimsy. martin turns down wine by--nervously--exclaiming tannins are "a proven headache trigger!" which sounds like trivia from a magazine cover and not the words of someone who actually has headaches--and it hasn't come up before or since. jon, confused, points out that tea, a drink martin consumes to a degree that is memetic both in- and out-of-universe, also contains tannins, and martin squawks a panicked, "what?!"

if tannins are enough of a concern for martin that he knew they're in wine and so avoids it, why didn't he know they're in his drink of choice? why does he still drink tea at the time of canon, and why doesn't he struggle with constant headaches from consuming 'a proven headache trigger' day in and day out? why, indeed, would someone avoid wine and not tea?

when sasha insists martin drink he caves and agrees to 'just a drop'. i imagine him pouring it in a plant, which admittedly he could have done if tannins really were the issue. i will say that i, for one, would be less likely to falsely agree to something that makes me physically ill than to a private issue that i'd rather not be pressed on any further. this scene also establishes martin's birthday was an ice cream party instead of the more traditional visit to a pub.

also, this scene was in the first episode of the final season, as one of three flashbacks that could have been to any pre-canon event in the archives. prime narrative real estate. not really time one would waste on establishing the important character context that martin has... headaches. which never comes up before or after, even regarding the week he spent in spiral town. but you know what is pretty crucial character background...?

it felt like a no-brainer, and yet all i saw was h/c fluff about jon attending to martin's headaches. and i hate feeling bitter about disability representation. i want folks with chronic headaches to feel seen and have fluffy escapist fantasies. i don't want to be mad about people portraying a character with a disability. but, guys? you got the wrong disability. jonny sent a clear message, and it went over fandom's head.

#martin blackwood #tma #the magnus archives #tma meta #the magnus archives meta #tma 161 #mag161 #sage speaks #sage original post #meta #im sure others caught it that i didnt see but listen. i was DEEP in the fandom. people getting it made up maybe 1% of the response i saw #and i had people fighting me for saying it #alcohol cw #alcoholism cw #addiction cw #greatest hits #wonderful news: tma fandom WAS ready to hear me say this!

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 5 months

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1.8k / 24 / soap soulmate au, part 4

...

Price takes a seat opposite you. Ghost stands behind him, massive arms crossed. Price folds his hands together.

"Tea?" he asks.

You say nothing.

"Ghost, go get us some tea."

Ghost leaves. Price examines you, drumming his fingers against the table. He acts friendly. But he's not playing. You have no doubt he'll extract the information he needs by any means necessary. You need to make sure he doesn't figure out which of your buttons to press.

"You're Soap's girl," he says.

You say nothing. His stare presses in on you as heavily as the silence, pushing your back into your seat.

"Who is he to you?"

You shift, uncomfortable in your chair. "A stranger." You roll your shoulders as if trying to shrug off the implications. "An enemy, ostensibly."

Price leans closer. "You kiss your enemies often?"

Not until Johnny walked into your patrol path.

"Left quite the impression on Soap. You made a bit of a mark on Ghost, too. Not that it’s hard." Price leans back, giving you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "He’s got a soft spot for Soap, hm? So he doesn't want you hurt. Doesn't want Soap put out."

You remain silent, but it doesn't seem to bother him. He studies you, utterly calm. He's trying to read you. It's obvious he has some kind of game plan, and now he thinks you have one, too.

"Weren't quite planning to walk into someone like him, were you? Things happened, didn't they? Things you had to work through."

"No."

"Really. 'Cause with the way you're acting, I'd wager you had different plans for yourself. Now you're all twisted up in this. Plans got ruined because he came along. Maybe you've got your own plans, hm? Got a whole life back home. A career, clearly. Nice little house. Maybe you've got a boyfriend already."

"What do you want?" you grit out.

"Access, love," he says, like this whole interrogation is just a pleasant chat. That new base of yours, the one Graves commandeered. How do you like it?"

"Barely seen it."

"I imagine you're rather busy lately, then. Lot on your mind. Shepherd must have you working hard." You notice a muscle twitching in his jaw. He has an iron grip on his temper. "But you saw enough of it to get a good look around, hm? The layout, the security, the systems. Tell me about it."

"I don't know anything."

"Nothing?" He leans forward again. He doesn't seem to like that answer. "The security cameras. The guards. The patrols. The sensors." His voice is low. "You don't know anything about those?"

"Didn't ask."

"Hm." His shoulders lift in a slight shrug as the expression on his face hardens further. "You didn't ask." He repeats. "Didn't ask. Didn't ask..." Then he pauses, staring through you. He leans back again. "No, of course not. You follow orders. You do your job. Can't fault you for that." He speaks with a cool tone, but there's a tightness in the lines of his jaw as he says it. "And now you're here and your buddies are gone. Just you. The only target left." He lets the silence stretch out. "Do you think Graves'll come for you?"

"No."

"Hm. Why not?"

"I'm a nobody."

"Hmmmmm." His smile doesn't change, but the lines around his eyes shift as if he finds that amusing. "And you're perfectly content with that? With knowing that when you walk into that base every day, you'll just be another body for Graves to throw onto the heap?”

You hold his gaze. "Yes."

"You don't think you're worth more than that?"

You say nothing.

The smile is still there, but his eyes narrow. He's judging you. Judging your worth. You hold his gaze. He seems to recognize something in you--that you're telling the truth. You know what you are. You're a mercenary. You're expendable.

"You must have a low opinion of yourself." He sighs, crossing his arms and settling a little further into his chair. "You've accepted you're not walking out of this base, then."

You nod.

Price examines you, eyes narrow and intense. Peeling you apart. You're certainly not an idiot. Smart enough to know you're expendable; loyal enough to take orders, keep your mouth shut, and follow through without asking questions. Not the type of soldier he prefers, but in the right hands, you'd be lethal.

Tough to crack, too. He rubs his chin. Hard to threaten someone who doesn't have anything to lose.

Two sharp knocks on the door herald Ghost, who slips back inside and closes the door. He's not carrying tea.

"Might want to pick up the pace," Ghost says. "Soap's back."

You stiffen, as much as you try not to show it.

Price's gaze flicks over to you, noting the tensing of your shoulders. "He knows?"

"Affirmative, sir. Someone outside must've seen her mark and tipped him off."

At that moment, there's a banging on the door. Johnny's voice echoes from the other side. "LT!"

Hearing it is a punch to the gut.

Soap keeps knocking. "Ghost, get yer lyin' arse out here!"

Price looks at Ghost and nods toward the door. "Go on, then, handle it."

Ghost curses under his breath and slips outside.

"Hell's fuckin' bells, LT, what's goin' on?"

Ghost's reply is too low and muffled to catch.

"Busy with what?" Soap snaps. "I know she's here. I need to see her."

Ghost's reply this time sounds harsher.

"Like hell I'm not. That's my goddamned soulmate, aye? My girl. I've got a right to see her. You'll not keep me from the one person in the whole bloody world that's mine."

"Captain's interrogating her." Ghost's tone is low and loud now, a warning. "You don't get special privileges with her."

Soap lets loose a string of colorful curses. You can make out roughly half of them through his accent. "What does Price think she's got that's so bloody important I don't get to know about it?"

"She's a Shadow, Johnny. Chrissake."

"Aye, an' she's in that room goin' it alone. She needs me."

Your heart twists in your chest, and it forces out a breath you didn't know you were holding. It's eating at your resolve. Just hearing him speak about you is making you want things you shouldn't. He sounds like he wants to protect you. Like you're worth something to him. You try to shake it out of your head. You're a prisoner here. This isn't a love story. He doesn’t love you. He doesn't know you.

Then you look up, and your blood goes cold. Price is staring at you, and he's smirking.

His eyes move over you, dissecting you piece by piece, and you feel your expression revealing too much. He saw your mask slip. He saw what you're concealing.

"I'll be damned." His smirk grows. "I thought Shadows were all cold-blooded bastards."

Your mouth twitches like it wants to bare teeth. "Go to hell."

"Ghost," he calls mildly at the closed door, "get in here. And bring Soap, would you?"

No no no no. Panic washes over you. You pull at your cuffs, feeling yourself lapse into a freeze response. Not Johnny. You can't face him. You try desperately to get a grip on your body's reaction, to remember your training.

You turn your head away from the door and fix your eyes on the opposite corner of the room. Among the many rifles and launchers racked on the walls, you find a pistol and you concentrate on it as hard as you can. You study the polish smudged near the mouth of the barrel. The scarred grip.

Behind you, the door opens.

Soap is across the room in moments. He kneels next to you, his hands falling to your arm, to your shoulder, your neck. His thumb brushes across one of the many cuts on your cheek.

You feel outside of yourself. Soap seems too fixated on your state of being to notice.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ. What did you rat bastards do to my girl?" he growls.

"She did this to herself," Ghost says. He puts his hand on Soap's shoulder. "And we need her restrained while we question her--"

"Back off," Soap warns, brushing his hand away. "Am not dealin' with you right now."

Price cuts in, voice firm. "Soap, cool off. Now."

Soap's temper flashes hot. His jaw clenches. His muscles tense. But he takes a deep, steadying breath. "Aye, Captain," Soap says. He straightens up, his hands falling away from your face. But it's clear his blood is still simmering. "Permission to remove her cuffs."

"Negative," Price says. Soap starts to say something, but Price cuts him off. "No. She's unpredictable. You know that as well as we do. We can't afford to trust her until we understand what Graves' orders are."

Soap curls and uncurls his fists, evidence of the sheer will he's exerting to keep his feet planted where they are. "And what do you expect me to do? Just leave her here? Not say a word to her?"

That smirk curls Price's lips again. "Quite the opposite. I'd like you to do the talking for us."

Price stands and gestures to Ghost again, and Ghost guides Soap by the shoulder over to him. Soap resists on principle for a moment before his mind catches up and he walks stiffly to the other side of the table.

“She has information we need," Price says. "Alejandro, remember? Once that's squared away, we'll need no hostage. You understand me?"

There's a beat of silence.

"You want me to interrogate her," Soap says.

"I want access," Price replies.

"And once I have the information?"

"Then she’s all yours. You can do whatever you like. Let her go. Hell, drive her to the airport if you want. But until then" --Price's hand lands on Soap's shoulder and pushes him down into the interrogator's seat across from you-- "she doesn't leave this room. You understand?"

You feel Soap's eyes on you.

"Fine. I'll do it. But it's gotta be me and her. No one else. You let me do my job the way I know it needs to be done."

"Hm." Price glances at you. You're still concentrating on the pistol on the far wall. "That's just fine. Ghost, let's give 'em some time alone."

Ghost follows Price out of the room, closing and locking the door behind them.

"Sir?" Ghost's voice is low and uncertain.

"Trust me, Soap is the leverage we needed. He'll do just fine.”

Ghost is quiet for a moment. "If he keeps his head on straight."

Price hums in agreement, his smile genuine now. "If he keeps his head on straight."

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / [part 4] / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12

more Soap / masterlist tag

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solbaby7 · 6 months

Note

If ur still taking requests can i ask for azriel x reader. Where reader and Az are newish friends. One day Elain asks reader for help on how to please a man (I imagine elain always on her back 🤷‍♀️). Reader asks elain if its to show Az and elain just blushes sweetly saying "maybe". Reader being a girls girl shows elain how to be ontop and how to do other favors like if they were besties. ( idk if uve seen game of thrones but a girl shows khalessi how to ride khal drogo. The girl straight up straddles her with clothes on of course, And shows her. I have it in my head that while reader straddles elain Az walks in and is like 😮😮). Readers a bit jealous cuz she has a mini crush on azriel but doesnt show it. She sees elain with some hickies and what not and she decides she cant be around Az anymore (hurts too much blah idk lol). Az is like wtf! Turns out that Elain was asking for sexy help for lucien!!! Doesnt have to be detailed smutty at all, whatever ur comfortable with is cool with me. Oh btw i so so loved that possessive toxic azriel fic u posted the other day. 🫠🫠🫠 🥵🥵🥵

I love love love love love this idea! So happy you requested it🤍💗

—

Teach Me

azriel x reader

[ part 2 ]

“Well—can you help me with that?” A furious blush fans across Elain’s cheeks, eyes wide and hands fumbling at her sides. Dainty fingers dig into the intricate lace detailing of her dress, nails raking over the pattern in attempts to calm the racing of her heart.

“You want to know how to please a male,” You repeat gently, slightly shocked after she’d timidly slipped into your bedroom with flushed cheeks and sweaty palms. It took Elain ten whole minutes to reign in her rambling until she’d finally blurted it out. “Anyone in particular?” She doesn’t meet your eye, shifting her weight from foot to foot and your stomach rolls at the turn your mind takes. Elain had been spending a lot of time around Azriel; afternoons spent tending to the garden and evenings were blocked off to trail behind as she baked some new sweet treat. “Az, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Elain mutters softly, subtly taking in the contents of your room. The pictures propped against your side table and the endless jars and creams stacked neatly on your vanity. “Can you please teach me?”

Pushing side your curiosity, you offer an encouraging smile, patting at the spot beside you on the bed. “Come here.” The first step is hesitant and so is the one that follows but Elain still finds herself following the gentle command and complying even further when you urge her to lie back. You can feel her thighs shake when you swing a leg over to straddle them but the trembling subsides when you adjust her hair and straighten out her dress. “Sex is like a dance.”

Immediately, she’s hooked, hanging onto every word as if you were the Mother herself coming down for a personal visit. Briefly, Elain’s gaze flicks to the door, shoulders relaxing when noting its shut and locked; curtains drawn and the fireplace crackled with life. The smell of you is everywhere. Something light yet memorable, soft and elegant, classic and slightly sweet—soothing in every way. “A dance?”

“It starts off slow,” You begin, a sliver of your abdomen exposed in your Night Court attire. A breathable onyx top that seemed to wrap around your chest like a bandage, blending into a lighter material that was slightly see-through. “Lingering glances from across the room, the heat of feeling his eyes watching you long after you’ve looked away.” Her confusion is palpable in her furrowed brows and slight pout. “Love always begins in the eyes—I’ve heard of women who’ve finished males with nothing more than their gaze alone.”

“Finished?” Your brow raises, a teasing smirk accompanying it and the implication alone has Elain’s cheeks rosy once more. “Oh, gods. I don’t think I’m capable of anything like that.”

Your fingers trace along the length of her bare arms, holding her hands and guiding them to the sides of her head as you hover, voice low. “You are a woman. You’re capable of anything.”

Elain swallows thickly, taking in the words as if it were the first time she truly wanted to believe them. “What if he doesn’t like it? Like me or the fact that I’m not very experienced.”

“They don’t care about if you have experience or not. They simply desire what they’ve never had.” She hangs onto every word, analyzing the way you guide her through the motions of what she’d do. Talking her through the scenarios on how she’d touch; when to kiss and gently tug at hair. Eventually the blushing becomes less frequent, Elain’s eyes fluttering closed as she visualized it, working through the new feelings that brewed at the thought of being able to use such teachings.

“And they like that? Us on top?”

“If you like it then they’ll love it.” You rest her hands at your waist, demonstrating the sensual rocking of hips going back and forth. “Fae males are not like the human men you were accustomed to—all sweet and gentle. Fae’s fuck. They take control,” You’re still above her, watching as her thoughts race a mile a minute, thick lashes fluttering before she moves in a flurry. Quickly the position is changed and while it’s a little sloppy, Elain was obviously paying attention as she hooks her leg over your thighs the same way you had hers. “Good job—exactly like that.”

She lets out a laugh, seemingly surprised in her own actions but the thrill of it all is evident across ethereal features. “My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest.”

“Breathe through it and always remember that no matter how highly you think of him in your mind, no matter how highly others think of him—in that room, he belongs to you. There for you to do as you please and if you’re ever uncomfortable you can always say no. You can always stop no matter how far you’ve gotten.”

Elain nods in understanding, dainty fingers barely gripping at your wrists. “Thank you for this. I don’t know what I’d do if—just, thank you.”

She lingers a tad longer, following every instruction you give and just as you’re about to correct her, your door creaks open. A familiar voice calls out your name, shadows slinking across the wallpaper but they freeze once they take you in—sprawled out against the bed with Elain straddling you, hands pinned by your head.

“We were just—“ Elain scrambles off of you, cheek and chest a furious red as her mouth opens and closes; unable to come up with a reasonable explanation before she’s sliding past Azriel and rushing down the hallway.

“Most people knock.”

But Az wasn’t most people. You’d been friends for years and long since had he forgone the formality of knocking before entering. He hasn’t moved an inch, still donning his fighting leathers and surely he must’ve just rushed in from flying because his hair was a fucking mess. Inky strands lay messily atop his head, flopping over his forehead and teasing the thick of his brows. “What was that?” A finger points in the direction Elain had just disappeared off too and you’re unable to explain why such anger swells in your gut—all too aware of the fact that another female would be using your moves on him.

Seducing him in a manor that belonged to you but would never actually be you.

“Just wait a little, I’m sure it’ll make sense soon.” Confusion sweeps over the angles of his face at the vagueness of your words, skewing the corners of his mouth and you have to physically tear your eyes away before you did something stupid. Like, kiss him. You suck in a sharp breath, a hand curling around the doorknob. “You should get to bed, Az. It’s late.”

You can’t bear to see the look on his face when you close the door on him but it was for the best. It was one thing crushing on him while knowing he wanted another. But it was more complicated now, teaching the object of all his desires exactly what to do to him—how to please him and draw out the sounds you’d been dreaming about for decades.

You flop down on your bed, nose scrunching at the lingering smell of Elain on your pillows.

Sleep doesn’t grace you with her presence that night, instead offering a series of scenarios of what could be happening a few hallways down.

Elain’s back two days later, a goofy grin spread across her cheeks and a line of hickeys branding the side of her neck in a way that makes your stomach turn. It takes everything in you to hide the jealously, to smooth over the embarrassment of ever possibly thinking that Azriel would go for you when he had a blushing Archeron hanging off his arm. “I take it that it went well.”

“More than well,” Elain confessed, dressed in a pale shade of green with ivy’s laced into the thin sleeves. “It was perfect—everything was perfect thanks to you.” She continues on, divulging naughty details and devastating descriptions of Azriel’s fingers grazing at bare skin, the tickle of his hair against her cheek, the warmth radiating from his body when the nights chill became too much. “I’d always heard whispers about the males of Autumn but you guys really weren’t joking,” Your head tilts to the side at that certain detail, brow quirking and your spoon halts its swirling about the teacup. “Fire really does run through their veins.”

“Autumn males?” Your hair flicks behind your shoulder with the wild way you turn to face her, arms crossed loosely over your chest. “You were with Lucien last night?”

Elain nods with a knowing smile growing at the corner of full lips, the tulle of her dress shifting obnoxiously when she takes a seat on your bed.

“I guess I just assumed you’d be with Azriel.”

“Not quite my type,” She replies wistfully, gaze far away as if she were reminiscing on the night before and the male involved. “He’s yours though,” It’s not a question but a statement, thrown out there as if it were a known fact amongst others and you were the last to be let in. “—you like him.”

The teacup pressed to your lips muffles the words but Elain still understands perfectly clear. “”He’s my friend.”

“Friends don’t really look at friends the way he looks at you.” You swallow audibly, attempting to hide your interest and yet it’s the quick flick of your eyes that gives you away. “It’s exactly as you said the other night,” Elain raises from the bed, a gentle hand trailing up your arm the same way you’d done to her. “Love always begins in the eyes. Just look at him—really look at him and see what’s right in front of you.”

Your hands tremble in your lap and for the first time in a very long while, it was you that felt like the blushing virgin searching for answers and not knowing where to look. “I don’t think I’m capable of handling what I might find.”

“You are a woman,” Elain softly answers. “You’re capable of anything.”

#acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x you #azriel #acotar azriel #azriel x you #azriel fluff #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar smut #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #az smut #azriel smut #elain archeron #acotar

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fairyhaos · 2 months

Text

◈ right next to the heart // chwe hansol

vernon x gn!reader, 1.9k+ words

tags: requested by @weird-bookworm, non-idols au, established relationship, hurt/comfort

warnings: pet names (darling), food mention

notes: writing this made me realise that writing hurt comfort where yn is in the wrong is so rare,,, but this was so entertaining to write ^^

“You’ve been ignoring me all day.”

Hansol looks up at you from his bowl of dumplings and shrimp tempura that he’d been ready to devour before you’d spoken. Today is Chinese takeout day, and he’s been craving tempura for ages.

“Um.” He sets down his chopsticks, seeing the upset frown on your face. “No, I haven’t?”

It seems to be the wrong thing to say, because you frown even further, face scrunching up in annoyance. “Yes, you have. When was the last, actual conversation we had today?”

The question sounds rhetorical, but you’re staring at Hansol like he needs to give an actual answer, so he swallows unsurely, thinking back.

It’s a Saturday, so both of you have been at home, doing nothing but having a chill day. That morning, however, you’d come up to him whilst he was lounging on the couch, informing him that you didn’t feel too well so you planned to lie in bed for most of the day.

“Okay,” Hansol had said, looking up at you worriedly. “Is everything alright?”

He’d sat up, reaching upwards to feel your forehead, but you’d shaken your head and waved his concern away.

“I’m fine. I’m not, like, sick. I just feel a bit down? So I’m going to stay in bed.”

Hansol had nodded at that, understanding. “Okay. Just let me know if you need anything.”

You’d promised you would, and that had been the last he’d seen of you.

That interaction seems to be the correct answer, so Hansol turns to you, blinking a little unsurely. “Uh, when you told me you wanted to stay in bed this morning? You weren’t feeling too good.”

“Oh, so you do remember,” you say, sounding both irritated and upset, and now Hansol is most definitely lost. “If you knew that I was having a bad day today, then why did you purposefully ignore me? Do you really care so little about me?”

Your words hit him like a punch to the throat, and Hansol feels so startlingly hurt by your statement that he can’t say anything back, mouth hanging open in shock, astounded.

His Chinese takeout is now completely forgotten, the mood souring so abruptly and he doesn’t feel like eating anymore. Not with the way you’re looking at him, with the words that you’d just uttered that leave him reeling. He never imagined that you'd say something like that to him.

You scoff as his mind stays completely blank, still in shock.

“You can’t even say anything in your defence, can you?” You roughly stand up from the dining table, chair scraping against the floor and storm off, all the way back to your room. The sound of you slamming the door echoes throughout the apartment.

Hansol still sits there, feeling confused and… very hurt. He doesn’t know what he did wrong. He doesn’t know how your mind jumped to the conclusion that he doesn’t care about you, which is so wrong on so many levels that he feels his heart squeezing painfully at the implication that he did something to make you think that way.

But the pain is kind of offset by the fact that Hansol doesn’t know what he did. Why are you acting like this?

He can’t very well get the answers he’s looking for by just sitting there and not talking to you, so he stands up too, and makes his way to your room.

“Y/N,” he says, knocking on your door. “Y/N, hey, talk to me. What are you talking about?”

“Go away,” is your muffled reply. It sounds like you’ve buried your face in the cushions. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Y/N,” Hansol repeats, “please talk to me. I’m sorry you feel like this, okay? But I don’t know why you’re upset. I need to know what I did wrong. Please open the door and talk to me.”

You stay silent.

Hansol sighs. He raps his knuckles against your door again, contemplating, before deciding to pull out his most effective tactic.

“Darling,” he says, very quietly. “Darling, please, can we talk about this?”

You love pet names. Love the corny affection of it, how it’s like a special name for your significant other. Hansol doesn’t really understand the appeal, because he prefers to say your name over anything else, but, well. He loves you. He’ll do anything to show that he loves you, always.

“Please open the door for me, darling.”

There’s a very long moment where he thinks you’re still refusing to budge, but then the doorknob turns very slowly, and you open the door a sliver.

Hansol puts his hand on the door, opening it just a little more so he can look at you properly, see your face better. You won’t look at him, head tilted down sullenly, but Hansol opens his mouth and begins to speak anyway.

“You said that I’ve been ignoring you. What makes you think that?”

He can see you clench teeth, jaw set tight. You still don’t look at him.

“Why do you care?”

“I—” Hansol sighs, tired, and pushes open the door fully, before stepping into your room and dragging you over to sit down on the bed. “Why are you acting like this?” he asks, once both of you are seated.

You’re still steadfastly refusing his gaze, so he brings a hand to your chin and forces your eyes upwards.

“Why?” he asks again. “What is making you think that I no longer care about you? You told me you were having a bad day, Y/N, so I let you stay in bed and relax. Why does that make you think I’ve been ignoring you?”

“Because you were!” you burst out, waving your hands angrily. At least you’re keeping eye contact, now, burning with upset. “I was having a bad day, and what did you do? Leave me to rot in my room all by myself! You left me alone, Hansol, and ignored me!”

Hansol blinks, dumbfounded. “You never asked me to stay with you,” he says back. “I told you to shout for me if you needed anything, but you didn’t, so I thought you were fine.”

You huff, irritated, like Hansol is the one acting unreasonably here, and he’s beginning to feel a little like he’s being wronged.

“You’re my boyfriend,” you say, like it’s obvious. Your eyes look glassy. “You should know these things about me, and be there for me without me even asking!”

And then, like you’ve had enough of this conversation, you get up from the bed and storm out, again. Hansol rubs his eyes, feeling drained. He understands that you’ve been having a bad day, which is made obvious by how something as little as this is making you explode in his face.

He feels bad for you, of course, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel incredibly frustrated with the way you’re acting. None of this is his fault.

“Y/N,” he says despairingly, getting up to go look for you once more. “Y/N, come on, we really need to talk through this. You’re not being fair.”

“Just leave me alone,” you say, voice floating through the apartment from the living room, and he enters to find you sitting on the couch, hugging your knees. There are tears now running down your cheeks, eyes beginning to get all puffy, and you frown at him as he sits down next to you.

Hansol looks at you, and then looks away. He reaches over for the box of tissues kept on the coffee table, and hands one to you. You look down at it, before reaching over for the box and getting a tissue yourself.

He tries not to feel too slighted by the obvious snub, and folds up the tissue to put into his own pocket. And then he continues to sit there, observing you quietly as you blow your nose and rub at your eyes, still crying silently.

After a few minutes, you look over at him with puffy eyes. “What are you doing?”

He shrugs, a little meek. “I’m trying not to leave you alone.”

You give a watery huff, trying to scowl even as your lips tremble, and you look down at your knees once again. You’re not in a mood to talk—he’s accepted that. But he’ll just wait until you are.

───────────── 📼

It takes almost half an hour, but eventually you wipe your eyes for the last time, take a deep breath, and turn around on the couch to properly face him. Hansol immediately snaps to attention, turning his body to face you too.

“Sorry,” you mutter, sullenly. “I was being a brat.”

He sighs. “You were,” he admits, not unkindly. “I’m just your boyfriend, darling. Not a mind reader. There’s always going to be stuff that you need to tell me about, if you want something. I can’t automatically know things all the time.”

“Yeah, I know, I just—” You scrub your eyes, shoulders slumping. “I’ve been having a really bad day. It’s no excuse, I know,” you add, before he says anything, “but it’s been really, really bad, today.”

Hansol nods sympathetically, and reaches over to pat your hair. “I know. And I want you to tell me that, so I can help. We need to communicate this stuff to each other.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay. I should’ve told you instead of just blowing up all in your face like that,” you say, and your eyes flick up to look at him. “I’m sorry. I really, really am.”

You say it so quietly, no trace of any lingering anger or sulkiness in your tone, and Hansol kind of melts. He’s always been soft for you, and it’s evident now as he instantly opens his arms for a hug, letting you press up into him, face buried into his shoulder.

“It was really stupid of me to think that you’d just read my mind,” you say into the fabric of his t-shirt. “I’m so sorry, Hansol. And—god, I’m so sorry for saying that you don’t care about me. I know you do, so much, all the time, and I’m sorry for saying that. It’s not true, and I know it.”

“Hey, hey,” Hansol says, rubbing circles into your back to calm you down before you can work yourself up any more. “It’s okay. It’s okay, darling, I know.”

There comes sniffling sounds from below his chin. “I’m sorry.”

He smiles. “I know that too. And I forgive you.”

You sniff again. "You forgave me way too easily," you say, guiltily, words all blurred with remorse. "You always forgive people so easily."

He pats your back slowly, and he can't explain it, but his heart swells a little at your words. Something about the softness of your tone, the acceptance that you've done something to hurt him, the genuine guilt and also the love... You're essentially berating him for being too forgiving, but all he can think about is how much he loves you.

"Maybe," he says, as nonchalantly as he can with the affection blending into his voice. "But I still forgive you."

You make a soft noise at that, before burying yourself to hide further in the crook of Hansol’s neck, and he lets you.

“Hey,” you say after a moment, soft. “I love you.”

Hansol smiles, the genuine affection in your words saying more than what those mere eight letters can convey. He kisses the top of your head.

“I love you too,” he returns, and pulls away a bit so he can see your face, tilting your head up so that you make eye contact. His eyes are focused on you, gentle and kind. “Let’s communicate with each other more about this stuff, yeah? I don’t want you to think that I don’t care about you again.”

There’s a moment where your eyes search his, darting back and forth before you smile, and lean back into his arms.

“Don’t worry. I already know.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @haodore @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit

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binks-brew-co · 3 months

Text

Honestly I think when the TwiYor reveal happens, that Yor is going to be less upset that Twilight lied to her and much much more about the implication that he’s not actually doing everything for Anya out of pure parental love. She knows he’s in a fake marriage and that she’s complicit in it - apart from the whole Garden vs. Wise and "traitor" thing, I don’t think that would bother her that much. But the entire time she’s been under the impression that 1) Anya is Loid’s biological daughter and 2) that all his harshness and strictness with Anya is ultimately for her own good (e.g. he intrinsically wants her to get good grades, make friends, etc.). Of course, we as the audience know that Twilight has come to care about Anya deeply and actually does want those things for her. But imagine not being privy to that internal journey, then suddenly finding out that your model for good parenthood has other motivations and is using your beloved daughter to further his own (essentially political) aims. While Yor is using the family for her own aims, she’s not using Anya, which is a major difference between her and Twilight. Yor also has no idea Anya joined the mission willingly, and since Twilight doesn’t either, he can’t use that argument to defend himself

I’m expecting this to be a major source of conflict post-reveal (possibly even the defining conflict of the series - can love shine through the layers of deception?). The only way I sense they’ll get out of this is Twilight somehow breaking down, fully recognizing that he does care for Anya as more than a tool, and his actions somehow indirectly revealing it to Yor. Or perhaps her intuition is strong enough to recognize that Twilight’s full of shit and he does love his family, but given her track record with overprotectiveness of children and difficulty discerning true intentions, I doubt that

#either way Endo’s cooking #and also ooof #usually a OP blog but their found family has entranced me #loid forger #twiyor #loidyor #spy x family #spy x family anya #yor forger #anya forger #sxf

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transform4u · 4 months

Text

The Society: Chad

The heavy, oak door creaked open as Eric stepped into the dimly lit room, his heart pounding with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. The invitation had been mysterious, arriving in an unmarked envelope with a gold-embossed seal. It spoke of a society that could help him achieve his greatest ambitions. Despite his reservations, Eric's drive to effect meaningful change compelled him to investigate further.

The room was lavishly decorated, a stark contrast to the dim lighting. Rich, mahogany walls were adorned with intricate tapestries and portraits of men from various eras, their eyes seeming to follow him as he moved. At the far end of the room, a long table stretched out, laden with an array of decadent food and drink. At the head of the table sat Jason, his youthful visage betraying an ageless wisdom. His eyes, sharp and knowing, locked onto Eric with a calculating intensity.

"Welcome, Eric," Jason said, his voice smooth and commanding. "We've been expecting you."

Eric hesitated, his instincts screaming caution, but he was determined to see this through. He had faced tougher crowds and more hostile environments in his political career. Taking a deep breath, he crossed the room and took a seat opposite Jason.

"You've come a long way, my friend," Jason continued, leaning forward. "Your work in New York has not gone unnoticed. Your passion, your dedication to equality and justice—these are qualities we value deeply in The Society."

Eric frowned slightly, unsure where this was leading. "Thank you, but I'm not sure what this has to do with your... organization."

Jason's smile widened, a glint of something almost predatory in his eyes. "The Society exists to elevate men, to help them achieve their fullest potential. We believe in harnessing the unique strengths of individuals like yourself to create a better world. But sometimes, the path to greatness requires a transformation."

"Transformation?" Eric echoed, his unease growing. "What kind of transformation are we talking about?"

Jason stood and began to pace, his movements graceful and deliberate. "We use a blend of ancient practices and modern techniques, a touch of the occult, to help men tap into their deepest strengths. It's a process, but I assure you, the results are extraordinary."

Eric's skepticism was evident, but he couldn't deny the allure of the promise. "And what do you expect in return?"

"Your loyalty, your commitment to our cause," Jason replied smoothly. "We have the power to amplify your voice, to expand your influence far beyond what you could achieve alone. But you must be willing to embrace the change."

A shiver ran down Eric's spine. There was something both thrilling and terrifying about the proposition. He had always believed in the power of transformation, in personal growth and evolution. But the idea of subjecting himself to the unknown methods of The Society was daunting.

"And if I refuse?" Eric asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

Jason stopped pacing and fixed Eric with a piercing gaze. "If you refuse, you continue on your current path, making incremental changes, fighting battles one at a time. But if you accept, you gain the power to reshape society on a grand scale."

The weight of the decision hung heavily in the air. Eric's mind raced, considering the implications. He had dedicated his life to making the world a better place, to fighting for those who couldn't fight for themselves. The opportunity to amplify his efforts was tempting, almost irresistibly so.

With a deep breath, Eric nodded. "Alright. I'll do it."

Jason's smile was almost triumphant. "Excellent. The process will begin immediately. Trust in the journey, Eric. The man you will become is someone you could never have imagined."

As the shadows in the room seemed to deepen and swirl around him, Eric couldn't shake the feeling that he had just crossed a threshold from which there would be no return.

As the room’s ambiance grew more surreal, a conservatively dressed man approached Eric, carrying a silver tray with a single, ornate goblet. The liquid inside shimmered with an ethereal glow, casting faint, dancing reflections on the dark wood of the table.

Jason gestured toward the goblet. “Drink, and the transformation will commence.”

Eric took the goblet, its cool metal sending a shiver through his fingers. He hesitated for a moment, then, with a resolve born of desperation and ambition, he brought it to his lips and drank deeply. The liquid was surprisingly warm, with a rich, spicy flavor that seemed to ignite a fire within his chest.

Almost immediately, Eric felt a strange sensation ripple through his body. His heart began to race, and he gripped the edge of the table to steady himself as an intense heat spread from his core. He watched in awe as his arms began to bulge, muscles swelling and expanding, veins rising to the surface of his skin. His fingers, once slender and artistic, thickened, the nails becoming more rugged and defined.

His shirt strained against his growing frame, seams stretching and then tearing as his chest broadened and his shoulders widened. He could feel his spine straightening, his posture shifting from the slightly stooped stance of someone always leaning over books or a guitar to the confident, commanding presence of an athlete. Eric’s legs, too, transformed, his thighs and calves gaining definition and power.

As the physical changes continued, Eric glanced at his reflection in a nearby polished surface. He watched, mesmerized, as the lines and wrinkles that had begun to mark his face vanished, replaced by smooth, taut skin. His features, once gentle and expressive, sharpened into a more chiseled, rugged handsomeness. His hair, which had started to show the first hints of gray, darkened to a rich, youthful hue.

Eric’s breathing quickened, a mix of exhilaration and fear surging through him. He flexed his hands, feeling the newfound strength coursing through his body. The sensation was intoxicating, yet disorienting. He looked down at himself, hardly recognizing the muscular, youthful figure he had become. His clothes, now in tatters, hung loosely from his transformed frame.

“What’s happening to me?” Eric gasped, his voice deeper and more resonant than before.

Jason’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “You are becoming your most powerful self, Eric. The potential that lay dormant within you is being unlocked. Embrace it.”

Eric took a step back, nearly stumbling as he adjusted to his altered center of gravity. He felt a rush of conflicting emotions—pride in his newfound strength, confusion at the rapid changes, and a creeping sense of loss for the person he once was. He touched his face, his fingers tracing the unfamiliar contours of his jaw and cheekbones.

“Is this really me?” he murmured, a mixture of wonder and trepidation in his tone.

Jason nodded. “This is the beginning, Eric. You are now in a position to wield the influence and power necessary to reshape society. The Society will guide you, but it is up to you to harness your potential.”

As the initial shock of the transformation began to wear off, Eric felt a burgeoning confidence rising within him. He straightened to his full height, feeling a sense of power and capability he had never known before. The memories of his former self—his ideals, his passions—remained, but they were now infused with a newfound vigor and determination.

“I… I think I understand,” Eric said slowly, his voice steadying. “I can do more. Be more.”

Jason’s smile was approving. “Exactly. You are now ready to embark on the next phase of your journey. The Society will support you, but remember, true change comes from within.”

Eric nodded, feeling a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. He glanced once more at his reflection, a sense of awe filling him at the sight of the powerful, confident young man staring back. The transformation was complete, but his journey was just beginning.

As he followed Jason out of the room, Eric couldn’t help but feel that his life, and his mission, had irrevocably changed. The world would soon meet a new Eric—one who was ready to seize his destiny and reshape the world in ways he had never before imagined.

As Eric stepped out of the dimly lit room, he was led into a spacious, opulently furnished lounge where several men were gathered, engaged in animated conversation. Their attire ranged from tailored suits to casual yet expensive-looking attire, each man exuding confidence and authority. The air was thick with the aroma of cigars and expensive whiskey, adding to the heady atmosphere.

Jason introduced Eric to the group, who greeted him with hearty handshakes and claps on the back. He could sense their approval, their eyes appraising his transformed physique. They began to talk, their voices a mix of joviality and intensity.

“So, Eric,” one man said, offering him a glass of whiskey, “what do you think about the state of masculinity today?”

Eric took the glass, his mind still buzzing from the transformation. He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I think it’s important to have a balanced approach, respecting everyone’s rights and identities.”

The men exchanged glances, a few smirks playing on their lips. Another man, broad-shouldered and brash, leaned forward. “Sure, but what about real men? Guys who aren’t afraid to speak their minds, take charge, and push back against all this politically correct nonsense?”

Eric felt a flicker of discomfort but also a strange pull. He had always believed in respectful discourse, yet there was something compelling about the raw confidence these men exuded. “I suppose there’s value in being direct and assertive,” he conceded.

The conversation shifted, each man sharing his vision of the ideal fraternity—a place for strong, outspoken men who didn’t shy away from controversy. They painted a picture of a loud, boisterous brotherhood, where camaraderie was forged through shared challenges and unfiltered honesty.

“We need leaders who aren’t afraid to ruffle feathers,” one man declared. “Someone who can handle the banter, the parties, and still keep everyone in line. A real alpha.”

Eric found himself nodding along, the initial resistance in his mind weakening. The more they spoke, the more their words resonated with a primal part of him. His memories of advocating for inclusivity and respect seemed to blur, replaced by an emerging desire to fit in with these powerful men.

Another man chimed in, his tone conspiratorial. “Think about it, Eric. A leader who can throw back shots, tell it like it is, and doesn’t give a damn about stepping on toes. That’s what we need. Someone who can rally the guys and lead by example. No more of this sensitive, touchy-feely stuff.”

Eric felt a strange warmth in his chest, a sense of belonging he hadn’t realized he was craving. The idea of leading such a group, of embodying this brash, unapologetic masculinity, began to appeal to him. His thoughts grew clouded, his previous convictions fading like a distant dream.

“Yeah,” Eric found himself saying, a new conviction in his voice. “Guys need to be able to express themselves without holding back. It’s about being real, being honest.”

The men cheered, raising their glasses in a toast. “Now you’re talking, Eric! Welcome to the brotherhood.”

As the night wore on, Eric’s transformation continued, not just physically but mentally. His language grew coarser, his laughter louder. He found himself embracing the crude jokes, the competitive banter, and the boisterous energy of the group. The liberal ideals he once held dear seemed naïve and distant, replaced by a burgeoning belief in the raw, unfiltered masculinity these men championed.

By the end of the evening, Eric felt like a different person. The gentle, artistic politician from New York was gone, replaced by a loud-mouthed, confident young man who was ready to lead this new fraternity. He reveled in the approval of his new peers, eager to prove himself in this new role.

As he left the lounge, Eric’s thoughts were consumed with plans for the future. He envisioned a fraternity that was strong, outspoken, and unapologetically masculine. He would be the leader they needed, the one who could bring their vision to life. And in doing so, he would reshape not only his destiny but the very fabric of society.

The Society had succeeded in molding him into their ideal—an agent of their grand design, ready to fight for what they deemed the proper way of life.

The following morning, Eric—or “Chad” as the men had started to call him—awoke in a luxurious suite, his mind foggy from the previous night’s revelry. The remnants of his former self felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by the new, overpowering personality that had emerged. He glanced in the mirror and saw not the thoughtful, compassionate politician, but a rugged, muscular young man with a carefree, almost vacant expression.

He flexed his biceps, admiring the bulging muscles and feeling a surge of pride. The faint echoes of his past ideals and passions were buried deep beneath layers of newfound bravado and arrogance. His once bright, earnest eyes now gleamed with a mischievous, almost predatory glint.

As he joined the other men for breakfast, the transformation was complete. They greeted him with hearty slaps on the back and crude jokes, which he met with a dumb, hearty giggle that surprised even himself. It felt good to be accepted, to be one of them. He reveled in their approval, the camaraderie intoxicating.

“Morning, Chad!” one of the men called out. “Ready for another day of setting the world straight?”

“Hell yeah, bro!” Chad replied, his voice booming with newfound confidence. He downed a shot of whiskey that was handed to him, not even flinching at the burn. “Let’s show these losers how real men roll!”

The men laughed, a raucous sound that filled the room. One of them, a burly guy with a thick beard, leaned over and started telling a crude, homophobic joke. Chad felt a flicker of something—perhaps a distant echo of the old Eric—but it was quickly drowned out by the need to fit in, to be part of the group.

As the punchline hit, Chad let out a loud, stupid laugh, slapping his knee. The others roared with laughter too, and he felt a twisted sense of pride at their approval. The thoughtful, compassionate Eric who had championed civil rights and equality was gone, replaced by this new persona that thrived on crude humor and superficial charm.

Throughout the day, Chad’s behavior continued to reflect his transformation. He ogled women openly, making lewd comments and reveling in the attention he received. His interactions were marked by a blatant disregard for the respect and equality he once fervently championed. Women were now mere playthings, objects for his amusement.

He started filming TikTok videos with the other guys, their content filled with dumb, crude jokes and obnoxious behavior. They staged pranks, made sexist comments, and mocked those who didn’t fit their mold of “real men.” The videos quickly gained traction, their follower count skyrocketing as they played to the lowest common denominator.

One afternoon, as they lounged around a pool, filming yet another video, Chad caught a glimpse of his reflection in the water. For a fleeting moment, the face staring back at him was not just the brash, muscular frat bro but also a faint echo of who he used to be. The guitar-playing, theater-loving advocate for equality and justice. But as quickly as the thought came, it was drowned out by the booming laughter of his new friends and the thrill of their approval.

“Yo, Chad, get over here! We need you for this next prank!” one of them called out.

Chad grinned, letting the remnants of his former self slip away completely. “Coming, bro!” he shouted, rushing over with a swagger.

The transformation was complete. The sweet, compassionate Eric was gone, replaced by a 22-year-old, dumb-as-nails frat bro who lived for parties, crude jokes, and superficial thrills. The Society had molded him into their ideal—a loud, obnoxious figurehead for their new frat house, ready to spread their vision of a “proper” way of life. And Chad embraced it all with open arms, leaving behind any trace of the man he once was.

He now stood tall and broad-shouldered, his muscular frame a testament to hours spent at the gym, sculpting his body into a vision of hyper-masculine strength. His biceps bulged under the tight sleeves of his shirt, and his chest stretched the fabric to its limits.

Gone were the casual, artistic clothes Eric used to favor. Chad’s wardrobe was now a gaudy display of designer brands and ostentatious style. Today, he wore a skin-tight, bright red polo shirt with a large logo emblazoned on the chest, the buttons straining against his broad pectorals. Around his neck hung a heavy, gold cross necklace that gleamed under the light, a symbol of his newfound conservative identity.

His jeans were equally tight, designed to show off his muscular legs and sculpted rear. They were distressed, with strategic rips that highlighted his tan skin. On his feet, he wore expensive, brightly colored sneakers that added an extra inch to his already imposing height. His belt had a large, flashy buckle, the kind that drew attention and signaled his new, brash persona.

Chad’s face had undergone just as dramatic a change. His once gentle, expressive features were now sharp and defined. He sported a meticulously groomed chinstrap beard, a style that framed his jawline and added to his overall look of a stereotypical douchebag. His hair was gelled back in a style that screamed for attention, perfectly complementing his overall appearance.

A pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses often perched on his head or over his eyes, completing the ensemble. His skin had a perpetual tan, either from hours spent in the sun or a tanning booth, further enhancing the look of a man who prioritized appearances above all else.

Chad’s demeanor matched his appearance. He moved with a swagger, his every step exuding confidence and arrogance. His loud, boisterous laughter often filled the room, accompanied by crude jokes and derogatory comments. He reveled in the attention and admiration of his new peers, basking in their approval.

To those who knew Eric, Chad was unrecognizable. The sweet, thoughtful young politician who once championed equality and social justice had been completely replaced. Chad was now the embodiment of the Society's ideal—a straight, Republican douchebag with big muscles, gaudy clothes, a cross necklace, and a chinstrap beard. He lived for the parties, the attention, and the superficial thrills, leaving behind any trace of his former self in the process.

#gay to straight #nerd to jock #muscle #transformation

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badgerbl00d · 8 months

Text

one piece boys rescuing you pt. 2

☆ characters: sanji, kidd

☆ up next: waking up with the one piece boys

☆ summary: you end up in an awful situation where your life is put in serious danger. will they be able to save you in time?

☆ content: physical violence, slight SA implications, gory imagery (blood, wounds, injuries, etc.), mutual pining, angsty, happy ending, mdni

☆ a/n: i am the proud leader of the scottish!kidd agenda and like to imagine him using scottish slang and having a thick accent so this required some extensive research into scottish swear words lol. chebs (tits) is my favorite. enjoy!

part 1

Sanji:

Zoro nodded, wordlessly, resting against the doorframe.

“Careful you don’t catch her in the crossfire.”

Sanji said nothing. He opened the door and walked in, closing it behind him.

For the first time in his life Zoro’s presence brought him a degree of comfort. He knew he could handle whatever awaited him by himself, but he would be a fool to deny that the swordsman was further guaranteeing your safe return home.

He descended a small set of stairs into a dark, damp basement. The walls were lined with a sickly yellow mold and the smell of rot had sunken into the cracks of concrete, filling the room with the thick, metallic smell of drying blood.

His stomach churned knowing that you were somewhere here.

A door lay slightly ajar at the end of the hallway, pale yellow light pouring out from it.

He approached the door, pushing it open with his free hand.

Merde.

He was greeting with a sight that made his head spin in a way it never had before. He steeled himself, biting back the urge to vomit at the sight of what they had done to you.

Five or six men, whose faces he didn’t care to look at, stood around the room surrounding you.

The outer corners of the dirty cloth that had been wound around your mouth as a gag were soaked through with blood. Sanji felt heat climbing up his throat and settling into the space behind his eyes translating itself from mere anger to blind fury.

Your hands were bound too tightly behind your back leaving your elbows bending at unnatural angles and your shoulders jutted forward as though they were being torn out from your skin.

He began to undo his tie, watching from the corner of his eye as one of the men- the apparent leader- began loading his gun. His breath was shaky and uneven, the inhales and exhales never dealing with an equal amount of air.

He never took his eyes from you as you doubled over and took small gasps of air. In the midst of his disbelief he made a mental note of each injury you seemed to have. Broken wrists, dislocated shoulders, broken ribs, cuts and bruises covering most of you- the most upsetting of which were the purpling fingerprints around your neck.

He would return every injury done to you tenfold. As he took another inhale from his cigarette he realized that you were losing blood from another wound to your side.

The few-days-old injury to his left eye, bloodied and mushed, the broken finger on the hand wrapped around his gun, the dried trickle of blood pouring out of his left ear.

Atta girl. He knew you wouldn’t have gone down with a fight. Sanji took a moment to glance at the others in the room, all bearing similar injuries, and couldn’t help the smirk that settled onto his face.

One of them said something, perhaps a snarky remark meant to question his confidence, or an insult meant to diminish it. He wasn’t sure. Nothing other than you was registering in his blurring mind.

It was the sound of a faint drip, drip, drip that sealed their fate.

As Sanji turned to see your tears hitting the floor his vision blacked.

He felt the unfamiliar feeling of hot blood covering his hands- the very ones he’d sworn to never use in battle.

The feeling of flesh tearing beneath his fingernails, his fingers grabbing whatever mass they could get their hands on and tearing.

You turned your head toward the floor, trying to block out the sounds of gore and violence that echoing within the four damp walls that had held you prisoner for the past two days- not because it scared you, no. But because you did not want to face the pure satisfaction that the scene unfolding before you brought. It was too much to watch someone else carry out the revenge that was rightfully yours.

You laid your forehead against the cold floor, sweat dripping from your forehead. God, you were exhausted. You let your body hand limp, allowing yourself to rest as best you could now that Sanji was here.

You weren’t positive- the old digital clock that was on the desk in the corner seemed to not work properly- but by the time Sanji finally stopped, bending down to wipe the blood off of his hands onto the shirt of one of the men, you guessed that thirty six-ish minutes had passed.

You held still as Sanji undid the restraints against your hands, letting yourself fully fall onto the floor.

You sighed, savoring how good it felt to feel the cold, wet cement pressing against your shaking body. The floor, which for days you had been dangled over, teased with, now welcoming you onto it.

A warm, sticky hand under your chin broke the pleasure. Sanji tilted your chin slightly upward to look at him.

“Mon coeur,” he said, voice shaking.

“Sanj’,” you responded, closing your eyes and resting your head into his palm.

“Can you sit up? I’ll carry you out.”

“I can stand,” you said, more aggressively than intended. But you didn’t need to be treated like you were fragile. The fact that you were even alive was a testament to that.

Sanji drew back, offering you only a silent hand in case you needed any assistance getting to your feet.

You struggled, taking deep breaths as you shakily made your way onto aching feet, feeling like a thousand nails were being screwed into your skin.

Sanji tucked a hand under your armpit, resting it gently against your hips- your ribs were too cracked to risk applying any pressure to your sides.

You winced, eyes shutting as you let the ebbing pain pass through you, placing one foot in front of the next.

You made it to the door before you spoke.

“Let me have a smoke, will you?”

You reached for the cigarette between his lips before he could answer and took a deep inhale, ignoring the hot white pain that seared through your chest as you did.

One of your captors, the one who tied you up, was lying by the door. Eyes open and glazed over, mouth swelling like a dead fish left out in the hot sun.

You bent down, enduring the pain sent by your body, a desperate attempt to make you stop moving.

You pushed the lit cigarette into your captor’s open mouth, watching the ash burn his tongue.

You stood back up, leaning against Sanji.

“Carry me?”

He nodded, picking you up ever so gently, his hands providing you with a sense of security that you had spent the last several days losing any hope for.

“One last thing, Sanj’,” you said.

You closed your eyes, cementing this place into your brain. The stench of blood, now fresh and coppery. The humid air that stuck to your skin.

Whispering, more to yourself than anyone, you uttered a final word.

“Rot in hell.”

Sanji carried you up the stairs and out the door.

It was only when you saw the first hint of sunlight that you allowed yourself to fully indulge in the comfort of his presence. He was here, you were safe, he had you.

Zoro was waiting for you with Chopper when you got outside. The sun felt both heavenly and hellish. It’s warmth proof that you were still alive- that blood flowed perhaps too freely through your bones. And it’s brightness, which so highly contrasted the mildewy lamplight of the room you were stuck in, a confirmation of what you’d gone through. But the harsh rays were suddenly replaced by cool shadow and you opened your eyes as Chopper did what immediate work was available for him to do. Sanji stood over you, the sunlight pouring over him from behind his head, a worried look on his face.

You closed your eyes again, the tiredness of your body finally catching up with you.

Zoro, who up until this point had said nothing, placed a hand on Sanji’s back. A gentle touch that offered a surprising sense of grounding.

“Your hands,” he observed. Sanji looked down at them, caked in dried blood and small, stringy pieces of… skin, maybe? Flesh? He tried to recall but everything was a blur.

Sanji shrugged, “Didn’t notice.”

He looked at Zoro who gave him a curt nod and they both turned their attention back to you.

A memory played out before you.

I must be knocked out, you thought. It was crystal clear, so unlike a dream that you momentarily felt you might actually be reliving it.

The white light of the fridge in the kitchen cast you in a glow as you rummaged through its contents. It was rare to have any leftovers with this crew. There was some fruit- none of which you liked. Milk, eggs, carrots, pork, nothing. Ingredients upon ingredients and you knew better than to start trying to cook.

“Hungry?”

You turned, startled to see Sanji lighting a cigarette in the doorway.

“Yeah.. Not many options though.”

Sanji came to stand beside you, beginning to do his own rummaging. He began grabbing several things, a head of cabbage, carrots, pork, butter, heavy cream…

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna start cooking. It’s nearly three in the morning!”

Sanji smiled at you, taking out the set of kitchen knives you’d gifted him just two months prior for Christmas (a gift that left his nose bleeding for nearly half an hour).

“Ah. I couldn’t sleep. And besides, it is my job to feed you if you’re hungry.”

You smiled and took a seat at the counter, watching him cook. Normally you might offer to help but you were far too hungry to allow your lack of expertise to ruin your own meal.

He moved with such mesmerizing fluidity, the art was clearly a second nature to him and to watch it was captivating. The cutting of vegetables, the smell of cooking meat, the view of his forearms flexed as his hand gripped the handle of the knife, the tease of his happy trail when he lifted his arms to reach for something and his slightly small pajama shirt lifted.

Sanji was enchanting- but so were you.

Your head tilted to the side as you rested it on your hand, a small smile set on your lips. Your shirt was the exact opposite of his- too big on you- and was hanging off of your shoulder. Sanji did his best to not stare at your collarbone, and the line it painted that led up your pretty neck.

“What’re you making anyway?”

“Garbure,” he said, simmering a pot on the stove, “It’s a french soup. Sort of a cleaning-out-the-fridge thing. But it’s amazing when made well.”

You hummed, “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

“Honestly? I heard you in the kitchen and figured I’d make you something to eat.”

“You’re an angel.”

He looked up at you and the two of you smiled. A light jolt of electricity ran down your back.

God, was he always this handsome?

“I think so?”

“What?”

“You… asked if I’m always this handsome- That was for me right?”

“Oh- Fuck, I-I hadn’t meant to say it out loud!” Your cheeks darkened and you let out an embarrassed giggle.

“I’d ask if you’re always so beautiful but I know the answer is yes.” He ladled the soup intj a bowl and set it in front of you, serving one for himself as well.

You leaned your head against his shoulder as you ate.

“Mmmf- ‘S good!”

Your hand snaked through the opening between his bicep and chest to rest on his arm, giving it a light squeeze.

“Thanks Sanj’.”

He smiled, and leaned his head against yours.

“You know, you’re the only one who calls me that. Makes me feel special.”

“You are. Who else can make ‘garbage’ this good?”

You added a french accent.

“Garbure!” he corrected, laughing.

“Right, right. That.”

Maybe it was the soup or the feeling of Sanji’s hair against your forehead- both a warm and physical proof of how much you were cared for, but you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so full.

The rest of the memory is blurry.

You can recall the weight of sleep seeping into your body, more and more of your weight being shifted on to Sanji.

The feeling of his hands under you, carrying you to bed. Or was that now- as he carried you into the Sunny’s infirmary? The last thing you remember- if this was even a memory anymore- is the feeling of a kiss being pressed upon your cheek.

You woke up in one of Sunny's medical rooms with very little pain.

“I made sure you got the bed by the big window,” Sanji said from the chair he’d pulled up next to your bed, “You joked about it once.. That if you ever got hurt you’d want the room with it.”

It looked like he’d spent the night. You were in new clothes but he wasn’t. Dark circles lined his eyes.

You smiled at him, “Thanks… For everything. I’d still be there if you hadn’t-”

Your eyes welled with tears and your lower lip was trembling, like your body recognized that within these four walls any emotions would be welcome.

Sanji placed his hand over yours and rubbed his thumb up and down your wrist.

The tears flowed freely now, as you looked down at his hands.

“Sanji…”

He had started washing them but the moment Chopper told him you were stable he abandoned the project altogether. His hands were cleaner but browning bits of red gunk were drying in his nail beds.

Your eyes were wide as you waited for him to say something, your breath shallowing.

He sighed. He didn’t want you to be reminded of anything that had to do with what you’d gone through.

“Yeah,” he said, at a loss for words.

“I’m… sorry.”

You weren’t sure what to say. But your heartbeat picked up as he squeezed your hand.

“Don’t be, mon ange, I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner. We all are.”

You laid your head back down, chewing your lip.

“I’m glad it was you. That found me.”

Sanji’s chest tightened.

He’d come to terms with how he felt about you, a feeling both amplified and confirmed by the sound of your voice. His time spent around you affected him deeply beyond flirty remarks and nicknames. He was reduced to so very little in your presence, a nervous bundle of love sickness and desire.

And you were glad he found you- that he rescued you.

“So am I.”

You turned to look at him.

It didn’t really have to be said- it was there.

In his hands dripping with filth and violence, and on your face teary-eyed and thankful. In the lingering touches and glances the two of you have been sharing for the year you’ve been a part of the Straw Hat crew.

Neither of you had to say ‘I love you’. It was there.

Sanji pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.

“I made soup,” he said smiling at you, “Garbage.”

You nodded, lightly laughing. It hurt your ribs.

“I can warm some up for you, if you’d like?” He stood up, preparing to leave.

“No- Can you stay? Please,” you said.

Sanji smiled, “Of course!”

You scoot over on the bed making space for him, which he happily took.

You laid your head onto his shoulder, and grabbed his hand. You felt him freeze up when you did, and laughed.

“You just saved my life and saw me at my lowest- is holding my hand too much?”

Sanji chuckled, “You’re right. How about this then?”

He brought a hand underneath your chin and you locked eyes as a smile spread across his face. He dipped his head down and pressed a kiss to your lips. It was soft, and chaste. Perfect. You placed a hand against his neck to prevent him from pulling away and deepened the kiss, slipping your tongue past his lips. You felt a small moan escape him and smiled against him. When you finally pulled away a thin string of saliva connected your lips to his.

“Hot,” you said, giggling.

Sanji’s pupils were blown wide and his cheeks pink. A few beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead and he tugged his tie loose.

“You okay, Sanj?”

“Yes! More than okay- I just, I wasn’t expecting that.”

You nodded, holding his hands.

“Well, I would like to shower and… I take it you haven’t showered yet either.”

Sanji gulped, “Um, no. I haven’t.”

You smiled, admittedly proud of yourself for flustering him out of his flirty act.

“Would you like to join me?”

Poor thing, he tried his hardest to maintain eye contact and keep up his civilized demeanor, but the steady trickle of blood that had started to pour out of his nose gave him away.

“Yes!” he yelled, “Mon dieu, tentatrice de femme, yes, please. I would love to join you.”

You laughed, getting up out of bed.

“Mind carrying me?”

“Of course, my love!”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck as he picked you up, “It’s nice to have you back, perv.”

He blushed, “What can I say? An offer like that from a woman like you is enough to fix anyone up.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, walking you out of the infirmary toward the showers.

Kidd:

You were going to kill him. If you got out of this alive you were going to kill your captain and tear his other arm off. You knew that, one way or another, this heist was going to go wrong. It was messily planned, Killer hadn’t been consulted, and Kidd was motivated primarily by anger and a bruised ego.

You sighed, somewhat resigned to your fate, and leaned back against the wall, trying to ignore the barrel of a shotgun that was resting against your temple.

“Mind backing up with that?”

The pirate holding the weapon shot you a faux-sympathetic smile, “Sorry, baby, Captain’s orders.”

He trailed a finger down your back, causing you to struggle against the cuffs. He dropped his hand and laughed at your reaction. “You’re disgusting,” you spat at him.

He nodded. “Yeah, and you’re stuck with me here. So better watch that mouth.”

Your wrists ached, it had been a while since you last felt the weight of sea stone against your skin. It was worse than you remembered. You could feel every muscle in your arms straining above you from where the chain that linked the cuffs hung on a nail. The first time you were handcuffed, the marines had caught you stealing but you were only fifteen, not yet a pirate, and lucky enough to have ran into a notoriously easy going captain who let you off with a warning. Those handcuffs were metal, tight against your wrists but not physically draining- if anything, you were only riled up at the inconvenience of having your hands tied. Sea stone was different. A naturally occurring mineral found in the depths of the ocean weaponized against you and other power holders. When you first felt sea stone a few years after, tight and heavy around your wrists, the fatigue stuck with you the most. How humiliating it was to not only be powerless but to have the will to fight drained from your body. You’d only narrowly escaped and swore to never be rendered so powerless again.

Yet here you were, silently praying that Kidd would walk in soon. This heist was a bad idea from the start but you’d only agreed because you had stupidly assumed that Kidd had acquired accurate information. Your anger had somewhat subsided as you approached your third hour in captivity, it was too tiring. Hopelessness had begun to spread.

The entire heist was Kid’s idea in the first place. A poorly executed revenge plot that you and Killer had tried to discourage.

“That’s them?” you asked, pointing to a group of pirates.

“Aye… First year we spent in the New World those bawbags got a few good shots on us. Heat came out with a few broken bones and it took us around a month to get Victoria back up and runnin’.”

“Ohh, I get it. They hurt your ego and you want to get back at them. That always ends well.”

Kidd scoffed, rolling his eyes at you.

“No- it’s luck. They have the map we need… and a lot of treasure that I wouldn’t mind taking.”

“See!? Ego. If this was just about necessity we’d take the map and leave. I’m telling you that this is a bad idea.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. He’d had a nonstop headache since you joined the crew.

“Alright! Alright. Jesus, woman! Killer won’t say yes either way so I need your cooperation. No gold, no treasure. We’ll just grab the map and be on our way.”

“And by we I’m assuming you mean me?”

He flashed you a smile that made your chest tighten.

“Aye! And if you’re caught they wouldn’t hurt a bonnie lass like ya’ anyway.”

“Oh, I’m sure. They seem like great people.”

“Don’t start getting smart with me,” he said, pulling out a piece of paper.

There was a diagram of a building on it, with a room in the back circled in red ink.

A thick metal finger landed on it, “Here’s where the map is. This building is relatively unimportant to it so they assign their lower level lackeys to guard it. There’s two guards outside each door, four guards on this one. I’ll distract all except the four by pretending to steal some other shit. They’ll recognize me.”

“And I come in through this window I’m guessing?”

A window at the end of the hall led right to the room you needed to access.

“Aye. You’ll be alright handling the four of ‘em. But you need to keep one conscious to show you where exactly the map is. Once you’ve got it- run. They’ve got a few devil fruit users in the crew and they’ll be at the scene fairly fast. From there we can bolt.”

You thought about it. The plan seemed quite out of character. It was extremely unlike Kidd to avoid a fight even in circumstances like this. But maybe he had other reasons…

As though he read your mind he answered, “Look, if it was just me I'd kill every son of a bitch on that crew. But I don't want ya' getting hurt.”

You sighed, “This is a terrible idea. Your information is twenty percent reliable, at most.”

“If you follow my instructions and we stay near each other we’ll be fine.”

“Hm, so you’re scared I’ll get hurt, huh?”

You laughed, watching his brows furrow and his cheeks go pink.

“No! Kind of, it's just 'cause you’re weak and I don’t want to have to worry about ya'.”

“You’re still mad about losing the arm wrestling match to me, huh?”

He scowled, folding his arms across his chest- refusing to answer.

“Alright, cry baby let’s go.”

Kid’s information was wrong. The four guards were the devil fruit users. You’d managed to knock two of them out relying on haki alone, but the two left were stronger. If only you could isolate one of them. Your devil-fruit worked well in close distance one on one fights, but you were mentally unprepared for this fight and the two in front of you were logia-users. You were badly beat up and struggling to stay on the offensive. Your dodges were growing slower and slower, your attacks weaker and weaker.

Fuck, you thought, trying to stay calm and think of your best course of action. You needed to get into the room they were guarding, if you could just create an opening that caught them off guard.

You reached for the pocket knife you kept tucked in your boots- it was a dirty move but it would have to do. You faked an attack on one of the two conscious pirates, before quickly changing directions and throwing the knife directly at one of their unconscious crewmates. They both ran in the direction of the knife to defend their crewmate, giving you the perfect opportunity. You slipped past the pirate closest to the door, shutting it behind you and jamming the handle shut with a chair. You had ten seconds tops- a chair wasn’t going to come close to stopping a logia user. Luckily for you, they had made the mistake of assuming no one would get past them and left the map out in the open, on a table with a bunch of other papers. You swiped it, quickly rolling up a loose piece of paper to imitate the map. Right as you finished tucking it into your shirt you felt a hand wrap around your neck, your vision blurring. Damn it, you thought.

You could faintly hear the voices of the two, ‘What should we do with her?’

‘She didn’t manage to take anything,’ they laughed. A small smile settled onto your face.

‘She’s pretty, huh?’

You felt something heavy clamp down on your wrists. What little energy had evaporated, and you blacked out.

You were starting to lose track of time. Three, maybe four hours had passed? You had no way of being sure other than the burning numbness that had spread throughout your body. Your arms were aching in a way you never thought possible, and you had been taken to a second location, you were sure of it. If you were in the same building as before, Kidd would have found you hours ago. But there was no doing anything now. The pirate watching you had kept his distance, aside from an occasional taunt or revolting brush of his fingers. He was now settling in the corner of the room, silently watching you, his gun’s aim never leaving you. You decided that staying quiet and avoiding eye contact was the best course of action, and beating his ass would only be a thought worth entertaining once you were out of the cuffs.

“So how does a pretty lady like you end up in a situation like this?”

He broke the silence, much to your disappointment.

You didn’t say anything.

He stood up, coming closer to you. Your stomach churned and you looked down.

“I asked you a question,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

“Fuck. you.”

You heard the crack of his fist against your jaw before you felt it. It was dizzying and left your mouth bloody and aching. You winced, running your tongue over your now split lip.

“What’s your name?”

He tucked his gun into his pants. You braced yourself. This was going to be a long night.

“Your name, baby, what is it?”

You spit the blood that was pooling in your mouth onto him.

This time it was an uppercut to your stomach. You couldn’t even double-over in pain. The third hit was to the other side of your jaw.

You stopped counting once they went over eight. You tried to think of something else, anything else. Killer’s baked goods, Heat and Wire’s terrible joke collection, Kidd’s latest invention or screaming match with you. You’d seen them all only hours ago but your heart was aching. You missed them.

Your mind kept going back to a few weeks ago, replaying a memory you had been trying to forget.

You were headed to the kitchen, you remember it was warm out- or was it raining? You went with raining. You took more time than usual to make your way up to the kitchen, meandering through the halls and tracing the old wood with your hands. The sound of hushed voices caught your attention, bringing you to a stop outside of your captain’s room.

“Why don’t you talk to her about it?”

Kidd laughed loudly, more-so to make a point than anything.

“And say what? I know I’m an arse and not your type but I’m madly in love with ya’ please don’t kick my arse?”

Killer chuckled, “That’s one way to do it. Or, you know, you could just be genuine and tell her the reasons why.”

“‘Cause she’s a tough lass- and a bonnie one, at that, a bit too good for me, no?” he said. Your heartbeat was resonating up in your throat and your mouth ran dry- who were they talking about? Kidd had only ever taunted you for being one of the stronger members on board. Your heart contracted in your chest and a deeply unsettling sense of jealousy creeped its way into your system. You tried to shake it off- it’s not like you wanted your captain to be in love with you. You definitely weren’t in love with him.

“… I dinnae Kil’,” you heard Kidd continue, “I might be a mean son of a bitch but I don’t think my heart could handle a rejection like that.”

“You definitely couldn’t,” Killer agreed, laughing, “But I don’t think you’d get rejected. Worth a shot if you ask me.”

Your brain tried focusing on other things, but you always came back to your captain. Hot-headed and irrational and eighty percent of the reason you were in this mess in the first place. He had you captivated. But it was enough. You felt yourself dancing the line between conscious and not and decided to savor these memories, these snapshots of a life on the sea. You didn’t hear when Kidd finally came in, staining the walls with a spray of red blood as he tore through the man who had dared lay his hands on you. But when you noticed the lack of hits being thrown your way you looked up.

Kidd had experienced heartbreak before- many times, but very few things compared to what he felt when he made eye contact with you. If a heart could physically break, tear and twist and shatter, that’s what Kidd felt seeing your face, bruises and bloodied. You took note of the red staining his metal hand. It was painted in multiple shades, light crimson to dark, sticky brown. He’d been at it for a while.

He rushed to your side, picking you up by the waist and removing the handcuffs from the nail on the wall. Your arms had been numb for an hour or two now. You wished they weren’t so that this release might have felt more satisfying.

You collapsed into Kidd, who kept his arm wrapped around you, bringing you into his chest.

“Shh, Y/n, I’ve got ya’ lassie,” he said, voice wavering.

“Kidd,” you said, wincing as you tried to sit up, “The map-”

“Don’t worry about the map,” he said, picking you up off the ground, “I’m getting you on board. I’ve already called Killer, he’s meeting us about half a mile away.”

He sat up against the wall, legs spread sort and placed you in between them, your chest against his back.

“Let me see your hands,” he said.

You placed your hands in the palm of his metal one, shutting your eyes and he cracked the sea stone around your wrist. The cuffs fell off in pieces around you.

He stood up, taking you in his arms, “How ya’ feeling?”

You coughed, the change in positions overwhelming you, “Like a million bucks.”

“Atta girl.”

Everything was muddy, your awareness, your vision, your memory. You clung to Kidd’s neck, tucking your head into his chest. His heart ached- you were scared.

“You’re alright, Y/n. I’ve got ya’,” he said, “Won’t let anything happen to ya’.”

You nodded, but your body refused to relax. At any moment, you told yourself, you were going to open your eyes and be back in that room. Kidd was your lifeline, a solid, physical reminder that you were safe now.

Killer was understandably furious when he saw the two of you climbing on board, Kidd with some cuts and bruises and you, barely conscious in his arms. He was smart enough to put two and two together and realize that Kidd had ignored his advice. He was on the verge of telling you two off, but one look at your state kept him quiet. You don’t remember much after that, as you fell in and out of consciousness. A feeling of disgust settled deep within you as your mind replayed the way your captor laid his hands on you, and was only soothed at the memory of Kidd’s touch. Of how gentle he was. The next four days passed in a similar fashion. You were much too out of it to know, but Kidd spent the majority of his time by your side. He established his longest arguing streak with Killer yet, by insulting all of the food he brought you insisting that “she doesn’t like that.” He made sure that you got new blankets every few hours, forcibly making Heat warm each new blanket. No one got much sleep until, finally, Kidd decided you were stable enough and retreated to his office to mope.

You woke up around an hour after Kidd finally left, and got up later that night after. Killer helped you to your feet. The feeling of the cool wood against your bare feet was relieving.

“Where to madam?” Killer said.

“His office.I have a word or two for him.”

“Whose idea was it, anyway?”

“Seriously? Whose idea do you think such a stupid stunt like that was?”

“Fair enough, but you were stupid enough to go along with it.”

“Fair enough.”

Killer dropped you off in front of your captain’s office.

“Best of luck,” he said, “And... I'm glad you're okay. You had me worried.”

You gave him a quick hug, “Thanks Kil'.”

You opened the door, closing it behind you.

Kidd turned around to scowl at you. His prior softness already having been replaced with his usual attitude.

“Can’t be bothered to knock?”

Your hands balled into fists at your side. You marched across the room toward where he was sitting, and landed a heavy slap across Kidd’s face. He staggered two steps back and landed in his seat.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered, rubbing his cheek, “I deserved that.”

“I told you! I fucking told you it was a bad idea and that your information was most likely innacurate. You risked my life and, even worse, your own. The crew could’ve lost everything, you selfish asshole!”

He sat silently in his chair, avoiding eye contact with you. His cheeks were pink, one significantly more so than the other.

“We should have called Killer like I said to and had another person with us- it was idiotic to have gone into that with just the two of us. Did I mention yet that I told you so? But you refuse to listen to anyone other than yourself, you absolute boar.”

The silence hung heavy in the room and you felt pride swell in your chest- you’d never seen your Captain so quiet before.

“That was the stupidest decision I’ve seen you make in a long time,” you took a deep breath before reaching in your pocket, “But it paid off.”

Kidd’s head turned to look at you, confusion was plastered over his face.

You pulled the map out of your pocket and placed it in front of him. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly.

“Thanks for the change of clothes,” by the way, you said sarcastically, “I smell great.”

No doubt he had given up on the map the moment he saw you in that room. He took note of the bruises around your wrists and gently grabbed them without thinking.

“I’m… sorry,” he said, rubbing his thumbs on your wrists.

God, he could be stupid. But there was no one else you’d follow after as readily.

You crashed into him, wrapping your arms around his neck with tears pooling in your eyes.

“I’m just glad you’re okay!”

You felt him stiffen, not having expected you to hug him.

“I was so worried,” you continued, “That something had happened to you.”

He wrapped his arms back around you, sinking into the weight of your embrace.

“So was I.”

You heard him sniffling, and rubbed his back gently.

“Crybaby.”

“I’m not cryin’,” he said, voice shaking.

He squeezed you one last time before letting you go.

You stood up, facing him. His eyeliner was running.

It was quiet again, though this time it was much more awkward. You’d yelled at him plenty of times before, but never had you embraced like that. Your pink cheeks now matched his. This time you looked away from him.

You felt a slight pull at the back of your neck and realized Kidd was pulling you by your necklace closer to him.

You obeyed and sank down into his lap. Your mind was telling you this this was abnormal, an overstepping of boundaries. Kidd was your captain and friend. You shouldn’t be in his lap hugging him. But it felt so natural. Like the most casual thing in the world.

“I was terrified,” he said quietly, “That I- That we might lose you.”

You rested your cheek against his, savoring how warm it was.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Oh trust me, I know,” he laughed, “You’re a rather tough lassie.”

Your ears perked up at that, and very quickly went red.

“Oh,” you whispered.

“What’s that?”

“You were talking about me the other day.”

Kidd paused for a second, “Was I?”

You giggled.

“She’s a rather tough lassie,” you said, imitating his thick accent, “And a bonnie one at that. A bit too good for me, no?”

“Oi, oi! I was talking about someone else,” he said, his cheeks darkening several shades.

You pinched his cheeks, “Well, that’s too bad. I would’ve said that I feel the same way.”

He perked up, “Oh, yeah? How’s about I describe this tough lassie and ya tell me if the description fits.”

You smiled.

“Right, she’s about this tall,” he held up his hand to your standing height, “Sittin’ on my lap, and just about the prettiest girl on the sea. And I owe her enormously for my latest fuck up because if anything had happened to her I’d have gone absolutely mad and jumped right on overboard.”

Your smile softened, and you stared at him for a moment.

“Sounds about right,” you said.

“Well, then.”

You leaned in toward him and moved slowly, just in case. Just in case he changed his mind or wanted to backtrack or wasn’t sure. But your lips touched and your captain showed no signs of regret or hesitation so you deepened the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and savoring how he grabbed onto your hips. The kiss grew more and more heated, his grip on you stronger and stronger. You pulled away for air, gasping for breath. Kidd’s lipstick was smudged, and he brought a thumb up to wipe it off of your lips. His hand rubbed gently up and down your back. Fatigue began to take over as you let yourself indulge in the comfort of Kidd’s presence. Despite having been bedridden for several days your body was still mentally and physically in survival mode. Only now with a strong set of familiar arms wrapped around you could you finally relax.

You laid your head down onto his shoulder, closing your eyes.

“Tired?”

“A bit.”

“Sleep, lass. I’ll carry you to bed.”

And you did.

You woke up the next morning feeling more rested than you had in years, a thanks from your body for the break.

The bedsheets surrounding you were unfamiliar, not your own.

But the strong hand draped over your waist answered any questions you had started to form. You wiggled back until you felt your captain’s chest against your back, and held his hand, tucking it under your chin.

“Mornin’ sweetheart.”

“Good morning, Kidd.”

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circusofthelastdays · 5 months

Text

mage hand & graded papers

warnings: MDNI, NSFW, post epilogue, afab fem reader, inappropriate use of mage hand, gale uses mage hand to get you off while grading papers.

You traipse into Gale's study, a thin robe adorning your body, loosely tied. Hair falls over your shoulders, the strong scent of your lavender soap wafting through the house. A bath would help, was the assumption in your mind. Maybe some relaxation would quell the ravenous need for your husbands touch, you thought.

Yet here you stand, the aching feeling of arousal pulsing in your core as you lean against the doorway to his study. You eye him from behind, debating on whether or not you would bother him. It's clear that he's busy- he's been working for hours. You stand there watching him, hunched over his desk, reading glasses on and quill in hand. Papers are scattered across his desk, ones you can only assume are his students.

Even the sight of him like this has your current arousal ever growing, and your face heating up. "Gale, are you almost done?" you ask him, knowing that if he turns around to face you it'll be clear why you want to know.

"No where near, I still have about twenty papers to grade." He answers you, not even bothering to look away from the paper he is marking up with red ink.

Your lips curl into a frown, "oh, that's fine- I'll just uhm... I'll go cook dinner or something I suppose."

You step back from the doorway, not wanting to disturb his work any further. Still, you can't help but stand there and observe him a bit longer with a yearning look.

Gale turns from his desk when he hears the defeat in your voice, pulling his reading glasses down the bridge of his nose to get a good look at you. He sees the flush on your face, your half tied robe, and the way you try to subtly squeeze your thighs together while standing there.

"Come here, my love." He says, directing you with a pointed finger to come to his side.

Without hesitation, you go to his side, expecting that you'll be getting what you so desperately crave. Gale, however, has other ideas. He gently grasps your arm, and pulls you down onto his lap.

"Sit here with me, for just a bit?" he says, placing a chaste kiss on the back of your neck after. He picks up his quill again, dipping it in red ink, and looks back down at the papers he is grading, paying no mind to you fidgeting on his lap.

So you do as he asks, despite how much you desire to do more, to have him touch you in anyway. And oh, what you would give to have him take you against his desk... you can't help but squirm in his lap at the thought of it. You sit there silently for awhile, watching him grade papers and listening to nothing but his breathing and the scratching of his quill against paper. He places more chaste kisses on your neck and shoulder every so often, effectively worsening your arousal, and you know damn well he's doing this on purpose.

At least twenty minutes have passed before you hear him utter anything, but you can't quite catch what is was. "Hmm? What was that?" you ask, trying to get Gale to repeat what he said.

"Oh nothing, dear," he says, with a cheeky smirk on his face that you cannot see. "just mumbling about these papers."

A moment passes, and then you feel a light brush against your leg. However, you think you must be imagining things. Both of Gale's hands are hard at work above the desk. You feel it again, more apparent this time as it trails up your thigh, and pulls at your robe.

You quickly look down, and realize what's happening. A shimmering, blue, and sheer hand is the culprit. The incantation for mage hand, that must've been what Gale uttered.

"Gale?" you speak his name in a questioning tone, facing heating up at the implications of this situation, "what are you doing?"

"Isn't this what you wanted, my love?" He says, controlling the hand to pull open your robe so your body is on display for him, proceeding to trail the sheer hand over your breasts, and down to your hips.

The hand ghosts over your wet cunt, collecting some slick- a shiver runs down your spine, and your head falls back onto Gale's shoulder. "You're a fucking tease."

"Am I?" he replies, this time making the hand touch you with more purpose. It glides over your folds, before hooking two fingers inside whilst simultaneously circling your clit with its translucent thumb. "I'm just giving you what you crave."

"You know damn well this isn't what I had in mind..." you start to complain, but the hand speeds up, expertly touching you exactly how you like it. Your lips part, a slew of needy whimpers and whining spilling out of you, as your poised nature comes crumbling down.

"Hush, now. I'm still working." Gale chides, in a tone that is clearly meant to taunt you further. However, he himself makes no move to touch you, he only adjusts the reading glasses on his face and goes back to grading the papers on his desk. Yet, the translucent hand continues its ministrations, so his concentration is not entirely on his work, no matter how much he pretends it is.

You try to be quiet, really, you do. Though the situation at hand makes it incapable to do so, especially since the mage hand seems to double down on it's efforts the more you squirm and choke down moans in attempt to be quiet. He's messing with you, threatening your resolve and challenging your ability to follow instructions.

Gale's left hand strays away from his work, and wraps around your waist to keep you from moving around, "Stop squirming, dear. You're distracting me."

It cannot be helped though, you're too far gone. Pleasure is building in your core as the mage hand doesn't seem to let up, merely moments away from tumbling over the edge. You're practically panting with need, the occasional moan of your lover's name included in the lewd sounds that fill the room. You can't tell what's more sinful, the sound of your wetness or the muffled sounds of ecstasy that slip off your tongue.

Gale chuckles quietly at your muted whimpers and feeble attempts to stay quiet for him- he dares to hush you for a second time. "Shh, you're okay..." He says, but there's something about the way he says it, his tone sensual, and with a sloppy kiss placed against your neck. It has you positively reeling.

The cord tightening within your stomach finally snaps, and the pleasure becomes overwhelming. Gale's name falls off your lips like a chant, like it's the only word you can remember. The translucent hand continues its onslaught, working you through the waves of your orgasm, Gale holding you still on his lap until your body is spent. He groans at the sight of you, unable to ignore his own arousal now.

The mage hand finally dissipates out of existence, and you think you're done, as you lean back onto your husband's chest.

"ah, ah-" he chastises you, before hastily pushing the papers to the side of his desk, as well as the ink that spills across them. The spilled ink is a problem for later, he could not care less. "I'm not done with you just yet..."

He hoists you onto his desk, and spreads your legs, trailing gentle kisses up your thighs. A needy growl escapes him as he licks a stripe across your soaked cunt, before his lips continue the path up your body to their rightful destination.

"Work can wait," Gale's lips connect with yours, with desperation and heat, passion coursing through him. As he pulls away, he grabs hold of your chin, and gently coaxes you to make eye contact, "I need you more."

check out my masterlist for more like this!

#bg3 smut #gale x reader #Baldur's Gate 3 #gale dekarios smut #gale dekarios x reader #bg3 x reader #gale dekarios

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astonmartingf · 6 months

Text

YOU'VE BEEN ON MY MIND—

— co-parenting with alonso has been smooth sailing, until he starts dropping hints that he wants to be with you again

P3 ★ WITH LOVE, LANCE STROLL

amgf written portion down below. we have lore 😌 n e ways me inserting the strollonso agenda, ales being indoctrinated by lance, uhmm i can't wait for the next updates hehehe okay enjoy 👍

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Lance waved his hands, calling the attention of his nephew wandering around the Aston Martin headquarters. "Ales! Come here!"

Watching his nephew look around the area for the source of the voice. "Ales! Over here."

The younger boy walks over to his uncle, smiling brightly at him, "Uncle Lance! Do you work here with Papa?"

Matching his nephew's excitement, Lance nods his head, walking with Ales along the hallway. "I heard you're here with your father, where is he by the way?"

"Papa is trying to ask Mama out on a date!" The younger boy spoke enthusiastically, unaware of the implications of his statement, leaving Lance surprised.

"What did your mom say?" Lance tries to ask discreetly, helping Ales on his designated couch, filled with legos, miniature dinosaurs, and toy cars.

Ales shrugs, "I don't know, but papa told me if it's okay with me if he will ask mama out on a date, remember what you told me last time?"

Shit.

"Why are you leaving early Uncle Lance?" The young boy tugs on Lance's fingers watching him style his hair in front of the mirror.

Lance kneels down, facing his nephew, "I'm going on a date with my girlfriend," watching Ales' face form deep into confusion. Titling his head to the left Ales points his finger in front of Lance.

"A date? What is a date?"

Smiling to himself, Lance holds his hand walking further into the office. "Going on a date is like having fun with the people you love. Going outside, spending time with them, eating together. Just like what you do with your mom and dad."

Ales nods his head, thinking of the times he went to the beach with his father, and eating together with his mom. "Mama and Papa love me, so we go on dates!"

Lance nods his head in agreement, "Exactly, I love you so we hang out sometimes, that can be called a date. And tonight I'm going to eat dinner with my girlfriend, we're going on a date."

Ales tilts his head, the gears turning into his little brain as he begins to recall his thoughts.

"How come Mama and Papa don't go on dates?"

It was Lance's turn to tilt his head, he knew Ales was aware of your relationship with Nando, it was something you had been discussing with Ales.

"What do you mean Ales? They go on dates with you." Lance treaded lightly, it had stumped him, especially when he could easily say something you two both didn't intend.

"So does that mean Papa and Mama love me?" Ales questions, leaving Lance filled with pride— smiling to himself.

"Of course Ales, your Mama and Papa love you the most."

"I think Papa loves Mama, since he wants to go on a date with her." Lance bit his lip, hiding the laughter growing inside him.

"I did say that about dating huh, you remember that?"

Ales nodded his head, now focused on the Lego in front of him. "You said people go on dates with people they love. Yesterday papa asked me if I'm okay with that."

Lance hands him the blocks, keeping the conversation going, "What do you think?"

"Papa talks about mama all the time, and mama does the same when we're together." Lance raises his brows at his response.

"Your mom talks about Nando huh."

Ales shows Lance a Lego building, "They go on dinner dates you know."

"They leave you alone at the house by yourself?" Lance was shocked to say the least, he knew you rarely spent time together with Fernando, but leaving your son alone in your house is something he didn't imagine happening.

"Huh? Why would they leave me alone? I see them on call and eat dinner together, isn't that a date?" Lance sees the pout building over on Ales' lips at the thought of being left alone, the sight leaving a smile on his face.

"You said they went on a date, I thought they left you alone." Ales shakes his head furiously, throwing the Lego on the floor.

"I don't want to be left alone, I want to go on a date with mama and papa."

Lance turns to Ales, making him face the younger boy, "But didn't your father say he wants to go out with you mom alone? Are you okay with that?"

Pausing, Ales thinks to himself, "But will I be there at the date?"

Lance nods his head, "Probably. I don't think they would want you away from them."

Ales hums, deep in thought, "Then, I'll just give them time together."

★ YOU'VE BEEN ON MY MIND — @namgification @nebarious @minkyungseokie @viennakarma @lxclerc @booksandflowrs @c-losur3 @lichterfee @moonyzsworld @e-nonsense

#f1 smau #f1 fluff #f1 x reader #fernando alonso smau #fernando alonso fluff #fernando alonso x reader

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violetsiren90 · 8 months

Text

Make Me

Pairing: dom!Hoseok/sub/brat!f!Reader

Genre: Oneshot; hard smut; platonic(?) fluff; BDSM lifestyle; friends to fwb to?; canon-compliant (idolAU)

Summary: You've been friends with Hobi for years, and he's your comfort zone - but when he gets wind of a dark secret you drunkenly let slip, things between you take a sudden extreme change.

Warnings: 18+ (minors, dni); hardcore BDSM themes/relationships; full consent and safe-words ❤; Hobi is a hard dom (and such a good one); MC is a brat (mostly); dominance and submission; elements of primal play if you squint; mentions of wet dreams and sexual fantasies; sexual degradation (deg-play use of the word "b*tch"); mentions of MC's hair and hair pulling in a domination context; rough physical contact in a sexual context (manhandling); mentions of drinking; kink-outing; Jimin is a menace but also the absolute best; Hobi in the studio 👀; wrestling (sexual context); spanking (sexual context); p*ssy-stepping; p*ssy slapping; sexual frustration; some initial shame and embarrassment (reader needs to work some things out); reader tries to run away from herself a bit; temporary ghosting; working through new desires and feelings; dirty dancing; ALL the communication; establishment of sexual roles/partnership; talk about birth control and protection; Hobi curses a LOT during domination scenes; leash/collar play; oral sex (male receiving); throat fucking; Hobi slaps Reader's tongue with his c*ck; cum swallowing; aftercare; restraint play (sex swing, heehee 😈); manual clitoral stimulation; teasing; unprotected vaginal sex (reader is on birth control & previously consents); female orgasm from vaginal penetration; very brief implication of a possible brush with subspace.

Word Count: ~16,000 (Double its originally intended length, oops 🙈)

Author's note: HOLY HECK IT'S FINALLY HERE. When I say I had the time of my life writing this...like, wow. I was already under Hobi's spell, but now I am OFFICIALLY down in the worst way. This fic and it's premise were completely out of my comfort zone, but I couldn't be happier that I ventured into this world, because the research alone has given me so much respect for the BDSM community, and specifically the dom/sub relationship. I hope I did as much justice to that very special dynamic as possible between these two characters (with whom I have deeply fallen in love). If you read this, I hope so very much that you enjoy it!

If no one has told you yet today, you are loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

Acknowledgements: The biggest of thanks to @orchidyoonkook who not only beta-read this fic multiple times, and is practically the voice of this Jimin, but also gave me so much wonderful insight into the BDSM communicty from that big sexy brain of hers (which contains an incredible amount of knowledge about so many things, let me tell you!). But most of all, she gave me the encouragement I needed to get this out of my imagination and onto the page, even when I was doubting myself the most. Yoons, I love you! Couldn't have done it without you. 💕

"What?" Hoseok's wide grin stretches further as he regards your flustered face with giddy anticipation.

You groan into your hands, willing the cushions of your friend's leather couch to swallow you like quicksand.

"Fucking Jimin - I'll kill him!" you whine, pressing your fingers to your temples, and keeping your eyes glued to the hardwood of the studio floor.

The rapper laughs as he swivels his baseball cap to sit backwards on his fluffy brown mop of hair.

"Come on! Tell me!" he insists, sprawling back in his rolling chair, the tips of his fingers touching deviously together as he regards you with twinkling eyes.

You sneak a glance at him before sighing defeatedly, which only earns another chortle of laughter from across the room.

Park fucking Jimin. You really were going to kill him. Too many bottles of soju the week prior saw you blacking out at the BTS member's pad, the one he shared with your mutual friend, Jung Hoseok. You woke up the next day, memories of the night before obscure concepts of debauchery merely alluded to by the taste of bile and the dull cranial throb of dehydration. When Jimin rather gleefully handed you, along with an iced americano, one of the booze-fueled revelations you had let slip, you begged and pleaded with him to erase the memory from his brain...or at the very least to take it to his grave. He made no such promises. And now, you are facing the man of the hour - the subject of your divulgement - who had apparently been informed that you harbored certain strong opinions in his regard. Humiliating.

You flick mildly irritated eyes back up to your friend who waggles his brows in a way that makes you want to crack a smile and sock him at the same time.

"Before I say anything, I want to know exactly what he told you," you demand, crossing your arms defensively, no cracked smile to be found.

He rolls his eyes up to the corner of the ceiling in recollection.

"He just said that you had gotten wasted and admitted something kinky...about me."

At the last two words he drops his voice dramatically low and pins you with a grin that is sickeningly predatory. Your pulse begins to hammer and you have to remind yourself that you are, in fact, capable of speech.

Fuck, you think to yourself, it's happening.

You can feel sweat starting to bead at your hairline. Maybe if you get it out there, just say it aloud, it will lose its power. Maybe the spell will be broken. Maybe he will laugh and you will laugh and you'll order lunch and keep irritating him while he's supposed to be working on a track. You're both adults, right? You whoosh out a breath.

Hobi is still looking at you, his bottom lip pushing up and the corners of his mouth tugging down in one of his little inverted smirks while his right leg bounces a little up and down.

It is just Hobi, after all, you tell yourself. Just Hobi. You are roundly aware that it may be a lie, but it seems to allow you just enough courage to jump.

"Okay, okay!" you practically shout, and he giggles and stomps his feet, which admittedly makes revealing this particular chestnut a bit easier.

"I told him…

“What?”

“I said..."

"What?"

"Oh, Christ! Fine!" And the rest comes out like water from a fire hose. "One time I came to drop off Jimin's charger and you were in dance practice and you were watching the guys and you had this look on your face - like you were pissed or something - and it was so unlike you and I got turned on and ended up having a fucking wet dream that you were stepping on my mother-fucking pussy, okay?! Are you satisfied now?!"

You heave a sigh and throw yourself back against the cushions, hands over your face. How you just mustered the courage to form those actual words you haven't even the faintest notion - but it was going to be you or Jimin, and it might as well be you. After your heart has begun to return to its resting rate and you've heaved a few deep breaths you steel yourself against the certain impending onslaught of Hobi's laughter and general mockery...which doesn't come.

You peek through your fingers to see that your friend has shifted in his chair, facing a bit away from you toward the inside of the room, leaning forward, his hands gripping the ends of the chair's armrests. His face looks a little troubled, or pensive, you can't tell which. You sit up and really look at him, suddenly worried.

Did you just fuck things irrevocably up?

That was an incredibly bizarre and intimate thing to admit.

Shit.

"Hobi?" you squeak, barely over a whisper, as you regard him.

He tilts his head suddenly to look at you, quick like a bird, and when those dark eagle-eyes regard you in return, you feel like a small, helpless creature scurrying across the tundra. Nowhere to hide. A bead of sweat escapes its perch and slips down from your temple. As he utters his question of response, the air suddenly becomes as thick as the tropics.

"Is that something that you'd want, Y/n? To be treated like that? To be...put in your place? Put down?"

You don't answer him. You can't.

Your words, your breath, your coherent thoughts are stuck, inert, useless as your chest begins to rapidly rise and fall in heavy swells. Your eyes are locked on his face as if by magnetic force. He stands, his baggy Louis Vuitton tee falling over his gray sweats. He shoves his hands in the pockets and takes a step toward where you sit. His posture is relaxed. His gaze is anything but.

"Is it?"

You want to say you don't know. That you'd never considered it again. Never once recalled the image of it - of him - standing over you as the sole of his shoe punished your throbbing sex.

"Fuck..." you breathe, and when he doesn't take his eyes from your squirming form, you relent. "...y-yeah."

He takes another step toward you, slowly. He's crowding you now, as he looks down, and the proximity is almost more than you can bear.

"You see," he remarks musingly, "I thought you were gonna say something funny - something ridiculous," he tilts his head to one side, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips, "But that's not funny, Y/n. No, that's not funny at all. Because, as it turns out..."

He leans down, his breath fanning over your face as he speaks. Mint and espresso. You shiver and close your eyes.

"...that's something I can do."

...what? He can...h-he can....

"Hoseok..." you whisper shakily, because it's all you can manage.

You hear him laugh darkly and you don't look at him.

"Hoseok?" he mimics, "Not, Hobi, huh? Hoseok when you're like this, is it?"

"When I'm like...what?" You practically whimper in complaint, eyes still pressed shut as your last line of defense.

But any manner of defense is in vain as he answers your query, the words dripping from his lips slowly like honey, sickly like venom -

"When you're a filthy, pathetic little slut."

A whine escapes you at the complete and utter shock of his words. Suddenly you clamp your thighs together – whether to provide friction or obscurity to your quickly dampening cunt you are unsure. When he takes your jaw between his fingers and roughly jerks your chin upwards, your eyes flutter frantically open.

"Is this what you want?" he hisses, "For me to have my way with you like a needy whore?"

Fuck, is this happening? This is really happening. Your mind reels, but that's alright - it stopped doing the thinking when he got up out of that chair. Something primal in you had taken over, something that's been starving for so long – something that yearns to feed.

You do your best to nod with your chin in his grip. He swallows thickly, his eyes darting to your lips, and then back up to yours. His pupils are blown, his eyes almost wholly black as they trace over your face. Suddenly his hand slips from your chin to the nape of your neck where his hand tangles in your hair and his head drops to the side, his gaze softening.

"I need you to say it, Y/n, are you sure you want to do this?" he asks, his voice so, so low but without the edge that sends ice through your veins.

His voice. He's asking you as someone who cares about you, cares what you want – your friend.

Do you want this? No...you don't want it. You need it.

"Y-yes! Yes, Hobi - I want this," you find yourself stumbling over the words to get them out.

So quickly and so assured. Have you ever been this certain of anything in your life? His fingers dance against the nape of your neck and you sigh as his eyes travel all over your body.

You want to hide. You want to strip down. You want to run and you want him to chase you. You want him to punish you when he catches you. You are sick with want.

"A safe word, baby, we need a safe word," he nudges your racing mind back into the current moment with his saccharine words.

You blink, your mind running up against the sudden pet name – one that he has never uttered in a tone like this before – as it scrambles for something obvious and yet not ridiculous. Something simple maybe...a flower...?

"Foxglove," you say, and he raises his brows with a grin.

"Foxglove it is," he acquiesces. "So if you ever want me to stop, ever – okay? You say that. Foxglove."

You nod.

"Say it for me," he whispers, and you shiver again. Fuck.

"Foxglove." It's slow and thick leaving your mouth.

"Good girl," he purrs. Butterflies erupt in your rib-cage and your eyelids flutter. "How hard do you want it?" He asks, "How rough?"

You scramble to find your voice.

"Pretty rough, I think," you posit, a bit unsure of what that means.

He hums in response, his brows knitting in thought. You were going to have to give him something to go on, you could see that.

"I..." you stammer, "I want you to...to punish me. I want you to...to hurt me a little."

He raises a brow - looks at you, just stares as if considering. Then suddenly you know what to say.

"See...I'm not a good girl," you insist tilting your head back a bit haughtily, a bit defiantly. Being a good girl had gotten you butterflies, but that's not what you wanted right now. That's not what every cell of your body was screaming for.

He's grinning wickedly again - his other hand is slipping out of his pocket and the one in your hair is gripping at the roots.

"Hm. You're not are you?" he asks, his voice as dark and cold as the Pacific once again.

"No, Hobi," you whisper.

And suddenly your world is tilted on its axis as he tightens his fingers against your scalp and yanks your head back, sending a searing pain shooting through your skin as he stoops to hiss in your ear.

"That's Hoseok, you pretty little bitch."

You let out a whimper so needy it's nearly a sob. Your heartbeat is pounding between your legs. He lets go of your hair as roughly as he grabbed it and goes to lock the door and your stomach flips - you are totally and completely at his mercy. It's a little bit terrifying and absolutely exhilarating.

When he comes to loom over you again, you decide just exactly where you stand in all this. You know exactly what you want.

You glare up at him. He narrows his eyes.

"You gonna listen, hm?"

It's not a question, you know it's not - it's a command. But you have one, just one, of your own...

"Make me."

His eyes go wide and wild.

"So that's how it's gonna be?"

The words are heavy and dark, but you think his mouth twitches up at the corner when you arch a recalcitrant brow in response.

He hums and licks his lips, and you're on the verge of saying something about getting on with it when his hand darts out and fists a chunk of your hair, yanking it back with a force that makes your head spin. He's glaring down at you with eyes so hard and menacing that your rebuttal dies on your tongue. The hand at your nape squeezes and the pressure that seers your scalp is exquisite, spilling a moan from your lips as your arousal becomes more than you are capable of repressing.

"Don't you challenge me, brat," he rumbles from low in his chest as his hand twists against your head and lowers your back to press against the black leather.

You whine in protest, and your palms fly up to shove at him, but his reflexes are like lightning as he snatches your wrists away to pin them above you. Your head spins, eyes losing focus as your whole body flushes with warmth in the wake of his domineering aggression.

You wriggle in his hold, relishing in how his grip tightens and the cold steel in his eyes glints as you resist him.

A knee slides between your legs as he leans over you menacingly, close enough for the padlock charm around his neck to lightly tap your raised chin. Good girl, it seems to whisper in Hoseok's voice, stay put.

Yeah, fuck that.

You snatch the necklace up between your teeth and yank it to the side where it bites sharply into the corner of your mouth.

The sudden motion catches him off guard and he falters, crashing down on top of you with a noise of surprise and losing control of your hands.

You scramble against him, rolling both of you to the floor with a thud.

Your heart is hammering in your chest.

You hear him grunt, his strong hands grappling with your thrashing form, and you catch just a glimpse of his shining eyes and white clenched teeth as he flips you over onto your stomach, hands in a vice grip at the small of your back and your cheek pressing into the cold, hard laminate.

You start to move again but he pushes his weight into the slender fingers splayed over your spine with a low rumble in the back of his throat and you still with a groan.

You're pressed so deliciously firmly to the floor. You can feel arousal soaking your panties as your nerves alight everywhere he has wrested control of you. You can hear him pant, proof of his efforts, and the image of his provoked expression from seconds previous flashes through your mind.

He seemed so cool and collected before. So unbothered. To think that his blood is up and because of you? You let out a trembling breath.

"Fuck," he hisses lowly, then bends to bring his lips to the shell of your ear.

They're soft as they drag over your skin there, feather light. Your whole body shakes, and you feel his mouth pause.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are," he whispers cruelly, "But you were right about one thing...you're not a good girl. You're a disobedient little harlot who needs to be taught the rules of this house."

You whimper pathetically as he presses into you even more intensely, restricting the expansion of your lungs.

"Now," he says nosing at your exposed neck as he begins to pull away, "how about we teach you a lesson or two, hm?"

You feel his weight leave your back, and see his figure rock back on his heels out of the corner of your eye. You are just on the verge of retaliating again when you let out a yelp at the sudden shock of your hips being yanked upward by the back belt loop of your denim shorts. Hoseok lets go of your hands and they fly forward to brace yourself as your ass raises into the air and your knees move toward your chest.

And all at once you know what's coming and you feel your pussy clench in the mere anticipation of -

Smack!

You let out a wanton wail as the sharp crack of his hand against your right glute jolts through your body like a lightning strike and ends with a slam at your swollen clit.

Again - harder! Your mind screams. So you press out a whinging moan of complaint.

SMACK!

It has the desired effect.

CRACK!

Your jaw is slack, but no sound escapes as he punishes you. It hurts. Fuck, it hurts. As if he's attempting to brand your ass with the shape of his hand. But holy hell is it making you drip. Every slap jolts your body and brings the tiniest friction to where you're neediest. Where you've never been needier in your life.

Please punish my pussy....

You try to mumble the words but all you can do is drool onto the floor as he deals out pleasure and pain from above.

And then he stops. You feel hands deftly and swiftly rolling you to lie on your back.

You blink up through bleary eyes, drawing a hand across your mouth to wipe the spit away. Your shoulders are sore.

He's leaning over you, a hand still on your hip, eyes scanning your face.

"What? Did you say something? You need to speak up."

His tone is still biting but his eyes seem to hold a genuine question. Concern.

Warmth floods your chest as it registers that he wants to be able to hear you if you need him to. If you want to stop. But the light has never been so goddamned green.

"Want..." you murmur, "...more, Hoseok."

He curses, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he leans forward to take your jaw in his hand again. He rakes his gaze over your soft, swollen features, unfocused eyes, and heaving chest.

"Look at you so fucked out and all I did was smack that gorgeous ass."

He licks his lips, shaking his head in seeming disbelief as he releases your chin with a little shove. He leans back, dragging his hands over your bare thighs.

"More, hm?" he hums.

You nod eagerly.

He purses his lips and considers you through narrowed eyes, and you sense that if you want him to give you what you so desperately desire, you're going to have to show him you can take it - and take orders. You lay still, hands twitching at your sides as you look up at him through wide eyes.

He continues to run his fingertips up and down your legs as he breathes out a long relenting sigh.

"Alright," he relents, "You took your punishment well, so you should be rewarded, I suppose."

You clamp your bottom lip between your teeth, your heart rate rising again at the prospect.

He tilts forward, looming over you again as he asks the question you've been dying to answer since you woke up breathless all those weeks ago.

"What does my little brat want me to do to her? Let's see if she can use her words."

You blink up at him, unsure if you have permission to speak...or how to put your request into words that won't make you want to immediately melt through the floorboards.

"Cat got your tongue?" Hoseok sneers, pretty, heart-shaped lips curling up at one side.

His hat discarded in your tussle, wavy brown tresses hang down over his brow and his eyes sparkle darkly through them. His features are so beautiful - their loveliness thrown into sharp relief by the flinty pitilessness of their expression.

You're tempted to continue simply soaking him in, if not for the pounding ache in your core demanding that you find your voice.

"I...I want..." your lips tremble as you will yourself to tell him what you need.

Perhaps he senses that you require a little encouragement, because his eyes harden and he digs the edges of his nails into the flesh of your knees, causing you to yelp and moan and then...

"I want you to step on my pussy! Please..." You press out your request with the last of the breath in your lungs.

Hoseok's eyes flutter shut at the last word of your plea.

"Say that again," he commands in a husky whisper, and even without further specification, somehow, you know.

"Please..." You groan, letting your legs drop open demurely.

His eyes are still closed, but he can feel the action with his hands, which have now slipped just inside your knees to your inner thighs. He inhales deeply through his nose, before exhaling with a shuddering breath. When his lids languidly raise again the piercing onyx of what they have unveiled is pinning you to the floor with more deadly force than even his hands ever could. Your pulse pounds in your cunt, your head still swimming from your previous position as he pushes himself up to stand.

As you blink up at Hoseok towering over you, standing between your splayed thighs with his midnight gaze boring into the damp denim covering your heat, something inside you long ajar quietly but firmly clicks into place.

"Tell me, brat" he seethes, eyes roving your trembling form stretched out beneath him, "Who makes the rules in this house?"

"Hoseok-ssi," you whimper, so needy the ache is beginning to hurt.

Every cell of your body is awake with a desperate anticipation that only he can satisfy...or deny.

You have never felt more alive.

And then something happens and your brain shuts off entirely.

Everything vanishes: the studio, the traffic outside the western window, the city of Seoul and South Korea and the whole goddamned planet rolling around in the Milky Way. Nothing exists except the tip of Hoseok's Air Jordan ghosting over the swell of your crotch.

Your mouth waters as his foot slowly slides forward, then goes completely dry as you feel it settle with the sole aligned directly with your slit. His eyes flick up to your face, but you can't hold his gaze for more than a millisecond as he begins to apply pressure to your mound.

Your eyes roll back in your skull, head lolling as your neck goes slack, lips parted in a silent scream as the man above you presses down with a low hum over your sex. The seam of your shorts is biting deliciously into the tender flesh of your clit, sending shockwaves through your core like a live wire, and when he rolls his foot in a circular motion you think you see god.

You do scream then, but it's nothing more than a strangled sound in your throat as your fantasies materialize and he leans his weight into his stance, punishing the soft fat of your cunt with the sole of his shoe.

You're going to cum. He's barely touched you and you're going to cum. He seems to see it in the twisted ecstasy of your features as his lids hood his eyes and filth begins to spill from his lips.

"Do you like that, brat?" he taunts, "That's what you get when you're a good little girl for Hoseok - you get your pretty wet cun-"

Click jangle clack - boom boom boom!

Hobi springs away from you, hopping back on one foot with wide eyes as a succession of rapid knocks follow the stilted motions of the locked door handle. You scramble up from the floor, heart pounding and breath coming fast as you toss yourself into the corner of the couch.

Boom, boom, boom!

"Hyung, are you naked or something?" comes a familiar if muffled voice from the other side of the wall.

You fumble for your phone and Hoseok runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath before pulling open the door.

The man belonging to the impatient knocks and muffled accusations stumbles headlong into the studio, the locked entrance against which he had pressed his ear and most of his weight having been pulled out from under him.

"Jimi...nie...?" Hobi greets his bandmate and his eyes track the other's toppling form with surprise and a hint of agitation.

Yoongi ambles in casually behind him, sipping a dewy americano through a straw, a beanie sitting atop his ashy locks gnomishly.

Jimin nimbly pushes himself to a stand from where he had crashed against Hobi's desk, not a strand of his coiffed platinum blond hair askew as he spins around face to the dance captain. But before he can get out a greeting or an excuse for his manner of entrance he freezes as he spots you in the corner.

His eyes flick to Hobi's hat on the floor, then to the pink flush on the apples of his friend's cheeks. When Jimin's eyes slide back over to where you are curled into your nook, eyeing him warily over the tiny shield of your phone, his plush lips slowly spread into a sickeningly devious smile.

Hobi scoops his hat up off the floor and tugs in back on before taking a seat, carefully, you notice - thighs pressed together and leaning forward - in his rolling chair. The implication of his posture has you sweating into your shirt.

You need to get it the fuck together.

"If I would have known you were here I'd have brought you a kimbap," Jimin says, wicked grin still plastered on his face as he holds up a plastic convenience store bag.

You blink.

"Oh, uh, that's okay..." you bluster, waving your hand. "I'm not hungry anyway."

It's true. You just lost your appetite for the foreseeable future, stomach a raging sea of nerves as Jimin places the bag on the desk.

Yoongi shuffles over to sit at the other end of the couch, raising his free hand and drawing his mouth into a straight line in greeting. You manage your own tight-lipped grin and flash him a peace sign, hoping you did it quickly enough that the tremor in your hand went unnoticed.

"To what do I owe this visit from my bros?" Hobi asks from where he's turned toward his computer screen to save the neglected file.

His voice is cheerful, but you can hear the strain - how it's pitched just half a tone too high - and Jimin's eyes are still on you.

"I dragged Yoongi hyung out for some fresh air. I took him to lunch and grabbed you a snack on the way back."

"Yah, you took me to lunch? Then why did I pay?" Yoongi grumbles from beside you, his bare features pinched into a grumpy pout that makes him look particularly feline.

"Because you love me," Jimin coos at him and the older musician's mouth quirks up into a smile he can't seem to repress.

"What are you working on, Hoba? Which track?" Yoongi murmurs around the straw between his lips, blinking patiently as Hobi seems to shake himself, pulling his hat off to run a hand through his hair before readjusting it on his head and swiveling back toward his computer screen.

He hits play on the track and Yoongi leaves the couch to join the other two.

This is all so normal, so typical of the guys - the affectionate repartee and chat about ongoing projects. And on an average day, you'd have joined right in.

But today is not an average day.

No.

Five minutes ago, you were spread-eagle on the floor six inches from where Jimin stands, with Hoseok's shoe on your bits.

You have to get out of here.

"I'm, uh, I'm gonna head out, boys," you muster, making a beeline for the door as soon as the inertia of your decision gives you the courage to peel yourself from the corner of the couch.

"You're leaving?" Jimin's voice quips in a saccharine whine, with the slightest edge that makes you avoid his eyes as you slip out with a parting wave.

You do catch Hoseok's expression, whose head snaps up at your parting movements. His brows furrow and his lips part, looking as if he wants to say something, but he doesn't.

And then you're gone.

Your smart watch trills as your heart rate enters cardio territory. Your chest is heaving, breath coming heavy as the pliant cushion of your couch gives way to the crown of your head pressing back into it, eyes pinched shut and hand shoved down your pants.

The bullet vibrator you have pressed to your clit is doing everything it should, and you feel it coming - your orgasm. 6:12pm on a Tuesday and it's already your third self-love session of the day.

You tense your thighs, urging the building pressure in your core to boil over, and quickly. You groan and grit your teeth as your administering hand starts to shake. You writhe and whimper for a moment. And then it's over.

You stare up at the ceiling of your apartment, breathlessly huffing out a despondent sigh as the empty ache in your chest returns. It has become your loathsomely devoted companion in every waking moment over the last ten days, filling you with an unshakable restlessness and sickly discontent.

Nothing can slake it. Not reality TV. Not Cabernet Sauvignon. Not overtime hours. Not ASMR wood-soup videos. Not yoga. Not Ben and Jerry's. Not midnight runs on your NordicTrack. Not fucking yourself to climax on every single goddamned toy you own.

The little monster you roused the weekend before last in Hope World hasn't returned to sleep. No. She is wide awake. And she seems to grow more ravenous with each passing day.

At first you tried to ignore her, but she kept you up into the long, bleak hours of the night. And so, in a fuzzy, staticky haze some time after midnight a number of days ago you typed some words into a search engine that would probably have your assigned FBI agent doing a spit-take.

The thing is, you'd never seen "50 Shades of Grey", you'd never been interested. It wasn't as if you were a prude - hardly! You have always enjoyed sex, both intimate and recreational. In fact, it has always been one of your favored methods of blowing off steam, and you knew quite well how to please yourself and how to guide partners in doing the same.

You have never had problems in taking what you wanted in life, in taking charge and ensuring that things play out your way – it's what makes you so good at your job, and valued by your peers who know that they can rely on you to take the reins and rise to the occasion.

So when you suddenly stumbled unprepared into the world of BDSM, your visceral reaction to the concept of submission left you wondering...why?

Why, why, why?

Why does this do it for you? Why did your very linear, stable existence have to be completely disrupted by this discovery? And most urgently of all, why, for the love of everything sacred, did all the porn in the whole wide world fail to accomplish even a fraction of the effect of Jung Hoseok's size 9 sneaker? It's all too overwhelming to process.

You let out a frustrated whine as you pull your sticky, cramped hand, still clutching the little purple bullet, from the confines of your pants. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table and you can see the notification is from Jimin. You've been ignoring his calls and pleading texts to meet up, or just pick up. You can't face him. Not after ghosting Hobi.

You feel a pang twist in your stomach as you haul yourself toward the shower, hoping the hot water will wash away the guilt you feel for ignoring Hoseok outright. He texted you almost immediately after you left the studio, asking if you were alright. You let him know that you were, with just one word: yeah.

You had typed and retyped that response. "Yeah, thanks" seemed too weird. Like, thanks for what? Almost making you cum with the tip of his shoe? No. "Yeah, sorry" felt pathetic. What were you apologizing for? It seemed to imply...regret? Or fault. Neither of which would have come from a genuine place. And beyond a simple affirmation, you certainly didn't have words. So, "yeah" it was. He tried to call you later that evening, but you didn't pick up. You were already way up in your head by then. It had been radio silence since.

You toss a coconut steamer onto the wet shower tiles and sigh, catching a glimpse of your face in the bathroom mirror as you slide the glass door shut.

"Coward," you mutter as you close your eyes and slip under the cleansing stream.

You're wrapped up in a blanket cocoon and sipping a cup of sleepy-time tea, trying to distract yourself from the messy tangle of emotions waging war across your various chakras with season two of Single's Inferno, when a knock on the door startles you out of your simmering reverie. You heave yourself off the carpeted floor of your living room and scoot toward the door like a fleecy Jabba the Hutt to peek through the peephole.

Your vision is obscured as another eye looks back at you from the other side of the concave glass. You jump back, dropping your blanket shroud in a pile around your feet and let out a yelp of alarm. You slam a hand over the peep hole as giggles erupt on the other side.

"Yah! I know you're in there - so let me in!"

Your entire body sags against the door in relief as you recognize the voice of the would-be intruder. You swing the door open to grant him exasperated entrance.

"Park Jimin, you just took ten years off my life! Creep," you bluster, gathering the blanket up around your body as you retreat back into your apartment.

You plop down again in front of the TV, knowing that Jimin came to either talk you into going out or to just talk, and either way, you are truly not in the mood. Your friend snickers behind you, sauntering into your kitchen. He returns with a beer, bringing the frosty green bottle to his lips before sinking into an armchair and regarding you with an expression that waivers between amusement, pity, and disgust.

"You look awful," he remarks, taking another swig as his gaze roves your unkempt appearance.

Your features twist into a frown, eyes never leaving the television.

"You don't get to barge into my apartment, steal my booze, then insult me, Park," you snip, burrowing further down into the fluffy mass encasing your body.

Jimin raises a brow, a small smile still playing on his lips as he follows your eyes to the television where YouTuber Dex and professional model Lim Minsu flirtatiously splash about in a ridiculously opulent indoor swimming pool.

"Fuck, Dex is hot," Jimin mutters.

"For some reason he reminds me of Jungkook," you smirk, glancing over at him for the first time since he arrived.

He grimaces theatrically.

"I don't see it."

The contestant on the screen flashes his Paradise companion a blinding smile and raises a tattooed arm to cut through the water, content to show off his stroke precision as his date watches on. The resolve on Jimin's face falters .

"Yeah, well...Dex is hotter."

You scoff.

"Yeah, no. Kook-ah is definitely hotter."

"For the love of god, just don't tell him that, okay?" Jimin pleads, "That kid is insufferable enough these days."

"You love him."

He hides a smile behind another sip of Hite.

"Why did you ghost Hobi hyung?"

Jimin blinks innocent eyes at you, as if he hasn't just dumped the last week and a half of silent agony over your head like a bucket of ice water. But the chill is momentary, because the next second your body feels like an oven. You stammer.

"I-I...ghost him? I didn't ghost anyone...I'm busy...I..." you trail off weakly as your friend's unimpressed and knowing gaze bores into your soul.

You sigh and scrub your hands over your face.

"Because I'm a big chicken, okay?" You murmur into your palms.

You don't know why, but you feel like crying. When you pull your hands away from your face, Jimin must see it because suddenly he's on the couch wrapping you in the kind of hug that reminds you why he's your ride-or-die, and in the safety of his embrace the tears begin to fall. Days of being alone with yourself and your conflicted feelings pour from your ducts and onto the front of Jimin's bright yellow flannel. He coos words of reassurance, admonishing your tears, as he strokes your hair.

"Talk to me, you silly goose," he hums with an endeared chuckle.

You sniff and hiccup as you pull away, wiping your puffy eyes.

"I don't even know what to say, Minnie...I don't know what's wrong with me..."

Jimin smiles and grabs a few tissues from the box on the coffee table, dabbing them against your nose.

"Well, first of all, nothing is wrong with you. But second of all, tell me what is bothering you."

You heave a dramatic sigh.

"If I tell you, you have to swear - and I mean swear - that you will not make fun of me or tell anyone else. And I mean not Taehyung, not Yoongi, not anyone, you hear me?"

He smirks, but nods in assent. You narrow your eyes at him.

"Say it. Out loud." You demand warily.

Jimin rolls his eyes and throws up his hands.

"Yah! Okay! I won't tell anyone," he quips mockingly.

You sigh again and draw your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. If this gets too hard to talk about with eye-contact at least you'll have a place to hide your bashful face.

"I..." you start softly, not sure where to begin except the beginning, "Re-remember that thing I told you when we got plastered a little while back...about...Hobi?"

Jimin's lips quirk at the corners as he nods.

"Well...the thing is...wait!" You cut yourself off, suddenly gripped by a notion that has you prematurely flustered and indignant. "What did he tell you?"

Jimin shakes his head, a small smile still playing on his full lips.

"Nothing," he responds, looking you dead in the eye in a way that has you almost believing he's telling the truth.

"No, really," you press.

Jimin leans back against the arm of the couch from where he faces you, running a hand through his hair and drawing his legs up to criss-cross in front of him.

"Jagi, this is Hobi hyung we're talking about. You think he would do that? He has too much respect for you. He would never. Not to anyone. Not even me."

Your chest floods with relief, affection, and regret. Fuck. Of course he wouldn't. He was too mature of a person for that. Too considerate. Too lovely. And you hadn't even had the gumption to speak to him for the last ten days beyond a mono-syllabic SMS. Jimin watches your expression do emotional acrobatics.

"So..." he offers encouragingly, "something...happened....between you guys, right? That day Yoongi hyung and I showed up? We...uh...interrupted something, didn't we?" He can't help a devilish smile, eyes twinkling as he carefully phrases his query.

You bury your face into your knees and squeak out an affirmation. Jimin lets out a bright laugh and you immediately raise your burning face in a scowl.

"Hey! You said you wouldn't-"

He waves his hands in apology as he attempts to gain his composure.

"Mianhae, mianhae! I'm not laughing at you!" He insists, leaning forward to grab your swatting hands by the wrists.

"Sounds kind of like you are!" You huff, yanking your arms from his grasp.

"So..." Jimin hums, tilting his head to track your gaze as you try again to hide your face, "If he's down, and you're down...what's the problem? Why did you run and hide? Did your feelings change?"

You slowly raise your eyes to his, searching them as you decide just how much you're willing to tell him right now. You chew on your bottom lip as you realize you need to get it out. All of it. You drop your legs to mirror Jimin's posture, lowering your defenses with your millionth-and-first sigh of the evening.

"Okay...well..." you muse, fiddling with the blanket still draped over your lap. "You know how I told you that stuff that I...dreamt...about Hobi?"

Jimin nods.

"Well...something did kind of happen...and well..." you trail off as Jimin raises his brows expectantly.

"Oh, fuck it!" you bluster, exhausted by your own attempts at delicacy. "He dominated me and I liked it. I really really liked it, okay? And it freaked. me. the fuck. out. Like...I've neeeeever felt that way before about fooling around. It wasn't just fun, or, like, pleasurable...it was...almost..." you search for the words as Jimin stares at you raptly. "...Freeing? Like, a relief. Like, a 'where has this shit been all my life' moment."

Jimin hums and nods, interlacing his fingers and leaning his chin against his knuckles.

"Like...I don't know...I'm a very independent person. And capable. And, yeah, things have been crazy stressful at work, and I have a lot on my plate...but I handle it, you know? In fact, I don't just handle it, I kind of...enjoy the pressure of leadership and responsibility? It drives me. I've always been like that, in every area of my life..."

Jimin smiles and lets out a sound of recognition.

"So the one who wears the crown is wondering why it feels so good to be...subjected?" He waggles his brows. You roll your eyes.

"Grow up, dude."

"Am I right, though? I'm right."

You find yourself chewing your bottom lip again.

"Essentially. I like power. I like control. What is this sudden obsession with losing it? It's...scary. And confusing."

Jimin smiles.

"You know, it's actually not that uncommon, from what I understand," he states, reaching for his abandoned beer on the coffee table.

You quirk an eyebrow.

"I mean, everyone is different, and this is a journey you're going to have to take for yourself to get the answers, but from what I know about the BDSM community, it's not unusual for people who are in positions of power to crave a bit of a...reprieve."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he nods, reclining back again against the arm of the couch, "The bedroom is a good place to let your walls down. Maybe the only place, for some people. And with a trusted partner it can even be healing to play a different role than you do in other parts of your life."

It's your turn to smirk.

"You talk as if you know," you prod playfully, shoving your toes into his shin. He smiles that wicked smile of his and you laugh.

"What I'm trying to say is, maybe it's not just about the...dynamics. Maybe it's also that it's Hobi hyung. He knows you. You know him, too. You trust each other. Maybe you could get to know each other in a new way. Be something for each other that you both need." He takes the last sip of his beer and twirls the bottle in his hands, gazing at you with a gentle thoughtfulness.

You nod slowly, digesting his newly offered perspective.

"So," you muse, raising your eyes to him again, "You think he needs it too?"

Jimin shrugs.

"Only he could tell you that for sure. But I do know this, he's awfully good at being bossy, and doesn't get a lot of opportunity to run the show - outside of dance practice, that is."

Chuckling nervously at the thought, you try your best to conceal the spark that has crackled to life from the burning coals inside you at the mention of his natural command of authority.

"Hey," Jimin posits with a grin, "Maybe if he's spanking you he'll go a little easier on us when we screw up the choreo..."

"EXCUSE ME THE FU-WHAT?!" You shriek, snatching up a throw pillow to beat him mercilessly as he falls in raucous laughter to the floor.

Turning to glance over your shoulder at your reflection in the mirror, you smooth your hands over the back of the svelte black bodycon number you've donned for the evening. You're a vision in monochrome, having paired your LBD with sleek stilettos and dark smokey eyes with heavy lashes.

Your phone buzzes, indicating that your ride share is close by. Butterflies flutter in your belly as you reach for the finishing touch to your outfit: a velvety black choker with a sliver o-ring studded in colorless topaz. It's just fashionable enough to still look like a necklace, but it gives you a bit of a thrill to know that it's not. To know what's tucked inside your purse to accompany it. To wonder if, going unnoticed by most, it will catch a certain pair of dark eyes.

The drive across town to reach the Jihope residence never felt so long. You try your best to calm your nerves over the last few blocks of distance - it’s just a party, after all, and kind of a silly one at that.

During Jimin's last visit, he mentioned that he and Hobi would be throwing a Black Day party for all of their single friends the following weekend, and after dodging his attempts at socialization so religiously of late, you felt you owed it to him to attend.

Black Day had never been something your group of friends had ever observed before, but it was incredibly chic to do so this year, for whatever reason. And of course, all the organizing duo of the soiree needed was the slightest excuse for Jimin to party and Hobi to host.

Upon arriving at the building, you can already hear the music pumping from the top floor, and the chatter of guests spilling out onto the terrace. You present your ID to the security guard at the front gate, and are escorted to a private elevator that whisks you up to the penthouse. Being quite successful and comfortable yourself, you still find yourself surprised when reminded of the sheer net worth of your humble, down-to-earth Bangtan pals. Hobi is worth the most, and while he is an excellent investor and a generous philanthropist, he also likes to show out, and in style.

You take a deep breath as you buzz the bell.

The door swings open to reveal a handsome young man in a black t-shirt tucked into baggy dark-wash jeans, his fluffy brown hair parted in the middle and his ears glinting with rows of silver hoops. His round eyes scrunch into little moons and he flashes an adorable toothy grin, endearingly lopsided where it stretches deeper against the little orbital piercing at the right side of his bottom lip.

“Noona!" he growls, pulling you into a bear hug. "Where have you been? The last two times we went to noraebang there was no one to sing Through the Night with me!"

"Ah...hah...", you nervously chuckle, pulling away from his embrace as you search your brain for an excuse other than business.

"I'll sing with you, Googie!"

You turn to see your salvation from further explanation in the form of a giggling young woman bouncing up to clutch Jungkook's arm and steady herself as she sways on her platform heels. She smells like soju and fruity perfume.

You smirk and thank her, patting her hand where it clutches your friend's tattooed forearm before she's dragging him away down the hall.

"Make sure she stays hydrated!" You call after him with a shake of your head, making your way through the throng of guests to the bar area.

The furnishings of the residence are a study in classy postmodern minimalism, punctuated with abstract urban art – though you notice that some of the Kaws pieces are missing, likely stored away for safekeeping from rowdy party-goers.

The sleek chrome and granite full-service bar is stocked with liquor and beer, and a commissioned mixologist is crafting darkly colored cocktails. A buffet-style spread offers the traditional jjajangmyeon and an assortment of other delicious eats.

The spacious dining area is littered with small tables draped in black linens, each bearing centerpieces of hellebore, leather leaf, black carnations, and eucalyptus. The living room has been converted to a dance floor, complete with a glittering disco ball. House music booms through the built-in speaker system as guests in groups and pairs move to the beat.

You glance over a drink menu of themed cocktails as a voice sounds from over your shoulder.

"I recommend the Down With Love."

Turning, you flash the speaker a grin.

"Alright, but is it giving Judy or Barbara?"

Taehyung raises a disparaging brow.

"It's a gimlet. Judy, obviously."

You chuckle, putting in your order for the suggested beverage.

"You look good," he remarks, gesturing at you with the unlit cigarette tucked between his first two fingers, his other hand slipped into his pocket as he leans against the wall.

He doesn't look bad himself, you think, in his black satin top and flared Merlot trousers.

"Thanks," you smile as the bartender hands over an inky concoction garnished with a grapefruit slice twisted into the shape of a heart and run through with a toothpick.

You eye it skeptically.

"How do they make it black?"

"Activated charcoal. C'mon."

Tae links your arm through his and weaves through the bustle to a table of familiar faces. Yoongi raises a whiskey tumbler in greeting and you clink your glass with his, sliding into a chair next to Taehyung and reaching over to give Namjoon's arm an affectionate squeeze. It seems that all the members have turned up, save Seokjin, who's been a taken man three years strong.

You fall into easy conversation with the boys, and just when your difference of opinion with Namjoon over Lee Bul's latest installation piece is developing into a full-blown debate, Jimin slides up to the table and spills onto Taehyung's lap.

"None of you are dancing!" He whines breathlessly, poking Tae's cheek as the other man smiles shyly.

"Jungkook is," Yoongi rebuts, taking another bite of jjajangmyeon.

He's not wrong, though to your amusement, the maknae appears to be getting danced on more than anything else.

"Where's Hobi hyung?" Tae queries, prodding gently at Jimin's full cheek in return.

Jimin's eyes dart to you, a smirk spreading slowly across his lips as his gaze rakes up from your heels to the choker around your neck.

"Good question," he hums, rising to take your hand and pull you up from your seat. "Let's go find him."

Jimin heads for the French doors at the far end of space that lead onto the terrace. They're propped open, and cool evening air floods the apartment, keeping the atmosphere from suffocating under the warmth of body heat and the scent of rich food.

"Jimin!" You hiss, as you approach the rooftop patio, "What are you doing? This is the opposite of subtle!"

He laughs merrily.

"You're so cute when you're flustered!"

You don't have any more time to grumble as you emerge under the darkening sky, just beginning to speckle with stars barely visible against the glow of string lights wrapped around the cozy outdoor enclosure. There's a small electric fire pit surrounded by plush patio furniture, and live greenery all around.

The energy is much more relaxed than within, but even so, you feel your pulse quicken as Jimin guides you toward a small group at the corner of the terrace. You recognize a few of the men and women gathered as industry producers, but none of that really matters because all your brain can register is him.

And holy shit does he look good.

He's arresting sophistication and effortless elegance. A silk charcoal dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, ripples along the lines of his torso - save where the top three buttons have been neglected to expose the smooth planes of his toned chest. His lean, athletic legs seem even longer than usual in fitted black slacks, his pretty wrists and fingers sparkling with jewelry where his thumbs are slipped into his pockets. His hair has been slicked back from his face, and his eyes are just barely obscured by a pair of lightly tinted wire-rimmed aviators. That brilliant, warm heart-shaped smile cuts through all the sharp darkness of his garb, and your breath catches in your chest when Jimin calls out to him.

"Hyung!"

As Hoseok's eyes meet yours the grin stretched across his face falters, but he quickly regains composure.

"Eyyy," he greets you, striding forward and wrapping his arm around your shoulders to pull you into a side hug. Of course he smells as incredible as he looks.

"Hi, Hobi," you murmur a bit shyly, returning his embrace.

"Hyung," Jimin pouts cutely, "Save us! She was putting our guests to sleep talking to Namjoon-ah about art theory."

"Hey," Hobi chides in a warning tone, cocking his head to the side to glance down at you. "Don't enable the poor guy – he needs to get laid."

"Well nobody is going to approach him if she's hanging around looking like that." Jimin gestures casually, a mischievous twinkle glinting for a moment his eye.

Hobi's arm slips off your shoulders to grasp your hand as he steps back. He's never been good at keeping his feelings from his face, and the look trained on his features as he appraises you has you thinking you made the right decision when you put on that dress.

"How about we keep you out of trouble and on the dance floor, hm?" Hobi says with a sly smile, raising your hand and tilting forward in a posture of invitation.

You roll your eyes playfully, unable to bite back a smile of your own as you motion for Hobi to lead the way, careful to avoid Jimin's eyes as you let the rapper guide you back into the thrumming pulse of the festivities.

He gently pulls you onto the dance floor and tugs you into him, keeping a hold on your right hand as he slips the other just below the curve of your waist. You settle into an easy step to the lively beat. Hobi's eyes search your face as you tilt it up to him, running a hand up his chest to adjust the collar of his shirt with a sigh. You fiddle with the soft fabric between your fingers.

"I'm sorry, Hobi," you murmur, just loudly enough for him to hear.

When he just smiles a bit sadly you feel your heart squeeze and you drop your head to his chest. You will yourself not to cry as he slows his movements, slipping a knuckle beneath your chin to raise your gaze to his own.

"Hajima," he protests, "Let's talk later. Right now, how about we just have some fun? I missed you."

His expression is sweet and earnest and you feel like your chest might not have room for anything more than your complete and utter affection for this man.

"I missed you too," you admit with a little grin, pressing yourself against him just a bit more firmly and gazing up at him through widened eyes. He blinks for a moment, and then suddenly, there it is again, blooming across his lips - that blinding gorgeous smile, and that heady, infectious laugh.

In one quick motion, he spins you around to face away from him as the music drops to a deep, throbbing EDM number, his fingertips grazing your hips and his lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

"You did, huh?" he purrs. "Alright, then...show me how much."

You suck in a breath because you don't ever think you'll be ready for how quickly he can turn that dark, deep voice in his chest into something that makes you feel like you're astral-projecting. Your first instinct is to push him away, make him take it from you...but this moment isn't for that. After your exit last time around, you’re determined to make him so incredibly certain that you want him. That you need him.

You lean back into him and, whispering a silent prayer of gratitude to the goddess of stilettos, press your ass firmly into his groin. You feel the air leave his lips in a hiss against your neck, and his hands slide to squeeze your hips and tug your body even deeper into his. You grind back against him as your body undulates with the hypnotic rhythm of the beat, but it's not long before he's taken over guiding the motion of your hips to match the rolls of his own.

Your eyelids flutter. You've never been this close to him. Sure, in the studio, things had gotten hot and heavy - but you had only been in his hands. He had only touched you to move you, still you, punish you. Now you are flush against his body, and everywhere you touch as he rocks you in tortuous waves against him tastes like the first sumptuous bite of a forbidden fruit.

You can feel him beginning to swell against the plush of your ass, but even that isn't what has a familiar ache throbbing at the apex of your thighs – it's the effortlessness with which he wrests control of your body, your mind...your very being down to its most primal core.

Hoseok's hand skids up your side and slips over your collarbones.

"I like this necklace," he mumbles into your hair.

You turn in his arms, slipping your fingers around the back of his neck as you raise your lips to his ear.

"I'm disappointed in you, Hoseok," you tut, "It's not a necklace, you know."

He doesn't respond, but focuses on bringing his leg to slot between yours, hiking your dress up enough to tease your mound with brushes over the front of his thigh. You swallow a moan.

He's toying with you, but you won't give in. Not so easily. Not yet.

"I guess you could call it a choker..." you rasp, trying to keep the tremor from your voice as your face presses into the side of his jaw, "That is more descriptive of its actual purpose, I suppose."

For one millisecond in the fabric of time and space you feel his pace falter as the words spill from your lips - then he runs his hand up your back, slipping two fingers under the tight strip of velvet surrounding your throat.

For the first time since you started dancing, you look at him. Crystalline beads of sweat have broken out on his brow, and his mouth is set in a stern line, his eyes hooded and dark as tugs his fingers back to command a view of your gaze.

"Are you telling me," he grits out lowly, digging his fingers into the flesh of your hip so bruisingly you gasp, "...that you showed up to my party wearing a fucking collar?"

You don't answer him - instead you let a wicked smile slip over your lips, refusing defiantly to drop his piercing stare. He has stopped moving you against him, stopped moving entirely. His hands are firm but still where they hold you as his eyes bore down.

"Are you out here trying to finish what we started?"

You tilt your head back, narrowing your eyes seductively.

"What do you think?"

You watch a thousand and one thoughts race through Hoseok's mind as his eyes drop to your neck again and he swallows thickly.

"Oh, fuck it," he hisses, turning and catching your hand to pull you impatiently through the crowd.

You barely have time to wonder what he's thinking or where you're headed when, at the opening to the hall, he spins to grasp your waist and tuck you into a small alcove. He does it so quickly and with such force that you nearly topple the potted plant on the stand beside you.

He pushes himself against you, the tip of his nose brushing yours, and his firm body pressing you to the wall. He holds your wrists in his hands, pinning them to either side of your body. You let out a tiny whimper.

His peppermint breath fans over your cheeks.

"I was going to wait," he whispers loud enough for you to hear him clearly over the music from the room behind you. "I was going to ask you...to stay. After..." he traces his nose along the ridge of your cheekbone as he squeezes your wrists tightly, his nails nipping into your skin. "But you come here with the audacity to tease me like that? Out there, in front of everyone like a desperate little slut?"

His mouth is hovering over your ear as he speaks, sending shivers cascading down your spine.

"I'm not a patient man," he mutters darkly, and you feel your pussy throb.

You struggle slightly against his grasp, and he growls lowly. Turning into him, you press your mouth against his throat, letting your teeth graze his skin as you respond.

"Then don't be."

It's all the permission he needs. He snatches you away from the wall, dragging you down the hall toward the master bedroom at the far end. Your heartbeat hammers in your chest as you gaze at the dark mahogany door growing closer and closer with every stumbled step you take to match his hurried pace.

He turns to glance over his shoulder, and you follow the action as he grips the handle, turns it, and...

"What the..." Hoseok mutters, rattling the handle forcefully before raising his fist to pound against the door. "YAH! UNLOCK THIS DOOR!" He booms.

You hear muted voices and sounds of scurried movement from within. He bangs again and again until the door swishes open to reveal a flushed and flustered Jungkook, still fumbling with the button of his jeans.

"Hyung! S-sorry, hyung, I was just...we were..."

"OUT." Hoseok demands icily, pushing the door inward on its hinges to reveal the peppy, strawberry-scented young woman from before hurrying forward to tuck herself behind Jungkook as she draws a hand across her smeared lipstick.

You bite back a grin as you watch them scuttle down the hall before Hoseok shuts and locks the door behind you.

"That kid...seriously," he grumbles. "He knows my room is off limits."

You chuckle, despite his lack of amusement, and he takes your hand again, drawing you toward a small couch at the far side of the large room. You take in your surroundings as you cross the space - similarly furnished to the rest of the apartment. The furniture is sleek and modern, Kaws sculptures and collectible figurines occupy tables and shelves. There are a few live plants, including one hanging from a large hook in the ceiling near a massive, raised canopy bed.

He draws you to sit beside him, a crease still pinched between his brows, likely from having to evict the irksome intruders. You laugh softly and run a thumb over his forehead.

"They're gone!" you chuckle, "Don't let it bother you so much. You'll get wrinkles." You tease, and his face softens.

He catches your hand in both of his as it lowers. He sighs.

"I needed a bit of water thrown in my face anyway," he smirks, and you glance down bashfully. "Before anything really happens, I think we should have…a conversation."

You nod in agreement.

"Can I start?" you interject and he nods in return.

You huff out a long breath.

"I want to apologize for how I reacted...last time."

He smiles wryly.

"It was all very new and sudden to me, and...I don't know...I freaked out."

Hobi squeezes your hand.

"You have no reason to be sorry about that. I should have never initiated like that somewhere that wasn't really private. I just got caught up..." he shakes his head.

"No! Me too! I'm glad it happened. I..." you trail off, feeling your face heat. "Oh, fuck, I don't know how to say this..."

He claims he's not a patient man, but he waits, watching with tender eyes as you choose your words.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about it...like..." you take a deep breath as you gather the courage for vulnerable transparency.

You remember what Jimin said. It's Hobi. You are safe with Hobi.

"It was like nothing I've ever felt before. Like a release...more than sexual, you know? Like, freedom. Like, I felt so alive."

He smiles, nodding his head in understanding.

"I..." you continue, still nervous but with mounting confidence as he makes you feel heard, "I would like to...explore this part of myself, this new world," you gesture, "And...well, I would love for you to be the one to guide me."

You raise your gaze to his. His eyes are shimmering. He slowly raises a hand and brushes his fingers over your cheek.

"It would be my honor," he murmurs earnestly.

A smile blooms across your face and your chest fills with warmth. You raise your hand, curling your fingers into his where they rest against your jaw. He drops your hands, still holding on, to his knee.

"Can I ask how much you know about the community?" he queries, tracing his thumb softly over your knuckles.

"A lot more now than I did a couple of weeks ago!" you respond with a laugh. "I know that I'm a sub, but one that likes to...fight back a little bit?"

Hobi smirks, pocketing his tongue in his cheek. His eyes glint.

"A brat," he answers.

"...Yeah."

"Want me to work for it."

Your mouth quirks up in a grin.

"The harder the challenge the bigger the payoff," he hums, glancing thoughtfully down at your joined hands.

"I think," he says after a pause, "Since you're new to all this, we should start slow. I already know some things you enjoy, and vice versa. But part of this kind of thing is about testing your limits. You're going to come across things you don't like, too. I need you to be able to tell me. Without a second thought. Seriously."

He looks at you intently.

You smile.

"I trust you enough to know that you’d stop if that’s what I wanted. I may enjoy being dominated but I do still know what I want. And with you...I..." You tug at his hand, "I know I could say what I...need.”

He huffs out a little breath, his brows drawing together as he regards you in reverence.

"You know you can be that way with me too, right? Needy?" You ask softly. "I want...to take care of you, that way. Maybe we can...take care of each other."

You're not looking at him. You can't. It's all incredibly intimate and strange. When he doesn't respond, you begin to wonder if you said something you shouldn't have. And then your doubts vanish as quickly as they had appeared when you feel his arm slip around your shoulders as he pulls you into his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin.

Your heart sings.

After a long, quiet moment, Hobi pulls back to look at you.

"Should we set some rules for ourselves?" he asks.

You purse your lips and nod. Admittedly, you had come with a few in mind.

"I think...we shouldn't kiss. Well, not on the mouth. It's...I don't know. I think it might make things confusing."

Hobi looks thoughtful, nodding slowly.

"Which brings me to my other thought," you chew your lip. "I think this should just be about sex. We're friends, and I want to keep that aspect of our relationship strong and uncompromised."

He smiles.

"Makes sense to me. But..." he says with a raise of his brows, "If we do start seeing other people, I think we should tell each other. Especially if they're going to be people we're fooling around with."

You give an enthusiastic hum of assent.

“I don’t have a partner at the moment,” you shake your head, glancing up at him.

“Me neither.”

He clears his throat and shifts his stance.

“When we’re…together,” he gestures in the space between you. “What about protection?”

You blink thoughtfully.

“I’m on birth control.”

He nods.

“Okay…would you want me to wear a condom?”

You feel heat creep up your neck as you meet his gaze with a shake of your head.

“Not unless you wanted you.”

He stares at you for a long moment before chuckling and shaking his own head.

“Ay, you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You smile and pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Oh! And we already have a safeword!” you remind him with a grin.

"We do," he acknowledges, his eyes dropping to the glinting metallic ring adorning your throat.

Your smile falters and your heartbeat quickens…and when he looks back up at you it's like whiplash as he sets you reeling again with a dark, hungry gaze.

"If that thing isn't a necklace," he rasps, reaching his fingers up to touch the cold silver, "How about we put it to its proper use, hm?"

You shiver, pressing your thighs together as your heartbeat drops to your clit.

"Yeah..." you whisper, your breath already starting to come quicker as you reach for your bag and fumble with trembling fingers with the clasp.

Hoseok's brow knits as he watches you open the purse, reaching in to produce a length of light chain about three feet long with a velvet strap on one and a claw clasp on the other. You double it up and dangle it from your hand, your heart thrumming in your chest as you raise your eyes to his.

"You can put it on me," you purr, "...But you'll have to take it from me first."

Click.

That ineffable thing, that invisible force he wields that arrests you has slipped back into place. You can feel it, pouring off him in devastating waves...and you're already starting to drown.

It didn't take him long to wrestle the leash from your grasp. Now you're on your knees before him, hands at your sides as he leans forward to affix the chain to the o-ring at your neck. You're breathing hard from your struggle. He stands to his full height, wrapping the links around his hand until the line is taught. He clicks his tongue condescendingly.

"What am I going to do with you now, hm?" he murmurs, tugging at the chain briefly so that you lurch slightly forward. You whine complaintively.

"Quiet," he hisses in warning.

You bite your lip. You need to obey now. Your panties are soaked and you can feel the turgid swell of your clit with every slight motion of your body. If you are good for him, then maybe you will be rewarded. Being a good girl should earn something. Right now, you will take anything.

Hoseok glowers down at you, tilting his head to the side as his eyes trail over your features, coming to rest on your pouted lips. He wets his own.

"You like to run that mouth of yours...how about we see what else it can do?"

Holy fucking shit. You feel saliva begin to pool under your tongue, your eyes flicking down to the bulge at the front of his slacks. You start to raise your hands toward his belt but he yanks sharply upward on the chain, the metal ring biting into the underside of your jaw, ripping a mewl of discomfort and impatience from your lips.

He lets out a long sigh, shaking his head as his lips curve into a cruel smile.

"So eager that she can't even wait for permission?"

You whimper again, biting your lip as he laughs darkly above you.

"My little whore wants something, doesn't she?"

You give a silent nod, letting your tongue slip out to wet your lips and watch his eyes darken as his pupils swallow his deep brown irises.

"Mmm..." He hums in consideration, bringing his free hand to cradle your chin. "I've told you before, sweet thing, if you want something, you have to ask for it."

Your eyes blink languidly as you look up at him. Your head is swimming as you sway on your knees, the dizzy helplessness of being spun between degradation and endearment hanging over you like a heavy trance. His fingers tighten around your jaw.

"Come on..." he coaxes in a chilly whisper, "Use that pretty mouth to ask Hoseok."

You swallow thickly.

"Wan..." you start softly, but his grip on your jaw sharpens.

"Speak up, I can't hear you," he commands reproachfully.

Heat swells up from your neck and sweat begins to tickle your hairline. You know what you want, you've been thinking about little else since he was pressed against you on the dance floor...but the thought of giving your filthy, aching desires shape has every inch of your body trembling.

"Wan...want..." you struggle over his fingers pressing harshly into your cheeks.

He tuts, and the look on his stony features suddenly warns you that if you don't overcome your nerves...

"Wan' your cock!" you choke out desperately.

Hoseok's lids dip slowly and his lips part, as if your words have been injected into his veins, and you think you could fucking cum at the sight. His eyes flutter open again and he gazes down. You fight for patience and composure with each maddening second of silence that passes. You can feel your pussy clench and your hands follow suit. Hoseok catches the motion. A sickening grin spreads over his lips.

"Want this cock, hm?" he hums, releasing your chin from his grasp to palm over the clothed swell inches from your lips.

You whimper pathetically, letting your eyes slip shut. Fuck you want him. You want your mouth around him. You want to choke on him. You want the thick, sticky milk of his release on your tongue.

"So tell me, brat," he hisses, wrapping another loop of chain around his palm so that he holds you on a mere few inches of leash. "How do you want my cock?"

Any shame has been dispelled from your being in the presence of your burning desire, and you raise heavy, lustful eyes to his dark ones.

"Wanna suck it off."

You can see his chest beginning to rise and fall with more effort as he pulls you by the leash, in tortuously slow deliberation, until your lips are ghosting over the zipper of his slacks. He glares down at you, the corner of his mouth curling up in a sneer as he holds you in place.

"BEG."

A violent tremor of arousal jolts through your abdomen and you gasp.

"P-please..." you stammer dumbly against the soft, dark cotton.

"Again."

"Please..."

"Please, what?"

"Please..." you breath shakily, "Will you fuck my mouth?"

You feel him twitch under the vibration of your supplicating words.

"Alright," he relents in a rasp, "But keep those hands at your sides, understand?”

You nod.

“Unless,” he tugs at the chain again,”You need to stop. Then you grab my leg and squeeze.”

“Okay.”

“What are you going to do, baby? If you need me to stop?”

“Squeeze your leg.”

“That’s right,” he hums and the repeated instruction.

You chew on your lip as he pulls off his belt and slips open the button, giving a tug at your collar. As you look up at his hooded eyes, you know exactly what to do.

You nose at the seam, trying for one moment to ignore the throbbing bulge against your cheek as you find the zipper with your teeth and drag it slowly downward, your eyes never breaking his burning gaze.

"Good girl," he hisses, pushing his pants down his hips to reveal a pair of tight, black boxer briefs, a sizable strain pulling at the flexible fabric where he's hard beneath them.

He hooks two thumbs into the elastic and tugs down, his fully erect cock springing free to bob against the side of your face. A sticky streak of precum smears across your cheek as you seek his head with your lips, barely having time to register the smooth tip, or the pretty, pulsating veins as you rush to swallow him whole.

Hoseok lets out a long, deep groan as you suckle greedily around him. Allowing your spit to slick his shaft you pull back, keeping just the crown between your lips as you worry your tongue along his dripping slit.

He's rock hard and heavy on your tongue as you lean in to take him farther down your throat, bunching your hands into your dress at the aching urge to cup and stroke the velvet skin of his scrotum.

"Fuck," he grits out from between clenched teeth, "That's right..."

You bob lower and lower on his shaft, seeking to take as much of him as you are able. When you feel his tip brush the back of your throat, you moan around him. His free hand flies into your hair, and suddenly he's yanking you off of him. You cough and splutter at the sudden motion and he tugs the chain so that you raise watery eyes to him. He releases your hair to absently stroke himself as he lightly pants over you.

"Asked me to fuck that throat. Think you can take it?"

You nod as you attempt to wipe drool pooling on your chin into your shoulder.

"Words," he pushes, snapping the chain around his wrist.

"Yeah," you mock, matching his tone, a spark of defiance reigniting inside you.

Hoseok lets out a hollow laugh.

"So confident. We'll see about that."

He slips two fingers of his free hand into the strap of your collar and tugs you back toward his cock. You open wide, extending your tongue to catch the head and pull him between your lips.

You move to swallow him again, but he halts you.

"Keep still," he mutters coldly, and the fingers at your collar hold you tightly in place as he slowly slides his hips forward in a thrust that has him inching toward your soft palate.

Your eyes water, but you have never been more determined to fight your gag reflex as he pulls back and pushes in again, deeper, his cock tapping again at the back of your throat.

"Goddamn, you really can take it," he groans in a shaky voice. "Such a good little slut for Hoseok. Such a pretty, filthy little mouth."

Your nostrils flare as you draw air through your nose, and you swallow, the muscle of your throat contracting tightly around him. At this he seems to break, suddenly pulling back his hips to snap them forward as he sets a rough, self-indulgent pace.

Your eyes water, spilling over from the brutal stretch and sting, but you dig your fingers into your thighs, determined to take him as long as you possibly can.

You start to feel light-headed, and just when you think you're going to have to tap out for air, Hoseok's pulling you off of him and wrenching your face upwards to run his wild eyes over it.

You gasp for breath a moment, and then you're opening your mouth to him again, blinking up through bleary eyes in a silent, hungry plea. He shakes his head slowly as he gazes down at you, chest heaving.

"Shit, look at you..."

You're a site. Tears and mascara streak your cheeks, saliva and precum slick your chin and neck, your parted lips swollen. Hoseok's fingers twist where they're still hooked into the collar.

"You still want it, don't you? My god..." he smears the tip of his cock along your bottom lip.

Your eager tongue wriggles forward to brush over him again. He swallows, and with a growl he slaps his cock down harshly over it. You let out a little sob as your soaking, aching cunt clenches around nothing.

"Alright," he mutters in a husky whisper, "Gonna fucking ruin that tight little throat. Gonna fill it the fuck up. Blow my load all over that nasty little tongue. And you want that, don't you? Wanna be Hoseok's pretty little cumslut, hm?"

You nod, and then remember the rules.

"Yes," you croak, and open wide for him again.

He grits his teeth and tugs at the collar to pull you slowly over him again with a shudder. You've proven more than capable and it's not long before he's chasing release at a punishing pace. It's sloppy and desperate - the hollow, wet sounds as he fucks your face a pornographic symphony.

Suddenly you think you can feel his cock twitch and jerk as it hammers into your mouth, and when he grows so incredibly hard, you know he's about to reach his peak.

You lock eyes with him through your tears, watching his features strain to maintain their composure. Without warning he grabs the back of your head and slams into you, arching over as he cries out.

And he cums.

Thick ropes spurt down your throat as he quivers and throbs.

The moment he's spent his last drop of release he fists into your hair and roughly pulls you back, letting his softening cock fall free. You gasp for breath, coughing as you choke down the last remnants of his seed. Lips trembling, your eyes search his face for what you so desperately need...and you find it.

His lids are heavy over his eyes, mere glistening slips of midnight visible as they gleam down at you; his beautiful lips are parted as he pants, the honey planes of chest glistening with sweat where his shirt fails to obscure it.

He's breathless and sated and glorious, and you bask under the intensity of his gaze. He releases his hold on your collar and lets the leash clatter to the ground, bringing his hands to your face. He cups your cheeks, brushing his thumbs over the streaks of tears.

"So, fucking good for me," he mutters shakily, his brow drawn, "Such a pretty, perfect little brat."

Your eyes slip shut under his words of praise. You could move mountains if he asked you to, you were certain. In this moment, in this space, anything for this man. Everything.

You feel his hands leave your face as he moves to help you stand, before tugging his briefs back into place.

The heat of the moment past, you become acutely aware of the stinging soreness in your knees as you struggle to your feet – and the sticky ache of persistent hunger throbbing between your thighs. You teeter on your heels as blood rushes to your lower legs.

Smiling, he reaches out and pulls you to him gently by the waist, swiping a thumb over your chin.

"You were a good girl, baby. So, so good," He coos in a husky whisper. "You remember what good girls get, hm?" He's still calling the shots and demanding answers, but his eyes are soft as they regard you.

"A reward?" you answer hopefully.

He hums in assent.

"That's right, baby. That's right," He brushes at the smeared makeup under your eye. "But let's get that messy little face cleaned up first."

After unfastening your collar he sits you down on the bed, bringing makeup wipes to gently dab away the proof of your efforts, and offers you a bottle of cool water. He comes to sit beside you, eyes tracking you attentively as you drink.

"Want Hoseok to take care of that needy little pussy?" he asks, with a smirk.

"Fuck yes," you breath as you lower the bottle from your mouth.

He arches a brow, and you purse your lips in an attempt not to grin.

"Please," you add in correction.

"Mmm," he acknowledges thoughtfully, turning to gaze over his shoulder at the spider plant hanging from the ceiling a few feet past the other side of the bed.

"Does my little girl want to try something new?" he asks, his eyes still on the suspended planter.

You feel your pulse quicken and stomach twist in anticipation.

"Yes, Hoseok, I trust you," you respond without reserve.

He flicks his eyes to your face, brows drawing together. He wets his lips and huffs out a breathy laugh.

"You have no goddamned idea what you do to me when you say shit like that."

You look away, smiling brightly as you preen under the heat and affection of his gaze.

He reaches for your hand and guides you to rise to your feet.

"Alright, ditch the dress," he orders, gesturing with a flick of his chin as he leans back on his hands and spreads his thighs in a posture of recline.

You step back to give yourself space, already weak in the knees at the prospect of stripping for him. You steel your composure, a spark of boldness lighting in your belly. Taking a few steps away and turning from him, you look back over your shoulder to watch his face as you reach behind to slowly drag the zipper down your back. You make a slow, sensual show of peeling the garment from your body to reveal a lacy black balconette bra and matching thong. Stepping out of the dress and tossing it away, in nothing but your lingerie and stilettos, you stride back to stand patiently before him.

He leans forward and runs his hands up the sides of your thighs until they reach your hips where they slide back to squeeze the meat of your ass.

You bring your hands gingerly to his shoulders.

Tugging your body toward him, he draws himself to the edge of the mattress, pulling you between his thighs as he uses his sharp, white teeth to nip along the soft flesh of your belly. He sucks harshly at some places, leaving flushed little souvenirs of claim in his wake. You don't hold back the proof of your pleasure - repaying his ministrations with gasps and low moans as his hands and mouth explore you.

Hoseok raises his face from your skin, his pupils wide as his gaze settles at your breasts.

"Bra off," he commands, squeezing your ass again as you reach back to unfasten the clasp and pull the straps from your arms.

He hisses and grits his teeth, raising greedy hands to knead at your supple flesh, before pulling them away to twist and slap at your nipples.

You groan and throw your head back, relishing in the shocks of sensation – gushing, as if you could ruin your soaked panties any further. As you press your trembling thighs together he glances down at the last remaining vestige of your modesty, lips spreading into a wicked grin.

"You know I can fucking smell it - how wet you are? My god, want you to wear it like a perfume, fuck..." He runs his right hand to rub against the dampness that has the lace clinging to your slit.

The moan you let out is so needy it's practically a sob. Hoseok laughs low in his chest.

Suddenly he’s standing and spinning you around, leading you to the end of the bed. He places your hands on the footboard and instructs you to bend over, sliding your hips back until your ass is on full display. He runs his hands over the bare flesh of your cheeks.

"Now," he growls, "Can't fuck this ass until it's properly marked, can we?"

You swallow and let out a whine. The blood is already rushing to your head in a familiar surge and in the split second of silence before impact, you know what's coming - the anticipation somehow even more intoxicating when you remember how it feels when he...

Smack!

You whimper, your fingers gripping the bed frame as he delivers blow after searing blow. When he has satisfied himself with the flushed tone streaking the globes of your ass, he gives it a final squeeze, commanding you to wait where you are.

You hear him as he moves to the side of the bed to pull an object from beneath it. He seems to be grappling with something - the clink of metal and soft rustle of leather interrupting the sudden heavy hush. He returns to your side, taking your hands from the bed and bringing you to stand. As he leads you to the far side of the bed, you see it: hanging from the large hook in the ceiling that once bore the spider plant there is a large leather contraption. You've never seen one in real life, but you know what it is.

"You have a sex swing?" you murmur in awe, momentarily forgetting yourself as you reach out to brush your fingers over the soft leather. There are buckle straps at different places and a metal bar running across the top. He lightly grips your waist, turning you to face him again. He dips his head forward and you inhale the cool mint of his breath.

"Gonna put you in it," he murmurs, "You remember our word, right?"

"Yes," you breathe.

“Say it.”

“Foxglove.”

He smirks.

"Good girl. Panties off," he instructs.

You couldn't be more eager to pull the sopping fabric down your legs and toss it aside, but when you reach to remove your shoes, he catches your wrist.

"I didn't say you could take those off, did I?" he reprimands, and your pulse begins to hammer in your throat.

He’s gonna fucking strap you to this thing in your goddamned heels.

You comply with him as he helps you into the seat, fastening your wrists together to a strap that has them raised above your head. After securing your hands, he raises your legs, carefully stretching them so that your feet are on the outside of the wide set cables, hooking your heels to catch on the bar across the top to hold your legs, spread wide, in place. With each restriction he checks in, making sure you’re completely comfortable with his choices.

When he finishes he comes to stand before you, heaving out a sigh through his nose as he trails a hand down the back of your thigh.

"Look at you," he groans as his eyes rake over your body.

You can feel your pussy leaking. Your heart pounds. The muscles in your legs strain a bit from the stretch and the bindings nip into your wrists and feet. You are completely exposed to him...and it is utter perfection. Like you were made to be at his mercy. You blink up at him through the fuzzy haze that keeps intensifying as you relinquish yourself deeper and deeper into his control.

His eyes slip shut for a moment and he gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head before bringing his lips to graze against the back of your calf.

"Hoseok..." you whisper, trembling.

His eyes open and lock with yours. You hold each other's gaze in silence.

Nothing needs to be said - you both know. You both understand.

He unbuttons his shirt and slips it off, and after discarding his briefs he is as naked as you are. With one hand he grips your leg, slipping two fingers of the other to slide through the swollen, sticky folds of your cunt. You cry out, your pelvis shuddering - so ripe to be touched that the contact sends a shock like an electric pulse through your being.

"What a pretty fucking pussy...so desperate for me," he mutters.

You watch his beautiful fingers as they slip through your glistening lips and over your throbbing clit before he pulls his hand up. He lets it hover in the air for a moment before bringing it down with a harsh smack against your mound.

A scream strangles in your throat as he repeats the motion again. Your whole body shakes with arousal.

He clenches his jaw as he trails his fingers down to your aching hole, dipping in shallowly to gather your bountiful slick. He raises his fingers to his lips, tasting you as he watches you tremble beneath him. He withdraws them with a pop.

"You know how much you like that? Getting this little cunt slapped?" His eyes trail down. "You're dripping down your fucking ass."

Shuddering violently, you whimper, tugging impatiently at your restraints.

"Yah," he warns, and you still. "Guess you're ready for me, huh? Just like that day..." He smirks condescendingly. "You're always ready, aren't you?" He hisses. "Need me so fucking badly...all of the time."

You sob as your walls contract again and again. He takes his cock into his hand and slides it through your folds, teasing the tip over your clit.

It's euphoric, but it's not enough. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip as you fight your own desperate need until the copper taste of blood seeps across your tongue. Somehow, it doesn't even hurt – you can't feel anything past the need for him to fill you. You feel his tip prod your entrance and you gasp.

“Look at me," he rasps.

Your eyes snap open. Your legs are shaking, vibrating the entire apparatus as he finally, slowly, sinks into your wet heat. The stretch of him is exquisite, and your eyes roll back in your head as he groans, steadily pulling back to push into you again.

“Shiiiiiitttt…” he hisses through his teeth, “Fucking made for me. Does my little brat like that? Hoseok’s cock stuffing that tight little cunt?”

“M-more…p-please…” you mewl, nearly unable to even form the words as his ridges drag deliciously along your taught walls.

You're so incredibly worked up that already you can feel a climax building in your belly, and he's only just started to fuck you. Unable to touch him any other way, you squeeze around him tightly.

He lets out a grunt, picking up his pace as he uses the mobility of the swing to pound you onto his cock.

You cry out, your head rattling against the leather as stroke after stroke sends you hurtling toward your high. Your mouth hangs open, and your vision begins to blur at the edges, the position of your arms making it harder to breathe. It’s going put you over the edge. He catches your glazed stare.

"Don't you fucking cum until I say," he grits out breathlessly, and you let out a wail, head falling back.

You can feel yourself barely holding on as he slams into you, teetering on the edge as you hear his voice.

"Whose little whore are you?"

You try to speak but the words won't rattle out of your chest.

"Whose?" he booms.

"Yours!" you press out in a sob.

"Who do you kneel for?"

"You!"

"Who owns this pussy?"

"Y-you!"

"And who the fuck am I?"

"HOSEOK!"

"Cum, slut." he growls.

...And you free-fall through time and space.

The summer evening air is warm against your skin as you step out under the rose gold twilight. Behind you the chic dining venue is still abustle, and you wave coworkers a fond farewell as they head off to continue the evening with karaoke. It's been a big day for you, and there's someone you've been waiting to talk to.

You press the green call button and wait as the line rings.

"Yeoboseyo?"

The warm voice on the other end has a smile blooming on your lips.

"Hey, Hobi-ssi!" you hum.

"Hey hey!" he chrips, "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing," you respond casually, "Just got done with a company dinner. Someone got a promotion, so we all went out."

There's a pause on the other end.

"Oh," answers slowly, "That one you put in for?"

"Mhm."

You hear him scoff in amusement

"Well, at least you seem to be taking it well."

"I'd say I'm taking it extremely well, which is only natural, considering I got the job."

"Yes, well...wait, YOU WHAT?!"

You pull the phone momentarily away from your ear as his joyful, raucous laughter blasts through the speaker.

"You're gonna make me go deaf!" You chide. Your smile is brighter than the setting sun.

"I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, Hobi."

"You should celebrate!"

"I did go out with my work friends...but..."

"You should come over," he interjects.

The register of his voice has changed. You recognize the new one.

"Yeah?" you swallow, as your heart rate quickens. "Well...what if I do want to go to karaoke?"

You wait for his response, watching your ride share pull up to the curb.

"Yah - you gonna be a good girl…”

You hold your breath.

“...Or do I have to make you?"

-FIN-

#hoseok fic #oneshot #bts oneshot #hoseok smut #hoseok imagine #hobi x reader #hobi smut #hobi x y/n #jhope smut #jhope fanfic #jhope x reader #jhope x you #jhope x y/n #jhope imagine #bts imagines #bts smut #bts x reader #fic: make me

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mywitchyblog · 2 months

Text

How Shiftok Destroyed Reality Shifting/ the Reality Shifting Community

Introduction :

Reality shifting, a practice based on the belief that individuals can consciously transfer their awareness to alternate realities or dimensions, has long been a niche concept within spiritual and metaphysical circles. However, with the rise of TikTok and the emergence of "Shiftok"—a blend of "shifting" and "TikTok"—this once-obscure practice has surged into mainstream awareness, particularly among younger audiences.

This essay delves into the profound impact of Shiftok on the reality-shifting community, tracing how an intimate, esoteric practice has evolved into a viral social media phenomenon. We will explore the origins of Shiftok, its rapid ascent in popularity, and the wide-ranging effects this digital revolution has had on both the perception and practice of reality shifting.

As we navigate the various facets of this cultural shift, we'll uncover the intricate relationship between social media dynamics, youth culture, and esoteric practices. From the initial surge of excitement and growth to the emergence of concerning trends and fragmentation within the community, the Shiftok phenomenon serves as a compelling case study in how digital platforms can reshape and redefine fringe beliefs and practices.

By examining the rise of Shiftok, its impact on the shifting community, and the responses it has elicited, this essay aims to provide a comprehensive overview of the unique intersection between ancient mystical concepts and modern social media culture. Through this exploration, we will gain insights into the broader implications of viral trends on spiritual practices and the challenges faced by communities as they adapt to sudden mainstream exposure.

Disclaimers : Read the Entire thing as usual. If you did not understand something feel free to tell me i shall gladly explain it to you.

I originally intented to make a simple rant-like post called "my hatred of shiftok" where i explain a story that happened to me that caused me to despise this platform and everything it stood for.

But then i realised that making an objective, educational, informative essay about how toxic, culty and overall nasty the platform became for the reputation of the practice and the community was much more appropriate than a poorly written post .

If any of you are interested in my storytime that made me so resentful of that platform, this post needs to get 200 notes and some comments asking me for it.

So enjoy this essay that i took much pleasure in writing :

Masterlist

II-The Rise of Shiftok

Shiftok, a portmanteau of "shifting" and "TikTok," emerged as a significant phenomenon within the broader landscape of social media, specifically on the TikTok platform. Its origins can be traced back to the early 2020s when reality-shifting content began gaining traction among young users on the app. What began as a niche interest rapidly snowballed into a viral trend, captivating the imaginations of millions of users worldwide.

The growth of Shiftok was meteoric, driven by several key factors that perfectly aligned with the TikTok ecosystem. Central to its success was the platform's short-form video format, which allowed creators to distill complex reality-shifting concepts into bite-sized, easily digestible content. This format proved ideal for sharing quick tips, visualization techniques, and purported success stories, making the practice appear more accessible to newcomers.

TikTok's powerful algorithm played a crucial role in propelling Shiftok to prominence. The app's content distribution system, designed to keep users engaged by serving them content tailored to their interests, quickly identified and promoted shifting-related videos to receptive audiences. This created a feedback loop where increased engagement led to greater visibility, drawing in curious newcomers and further fueling the trend's growth.

The demographic makeup of TikTok's user base also significantly contributed to Shiftok's rise. With a large proportion of young users, particularly teenagers and young adults, the platform provided fertile ground for reality-shifting content to flourish. This age group, often characterized by a desire for escapism, self-discovery, and novel experiences, found the concept of reality shifting particularly appealing.

As Shiftok gained momentum, it initially had a positive impact on the broader reality-shifting community. The increased visibility brought about by viral TikTok videos led to a surge of interest in the practice, drawing in thousands of new enthusiasts. This influx of newcomers energized the community, sparking discussions, fostering creativity, and expanding the collective knowledge base.

The platform also facilitated unprecedented levels of community engagement. Shifters from around the world could easily connect, share experiences, and offer support to one another through comments, duets, and collaborative videos. For those who felt isolated or misunderstood in their offline lives, this sense of community was particularly valuable, providing a space where they could freely discuss their shifting experiences and beliefs.

Moreover, Shiftok became a hub for sharing diverse experiences and methods related to reality shifting. Creators competed to produce the most engaging content, leading to an explosion of creativity in how shifting techniques were presented and explained. From guided meditations set to trending sounds to elaborate "POV" (point of view) scenarios depicting life in desired realities, the content on Shiftok was varied and dynamic.

However, the rapid growth and popularization of reality shifting through Shiftok soon revealed its double-edged nature. While it brought unprecedented attention and growth to the practice, it also set the stage for significant challenges that would reshape the reality-shifting community in profound and sometimes problematic ways. The very factors that contributed to Shiftok's meteoric rise—its accessibility, algorithmic amplification, and appeal to young users—would also play a role in the issues that emerged as the trend continued to evolve.

III-Negative Effects on the Reality Shifting Community

The meteoric rise of Shiftok, which initially invigorated the reality-shifting community, soon gave way to a host of negative consequences that profoundly impacted the practice and its practitioners. As the trend gained momentum, the integrity of the shifting community began to erode under the pressures of misinformation, oversimplification, and rampant commercialization.

One of the most significant issues was the rapid spread of misinformation. The viral nature of TikTok, coupled with the absence of robust fact-checking mechanisms, created an environment where unverified claims and exaggerated experiences could proliferate unchecked. Users, eager for views and followers, often shared sensationalized accounts of their shifting experiences, blurring the line between genuine practices and fantasy. Pseudoscientific explanations for shifting, often based on misinterpretations of quantum physics or neuroscience, gained traction, lending a false air of legitimacy to questionable concepts.

This problem was further exacerbated by the emergence of viral trends within the Shiftok community. "Shifting challenges" and purported "fool-proof methods" spread rapidly, often prioritizing entertainment value over accuracy or safety. While these trends were engaging for viewers, they frequently misrepresented the nature of reality shifting, leading to confusion and unrealistic expectations among newcomers to the practice.

Another detrimental effect of Shiftok's influence was the oversimplification of shifting techniques. The platform's short-form video format necessitated the distillation of complex practices into brief, easily digestible content. This led to a proliferation of "quick and easy" methods that promised results with minimal effort or understanding. While these simplified techniques made shifting seem more accessible, they neglected the nuances and deeper aspects of the practice.

This oversimplification had far-reaching consequences. Many newcomers, drawn by the promise of instant results, became frustrated when their experiences did not match the effortless successes portrayed in viral videos. The more traditional, in-depth practices that required patience, dedication, and self-reflection were often overlooked in favor of these quick-fix solutions. This shift in focus threatened to undermine the spiritual and personal growth aspects that many long-time practitioners viewed as integral to the shifting experience.

Perhaps the most troubling development was the increasing commercialization and exploitation of the reality-shifting community. As Shiftok content gained popularity, a new breed of "shifting influencers" emerged, eager to capitalize on the trend. This led to the monetization of shifting content through sponsorships, merchandise, and paid services. While some creators genuinely aimed to help and educate, others saw an opportunity for profit, selling dubious products like "shifting crystals" or "dimensional jump sprays" with little regard for their efficacy or the potential impact on vulnerable users.

The rise of influencer culture within the shifting community also fostered an environment where popularity and engagement metrics often took precedence over the quality or accuracy of information shared. This created a perverse incentive structure where creators were rewarded for producing sensational or controversial content rather than focusing on responsible, well-researched information.

These negative effects collectively undermined the foundations of the reality-shifting community. What had once been a practice rooted in personal exploration and spiritual growth was at risk of being reduced to a commercialized trend, divorced from its original intent and values. The influx of misinformation, coupled with the oversimplification of techniques and the exploitation of practitioners, threatened to dilute the authenticity of the practice and alienate serious practitioners.

As these issues came to the forefront, they set the stage for broader impacts on both the external perception of reality shifting and the internal dynamics of the community itself. The once-unified community began to fragment, grappling with questions of authenticity, methodology, and the very nature of reality shifting in the age of viral social media trends.

IV. The Dark Side of Shiftok: Toxicity, Pressure, and Dogma in the Reality Shifting Community

The meteoric rise of reality shifting on TikTok, while bringing unprecedented attention to the practice, also uncovered a darker, more insidious aspect within the community. This phenomenon, commonly referred to as "Shiftok," became a breeding ground for toxicity, misinformation, and oppressive dogma, threatening the very essence of what many considered a deeply personal and transformative practice.

One of the most troubling developments within Shiftok was the emergence of arbitrary and often harmful age-related pressures. A particularly pernicious belief circulated that individuals who hadn't successfully shifted by a certain age, typically 18, were somehow suspect or, in extreme cases, labeled as "pedophiles" for aging themselves down for realities they made when they were minors and have romantic/sexual relationships there. This baseless and damaging accusation stemmed from the misguided notion that older shifters were attempting to reach realities where they were younger, automatically assuming predatory intentions or attraction to minors.

(This misguided notion has been debunked in this post).

This ageist dogma not only created unnecessary anxiety among practitioners but also demonstrated a fundamental misunderstanding of the diverse motivations for reality shifting. Many adult shifters, drawn to the practice for spiritual growth, self-exploration, healing, or simply out of curiosity, found themselves unfairly stigmatized and excluded from community spaces. The irony of this situation was not lost on more discerning observers, who noted that the very teenagers propagating these ideas often shifted to realities where they themselves were adults or teens, without the same scrutiny applied to older shifters—highlighting a hypocritical double standard.

The Shiftok environment grew increasingly hostile to divergent opinions or experiences that didn't align with the prevailing narrative. Users who questioned popular methods, expressed skepticism about certain claims, or shared experiences differing from the norm often faced severe backlash. This cultish adherence to a singular vision of reality shifting stifled healthy debate and critical thinking, essential components for the growth and legitimacy of any practice.

Contradictory information flourished in this echo chamber, with different factions of Shiftokers promoting conflicting "rules" about shifting. Some insisted that physical symptoms like headaches or nausea were necessary signs of an impending shift, while others claimed the process should be entirely painless. This cacophony of conflicting advice left many newcomers confused and frustrated, often leading to disillusionment with the practice altogether.

Particularly concerning was the lack of spiritual hygiene and safety measures in many Shiftok-promoted methods. In the rush to create viral content, many creators neglected to address the potential psychological and emotional risks associated with reality shifting, especially for vulnerable individuals. Basic practices like grounding, protection visualization, or setting clear intentions—staples in many traditional spiritual practices—were often overlooked in favor of quick, sensationalized techniques promising instant results.

The "TikTokification" of reality shifting led to a troubling simplification and commercialization of the practice. Complex philosophical and spiritual concepts were reduced to snappy soundbites and trendy hashtags. The depth and nuance of reality shifting, with its potential for profound personal growth and self-discovery, were often lost in a sea of shallow, entertainment-focused content.

This commercialization reached disturbing heights as some Shiftok influencers began selling "shifting aids"—everything from specially designed pillowcases to "quantum-aligned" water bottles. These products, often backed by pseudoscientific claims and endorsements from popular creators, preyed on the desperation of those struggling to achieve their first shift.

The pressure to shift successfully and quickly became overwhelming for many in the community. Stories of users spending hours each day attempting to shift, neglecting school, work, or real-world relationships, began to surface. This intensity was fueled by a culture of comparison fostered by Shiftok, where users constantly measured their experiences against the often exaggerated or fabricated successes of others.

The pervasive toxic positivity in many Shiftok spaces further compounded these issues. Users who expressed doubts, struggles, or negative experiences were often dismissed or told they simply weren't "believing" hard enough. This invalidation of genuine concerns and difficulties created an environment where many felt unable to seek help or share their true experiences.

Perhaps most troublingly, the Shiftok phenomenon began to blur the lines between reality and fantasy for some users, particularly younger ones. The constant immersion in shifting content, combined with the pressure to experience increasingly fantastical scenarios, raised concerns among mental health professionals about dissociation and reality distortion.

The lack of age-appropriate content moderation on TikTok exacerbated many of these issues. Young users were often exposed to mature or potentially traumatizing shifting scenarios without adequate context or support. The platform's algorithm, designed to maximize engagement, frequently pushed users deeper into shifting-related content rabbit holes, creating echo chambers that reinforced problematic beliefs and practices.

As the Shiftok phenomenon continued to evolve, it became evident that the toxicity, misinformation, and dogmatic thinking it fostered were antithetical to the core principles of personal growth and exploration that many associated with reality shifting. The challenge for the broader shifting community became not only to counter these negative aspects but also to reclaim and redefine the practice in a more balanced, responsible, and authentically transformative way.

V-Impact on Perception of Reality Shifting

The rise of Shiftok and its subsequent influence on the reality shifting community had far-reaching consequences that extended beyond the boundaries of TikTok and into broader public perception. As reality shifting catapulted from a niche practice to a viral trend, it faced increased scrutiny and skepticism from outsiders, fundamentally altering how the concept was perceived and discussed in mainstream discourse.

One of the most significant impacts was the surge in skepticism from those outside the shifting community. As Shiftok videos proliferated across social media platforms, reality shifting became increasingly associated with internet fads and youth subcultures. This association, while bringing attention to the practice, also invited dismissal and ridicule from skeptics who viewed it as yet another fleeting online trend rather than a serious spiritual or metaphysical practice.

The viral nature of Shiftok content, often emphasizing fantastical elements and pop culture references, contributed to widespread misconceptions about the nature and purpose of reality shifting. Many outsiders began to view shifting solely through the lens of these viral videos, equating it with lucid dreaming, role playing, or pure fantasy. This oversimplification obscured the deeper philosophical and experiential aspects of shifting that many practitioners held dear.

Media attention, drawn by the explosive growth of the trend, often approached reality shifting with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. News articles and reports, while bringing mainstream visibility to the practice, frequently focused on the more sensational aspects of Shiftok content. This selective coverage further skewed public perception, often painting reality shifting as a potentially harmful delusion rather than a nuanced spiritual or psychological practice.

The influx of young practitioners drawn in by Shiftok also influenced how reality shifting was perceived. The predominance of teenagers and young adults (often female) in the community led many to dismiss the practice as a form of escapism or a coping mechanism for youth struggling with the challenges of adolescence and early adulthood. While there was some truth to the appeal of shifting as a form of escape, this generalization overlooked the diverse motivations and experiences of practitioners across different age groups.

Perhaps one of the most damaging impacts on perception was the trivialization of reality shifting. What had once been considered a profound, rich, complex and transformative practice by many long-time shifters was increasingly reduced to entertainment or a casual hobby for psychotic and mentally ill schoolgirls in the public eye. The depth of experience and personal growth that many attributed to their shifting journeys was often lost in the sea of light-hearted Shiftok content.

This trivialization had a particularly strong effect on how the spiritual and personal development aspects of shifting were perceived. The focus on quick results and fantastical destinations in viral content overshadowed the more introspective and growth-oriented approaches to shifting. As a result, the potential for reality shifting as a tool for self-discovery, healing, and expanding consciousness was often overlooked or dismissed by those forming opinions based solely on its social media representation.

The surge in popularity also attracted the attention of mental health professionals and researchers, some of whom expressed concerns about the potential psychological impacts of reality shifting, especially on younger practitioners. While some approached the topic with genuine curiosity and open-mindedness, others were quick to pathologize the practice, further contributing to negative perceptions.

For serious practitioners and researchers in the field, this shift in public perception presented significant challenges. Many found themselves fighting an uphill battle to legitimize their experiences and studies in the face of widespread skepticism and misconceptions fueled by Shiftok's portrayal of reality shifting.

The cumulative effect of these changes in perception created a complex and often contradictory public image of reality shifting. On one hand, it had never been more visible or widely discussed. On the other hand, this visibility came at the cost of depth and nuance, with the practice often misunderstood, trivialized, or dismissed outright by those outside the community.

This transformation in how reality shifting was perceived set the stage for further fragmentation within the community itself, as practitioners grappled with questions of authenticity, methodology, and the future direction of their practice in a post-Shiftok landscape.(By post-Shiftok i mean the period after aug-2020 to aug 2021 since it was during that year that people talked about shiftok and subsequently shifting the most in the media)

VI-Fragmentation of the community

Fragmentation of the Community

The rise of Shiftok and its profound impact on the reality shifting landscape inevitably led to significant fragmentation within the community itself. What was once a relatively cohesive group of practitioners united by shared beliefs and experiences began to splinter into various factions, each with its own perspectives on the nature and practice of reality shifting.

At the heart of this fragmentation lay heated disputes over authenticity. As the community expanded rapidly due to the influx of new practitioners drawn in by viral Shiftok content, tensions arose between long-time shifters and newcomers. Experienced practitioners often viewed the Shiftok-inspired methods and claims with skepticism, questioning the authenticity of experiences shared in short, highly edited videos. They argued that true shifting required dedication, practice, and a deep understanding of the underlying principles - elements they felt were often lacking in the quick and easy methods popularized on the platform.

This divide gave rise to intense debates about what constituted "real" shifting versus what some dismissively termed as "fake" shifting. Veterans of the practice often criticized Shiftok shifters for conflating lucid dreaming, visualization, or simple daydreaming with genuine reality shifting experiences. These disputes frequently turned acrimonious, with accusations of gatekeeping from one side and of diluting the practice from the other.

The community also witnessed the emergence of a generational gap. Older practitioners, who had been exploring reality shifting long before it became a social media trend, often found themselves at odds with the younger generation of shifters who had discovered the practice through Shiftok. This age divide was not merely about experience but also about fundamental approaches to shifting. While older shifters tended to emphasize the spiritual and personal growth aspects of the practice, many younger practitioners were drawn to shifting for its entertainment value or as a means of escaping real-world problems.

Another significant factor contributing to the fragmentation was the varying goals and motivations for shifting among practitioners. The Shiftok trend had popularized the idea of shifting to fictional universes or idealized realities, often based on popular media franchises. This contrasted sharply with more traditional approaches that focused on spiritual exploration, self-discovery, or connecting with alternate versions of oneself. The community found itself divided between those who viewed shifting as a fun, imaginative exercise (usually those people either don't believe in permashifting/respawning or say it is bad/ dangerous /problematic) and those who treated it as a serious metaphysical practice.

This divergence in goals led to the formation of distinct sub-communities within the broader shifting world. Communities flourished on other social media platforms, characterized by their focus on pop culture destinations, quick methods, and shared scripting techniques. In contrast, more traditional shifting communities sought refuge in forums, Discord servers, and other platforms that allowed for more in-depth discussions and longer-form content.

The fragmentation was further exacerbated by disagreements over methodology. Shiftok's algorithm-driven content distribution meant that certain methods and techniques gained viral popularity, often at the expense of more established practices. This led to heated debates about the efficacy and safety of various shifting methods, with some practitioners warning against the potential dangers of techniques that promised quick results without proper grounding or protection.

As the community continued to fracture, it became increasingly difficult for newcomers to navigate the conflicting information and polarized viewpoints. Many found themselves caught between the allure of the easy, accessible methods promoted on Shiftok and the more rigorous, traditional approaches advocated by experienced shifters. This confusion often led to frustration and disillusionment, with some abandoning the practice altogether.

The fragmentation also had implications for the collective knowledge and support systems within the shifting community. As practitioners increasingly segregated themselves into like-minded groups, the free exchange of ideas and experiences that had once characterized the community began to break down. This siloing effect threatened to stunt the growth and evolution of reality shifting as a practice, with valuable insights and techniques potentially being lost in the noise of inter-community conflicts.

As the reality-shifting community continued to grapple with these internal divisions, it became clear that the impact of Shiftok had irrevocably altered the landscape of the practice. A practice that was characterized by its beauty, complexity and richness whose practitioners could talk about philosophy culture and spirituality four hours, has been watered down, dumbed down into a bunch of mentally ill schoolgirls shifting to get railed by wizard nazis and hysterical teenagers who would cuss someone's entire bloodline for doubting or questioning the practise. Which is something totally valid and proves that those individuals do not know anything about the practice at all.

Honestly i cannot blame when antishifters claim that reality shifting is a cult since it is all they see and are being shown. People dismissing their pain under a toxic positive statement of “you haven't tried harder”or “just believe more” coupled with contradictory and hypocritical statements, makes it impossible to break free from those stereotypes.

VII-Psychological and Ethical Concerns

The meteoric rise of Shiftok and its profound impact on the reality shifting community gave rise to a host of psychological and ethical concerns that extended far beyond the realm of social media trends. As the practice gained widespread popularity, particularly among younger audiences, mental health professionals, ethicists, and even some within the shifting community itself began to voice apprehensions about the potential risks and implications of this phenomenon.

One of the primary psychological concerns centered around the addictive nature of both shifting experiences and Shiftok content itself. Many practitioners, especially younger ones, reported spending hours consuming shifting-related videos, often at the expense of real-world responsibilities and relationships. This obsessive engagement with Shiftok content, coupled with the allure of escaping to idealized realities, raised fears about the development of maladaptive coping mechanisms and potential neglect of personal growth in the physical world.

The immersive nature of reality shifting experiences also sparked debates about the risk of dissociation and reality distortion. Some mental health experts expressed concern that frequent shifting, especially for extended periods, might blur the lines between perceived realities, potentially leading to difficulties in distinguishing between shifted experiences and waking life. This was particularly worrisome for individuals with pre-existing mental health conditions or a predisposition to dissociative disorders.

The use of reality shifting as a form of escapism became another point of contention. While many practitioners viewed shifting as a harmless and even beneficial way to explore alternate realities or cope with stress, critics argued that it could become a means of avoiding real-life issues rather than addressing them. The concern was that vulnerable individuals, particularly adolescents facing challenging life circumstances, might retreat into desired realities rather than developing crucial life skills and resilience.

Ethical considerations also came to the forefront, particularly regarding the age-appropriateness of shifting content and the safeguarding of young users. The prevalence of young teenagers in the Shiftok community raised questions about the potential impact of reality shifting on developing minds. Some worry that exposure to intense or mature themes in desired realities could be psychologically damaging for younger practitioners who might not have the emotional maturity to process such experiences.

The responsibility of content creators became a significant ethical issue. As Shiftok influencers gained massive followings, often consisting largely of impressionable youth, questions arose about their duty of care. Many creators, in their pursuit of views and engagement, shared unverified methods or exaggerated claims about shifting successes. This raised concerns about the potential for manipulation or the inadvertent promotion of harmful practices, especially given the lack of scientific consensus on the nature and effects of reality shifting.

Another ethical dilemma emerged around the potential for reality shifting communities to develop cult-like characteristics. The intense belief systems surrounding shifting, combined with the charismatic influence of popular Shiftok creators, created an environment where some practitioners became deeply emotionally invested in the practice. This led to fears about the vulnerability of members to exploitation or the development of unhealthy group dynamics.

The commercialization of reality shifting through Shiftok also raised ethical red flags. As creators began selling products, services, or exclusive content related to shifting, questions arose about the morality of profiting from a practice that many viewed as a deeply personal or spiritual endeavor. There were concerns about the exploitation of believers, particularly when unproven products or techniques were marketed as enhancing shifting abilities.

Within the shifting community itself, practitioners grappled with the ethics of their practice. Debates arose about the morality of shifting to realities where one might engage in behaviors considered unethical in the physical world. This led to philosophical discussions about the nature of reality, free will, and personal responsibility across multiple perceived realities.

The long-term psychological effects of reality shifting remained a topic of intense speculation and concern. With little scientific research on the subject, many wondered about the potential impacts on personality development, identity formation, and overall mental well-being, especially for those who began shifting at a young age.(around puberty so 13-15 where people can be very malleable )

As these psychological and ethical concerns came to light, calls for more research and responsible practices within the shifting community grew louder. Some advocates pushed for the development of ethical guidelines for Shiftok creators, while others emphasized the need for mental health resources tailored to the unique challenges faced by reality shifters.

The reality shifting community found itself at a crossroads, forced to confront these complex psychological and ethical issues. As the practice continued to evolve in the wake of the Shiftok phenomenon, addressing these concerns became crucial not only for the well-being of individual practitioners but also for the long-term sustainability and credibility of reality shifting as a whole.

One of the most important ways to counter, prevent, or mitigate the dangers of reality shifting is through the practice of Spiritual Hygiene. Unfortunately, this concept seems to be something that many Shiftokers fail to grasp, highlighting their lack of concrete knowledge about the practice. It's particularly frustrating that these individuals are often the most visible within the community, while true experts with deeper understanding are overshadowed.

Reality shifting, whether people accept it or not, is inherently a spiritual practice. By its very nature, shifting cannot be scientifically proven—yet, it also cannot be disproven. This makes it a unique and highly subjective experience, with each shifter’s journey being distinct. If shifting were to be scientifically validated, it would become an objective practice, leading to uniform experiences across the board.

Given its spiritual nature, maintaining spiritual hygiene is essential. One cannot embark on this journey and neglect such a fundamental concept. The saying, "healthy body, healthy mind; healthy mind, healthy body," perfectly encapsulates why spiritual hygiene is a necessity in shifting. When people neglect it, they often experience mental and physical harm, which they mistakenly attribute to the practice of shifting itself.

(I suggest that you read my post on the subject)

VIII-The Response from the Traditional Shifting Community

As the Shiftok phenomenon continued to reshape the landscape of reality shifting, the traditional shifting community found itself compelled to respond to the myriad challenges and changes brought about by this new wave of practitioners and content. This response was multifaceted, reflecting the complex emotions and perspectives within the established shifting community.

Initially, many long-time shifters reacted with a mixture of excitement and apprehension to the sudden surge in interest in their practice. While they welcomed the increased visibility and potential for growth, they quickly became concerned about the quality and accuracy of information being disseminated through Shiftok. This concern catalyzed a concentrated effort to combat misinformation within the community.

Veteran shifters took to various platforms to share their knowledge and experiences, often directly addressing and debunking popular misconceptions propagated on Shiftok. They created detailed guides, wrote blog posts, and produced long-form video content aimed at providing a more nuanced and accurate representation of reality shifting. These efforts were not merely reactive; they represented a proactive attempt to preserve the integrity of the practice in the face of its rapid popularization.

In response to the oversimplification of shifting techniques on Shiftok, many traditional practitioners began emphasizing the importance of in-depth, holistic approaches to shifting. They developed and shared more rigorous practices and guidelines, often drawing on years of personal experience and collective wisdom (spiritual hygiene). These methods typically focused on mental preparation, spiritual alignment, and ethical considerations – aspects often overlooked in viral Shiftok content.

The traditional community also recognized the need for safer, more controlled spaces for discussion and practice. This led to the creation and expansion of alternative platforms and communities dedicated to serious shifting discourse. Forums, Discord servers, and specialized websites emerged as havens for in-depth conversations, troubleshooting, and mutual support among experienced shifters and sincere newcomers alike. These spaces often implemented stricter moderation policies to maintain the quality of discussions and protect vulnerable members from potentially harmful information.

Many established shifters took on mentorship roles, offering guidance to newcomers who sought a deeper understanding beyond what Shiftok could provide. These mentors focused on teaching not just the techniques of shifting, but also its philosophical underpinnings and potential for personal growth. They emphasized patience, persistence, and self-reflection as key components of a successful shifting practice – a stark contrast to the "quick and easy" methods often touted on social media.

The traditional community also began to engage more actively in research and documentation efforts. Recognizing the lack of scientific study on reality shifting, some practitioners started collaborating with open-minded researchers or conducting their own systematic studies of shifting experiences. While these efforts were often informal, they represented an attempt to bring more rigor and credibility to the field.

In response to the commercialization of shifting on Shiftok, many traditional practitioners reaffirmed their commitment to keeping shifting accessible and non-commercialized. They freely shared resources, techniques, and support, often explicitly critiquing the trend of monetizing shifting knowledge or selling shifting-related products.

However, the response from the traditional community was not uniformly positive or constructive. Some long-time shifters reacted with frustration or elitism, dismissing Shiftok shifters entirely and retreating further into closed communities. This gatekeeping behavior, while intended to preserve the integrity of the practice, sometimes had the unintended effect of alienating genuine seekers and furthering the divide within the broader shifting community.

As the initial shock of the Shiftok phenomenon began to wane, many in the traditional community started to see it as an opportunity for growth and evolution. They recognized that while Shiftok had brought challenges, it had also introduced shifting to a vast new audience, some of whom would inevitably seek deeper understanding. This realization led to efforts to bridge the gap between traditional practices and the new wave of shifters, seeking common ground and shared experiences.

The response of the traditional shifting community to the Shiftok phenomenon was ultimately one of adaptation and resilience. While striving to maintain the core principles and depth of their practice, many long-time shifters also recognized the need to evolve and engage with a changing landscape. Their efforts to educate, guide, and create safe spaces for authentic shifting practices played a crucial role in shaping the future direction of the reality shifting community as a whole.

IX. Conclusion: The Aftermath of Shiftok's Impact on Reality Shifting

The rise of Shiftok, while initially bringing unprecedented attention and growth to the reality shifting community, ultimately led to its fragmentation and, in many ways, undermined the core principles and practices of reality shifting.

Shiftok's impact on the reality shifting community can be considered destructive in several key aspects:

Misinformation: The rapid spread of unverified claims and oversimplified techniques diluted the authenticity of the practice.

Trivialization: The depth and spiritual aspects of shifting were often reduced to entertainment, diminishing its perceived value.

Community Division: The influx of new practitioners led to conflicts between traditional shifters and Shiftok-inspired newcomers, fracturing the once-cohesive community.

Ethical Concerns: The lack of safeguards and the potential exploitation of vulnerable users raised serious ethical questions.

Loss of Authenticity: The commercialization and "TikTokification" of shifting distorted its original intent and practices.

While it would be an overstatement to say that Shiftok entirely destroyed reality shifting, it undeniably transformed the landscape of the practice, often in detrimental ways. The community now faces the challenge of reclaiming and redefining reality shifting in a post-Shiftok era, balancing accessibility with depth, and navigating the complex intersection of ancient practices and modern digital culture.

The Shiftok phenomenon serves as a cautionary tale about the double-edged nature of viral trends and their impact on esoteric practices, highlighting the need for mindful integration of traditional wisdom with contemporary platforms.

#reality shifting #shiftblr #desired reality #shifting #shifting community #shifting realities #shifters #reality shift #reality shifter #shifting antis dni

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