#is literally only evening the playing field of ‘influences’

[beginningofwonderland]

Stay Focused - San

Pairing: university student y/n x office worker San

Genre: smut with plot (MINORS DNI!)

Word Count: 12.5k (I don't know what happened)

Summary: Your mother insists on getting you a tutor for your studies. You want to resist until you meet Choi San, your tutor. His sweet talk and good looks make you focus on anything but your studies and you do everything to finally catch his attention in the same way.

Warnings: San is a few years older (5 to be exact), some nipple play, fingering, some orgasm denial, lots of dirty talk, blowjob (face-fucking leaning), protected sex, mirror sex

The reader in this is so horny omg. Just straight up trash for San (relatable). Also very long build-up.

"Good is not enough in this family," your mother repeats to you for what feels like the 100th time. „Your grades have to be exceptional if you want to work in my business."

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you change your phone to the other hand to stir your pasta around. You just told her about your recent test results which of course are not satisfactory to her.

The problem is that you are actually doing pretty good. You never missed or failed a class, you passed all your courses with at least a good score and you had even fulfilled additional classes to broaden the spectrum of your studies. But just like she said: Good is not enough for her. She won't shut up about your grades until you reach 100% in all of your classes - which is basically impossible, especially in your field of study.

"Do you even still want to work in the family business?" your mother asks you provokingly. And the problem is, you do. You really do. Your mother is the CEO of a big pharmacy company and ever since you were a kid you followed her interest in chemistry. You even chose your pharmacy major without her influence. But now that you are taking the same path as her, she is all in your business about being the perfect little mini-her.

"I do, mom. I'm working hard on it, I promise. The next exam is in four weeks and I already started studying."

She makes a huffing sound before answering you: "You said that the last three times as well and still didn't get a full score. You should really get a tutor."

"Mom! I'm the best in my class. Why should I get a tutor? I'm doing great!" You are glad you're only talking to her on the phone so that she doesn't see the way your hands clasps over your face. She can't be serious with you. Getting a tutor with your grades is just embarrassing.

"But not great enough. You know what? The son of a close business partner recently started working at the company. He graduated a few years ago with an honour's degree and seems to be a very promising young man. I'll ask him to tutor you."

Your cheeks start to heat up just at the thought of how embarrassing the whole thing will be for you. Getting a tutor that worked for your mother is literally the worst case scenario. You feel like a high school student that doesn't pay attention in school and now gets scolded for it.

"I do not need a tutor, mom." You state once again but her mind is already made up.

"I'll give him your number and he will contact you. And don't you dare be rude to him, his father is very important for our business!"

You can't believe her words. Since when have you ever been rude to anyone she introduced you to? Your mother ends the call before you can protest any more.

Angrily, you fish a single spaghetti out of your pot to taste it. It's perfectly cooked when you munch on it in annoyance.

--------------------------------

This is Choi San.

Your mother told me you needed tutoring on your pharmacy classes and gave me your schedule.

I can teach you Tuesday and Thursday afternoon from 6PM. Would that work for you?

You fall back onto bed with a frustrated groan as you read the messages. She really asked him. Now you have no choice but agree to him tutoring you because your mother would kill you otherwise.

Typing a reply you take a deep breath. This will be such a waste of time for the both of you.

Hello! Tuesdays and Thursdays are good. Thank you so much.

You hate how pathetic you sound. What are you even thanking him for? You don't want him to tutor you and he was definitely forced by your mother so why even play pretend?

No problem. We can use meeting room 117 at the company since I reserved it for us. I'll see you on Tuesday.

You dread Tuesday every single day from now on. When it finally arrives you feel ridiculous as you enter the large building of your mother's company. You have been here countless times but you never thought you would get tutor lessons here.

Even worse is that your mother made you go greet her beforehand. She specifically texted you to visit her office before the appointment with Mr. Choi. You walk past her assistant with a polite greeting and finally enter her office.

The luxurious room sat at the top floor of the building with a nice view over the city. Sometimes you forget how successful her company actually is. It can be quiet intimidating.

"There you are," she greets you with a mere look up from a bunch of files on her desk. "I hope you prepared well for your tutoring session. Please don't embarrass yourself in front of Mr. Choi. His father is an important business partner of mine and he himself seems to be a very promising employee. I don't want my own daughter to make him think worse of the company."

Of course she only worries about the company. The idea that this is incredibly humiliating for her own daughter does not even cross her mind.

"Hello, mom. Of course I prepared well, I always do. I won't disappoint you."

She nods at you, satisfied with your answer before looking at her watch. "Then you should head to the meeting room. He is always ridiculously early for meetings so he's probably waiting for you already."

Great, you think to yourself. You hoped you would be able to grab a coffee beforehand.

"I'll go right away. Bye, mom."

You walk to the elevator with heavy steps and check your own watch. It's still fifteen minutes until 6PM so there's plenty of time to grab a coffee before, no matter what your mother might say.

Entering the elevator you select the floor of the meeting room with the plan to walk to the coffee pantry first. Half-way down, the elevator stops on a different floor. When the doors open you almost choke on your polite "Hello" as your eyes take in the person in front of you.

Walking into the elevator is easily the most attractive man you have ever seen in your life. Dressed in a tight pair of dark pants and a perfectly fitted dress-shirt the handsome stranger repeats your greeting with a small bow and a mind-numbingly attractive smile. His eyes carry a little glimmer even behind the round pair of glasses he wears and as he pushes back his black hair you feel like swooning.

You have to keep yourself from staring when he takes his place in the elevator and both of you wait for it to move. Just now you realize he hasn't pushed a button, which means he is heading to the same floor as you. Out of the corner of your eyes you can't help but watch him.

He is a few inches taller than you but appears even bigger due to his broad frame. You wonder where that man even finds clothes that fit his stature with his broad shoulders and tiny waist. He checks his most definitely expensive wrist watch before looking at the display counting down the floors.

When the elevator doors open with a ding, you almost jolt. You were so caught up in thinking about how good he looks that you didn't even notice arriving on your floor. The handsome man gestures for you to step out first with another deadly smile in your direction.

"Thank you," you barely breath out as you step out of the elevator in front of him. It feels like the air outside is ten degrees colder. Without looking back you head to the pantry of the floor. You need a coffee even more than before now that you can only think of that guy from the elevator. There is no way you can concentrate on tutoring now without some caffeine.

The benefit of being the CEO's daughter is having a card with unlimited access to the coffee machines so you happily press the button for a black coffee. At the familiar buzzing sound you can finally relax and take a deep breath. No man has ever made you so flustered before just by existing. Maybe you should visit the office more often if that was the kind of employees your mother hired.

Taking your coffee into one hand and your study bag into the other you turn around to head to the meeting room. Caught up deeply in your thoughts you almost run head first into the person behind you.

"Woah, careful there. You don't want to spill that coffee do you?" his voice is smooth like honey, with a joking tone to it. You blink up at him a few times before you find your words.

"I'm sorry. I was distracted."

The man from the elevator smiles at you and you feel your body warming up from the inside out.

"Don't worry, nothing happened." He looks you up and down quickly before holding eye contact once again.

"Excuse the question, but do you happen to be director Kim's daughter?"

You stare at him in confusion. "Yes. Yes, I am. How did you know?"

He moves past you, grabbing a cup from the pantry himself and turning on the coffee machine before he answers:

"You share her eyes. But more importantly, your bag has a pin of the pharmacy faculty of the university and because I'm supposed to meet her daughter for tutoring on this floor in - " he checks his watch again: "exactly 12 minutes, I figured it might be you."

You are impressed. His looks are already enough to have your eyes turn into hearts but there is probably nothing that makes a man more attractive to you than his wit. But what hits you even more than that is the fact that THIS was your tutor.

I take everything back mom, I love tutoring. Sign me up for another year.

"Well, you figured correctly," you reply weakly, at a loss for words. "Nice to meet you Mr. Choi."

You put your cup on the pantry table to reach your hand out to him. He takes it with a smile.

"Nice to meet you too, Miss Kim. I was going to get the two of us some coffee but as I can see you already helped yourself."

Oh, so he's a gentleman as well.

"Next time you should let me take care of that," you said showing him your free access card. "I happen to own the key to infinite coffee."

"Does the caffeine addiction come for free with that as well?" You chuckle at his joke.

"I think it's the requirement to get it in the first place."

"Well then I will happily let you get us coffee next time."

Next time, you think. The reality that you will be seeing this man on a regular basis hits you.

For a second the two of you just smile at each other. Then Mr. Choi notices that his coffee is done and he grabs the cup.

"Let's head to the meeting room then. I wouldn't want to waste your time."

You sir, can waste my time any day of the week, you think to yourself but obviously keep silent as you follow him to the room.

He holds the door open for you and you settle down onto one of the meeting chairs. You always hated these things. They are designed to make you sit upright and therefore terribly uncomfortable. You desperately want to fold one of your legs under yourself like you always do at home but you have a good image to keep. After taking a seat across from you he puts his bag onto the table and looks at you expectantly.

"So what topics exactly are you struggling with? It's been a while for me but I'm sure I can help."

"To be honest with you, I don't really need help on anything."

San raises his eyebrows behind the round glasses on his nose. "What do you mean?"

You sigh, not knowing how to explain this dilemma best. "My mother made me get a tutor because she believes I need better grades. In fact I'm the best of my year with perfect attendance and an average of 95%. She says that everything under 100% is not enough which is why she must have thought of you as a tutor."

San just stares at you with a peculiar look on his face. He looks almost impressed from your words.

"I knew director Kim could be quite strict but I had never imagined that extent. I'm sorry she made you do this, a 95% average is very impressive in the pharmacy field."

"Says someone with a perfect 100% graduation," you snap back, a little more spiteful than you want to. But San doesn't seem to take it the wrong way. Instead he chuckles in response. The sound sends shivers down your spine, his voice dipping way lower than you had expected it could.

"Trust me, that wasn't all brains. I only know my way around people." You don't doubt that last statement for even a second.

"Maybe instead of teaching I can give you some tips around the university. That would probably help you more."

Now you are interested.

"What kind of tips for example?" You lean forward resting an elbow on the table as you pick your cup of coffee up for a sip. It's still burning hot but you pretend you didn't just burn your tongue as you set it back down.

"Does Mr. Han still do the medicine lectures? He's been using the same exam template for years. Pharmacy students are just to selfish to share the results with the younger students. I'll look for my old exams later to give them to you."

Your mouth opens in awe. Everyone from the year above had told you Mr Han's exams were the hardest and it turns out they were just lying to intimidate you. The competition was real.

"These fuckers," you mumble beneath your breath but judging by his chuckle, San heard you just fine.

"Sorry," you excuse your language immediately with a small nod. He is still an employee under your mother and she told you explicitly to act well around him. Hiding your uneasiness you go for another scolding sip of coffee.

"Don't worry, darling. I won't go complaining to your mother about your language. You don't need to be her perfect little girl for me."

You almost choke on your coffee and have to force the liquid down your throat with an effort. You really wish they didn't but his words made your insides squirm. The amount of money you'd pay him to call you 'darling' again is surely an embarrassing amount. But good little girl also didn't sound too bad from his mouth.

"Thanks," you mumble, not knowing what else to say and stare onto the table to hide your flushing face. If you look at him with those slutty, round glasses right now, you're sure you'll combust.

You don't notice, but Mr. Choi eyes you up and down carefully before he resumes speaking. He smiles at your flustered state that obviously doesn't escape his sharp senses. Seeing your pretty face flush from only these few words, satisfies him deeply.

"Then how about that toxicology class? If Mr. Lim still teaches it, I know a few ways to get on his good side. He always picks favourites and it shows in the grades."

Mr. Choi continues listing off ways to better your grades around your professors. You can't help but be impressed. Not only is he obviously very intelligent but also great with people. Maybe what kept you from exceeding in your studies was your rather reserved nature in class.

"How about this," Mr. Choi finally proposes after teaching you some of his ways. "I'll get you my old notes and exams and with that you will surely ace all your tests. Then we can meet up for these tutoring sessions and while you study in peace I can get some work done. This way your mother is happy and we both profit from the situation."

You nod without hesitation. "That sounds like a great idea. Thank you so much, Mr. Choi."

He groans at your words, a sound that makes you react in a way you don't even want to put into words.

"Please don't call me Mr. Choi when we're alone that makes me feel terribly old. My name is San."

"Aren't you older than me though?" you ask back carefully. It doesn't feel right to call him by his first name.

"If 5 years are old to you?" he inquires with a slight teasing edge to his voice. You don't know if he's flirting with you or if you are just becoming a witness to this man's effortless social skills.

Truthfully, you are 22 and 5 years more don't seem that much to you. Still his way with words and the confident aura around him make him seem more mature.

"I didn't say old. Just older."

He rolls his eyes at your stubbornness, leisurely resting one of his elbows on the backrest behind him. "Just call me San, darling."

There it is again. That word single-handedly turns you into a blushing mess within seconds and you find yourself agreeing without another thought.

"Okay, San."

A satisfied smile spreads on his face and you marvel at the dimples that form on his cheeks. "Much better. Than how about you do some studying and I'll get some work done now?"

"Sounds good," you reply and start taking out your classwork. He could've told you to start stripping right now and you would've agreed without question. Damn you are down bad for him already...

It is a weird situation at first. You are used to studying around strangers in the library, but sitting alone in a room with San makes it hard to focus on your upcoming test. His eyes keep flicking from his work laptop across to you and you don't know if he's interest in the topic you're studying or you.

You yourself on the other hand are surely interested in him and you can't help but steal a few glances at him working diligently at his laptop every now and then. Even typing on his keyboard looks ridiculously hot on him with the way his slender fingers run over the keys.

After about two hours of you trying to keep your eyes on your notes San finally closes his laptop and stares at you until you reciprocate his look.

"I guess two hours is enough to make your mother think you studied, right?" he asks with one corner of his mouth slightly lifted.

"Sure," you respond weakly.

"I'll look for my old tests and will bring them on Thursday," he goes on as he stands up to pack up his laptop and bag. You also start gathering your study books.

"Thank you again," you answer lamely. But the promise of already seeing him again on Thursday excites you.

When you proceed to grab your now empty coffee cup his hands react quickly as he snatches it from you.

"Don't worry about that, I'll put those away," he's leaning over the table now, smiling at you through slightly closed eyes and you can't help but be entranced by his looks. "You should make sure to get home before it's dark outside. Want you to get home safely."

"Don't worry about me, I'll manage."

"Oh but I won't if something happens to you and your mother finds out you were last seen with me," he replies cockily as you two finally go to the door.

You have to chuckle at his remark. "Good to know I'm not the only one terrified of her."

"Everyone is terrified of her," he mumbles under his breath but you are already reaching the coffee pantry - aka your cue to go home.

"Can we use the same room on Thursday?" you ask as you stop in front of him. You make sure to brush your hair behind your ear in a nonchalant manner, knowing it shows your good angles.

"Yeah, I already booked it," San replies easily, eyes fixing yours from above. "But let's meet at the coffee machine here. I want to at least take advantage of that free coffee if I give you all my study secrets."

He winks at you at the last part of the sentence and it makes your insides twirl like on a rollercoaster. You give him a small smile through fluttering lashes. "So that's what you meant with a win-win situation: Endless coffee. Well it looks like I don't have a choice but to be your personal coffee machine."

You want to punch yourself right after that sentence leaves your mouth. How much more stupid could you possibly sound? Personal coffee machine. Saying you wanted to be his personal slut would have been less embarrassing.

But San doesn't seem to mind your awkward response. "Sounds good to me," he replies smoothly. "Then have a good ride home and I'll see you on Thursday."

"Until Thursday," you reply before you can say something stupid again and stroll off to the elevator with a small wave.

As soon as the doors close behind you, your head thumps against the steel wall. There is no way you will get any studying done with that man in the same room as you.

---------------------

Your next few meetings with San go on smoothly. You are always on time but he is still earlier than you, waiting for you at the coffee machine. You get both of you a coffee - sometimes two if you feel like it - and you two get to work in a comfortable silence sitting opposite to each other in the meeting room.

After San brought you his old exams you can now prepare exactly what you need to know for your next tests. But no matter how hard you try to focus on your studies, your eyes keep wandering from your books up to the handsome man working on his laptop.

You soon notice his seemingly endless closet full of tailored dressing shirts and perfectly matching pants. He always looks immaculate, not a single wrinkle on his shirt and his hair always neatly combed back. Even his skin is flawless to the point that you start questioning if Choi San might be a figment of your imagination.

Just like his outer appearance, his manners are immaculate. Like you already noticed on your first meeting, he is a sweet talker. Always knowing the right thing to say and never letting your conversation end in awkwardness.

Whenever he feels like taking a break you notice him starting to talk to you. At first he asks how your studies are going. Then he wanders off to the professors you two shared and how he managed to ace all his classes.

Your whole attention is glued to his lips. For one thing because the information he can provide you with is crucial to your academic development but much more importantly because his lips are the prettiest thing you have ever seen. They look so plump and smooth while he's talking that your mind can't help but wander to the other things he might be able to do with them besides talking.

If at your first meeting you were down bad for Choi San, one month later you felt like you were drowning and he was the last bit of oxygen left on earth. You wanted him with a passion that you didn't even know you were capable of.

But you couldn't have him. There was too much at stake. He still worked for your mother and if you made a move on him that he wouldn't reciprocate you would risk the eternal hate of the only woman that still held control over your life. And so far San hadn't shown any sign of feeling the same way about you that you did for him.

„You're stuck on that?" San suddenly asks you over the page of biochemistry that you've been staring at for a solid five minutes. You haven't spared a single thought on the topic in front of you. Your mind is only occupied by the thought of San leaning over you on the meeting chair, your chin in between his slender fingers as he smirks down at you. You hate him for having this effect on you when you so desperately need to focus on your studies.

You really need to get your thoughts together.

„Oh no I was just getting carried away," you answer, looking at him pointedly with a sly smile.

You tried little attacks like this on him before. A casual pull down of your shirt, stretching your arms to make it ride up over your stomach or even looking directly at his lips as he spoke. But no matter how daring you get you can never catch San slipping.

His eyes stay on yours only whenever he looks at you, his tone is always polite and never goes farther than a casual joke. You simply can't draw a single reaction from him and it drives you insane.

„Do you need a small break? We could get another coffee," he offers helpfully.

I don't want a damn coffee I want you to fuck me on this meeting table.

"I'd love to, but I'm already way too warm today. I fear the AC can't fight against the heat anymore."

It has gotten exponentially hotter over the past days and you can feel it even inside the modern building.

"You're right, it's quite hot in here," San says with a disappointed face. "What a shame we don't have iced coffee. We should get some on Tuesday!"

His eyes light up in excitement and this little sliver of pure happiness doesn't escape you. It's surprising how cute he can be with that shamelessly hot body of his.

"Do you know a place near?" You ask to drag on the conversation. You yourself know at least 3 cafés in the area that sell iced coffee but you want San to tell you a place. Maybe his favourite. So that you can go and think of him.

"Yes, I can show you!" he answers proudly.

"I'd love to." You send him a gentle smile with long eye contact before both of you look back at your work.

But your concentration withers away like the dying plant in the corner of the room when Choi San begins undoing the buttons of his shirt sleeves.

You know you shouldn't but your eyes immediately watch as his slender fingers start neatly folding up his sleeves. The muscles in his underarms dance beneath his skin as inch after inch of skin gets revealed.

You feel like a medieval man salivating over exposed ankles as you stare at San's arms. The veins are protruding in the heat and his honey skin is glistening under the bland neon lights.

Your heartbeat quickens and it's mostly because it feels like you finally found San slipping. Him rolling up his sleeves is like a crack in his perfect mask and you are certain that he wouldn't do it anywhere else in the company. He only does this because he is with you.

"Shoot," he suddenly exclaims and draws your attention up to his face. You catch the small pout that appears on his lips before he looks back at you.

"What is it?" you ask him.

"I forgot to book the meeting room for Tuesday and now everything is blocked. There is a work event next week. I should've booked it earlier."

"Oh," you simply reply. This is even more confusing. You don't believe that San would ever forget such an important event. Is he trying to get rid of you?

"Don't worry about it, darling." His smirk and the nickname has you fighting for air. "I'll find us something else."

You can only nod at him with a smile. Maybe he isn't trying to get rid of you.

The rest of your study/work time flies by as your mind thinks of all the possible meeting places you and San could have for Tuesday. You feel like a highschool girl dreaming about dates with your crush but you don't care. The man that is supposed to be tutoring you just makes your heart speed up in a way that you haven't experienced ever before.

When your meeting time comes to an end and San starts packing up his stuff he simply says: "How about we meet at my place next time? I don't like working in cafés it's always so crowded and noisy. And I have coffee too."

You snap up at him in surprise at the proposal. "Sure," you reply as nonchalantly as you can at the prospect of going to Choi San's apartment. Alone. With him.

"I can pick you up here with my car after work. So you don't have any extra way."

"That sounds good," you reply with a small smile, trying not to sound too excited.

"Then until next week," he says with one of his handsome smiles and you say your goodbyes before you can turn even redder in his presence.

When you walk onto the elevator this time and the door closes behind you, your heart is pounding into your throat. As the realization sets in that you will be alone with Choi San in his apartment a satisfied smile set over your face. Oh you will use that chance for sure.

----------------------

You spend the entire day preparing for your tutor appointment with San. Something deep inside you tells you that this behaviour is ridiculous but you push this inner voice back down as you play your favourite music and get ready.

You wear your hair in light waves and put on makeup to bring out your eyes but not look overly done up. Your outfit was a tricky matter but you settled on a classic pleated skirt and a tight long-sleeve. Everything about your appearance today lands on the thin line between innocent and suggestive and you are satisfied when you twirl around in front of the mirror.

All you want is one small reaction out of the man that you have thirsted for over the past weeks. If Choi San even so much as lets his eyes scan you up and down, your mission would be successful. Lost in your task of getting ready you almost forget to actually pack your study books before heading to your mothers company.

You two agreed on San picking you up at the company's garage. So you are taking down the elevator to the parking floor and checking yourself one last time in your phone camera before stepping into the parking lot.

Having no idea how his car looks like you pull up your chat with San, wanting to ask him where to go. But before you can type your message a calm voice calls you over from across the parking lot.

"Y/n!"

You turn around to a sight that makes your heart flutter. San is leaning onto his car, a chic black Mercedes. His white dress shirt has one button unbuttoned and his sleeves are rolled up again. His feet are crossed over each other leisurely as he waits for you to come over.

Walking up to him you have to try real hard to look casual and not like your nerves are taking over you with the impending situation of being in the same car as San for an undefined amount of time. Your heart is beating already and he hasn't even called you any nicknames yet.

"Hello, San. You're not wearing glasses today?" you notice in surprise and hope it doesn't come off as too attentive.

"Sometimes I wear contacts," he replies smoothly. "It's a styling decision."

While you love the glasses on San seeing him without has a different charm to it. Almost like he is showing you a different side of him.

"Ready to go?" you ask him to keep the conversation going and you're almost proud of your nonchalant tone.

"Ready when you are," he replies with a light smile and walks around the car to open the door for you.

Of course he opens the door for me.

Before you can get in he also takes your bag from you to store it in the back. You want to refuse but one of his smiles finally makes you give in and you hand him the bag. Finally, you thank him and sit down in the passenger seat. The car looks even nicer on the inside: leather seats and perfectly clean. Something inside you starts questioning where this man hides his flaws since noone can possibly be this perfect at all times.

"It's only a 20 minute drive," San explains as he gets into the driver's seat and turns on the engine. You can't help but watch his hands as he manages the gearshift. But as he turns around to look for obstacles his eyes get stuck on you. For a second you think you got him. That his eyes linger on you for a little too long because you finally pulled a reaction out of him.

"You haven't even put your seatbelt on, darling."

And with that your mind is blank. Simple emptiness.

Before you can react, his hand reaches past you, grabbing the seatbelt and plugging it in. His hand doesn't so much as grace your shoulder for a millisecond but you feel like your lungs are constricting.

"Thanks," you breath out before he finally pulls out of the parking spot. He does that wildly attractive thing where he put his hand on the back of the passenger's seat while driving backwards and you feel like losing it already. How will you survive being in the same apartment with this man. San however seems his usual chatty self.

"I'm sorry again for not booking the meeting room in time. I already reserved it for the weeks to come," he starts talking to you.

"Don't worry. I totally don't mind," you answer and regret it immediately. Did that sound too eager? Something about Sam's presence makes you overthink every single word you say.

"I have a fancy coffee machine at home so I can at least return the favour of you getting me coffee all the time."

You smile at that. It feels like this little inside thing between you two how you always use your company privileges to pay for both of your coffee. San thanks you every single time, bringing up how much you save his day.

"I never thought you were that much of a coffee guy at home too," you say trying to get him to tell you more about himself.

"You're acting like I didn't go through pharmacy as well!" He replies with a slightly sulky tone. "No way to survive that major without getting addicted to coffee."

You chuckle at his response. "That's true unfortunately. So you just carried the addiction into your job?"

"You could state it like that but by buying a fancy machine you can just say that coffee is your hobby instead."

Whenever you two talk about mundane topics like this you can't help but be glued to his lips. To get a glimpse of the Choi San that isn't working over-hours all the time and kept up his perfect image at all costs. You want to find out the details about him. Like how he enjoys his coffee or what colour he might like best.

You continue the drive in casual chatter like this before finally reaching your destination. As San pulls into an underground parking lot of an apartment building your heart rate quickens again. Something about seeing his apartment makes you incredibly nervous.

He tells you to wait inside the car after he lets the motor die down so that he can open the door for you again. Even this small gesture has you wrapped around his finger and you smile as you try to step out of the car as gracefully as you can.

San leads you into an elevator and as soon as the doors close you feel reminded of your first meeting. Of how he took your breath away just by standing next to you in such a small space. And now there isn't much difference. He still makes you just as nervous. But at least you can talk to him now.

"How is studying for your exams going so far?" He asks casually.

"It's okay," you reply lamely. "I'm trying my best."

"You know if you actually do need my help you can obviously ask me," he offers alluding to your deal of him basically just getting his own work done instead of tutoring you.

"You've already helped me so much. All I need to do now is actually study," you say turning down his argument.

You idiot, you think to yourself. You could've at least pretended to need his help.

You wait in silence as the remaining floors rush past you. You're surprised with every passing number, wondering what floor San might be living on. But the elevator doesn't stop until the highest floor.

San let's you exit first which makes no sense to you since you don't know where to go. So you wait for him to show you the way to his apartment.

As soon as he unlocks the door and leads you two inside you curiously scan his place. On a first glance it looks almost exactly like you expected: it's very clean and tidy, the furniture is modern and rather minimalistic and the whole place carries a simple colour theme of black and chrome with only hints of colour. The entrance leads straight into an open living room that connects to the kitchen.

"Make yourself at home at the dinner table," San offers while gesturing at the big, black table that looks like straight out of a design magazine.

You both place your shoes neatly at the entrance of his apartment before you take your bag to the table. As you choose a seat from which you can look outside the gigantic window front, San heads over to the kitchen, getting something from a cupboard.

"Can I get you a glass of water before I make some coffee?" He asks you with a kind smile.

"That would be nice," you answer even though water was not what you were craving right now.

He filled one for you and brought it over before returning to the kitchen. "You want your coffee hot or iced?"

"Iced? This is better service than at the company. You should forget to book the meeting room more often." It's a weak attempt at flirting with him but he laughs non the less.

"So iced it is?" He confirms with you again and turns on his electric coffee grinder after you nod approvingly.

It shouldn't captivate you that much, looking at him while he was performing such a basic task as making coffee. But you could watch him for hours, the way his broad back stretches out his dress shirt. The way he moves around so smoothly. The way the muscles in his arms flex as he handles his espresso machine.

You turn towards your study materials just in time before he faces you again, two iced coffees in his hands. He places one gently in front of you before he sits down opposite of you.

"Thank you," you smile at him extra sweetly.

"Anything you want, darling."

You swear to yourself that if he calls you darling one more time you will throw all rational thoughts out of the window and straddle him right here in his stupid designer living room chair. But for now you settle for a coy smile as you feel your cheeks heat up.

To add to your demise, as San drags his chair closer to the table both of your knees touch for a brief second before he casually changes his seating position. The table is narrower than the one in the meeting room and knowing that your legs are mere inches from another makes you even more delusional. What if he did that on purpose?

After that, all concentration for your studies is far gone. It doesn't help at all that the iced coffee he made you was the best you had in ages and with every sip you keep wondering what Choi San isn't good at.

I just know he fucks good there's no other way, you think to yourself but get interrupted in your thoughts.

"Are you stuck on something?" San asks you and you almost don't even dare to raise your eyes to look at him. A kind of shame overcomes you as you realize what you have been thinking about while he worries about your studies.

You sigh to buy yourself time to find an answer that doesn't include: Yes, I'm stuck because I can't think of anything but your body on top of mine.

"Yeah, I just can't seem to concentrate well lately. Maybe I'm stressed out because of my finals."

It isn't fully a lie. Your finals are approaching steadily and with you thirsting over your tutor instead of studying you are indeed starting to worry.

"I would love to tell you that grades don't matter too much but I know your mother won't agree and I will probably face her anger too if you fail," he laughs at the end of his sentence to lighten the mood but quickly notices he only stressed you more by saying that.

"I'm sorry," he quickly retracts. It feels like the first time you caught him messing up his smooth way of talking which in return makes you smile.

"No, you're right. I just never thought about the fact that she will hate both of us if I mess up. What a way to relax."

"I shouldn't have said that," San again apologizes. "I'm sure you will do amazing though. After all you studied so much."

He finishes his sentence with a wink and you must stare at him for a second like an idiot. Did you just imagine that? Or is he alluding to something? Does Choi San know that you thirsted for him this entire fucking time?

But his further actions don't allow you to think much more.

"You look quite tense actually," he continues. "You know it's not good for your back to sit stiff like this for a prolonged amount of time. Your neck must be hurting?"

You have no idea what he is talking about. And your confusion only grows as San gets up from his chair heading in your direction. Every step he comes closer to you has your heart pumping erratically. Even though you dreamed about him being closer to you and finally paying you more attention you are now paralysed at the situation unfolding. Simply being close to him renders your entire body useless.

San steps behind you and, to your absolute shock and amazement, his hands gently grasp your shoulders.

"To compensate the stress from university I took a physiology course that taught us how to massage tense muscles."

As if to proof his words his thumbs gently start rubbing circles into your neck. The warmth of his fingers seeps through your thin shirt and fills your entire body. It feels like he set you on fire with this simple touch.

All of this cannot be real. This must be a figment of your imagination or you actually fell asleep on your study notes while dreaming about San. But his voice sounds very much real when he resumes:

"You have to relax, otherwise I'll hurt you." His voice drops lower than usual and as he gently drapes your hair over one shoulder to get it out of his way you can feel his breath fanning over your neck. Goosebumps erupt all over your skin.

But amid the fire burning in your veins and your clouded mind you actually manage to ease into his fingers and allow him to loosen up your muscles.

"That's a good girl," he rasps behind you and you know you tipped over the edge now. There is no going back from this. You feel like a doll in his hands. His words are electrifying, leaving you unable to utter a single word, to make a single sound. Your mind is running on a state of emergency. Nothing seems to get to you but the fact that San is touching you.

And oh is he good at it. His hands are pressing into all the right places relieving all the pent up tension you built ever since getting ready for this meeting today. If his fingers are already this good at massaging out your stress you can't help but think about what else they can do.

"How do you feel?" He asks. His voice is still low and his tone taunting, as if he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

"Better," you answer. Your voice is merely a whisper. You sound weak, even in your own ears, and wonder if he even heard you.

"Yeah? Then how is this?" With his question his thumbs dip beneath the collar of your shirt and massage your upper back a little lower.

You can't help but close your eyes. The low tone of his voice, his fingers on your skin and the playfulness of his words. All of this is so overwhelming you can only lean back and revel in his touch.

"It feels so good," you manage to breath out when you realize he asked you a question.

He bends down a little, his mouth now right next to your ear. "Should I make you feel even better?"

He is quite literally the devil on your shoulder. Everything in your body screams for you to say yes immediately. The unspoken promise has your entire body on fire and you almost give in to your desire. But a tiny speck of reasonable thinking pulls you back into the dangerous territories you are moving in right now.

"What do you mean?" you ask carefully. You know that this is everything you wanted for the past few weeks but still you can't help being confused about his sudden change.

His left hand wanders from your back to your chin, tilting it to the side so you can look at him. The look in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine. His pupils are dilated and he is looking at you like he is preying on you. The intensity is something you have never seen in him before.

"You are far too smart to be asking that question, darling," he replies smugly.

"But you were never interested in me?" You ask back and want to hit yourself on the spot. Why are you even asking questions when the man you've desired for weeks finally seems to be making a move on you? But after all he is acting very out of character.

San chuckles, never taking his eyes off of you. "You're so cute. All these weeks that you've been wanting me and now you ask what I'm doing?"

Your mouth opens in shock. So he did in fact know all this time that you were interested in him.

"Don't act all surprised now, darling. You really thought I didn't see the way you looked at me ever since we first met? How your eyes keep focusing on my arms in my tight shirts. How you steal glances at me when you think I'm not looking? I wanted to see how long I could leave you thirsting like this before you would break."

His confession has you gasping as you realize you weren't even faintly as indiscreet as you thought you were. Instead San was playing with you the entire time. Watching your every move.

"Desperation looks so cute on you," he adds with another devilish smile. His fingers continue drawing circles into your back as his burning eyes keep you fixed in your spot. You feel bewitched by his entire presence, like he has cast a spell on you.

"I made all this effort to get you into my apartment so we both don't have to risk our lives by having me ruin you on the meeting table and still you didn't even have a clue. I'm almost disappointed if you weren't so cute when you are surprised like this." A satisfied grin plays around his plump lips, as if he revelling in the taste of this sweet opportunity in his hands. "Now be a good girl for me and finally do what you've been wanting to do for weeks. Tell me you want me."

You haven't taken a single breath since he started talking and as a result your head feels dizzy. It takes a short moment before you can finally form the words that your head is screaming at you.

"Please," you whisper pathetically.

"Please what, darling?" San revels in the way you can barely speak.

"Please ruin me."

You can basically see the fire behind his eyes ignite as you speak those three words. His hand wanders to your cheek, grabbing it firmly. He takes his sweet time to let his thumb run over your bottom lip, eyes trailing after his own movement.

"With pleasure."

Finally, his lips press onto yours in a desperate kiss. They feel just as soft as they always looked to you, but he kisses you with a roughness that is almost contradictory. The combination is intoxicating. As you reciprocate the kiss, heat runs through your limbs in shockwaves.

Suddenly impatient, San interrupts the kiss to pull you up and out of the chair by your arms. Grabbing your waist he manhandles you onto the dinner table instead, lifting you onto the ledge as if it was nothing.

Your hands bury in his hair as both your lips meet again in a rushed embrace. In return, San wedges one of his legs between yours and spreads your knees so he can stand between them. The way he handles you makes heat pool in your core. San has a determination to his every move that makes you want to do whatever he could want from you.

One of his hands still tightly grasping your waist, the other winds in your hair as he deepens the kiss. When his tongue enters your mouth you arch your back wanting to diminish every centimetre between you two. Your head is dizzy, completely overwhelmed by his every touch.

San's firm hands are restless on your heated body. His fingers quickly find a way to shift under your shirt and his thumb draws circles into the bare skin of your stomach. Choi San feels like a drug. His touch just as intoxicating as you always dreamed it to be.

He removes his mouth from your lips only to latch onto the fragile skin behind your ears, kissing his way around your neck. You let your head fall back to give him better access and when he starts sucking on your skin you relieve a small whimper.

You can feel San smirking into your skin as he sucks even more. It's like he has found your weakness and is now shamelessly using it to make you melt beneath his fingers. And it's working so well. Your hands lose grip on his hair as you lose your ability to focus on anything but San's lips on your neck.

"Don't tap out on me already, darling. I'm only getting started," he rasps into your ear in between kisses. You draw in a shaky breath at his words. Your legs feel like jelly even as your sitting down and you just know you won't be able to walk after San is finished with you.

He finally withdraws his lips and for a second just revels in your already dishevelled form: hair messy, red flush to your cheeks and lips glossy from kissing him.

"I'd love to have you on my dinner table but let's take this somewhere more comfortable for now," he says in a soft voice.

Hooking his hands under your thighs he picks you up from the table, carrying you towards his bedroom. Woken up from your trance by the change of motion you suddenly gain back some of your bite. While San is busied with carrying you, your fingers rush to the collar of his dress shirt. Oh how often you have dreamed of popping open those buttons one by one. And finally you have the pleasure to do so. A soft chuckle makes his chest move in front of you as San looks down on your actions.

"You couldn't wait, could you?"

"Why would I?" you reply cheekily as your hand smooths over his now exposed skin. He feels so soft and hot under your fingertips that you don't think you'll ever be able to detach.

San throws open his bedroom door with his shoulder and before you have a chance to take in the room you are thrown onto the plush bed. He follows behind immediately, hovering over you with both hands propped up next to your head. He lets his eyes run over your figure lazily, up and down.

"Don't even know where to start with you," he mumbles half to himself and half to you as he watches your chest rise and fall in heavy breaths. He decides to put on a show, sitting back on his heels and slowly continuing your work in unbuttoning his shirt.

Apart from his skin being exposed the simple act of opening some buttons shouldn't drive you as crazy as it does right now. It's simply the sexiest thing you have ever seen in your life. The way his hooded eyes stay on yours the entire time while one button after another falls open under his practiced movements.

You are moving on autopilot when you also sit up to take off your own shirt. You simply can't delay this any further. As your shirt lands somewhere beside the bed, San lets out a small groan, surprising you. He stopped in the middle of folding down his sleeves.

"How did you know that purple was my favourite colour?" He asks in a raspy voice. His eyes are raking over your deep purple bra with a desire in them that lets shivers run over your skin.

You can't imagine a better way to find out his favourite colour. You only chose it because it accentuates your skin tone but now it feels like fate to you. Finally, you are getting to the edges of Choi San. Getting to know him on a level that you were craving like the air you needed to breath.

"Good intuition," you reply. Your confidence surges under his heavy glances. Maybe a little too much. "Need help with that?" you ask him teasingly with a nod towards his shirt, which hangs open around his toned torso.

As soon as you speak those words you are getting pinned back to the bed, San's hand suddenly wrapped around your neck. He isn't putting any pressure on it yet but you can feel his strength pulsating around your neck. His broad shoulders are taking up most of your vision and with the way he glares at you you just know that you are soaked.

"Don't get too bold with me, darling," he says in a warning tone. "I'm the one in charge."

You look up at him through big, round eyes, lashes fluttering because you have a feeling that it will push just the right buttons in him.

"Go ahead then," you reply firmly. "Do whatever you want to me."

San sits up again and roughly tugs on his sleeves, finally discarding his shirt fully. Then his lips are on yours again in a heartbeat.

You greedily let your hands wander over his now fully exposed upper body. The muscles playing under his skin feel so good as he buries his hands in your hair. His biceps is so big that your fingers can barely wrap around it halfway. You can't get enough of touching his body which so far you only admired in fitted dressing shirts.

San kisses his way down from your lips again but this time he doesn't stop at your neck. Continuing down your chest he kisses the tender skin between your breasts. When he takes both hands to squish your breasts together, burying his face in between, you lose your last bit of composure.

"Please, San. Please just fuck me."

He lifts his head to smile at you devilishly. The fire behind his eyes seems so bright that you're scared it will never burn down again.

"Already begging for me? You're still half dressed and I'm only starting. Have a little patience."

As he finishes his words, his hand snakes behind your back to open your bra in a swift motion. He peels the straps off of you with a new found patience that makes you feel like you are suffocating.

When the piece of clothing lands on the floor, San's eyes are glued to your chest. Slowly, he lowers himself down again, gently taking on of your nipples into his mouth. As soon as his tongue starts lapping at you a string of moans escape you. He just feels so good.

Without ever losing focus on kissing and nipping on your chest, one of his hands wanders to your skirt. He finds the zipper so easily it feels like he has studied undressing you. He pushes it down your legs quickly, leaving you only in your underwear.

As his hand starts stroking your inner thighs, your eyes roll to the back of your head. He feels like a dream.

"Please San. Please touch me," the words leave your mouth in whispers. Silent pleas for him to finally give you what you want.

"Is my darling so stressed from studying that she needs her mind taken off of things?" His fingers trail over your clothed heat as he asks you in a sickly sweet voice. His eyes are focussed on your face, taking in how you crumble beneath his touch.

"Yes. Yes, please," you whimper desperately. Every touch feels like electricity on your skin.

"Want me to stuff you full so you can forget everything you've studied for for weeks?" He pushes your panties to the side, his fingers toying at your entrance.

"Please San..." you repeat yourself weakly. Finally he gives into your pleading and sinks two of his fingers into you. You are so wet that they glide in with ease. You suck in a harsh breath as he begins pumping them in and out of you.

"God you feel so good. Can't wait to fuck you, my darling. Bury my cock so deep into you you forget your own name."

His words make you shake beneath him. You had a lot of suspicions about San in the bedroom due to your extensive daydreaming about him. But never did you expect him to be so vocal and downright dirty with his words. It catches you off-guard and only heightens your pleasure.

San scoots up on the bed a little so his face is hovering over yours again, while he slips a third finger into your heat. "How do I feel?" he asks with a raspy tone to his voice.

"You feel so fucking good, San," you moan in answer. His fingers stretch you out so deliciously and he reaches this spot deep inside you that makes you arch your back with every thrust.

"Yeah, you wanna come on my fingers?" he rasps into your ear now, lips again attaching to your neck, sucking deep marks into your skin.

"Please, San." You feel like a broken record that's repeating the same thing over and over. You grow closer and closer to an orgasm with every motion of his fingers inside you. But San has other plans for you. And when he feels you desperately clenching around his fingers, he pulls them out of you.

"I'm sorry darling," he says immediately, even though his face doesn't display any regret. "But you look so pretty when you're desperate. And I want you to come on my cock when I make you fall apart for the first time."

You feel like crying. You want nothing more but to come and yet him taking it from you only makes you want him more. You would do anything for Choi San.

He stands up from the bed and opens his belt. But before he can take of his pants, he orders you over with a motion of his finger. You sit on your knees at the edge of the bed in seconds, looking up at him expectantly.

He doesn't say a word and only gestures for his painfully strained pants. You don't need any more hints to start opening his pants and pulling them down his legs desperately. You hook your fingers into his boxers too but look up at him once more before continuing. When he nods at you you finally pull them down as well.

You can't help but stare at San's length. He's big, just like you had always imagined and he was rock-hard. When San takes himself into his hand and gives himself a few strokes you open your mouth on your own, sticking out your tongue in anticipation of tasting him.

San starts gently. His other hand weaves into your hair and he pulls you onto his length slowly. You are able to take a good amount of him before his tip hits the back of your throat and you release a surprised moan. San closes his eyes momentarily as he relishes in the feeling of your hot mouth around him.

"Shit, you feel so good," he rasps out before he starts thrusting in and out of your mouth. Your hands seek hold on his muscular thighs and you look up at San through big and pleading eyes. Even though he isn't pleasuring you, this almost feels as good as having him bury his fingers inside you. All you ever dreamed about was him using you just like this and the feeling of it happening is so intoxicating you feel like you might pass out any second.

"Look at you enjoying my cock so damn much, that your eyes are losing focus," San chuckles. He looks down at you in disbelief as you mindlessly swirl your tongue around his cock. "You love being ruined by me, don't you?"

You can only manage a desperate nod and approving grunt as you continue sucking him of. No man has ever made you this desperate. As you look at him from beneath you feel like you have accomplished everything you ever wanted: his hair was dishevelled, his breaths uneven and a red tint painted his cheeks. All in all, Choi San lost his perfectly maintained appearance as you sucked on his cock and to you he looked 100 times prettier this way.

When his thrusts go sloppy, he pulls out of your mouth in a haste before he can come. "You're driving me crazy, darling," he grunts as he catches his breath for a second. In a more gentle tone he resumes: "Lay back on the bed for me, ok?"

You do as he says, laying down on your back in the middle of the bed, your body buzzing with the anticipation of what is to come. San goes to his dresser, opening a drawer to get a condom. 

When he climbs over you he looks at you intensely. But at the same time his eyes hold a softness that makes you feel secure.

"Are you sure about going on, y/n?" he asks warmly. No petnames this time. He wants a clear answer.

"Never been so sure in my life," you reply with a smile and his lips mirror yours as he beams down at you.

Quickly he sits up to open the condom and roll it onto his member. Opening your legs with his knee he situates himself between you and positions his cock at your entrance. One hand on your hip and the other holding his cock, he slowly sinks himself into you while carefully observing your face.

Your eyes flutter when he is fully inside of you and you moan at the feeling. San releases a grunt as well and waits a few seconds deep inside of you.

"Fuck, you're so tight for me, my darling. Don't worry I won't stop this time until you come." And with that he starts thrusting into you. He begins with slow and deep thrusts but as soon as you get used to his size he speeds up rapidly. 

His abs are flexing underneath is skin as he grabs onto your hip and pistons himself into you. With every thrust you can feel him hit this spongy part deep inside of you that makes heat build in your core with a throbbing intensity. Meanwhile you revel in the sight above you: San looks like a god. His muscular body moving above you is almost enough to push you over the edge but what's even more entrancing is his face. His expressions seem almost possessed. Like a demon took over him as soon as he started fucking you, he fixes his eyes onto yours.

"Am I fucking you good? Making you forget all your precious studies?" There they are again. His filthy words driving you down a one-way-road to insanity. "I hope you forget everything so you have to see me even more, darling. Then I can keep on fucking this tight little cunt over and over again."

"Fuck, San!" you moan out, being shocked by his words. His control over you is baffling and you can't help but grow closer and closer to your orgasm with every word.

"I know you like me like that, darling. Do me a favour and come on my cock so I can finally see you lose yourself will you?"

You can't form an answer. Endless moans tumble out of your mouth in increasing volume and San knows he has you exactly where he wants. 

"Come for me."

Your orgasm hits you with an explosive intensity. Faintly, you notice yourself moan at a concerning volume as your high washes over your body. But San doesn't seem to mind. Your legs are shaking and he helps you ride out the feeling with slower strokes. He waits for your breath to slow down again before he leans down to you and places a gentle kiss onto your lips.

"I want you on your knees in front of me," he says sweetly as soon as your lips separate and your head is spinning. Still you manage to get up with the help of his arm beneath your waist and you let yourself be positioned in front of San, your back to him.

Since you didn't have the opportunity to examine his bedroom earlier you only now notice the big mirror on his wardrobe next to his bed. Looking ahead, you can now see yourself on your knees, sitting in front of San.

You look even more dishevelled than you feel: Your hair is all over the place and some of your eyeliner smudged and a handful of dark purple marks littering your neck. Also, a red tint covers your skin, making you look flushed. San behind you smirks as you examine your own figure.

"You look so pretty all messed up like this for me, don't you think?"

His arm wraps around your waist as he leans your body back onto his broad chest. You look tiny in front of his build.

"I'll make you look even prettier," he promises as he sinks himself back into you.

He picks up his intense pace from before and you already feel dizzy again. With his arm holding you tight he is basically lifting you up and down his cock. At this angle he is hitting you deeper than before and you are sure you won't last very long until your next high.

But nothing could've prepared you for the feeling of San winding his other arm around you too, his fingers gently starting to stroke your clit. Your head falls back onto San's shoulder as you give in to the mind-numbing pleasure that starts buzzing through your body.

"Keep your eyes on me, darling. I want to watch you fall apart."

His voice sounds sulky, almost cute. It doesn't match his relentless thrusts and his fingers pleasuring you. It takes all your strength to lift your head again and look at San through the mirror. His eyes are hooded now, a shin layer of sweat making his flawless skin shine in the evening light.

"You make me feel so good," you manage to say as San keeps on pounding into you. You want him to know how he makes you feel. How good he is being to you.

"Am I?" He smiles in satisfaction as he watches your brows draw together with a particularly deep thrust. "You too, darling. You feel so good around me I don't think I can last much longer. But you'll come one more time for me, right?"

His voice sounds so deep and sultry in your ears. "Of course, Sannie," you mumble absent-mindedly. You don't even notice the nickname until he chuckles behind you.

"How can you be so cute and so sexy at the same time? You'll be the death of me, my good little girl."

He places a kiss onto your cheek and that is what finally drives you over the edge.

"Fuck, San. I'm coming," you moan out before your high crashes over you. If he wasn't holding you, you would fall to the ground. You try to hold eye contact with San through the reflection but your eyes keep on shutting as waves of pleasure roll over you. You have never felt such an intensity before.

But San's thrust don't slow down this time. He keeps on rutting into you relentlessly, driving you to insanity. You feel like you're swimming in a pool of pleasure.

"I'm close, darling. Just a little longer," San's voice is pitched higher than before, sounding just as desperate as you feel. You want nothing more but for him to come.

"Please, Sannie. I want you to come so bad."

Your desperate pleas are San's final straw. Clutching your body tight to his own, he finishes with his cock buried deep inside you. You can feel him pulsating in your heat and your moans mix into his grunts as you milk him for every last drop of his cum.

As you both slowly recover San pulls out of you and gently lays you back onto the bed. You can't do anything but catch your breath while he gets up to rid himself of the condom and return to you with a glass of water.

"Drink something," he urges you on and you take the glass from him. He watches you with a tinge of worry in his eyes. After taking a few sips you offer the glass back to him.

"You should drink some too, I'm sure you worked your body more than I did."

He smiles at your words and takes some water too before returning the glass to his bedside table. When he looks back at you there is a heaviness to his gaze that worries you.

"What is it?" you ask.

San takes a deep breath before answering you. "No matter what I said to you before, I actually didn't expect us to tumble into this as quickly as we did right now. And I want you to know that I didn't do this to use you or take any advantage of you."

His hand nervously grabs for the back of his neck. "Actually, I've been interested in you ever since we first met but I fear the tension between us was quicker than both of us."

You try to process his words even in your hazy state of mind. A spark of excitement surges through your body as you realize what he is saying.

"I feel the same, San," you reply truthfully. "I like you. And not just because you're insanely handsome."

You are glad when he laughs shyly at your words.

"So maybe I can take you out on a date that doesn't involve work or pharmacy studies sometime?"

"I hope sometime means this week, because I waited long enough for you already."

After everything that happened this evening, this moment when he smiles at you might be what makes your heart beat the fastest. You can't believe your luck as you look Choi San into the eyes and he leans in for a kiss.

-----------------

"This was a stupid idea," you say to San but maybe more to yourself. "I should tell her alone."

"How will she ever respect me again if I let you do this alone?" San replies worriedly. "She told me to tutor you and now here we are. I will look terrible either way."

You have never seen him this nervous. But after all, your mother has the ability to make everybody scared for their life. You two pass her assistant's desk with a polite greeting as you head straight for your mother's office. She knows you are coming but she doesn't know you're bringing company.

You knock carefully on the door until her voice calls you in. Your mother stays seated as you two enter the room. She doesn't look surprised or confused about San's appearance but rather intrigued.

"Why are you visiting me today, y/n?" she asks simply.

Your heart is beating out of your chest as you prepare for answering.

"I have something to announce to you," you start off as confident as you can. 

Your mother's eyes flick between you and San. "Go on."

"San- ... Mr. Choi and I, we are..." your voice is shaking. Why is this so hard for you?

But San grabs for your hand, linking his fingers with yours as he confidently finishes your sentence: "We are in a relationship, director Kim."

His boldness strikes you as admiring. Maybe he was right about accompanying you.

A silence that draws out unbearably long fills the room. You feel like your lungs are being compressed with every passing second.

Then your mother smiles. It's not exactly a smile of happiness. It speaks more of victory.

"Finally," she announced. "It took you two longer than I expected."

Now it's your turn to be silent. Both you and San are stunned in your places.

Finally you find your voice to ask: "What do you mean, mom?"

She smiles at you in satisfaction.

"You see: Mr. Choi is a good man. He's a gentleman, treats his colleagues with the utmost respect, excels at his job and is handsome too. How could I find a better match for my beloved daughter? But I know you wouldn't be interested if I were to formerly introduce you two so I thought I'd help you in a different way."

Your mouth falls open in shock. Out of all things, your mother purposefully setting you up with San has never even crossed your mind. Your boyfriend seems even more shocked at the revelation than you, his face reddened and a stunned expression on his face.

"So you set us two up?" You finally ask your mother.

"Of course I did! And it worked out brilliantly, don't you think? I'm glad you both came to tell me. Mr. Choi?"

San perks up at her words. "Yes?"

"I assume you will take good care of my daughter?"

"Of course I will," he replies sternly, voice full of sincerity. "I will do everything care for y/n." His words make you feel warm and fuzzy.

Your mother nods approvingly. "Then you two may leave. I still have work to do."

You both nod hastily and thank your mother before turning back for the door.

"Oh, before I forget. Y/n?" your mother asks one last time.

"Yes?"

"I received your test results that you sent me. They look very promising."

I hope you enjoyed <3 Pls reblog and leave feedback if you can :)

Tags: @voicesinmyhead-rc

[honeytonedhottie]

the art of conversation (from a professional yapper)⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🍉

just wanted to preface this by saying that NOT everyone is extremely sociable and thats totally okay. this post is to help improve ur conversational skills and charisma ✨

WHY LEARNING TO BE SOCIAL IS IMPORTANT ;

social skills are literally the FOUNDATION of effective communication. its important bcuz it allows u to build meaningful relationships, express urself, collaborate with others etc.

when ur learn how to be an effective communicator u can connect more deeply with the people around u. being more social can also provide u with opportunities, and in general make ur life SO much easier. not to mention u have a lot more fun.

SUPERIORITY/INFERIORITY COMPLEX ;

an inferiority complex is the feeling of inadequacy, an insecurity that ur not on the same level as someone else. a superiority complex is the opposite, u can come off as smug or condescending. both are bad in their own right.

the way that u can combat this is by adopting the mindset that you are neither below or above anyone else, and no one else is above or below you.

doing so can kind of even the playing field of conversation in ur mind and make sure that ur not feeling some kind of way before going into a conversation bcuz when u let ur superiority/inferiority complex go by un-fixed it can sabotage communication and not give ppl the change to get to know u.

UNLEARN SHAME ;

first u gotta start off with thinking about ways that shame has influenced ur thoughts or actions. an example that im sure a lot of us could relate to is the whole cringe concept.

to help unlearn shame i recommend journalling, therapy, and mindfulness so that then u can let urself ENJOY things again, without having the looming fear of the judgement of others.

also no genuinely happy person is going to take time out of their day to shame u, only a loser would do that. and if ur the one shaming others for liking something bcuz of ur own insecurity, get that fixed and get a life.

PREPPING FOR CONVERSATION ;

when approaching someone or starting conversation with someone for the first time, a rly good way to start it is with a compliment. dont start it by saying hi cuz i think thats so awkward 😭

compliment them for something, their response can also tell u a lot about them also bcuz some ppl will take the compliment well and some ppl will serve u a dirty look and that alone can tell u if u rly wanna be conversing with that person.

LEARN TO LAUGH ;

since we've already talked about why learning to not feel embarrassed about every little thing is important, here's what to do when something like that comes up. literally laugh.

for example the other day someone whom i've never spoken to before came up to me and started talking to me so familiarly, like with their arm around me and everything and i just went with it 💀 until he noticed that he had mistaked me for someone else, but its okay cuz now i have a new friend. LAUGH ABOUT IT.

dont take everything so seriously, being able to enjoy and take a joke is what makes conversation so much fun. note, do NOT mistake taking a joke as taking disrespect bcuz u should not take that, there is a distinct difference.

the biggest advice i can give as a yapper is to be more lighthearted and not take everything seriously. bcuz i feel like when we take everything so seriously we become rigid and thats not hot, be a breath of fresh air instead ✨

[milkfordragons]

Hannibal's mind: diagnosis, his true past and what made him who he is? An analyses that does not fall for the character's manipulation, but attempts to see beyond that.

Someone who is deeply traumatized yet scared of their wounds would say "nothing happened to me, I happened". But we know that's not actually the truth.

Hannibal Lecter’s psyche is of course intricate and filled with trauma, obsession, and an almost religious devotion to aesthetics and control. At his core, he is antisocial, but not in the conventional sense, he does not reject society; rather, he orchestrates it, navigating its currents with meticulous precision. He is a social predator, charming yet detached, always present yet fundamentally unknowable. His early environment shaped this paradox. In my theory his primary caregiver was emotionally distant, strict yet uninvolved, creating in him an obsessive need to appear as the perfect gentleman, the epitome of politeness and grace. Yet beneath that cultivated exterior lies something profoundly disordered.

Hannibal’s mind is not just methodical, it is compulsive. His obsession with precision, beauty, and control is not merely a preference but an all-consuming necessity. His fixation on Will may not simply be an infatuation; it may be a manifestation of severe OCD, triggered by something in Will that unsettled and fascinated him in equal measure. Hannibal’s trauma is singular, beyond the realm of typical human experience. Many suffer loss, hunger, and displacement, but few respond by consuming their own sibling...not in desperation, but in ritual. He did not eat Mischa out of hunger; he did it to transform her, to forgive her for making him feel weak, to reclaim his power through an act of macabre communion (not truly, but he likes to tell himself that story). This is not an event that can be fully understood because it exists beyond the boundaries of common psychology. We can only theorize.

There is a pattern in the show, a silent, ever-present current of cult-like structures shaping the characters. Will and Hannibal, both deeply intelligent, both highly attuned to the nuances of others, must have recognized a shared wound between them, even if unspoken. The show does not explicitly frame them as bonded by trauma, yet the connection is there, running beneath the surface. Abigail Hobbs was ensnared in her father’s cult-like influence, manipulated into believing her compliance was love. When he was gone, she fell into the grasp of another figure with a similar but more refined method: Hannibal. The show is filled with echoes of this pattern: the "lost boys" episode, where children are molded into killers under a woman’s influence; the patient who calls Hannibal and Bedelia “culty”; Hannibal himself, gathering disciples who kill under his guidance. These are not coincidences but whispers of a deeper theme: the power of psychological domination, the shaping of identity through control.

It is likely that Hannibal himself was shaped in this way. Somewhere in his youth, he encountered a figure...a cultic presence, neither strictly male nor female in the conventional sense, but someone who embodied both, mirroring the same androgynous qualities that make Will so compelling to him. This person, perhaps in the medical field, did not kill as Hannibal does but instead engaged in subtler, more insidious manipulations, like violating the vulnerable, playing god under the guise of medicine. Whether this figure influenced his decision to become a doctor or whether they were a consequence of it, they undoubtedly shaped his worldview. They were charismatic, well-liked, polished, someone who bent the world to their will, much as Hannibal does now. He learned from them, mimicked them, absorbed their philosophy, until eventually, he consumed them, metaphorically or literally, and assumed their role. Like the Great Red Dragon, he does not merely kill, he becomes.

His obsessive need for perfection, his control over every detail of his life, is a defense mechanism against the guilt he refuses to acknowledge. He cannot afford to make a mistake, because to err would be to shatter the illusion of control. This fear is most evident where his emotions run deepest, which is in regards to Will. The teacup he fears will never come back together. But his perfectionism is not just a response to guilt; it is also an echo of his aunt, the ghost of her expectations haunting his every action. He has spent his life unconsciously seeking her approval, shaping himself into the man he believes she would admire.

And yet, for all his cultivated detachment, he falls in love. Will is the only person he truly connects with, not just as a project, an acolyte, or a pet, but as an equal. Initially, he is fascinated, drawn to Will’s mind like one might be to a work of art. But love is not an immediate force, it expands, it deepens, it roots itself within us over time. Hannibal, for all his curated social life, was never truly intimate with anyone before Will. And why? Because Will resists him. Unlike everyone else, Will does not fear him, does not seek his approval, does not succumb to his charisma. Hannibal sees in Will a version of himself that could be redeemed.

Love is, in its essence, self-love reflected outward. We fall for those who mirror something buried within us...an ideal, a longing, a lost fragment of the self. Will, in his reluctance, his shame, his resistance to his own darkness, represents a version of Hannibal that could have chosen another path. Hannibal, who believes himself to be utterly self-possessed, cannot face the possibility that he may be lying to himself. That perhaps his philosophy is not as effortless as he pretends it to be. That perhaps, like Will, he once felt shame, once hesitated, once longed for a reason to be something other than what he became.

Hannibal’s need to mold others into killers is not simply sadism, it is a psychological compulsion, a need to validate himself. He does not want to be the only one. If others can be brought to see the world as he does, then his worldview must be correct. If others can be convinced to kill, then murder is not a crime, but a transformation. Just as Will sought to redeem himself through Abigail, Hannibal seeks to redeem himself through Will. Not by making him good, but by proving that goodness itself is a lie.

For Hannibal, Will is not just another project, not just another pupil. He is the first person who has ever truly seen him, yet has refused to be conquered. With Will, Hannibal is no longer effortlessly in control, he is reacting, adapting, playing a game where the outcome is uncertain. Will does not flee in fear, nor does he bow in worship, he fights, he returns, he chooses to engage. And in this, Hannibal finds something he has never known: the thrill of being understood and challenged. The teacup may never come back together, but perhaps, in Will, he sees the possibility of something new, something unbroken, something undeniable, something worthy not just of admiration, but of devotion.

Hannibal Lecter’s psyche is a labyrinth with no center, an enigma that resists a final diagnosis. He is a construct of trauma, influence, and compulsive control. A man who consumes to become. A man who loves, not in the way others love, but in the way that only he can: with hunger, with reverence, with the endless, obsessive need to make the world in his image.

[vespidclan]

Today’s the anniversary of when I first started Vespidclan in Clangen… The day the game broke

I miss back when the girls were so young and happy… before we had any bug drama :’) They’ve gone so far!

I’d probably do a special event or something for this but I don’t really know what to do! So take these facts about what it was like playing the actual game from what we know thus far

Their names were all the same, except Snakepaw was Icepaw. I kept it for a while thinking “oh Icicle and her are matching” but it started to confuse me between the two! So I changed her to Snakepaw about 2 moons in, since she looks like a piebald snake to me.

^ Tying in with that their warrior names were completely the same and I didn’t have to change them… Except for Snake’s. I think she was Snakeeyes, which is a name I liked, but didn’t really fit all that much for her! I ended up naming her Snakevalley for no specific reason, it just sounds nice and cool. (Maybe for an in-lore reason, Icicle gave her ‘Valley’ to keep the remembrance of the Pineclan forests and fields with her)

All the Pineclan cats are in the file and are dead, Sparkbreak is the Starclan guide. I changed this later when I added in Moththorn/404 to the game, but I shouldn’t expand on this, because of lore reasons! Wait until I Am That I Am comes out!

Now that I think about it all lot of names were changed- Fallenfox was something else, but ‘fox’ was RIGHT THERE and I HAD to name her that. Warmfur was Warmshade (good name but he’s literally bright orange), Dreamcatcher was Dreamspike (wasn’t a fan of this one), and everyone else thus far have their names the way they are.

I know it doesn’t seem like it but this story will still keep The Swarm elements, it just wasn’t implemented all that well because there were so little cats! It’ll be added into the story the same time I started following it more in my gameplay, which will be somewhere around the current moons… because of someone we know. 👀🦋

I like having creative control over how the cats look when I draw them. The colors are fine and I try to keep them as close as possible without color picking (I’d hate to have cats that look the exact same) but I like to simplify my designs for them and so they look nice in a comic format, and only sometimes adding extra stuff on them- Icicle never had any yellowish white but she got it cuz I felt like she needed more color on her.

Heartflicker never got a permanent leg injury. I added that to the story myself because it worked as a ‘consequential’ event for what happened before. (nearly killing Icicle) It’s not something she can undo just like that, neither can she undo her actions.

Through my notes I somehow messed up with the seasons. Instead of having greenleaf for 3 moons, I wrote down 5 moons. But I kept this and will continue to! It adds so much to the game being broken and unfixable, not even the in-game moons are perfectly fixed because of 404’s influence.

^ This is also why I made Snakevalley die the way she did. No one gave her berries, no one killed her or anything like that. In the game she died of a heatstroke. But in the comic, it was leafbare, so this didn’t make any sense to me. Took me a while to come up with a reason to have her killed AND be a complete turning point for the story… Because her dying was a complete shock for myself!

…YES Icicle gets pregnant. But that was and will be the only heavy spoiler I am willing to share!

[mystardustmelodyyy]

Stop Talking!!!!

Jack Schlossberg x reader | 1.2k wc

Today was a LOT ngl. But for me at least, reading the facts long form and listening to civil discourse makes everything seem a little more manageable. Take care chicas 🩵

Andddd Here is the latest work by @remotewatch HQ! Enjoy 💋

“I’m gonna get more paper towels!” you chirp to the other remaining party guests who’d stayed to clean up.

The row house was wayy bigger than it appeared, leading you down a labyrinth of halls and storage units. You feel a rush of satisfaction when you fling open a particularly heavy door to a stacked shelf of cleaning supplies. It nearly distracts you from the horrified squeak that comes out of left field. It’s none other than the man of the hour.

Jack Schlossberg, in a closet. With his pants down, watching his phone to be specific.

“What the fuck are you watching on your phone with the sound off?” Your shock at finding the guest of honor quickly turned into anger; people have been looking for him for the better part of an hour. Meanwhile, he’s frozen in shock, covering his dick. He starts to string some ‘umms’ and ‘uhhs’ together, before blurting out:

“It’s not porn, I swear!”

“Let me see, or I’m calling everyone in here.”

Jack looks at you wide-eyed (not unlike a scared baby cow, you muse) then sheepishly bends forward to hand over his phone with his pants still around his ankles.

You can’t tell which emotion is stronger- confusion or disgust, but also amusement swirling around in your stomach looking at his Twitter and all the other social media apps he’s got up. Tiktok, Instagram, Threads and Pinterest are open on swaths of hate comments.

“Your own posts? You fucking narcissist.”

“It’s not that,” Jack blinks, weighing the options in his head before continuing. His voice drops to a whisper “it’s the replies…”

You raise an eyebrow, look down at his phone, and read his reply out loud:

“I’m a literal pervert. I called my grandmother hot.. Have I totally lost it? Jesus… this kid will do anything for attention. Your grandfather would be ashamed. Seriously. Time to get a job.”

Scoffing, you stalk towards him and wave the phone with a flick of your wrist so he’s backing up into the wall.

“Is this why you’ve been posting garbage since the election?” you sneer- you’d been annoyed with him about his output already, even more so when you saw how many people still took it at face value. Not only was it mega depressing, his squandered influence felt like such a wasted opportunity. As far as you were concerned, whatever 4D chess he thought he was playing wasn’t landing.

“No!” he sputters, “I have a method, I’m writing a book..”

“Oh that is such bullshit Jack” You cut him off abruptly (which he’s definitely turned on by, judging by the twitch of his erection…) and let out an exasperated sigh before continuing, “None of this is productive. Jesus Christ, all you’re doing is stroking your ego and apparently your dick at your own birthday party… have you been commando this whole time?! You are such a fucking loser.””

“It’s laundry day…” Jack’s been sinking down this whole time but now he’s fully on the floor, hunched over and looking up at you. He tries to apologize before you lock eyes and take a beat.

“And I didn’t tell you to stop!” You snap.

He can’t tell if you’re serious or not, if fucking his hand will just incite more rage, but sure enough he tentatively starts jerking off again and gets a rhythm going. Soon he’s absolutely vibrating- beanie askew, pants around the ankles, no underwear, unshaved and musky, visibly scared and leaking. You continue to read the replies-

I’m so sick of him. He’s officially transitioned into a gangly annoying shit. Enough already.

Each word has you inching closer to him.

This guy’s descent into loserdom was so rapid.

Ever since that Justin Baldoni bit every joke he tries to make has felt off and desperate.

Jack whines and arches his back towards you so wantonly it snaps you into a pause.

“Oh my god, you really love this shit don’t you? You’re so GROSS.”

He knits his eyebrows together while you continue:

Loneliest, hungriest man on earth and its JFKs grandson. Could you imagine?

I made an account because I couldn’t watch from the sidelines anymore. He's acting crazy like Azealia Banks now without the finesse. Boohoo nobody is paying attention to me, hmm how do I get my daily dose of attention so i don't cry myself to sleep?? How pathetic.

It’s getting more and more embarrassing that I ever read fics about him.

He starts to repeat to you while you’re reading. His breath hitches with repetition at first, then he’s talking to himself in a trance. You immediately snap your fingers before he gets too lost.

“What did you say?”

He mumbles, still not fully coherent, “I’m a pervert and a slut..”

“Say it louder if you’re going to say it.”

“I’m a pervert and a slut!” He chokes out. You look up from the screen and keep going off of your own anger.

“You’re not saving anyone, you’re just using the Daily Mail to jerk off.”

“I’m not saving anyone, I’m just using the Daily Mail to jerk off.” He’s panting.

“People listening to you doesn’t mean you’re saying anything valuable.”

“People listening to me doesn’t mean I’m saying anything valuable.” Jack repeats in a daze, jaw going slack as his words run together.

“God, they’re right. Your grandfather would be ashamed of you”

He winces at that one but starts beating harder. You put your foot over his balls, and he reaches out for you desperately only to get his hand smacked away.

“Clean your goddamn fingernails. I don’t know why you thought you could be in charge of your own social media, all your best ideas come from women anyway.”

Pressing harder on his balls, you lean down and hiss into his ear. “You’re just a dumb slut who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Jack closes his eyes and does a weird pathetic half whine-half groan before dribbling into his hand. The sound is enough to briefly distract you from his load splattering onto your right shoe. His beanie falls off as he slumps against you.

“And now you’ve made another fucking mess!” You wipe your shoe on his wrinkled pants, still around his ankles, and turn to leave when he feebly takes your wrist with his free hand.

“Can I eat you out?” He sounds like a cat begging to be let inside.

“Excuse me?”

There are tears in his eyes and a drying string of drool stuck to one corner of his mouth. He lets out a sniffle. “Please, I just wanna do something right, please just let me make you cum.”

You gingerly extract his hand from your wrist, not even bothering to conceal your disgust. “Ew. Absolutely not.”

He manages to let go, although it seems painful for him. You grab the paper towels and walk towards the door, swinging it wide open.

“Hey guys, I found the birthday boy!” You announce cheerily “He was tweeting in a closet.”

As Jack is scrambling to pull his pants up and grab his beanie you can’t help but smirk when you catch a glimpse of a broom falling on him on your way out.

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 77 Irrelevant Posting

Hello, dear void... we're definitely on a streak of excellent chapters lately.

Rough TL of the Editor's Notes: First Page: 語られるのは...- [katara reru no wa...] "A conversation..." Last Page: 構える淵天！！いざ！！[kamaeru enten!! iza!!] "Enten at the ready!! Let's go!!"

And a TL of that amazing colour page's text that will no doubt be removed in the official English version:

背負うのは矜持と愛と歪んだ未来- [seou no wa kyouji to ai to yuganda mirai] "Bearing the burden of pride, love, and a distorted future..."

Unnecessarily cruel title placement though, jeez.

HAKURI!!! HE'S STILL REAL! HAKURI HAKURI HAKURIIIIIIIIIIII AAAAAAHHHHHHHH

Alright, now that that's out of my system... how 'bout them apples? Looks like we got our "trio" for Kaugrabachi! And it's the best one I could have asked for, honestly. I love all three of these kids to pieces and I want them to find all the happiness they deserve by the end of the series.

Except... I'm already malding in advance that the English version will remove the text on the colour page. It perfectly summarises the burdens that were passed on by these kid's fathers and so should stay! Hakuri suffered due to Kyora's pride in the Sazanami legacy, Chihiro is suffering thanks to Kunishige's deep parental affection for him, and Iori is suffering because of Samura's fear for what's to come. 背負 [seou] says it all- "to carry on one's back", "to be burdened with", "to take responsibility for". These poor kids are in so much pain because of what they've inherited to struggle with- and the pain even extends beyond them because of how much influence their fathers have/had. Innocent people are caught up in their misery too but only the children bear responsibility for what happened. This is the core theme of Kagurabachi! And there are a lot of readers who could stand to be reminded that this series is more than just "cold lines" and "aura farming"!

Okay. One more TL note before we get into the chapter. The title of it in Japanese is 蚊帳の外 [kaya no soto], an idiom. The literal meaning is "outside of the mosquito net" and it's similar to "out of the loop" or "left in the dark"- someone being purposefully excluded for one reason or another, usually because they don't fit in. Keep this in mind for later!

Some Guy

This guy gets a name and we are STILL using fandom nicknames for recurring characters lol.

吉田貫龍 [Yoshida Kanryuu] - will we see this guy again? Why did we get his name, if not to tease him reappearing (or the author trolling us)? Given his surprising connection to Samura, he might not just be a one-off though. Perhaps just to drive the point home that Samura fucking cares a lot about everyone, like how we got Fuura Ryo's name in chapter 57.

The family name Yoshida is made up of the kanji 吉 [yoshi, good luck/fortune/auspiciousness] and 田 [da, rice field, rice paddy] to make a very generic last name implying bountiful rice harvests. Kanryuu is made up of 貫 [kan, pierce/penetrate] and 龍 [ryuu, dragon/imperial dragon/mythical creature] to make "pierced dragon" for an insanely cool given name.

It seems to strange to start a fight chapter with a seemingly random artist talking about his depiction of a phoenix, doesn't it? But Mr. Yoshida being connected to the Seitei War and being saved by Samura is a framing device for this chapter.

We saw a lot of Samura's flaws during the flashbacks to Iori's past and him being played by Yura. He's a bad dad even though he tries his best, he barely functions as a person- it really seemed like he was struggling a lot and maybe just a smidge pathetically too. Mr. Yoshida doesn't change anything with his initial appearance here. But...

You're now aware we never saw his right hand in frame until these panels.

No wonder this guy painted something downright biblical to represent his Seitei War experience! The Bearers must have seemed like gods on the battlefield.

Samura is a saviour; he wants to rescue people no matter what. (Maybe it's the brainrot talking, but who else does that remind you of, kind void? Hmm? Maybe a certain guy who gave himself literal brain damage to try and save Uruha? Perhaps the guy who got a million paper cuts saving an audience in a theater?) And he did just that in spectacular fashion this chapter; Hokazono-sensei really went all-out with the artwork this week before the break. Goddamn there were so many cool shots.

But yeah. Samura's not just a sadsack guy with too much unmanaged anxiety; he's mercy incarnate. He will bring salvation one way or another, even if it's through death (and rebirth).

Theories on what, if any, limitations Suzaku has are still up in the air though. Hiruhiko tried to test them and we can confidently say there's no cooldown interval or target selection restrictions. I think we'll find out what they are sooner or later, probably as a dramatic reveal of some kind.

Interesting that Samura's eyes couldn't or wouldn't be healed though. Not much more needs to be said- he's stuck in his mindset and will keep punishing himself to atone and save. My current (largely unfounded) theory is that Samura stays blind by choice and his using his own life force to do those spectacular feats with Suzaku; almost quite literally setting himself on fire to save others. C'mon and prove me wrong, author! Being completely off-base is my favourite past time besides rotating Hakuri and HakuHiro in my brain 24/7.

Three-Way Sword Fight

As was predicted in chapter 61, so it has come to pass.

The text on the chapter 61 page was "intersecting motives". I love this manga.

We got our three-way clash of ideals and skill and holy shit was it epic!

Samura trying to cut them both at once to end things quickly, Hiruhiko having a moment of hubris, and Chihiro being focused on saving himself for confronting Samura... what an amazing chapter.

Got a lot more insight into Hiruhiko too so let's talk about it. I won't be bashing him, promise. Neutrality is the name of the game.

Even feral toddler > nameless mook in a suit in Kagurabachi.

Hiruhiko not caring about anyone or anything is in line with his character as we knew it to this point. He's a very nonchalant kinda guy who just wants to have a good time, and unfortunately for innocent people that happens to involve a lot of injury and murder apparently. Because it's just one more thing he can do- no different from, say, going to an amusement park or playing video games. Being a killer is part of his self-image and he embraces it with open arms.

Why is he this way, though? Maybe he was just born with it. Maybe it's adaptive apathy as self-defence. Maybe it's because he apparently wasn't raised with much care early on in his life. We don't know, really, so choose what you want to believe until the author makes the reveal. He killed someone trying to assault him at the age of three and that's what unlocked his natural talent for fighting and killing, yes. But the mindset of why he doesn't care about it is yet to be explained. Another thing to put off for the future.

Nice title drop, bro.

It's Hiruhiko's hubris that did him in again. For the third time. He doesn't care about anything except fighting Chihiro, so he writes Samura off for the second time in like 5 minutes. Chihiro knows better and refuses to engage. Cue Hiruhiko getting wiped. He's the one who doesn't belong and maybe it'll finally sink in.

I don't think he's going down this arc despite experiencing his well-deserved third loss (and losing another arm to boot). Samura leaving Hiruhiko alive at his lowest point ever when he absolutely could have killed him there isn't just mercy, it's probably the set up for Hiruhiko becoming a legitimate threat somehow in the future. The kid's been trounced three times in a row while trying to connect to Chihiro and had all his feelings crushed too. He's definitely got strong motivations to stop messing around with his "freedom" schtick and learn some real combat techniques. I'm putting my bets on Hiruhiko coming back strong as hell despite all the slander he's going to get the next two weeks.

Will he keep Kumeyuri though? Well... jury's hung on that. Interesting that he's got zero compatibility with the sword! Maybe a different blade would suit him better?

Not a great match for the Enchanted Blade you bonded to? Just buffer underflow and glitch into God Mode, bro.

His True Realm for Kumeyuri is manipulating anything as he desires with no respect. This could be an extremely formidable move if he keeps the blade somehow.

It also says something about Uruha, though.

I miss you too, Kunishige.

Play requiring the user to have immense respect for and practise with the objects they manipulate means Uruha was someone who treated things with care most likely. He cooed over Enten and it was funny, but he also placed an accurate "value" on his own life at the train station. He also understood the weight of the Bearer's lives even though Samura didn't agree with him. Not to mention how utterly devastated he was after learning about Kunishige's death. Sensitive soul Uruha's definitely on the board!

As for Chihiro vs. Samura, well.

Time to show your stuff, Chihiro.

My personal (again, unfounded) theory is that Chihiro will win the fight by breaking Tobimune similar to how he broke Kuregumo when fighting Sojo. Samura's a goddamn Dark Souls boss right now with teleportation on top of blisteringly fast swordplay on top of apparently infinite regeneration/revival. Chihiro's good with a sword and the White Purity style now, but he's no match for Samura most likely. So break the thing that makes him so threatening then see what happens next.

Tobimune, just as a reminder, is written as 飛宗 - Soaring Faith (lit. "flying religion"). It's a sword for someone devoted heart, body, and soul to their beliefs and it enables them to act on them. Samura's True Realm being Suzaku is a sign of how sincere he is in not wanting to kill but save! So if Chihiro can break that faith, he can stop Samura in his tracks without needing to kill him. I hope we get another "conversation" sword fight between them where Chihiro wins by shattering his opponent's way of thinking. (Please. I'm begging on my hands and knees.)

I don't think Samura would pick up Kumeyuri to continue the fight. It's not a reflection of who he is and if he's no longer able to use Tobimune, he can't accomplish his goals anyway. He needs the scouting ability to find the Hishaku and the teleportation to catch them. So... maybe, finally, he'll have a chat with Chihiro then Iori.

I'm usually wrong though so this break week is gonna be tough to sit through.

Just One More (Inconsequential) Thing

OK, gay pink frog guy.

The EN TL nerfed Hiruhiko's gayness here a little bit. Not much, just toned down the language and didn't carry over the poetic feel of his inner monologue towards Chihiro.

Obviously I'm not a professional, but my fairly amateur take is here if anyone wants to compare: Hiruhiko: Chihiro, you alone are special. Hiruhiko: You gave me meaning. (Chihiro: No. That's why... we seek to kill each other.) Hiruhiko: For the first time, I want something more- crossing Enchanted Blades and reaching the zenith by killing each other. Hiruhiko: I'll give everything I've got... Hiruhiko: ...to make it happen!!

And here's the original Japanese for folks who want to check my work or do it themselves:

千鉱 お前だけは特別なんだよ

お前は意味くれた (違う だから 殺し合う) そんなお前と初めて妖刀を持ち合い最高潮に殺し合える

そのためならどこまでも 頑張ろうと思える

最高潮 [saikouchou] specifically means climax/peak/zenith/apex so... I chose the more poetic option, but "climax" is perfectly valid too lol. Mostly though, Hiruhiko's being so damn passionate about Chihiro as the first person he's ever cared about beyond himself and I wish that was conveyed more in the official translation is all. He's completely serious about being "friends" by fighting to the death.

OK dear void! A Hakuri sighting and a badass fight with more to come- what a wonderful chapter. I'll see you in two weeks for more blathering of nonsense. Stay well and be kind to yourself until then!

[moongreenlight]

Insane reader my beloved. Literally my babygirl.

@katz-chow been ruminating on this one just for you <3

CW: Gore and violence

Reader who shows up late to their first meeting with the task force. Rolls up in their dark sedan with blacked-out windows and one too many dents on the front bumper wearing civvies instead of the uniform they were given and instructed to wear.

Reader who is a privately hired detective with a talent for interrogations. Not officially a member of the task force or the military because the tactics they use are far less than legal. More a secret weapon on retainer for when doing things by the book doesn’t do the trick.

Reader who gets on the good sides of the task force boys by being sugary sweet and barely hiding their true colors. Skins and bleaches the skulls of interrogations gone South and gives them to Ghost insisting they’re better than the costume store shit he’s got on now.

Gifts Price expensive cigars tucked between the fingers of a severed hand. Drops them off in large pink boxes with delicate ribbons and giggles when he asks a thousand questions about why and how and what the fuck he was supposed to do with this.

Tosses Gaz new knives on the field when they’ve landed a kill or just wrenched them out of someone’s stomach. They make a game out of chucking the gore-slicked blades at one another’s heads to see if they can dodge in time.

Starts playing dodgeball with Soap where they toss his less-stable bombs and unpinned grenades back and forth. Only stops after they’ve accidentally blown up the camp two missions in a row. (Also heavily rumored they have tramp stamps of each other’s names because they’re both too stubborn to back down from a dare but that’s just for vibes)

Reader who gets flown out on specialty missions where a hostage really refuses to talk and takes matters into their own hands. Sometimes hopping on radio when they’re in transit and requesting the force pulls extra men so they can play a live game of operation. They’ve been watching videos on the dark web and the first two seasons of Grey’s Anatomy from their military issued laptop so it’s like an 80% chance all the hostages live.

Reader who stops being allowed to train rookies because the first and only faux-deployment they led they told the group they ran out of rations three days in to a two week long training and they had to play rock-paper-scissors to create a bracket of people to eat first. The mission gets called early when Price gets word that there was actually a field amputation done. Reader doesn’t even apologize, just laughs their way through a barely reasonable explanation. I didn’t think they’d actually do it.

Reader who begs the boys to let them play kill, kiss, marry, kill in the middle of a boring interrogation and when they get told no or to focus on the task at hand, they throw such a fit that they end up sending a screwdriver through the eye of the person they’re supposed to be interrogating.

Reader who brings their own kit to interrogations. Lugs around pincers, rusted blades, rotary bone saws, and dull axes in a flamingo pink toolbox. Sets it up on a small table in front of the hostage and unboxes it like an influencer showing off PR.

Reader who also stops being able to run conditioning and drills with rookies because they pitted the privates against one another during a sparring session. Saying something about whoever could sheath a blade in the other first got a bonus check before tossing a few knives on the mat and walking away. Gaz had to run over and tell them you weren’t serious when he saw blood.

Reader who insists on being able to puppeteer the decapitated head of an enemy grunt they took down and reciting a few lines of Shakespeare to the boys. Dragging the mission out because they know as well as the boys do that everyone is on their timeline.

Reader who dances around hostages that have been zip tied to chairs and beat within an inch of their life. Singsonging threats and having the boys drag the limp bodies of their chain of command across the floor.

Reader who pouts when their victims pass out during questioning after a few of their fingers have been chopped off with a butcher’s knife. Huffs like they’re being put through a massive inconvenience and fishes smelling salts out of their toolkit to wake the poor sap back up.

[tarotchariotpickyourcard]

PAC - IS YOUR EX OVER YOU?

Is your ex over you?

Please select the number 1, 2 or 3. Or left to right:

🌈🍏🐭

(Take these with a pinch of salt, for a bit of fun. Entertainment purposes only and all that jazz. Don't make decisions based on this lol, use that noggin' of yours that is so smart and perfect and remember you're always too good for 'em anyway!)

Group 1🌈

Yes

STORK - BOOK - BOUQUET

You may not know this, but they have a new admirer or are admiring someone new. They may have even had them in mind during your relationship or near the end (I’m sorry If that sounds harsh, sometimes people only leave confidently if they know they can jump into another relationship).

Looks like they’ve started something new. They might have been seeing the writing on the wall between you two, or noticing affection lessening or a negative change. The romance between you two might have been fizzling out. 

Rider up top is for sure literally moving on. You might hear about this later on the grapevine. For now with book in the centre it makes me thinks they’re being tight lipped or not revealing much right now. Or that’s how it could’ve been when you separated, and you might not have understood quite why they were ending things.

They view this as a good change, and what they needed. If there was something you were wondering, you will get your answers. You might realize that there was no winning with this person, because their attention just seemed to go on starting anew. 

MICE - RIDER - BIRDS STORK - BOOK - BOUQUET MOON - KEY - CHILD

--------------------------------------

-------------------------------------

------------------------------------

GROUP 2🍏

Yes, but…

CLOVER RING FOX

They’re a commitment-phobe

Clover is temporary, they might have seen the last relationship as a fling, or something not so serious. Next to ring really is a temporary agreement, just a bit of fun. Fox next to ring is like having the mask of wanting something more serious or a long term agreement. This person pretended to want more, or want what you want.

They are happy playing the field right now. They might think you were just one of many options for them.

It looks like more than anything they like being single, or in non serious situations, hooking up, that kind of thing. They would not have been capable of giving you what you needed. I get the intuition they still think about you though, but I don’t really see regret, maybe just at the way of how you separated or stopped seeing each other. Did you give them an ultimatum?

Either way, I have to be honest, it looks like this is for the best for sure.

This person may be older than you or more experienced. They may be having to handle documents or communication with a council or government. They might be guilty of hiding certain things as well.

I think this person might have the typical issue of not wanting to commit or wanting independence, yet it can be lonely at times. Stinks of the whole late night hitting up. 

If they’re not single right now, they are yet again pretending things are great or that they want something they really actually don’t. They really do replay how things happened though.

SUN - CROSSROADS - SCYTHE CLOVER - RING - FOX LILIES. - LETTER - TOWER

---------------------------------------------

--------------------------------------------

-------------------------------------------

GROUP 3🐭

They aren’t over you.

CHILD - SNAKE -WOMAN STARS - FOX -MICE CROSS. - SUN - HEART

They might pretend they care less, or like you less.

They may be using an account online to view your social media.

They want to start over with you but understand that it would be naive to expect that.

This seems like a messy one. 

They still have strong feelings (yes, I know mice is there, but sun next to heart is such a strong influence).

There’s a sentiment of the connection being worth struggle, or hardships. They would be willing to try again. They could think there is a spiritual connection between you two. In their opinion, they seem to have a more childlike or pure type of feelings towards you. They might have done some things out of pride, and it ruined the relationship before it even got to properly start. 

Whoever is the lady in the relationship or the feminine one, they are going through some things right now. They might be having issues with money, they might be ill. There is a burden on them somewhere. 

If we want to go strong on interpretations, someone here could have stolen from the other, or be a charming person who was out for themselves. They might be someone who is willing to do anything to succeed. Or this could be talking about yourself being successful or wilful. There might be something about you (looks, dominance, popularity) that makes them still desire you.

Someone took advantage of the other here. It’s hinting there was a third party (classic other woman/man) or they played hooky. They could have played innocent with you. I’m seeing if this is the case, they have acknowledged it and would take responsibility for it if they got another chance.

===============================

===============================

Hope it made sense, I'm having fun with lenormand so take this with a pinch of salt! Let me know if you can put anything together too!

Enjoy your day.

[thebrainrotsreal]

What is wasp dynamic with Oliver? Like does wasp somewhat warms up to this purple (his lil cutie!! ^^) baby or does he hate him but very, very has secretly a soft spot (?) or does he just have pure utter hatred for lil ollie especially since Oliver is kind of like a baby still I believe when all that stuff went down(?) with mark killing " angstrong " idk know how to his name forgive me TwT I can imagine the horror on mark face Oliver calling wasp "bruh bruh" :] sorry I want on but of a rant I just really love your au keep up the great work I hope to see more soon!!!

Don’t apologize for the rant, I love thinking this AU again, and asks are so lovely :] 

Wasp is probably baffling by Oliver’s very existence, it’s a clear marker for the difference between their worlds, and then just tries to group him together with Debbie as Avoid These Freaks (otherwise, if he cares about them then he has lost himself, destroyed himself, and all that he has stood for and the most pathetic, horrible version of himself, our Mark, has won), so he tries to be dismissive and uncaring towards him! Oliver could grow on him tho! 

Oliver, obliviously, cannot tell the difference between the Mark’s, and are equally delighted to see and be held by both as a toddler. Wasp would only hold Oliver to stress out Mark, and would do so incorrectly and recklessly, like dangling him by the ankle before Mark socked him in the jaw and took Oliver. Any tolerance or patience dies when babies are babies and are messy, whiny, fussy, screaming, etc. I enjoy Mark being Oliver’s primary caretaker, so it is both baffling to him that Mark cares so much about Purple Child Thing, and he feels it’s deserved when Oliver stresses Mark out, probably goading Mark to stop wasting his time with “it”.

I think as Oliver grows up, he can obliviously tell the difference, but considering Wasp’s refusal to take any parental or loving role for him, he becomes cooler by default, as a “fun brother” who lets Oliver do whatever he fuck he wants if he catches him doing anything. He violently doesn’t care. Like Wasp would grab Oliver by the ankle, spin, and then throw him, and every single time Mark will catch him, so at some point it’s just a fun game, and he’ll bother Wasp on purpose, much to the constant stress of Mark. If Oliver’s in the field, Wasp won’t protect him whatsoever, if not use him to antagonize Mark by throwing things at him, which Oliver can confuse as Wasp “trusting” him to take care of himself, where Mark “doesn’t”, as the latter obliviously worried about Oliver’s safety.

Stressful ass scenario to babysit Oliver AND Wasp for Mark lol. 

Now I’ve got the context of s3, it’s fun playing with the idea that Wasp could begrudgingly tell stories of HIS Nolan, idealized and loving, which could help fuel Oliver’s own admiration of Nolan, much to Mark’s disgruntled distaste and guilt. Wasp does so, because in his mind, Oliver is an “Amusing Thing” and not a person, so there’s no harm in mentioning that when he feels like it, unlike with Debbie, who is more terrifying real to him as a LITERAL difference version of his Mom, or Mark, who might peel back the potential vulnerability in his statements or challenge any of his notions about Nolan.

Or, even influencing Oliver’s sense of right and wrong by promoting murder IS okay, which Mark and Oliver would fight about, and Mark will be so PISSED at Wasp for, potentially! 

Tysm for the lovely ask! As you can see I rambled too! :] I do wanna draw them both sooooo bad.

[multiheadcanons]

TF2 GAMEPLAY RANT: I AM A BAD MEDIC AND I WILL NOT SWITCH CLASSES.

subtitle: having fun playing games as a support main with horrible habits

i’ll stick this under a read more since it is literally me going on a full blown rant about gameplay. you can read it if you’d like! i exclusively play medic, i don’t play any other class. and the way i play medic influences the way i write him. so if you want heavily removed source musings of tf2 medic and having fun playing games, feel free to peruse yourself!

you heard it here first folks.

i am a bad medic with about 100 hours on the guy.

i am a chronic overextender with zero movement finesse, i am almost always entirely out of position— if not completely lost on the map as the team’s healer, i will favor power classes with my heals unless i can use a scout as a taxi to get closer to the front lines faster, i will run into the same sniper sightline five times and give the surprised pikachu face when i am headshotted every time before i think to take a different route, i can’t hit a crossbow shot on an enemy or a teammate at point blank, i regularly forget what team i’m on and if i’m not laser focused on spies and spychecking (see: not doing my job as a medic which is to have that medigun out and on at all times) i will die to them every single time.

i am a bad medic.

i just spent the last three hours getting my absolute shit rocked on casual badwater basin, and about thirty minutes to an hour of that getting harassed by a guy— not even on my team, or maybe he was, i don’t know lmao— about how dogshit of a medic i was.

maybe i didn’t heal him enough. i was definitely dying before i could get a full uber nine times out of ten, and i have a horrible habit of running directly into fire on the field, and i cannot time an uber to save my life or my team’s. there was a point where there were four medics on the team and i had to genuinely ask myself damn… am i really that bad of a medic?

we were getting our asses kicked. so bad. it wasn’t even funny.

but here’s the thing: i was having fun.

even with three other medics joining me in the joyless work of healing the team and not dying and popping your uber right when it’s needed and not dying before you get the uber and not wasting the uber (i died so many times with an unused uber bc i didn’t know when to use it to best help the team) and checking your back for their spy running around with the YER not to mention the rest of the enemy team which is for some reason functioning like a well oiled machine while we have taken an active hit to our damage output because we now have four medics—

or maybe i just suck.

but i had fun.

support classes, healing classes in any fps really are for the people like me— who can’t hit a shot and frankly refuse to learn. for the people who don’t want to be directly in the action, because we refuse to learn how to aim on a computer, so we are easy pickings for anyone who has half a braincell and working eyes and minimal carpal tunnel, but close enough to it that we see the carnage. people who cannot reliably toggle through weapons, are trying to learn the maps, can’t jump high enough to even reach some of the places the other mercs are and at this point are too scared to ask.

and it makes me think of the other day, when i hopped on for a few hours and (after dying repeatedly) saw multiple messages through the chat with what i could only think at the time were sarcastic jabs at a medic, there was two at the time and i was the one dying, so you know— if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck…

it’s not been my week on the servers, i think. but i am still having fun.

i love playing medic. i am normally the only or one of two medics on a team at any given time. and i like it that way. and i love having a second, better medic on the team. i try to study them, see how they stay alive so long. it’s hard in the heat of battle. but i’m dead half the time so i’m watching through the killcams anyway. and it looks to be a lot of staying behind corners, standing, crouching, watching, waiting. and that’s… fair.

i just don’t want to play that way.

i love the way i play medic more than i actually want to be strategically good and effective to the maximum extent as a medic.

i love jumping into the heat of the front lines, getting that soldier that’s at 22 as he falls back to reload then quickly moving to the scout at 10 to get him the fuck out of dodge so he can get to a medkit and maybe if i’m fast enough getting to the demo at 64 and taking more damage and dying anyway to the sniper before the payload even reaches the next checkpoint, hearing the ding of the checkpoint captured while i wait to return to the realm of the living. i love getting lost on the maps, standing on an empty edge of the map as the team is yelling for me, and i’m not listening. i love taking in the scenery. i can’t help but laugh when my kamikaze stunt of jumping in puts me in the middle of the enemy team. i love making batshit pushes for intel with two heavies. it is a rush to place myself behind aggressive players and do my best to keep them alive. i screech when we succeed. and i feel as though i am a good sport. if a spy gets me, they got me! that’s on me and my team for not spychecking! we know they exist!

and i like having aggressive and knowledgeable players help me and in extent the team by telling me what to do! i am a support class! i am not supposed to even be on the front lines! tell me when to pop my uber! tell me which way we’re flanking! warn me if you peek the corner first and see the entire team charging at us! i am your doctor! i will throw myself in front of those bullets and die happily if it means you will get those extra hits! i will be back shortly! just don’t die before then! let me know when i’m overextending, when i need to fall back, i want to be a good medic, i want to be the most use to my team i can be!

but i also want to have fun! i just don’t want to learn how to aim!

i am just the healer. and my motto is if you’re taking damage and you’re by the payload or on a point you are my top priority. if my job is to heal you, and we’re on payload, get to the cart, because that’s where i’m headed if i’m not there already. if you want to push for the intel on 2fort even though they have five sentry nests put up but you need a doctor to try to keep three to four of you alive as long as possible to at least bust two of the sentry nests, though you’ll settle for one, i’ll be right behind you each step of the way. and honestly, know that i am a bad medic! my doctorate is in crayon and the syringe gun is for show! i’ve never consensually removed a body part in my life! i’m here to have a good time and die a whole lot doing dumb shit!

and i will not switch to soldier. i will not switch to pyro! i will not switch to a class i don’t want to play, an “easier” class, a “less important” class and leave the team down a doctor entirely in the hopes someone better decides to pick the class! i like to play the medic! i want to play the medic! in fact, i almost like being a bad medic more. anytime someone groans about a bad medic i snicker a bit, and i heal them less.

appreciate the medigun or die without it.

anyway. remember when playing games was fun and people didn’t act like they were getting paid for the shifts they put in on team fortress 2? i initially titled this “medic and spitting in the face of meta to embrace in the arms of theme” because it is essentially what i do. i stomp all over the meta of what it means to play a support class, what it means to be a healer and heal your team to instead do team fortress 2 battle roleplay and giggle the whole time. and again, i acknowledge i am a bad medic. but dammit, people get healed. and when the shit works, it works. and the feeling i get can only be matched if i injected meth directly into my bloodstream and took five bumps of coke. because i like to have fun when i play my sexy german man. i follow the better medics so i can die before them. im like bait for the enemy team. even if i can’t make it to the full uber, what you don’t know is there’s another medic behind me about to pop. but back when i first started playing i was exclusively a battle medic. the medigun never touched my hands. i was just a stock medic running around bonesawing people.

so maybe it truly is old habits dying hard.

i’m still having fun either way

and i won’t switch classes.

and truly, am i that bad if all the medics are averaging the same amount of heals?

like if it’s just me and i average 10k heals, and another medic joins and we both average 5k, and another one joins and we’re each averaging 3-4k; is it the medic sucking caged cock and balls or is the team just not as good as they think they are?

but that’s a rant for another day. i’m gonna stop it here.

anyway. pick a class, and if you like playing it, don’t change. play until you get better.

and if you end up on or against my team, know i’m not gonna be mad if i die to your YER forty times. i also won’t be mad if you take me by my scruff and say i’m your medic. i’ll do my best to stay by your side. don’t die without me.

and if you’re an enemy medic i will never attack you as a medic i’m sorry you will never get your medic on medic fight. all enemy medics get free bottomless kills on max if you can catch me to do so and don’t put yourself out of position in my team.

i’ll fucking destroy you as a pyro though. don’t pray too hard for those random crits because my w + m1 is constant.

[stilesinwonderland]

Genuinely not meaning to be inflammatory, but while I totally agree re. preferring JD's kissing in other shows, I actually don't agree with anon that it's down to JoJo, because then we'd be seeing the same thing with the Kant/Bison scenes and we absolutely don't - we get a whole variety of kissing styles from them throughout THK, each changing depending on the context, e.g. the status of their relationship, the nature of the scene, etc. Best comparison is either the kissing in ep 1 (one night stand) or ep 12 (prison shenanigans), where lust is at the forefront, with ep 8 which, whilst still intense, is much slower, softer, and more lingering (trying not to write a whole theses on the perfection that was FK's physical chemistry in this drama!). So yeah, there's definitely plenty of hot and heavy, but only when the show calls for it. And it was the same in OF - every kissing or sex scene had a different nuance to it depending on the situation. I actually think JoJo (more so than many BL directors) is incredibly intentional with his use of physical affection, particularly in regards to characterisation, and the implication he opts for, essentially, sex over romance does him a disservice. Besides, we're talking entirely different genres of show, and that naturally entails different flavours of intimacy. Personally (and again, honestly not trying to start anything), I think it's more likely to have been an acting choice (because I think we sometimes forget that all the kissing/love scenes still very much involve acting, and, like with crying scenes or comedic scenes or any scenes, the better/more experienced you are (as an actor, not a kisser!), the better the end result will be), and I'm leaning towards Dunk, so maybe there was a misstep in interpreting what the director wanted (e.g. assuming passion = force), in which case yeah, the director is also responsible for not correcting that interpretation, but that's still different to saying it was the director's vision all along. Sorry, but I feel quite strongly about this, especially considering all the ridiculous 'porn over plot' accusations that are always flung in JoJo's direction!

Hey, you know, I think I was thinking this but couldn’t quite put it into words too. I do actually think JoJo’s directions seems to be intentional because you can see the variety between FK/JD there—although it could be FK influence as well because we know they are absolute experts in their craft (particularly understanding their characters and their physical intimacy) at this point.

I maintain that my personal preference is that the style of kissing that works better for joongdunk as actors is reflected better in hidden agenda, where they have an even playing field. I think the balance works well for them, because it just seems to make them more comfortable.

Also, I think the difference is that thk is the “lips crashed together” in fanfic

and hidden agenda is “they savored each other, tasting and feeling the brush of the other’s mouths”

which is DELICIOUS.

I literally wrote this out and it disappeared but sometimes you can even see joong struggling to keep up with dunk’s kissing, and sometimes it seems style is kissing fadel’s TEETH because he is being so forceful. Which is completely in line with his character, honestly, because he doesn’t do anything half-assed lmao. Sometimes I do wonder about the conflation of passion/force in terms of acting though. (Also, poor joong’s back being shoved against that wall so many times 😂)

I just do prefer kisses that have a little more of that give and take like in hidden agenda

[lil-oreo-crumbles]

SVTFOE fandom what’s one small, obscure detail about the show you think about an awful lot for no good reason that you firmly believe no one else thinks about half as much as you do, if at all? (When I say obscure I MEAN obscure)

I’ll go first:

Comet Butterfly was probably the one who hired Dr. Jelly Goodwell as the Royal Monster Expert.

The Butterfly family probably didn’t have a “Royal Monster Expert” before Comet. Estrella didn’t care for politics or queenly duties, Celena was busy with whatever she was dealing with and also didn’t pay much mind to the Monster situation, Rhina was preoccupied with her spells, riddles, and marital situations, and Crescenta “solved” (she didn’t) the “Monster problem” with her rigged election campaign. Why would she hire a “Royal Monster Expert”?? She’s actively a horrible person, It doesn’t make sense why she or any other Butterfly would make a position to “field study” Monsters.

What does make sense is Comet designing that position in the early days of her “peace” agenda. Making an “attempt” to understand them enough so she can figure out how to go about conducting her “peace” treaty. Jelly Goodwell is very fond of separating Mewmans and Monsters from each other because “when Mewmans and Monsters cohabitate bad things happen, usually to the Monsters.” If we go off my theory that the Mewman-Monster Accord Moon signed into law reflects (or basically is) Comet’s treaty, then the separation statement makes sense.

Even if the title of “Royal Monster Expert” existed for a while, Comet without a doubt (in my mind) hired Jelly Goodwell. If she’d been “studying” monsters her whole life like she claims, then it makes perfect sense that she was hired back when she was young. Comet would be around her age if she was alive so it only makes sense that Comet was the one who hired her and designated the position. And, again, bringing back her treaty, if Comet and Goodwell worked together in any way, then both of their agendas being separation makes complete sense. Comet hired someone to “field study” Monsters, Goodwell reported back with her findings, and Comet conducted her treaty and dealings with monsters accordingly.

Comet has always just given me the same vibes Goodwell does; they’re like glass reflections of one another. On the surface they look like they actively want to help actually make progress for the impoverished and colonized monster citizens, smiling and playing nice, but patronize them as literal animals (see Comet’s FAMOUS “beast of the forest” line and her patronizing of Seth and Batwin’s wife… or just read her chapter holy shit), refuse to take any of them seriously as equals, and think separating them from Mewmans is the best call.

(To clarify because I feel this being brought up: NO, I’m not saying Goodwell influenced Comet and am now taking blame away from Comet. No, if anything Goodwell’s “angle of research” was probably thrust upon her by Comet (think a “Dr. Goodwell, why don’t you study their mannerisms and habitat so we can communicate with them on their level” line from Comet), and Goodwell reported back with the agenda she was sent out with. If anything, those “findings” only reaffirmed and strengthened Comet’s established bias. I’m not one of those people who take away accountability from the queens because I think they were “influenced” Comet is pretty stupid already 😭)

[sl-walker]

⭐️ for that fanfic directors commentary ask game?

Since you said Guy--

The Ocean Inland was the holiday piece that @daraoakwise requested as her present. The series it's part of (Carbon Cycle) is essentially the 'Rebirth' era of comics, versus the post-Crisis, pre-Flashpoint era (which I'm writing in Past Resolution's Power) and the New52 era (which I don't really touch on since it didn't interest me that much, aside Guy's Red Lantern book). But I treat all of those as separate 'reboots' because that makes a much more interesting story, especially as echoes from prior lifetimes keep pinging on our heroes in the modern day.

So, The Ocean Inland is essentially-- "How did Rebirth Era Guy get his ring?" It's also intended to set up a story Dara's working on with him by having a look at his first mission.

New52 reestablished Guy with a different backstory, but his post-Crisis one was my favorite -- abuse survivor manages to get out, earn two graduate degrees and become a teacher, only to have Hal's battery literally explode in his face, but only after getting hit by a bus. His personality 180, then his slow crawl back to something more like 'asshole with a heart of gold'. I didn't care for the modern revisions of it, so much.

So, this Guy went to University for criminal justice, played for Michigan, ended up hurt on the field, but even as he was graduating with his bachelor's at age 22, he was turning his attention towards-- maybe being a teacher, instead. He keeps feeling this tug towards it, but before he's even put his nice dress clothes away from commencement, the ring shows up.

Unlike prior versions of Guy, this one actually sits with that ring hovering there in front of him. He doesn't take it right away. I wanted to show that this version of him is impacted some by the subconscious influences of past lives; that he's got a more balanced view of the world, and even more importantly, a more balanced view of himself. He's still foul-mouthed and can be crass and crude, but he didn't spend seven years in a vegetative state. As he reflects-- it woulda been different when he was sixteen, an angry, abused kid, but he's not now.

He takes the ring and gets dragged to Oa for training, and there he meets teenage John Stewart, AWOL from his team. They fall in instantly together. I loved writing John here, because I love how their friendship quickly feels familiar and seasoned for both them and us, but have to acknowledge that they're both like-- really, really young, too. Like these guys are no where near the veteran Lanterns we knew pre-Flashpoint. They're rookies who don't even have the right to wear the corp's sigil on their uniforms yet.

A lot of this backstory is just setup for Dara and kind of a look at Guy as, basically, a kid. Both his cynicism as he was growing into his own skin, realizing how broken the system is, but also his innocence. This boy who reads by a dirty little creek, daydreaming, and pretends he's some run-away with a pack lunch in a handkerchief, free of all of the intersecting miseries of his lives and world. A kid who likes to imagine he can smell the ocean even from deeper into Baltimore, the salt and wind and water like a benediction that could wash him clean.

And he carries that forward to the Corps, where he finds himself in a leadership role, even though he's still a rookie. But he's John's right hand and when John asks him -- begs him -- to hold the line, then Guy does. And he gets banged up for it, and in the medbay on Oa, drifts in half dreams where all those lives he didn't live (but that were lived by him before him) are closer to the surface than ever.

So-- basically that. Backstory, introspection, asking what kind of man Guy is at such a young age, and how he handles his first FUBAR of a mission.

Thanks for the ask! ^_^

[chronically-ghosted]

the only thing we have to fuck is fear itself

rating: 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 5309

summary: You get drunk at a happy hour and tell Max to his face you don’t find him scary at all. He takes that personally.

warnings/tags: drinking, like two seconds of scary vibes, smut, (secret) established relationship, work hard, play hard, have secret sex with your coworker even harder

a/n: I’m so sorry to FDR for butchering his quote for the sake of a title, but i like to think that horny bastard would have loved my smut.

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Despite working at a place that was quite literally soul-sucking, your coworkers could throw one hell of a happy-hour. 

There wasn’t a bartender in a ten mile radius from the office who didn’t know you all by name, didn’t shout a greeting over the tightly-packed house the instant you walked in. Rarely was it just a single crew member at the bars – you often got accused of moving in a pack like a five-headed hydra that could drink double its own weight in liquor, beer, and frosés – and being only two-fifths human, the Monster Squad was an alcoholic force to be reckoned with.

Maybe because you actively promoted unity amongst the species, like poster children for positive and “non-toxic human-demon relationships” HR kept encouraging in their Monday-Funday email blasts, but your little group was something of a legend in the area. You thought any notoriety was more likely due more to your faces plastered all over the bars’ trivia night winner boards, but in the office, people tended to stare. Trish, a siren from Santa Barbara, loved the attention, said it was good for her skin – gave her a “dewy” look. Nita, the only other human in your group besides you, disagreed with Ken (a quarter leprechaun on his mother’s side) when Ken claimed the whispering came from the sheer volume of nonsense that started around 4PM in the office on Fridays and continued until you all left the office. Ken was of the belief that the notoriety was actually infamy – to which he was promptly booed and had to buy the next round. 

And yet, to yourself, to the quiet conversations you had in the bathroom mirror after two long island ice teas and whatever was in what the centaur bartender at Lucky’s called an “Ass Whooping”, you suspected there might be another reason the Monster Squad even had a name at all. Within your own fields, each of you were respectable – Ken and Trish were both heads of marketing and Nita oversaw a considerable team of engineers, with you of course a department leader over in legal – one member of your group was, let’s say, more well-known. 

Well-known because he was the flashiest, the loudest, and certainly the most demonic of you all: Max Phillips, VP of sales, money-maker extraordinaire, and a fan-favorite amongst your Overlords, the rest of the sales team, and anyone with working and interested sex organs in the near vicinity. 

To your complete and utter annoyance.

You don’t quite remember how you all came together, who brought who into the group, and when it was unanimously decided that you’d stop snatching up office workers like limes at $5 margarita night after Trish, but it was Max who kept you together, who set up the group chat (somehow mysteriously gathering all of your phone numbers after a very late night), who bullied anyone who responded to his weekly “winner winner liquid dinner” texts every Friday morning with a tepid maybe into coming out that night. He already seemed to know half of the bartenders in the city, all of whom were happy to send over a free round of tequila shots as a “thank you to Max’s friends”. While you’d never look a gift vampire in the mouth, you were suspicious of his influence. Was that vampire hypnosis real? Did he have a pack of lesser, baby vamps to send out to tenderize the hunting grounds?

One thing’s for sure, he definitely didn’t scare them into it. 

“Has Halloween, like, changed for anyone else?” Nita grouched over her second Sangria Spritzer two hours into another fantabulous happy hour at Heel Clicks. The four of you were huddled into your comically small booth up on the landing near the back bar – of course there were other seats available but this had the best view, the closest access to your favorite bartender, and at some point, the shoulder-to-shoulder proximity served as a way to counteract the tipsy swaying. 

Trish leaned around Ken, her beautiful blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” Nita shrugged hopelessly. “It used to be one of my favorite holidays when I was a kid. I loved the candy, the costumes – all of it. But I really liked being scared the most.”

Ken sorted into his old-fashioned. “Well, if you’re still scared of things you were as a kid, Nit, I think you’ve got a bigger problem than seasonal preference.”

She elbows him and he knocks into Trish.

“Not like that . . . but, like, monster movies aren’t really scary anymore? I mean, I used to watch Ginger Snaps religiously around Halloween, but, uh, now that I know an actual werewolf and he’s the nicest little old man in accounting, I dunno . . . it’s just not the same.” 

“Sorry to burst your bubble on monsters,” Ken shrugged. “But I personally cannot relate. As a member of the Free Folk, my people have always been welcomed, seen as bringers of good will towards man.”

“You know there’s eight movies where a leprechaun murders literally dozens of teenagers, right?” You turned to Ken over Nita, your entire right buttcheek hanging off the edge of the booth. 

“Oh, yeah, baby Jennifer Aniston,” Trish mused, thinking. “If that’s what your uncle looks like, Ken, then I posit Halloween is still fucking creepy.”

“Halloween is definitely creepy and it sucks.” Your ringleader has returned with electric-green jello shots. Max Phillips carried a tray with one hand, his immaculate blue jacket gone to display firm forearms underneath his white, rolled-back sleeves. “Bunch up, kiddies, Daddy’s back with treats.” 

Half the group groaned, the other squealed in delight.

Max hip-bumped you, his ravenous cologne immediately making you think unwise thoughts, as he pushed his way onto the bench absolutely not made for this many people. He looked back at you as he passed out the drinks.

“Now why are we all in agreement that Halloween is a lame holiday?” 

“Nita claims that because she personally knows a werewolf – Ned, right? – she’s not scared of monster movies anymore.”

Max scoffed. “Well, there’s your problem right there. Werewolves were never scary to begin with.”

“What monster movies have you been watching?” Nita gaped at him. “Maybe it’s bad representation, but all the movie werewolves can tear you to shreds!”

Ken nodded solemnly. “This is why affirmative action is so important.” 

Trish smacked him over the back of the head. 

“So, what?” Max continued, crunching up the jello in its plastic cup. “Now that you know me, a vampire, you think all Dracula movies give blood-suckers a bad rap?”

“No, being a human-sized mosquito with too much hair gel is doing that all on its own.” You smirked, dead-eyed, at him. Behind you, Ken and Trish snorted so hard they almost spilled their drinks. 

Max narrowed his eyes at you, in a look he only gave you when you wouldn’t let him ease around legal loopholes “for the good of the business”. Only Nita seemed to be oblivious. 

“That’s a good point, Max.” She thoughtfully stirred her jello with her pinky, unsticking it from the sides of her cup. “I mean, I guess I never watched that many vampire movies to begin with.”

Max broke his heated staring contest with you to look around at Nita, elbow pressing up into your chest as he leaned forward on the table. “I can promise you, doll face, vampires have been and always will be more terrifying and lethal than werewolves.”

“Not the argument I think you want to make, mate,” Ken murmured as you shifted yourself to face Max entirely. 

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten us all –,”

“Nope,” Trish called down the row, “we’re taking this shot before you two get into it again.”

“To Ned!” Ken yelled. 

“To Ned!” 

Plastic crunched, tongues slurped, as jello ungracefully slipped into every open mouth down the bench. You licked your lip, tip of your tongue green. Max watched the movement out of the corner of his eye. 

“So, enlighten us, Max, why should we be so afraid of you?” 

Max grinned out the side of his mouth. “One, I’ve seen more bite out of a pomeranian than one of those Tribbles. And two, whatever-wolves can only get it up once a month. I’m all monster, all the time, baby.”

At this, everyone groaned.

“Dollar to the Dick Jar!” Trish smacked her hand on the table.

“Here, here!”

Max pouted as he took a dollar out of his wallet and slammed it into the center of the table, payment towards tips or the bill or whoever suffered the most due to The Dick. 

“Face it, buzz,” you shrugged as he put his wallet away. “You’re just not scary any more, if you ever were.”

“Is that right?” 

Fuck, you were in a lot of trouble. Beneath the table, his thigh soaked yours in heat. 

“That’s right.”

“You know what is really scary?” Ken muttered, digging around in his crushed up for the last remnants of jello. “Kelpies.”

“Ah – yes! They’ve got sloppy fangs covered in algae!”

“Hey – that’s my cousin you’re talking about!”

Heel Clicks was hands down one of your favorite bars in the area. Devoted to the local music scene in the area, the vibe was a mix of old 70s rock bands, modern steel, and whatever justified lots of mounted horns and hairy cow-skin stools. The drinks were great, seasonal too, and there was always live music on the patio out back. In a twist that you found particularly cool, the old rum-runners tunnels had been converted to comfortably spacious bathrooms in the basement. Behind the solid oak door, the noises from the above bar are nearly entirely muffled, making the slow descent to the bathroom something of an out-of-body experience when you’ve had a few and the sudden silence is almost an echo. 

Plus, these fucking stairs are a death trap. 

You embarrassingly clutched at the railing, the wooden stairs at far too sharp an angle even if you were sober as a judge, much less at a Monster Squad happy hour. 

Stupid Max and his stupid drinks and his –

What was that?

You stand up right on the third to last step, listening. 

In the half darkness in front of you, there are three paths available. To the left, employee storage, the lights above the door flickering, the sign reading “do not enter” pulsating in and out of visibility. To your right, another door, maybe an exit. Always unmarked and always locked every time your drunken curiosity got the better of you. 

And across from the stairs were the bathrooms, left women, right for men.

God, what year is it? Shouldn’t it all just be gender-neutral? You think to yourself, a tad bit more aggressive than you’d usually oppose the gender binary – primarily to wash out the rising concern at the back of your neck.

You are alone down here. It’s obvious. It’s not like there’s that many places for some dastardly villain to hide. Four shut doors and three hallways. Unless some maniac was curled up under the stairs, you are the only person in the basement. 

At least, the only person you can see. 

You don’t realize how sweaty your hands are until you try to continue your way down the stairs. You take a step and nearly slip, the eyes you know are on you somehow laughing. 

One blinking light. No where for anything to hide, so why are you so nervous? You are an adult woman, for god’s sakes. You make it to the floor, the most likely candidate for your demise behind you and –

The stairs creaked. 

The empty stairs that you just walked down creaked and you nearly leap across the hallway to put space between you. Heart in your throat, you make the monumentally stupid decision and call out, “hello? Is anyone there?”

As if the serial killer was just going to announce himself, give up the whole element of surprise.

Blinking through the bleary haze of too many drinks, you take out your phone and flip on the light. A white beam chases back the encroaching darkness, a frantic worried ghost peering through the gloom. And yet, like you consciously know, there’s nothing there. But the darkness feels heavier, the eerie distant noise from the bar above so quiet and removed the sound is more of a memory – the idea of what comfort and community should sound like. But it’s not. It’s too far gone – if anything were to happen, it’d be hours before they found you. If they did at all. 

“Oh my god,” you scold yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. “Get a fucking grip and go pee and then go back up those fucking stairs and –,”

Okay, that was definitely breathing.

Breathing, right behind you. Ragged, hungry, disembodied breathing, in your ear and your heart ricochets into your chest. Your own breath turns short, choppy, panic swelling into your ears, over your fingers. You think you might drop your phone, your fingers are so numb from fear, so you clutch tighter, the trembling throwing white light across the paneled wood in a craze. 

Be rational, this is crazy, there is nothing down here! 

The stairs snarl again and you squeak, all but bolting for the women’s bathroom, desperate to put at least some space between you and those fucking stairs, put some boundaries between –

The door is locked. When the fuck is this door ever locked?

Panic recedes to overwhelming rage because fuck, fuck, fuck, now you’re trapped in here – you can’t go back to the stairs – you rattle the handle, shaking the door against its lock –

“Fucking let me in!”

The light above the exit door goes out. And then the other. You throw all of your weight against the bathroom door. You claw at the handle, begging it to give way. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck – you can hear the darkness breathing –

No, speaking – it’s saying something, chanting, mocking, calling out – calling out your name –

The door suddenly unlocks and you stumble forward – into something solid –

Its hands grab you and like a fucking fool, you played right into its trap. 

It turns you, throws you up against the tile wall, its claws around your shoulders, cold tile against your cheek and you whimper. Whimper when you feel the soft pin-prick of fangs against the back of your neck – fuck, this is how it ends?? – and –

“Got you.” 

That voice.

That condescending, snide, bratty, little –

You elbow the solid body behind you and Max lets out a puff of air, staggering back. You whip around, nearly snarling in his smirking, beautiful face. The bathroom is dark, black tiled walls and floors with a faux-wooden sink and dim lights across the top of the mirror. In the flushed orange light, his eyelashes encourage thick shadows under his eyes and in the collar of his throat. If it wasn’t for that insufferable smile, he’d look painted from thin brush strokes and heavy scarlet paint. 

Caravaggio, eat your heart out. 

“Max, what the fuck was that?” 

He rolls his eyes, rubbing the spot on his chest where you hit him, at the top of his ribcage. “Oh, c’mon, it was just some fun. Saw you sneak off after you got Nita’s drink and thought I’d mess with you just a bit.”

You sigh, willing your heart to slow down, throwing your gaze to the ceiling and dropping your head against the tile.

“God, you asshole, I thought I was gonna die.” You swallow and move your hair out of your face. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I what?”

“You scared –,”

That smile, the crack of fangs across his mouth, widens, the bottom of his lip rolling back over the cut of his teeth, those brown eyes melting into a warm, obscene black, as he meets you hip first against the wall. 

His hands climb over your waist, as though daring you to hit him again, and your thigh muscles tighten. Your hands instinctively trace the exposed skin left by his opened collar at the dip of his throat when he comes closer, chest pressing up against yours, nose against your temple. 

Fuck, it shouldn’t be this easy for him. You sigh through your nose, eyes rolling shut, when he nips at your cheek.

“I think you were supposed to be mad at me.”

“I am,” you groan. “I’m livid. I’m enraged. I’m –,”

His thumb brushes your ribs – not tickling, not entirely touching, but just reminding. Reminding of the force behind his touch, behind his teeth. 

“Baby girl,” he chuckles softly, the sound running down your neck like rain, “you’re melting in my arms.” 

“This doesn’t mean I’m scared of you.” You focus on the softness of his hair between your fingers, the heat of the back of his neck beneath the pads of your fingertips – resolutely ignoring the radiating scent of his cologne coming from up under his collar. More than once had he come across you in his apartment bathroom, sniffing that bottle like some dopey perv looking for a quick fix. Of course, instead of admonishing you, he bent you over his sink and fucked the daylights out of you, his wrists singing with the smell of that cologne. Now he wore it to work wherever he wanted something from you, particularly to overlook some pesky lines of legalise. 

In the hallowed darkness of the bar’s bathroom, he drops a single kiss just below your jaw, inches beneath your ear. He grumbles when your pulse there quickens, and again his fangs find a curve of skin to press against – a reminder. 

Always reminding, always lurking, a threat without a promise.

And he knows exactly what that does to you. 

You release a full body shudder when his hands drop lower, guiding you back against the wall, fingers rounding around your thighs. Like interlocking pieces, your bodies slide together, your arms curling around his neck, the heat of his chest branding yours as it forces you against the wall. You’re breathing all wrong again, but for different reasons this time. You catch a flash of the ink-well darkness of his eyes when he nuzzles out of your neck to admire the mess he has made of your skirt.

“Can I fuck you in this or is this thing too tight?” He asks, like he specifically didn’t get on his hands and knees and beg you to wear that gray pencil skirt only twelve hours earlier. 

You lean up, snagging his bottom lip between your teeth, kissing him roughly and showing him he’s not the only one with a little bite. He groans softly, one hand curling into your hair at the base of your skull, and he licks you, from the front of your lips up to the valley of your mouth. He tastes like the sweetness of his whiskey n’ coke, his tongue rubbing the flexing muscle of yours, the sharpness of your molars. You could spend hours just sucking on his plush mouth. 

Maybe he did scare you. Maybe he should have scared you more, the threat of anyone discovering your relationship a real danger to both of your careers. Maybe it should have scared you, how little you cared about any of that when he palmed your breast over your shirt. 

You inhaled over his mouth, popping off his lips with a moan, his hand cupping you roughly as he dove in to suck marks on your neck. Every moment that passes, you feel your skin ratcheting up with heat, blood almost hot. He thumbs your perk nipple through your shirt and you arch your chest, his massive palm nearly cupping your ribs to your spine.

“Max, either you figure out how to fuck me in this skirt or you owe me a new one.”

“You want me to rip it off you?” He slurs, eyelids heavy, his thigh slides in between your knees, the fabric preventing him from going higher, to the place where you both need him. You groan in frustration and his hands squeeze your hips at the sound. “Tell me fast, baby, because I can’t–,”

“For the love of – just fucking lift it up–,” His hands fumble over yours as your fingers curl under the hem, his own want making that brilliant mind for numbers almost stupid. His warm fingers overwhelm your own as they push your skirt up your waist, and then dig around the line of your pantyhose. 

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to Fort Knox me out of your pussy? Why are there so many layers?” 

You hiss at him as you slide out of your heels and shove your nylons to the ground, hopping on one leg to take them off your feet. “It’s like you’ve never undressed me before.” 

Freed of the chaos of your underthings, Max’s hands rush to his belt, the clinking of the metal sending shivers down your back and straight up your cunt. He doesn’t notice because he’s obsessively watching your thighs. “I’ve never undressed you with our coworkers a floor above us and probably becoming increasingly suspicious about where the fuck we are–,” 

You take him by the back of the neck, hand clenching around the starch white of his shoulder. He comes to you, zipper digging into your hip bone as he pulls you up off your feet. For once that chatty mouth is quiet, open and wet with desire as he takes in your flushed face, the blood pumping under your tits. Max is nothing if not almost supernaturally consumed by the look, feel, texture, and taste of your tits. 

The look on his face is one of those reasons you tend to throw caution to the wind, why your heart almost feels too big for your chest, whenever he’s around. 

He hooks an arm around your low back, tilting your hips forward. You feel the heat of his cock somewhere below you and it takes all of your strength not to grind down. 

“Max –,” he’s not even inside of you and you’re already begging. You bite down on his ear to stifle whatever was rising up your throat. 

“Hang on, baby, I gotta make sure you . . .”

Using your shoulders as counterbalance, he holds himself up against the wet warmth of your cunt, breath stuttering as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds. That bratty aloofness is gone; he wants to sink so, so deep into you.

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t even get you ready – but you’re already so wet –,”

You don’t resist grinding down now and he knocks his shoulders forward, needing movement, but fighting against the urge to buck up into you, gasping from the feeling of your cunt. 

“Please, Max, just –,”

“Yeah, I know, baby, okay, just, I gotta . . .” 

He angles himself and you arch your back, unable to watch with the mess of your skirt around your waist, but he finds it, finds your opening, the place he loves to mark, and without any warning, thrusts his length up into you. 

The stretch, the surprise, the ear-ringing split between being empty and then stuffed so full – you can’t help but moan so loudly, you sing to the ceiling. For a moment, your bodies hum with the stillness, the blood in your cunt pulsating around him, you claw at his broad shoulders, need him closer, needing that smell of him that haunts your empty bed as far inside of you as his cock is. His hips stutter and he presses one hand against the tile by your ribs, teeth clenched against the sensation. 

“When I fuck you, every time feels like the first time. Every goddamn time.” 

It’s not particularly the confession it could be, but you shake your head, clearing it of anything stupid like feelings for Max Phillips, your chin brushing his jaw, his nose against your ear. 

“Then do it,” you whine. “Just fuck me, Max.”

With a groan that could be mistaken for a snarl, he lifts you both up right, pushing your hips down and spreading yourself over him. You lock your ankles around his back a second before he pulls out halfway, then to jerk back in with such force and precision your eyes roll to the back of your head. He sets a pace that has pleasure weaving a tight drum just under your stomach. Each sweaty thrust fires sparks up your spine. He really is so fucking good at this. 

This is the release you need, you both need. Sure, it’s an after-effect of having a high-powered job, but it’s also more than that. Max fucking you is unfortunately very often the highlight of your day. He knows what you need, how you need it – how hard to drive his cock into you, it makes you tongue-tied and dizzy. The fast pump of his cock, how it feels to split you apart over and over again, the back zipper of your skirt digging into your back – it’s too fucking good.

“Don’t know where you get off giving me orders,” he grunts, the pounding of his hips into yours rapidly shoving you up your ascension. The slapping, wet noise in the empty room is obscene. “I’m a fucking VP, little girl, and I–,”

You tense your muscles around his cock and he fumbles, his knees buckling momentarily. 

“Do not fucking bring up the org chart right now,” you hiss, your own edge yanked away when he stills. “I’m almost there–,” 

Quicker than he’s been all night, Max lunges forward, mouth open and teeth bare. He bites your neck and then he bites you. 

Fangs puncture your skin, not deep, but enough that your body is thrown into a messy coil of nerves and adrenaline. It knows you could die like this, even if you’ve only ever called the vampire a mosquito to his face, and triggering a self-preservation instinct, your body trembles from the sudden blast of sensation.

Your pupils dilate further than they were, your skin becomes overly aware of every drop of sweat, every flutter of hair, every rub of flesh – and your fucking nerve-endings feel like static, as if brushed by lightning. 

Pleasure so-white hot it almost burns roars up your spine, slick coating his cock inside you, and you cry out. Wail in his ear. Begging him to make it better. To give you your release. The feel of his cock pounding up inside your now-overly ripe cunt brings tears to your eyes.

“Oh, fuck – fuck, fuck, fuck – Max, p-please –,”

“Can you handle it if I touch you?”

You shake your head. “Yes, yes, please, touch me.” 

“You can’t keep screaming like that,” he scolds you breathlessly, the punch of his hips bouncing you against his cheek. For all his vampire stamina, the flush of exertion across his cheeks is truly staggering and a triumph for your ego. Flecks of blood dot his mouth. “Someone’s going to come looking.” 

“I don’t care,” you groan, angling your hips to take more of him. His hand not on your back cups under your knee, tugging it higher up his torso. His pace is relentless, overwhelming – with his weight on top of you, and his cock up under you, inside you, you’re consumed by Max Phillips. “Whatever you do, d-don’t stop. Don’t stop.” 

“You scared I’m gonna?”

“Yes,” you whine. You can feel your heart pounding out its shape into your ribs. 

“Good girl. And good girls get to fucking come.”

Balancing your increasingly limp body, he holds you up right, his hand snaking beneath your skirt, between the sweat of your thighs and his torso, and –

He thumbs that buzzing bundle of nerves, “come for me, baby”, and you do. You come screaming, the tension snapping, vision sparkling with stars, and you are shoved over the edge. You don’t know you’re wailing his name until he comes too, all concern for getting caught seemingly gone as he begs you to continue as he fills you up with his pearly, gooey cum:

“That’s right, say my name. Say my fucking name, sweetheart.” 

His hips thrust weakly, some instinct choking him until he makes sure every drop of him stays in you. You’re going to be dripping for hours. 

His skin is fire-hot beneath his starched white shirt. You’ll be thinking about that for days afterward when you see him in the hallways of the office. 

This is what scares you the most. When you realize it's over and neither one of you want it to be. 

Shaking from exertion, Max slowly sets you down, unwinding your legs from his waist, your ankles trembling against the cold tile. You couldn’t imagine putting your nylons back on, the thought of that pressure against the curve of your lower stomach while you are so full of his cum practically unbearable. 

He lifts his head from your neck, eyes intentionally avoiding you as he inspects where he bit you, breath coming in ragged, long gasps. Sweat darkens the hair at his temple and that post-fuck blush is staggeringly gorgeous on him. He pricks his thumb on the sharp edge of his fangs and with a scarlet bead balanced on his thumb, he smears his blood against the puncture wounds, like someone would wipe dirt away from a loved one’s skin. 

It doesn’t really hurt, but the effects leave your neck tingling. You’d never say this out loud, but you fucking loved when he did that. 

He steps away without looking at you, giving you time to adjust your skirt, your hair in the mirror. You help him straighten his collar because it’s not like he can use the mirror to check himself.

He grins, the flush fading far too rapidly from his cheeks. 

“What are you going to tell them?” You nod to the stairs on the other side of the wall. “This can’t look good for us.” 

“You got attacked by a werewolf on the way to the bathroom. I saved you.” 

“Thought you said werewolves weren’t scary.”

He shakes his head, smirking, then presses a kiss to your temple. “Just said I was the bigger monster between the two of us.” 

“My hero.” You turn your head until his lips drink in yours. 

It is dangerous, your feelings for him. 

He taps you on the butt, pulling away. The lines around his eyes do an excellent job of masking the hurt in the brownness of his eyes. 

“Gimme five, then you come up. Can’t have you looking so completely debauched.”

He kisses you again, betraying whatever amounted to “cool and collected” he attempted for, and without another word, he slides out the door. 

His smell lingers in the air long after he does. The throbbing of your cunt also serves as a fantastically bitter reminder.

You go back to the mirror because yes, you could not have been more obvious if you were wearing a sign that said, “hi, yes, I did just get my back blown out.” You try to fold your hair around your ears at least a dozen times before pulling it back in what you hope to be a casual pony-tail. You toss your nylons into the trash can, pleading that the “oh, I tore them in the bathroom” excuse might hold an ounce of water. 

You think about what’s waiting for you a floor up and your stomach clenches. 

Fucking Max could upset the dynamics of your little group, your little Monster Squad. Whatever the stupid office bylines were, your happy-hour social group is one of the bright spots in your life, especially while working at a place run by those bastard Overlords. 

And Max knew that. He didn’t want to risk your long-term happiness for his short-term. 

Max didn’t scare you because he was a monster.

He scared you precisely because he wasn’t.

You open the bathroom door and return to the world. 

[mikuni14]

4 Minutes - Ep 1-2

I haven't had much free time to keep up with all the series lately, I was planning to catch up and influenced by @my-rose-tinted-glasses enthusiasm I decided to watch 4 Minutes first 😘

So, ok. I love it.

First of all, I'm writing this before diving into the 4 Minutes tag, so I have no idea about the most popular theories. I have a few of my own working theories, but I don't feel like writing about them right now hehe. I will write what I like tho!

very good execution, but it's BOC, so no surprises here

aesthetics, actors, everything is ���💯

I really like the mystery, suspense, crime, ambiguity, confusion, slow discovery of new plots, a certain kind of darkness that already created the delicious vibe in DFF ✨ I also like the pleasure and satisfaction I feel as a viewer, when I see something that I suspect might happen, it happens and the series doesn't force the opposite, doing stupid, illogical or ooc things, just to shock and surprise me (looking at you GoT). For example, I knew that Title wasn't found dead in this field, and when it turned out that he was alive, it didn't take away my pleasure from guessing it in any way. I love it when a show lets viewers guess what's going to happen and respects their intelligence

no matter what universe, Jet plays a complete dick who is in conflict with Mio's character ✨

Mio, Mio, Mio, Mio!! 💖💖💖💖 I gasped when I saw him, I'm literally conditioned to love this guy. He's ruthless and uncompromising again, gosh, my heart 💖💖💖(fair warning: I'm going to be insufferable about him, so be prepared 🤡)

the sex scenes are as bold and high-quality as ever

traditionally for BOC we have a juxtaposition of rich and poor, corruption, tragic choices caused by poverty, exploitation, overworking, fulfilling the expectations of ruthless parents, wealth as well as poverty being the source of crime

Bible plays a poor rich boy, which I really like. I also like his pairing, which wasn't at all predictable and obvious, because I'm probably the only person in the world who can't stand his pairing in KP (please don't hate me)

luckily Bible is a Cat Person and it shows, because he uses a Special Voice to talk to the kitty. The cat is relaxed, which is an exception in BL series 😑 (isn't that his cat? they seemed close 🥺)

of course I must comment on the BL in the BL series. So… yes! It's good! Bible as Great is wonderful but then again I didn't expect anything else from him. Tbh I was worried about what his partner would be like, whom I didn't know. Jes turned out to be sensational, first of all you can see his experience, he's 32 years old (!), as Tyme he's an absolutely captivating mix of an intimidating professional at work and adorable baka when he's just some dude liking a guy 😄 I really liked how the series is serious for the whole 1st episode, most of the 2nd and then suddenly there's a scene of Tyme smoothing out his feathers in a peacock mode, emphasizing his figure and shapely butt to look nice for his crush, it was so funny and cute. Also when he awkwardly tried to flirt with Great, the faces he made when he realized how clumsy he was lmao. I love the kind of men in BL shows who are strong and masculine but who turn into fluffy, awkward teddy bears 🐻 in the presence of their loved ones. When I saw Tyme in ep1 I thought he was going to be a stereotypical seme and I'm so glad the show lets him be a normal person.

It's interesting that Great gets a second chance every time he does something wrong 🤔 And I wonder why he sees a future with Tyme? This kind of future? Hm.

Overall I love 4 Minutes, I'm officially hooked. It's very interesting, intriguing and spicy, there are a lot of plots that are starting to overlap and connect, the series has actors that I like (some I even like a lot! just seeing Mio and hearing Bible speak English accounts for like 74% of my enjoyment lol), it's not afraid of controversial topics, the series doesn't treat viewers like children, the execution is at a very high level, Jes and JJay show infatuation at first sight in a very convincing way, the romances started very interestingly and I've watched the Tyme/Great scenes a few times already.

That means 3 series to obsess over in a week! Lucky me! ✌

(I might edit this post by adding some gifs later)

[splinterofpandora]

{BrightKnightUpcoming} <---------------------

--------------don't miss part 2 by tag💙🖤❤️

Chapter six. My closest friend.

I think she understands him better than anyone else. Because they were both born into battle and have seen Hell with their own eyes. They've seen how badly people can break. They both know when it's necessary to be violent. They know that sometimes peace can only be achieved through war.

But Bruce attacks immediately. He's used to taking the high ground with fear, with pressure. Diana had always preferred peace, and knew how hard it was to keep it even for a moment.

I'm saying that it's natural for a princess to see both sides with a clear eye, which is not the case with the idealistic Clark or the suspicious Bruce. At the same time, she's as stubborn in her personal faith as Wayne.

Batman respects that. Respects her eagerness to help people who ask for it. But he can't act against personal rules himself. If someone is “guilty,” they must be judged. But not for the princess. This is a difficult principle because it allows for impunity for individual acts. Of course, Batman can forgive theft, as we know from the example of Catwoman. But murder is different.

The more complex the system, the harder it is for Bruce to figure out what is right. That's where he needs Diana. Being able to be centered allows her to show that there is a judgment of the heart. He doesn't see it right away. But realizes one day. It is Compassion.

Chapter six.one. There's always a solution.

It's an ideological struggle. And it's based on trust. It doesn't negate Jim's contribution, because it was never about the influence of just one person.

Clark helps Bruce realize the value of being human. My favorite example here in the movie, but we have to see the context of the situation. Their duo, we once learned, formed when they were children. Two kids whose fathers had crossed paths over a broken car, playing ball and talking about nothing and everything.

Thomas had never been a man who believed in harmony with the world. He taught his son the right things, but often did wrong himself, even toward his family. This partly influenced the son's closed-mindedness and character. However, he was not reluctant to help people and had the principles of a physician, which again influenced the boy.

Pa Kent, on the contrary, taught his son that the whole world was his big place, where every corner was filled with life. As a result, Clark has one boy clinging to the Earth while the other tries to sort of soar above it.

However, for the same reason Kent didn't run away from home, while Bruce had unscheduled outings around town. While Clark was running around the safe fields with the other guys, Wayne was discovering many inequalities and horrible things.

The streets end up taking the parents of one. And the fields and people send the other to the sky. That is, while one side was constantly met with distrust, the other side saw only support and sunshine. This was all before the alley trauma.

That's why when the boys meet, they ask questions that help them understand the other's position. As an adult, Bruce begins to evaluate every potential threat as an enemy to be dealt with, and Superman's style here plays against him in Batman's eyes. Bruce refuses to listen, and at first Superman becomes more of a necessary partner for him than an deep and good person.

However, the more he watches Superman, the more he understands Clark. His actions are so pure that they carry no hidden meaning. He literally does what he says. And that breaks the reality of a person who is used to understatement. To mistrust.

Yes, he tries to keep him out of Gotham, but he knows Kent won't let him down. Step by step, through small tests, a strong friendship begins to build.

This reaches a peak when Clark personally gives Bruce the famous green stone, capable of crushing the Man of Steel at any moment. Superman openly supports and accepts the sometimes bizarre methods of the Knight. Because of this, Bruce also has to make concessions, but he does so willingly since Clark doesn't push.

If we look at most storylines involving Superman and Batman, we find that they are simply exciting. They don't close complicated cases like Bruce usually does. And it's grounding him. That's why we can't put the League next to Diana and Clark when it comes to influencing Wayne.

Chapter six.two. When Darkness falls.

In other words, my point is that he can relax. Not be the smartest and strongest, but not feel a lack of strength either. He's comfortable at Trinity. Which is perfectly revealed in Zack Snyder's Trilogy. We start the journey with Superman as a threat that Batman needs to solve in a complicated way.

Soon, however, Bruce sees him as a human being. And this is something that repeats itself time after time. Clark is more human than Bruce in many ways, but that doesn't make Wayne a monster standing next to an angel.

In other words, Zack is saying that they are both deluded. The Dark Knight is too distrustful. The Man of Steel is too trusting. And that's Diana's at the center theme again.

We see it returning to the same points each time, but changing appearance in the context of time. So here, in talking about Batman after Crisis and before Flashpoint, I use a lot of footage from other time periods, after 2011, 2016, 2022. It is a timeless story that takes on new contours because of the changes within the hearts and minds of the characters. And it's one of many hands that lead Bruce to a greater Light.

Most of all, however, he learns the most from those who are always by his side. Kids.