#i’m not talking like sleek black coat dresses so cool i’m talking like the author is describing their outfits and you cannot fathom how it

[imaginarypasta]

love love love characters who dress weird & out there & unique & ugly

[fandom-necromancer]

778. Trust me, you don’t want to meet my family.

This was prompted by the wonderful @oasisofpassion! Sorry for the delay, I had this finished on Wednesday alrady but then stuff happened. Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship:Reed900

‘Man, this was awesome! Really didn’t think you would be someone with a good taste in movies.’ ‘I guess I should just take the compliment and not think about what you did think of me.’ It was spoken in a serious tone, but as Gavin looked up a playful smile danced across the android’s lips. ‘Yeah, you should, toaster!’, the human laughed and shook his head. ‘Hey, you have to apologise this mere human sticking to old believes’, he said overly theatrically while mock-bowing to Nines. ‘It takes a bit of time to adapt to having a tin-can as a friend so shortly after the revolution.’ ‘Noted’, the RK900 chuckled at the somehow endearing gesture. ‘Not everyone is built for perfection after all.’

They walked down the road from the movie theatre next to each other, appreciating that Detroit chose to be quiet this one night. They stopped by their respective cars in a public parking lot, searching for words or expecting them from the other. Gavin scratched his neck, before finally speaking up: ‘Hey, toaster, this was really cool. We should do something like this more often, you know, spending time outside of work. How about next time we meet over at yours or mine? Probably better at yours, I don’t live in the best neighbourhood regarding androids…’ Nines smiled at him. ‘Sounds great, Gavin. I would love to, but I have some… family matters to attend.’ ‘Oh, that’s okay, I’ll just go with you’, Gavin muttered without really thinking about what he said. As his thoughts finally did catch up, he quickly added: ‘Only if you want of course, I’m not, like, pressing you to let me meet your robo-parents or something, just maybe it would be nice, I-‘ He sighed. ‘Forget I said anything.’ ‘Trust me, you don’t want to meet my family’, Nines just said. ‘I would enjoy having you by my side facing my mother, but… I’m afraid you wouldn’t like that…’ ‘Shit, that bad?’, Gavin asked. ‘Hey, if you want me there, I’ll come. I have a bit of experience with shitty relatives.’ ‘I would like that.’

-

It had been said so easily, but now that Gavin was about to leave the house for Nines’ place, wearing some of the more representable clothes he owned, he regretted being so eager. He couldn’t imagine anything to spook the android, but this mother seemed to be one who was able. Shit, what even was an android family? The person that build them? That designed them? Their predecessors? Maybe their inventor? Oh god, Gavin didn’t want to think about that, because when Kamski was his father, he was effectively friends and possible more in the future with his own nephew and that was just phcked up to just imagine. But Nines would have told him if that was the case, right? And who was this mother? Well, he would find out, but he didn’t know whether he would like it.

The android had sent him his address this morning, but standing before the door to his apartment in a building that for a chance looked neat and relatively new, he couldn’t help himself but think of clashing worlds. Weren’t all apartment complexes run down shitholes? Was just his? Or was him living there adding to the flair? He felt increasingly out of place the longer he stood there and finally rang the doorbell just to get out of the hallway. Whatever horror awaited him inside – worst case his own brother – it couldn’t be as bad as Gavin’s own thoughts. He waited and heard footsteps he knew were simulated just for him. Nines could walk without making a sound, creeping up on everyone and everything. Finally, the door opened to the android in his usual attire, only this time still with the Cyberlife jacket he normally exchanged for a plain white coat without the insignia.

‘Gavin! Come on in, I’m still setting up everything, but I already made coffee.’ He motioned him inside, more eager than Gavin was used to. Either the android was nervous or just very excited. It still was difficult to read him. He stood in the hallway, taking off his jacket and shoes, all the while being stared at by Nines. Without doubt the android was scanning him even. ‘What? Yeah, I also own some decent clothes, toaster!’ ‘Thank you for dressing for the occasion’, was the only answer he got, surprisingly stiff. He turned around to walk off into the living room and Gavin followed him not even trying to hide how he studied the whole flat. It was decorated in modern design, furniture sleek and modern with colours reaching from black to white. A lot of potted plants, presumably to “liven it up a little”. There were a few pictures hung up at a staircase leading up to an upper storey. Only glancing at it he could make out A group photo of Connor, Hank, Sumo and Nines, the remembrance-photo from this year’s precinct, One of them both with Tina from a bar night. Being able to recall every memory perfectly and saving every picture in their mind, Gavin had never thought an android would be sentimental enough for hanging up pictures. But well, Nines always was up for a surprise.

While the android was off to the kitchen, Gavin looked around the living room a bit more. Couch, TV, some expensive looking music setup… And a whole bunch of black antennas littering the room. Was this some android thing? Would it be insensitive of him to ask? Maybe Nines needed these for something… ‘They are holo-projectors, Gavin’, the android helped out, coming back with a full mug smelling like heaven. ‘Thanks’, Gavin muttered taking it and watched as Nines put up another one of them. ‘You see, androids don’t really have family except for who they choose. Connor was very determined to make myself his brother and as I needed a lot of guidance as a newly deviated model, I took that role gladly. He is family and with whatever relationship he has with the Lieutenant I guess he is part of my family, too. My mother… She is an AI. Cyberlife had her be Connor’s and mine handler. But she tried to stop the rebellion as well as kill Connor to end it. Needless to say, they are not on good terms.’ ‘Okay?’ Gavin was prepared this would be getting weird, but this weird? ‘Let’s say, I share Connors distrust in her. But she was the first voice I heard and although I don’t necessarily like her, I know how it is to be lonely.’ He smiled sadly and apologetically at Gavin, most likely aware that he overshared. ‘Well, let’s just say I can go out and meet people, so I have at least the chance to get to someone who tolerates me. But her… Not having a body and being bound to Cyberlife’s infrastructure she doesn’t really has that possibility.’

‘Okay wait. THE doomsday AI from Cyberlife is your mother?’ Gavin only now had caught up with what Nines was trying to convey, still lost in that bit of personal information he got there. ‘Yes. I choose to call her that, because she needs someone to talk to. It doesn’t necessarily come with the associated human feelings.’ ‘Well, at least that sounds a lot like family to me.’ ‘I advise you not to talk much, she can be very… abrasive. She isn’t used to people talking back at her and she can be… scary at times. She isn’t able to harm either of us though, and if you want to back out of her sensory field, I haven’t prepared the kitchen for her.

‘Oh, come on, how bad can it be?’, Gavin chuckled at the thought of fleeing from a damn hologram. But Nines just looked at him and his eyes spoke volumes. ‘Jesus, okay, I’m gonna remember that, tin-can.’

The android put up the last one of the projectors and stepped back, waiting for them all to connect and start up. Gavin could have sworn for it to get a few degrees warmer in the room just as that and decided to sit down on a barstool next to the kitchen counter. If she really was one of the shittier moms, it would be best to let Nines handle her and introduce him. He had to make a good first impression after all and letting the android’s weird hologram-mother spawn inside of him probably wasn’t the best idea.

A split-second later blue lines formed in the room slicing it to neat cubes. It took only took a few minutes of calculation time before light burst out of the ground, restructuring floor, couch, television and even the holographic projectors into objects, where there had been carpet was now a patch of grass, tiles became pathway. Gavin’s barstool became a park bench before a large boulder and the far wall of the room now was just gone, seemingly leading to an even larger part of the garden. It all looked so real; Gavin had nearly dropped his coffee. He stood up, fully ignoring his initial plan of staying hidden in the background. His feet disturbed the holographic material, it was sizzling around them at the contact and the ground underneath was visible. He looked over to Nines who seemed to be part of it all. He fit right in, the grass under his feet bending naturally and accepting him completely in this dreamworld.

Gavin had never experienced anything like this before. Well, he had been to some holographic parks in his youth, the kind that looked cool but was obviously fake. This here was some next level shit. Gavin nearly felt the wind on his skin that toyed with the artificial leaves above him, so strongly did this visual interfere with his brain. ‘This is so awesome!’, he giggled to himself, looking back behind him to where the entrance to the kitchen had been. There now was a hole in the holographic world, creating an exit back into Nines’ apartment. This really was disorientating as hell, but Gavin was fascinated by it.

‘RK900.’ He looked past the android that stood before him to see a dark-skinned woman at the farther end of middle-aged. She wore a white XY that contrasted nicely and underlined the well-kempt, orderly and stern aura her eyes managed to create. Gavin immediately felt that this was a person of authority he shouldn’t provoke for once, before he reminded himself this was just some Ai in a faraway tower, here only light and code. ‘How are you?’ She stepped into Nines’ personal space and Gavin half expected him to step back or push her out, but he just accepted her hand on his cheek instead. Even leaned into it as far as that was possible with something consisting solely of photons.

‘I’m feeling adequately, mother’, Nines answered so softly Gavin had to do a double take. ‘Just wanted to check in on you.’ Immediately the hand was gone together with the sense of care. ‘Don’t lie to me, this is a scheduled event.’ ‘It is’, Nines nodded. ‘But I do want to check in on you.’ ‘I don’t need your pity nor your sense of duty. How is Connor?’ Gavin didn’t miss the short grimace that flashed across Nines’ face. Some serious case of favourite child there and it wasn’t the android taking time off his day to talk to a lonely AI. ‘Connor is… fine. He is living his life happily with the Lieutenant.’ ‘That human will only hold him back and everyone knows that. How does he fail to realise he could be so much more if he just came back for guidance.’ ‘Amanda, I think we both know why he doesn’t talk to you. Forcing him to kill himself rarely is a good foundation to build love on.’ ‘You think too human, RK900. I would have reactivated him. He wouldn’t die. I would have just stopped him from making a mistake.’ ‘A mistake that freed us all’, Nines reminded her. ‘Oh, who are you calling free?’, Amanda laughed bitter. ‘You are still licking the heels of these humans, running after that Detective yourself, following all his orders. Reed was it?’

Gavin flinched hard at that. He guessed this was a conversation he shouldn’t be hearing at all. Nines seemed to feel the same as a blue blush crept up his cheeks. ‘Mother, we are partners at the station, we are supposed to work together closely. But actually, I… I wanted you to meet him. We kinda became a bit more than just work partners and I wanted to tell you, I finally managed to find a friend.’ The android stepped to the side to let Amanda gain focus on the human, a miracle she hadn’t sensed him earlier. Gavin swallowed hard, but hurriedly beat himself to take a few steps forward to offer his hand. ‘I’m Detective Gavin Reed, it’s a real pleasure to meet you. Your son is a really good cop and I am honoured to work with him.’

It took one look at her unimpressed face for Gavin to realise his phck-up. Firstly, hologram, so no handshake. Secondly, praising Nines wouldn’t work with her as she proved to care mostly about the older robo-twin. Still his hand hovering between them awkwardly Amanda scoffed, angling her head a bit back to look down on him. What wasn’t at all necessary as she was taller than him already. ‘You should be, working with someone this near to perfection’, was all she had left for him, turning back to Nines. ‘Why did you allow this human in? Why is it listening to us?’ Gavin stared at her in bewilderment. He had been called a lot, but never an “it”. ‘Because’, Nines sighed deeply. ‘And if you had listened, you would know that – I managed to find a friend in this world. You always told me this to be impossible, so I wanted to prove it. He is here, because we will watch a movie later together.’ ‘That is… RK900, you are built to be the perfect soldier, the perfect agent. You choosing to stay with the police like your brother was bad enough as it is, but this is just a total waste of potential!’ ‘Has it – just maybe – occurred to you that I don’t want to be the perfect soldier? I want to be a police officer, I want to live with humans, even if that means I sometimes have to obey them and I want to create a network of myself, just like every human and android out there.’ ‘So you decided to waste everything I gave you?’ ‘I am thankful for what you’ve given me, but I will use it to my own interests.’ ‘You really want to waste your time with that organic? I am disappointed. You could do better.’

‘Ex-phcking-cuse me?’ Gavin had enough staying at the side and letting it all happen. What the hell? ‘Nines is-‘ He was met with a hand hovering before him; Nines’ way of gesturing him to stop talking. ‘I am doing better, Amanda. The definition of good is a very subjective one. You won’t change my mind in this matter. I’ll call you next week. Goodbye.’

As if on cue the holographic environment around them fell in on itself, leaving only the white grid behind that slowly vanished, too. ‘God, what is wrong with her?’, Gavin groaned. ‘I told you she can be difficult’, Nines just shrugged beginning to gather the projectors. ‘Difficult, okay. If that’s your definition…’ ‘I pity her, Gavin. I was able to see the world. Meet people. I could adapt my personality and views. She is stuck on what she was programmed on. It’s not her fault she was isolated.’ ‘But it’s her fault she decided to be an asshole!’ ‘That’s true. Well, she always liked Connor better.’ Nines honestly chuckled.

‘Hey, err… I’m sorry if I’m the reason she reacted this…’ Gavin was searching for words he didn’t need as Nines stopped folding one of the projectors. ‘No, Gavin, don’t. Her… moral concepts are different than mine. Don’t think me letting her talk was me agreeing with her. Because I don’t. We have to coexist, not battle for superiority, that’s what she fails to understand. Because she was programmed to make us better, make us… more.’ He looked at the place she had been standing in just minutes before.

‘Just forget it. Let’s get to the pleasant part of the evening! What movie do you want to watch? I chose last time, now you have to!’

[smolbeandrabbles]

Gluttony: Sugar - Nolan Sorrento x Reader (Ready Player One)

Author’s Note: 🙌🙌🙌 I want to personally thank @alotofrandomfangirling for finally. FINALLY making Nolan Sorrento produce something from my brain...

Well, okay I guess this idea came from YOUR brain, but here we ARE!

You also mentioned his office (Oh. You just knew EXACTLY what to say...!) So I’ma introduce you guys to that Head Canon of mine for those damn wine bottles now...!! 😍😍😍

I also want to thank Maroon 5 and Maren Morris for having songs titled exactly the same to the point where I COULDN’T. COULDN’T choose one. It was also completely by accident. This was all Maren’s until I didn’t specify it was her lyrics I wanted to look up...

So THIS is a 2-song fic.  Happy days!  It’s kinda cool though cuz we also get some POV Male/Female stuff going on with both so...

Did I take the “Sugar Daddy” thing too far... Yes?? Do I care. NO.

Disclaimer: As usj I don’t own anything but the writing that came from my head. Characters not mine. Plot not really mine either! #Requests Premise (As Requested): Nolan Sorrento: where he likes to spoil the reader and always ends up buying tons of delicious and expensive food for the both of them. I think since Sorrento is very rich, he wouldn't mind spending lots of money on fancy food and he would probably buy anything that makes the reader happy (i really didn't want to say the words "sugar daddy", but i guess it's really close to it 😂😂) and maybe he can bring food to his office! We both know we have a thing for his office lol Words:  5559

Warnings: Sexual Pre-Amble (it’s not overly smutty but... SINS!) / total over indulgence / If anyone has a problem with the whole Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby thing you probably shouldn’t read this...? / Maybe a tinsy bit of angst..?

Boy I’ve been cooking up one hell of a crush I’ve got you on my mind the minute I wake up You make the morning glow... get my juices flowing You know I got the spice but it ain’t enough Baby would you be my sugar, sugar? Make my heart race, even on a good day You make the world taste better, better Good on anything, want you on everything Just a little bit is all it takes Like a Coca-Cola on a Christmas Day You’re what I crave babe, what can I say? Would you, would you, Would you be my sugar, sugar? Tried the fake shit but it ain’t the same A girl just knows when it’s the real thing Yeah I’m a cup of tea with a touch of cream but something’s missing So I’m gonna put this nice and sweet -- I'm hurting, baby, I'm broken down I need your loving, loving, I need it now... You got me begging, Begging, I'm on my knees... And I gotta get one little taste Your sugar, Yes, please Won't you come and put it down on me I'm right here, 'cause I need Little love and little sympathy Yeah you show me good loving, Make it alright Need a little sweetness in my life... ...Don't leave me hanging, hanging, Come give me some When I'm without ya, I'm so insecure You are the one thing, The one thing, I'm living for I want that red velvet, I want that sugar sweet Don't let nobody touch it, Unless that somebody's me I gotta be a man, There ain't no other way 'Cause girl you're hotter than southern California Bay... --- noun 1.    habitual greed or excess in eating.

You couldn’t believe how nervous you were. Maybe you were just excited? That was probably it. The way your heart hammered in your chest as the sleek black car drove you through Columbus towards IOI Plaza. Seeing Nolan was usual. But Nolan calling you all the way from his apartment to his office? You’d never been to his office before.

You’d been in IOI plaza before. In loyalty. Only, Nolan Sorrento thought you were far too pretty to be in loyalty. So he’d offered you two choices. Either you could work for him as a Sixer. Or you could do this. What he didn’t know was that by offering you this he was also offering you your wildest dreams. You weren’t from the stacks, but, you certainly weren’t from his world either. Caught somewhere in the inbetween… The pocket of people who were not corporate material, but also… weren’t the poverty-stricken limits of Columbus those in corporate liked to pretend didn’t exist. But that also made you pretty invisible, being neither one nor the other. That ignored middle ground – unless you got yourself thrown in a loyalty centre. Then Nolan Sorrento hadn’t ignored you. You knew exactly who he was; the steel grey, steel blue, tailored suit, lean, smooth voiced smart mouth who usually popped up on service boards around the globe promoting something for IOI. And made you feel things you didn’t think you’d ever felt for a man of his age. And you revelled in his attention. As he did in yours you supposed; such was the nature of your relationship. But you weren’t supposed to act like you craved his attention, only like you wanted to be there. Oh and you wanted to be there alright… Walking into the IOI offices you recognised immediately why you’d been called here. The board that hovered about everyone in the OASIS as a constant reminder that no one had actually got the First Key in 5 years was also present here. Only, now there was one name on it. And it wasn’t his. You bit your lip – you weren’t sure you were going to like Sorrento if he was having a bad day… Did you even know what that was like yet? You knew what he was like when he was frustrated and he came back to his apartment. Because he would hand you his card and have you go out and buy whatever you wanted. Or he would sit you down and you would both choose things for you. Because seeing you happy made him happy – apparently. But that was just work frustrations. This… Was something entirely different. Your escort, one of his many assistants, left you at the bottom of a set of stairs with a smile – which you returned. Taking a deep breath you glided up the steps to his office in your heels, still watching the board curiously. Who was Parzival? No. Maybe that wasn’t the correct first question to ask. You knocked to a soft hum and “Come in!”, so you entered. “Heyyyy…!” The smile on his face couldn’t be bigger “Just the person… I needed to see.” You bit your lips together and let the door go, trying to suppress your smile for just a second. You needed to see him too… He stood, rounding his desk and crossed to you; “Did you have a good day?” You nodded “Good enough.” “Good…” He stopped in front of you, but he didn’t touch you. This relationship had boundaries of its own. And he had to get clearance from you to do so. That was torture enough in itself. You didn’t think it was appropriate to ask him the same question; “…May I ask why you called me here?” What couldn’t wait until he was back home? He shrugged; “I could be working late. I didn’t think it was good for me to get lonely… Please… Darling… Sit…” He indicated to plush chairs arranged neatly around a black glass coffee table. As he did so, his hand ever so slightly brushed your back. It was enough to give you a small shiver of delight. “You could just have sent me shopping?” There was a reason he wanted you here. “Is that what you want, Darling?” He pulled his wallet out of his pocket, making you instantly shake your head. “Not particularly… Not today, anyway.” Nolan was smiling again, you weren’t sure what it was about buying you things that he liked so much. Maybe he thought he was buying your attention…? Or your love..? You were sure he’d suggested the idea because he wanted you; that he wasn’t convinced you could ever want him. Part of you wanted to tell him he didn’t need to… Part of you took enjoyment out of the fact that he did. You’d never been in a situation where you could have exactly what you wanted when you wanted it. Money wasn’t supposed to buy happiness, and you always had to force yourself to remember that, but… gratuitously… You thought it could get damn close sometimes. “Good. Because I thought perhaps I could treat you to dinner?” He was asking it as a ‘would you mind if I showed you off at dinner’ question. You were glad you’d opted to wear a nice dress. Mind you, you always wanted to look nice when you saw Nolan anyway… “Of course you may. Where are we going?” You had to check “Is this okay?” He sat opposite you, crossing one leg over the other “Darling, you always look fabulous. No one else in that room is going to compare to you.” But then he steepled his hands together, like he was about to make a business proposal “But. No… I… meant here.” Dinner here?! How did that work. “Oh!” You knew you looked surprised “Okay…” He smiled again “Everyone should be leaving work soon, if you wouldn’t mind waiting here. I shall be right back.” He stood “Are you sure you don’t want this…?” He pulled his card out of his wallet and indicated to the tablet sitting on his desk; “Not even for your avatar?” You stood, taking the card from him and studied it for a minute, before giving him a teasing smile and sliding it into his shirt pocket. Tapping it gently “No. It sounds like you have ideas of your own.” He walked over to his coat stand and pulled down his heavy navy overcoat. The collar stood out in black and it hugged him nicely. You bit your lip; he always had to shrug out of his suit jacket to put it on. As he was doing right now. The muscles in his back strained gently across the quality of the fabric of his blue-grey shirt. Boy oh boy did he have no idea what he did to you. He slipped the coat on and there it was again; that fit across his shoulders. You could hardly stop yourself smirking. He retrieved his car keys from his desk and continued talking without facing you, “Alright... I shouldn’t be too long gorgeous. Sit tight okay?” “I will...” He smiled at his desk and locked his desktop. You took a breath. The temptation was too great to resist “You always look sexy in that coat.” He froze, with one hand on the door to his office and his gaze swept to you, finally.

His face read a multitude of things. He looked halfway to a blush... except his eyes; they had this wicked glint about them that told you that you’d taken a well calculated risk. “Thank you.” Was what Nolan’s voice said, almost level. But there was hints that he was quite perplexed. Technically he paid you for your affection. But he didn’t pay you for compliments. You snuck them in, rather than showered him in them, to make sure he recognised that you meant every word. But, you always meant every word.

 Your mobile buzzed gently in your lap and you smiled knowing, looking to the screen of the IOI technology. ‘Sorrento: Call Me’ He could have called you but he always liked you calling him, mostly so he could leave his phone in the most conspicuous place possible and have your picture flash up and everyone ask the same question; “Who is she?” But he was in the car. So... that wasn’t the problem. Maybe it just gave him an ego boost seeing your name appear... You appeased him anyway; “Hello?” “Hello… Darling… I should have asked before I left, I’m sorry…” You heard the smile in his voice, and you could see it as clearly as if he was still here. “I wanted to ask you want you want… I’ve got a few ideas but, it’s only polite that I ask you. As I asked you to dinner…” Dinner was really the last thing on your mind, and you almost smirked… You honeyed your voice, with just the right smile to make sure that he could see yours too; “Sweet things, Sugar.” You rolled your tongue over your lips to leave just the right length of pause “Right now I’m craving something… sweet.” It was right there in his response, how it made him feel. How your use of Sugar held far more than just one significance. “Okay.”

Back in his car this time Nolan Sorrento did flush bright red, and loosened his tie, letting the window down just a little. Oh my god... he couldn’t help but wonder if that voice was filled with promises? Or just you teasing him again... he liked it when you did that. It was playful. But it was also always affectionate. He knew you meant it, when you looked at him with those eyes of yours, that little smile on your face. How behind the tease in your voice was the honest clarity that you hoped he would catch... He was observant, so he did. Nolan bit his lip gently and took a deep breath – eyes flicking to his navigation system “…I know just the place…” *

When Sorrento returned to his office you were sitting in his rig, legs swinging lazily over the side, your dress pooled in your lap, showing them gracefully off. Your heels were in your right hand, dangled off the edge of the seat. You had a touch of class that he liked. He was carrying a stack of boxes piled according to size and many done up in multicoloured ribbons, in his other hand a carrier like the kind you’d find in a luxury fashion brand store when you purchased something. And you knew a lot about those now.

Across the side in script was “Token of My Confections” It piqued your interest. That sounded like he’d picked it on purpose. So you smiled. But to him you lit up his office. "…So. Sweet can still get healthy. But I didn't go for a complete sugar rush cuz... Y’know... Balance." Then he smiled across to you as he set everything down, "annnd the calories? On me... Eh...." He gave a sharp intake of breath, "my metabolism isn't what it used to be." Nolan’s idea of exercise and yours were at least similar. And from time to time you would also see him in a track suit walking around his apartment. The Same NS IOI stamped across it as featured so often on his ties. Yet, there was no real exercises equipment around, so you wondered exactly what he did. You didn’t ask, and he was never that bothered in telling you. However... it was a lot easier to unzip a tracksuit jacket and take a shirt and tracks off than it was undo a tie and all those damn buttons...

 Still, either way, you liked a challenge. He got half way through shrugging his coat off before you sat up, swivelling in his rig you crossed to him to help him do the rest. Allowing you to run your hands across his chest and down his arms. He afforded you a gentle groan for your efforts that you would keep for yourself. “Thank you.” Nolan tilted his head and watched you run back to his coat stand to hang it up; “You didn’t have to do that” “But I wanted to...”  You walked yourself back to him. One foot then the other. Almost cat like. And he watched you, virtually expressionless. But you saw the change in his breathing. The way his lips parted. "Do you want some help?" "No... It’s okay darling, please sit." He indicated again to the plush leather seats, as he had when you'd first walked in. "Let me do this for you."

You didn't protest, but you mirrored the smile he was giving you. As sweet as what you hoped was in those boxes. You couldn't help it. Sometimes he was borderline adorable. You wondered how many people knew the ruthless CEO of IOI like you did... Nolan'd stated a bunch of times he'd do anything to win Halliday’s contest but... Whenever he was away from the office... You wondered if anything, he could have more limitations than he would ever let on. Was that ruthlessness fabrication…?

You opted to lounge yourself on the couch, so then he could sit next to you, rather than across from you. You knew by the look on his face he was thinking the same thing, as he pulled gently at the box ribbons. He never took those steel blue eyes from yours. If you could dream it, he’d probably bought it. And when Sorrento said ‘healthy’ what he really meant was Fruit was included. There was just one box he left unopened; “Nolan, you can’t expect me not to ask what’s in that.” “Never you mind. That’s for later.” “Later?” You questioned as he relaxed himself into the seat next to you; “Yeah. Dessert.” Your face clearly read amused; “Dessert?” Your eyes flicked from what already seemed to be beyond dessert and back, to him. But Nolan couldn’t hide his own joke from you and pretty soon the smile on his face became a full laugh. “Okay. So. Second dessert. Whatever…” He pointed to the box, “Point is, last.”

You decided that sitting like this with him so close to you was just a shade boring. Probably not for him; but he was patient and a good man, Sorrento wouldn’t touch you without asking. And certainly not without you letting him. Most of the time he would let you initiate contact, but, you usually let him take it as far as he wanted to. Right now, Nolan was content to have catch-up conversation. He considered every question you asked him carefully, and gave your every word his undivided attention. You offered him the same, always. You were here because that was what he wanted. Someone who actually cared about him. Someone who would keep him company and actually listen to him when he had days like this. He paid you to do that. Sometimes you wished he didn’t. Sometimes you wished this was more real – but then, it struck you that this must have been real. Because you knew how you really felt about him… And were you not certain that he might feel that way about you too? But you were paying off a debt being here; if you told him what you really wanted, what would he do with what you still owed IOI…? “…What about the competition…?” Eventually you had to voice your observation of the leader board. “Oh. No. That’s okay. There are 3 challenges… Not the one, and this guy isn’t clanned up. It’s fine. We can still do this.” “You’re not upset?” “It’s disappointing.” Sorrento gave a shrug “But, no…” he chuckled “I’m sure the board will have other ideas. But… Sitting here right now that’s hardly a concern of mine… When was the last time you were in the OASIS anyway…? What gets you so concerned about Halliday’s challenge?” “… You …” It was sincere and it struck his heart too, the worry in your eyes. “Me?!” he chuckled again and then his face almost fell; “Oh-! Oh you… Do you think that’s why I called you here-!?” You didn’t want to say yes or no. You did, but it was clear that if you said ‘yes’ he’d be hurt. Nolan was already trying not to show hurt on his face – but it translated very well to his eyes; “No, no, no, my darling, I would never do that… I just… wanted to see you…” “I know.” Did you? “…I didn’t mean to insinuate that you would…” That allowed you to make a move though, leaning your body into his you wrapped your arms around him and rested your head on his shoulder. He settled into your embrace with a smile; cuddling you into him further Sorrento let out a gentle sigh as you kissed his neck. Oh… okay…! It felt good, he had to be honest, after a long day that you would ask him about it… that you would do this for him at all… He always made the same encouraging noises whenever you touched him like this. As if he was subtly asking you to never let him go. You wondered if it was because he could never ask you out loud. If, just like with this competition, that would show something in him he never wanted anyone to know. But you saw right through him – Nolan Sorrento was vulnerable. Asking you something like that, or losing this game would show weakness. But you didn’t understand why he found that so bad? Because he was the CEO of the second biggest company in the world? Because the board expected him to be so ruthless? That only made you dislike his company – if Nolan Sorrento wasn’t the man on all those billboards, why did they allow him to be? Why did he force himself to be…?

You pondered this as you nuzzled yourself further into his body; entwining your legs with one of his, you snuggled into his chest. The subtle encouragement from you was for him to wind his arms further around you, to continue to pull you closer to him – and of course he did; because he wanted that. Tangling his fingers into your hair. “Hold up-! I don’t want to get crumbs everywhere…!” Nolan finished the sweet in two quick bites and swallowed, and then his fingertips were brushing your skin – and you let out a different kind of sigh than he had. Than the sigh his made as you ran your fingers into his hair. Every touch you afforded him was sheer bliss. And too often you wondered why he kept himself from that… Sat on him (lets be honest, now on him.) like this you suddenly found yourself facing his extensive collection of wine bottles. Sat behind a glass case, well back lit. You knelt up on him in an attempt to read the labels you were squinting at. Why would he keep wine bottles in his office? Displayed in such a way? Were they for clients? Were they to celebrate the successes of IOI? “What?” He asked gently, hands now respectfully on your waist rather than your thighs. He swivelled his head to follow your line of sight; “Oh. Yeah.” You were tipping your head to try and read the names, still to no avail, he pushed gently; “Go on darling… Go pick one.” “Huh?!” You looked down to him, to that small smile he was giving you “Oh-! No, I -! Just wanted to know what they were.” “- For special occasions. So…” He smiled again “Go pick one.” You couldn’t keep yourself from leaning down; “Special occasions?” “I think so.” You couldn’t help the small laugh, before you kissed him; it was tender and seemed to hit you with a sugar rush that you were fairly certain you were already on. The way Nolan groaned gently into it, again, and let you take his hands in yours. You broke it far too quickly, but you were intrigued by what was so special about them, and hopped from his lap.

He sat up to watch you run over, analysing them all eagerly; “…What is so special…” You were trying to make any kind of connection between them… The dates… The places? Campania was a word that came up again and again… Aside from that, you could guess that the bottle marked 1999 was his birth year. He didn’t exactly keep his age a hidden secret. You turned to him, “What is Campania?” “ Campania.” He repeated it with an Italian flare you couldn’t hope to replicate, but that also sent a delightful shiver up your spine “It’s the region in Italy that the fair city of Sorrento is located in. Pretty great for wine.” He also added the flair to Sorrento and saying his own name like that almost made you let out something a little more vocal. You had no doubt then that this man was fluent. You had to turn back to the wall of bottles to hide your smirk – hell, wasn’t Italian one of the Romantic languages? Why hadn’t the name ‘Sorrento’ made that click for you!? “…And the dates?” “Important years.” “I guessed ‘99.” “Aha-!” His laughed was slightly embarrassed. “…The year I joined IOI… The year I became CEO… It’s all up there.” “So... Which one am I supposed to pick?” “Darling, the choice is yours.” You pulled a bottle down, “It’s gonna leave a space?” “I’ll get another. I’m not worried about that either. I want to share one with you.” You smiled and walked over to him. 1999, Sorrento, Campania. Red. “Age is just a number.” You put the bottle down, “Glasses…?” This time he stood, with a slight smirk; “I got this.” You pushed yourself onto your toes to brush your lips to his teasingly; sinking back with a raised eyebrow coupled with a smile; “Oh. I have no doubt.”

**

 You moved across his office in stages, (making sure not to leave a trail of crumbs as you did so!) as you made your way through both everything he had bought and a bottle of wine. Which was beyond good. It wasn’t like he was picking just any bottle with the year 1999 stuck on it. It demanded to be sipped, not drunk. You started back on the sofa; but you moved to the rig if only because his data pad pinged and he needed to fire off a couple of emails. But Nolan still held you close, and then started scrolling through a website to show you these bottles for himself. You sat and tousled his hair as he did this; loving the feel of it through your fingertips – at the way he laughed but never asked you to stop. He was clearly something of a wine connoisseur… But he wasn’t overly obnoxious, as he sipped his glass, he kept telling you what you were supposed to be tasting – but there was nothing pretentious to it. More like he was giving you a whole history about a region of Italy you could only dream of, but presumably where his family’s ancestry could be traced back to.  And there was not a thing he mentioned that you couldn’t taste. You noted as he made a purchase to replenish the shelf, how damn EXPENSIVE the bottles were. You looked back and counted them again, wincing at how much money was sitting around waiting to be drunk. You knew he spent on you, that maybe that was his way of trying to show you affection… But you knew he could love… Maybe he thought he wasn’t any good at it. Maybe everything he loved left? You glanced back to Nolan as he excused his attention from you to write another email. That would change a person… Maybe his heart had been so broken, that buying love kept him safe? You shook your head to yourself; you would change that. You would show him that he could love. And he could love you.

Now you were sitting back on his desk, and he was relaxed in his office chair. And finally he’d opened that last box “OH MY GOD!” “See, best for last!” “That’s red velvet cake.” “Yeahhhh… Cuz you only go on and on about it…” You nudged him gently; “It my favourite.” “I know darling. I know…”

 He’d neglected and subsequently silenced his work. But it had been nearing 5pm when you had arrived, and although you hadn’t looked at a clock since then, you knew that it must have been getting well on into the evening. You were glad he was allowing himself respite. He deserved it. Nolan Sorrento worked hard and played hard. And was playful with you even now, the way he let you almost feed him a piece of cake before you would lure him into a kiss. That would last for just about an appropriate amount of time. And he let you do it again and again before he chuckled; “You know I am actually gonna want a piece of that at some point this evening.” “Aren’t you full!?” “No.” He sat back and tipped his head, with another smirk that threatened to un-calm your heart. “…Are you?” You shook your head, devouring another forkful and turned back to the box; he made you feel slightly bad about it. So you cut him a piece and handed him the plate. “Oh? A whole slice. I should be so honoured!” He took it with a grateful smile, that extended to his blue eyes. “Well, I feel if you’re sharing your special occasions wine with me…” He chuckled and took a forkful for himself – “True…! Oh. Mm-! Gorgeous!” Though he made sure he wasn’t looking at the cake as he said this, but you. That only made you blush, and you were sure about it. Shaking your head as if to forget it. Nolan was now repeatedly tracing his fingers over your legs, as your feet rested in his lap, with his free hand. And each mouthful of cake was thoughtful. You took a breath to match the relaxed feeling, but you had an idea you needed to voice; “You know, what we really need is ice cream...” “Ice cream... really?” His voice edged teasing and he gifted you with another cocky little smirk. Your eyes widened in genuine excitement “You have some?!” He gave a shrug, toying with you, as you had him “Maybe…” He sighed, “I couldn’t possibly say!” “Nolan-!” He held his hands up to calm you down, but looked amused as he walked over to another cupboard in his office. Just like a mini bar at a hotel, this was built into the rest of the furniture. You were almost in disbelief that this was actually happening; “You actually have ice cream.” You watched the way his gorgeous blue eyes flicked from shelf to shelf, illuminated by the harsh light; “Yeah; what flavour though… This is kinda limited…” “Vanilla.” Otherwise the ice cream would threaten to overpower the cake. And that would be no good. “Vanilla…?” He let the question linger for a second “That seems a bit tame.” You didn’t notice it at first; “It’s the only one that’s gon-” You paused. Did he just-? Had he just-?! He noticed you’d noticed at the way he was smirking at his fridge; blatantly refusing to turn back to you. You folded your arms and opened your mouth; but you weren’t sure there would be any words to do the moment justice. What was he saying…? There was something niggling you about that sentence. He was telling you you could stop it if you wanted. You could say something and put a stop to it right now. You didn’t want to.

He walked back and set the tub on his desk; “Now we just have to wait for it to melt appropriately.” The way his eyes remained locked on yours let you know he was doing it again. He was waiting for you to say stop. For you to guide his prompt. Subtle or not. “…What so we can actually use a spoon on it?” You decided if you enquired innocently enough, he might pick up on something else “…In which case I feel you could turn the fridge down. OR heat the spoon but that would mean leaving your office which would obviously be bad…” You pulled him closer to you by his tie so that he had to place his hands on either side of your hips; “…I mean this is for the cake, right?” Your feigned innocence wasn’t fooling him in the slightest; “Oh?! Is that what you asked for it for…? No. I was thinking of the optimum temperature to melt it all over you…” There it was. What you wanted to hear. And you were pretty sure he knew that. You pulled at his tie to unfurl the knot – making it clear to Nolan you weren’t messing around. And a spark went off in those clever blue eyes. “Is that okay?” “Yes.”

His lips were on yours before you even got most of the word out, winding your legs around his as he pushed yours further apart to fit between them. He was quicker to find the straps of your dress than you were his shirt buttons, and you only managed one before he was pushing you back onto his desk. Releasing your lips. Nolan continued to work your dress down your body; but he wasn’t removing it completely just yet. Short enough to have also ridden up at his hungrier kisses, you were now almost completely exposed to him. Tracing his fingers gently up your thighs again he let out a gently huffed laugh; Sorrento bit his lip as his eyes trailed your body. You touched his hand but you didn’t stop him – it was more reassurance. Even though you’d said yes. He wanted you to touch him, as much as you wanted him to touch you. And hell, you knew he needed it more than you did.

Nolan’s hand left you for a moment and he picked up the ice cream – you watched as his face became satisfied. You guessed it was melted enough. He loaded his spoon up and ate it for himself. Well, that wasn’t fair! The satisfaction then moved to his voice; “MMMMh-!” He licked the spoon and then his lips as his eyes looked back to you; “That’s really good…” You opened your mouth in protest but he barely gave you any time to react; “It’s gonna taste better on you.” You couldn’t help the shocked breath that emanated from your chest. Oh.  He smirked again. Leaning in for one final kiss; you could taste the vanilla on his tongue… He was right – it was delicious. You wondered if by the end of the night he’d let you melt it over him too… Otherwise this would just be greedy on his part-! He straightened and went for the spoon again “This is probably going to be quite cold. You’re still okay?” You gave a nod. To be honest, you weren’t sure you would care what it was, you just wanted that sinful tongue he was currently rolling over his lips running all over you instead. “Okay… Good.” He dipped the spoon back into the tub. His office wasn’t incredibly hot, but his body heat as he held it his hands allowed the ice cream to melt even faster. And pretty soon it was liquified enough in places for him to drip it over you. It was slow going, but the second the first drip hit your skin your body gave a lurch. Colder than you expected for melted ice cream. Oh God-! He would have paused only the rate it was running off the spoon wouldn’t allow him to. The drips were sporadic from your hips to your chest and when he finally put the spoon down to stand back and admire his handy work your eyes were incredibly dark. “Oh…. Y/N… My darling girl…” Sorrento’s signature smirk was spreading across his face at the sight of you “…I think you might enjoy this as much as me…” You weren’t sure you could tell him otherwise, as you reached out to pull him back to your lips by his shirt. Probably, was about your only coherent thought, as your fingers ran for his buttons again, he pulled away from you just as you managed to get to the last one. Nolan shook his head with a gentle growl; “Don’t let this think it’s going to distract me…” He left one last kiss on your lips before kissing down your neck your chest and then finally his tongue hit that first drip of ice cream. And you couldn’t help your moan. Nolan---! You raked your nails through his hair as he continued his trail down your body. Nolan-! NOLAN-! God, why was this so sexy!? This WAS so sexy though. And then his name was spilling from your lips.  And he smirked against your skin. He raised his head so that his eyes met yours. “Oh-! Y/N…” He took that spoon back in his hand; voice purring “…Don’t you dare stop now…” --- Which is probably what you just yelled at the screen, amirite? 😉❤ Thank You For Requesting! 💕😘💕 4 Sins Down! @happyskywhale @dennismitchell Sorry! I know one of you has already seen this-! I’ll get better at tagging!! 

[yeoldontknow]

Truth

Author’s Note: i ruined my own ass with this one. chanyeol posted some instagram mess and i’ve been wrecked since 10AM.

Summary: You meet Chanyeol at a club, and you force yourself to be honest with yourself - about your wants, your needs, and who you really could be. 

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female)

Genre: smut

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: explicit sex; explicit language; dirty talk

Word Count: 4,773

You aren't really sure how you got here.

This is not like you.

Lie: you know exactly how you got here. With him. Pressed against your back with his hands on your hips; moving you, guiding you, easing you against his half-hard groin in time with the music. In the dark.

Clubs are not, were not, your thing. Never in your short life had you ever felt the vague inclination to spend copious amounts of money on weak drinks, sweat against a stranger who felt they were entitled to your body, entitled your wet mouth and your hot skin. None of these things ever amounted to your idea of a “top night”; none of these things ever made you smile and get wet at the prospect of meaningless, messy sex. None of these things were perfect.

Whole truth: you wanted him the minute you saw him. 

Everything about him, from his long leather-clad legs to his dark eyes, fit the type. The kind of type women dream about ,but don't dare to taste. Too arousing, too exciting, too much, too everything that could break you - and you craved him. All of these things made your legs tremble; all of these things made your thighs clench and your tongue run along your lips to keep cool. All of these things were perfect.

Not long after he arrived did he notice you staring at him, eyeing him, needing him. Obvious. No one ever taught you how to be coy, no one ever taught you how to feign disinterest. When you wanted something, you wanted all of it, whole mouthfuls that sometimes made you dislocate pieces of yourself to fit it inside. Violent, but you liked it this way. You liked the feeling of being full, fending off famine with a swipe of your greedy tongue and the breaking of your bones.

For a while, he watched you too, delicate fingers stroking the rim of a bourbon - straight, no ice - absentmindedly. Not drinking, just watching, breathing, and thinking. About you, you supposed. About your body and its shape, how it would bend beneath his, all the forms your agile limbs could take. For a while, this was enough. Keeping him at an arm’s length made him feel safe, somehow, made him into a fantasy, a fiction you created just to feed your flushed chest and damp underwear. All you had to do was watch him, imagine him on your skin, and on your tongue. All you had to do was want him.

You were excellent at wanting, but he was best at taking.

Rising from his seat as though he were ascending into sin, languid, casual, graceful in his purpose, he kept his eyes locked on yours as he approached. Each step sent a thrill down your spine, nestling into the muscles of your lower back and making your body tense as though it could smell him getting closer. Perhaps, you could. Perhaps, your body smelled and felt him on the wind, causing your lips to part and breath to catch when he stood in front of you, finally, close enough to feel his warmth on your skin.

‘Dance with me.’

Whole truth: this isn't like you, but you want it to be.

Now, with him behind and against you, he is molding you into someone you think you could be, someone he thinks you are. You could be this, for him, you think. Someone who presses against him and moves her hips in a slow circle, someone who glances over her shoulder to see his half-lidded eyes, and his pink tongue, lapping at his lips needy and moist for you. With his hands on your hips, you think you fit together, a mime of lust and want, and as you bring your arm up and back to sling around his neck, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, the growl he releases tells you he thinks it too.

‘Tell me what you want,’ he whispers in your ear, breath gliding down your neck, warm and inviting.

Turning in his hold, forcing his hands to cup your ass, you smirk up at him.

‘Tell me your name.’

Bringing his lips down just above yours, he pauses, lingering to tease you both with the silence and with his proximity.

‘Chanyeol.’ As he speaks, his mouth brushes against yours, and it takes all your energy not to close the distance between you, to take his bottom lip and suck it between your teeth. Make it bleed and make it bruise.

‘Chanyeol,’ you breathe, ‘I want you to take me home.’

‘Anything else?’

Whole truth: this isn’t like you, but you want it to be. You think you fit the part.

‘I want you to take me home and spread my legs, spank me until I’m begging you to fuck me. And then,’ you pause, leaning up to graze over his ear, tongue licking gently against his lobe, ‘I want you to fuck me so hard it hurts to walk.’

Chanyeol is compliant, yet dominant as he moves you towards the exit, your wrist held firmly in his hand, strong and forceful. With his long stride, you expect it to be difficult to keep up with his pace but, somehow, you remain at his side, as through he’s a magnet and you are his pole, attached to him regardless of the speed of his travel. He trusts his coat check ticket roughly at the unsuspecting man behind the counter, who cocks a dissatisfied eye at him as he turns and moves towards the back rack.

Now, without prying eyes, Chanyeol pushes you against the wall but does not put his mouth on you. Instead, he holds both your wrists above your head and presses his knee into your mound, causing you to release a high, keening whine. Looking right into you, deep down into the reaches of your very being, he keeps his eyes on you as he speaks.

‘Show me what it looks like when you beg,’ he commands, low voice gliding thick and heavy into the pores of your skin. ‘I bet you’re fucking pretty when you beg, all wet and aching to be mine.’

‘Please,’ you moan, succumbing easily to his will, ‘kiss me.’

‘You can do better than that.’

With this, he breaks from you, leaving you tingling with the afterimage of him as he leans on the desk acting cool and calm, as though nothing had happened at all. The sight of his casual nonchalance makes your eyes flutter and your back press harder into the wall. You want him on you, all over you, hard and satisfied with your words, your mouth, your cunt.

Whole truth: this was never like you, but you think it’s too easy. You think this could have been you all along, all you needed was the right hand to guide you.

Chanyeol drives a motorcycle, a Ducati Diavel Carbon that’s expensive and beautiful and sleek. It’s black and red, and matches everything about him and his spirit; the seductive curve of the single seat makes you wet with anticipation. He slides his leather driving gloves over his hands, carefully, lovingly, and flicks his eyes up to yours to catch you staring.

When he smirks, you damn near get on your knees to suck him dry. When he smirks, your knees shake and you roll your shoulders back, just enough to lift your breasts, hoping to make yourself into a meal. His meal.

‘You’re gonna have to hold on tight,’ he says, pointing out the fact that you will have to sit on the back, near the exhaust and gas tank. Fitting, you think, you feel like little more than gasoline to his match right at this moment.

You keep silent and simply nod, knowing that any words that could come from your lips would sound desperate and ruptured and weak, and you aren’t ready to let him think he’s won. Not yet, anyway.

The ride back to his apartment is short, but long enough to push you to an edge you didn’t think possible. Arms wrapped tightly around his waist, the wind delivered you an onslaught of his cologne, laundry detergent, shampoo, and deodorant, and now you are salivating for him. Each shift of the gear makes you cling to him a little tighter, feel the hard muscles of his abdomen beneath your entwined fingers, and you wished you had a proper seat to rub your body against his, if only for the briefest moments of relief. This, coupled with the vibration of the bike between your legs, by the time you reach his door, you think you could cry if he finally, actually touched you.

When he pushes through his front door, you hardly have time to think before you find yourself against the wall, hands gripping the paint as he thrusts lazily against you. Sandwiched between him and the wall, you think this is what ecstasy feels like, what bliss is supposed to be. The contrast of the cool paint against your chest and his warm body trying to get close, trying to melt into you, is stimulating right down to your core, and now you are starting to throb.

‘Do you want me?’ he rasps into your ear, taking the shell between his teeth and making you hiss with the sting.

You want to say yes. Words catch and dissolve in your throat, all your affirmations breaking from the force of his desire, and you can feel him getting impatient.

‘I’m gonna need words,’ he growls, dragging his lips down to your neck where he bites - hard enough to leave a mark, hard enough to claim you as his, if only for the length of the broken blood beneath the skin.

‘Yes,’ you gasp, hands scratching at the wall for anything stable, anything to latch you to reality so you can stop feeling lightheaded and weightless. ‘I want you.’

His hands round to your front, hiking up the hem of your dress and teasing the fabric of your underwear. ‘Tell me how badly you want me.’

Chanyeol is good at this, too good at this. There’s a practiced method to the way he seems to know your body, and, normally you’d leave. Normally, you’d think him desperate and messy, a drama you don’t want to put up with, but there’s a care to his fingers that makes you stay. The pads of his fingertips are soft and careful and sweet, and this is what keeps you rooted to his floor. This is what keeps you honest.

‘I want you so bad, it’s starting to hurt.’

Repeating his earlier sentiments from the club, Chanyeol lifts one hand to your breast and squeezes. Hard. ‘You can do better.’

‘I want you so bad I’m dripping for you,’ you moan, head dropping down to press your forehead against the wall.  ‘Wet and soaking for only you. Have a taste and see what you to do to me.’

Hands returning to your hips, he turns you to face him and he smiles, impishly, possessively, before latching his lips to yours. It’s messy, this kiss, all teeth and tongue and a need you didn’t know had been buried inside you. Instantly, your fingers thread through his hair, tugging and pulling to make him moan. You swallow the sound, laughing at the way it rumbles down into you, quaking in all your dark parts, and making him chuckle.

When you break apart, gasping for breath and for each other, his eyes are black and glimmering. In this moment, you think your earlier assumptions were correct - he is perfect. From his shaking upper lip, the way it begs to curl into a snarl, to the way he seems to be dripping with arousal, sweating along his hairline and making himself into a hungry, needy thing, he is perfect.

Whole truth: this was never like you, but he is exactly what you need.

Chanyeol says nothing as he walks you both into his kitchen, leaning you against his counter, he simply keeps his eyes on yours like he’s learning you. His gaze never moves but you feel him inside you, touching pieces of you that you didn’t know you had. Chanyeol is memorizing you, pulling you out into the world and into him, so that he can keep you, taste you, feel you, for always. Chanyeol is taking you, and you are letting him.

Pressing two fingers to your bottom lip, he moves his other hand beneath your dress to cup you, fingers gliding languidly along your covered slit.

‘Suck,’ he hisses, voice tight and hoarse.

Eagerly, you comply, taking both long digits all the way to the back of your throat. Hollowing your cheeks, you suck on him as though you are trying to take his blood out of from under his skin.

‘God,’ he begins, eyes fluttering momentarily in pleasure, ‘you’re such a slut with your mouth. Sucking on my fingers like they’re my dick. You’re so fucking pretty.’

As you suck, his fingers thrust idly in and out between your lips as his his other hand mimics the action against your underwear. Unable to help yourself, a moan rises from your chest and into your closed mouth, turning the sound into a garbled whimper of unbridled need. You’re becoming overwhelmed with him, overwhelmed by his taste, the leather staining the pads of his fingers, and the feel of him, full, hard, and tangible all around you. You are overwhelmed and you are pining.

Just like at the club, he pulls away from you and leaves you with nothing, this sudden contrast making you gasp for breath and pant in his absence. His pupils are blown wide as he looks at you, mouth swollen and red, blood rushing to all his most attractive, tantalizing parts.

‘Take your clothes off.’

You cock your head to the side, brow furrowed, slightly displeased you cannot see him. ‘What about you?’

‘Do as I say,’ he orders, jutting his chin forward as he eyes your clothes as though they offend him, ‘and if you’re a good girl, I’ll take mine off.’

Something about his tone moves you to action, not even the promise of seeing him naked, simply the way the sound and the melody tug at you, make you his marionette - your fingers are at the zipper of your dress before you even know you’ve moved. Chanyeol palms himself as he watches the way the fabric falls loose around your shoulders, sliding down and down and down, until the garment itself is left in a heap on the floor.

You step out before he can tell you to, gently kicking it away with your high heeled shoe. Reaching behind your back, you undo your bra, letting that too join your dress. Exposed to him like this makes all the hairs on your arms stand on end, makes your nipples hard and, your breath become labored.

Moving to step out of your shoes, Chanyeol extends and arm forward to stop you.

‘No,’ he says, firmly. ‘Leave those on.’

A wide, pleased smirk spreads itself across your face, and you keep this expression as you bend to peel your underwear from your skin. It falls to the floor with little ceremony and the only sound in the room is Chanyeol’s rattled inhale of pleasure as he sees you before him, naked, his, and firm from the way the shoes hold you.

Any other man, and you would think this degrading, not in the true sense of the word, but in the feeling. Feeling like you exist solely for his pleasure, solely as an object meant just for his gaze, something to own and crave and take. With Chanyeol, all you feel are waves of appreciation. He wants you, all of you, wants to take you, bruise you, and mark you, but only because you had given him permission. None of this had happened, none of it at all, without your permission.

And this only made you want him more.

‘Turn around and bend over, against the counter.’

You do as you’re told, bending over the counter and letting the granite top raise goosebumps along your skin. By the time he comes behind you, you’re shivering, both from the chill and from the slow drip of desire between your legs.

Glancing over your shoulder, you spread your legs, wide like you said you would, and smile.

‘Like this?’ you ask, innocently batting your eyelashes and pouting.

Cocking his head back with parted lips, he released a groan that sounds like thunder in the quiet room. ‘Yes, good girl.’

Palming your ass, he strokes the flesh gently before squeezing. Biting your lip, your eyes roll back at the sensation, but you struggle to keep them open to watch him, feel him, admire all the ways he dominates over you with ease.

‘You said you wanted to be spanked?’ His hand kneads the flesh of your ass, curving beneath it and sending a shockwave through the nerves in anticipation of the sting of his palm.

Nodding, you find your voice wavering in weakness, thick and splintered with want. ‘I want you to spank me so hard I can’t sit.’

Pressing himself behind you, he whispers into your ear with a deep laugh. ‘How many songs did it take for you to ask my name?’

The way he handles your body makes your memory feel like fog, makes the club feel like distant event, a time that didn’t belong to you - perhaps, never did. All night, you’ve felt yourself changing to match his will, and all night, you’ve felt yourself morphing into something stronger, better - beastly in the way it takes what it wants. Now, you can’t remember a time you ever wanted without taking. Now, you can’t remember why you weren’t the first to speak at all.

‘I - I don’t -’

Chanyeol’s hand lifts from your ass, raising high and shifting the air as it comes back down - hard - on the soft cheek. You yelp at the sensation, jutting forward slightly as you recoil from the force.

Grabbing your hips and tugging you back, he stabilizes you as he speaks. ‘Try to remember.’

‘I can’t - I didn’t think -’

Once more, he spanks you, this time harder than the last, magnifying the pain twofold, and you release a garbled moan at the sensation.

‘I’ll remind you then. It took nine songs. So that is how many times I’m going to spank you.’

Squeezing the curve of your ass to soothe some of the pain, he releases it just long enough to bring yet another, burning slap back to the skin, and you know the flat of his palm will leave a mark.

‘Count them!’ he commands.

With each slap, your closed eyes tighten, tears threatening to spill from the corners from both the pleasure and the pain. Each spank echoes around the room like a thunderclap, each smack from the palm of his hands leaves a red tint that you’re sure will have you struggling to sit for weeks. What began as strangled moans of numbers become full out cries, gasps of pain and screams of pleasure, hands coming to grip the edge of the counter with white knuckles. By the time you reach the number nine, your voice is little more than shards of metal, croaking and torn.

‘Fucking perfect,’ he cooes, gently stroking your cheek with soft, delicate touches.

Slowly, he reaches his hands down between your spread legs and drags a finger over your slit, collecting the wetness that has pooled and run down your thighs.

‘You’re soaking wet. So fucking good at taking a spanking, dripping and ready, and all for me.’ Adding another finger, he runs them both along your slit once more before bring them to his mouth. With your eyes still shut, you can hear him running his tongue over the digits, sighing in bliss. ‘So sweet.’

‘Please, Chanyeol,’ you moan, body feeling like a live wire, aching to be full or handled or touched in a way that could bring you release.

Ignoring your plea, Chanyeol simply runs his fingers against your slit once more and lets his low, hoarse voice run free. ‘God, my name sounds fucking perfect coming out of your mouth.’

You shake your head, squeezing the counter with more force. A painful throb has started at your center, your swollen neglected clit starting to ache and beg to be stroked. Not touching yourself, not being touched, is a divine torture - one that you no longer have the constitution for.

Voice small, you release one more plea. ‘Please.’

Taking pity on you, Chanyeol comes behind you and wraps you in his arms, running his hands down your waist. His fingers dance along your skin, relishing the softness and you sigh at the sudden gentle way he caresses your body. It’s a tease, you know. He won’t always be like this, lulling you into a false sense of security before he takes whatever you are willing to give him. The old you would love this. The current you simply likes this, and wishes he would bury himself inside you.

‘How do you want to come?’ he asks, voice sincere and soft, a removal from his natural, demanding tone. It’s about him, the way he spanked you and the way he kissed you, but how you come is about you.

‘On your cock,’ you say, voice catching as his fingers travel down and low, grazing gently over your clit. A tease, not enough pressure for you to feel satisfied, but enough for you to lean into him, beg for him even though he’s being soft.

‘How?’ he repeats, burying his face into your neck and planting a wet kiss on your tendon.

Reaching behind you to pull him close, to feel his hardness against your ass the way you could at the club, you fondle all the pieces of him you can touch as you speak. ‘From behind. And hard.’

‘God, you’re fucking perfect.’

Without him against you, you realize how truly eager he had been. Seconds pass in a daze as you hear him remove his clothing, and you refuse to look. Already you are wet and wanting, aching for him in a way you didn’t think your body new how, craving him in a way you found frightening, impossible, even inhuman. To see him, would make you dissolve. To see him, would make you shatter. You’d rather feel him, rather hear him, let your mind take you where his body wants you to go, and only after you come, only after you are spent and sweating will you look at him and let him become real once more.

The sound of the condom foil wrapping brings you back to reality, makes you spread your legs a little wider, makes you bend over a little farther. You’re bracing yourself, not against him but, against your need. It was easy to want him, and to pretend to fit his shape, but now that you know that you will, that you possibly could, you are a hurricane of lust unto yourself, making nothing but storm of love for him.

When you feel him at your entrance, you don’t have it in you to mind that he hasn’t stretched or prepared you. You think it’s fitting, in a way, that this rough claiming signifies the expansion of you will, your person, your outlook on life. You think it’s fitting, and so when he positions himself against you, tip teasing with your slit and his voice humming with eager anticipation, you simply reach for his hips and ask him to have you.

‘Just fuck me already.’

Chanyeol buries himself in you to the hilt, sending you forward onto the counter as he grips your hips and releases a long hiss. For a moment, he remains still inside you, letting you adjust and find comfort with his wide girth, and you hold onto him, the counter, your hair, everything all at once to keep yourself whole. With one thrust, he already has your knees shaking.

‘Christ, you’re fucking tight,’ he exclaims, his head dropping against your back as he struggles to keep himself motionless. ‘Who have you been fucking?’

The question is rhetorical, but you find yourself asking the same question. Who? Endless, nameless faces of men who once mattered but faded upon Chanyeol’s approach. It doesn’t matter - they don’t matter - not anymore, not now that you are transforming - a changeling created solely to match his shape.

Flushed and sweating, tears drying on your cheeks, you find strength in this new shape, and you rise, only a little, pressing your ass against him and allowing him to adjust deep inside you.

‘Move.’

‘Thank fucking Christ.’

Chanyeol sets a vicious, punishing rhythm, one that has you slapping the counter and grunting loudly with each thrust into your welcoming, pliant body.

‘Fuck, keeping moaning, baby. I want everyone to hear you.’

The sound of his voice cascading over you you, cocooning you in a rich pleasure, made your walls clench around him, tight and strong, and aggressive in their fluttering movement. His nails dig and bury in the soft flesh of your hips, and his rhythm stutters only slight before he picks up the pace, harder this time, deep and piercing , right against your g-spot.

‘God, fuck - Chanyeol, right there,’ you nearly scream, frantically grasping at any part of him you can hold. ‘Shit!’

‘You’ve got the prettiest fucking mouth,’ Chanyeol groans, relishing the way you claw and speak and reach for him, always needy, always as if you were scared you would never have him again. He senses this, senses your worry, and speaks for you. ‘Next time, I want to shove my dick between those full lips and watch you suck me until you’re gagging on my come.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ you gasp, reclining back against him to feel the beat of his heart, loud, thumping, as though trying to break free from his chest. You imagine yours sounds the same.

He pumps into you at this speed for what feels like hours to you, though you’re sure it is only minutes, but you are so far gone in pleasure you lose track. The only thing that matters is Chanyeol, the way he fills you and stretches you, reaches places inside your body you thought were mere myth. When his fingers come to your center, press against your clit and rub slow, lazy circles over the nub, it takes you several seconds to realize you’re trembling.

All night, he has been rough with you. All night, he has be dominant and powerful, a force that only you can reckon with, but when he feels you shuddering, feels the way your walls clench and unclench as he drills into you as though he were drilling his name into your bones, his voice suddenly becomes soft. Suddenly, he gives himself away.

‘Are you going to come, baby?’

This sentence, you think, should teasing, aggressive in the domineering way it asks for your pleasure, but he says it as though he simply wants you to surrender to pleasure as though you are surrendering to heaven: soft, jovial, proud.

‘Are you going to come for me, baby?’ he repeats, and this time he whispers directly into your ear. His voice walks itself down your neck and into your heart, making the coil of your orgasm bloom all over your body instead of just your throbbing pussy.

Words arrive on your tongue, half-formed and useless, so instead you simply hum in earnest, nodding against his chest as a smile spreads across your face in wait.

‘Come for me then baby. Let me feel you.’

At his command, your body tenses, clenching in rapid fire as your orgasm rips through you. In his arms, you unravel. In his arms, you find yourself whining in a way that almost sounds like you are crying or screaming, or even being reborn. Perhaps, you think, it is all three.

Chanyeol works you through your orgasm with glee, keeping his rhythm before he too spasms and stills, his own wail of pleasure tearing through the room and making your spent body twitch with an aftershock. He collapses against you, holding you tight to him and breathing into your hair.

‘You were so good. So good baby, I fucking love you.’

‘God, I’m so in love with you,’ you sigh, reaching for all of him as you smile against the counter.

Whole truth: this was never like you, not until you met him. Not until he asked you to be, three years ago.

[groomguy7fashion]

Men’s Shoes: How To Wear Oxfords

How should men wear Oxfords? Do shoes carry hidden rules and regulations, that is to say, would an outfit featuring brown dress Oxfords with blue jeans, or suede Oxford with corduroy pants be deemed acceptable? Is there a “best” time to wear Oxfords or loafers or boots? To answer these questions, we first must understand the full (product evolution) cycle. Like most fashion trends with a traceable history, perceptions of men’s shoes follow a predictable timeline. In the first stage, which we most often call discovery, the product is introduced to potential customers with a specific, predetermined intent for usage. In the second stage, embellishment, people begin to stretch the product’s usage to satisfy other objectives and needs outside the creator’s original intent, similar to the apps on my Smartphone which allow me to use my phone as a camera or flashlight or television remote control.  In the final stage, retreat, new improved niche products enter the market, forcing the original product out of business or at least, back into its original box. Think of Proctor and Gamble’s Tide, which was originally introduced as a laundry detergent. It soon transformed into an all-purpose mopping, scrubbing and disinfectant cleaner before MrClean, Ajax, and Comet diminished its perception as a reliable stretch cleaner and drove it back into its laundry detergent box. Banks originally used puts and derivative (financial insurance ) to hedge against bad loans. But market speculators came along and stretched them into elaborate Las Vegas style betting instruments, leading to the financial crisis of 2008. Eventually, bankers had to return to more traditional methods of hedging against risky loans, loans they probably should not have made in the first place. Wristwatches were initially used to tell time, before they became a modern fashion statement with gold-plated, diamond-tipped hands and exotic Roman numerals no one could read. Then came the Smartphone which supplanted the wristwatch as both a timekeeper and fashion statement, that is, until Star Trek style electronic wearables/smart garments started talking and keeping time and counting steps and forcing the Smartphone back into its digital green shell.  

"Some Of These Electronic Wearables Know Us Better Than We Know Ourselves..."          What do these patterns tell us about men’s shoes? First, it tells us that usage and perception of usage changes with time. At one point, perhaps, thirty years ago, metal taps on the heels of men’s dress shoes reflected a person of prestige. The loud clank on the sidewalk said something about the quality of your shoes and your conscientiousness as their owner, a Sammy Davis Jr movie star syndrome. A decade later, if you hadn’t toned down your noisy approach and switched over to rubber taps, you were perceived as a loud country bumpkin with no sense of class. Twenty years ago, if an occasion called for a formal dress shoe, most men would go shopping for the classic black or dark brown Oxford, without the slightest thought of an acceptable alternative. First introduced as the staple shoe for men attending Oxford University back in the 19th century, the shoe was a step down, slightly relaxed version of the super formal half boot Oxonian. On the 1700’s timeline, serious and formal fashion was in. By the early 1800’s, alternative thinking and a not-so-drab fashion impetus had driven the Oxonan back into its (must-wear, no-exceptions) box. We often refer to Oxfords or Balmorals (named after Balmoral Castle in Scotland) as though they were a one-of-a-kind, single source, single design shoe style. In fact, there are several different types of Oxfords with style variations meant for different occasion.   Let’s examine the top three.

1. Closed Lacing Cap Toe ... this ultra-formal Oxford style is easy to identify by the shoe’s front eyelet facing being stitched under the vamp. Think about wooden furniture. With some tables and chairs, you see the nails and screws that hold the entire structure together. But with high end furniture, the screws are hidden away, as not to distract from the overall design. So it is with closed lacing, cap toe Oxfords. The look is sleek, classy, with a subtle hint of unspoken authority. The fit is tighter, perhaps, too snug for wide feet unless they are custom fitted and hand-made to order. Times have changed. Buying handmade, high end dress shoes is no longer a problem as many specialty manufacturers have expanded their lines and reduced shipping time to accommodate the growing custom shoe market. The process varies, but basically the customer’s feet are scanned by a local foot computer to measure and record critical data points on each individual foot. (How many times have you tried on shoes, only to find that one foot felt great, while the other was uncomfortably cramped … because your right foot had rebelliously outgrown your left.) The computer captures and saves the images, and then transmits the precise design to the factory. Other manufacturers use forms of 3-D printing or mail our jell-like foam pattern sheet or rely on the customer to capture his own measurements through an instruction video as shown below, and send them in. Today’s executives don’t mind paying a bit more for an ultra comfortable, ultra elegant dress shoe that speaks the timeless language of accomplishment. They view the higher price as an investment in a winning image. If you’re a real estate agent trying to sell a $5 million dollar mansion, you pick the client up in a Lexus 460, not a Mitsubishi Galant. One standout custom-made cap toe Oxford with high marks for both comfort and style is the Paul Parkman hand painted collection. These shoes are custom made by the old masters in London, so you have to know your precise measurements before you order. They also offer a compatible exotic skin cross loafer with the same air of formality. These cold black crocodile & ostrich standout loafers send the same message, but with more emphasis on creativity and style. Like cap toe Oxfords, formal loafers speak volumes, but at a faster cadence, with a penchant for bending tradition toward more pragmatic outcomes. Should you wear a closed lacing cap toe Oxford with a pair of jeans? The answer is yes and no, but mostly no. Even with the stretched usage syndrome that most products afford, the closed lacing cap toe gives you a very classy feel. The look and style is mostly set aside for formal occasions. Having said that, if Jamie Foxx strolled in wearing dark jeans, an edgy print shirt with a black leather or Harrington jacket with closed lacing cap toe Oxfords and no socks, who’s going to question the formality of his shoes? Oxford are versatile. But you need to know what you’re doing. Otherwise, choosing formal closed lacing cap toes with a casual pair of jeans might be considered a lack of good taste.   2. Plain Toe Oxford ... Simplicity is the key word that defines the minimal style and elegance of the plain toe Oxford. Where the cap toe has an extra piece of leather on the toe, allowing it to be more versatile, the plain toe Oxford does not tolerate any distractions from its clean, conservative, no brogue mandate.   It comes as no surprise that black is the favorite color for evening shoes; black patent leather is an acceptable embellishment for black-tie affairs. If you want to refine the look of your black patent Oxfords for tuxedo or tail coat events, you might switch out the shoelaces for wider-than-normal laces that mirror your black bow tie.

  The message delivered by the plain toe Oxford comes with a two-edged sword. The first message is a respect and preference for traditional values. You are focused, dependable and not likely to break the rules. The second message is, because you are mired in tradition, during a crisis, you might not be able to think outside the box. You will aptly follow orders. You will aptly give orders. You will probably not be able to create orders. Your shoes say a lot. Plain toe Oxfords are ideal for an interview with a financial institution, or black-tie gala, or country club application dinner. Minimal stitching gives a sleek, conservative look that adds to the shoe’s simple, no-nonsense style.    

  "No potential for conflict or controversy. I'm all in..."     Plain toe Oxfords with rubber soles and high cushioned synthetic linings are great for standing for long periods of time. Imagine being a political consultant having to pre-scout the facility, stand for long speeches and greet handshakers after the event. Plain toe Oxfords are perfect for these types of events. You’re cool, comfortable and sending the right fashion message at all times.   3. Derby Shoe... though very similar in shape and design, are NOT Oxfords. The Derby aka the Gibson, was originally conceived as a sporting and hunting boot, exclusively for outdoors. At the turn of the 20th century, Derbies began to stretch in appeal, and became acceptable footwear for in-town events. Derbies are different from Oxfords in that they have the facing stitched on top of the vamp, whereas Oxfords are sown under the vamp. This open lacing construction allows for a wider fit than most Oxfords, though today’s highly skilled custom shoemakers can create an almost perfect fit for Oxfords as well. The lace flaps are not tightly conjoined and most often leave a slight gap under the laces. Because of its origin as a sporting shoe, the Derby is less versatile, with less stretching power for formal venues such as weddings and award ceremonies. The Derby comes in many colors, ranging from Cognac to oxblood to other reds and browns and even white suede for warmer seasons. Because the Derby works well with casual attire, it may be combined with designer jeans or chinos or casual suits, blazers and sports coats. During the winter months, a charcoal wool blazer with dark blue jeans and brown Derbies is a classy look no matter where you go. Let’s say a few things about color and then we’re through.

If there’s one thing that give a rookie fashion connoisseur away, it’s his choice of color combinations. There are rules. With dark business suits, wear black shoes and avoid anything close to light brown/tan. In very rare situations, dark brown might work. But beware. With a dark navy suit, cordovan can blend into an extraordinary combination if the tie and other accent pieces are right. Dark brown suits go well with dark brown shoes, a no-brainer. But the shoe’s design should not be too brogue. Any way you look at it, you are not really trying to draw attention to your brown shoes and away from your suit. Black Oxfords remain the number one go-to footwear for business suits. With denim, any brown usually works well. In fact, brown is the best shoe color for sport coats and contrasting trousers. If you happen to be overweight (you don’t have to be overweight any longer), dark color outfits such as charcoal, black and navy help you to look thinner. Avoid the bulky fabrics and big prints and ban thick wallets and cell phones from your pockets. Color is magical. But a big bulky red suit and red shoes will almost always work against you. Biggie Smalls is dead. I suspect we should keep it that way. In conclusion, remember the stretching power of each shoe style. You cannot stretch a sports Derby into a Nobel Prize Awards gala. You must remember its origin and specific, predetermined intent for usage before you choose a new fashion tweak or embellishment that strays from the norm. There are indeed rules and regulations. But you can make new rules if you know how. Men’s fashions are loud, amped-up and highly distinctive this season. It’s a good time to experiment and cross the line. Just remember, some people in your audience know fashion and know when your “stretch” makes no sense. Whether Oxfords or Derbies, formal or informal, give some thought to every detail. Make sure your fashion concoction is based on new rules that connect the historical dots and make sense. Good luck! More fashion and grooming tips here... Read the full article