#liked your opening paragraph etc ‘

[peapod20001]

Gdhdhsb I’m reading how my peers reviewed my paper and I’m having trouble with how to interpret some feedback <:,)

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Things That May Be Causing Your Writer's Block- and How to Beat Them

I don't like the term 'Writer's Block' - not because it isn't real, but because the term is so vague that it's useless. Hundreds of issues all get lumped together under this one umbrella, making writer's block seem like this all-powerful boogeyman that's impossible to beat. Worse yet, it leaves people giving and receiving advice that is completely ineffective because people often don't realize they're talking about entirely different issues.

In my experience, the key to beating writer's block is figuring out what the block even is, so I put together a list of Actual Reasons why you may be struggling to write:

(note that any case of writer's block is usually a mix of two or more)

Perfectionism (most common)

What it looks like:

You write one sentence and spend the next hour googling "synonyms for ___"

Write. Erase. Write. Rewrite. Erase.

Should I even start writing this scene when I haven't figured out this one specific detail yet?

I hate everything I write

Cringing while writing

My first draft must be perfect, or else I'm a terrible writer

Things that can help:

Give yourself permission to suck

Keep in mind that nothing you write is going to be perfect, especially your first draft

Think of writing your first/early drafts not as writing, but sketching out a loose foundation to build upon later

People write multiple drafts for a reason: write now, edit later

Stop googling synonyms and save that for editing

Write with a pen to reduce temptation to erase

Embrace leaving blank spaces in your writing when you can't think of the right word, name, or detail

It's okay if your writing sucks. We all suck at some point. Embrace the growth mindset, and focus on getting words on a page

Lack of inspiration (easiest to fix)

What it looks like:

Head empty, no ideas

What do I even write about???

I don't have a plot, I just have an image

Want to write but no story to write

Things that can help:

Google writing prompts

If writing prompts aren't your thing, instead try thinking about what kind of tropes/genres/story elements you would like to try out

Instead of thinking about the story you would like to write, think about the story you would like to read, and write that

It's okay if you don't have a fully fleshed out story idea. Even if it's just an image or a line of dialogue, it's okay to write that. A story may or may not come out of it, but at least you got the creative juices flowing

Stop writing. Step away from your desk and let yourself naturally get inspired. Go for a walk, read a book, travel, play video games, research history, etc. Don't force ideas, but do open up your mind to them

If you're like me, world-building may come more naturally than plotting. Design the world first and let the story come later

Boredom/Understimulation (lost the flow)

What it looks like:

I know I should be writing but uugggghhhh I just can'tttttt

Writing words feels like pulling teeth

I started writing, but then I got bored/distracted

I enjoy the idea of writing, but the actual process makes me want to throw my laptop out the window

Things that can help:

Introduce stimulation: snacks, beverages, gum, music such as lo-fi, blankets, decorate your writing space, get a clickity-clackity keyboard, etc.

Add variety: write in a new location, try a new idea/different story for a day or so, switch up how you write (pen and paper vs. computer) or try voice recording or speech-to-text

Gamify writing: create an arbitrary challenge, such as trying to see how many words you can write in a set time and try to beat your high score

Find a writing buddy or join a writer's group

Give yourself a reward for every writing milestone, even if it's just writing a paragraph

Ask yourself whether this project you're working on is something you really want to be doing, and be honest with your answer

Intimidation/Procrastination (often related to perfectionism, but not always)

What it looks like:

I was feeling really motivated to write, but then I opened my laptop

I don't even know where to start

I love writing, but I can never seem to get started

I'll write tomorrow. I mean next week. Next month? Next month, I swear (doesn't write next month)

Can't find the time or energy

Unreasonable expectations (I should be able to write 10,000 words a day, right????)

Feeling discouraged and wondering why I'm even trying

Things that can help:

Follow the 2 min rule (or the 1 paragraph rule, which works better for me): whenever you sit down to write, tell yourself that you are only going to write for 2 minutes. If you feel like continuing once the 2 mins are up, go for it! Otherwise, stop. Force yourself to start but DO NOT force yourself to continue unless you feel like it. The more often you do this, the easier it will be to get started

Make getting started as easy as possible (i.e. minimize barriers: if getting up to get a notebook is stopping you from getting started, then write in the notes app of your phone)

Commit to a routine that will work for you. Baby steps are important here. Go with something that feels reasonable: every day, every other day, once a week, twice a week, and use cues to help you remember to start. If you chose a set time to write, just make sure that it's a time that feels natural to you- i.e. don't force yourself to writing at 9am every morning if you're not a morning person

Find a friend or a writing buddy you can trust and talk it out or share a piece of work you're proud of. Sometimes we just get a bit bogged down by criticism- either internal or external- and need a few words of encouragement

The Problem's Not You, It's Your Story (or Outline (or Process))

What it looks like:

I have no problems writing other scenes, it's just this scene

I started writing, but now I have no idea where I'm going

I don't think I'm doing this right

What's an outline?

Drowning in documents

This. Doesn't. Make. Sense. How do I get from this plot point to this one?!?!?! (this ColeyDoesThings quote lives in my head rent free cause BOY have I been there)

Things That Can Help:

Go back to the drawing board. Really try to get at the root of why a scene or story isn't working

A part of growing as a writer is learning when to kill your darlings. Sometimes you're trying to force an idea or scene that just doesn't work and you need to let it go

If you don't have an outline, write one

If you have an outline and it isn't working, rewrite it, or look up different ways to structure it

You may be trying to write as a pantser when you're really a plotter or vice versa. Experiment with different writing processes and see what feels most natural

Study story structures, starting with the three act structure. Even if you don't use them, you should know them

Check out Ellen Brock on YouTube. She's a professional novel editor who has a lot of advice on writing strategies for different types of writers

Also check out Savage Books on YouTube (another professional story editor) for advice on story structure and dialogue. Seriously, I cannot recommend this guy enough

Executive Dysfunction, Usually From ADHD/Autism

What it looks like:

Everything in boredom/understimulation

Everything in intimidation/procrastination

You have been diagnosed with and/or have symptoms of ADHD/Autism

Things that can help:

If you haven't already, seek a diagnosis or professional treatment

Hire an ADHD coach or other specialist that can help you work with your brain (I use Shimmer; feel free to DM me for a referral)

Seek out neurodiverse communities for advice and support

Try body doubling! There's lot's of free online body doubling websites out there for you to try. If social anxiety is a barrier, start out with writing streams such as katecavanaughwrites on Twitch

Be aware of any sensory barriers that may be getting in the way of you writing (such as an uncomfortable desk chair, harsh lighting, bad sounds)

And Lastly, Burnout, Depression, or Other Mental Illness

What it looks like:

You have symptoms of burnout or depression

Struggling with all things, not just writing

It's more than a lack of inspiration- the spark is just dead

Things that can help:

Forget writing for now. Focus on healing first.

Seek professional help

If you feel like it, use writing as a way to explore your feelings. It can take the form of journaling, poetry, an abstract reflection of your thoughts, narrative essays, or exploring what you're feeling through your fictional characters. The last two helped me rediscover my love of writing after I thought years of depression had killed it for good. Just don't force yourself to do so, and stop if it takes you to a darker place instead of feeling cathartic

[writers-potion]

Scenes: The Basics🏕️

The Four Chords of a Scene

The scene is a fictional unit that comprises of the following:

Two major chords: Action + Reaction

Two minor chords: Setup + Deepening (be kept to minimum)

A "beat" is a smaller unit within a scene. You can think of this as a paragraph.

1. Action

Action happens when a character does something in order to attain his main objective. In a given scene, he has a scene purpose.

This can include: yelling, shutting the door, fighting, crying, pulling someone back, hugging....basically when your character does something or the other to alleviate the pain or take part in conflict.

2. Reaction

A reaction scene is how a Lead character feels emotionally when something happens to him.

A literary novel may feel like a lot of reaction scens because they are generally more about the interior life of a character.

Reaction is often done in "beats" where the character moves from (1) questioning himself, then (2) providing self-justification to (3) being angry beyond reason, etc.

You can put a "reaction beat" (not a whole scene!) in the middle of action so we know how the character is feeling.

3. Setup

These are things that must occur in order for subsequent scenes to make sense.

All novels need a certain amount of setup to show who the Lead is, what he does and why.

Build in some problem, however slight, to the setup scene. It can be just an alarm ringing or door suddenly opening - something that brings immediacy.

4. Deepening

Deepening is to novel as spice is to food.

This is what you mix to deepen the reader's understanding of character or setting. Make it fresh, drop it in strategically.

Deepening chords are interesting/shocking/fun and kind of in line with the overall theme, but they don't serve a particular purpose.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[ms-demeanor]

Hello,Do you have any tips for recovering from internet brain rot? It's like my patience has dried up and if there's a huge amount of text (even about topics I'm very interested in) that I have to read, I get annoyed and just don't interact with the material at all.

I have multiple tips!

TL;DR (Because of course I generated a wall of text): Take a break from the internet, create a schedule for getting yourself used to reading longer texts, take breaks while reading, and perhaps reconsider how you interact with The Internet and the world in general.

Here are the basic "to reduce the brain rot just don't interact" tips:

Take a break. Give yourself time off from The Internet (for these purposes The Internet is the social media industrial complex; clickbait news, recommended videos, social media sites, etc. You don't have to totally check out of email or your local news site, just get away from the huge time sucks). I'd say to take at least one day a week where you're online for less than an hour a day, and to maybe work up to doing a week-long break from whatever the main agents of rot are.

Once you've identified the main agents of rot, give yourself a time limit or set up rules for yourself. I don't let myself look at social media in bed, for instance; no staying up late on my phone, no scrolling before I get up and start my day. I don't give myself a strict time limit anymore, but for a while there I was very firm about "you only get to go online 4 hours a day" with myself.

Don't comment (or at least only share the things you really want to share). If you feel the need to argue, or if you feel pressured into sharing something, don't. Step back, maybe even open the post in a new tab or send it to yourself, and come back later. If you've been thinking about it and have decided it IS something you care enough to talk about, share it. If you look at the tab and feel stressed out or still feel reactive, close the tab and walk away.

Go out and interact with the real world in a non-work capacity for a few hours a week; take walks or go shopping or go out and take pictures of insects. Touch grass so that The Internet is not the only thing you're doing with your downtime.

Here are the "work on reading longer texts specifically" tips:

Set a reading goal for yourself. Maybe you want to read one New Yorker article a week, maybe you want to read all the way through news articles, maybe you want to read novels like you used to in high school. Figure out what your actual goal is and articulate that goal to yourself.

Set up a practice schedule and gradually increase the amount of time you're reading. Don't go from short tumblr posts to a novella, go from short tumblr posts to slightly longer news articles, then to slightly longer essays, then to a novella. You can do this in literal paragraphs if you want to - maybe your goal for your first day is to read five paragraphs in a row, and the second day is seven, and the third day is ten, etc, until you are comfortably reading for longer amounts of time without counting paragraphs. (Try this with books from gutenberg.org; read a classic you haven't read a few paragraphs at a time and if you find yourself going over your paragraph count, let yourself run with it. If you finish a book, good for you, find another one and start again.)

Set up a maintenance schedule. If your goal is to read longer news pieces, try to read a longer piece every week and try to read to the end of every news article you open. If your goal is to read novels or longer nonfiction, try to read a book a month (maybe setting aside dedicated time each week to read, maybe Thursday evenings are book time now). If you find yourself falling back into old habits, take a break from The Internet and do some more rigorous practice for a while.

If you find yourself getting frustrated while you are reading you can also take a break! Read until you get frustrated and then *instead of switching to a different page or closing the article* close your eyes or look out the window or away from the screen for thirty seconds (count 'em! count out the time in your head) and then continue reading. You can also take a longer pause and sit and think about why you're getting frustrated. Is it the subject matter? Is it just looking at this text for longer than a couple minutes (if you are experiencing FOMO because you're reading for another few minutes instead of scrolling, the harder tips at the bottom are going to be important to you)? Are you comfortable? Are you reading this text to procrastinate from something and the procrastination is making you nervous? Are you trying to read to the bottom of your dash and reading a long post is taking up more time than you want while scrolling? Are you bored? Genuinely and very seriously: are your eyes straining and does your head hurt (if this is the case when is the last time you had your eyes checked or your glasses prescription updated)?

Here are the much harder "examine yourself and reassess your reactions to things" tips:

Work on re-training your attention span.

Identify something that you enjoy and find deeply engaging, and schedule some dedicated time for that thing. Set a literal timer (it can be a short amount of time at first) and sit down and do the thing without switching to a different website or opening up an app on your phone. This can be re-reading or watching a couple episodes of a show you like or listening to your favorite album while you sit down and draw. What's important is to spend a longer time focusing on doing something you DO like before attempting to spend a longer time focusing on something you DON'T like.

When you're starting on things you DON'T like, start with things you mildly don't like, or that feel tedious but aren't actually unpleasant. One way I do this is by transcribing poetry; I look up poems that I connect to and I transcribe them into a notebook that I have for that purpose. I enjoy having the finished product, but I don't enjoy the process, so it takes some effort to stick with it. Maybe there is a boring book you have been trying to get through, maybe you need to detail your car, maybe you've been trying to take up embroidery - these are good things to make yourself pay attention to (having music or a podcast on can help, but avoid watching videos or opening social apps)

When you're okay at that kind of thing (doing something not actively unpleasant) work on your attention span for things you ACTIVELY don't like. I don't think you should be a masochist about this, but you should work on being okay with doing unpleasant things for a sustained period of time. All of us have to do unpleasant stuff sometimes, and it's better to be able to pay attention to it for an hour at a time than it is to put it off forever.

This leads into the next Big Tip which is:

Work on being less reactive

Find something that you dislike; I'm going to use conservative talk radio as my example.

Expose yourself to the disliked thing for short periods of time (under ten minutes, maybe under five minutes).

Work on moderating your emotions during the time spent exposed to the disliked thing. If it makes you angry, work on intellectualizing the anger without becoming agitated by it. If it makes you sad, work on accepting that sadness without letting it drag down your mood. This isn't precisely about becoming numb to stimuli, but it is about being more in control of how your emotional reactions impact you.

Analyze the disliked thing. Why does it make you angry? Is that on purpose by the creator of the thing? Would it make someone else angry in the same way? How would you explain the anger to a neutral third party?

Consider responding instead of reacting. Let's say you're seeing a lot of very sad and upsetting things online and it's making you sad and upsetting you. You re-share these things because you don't feel like there's anything else you can do or you get angry when you see people sharing incorrect information, perhaps you argue with people about this. Now try looking at the upsetting things through the lens of point number four. This has upset you; how has it upset you? And once you've thought about how it upset you and have articulated that to yourself, find out what you can DO. I cannot make conservative talk radio go off the air, but I can support the groups harmed by conservative talk radio; thus there is no point in me getting upset and angry about conservative talk radio when I could be helping the people they target instead.

And that gets us to the last big tip which is:

Ask yourself if you are spending your time in a way that is enjoyable and edifying.

We all have limited time in our days and limited time in our lives. If you are finding yourself frequently frustrated online, it's a good time to consider whether you want to be spending so much time online.

If you feel like The Internet has become a rat race in which you can't read more than a few paragraphs without getting frustrated, there's a good chance that not only are you spending too much time on The Internet, but you're also spending it on doing things that you don't particularly like.

A realization like yours, Anon, that you are getting frustrated with any longer texts, can actually be really helpful because it provides a good opportunity to look at what you're engaging with and consider the questions:

Is this something I enjoy?

Do I feel good when I do this thing?

And that's a great way to figure out how to get rid of things that are leading to your background frustration. Maybe that looks like paring down the list of blogs you follow, maybe that looks like unsubscribing from some youtubers and podcasts, maybe that looks like uninstalling apps, maybe that looks like blocking a whole bunch of people and terms on your socials.

I don't think that everything we do has to help us grow as a person or expand our consciousness or anything like that, but I do think it's important to prioritize doing things that you like and doing things that you feel good about.

Like, I'm not doing something *wrong* if I spend an afternoon on Youtube watching drama channels every once in a while, but if I come out of a few afternoons of watching youtube drama channels feeling restless and anxious and like I wasted my time - even if I enjoyed myself while I was watching - it's probably a good idea for me to take a break from drama channels and see if there's something I can do instead that will make me feel better.

ALSO, A NOTE:

You are an animal that requires significant enrichment in your enclosure.

Think about tigers. Tigers in captivity are going to be excited to get high-value treats for any reason. They will eat and enjoy the treats. But if a tiger in captivity is only given the treats and never given any other form of activity to engage with, it is not going to be a happy tiger. If you start putting their treats in a pumpkin or a puzzle feeder or giving them toys to play with, that is going to be a much happier tiger.

Please give your brain things to play with that are more than just treats (though it does need some treats!). Make yourself a happy tiger. Your brain need a puzzle feeder, not a treat button.

[hannieehaee]

18 + / mdi

content: boyfriend!mingyu & bf'sbestfriend!wonwoo, smut, afab reader, cucking (idk if this is the right term honestly), penetrative sex, mentions of oral, pov switches to wonwoo's pov like three paragraphs in, this is mostly wonwoo x reader ngl, etc.

part 2

wc: 3343

a/n: this is a continuation to mingyu's part of this reaction !!

masterlist

you'd known wonwoo for a good while now. being mingyu's girlfriend for over a year, you'd grown used to the company of his roommate, who was usually around whenever you'd go visit mingyu at their shared apartment.

it was easy to get along with wonwoo. he was an easy-going guy and also easy on the eyes, and just overall likable. you liked to think that the feeling was mutual, wanting to get along well with mingyu's best friend. you'd occasionally hang out one on one whenever you'd incidentally arrive to mingyu's apartment early, only to be let in by wonwoo. he was a gentleman, so he'd entertain you during mingyu's absence, telling you stories about the boy and at some points discussing shared interests with you.

what you didnt know was that wonwoo did like you. more than you wouldve hoped, actually.

wonwoo had known you for as long as mingyu, having been there when the two of you first met. the three of you had started off as simple acquaintances, up until mingyu decided he just had to have you, thus making you his. wonwoo had been happy for his friend, knowing mingyu to be a hopeless romantic at heart. yes, he admits, he mightve been attracted to you when you first met, but he quickly got over it upon finding out his best friend had a crush on you, even encouraging him to ask you out. having you in his immediate life proved to be interesting. it turned out that you two had a lot in common, with your personalities even aligning perfectly. that mightve explained why he was mingyu's best friend and you his best friend's girlfriend. mingyu clearly had a type.

over time, as wonwoo got to know you better, his long-gone crush seemed to want to make a comeback. what had previously been just physical attraction had turned into something more upon getting to know you. nothing ever happened to trigger his feelings, but there was only so much of your constant proximity that he could handle before his feelings resurfaced. which is where he now found himself. crushing on his best friend's pretty girlfriend, forced to occasionally join in on your dates as the perpetual third wheel.

despite any of his unreasonable emotions, he knew the feeling was not mutual, and more than that, he would never do that to his best friend. so, he did what any reasonable person would do and shoved his feelings deep within him, internally slapping himself any time his head went places it shouldn't. but that could only last so long.

it was a regular day. wonwoo had gone to the company, done his usual idol business and come back, now awaiting mingyu's arrival. except wonwoo was met with your presence instead. wonwoo had been expecting mingyu, remembering that he had told the boy about a movie they should watch together as soon as they had some extra down time. that day being today, now that they were finally back from promotions in japan and could go back to their regular schedules. he opened the door after hearing a few knocks, assuming mingyu mightve misplaced his keys again. except he was not met with his six foot tall friend upon opening the door, but instead you. it had been a while since he'd seen you. hell, it had probably been a while since mingyu had seen you. theyd just been so busy lately. he let you in, muttering a quick 'hello', avoiding eye contact a bit and stepping aside to allow you in. before he could close the door back up, you stopped him.

"oh, wait. gyu's coming up. he got us food for the movie!"

oh. had mingyu asked you to join?

his face mustve told on him, since you spoke up again almost immediately.

"is it okay im here? i can go, i know you guys are tired, i-"

the last thing he wanted you to feel was unwelcome. his stupid crush shouldnt get in the way of what was now a friendship between the two of you.

"no! stay, please. do you guys want privacy? we just came back, you must wa-"

this time you interrupted him. "no, not at all! stay, please. i love hanging out with you, nonu, you know that."

calling him by a cute nickname was not helping this for wonwoo, nor was the pretty smile you were throwing him. but he'd have to sit through an entire movie night like this, he realized.

the following thirty or so minutes went the way you'd imagine. mingyu had arrived soon after, with way too much food for three people and prepared the perfect setting for an enjoyable night between the three. wonwoo could tell his friend was beaming at the thought of finally spending a relaxing night with his two favorite people. this made him feel guilty, but he had to admit, he felt the same giddyness at the concept. in logical fashion, you and mingyu sat next to each other, slightly cuddled up while wonwoo sat on the smaller couch right next to the two of you. the three of you watched the movie for a little while, only ever speaking up every once in a while to comment on the movie. things went like this until mingyu suddenly spoke up, clapping his hands as if he suddenly remembered something.

"won! i almost forgot!", he paused the movie, sitting up from leaning against you, "i told y/n id show her the pictures we took in japan, come here!", his friend seemed so overly excited at the idea, almost vibrating as be waited for wonwoo to come sit next to him.

wonwoo made the mistake of moving his eyes a little to the left while looking at his friend, only to catch your expectant gaze as you also waited for him to close the distance. but it was enough to get him to get up and take a close seat next to mingyu, making the tall man the only separation between you and him.

mingyu had already pulled out his phone, scrolling through his gallery and stopping every few seconds to explain where the picture was, who took it and why they had edited it the way they did. he explained every minor detail while you looked at him, full attention on him. wonwoo liked that about you. it was something you did when speaking to him too. you'd always show full interest, even sharing a passion for photography and editing as he did. there had been occasions in which wonwoo himself had shown you his photography, only to be always met with praise and genuine curiosity at his skill.

they both explained the pictures, with mingyu holding the phone at an angle where both you and wonwoo could see the screen perfectly. mingyu had full control of the phone, not thinking much as he stopped by every single picture and made a few comments, allowing space each time for wonwoo's own commentary and your praise of their skills. it was a heartwarming moment for wonwoo, really. until it turned into a moment that warmed something else in him.

mingyu, in his overexcited state, was clearly not thinking much of it as he swiped picture after picture, not realizing that if he scrolled too far, he'd end up where he was now.

it was a picture of you. a very pretty picture, if wonwoo had anything to say about it. you were laying in what he could only assume to be mingyu's bed, shirt off and very very cute sheer panties covering your lower half. your face wasnt in it, only your lips. but your body was practically on full display. wonwoo had to commend you for your artistic eye. that picture could cause any man to swim across the pacific ocean just to see the contents of it in the flesh. or at least thats how wonwoo felt in that moment. time felt frozen as he stared at the image. silence had filled the room as none of you reacted. until mingyu finally unfroze, locking his phone and throwing it on the table, cursing loudly at his mistake. but the damage had been done.

wonwoo felt ashamed at his current state. he couldnt look up, only staring down at his lap as he thought of the image that was now imprinted in mind. why did he have to see that? his crush on you was already getting out of hand. there was no way be could ever look you in the eye again. but his brain, once more, betrayed him. he looked up slowly, instantly meeting your gaze. you looked as flustered as he felt, eyes widened and cheeks flushed. fuck. your face reminded him of one he had seem before. a few months back when he'd accidentally bumped into you after what he couldve only assumed to be a night well-spent with his best friend, same flushed cheeks and widened eyes, except this time you were missing the disheveled look you had carried that time.

you and wonwoo seemed unable to break eye contact, with both your gazes becoming heavier by the second. what had felt to wonwoo like minutes of agony staring into your eyes were only a few seconds to mingyu, who immediately spoke up after having thrown his phone on the table.

"baby, i'm so fucking sorry, i-" he had turned his body towards you, emphasizing how badly he felt at the position he put you under, but your eyes hadnt left wonwoo's, nor had his left yours.

you interrupted him, only breaking eye contact with wonwoo for a few seconds. "it's okay, gyu," your eyes now facing wonwoo again, "right, nonu?", your voice was sultry, only tightening up his pants even more than the initial shock of the image had.

"y-yeah."

mingyu seemed to catch on quickly after that, almost as if he'd been expecting this. he turned to his friend, still not 100% certain, "wonwoo. are you sure?"

there had been nothing wonwoo had ever been more sure about it. he broke eye contact with you for the first time in the past minute and responded, "yes."

~

"there's gonna be rules, okay?"

the three of you were now in mingyu's (and practically your) room, still fully clothed but all on the bed, already completely out of breath from the mere thought of what was about to happen. wonwoo felt like an animal. he felt himself have to put physical effort into holding back from jumping you. the way you'd been looking at him for the past while had him going insane, knowing now that the feeling was mutual.

"what are the rules?", wonwoo's eyes were still on you.

"any-" mingyu was about to speak when you interrupted him, still holding onto wonwoo's full attention.

"anything goes, except no marks and you have to be willing to share me. gyu's a bit possessive, right baby?", you stated matter-of-factly, almost in a rehearsed manner.

"wait. you've discussed this before?"

mingyu neared you, beginning to undress you from behind, giving wonwoo the perfect view of your clothing disappearing. 'we have. you're not exactly subtle, hyung.'

what? had you two known about his crush on you this whole time? he was so sure he'd kept it at bay almost expertly. had he just been embarrassing himself this whole time?

"its okay, nonu. we've discussed this. we're okay with it if you are. right, gyu?", you looked over your shoulder at the man who had now removed your shirt and shorts, leaving you in panties and a bra, much to wonwoo's dismay.

"i- are you sure? what does this mean? you-"

"hyung, dont over think it. you want her, dont you? you're my best friend, im willing to share."

well, what kind of fool would argue with that logic?

wonwoo decided to take advantage of the opportunity while it was there, approaching you as mingyu stepped aside, undressing his own self as he watched you and wonwoo.

wonwoo was entirely unsure of himself, not knowing how or where to begin. luckily for him, you seemed to take pity on him, grabbing his arms and placing them on your waist, pulling him closer to you.

"you dont have to be nervous. i want you too," you smiled sweetly at him, lifting his chin so he would look at you.

the proximity made him heat up, almost forgetting his friend, who had now sat down on the bed, perfect angle to watch him and you.

you leaned up slowly, lightly placing your lips on wonwoo's in a sweet peck. wonwoo sighed against your lips at this, letting his shoulders fall from their rigid posture and leaning against you, opening his lips a bit. you took advantage of this, meekly slipping your tongue inside his mouth as he tightened his hands around your waist, allowing his own tongue to play with yours.

kissing you was something he had imagined before; never too vividly out of respect for his best friend, but it was something he had wanted to do, never thinking he'd actually get to.

you and him kissed softly for a while, until you seemed to grow frustrated at the light kisses and began to incite him for more. your kissing became rougher, nibbling at his lower lip and sucking at his tongue, rendering him lightheaded. he moaned against your mouth, beginning to match your pase. he moaned even louder the moment he felt your hands guide his own to your breasts, which were now bare. when had you taken your bra off ..? it didn't matter, really. now he could feel the pebbles on your chest against his palms, pinching at them as you mewled softly into bis mouth. all that could be heard was the smacking of your mouths, along with the soft breaths you kept taking against each other, utterly pleased at the feeling of the softness of the other's lips.

until mingyu interrupted.

suddenly soft moaning could be heard from beside them. wonwoo reluctantly pulled away from you, looking to the side, only to find his best friend with his eyes closed, head thrown back as he had his hand under his boxers, clearly getting off at the sounds of the two of you. you didnt stop kissing wonwoo in the meantime, insistent on licking and biting softly against his neck. the softness of your touches was making wonwoo go insane. he was no longer himself, but more of a shell of what used to be, wanting to give you all control of his pleasure. which he did.

he allowed you to undress him slowly, running your hands slowly up and down his chest, kissing at him every time you uncovered a new bit of skin. you bit and licked at his nipples, making wonwoo discover a sensitive spot he didnt even know about.

he enjoyed your attentiveness, but felt a small tug in the back of his mind at the thought of your boyfriend sitting nearby, simply watching.

"gyu, baby," you finally said after having laid wonwoo down on the bed, sitting on top of him while looking to the side at your boyfriend, "how do you wanna do this?"

wonwoo simply sat there, afraid that if he said anything he'd break the spell. he was willing to take whatever you gave him. he was already addicted to the sight of your bare body on top of him, somehow beating the picture he had seen just twenty minutes ago.

"do whatever you want, baby. have your fun n then ill eat his cum out of you n fill you with mine, sound good?", he slurred, seemingly rubbing at himself at a snail pace in order to savor the sight in front of him.

in any other instance, wonwoo wouldnt have understood why mingyu was getting off at the sight of his best friend and his girlfriend fucking, but it was you. wonwoo would also give anything to see you in the throes of passion from a third person perspective, so he felt no judgement for his friend as he practically tuned him out.

"you heard him, nonu. how do you want me?", you asked sweetly, caressing his skin softly while stopping to rub at his nipples every once in a while.

wonwoo was fucked. he felt the ability to speak leave him completely. he was rendered completely useless, a doll for you to play with however you wanted. but his sight right now was one he wanted to commit to memory, so mustering all his willpower, he lifted his hands and placed them on your hips, pressing you closer against him.

"like this, baby. please," that earned a whine from gyu, who was still self-inflicting the most painful pleasure imaginable by edging himself at the sight of you.

he humphed at wonwoo, "no! get a different pet name. shes my baby."

wonwoo chuckled at this, but nodded over at his friend. "fine. like this, princess. yeah?"

you nodded at wonwoo, quickly adjusting yourself so you could easily slip him inside you, but only after being interrupted by mingyu again, reminding you to slip on a condom, "because you were only his to fuck raw."

"gyu, baby. like this? have a good angle? need me to move?"

"no, baby. you're perfect. now bounce on him for me, yeah? wanna see my pretty girl feel good," all his words were slurred, going on almost ten minutes of watching yours and wonwoo's foreplay.

"'kay baby. are you ready, nonu? wanna feel me?", you leaned down to kiss at him again, seemingly loving the feeling of your lips connecting as much as wonwoo did.

he nodded, felling you up as be awaited the upcoming feeling of your warmth wrapping around him.

your descent drove wonwoo insane. he doesnt think he's ever moaned that loudly before, nor does he think he's ever seen a prettier sight than your blissed out face as you felt him fill you up. the contrast of your movements right now compared to your soft touches earlier was laughable. it seemed like something had possessed you, making you bounce and grind on wonwoo at an animalistic pace, moaning incessantly at the feeling of his cock filling you up.

wonwoo was different from you, as his reaction was just pure bliss from the feeling of you, humping upwards with a lack of rhythm; just animalistic instinct to get himself as deep inside you as possible.

mingyu could be heard moaning from the background. you'd occasionally disconnect your eyes from wonwoo's form to make eyes at your boyfriend, giving him even more material for jacking off.

it went on like this until you began to near your end, which is when wonwoo believes he went truly insane. you began to grind at an angle that would bring gratification to your clit, practically crying on his cock. your hands went up to play with your nipples, stimulating yourself as much as possible. wonwoo wanted nothing more than to make you meet your end, grabbing harsher onto your hips and guiding your movements. he leaned up to kiss and suck at your tits, making you throw your head back and quicken your movements even more. you were in heaven and so was he. mingyu seemed to be too, as when wonwoo peeked a look at him he was practically crosseyed at the sight of you, arched back whining on his friend's cock.

your ends found you almost simultaneously. mingyu had been first, finally allowing himself to reach his high after edging himself for so long. soon followed wonwoo, spilling into the condom, causing you to cum at the sight of his pleasure. it took a bit for all of you to catch your breaths, staying silent for a bit until wonwoo broke the silence.

"shit. please tell me this isnt a one time thing."

you and gyu giggled at each other. wonwoo hoped that was a good sign.

a/n: lol lmk if u want a cont. with gyu's part

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

I know your requests are closed so feel free to ignore this but if I don’t type it somewhere I WILL forget it lol. I’ve been re-binge reading your works and just thought of this…

Civilian reader kills someone out of self defense for the first time. And it’s the whole staring at her bloody shaking hands panic attack what have I done fiasco. And her boyfriend or husband helping her through it and dealing with it all (I can see it with Ghost or Price idk)

But yeah feel free to ignore, I know your requests are closed rn

Love your work! You are so talented!

This has been in my inbox for so long, lmao. Sorry for not answering right away - take a few paragraphs w. soft, worried, Simon in compensation.

Warnings for gore, death, blood, panic attack, etc. F!Reader.

Your body shakes violently, blood dripping down like crimson tears from your hands. The overwhelming sense of dread sits with bullet fragment aggression in the delicate make-up of your psyche.

You weren't meant for this.

Not the blood or the terror. Certainly not the body laying out in the hallway.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp out, shuddering as your throat swells in on itself. Your form had slipped down the wall just across from the door not minutes prior, legs weak and heart pounding like a war call. Now all you can do is stare into the vacant eyes of some random burglar—at the knife you'd stuck in his chest when he'd backed you into Simon's office.

It was a miracle that you remembered where your husband's combat blade had been, seen on some off chance when you'd been cleaning. He tries to keep this all separate, you know.

The blood just keeps slipping out of the corpse. It's a pool now, and you don't know how long you'd been huddled like this until the sounds of rampaging feet and hurried yells of your name bounce off your eardrums.

All you can see is the uncleanable amount of red.

Simon had only gone out to the corner store half an hour ago, getting a quick supper so you both could sit in each other's company. You'd been hesitant to watch him leave so soon after getting home, but he'd sworn he'd only be a few minutes.

None of you had thought too much about the local break-ins. After all, Simon was...well, Simon. And he was home.

S-Simon was home.

There's a loud, barked, curse when the body is discovered, stomping feet that make the entire house shake like it was the epicenter of an earthquake. Your husband's form slashes the front of your vision as he kneels in the blood on the floor. Frantic brown eyes behind his balaclava snap from place to place; taking in the familiar handle and blade in nanoseconds. In his left hand he clutches a pistol, white-knuckled.

But you can't even say anything, because you're as still as stone—breathing in concrete as the gravel shreds your vocal cords and trachea. Reality slips in quick streaks of color as Simon's face flashes into the open doorway.

He sees your wide eyes with a mirroring of his own, bone-deep fear striking in his head with a heated pulse.

"Love!" Simon's rushing to you. Your body can't help but startle back, spine shoving into the wall; fingers still saturated and stained.

Inside your chest, your lungs jerk in a strained whimper.

Your husband freezes, one foot ahead with his widened legs as he fights his mind to rush to you and take you into his arms. Simon puts the gun away with little thought to look for more assailants—all that matters is you.

And you looked terrified.

"Hey," hands reach up to this balaclava, slipping the fabric off as he kneels down slowly to one leg. He tosses it to the floor and you try to focus on the strength of his jaw; those scars and pale hairs as your eyes well with tears. A delicate sob builds. "Hey, now. It's just me, alright?"

Simon speaks softly, hands splayed out and a few feet from you. He wishes to hold you tightly but refrains even as his chest tightens at not being able to calm you. The man can't stand that look on your face.

Your fingers curl into shivering fists, "Simon," you cry, finally able to get a solid word out even if it sounds slurred and ragged.

It's all the permission your husband needs.

Simon jerks forward and takes you up into his large arms; the wide encompassing of his palm on the back of your head and the other circling your waist. He angles you away from the body as he glares into it with hatred and vile curses, hissing venom.

When he found the door busted off its hinges, he'd never felt so panicked. Even now as you release a small wail into his neck Simon's heart races, breath coming in short puffs.

"You're alright, Sweetheart. You're alright. I'm right 'ere." You sag into him, grabbing at his leather jacket with nails digging into the brown material. Simon nuzzles his nose into your scalp, muscles tense, "Breathe, it's over."

All you can focus on is Simon's scent, his words. They're the only thing keeping you from oblivion. Eventually, as your husband rocks you back and forth, you can gasp enough air down to push away the black at the sides of your vision.

"That's right," he whispers, gritting his teeth. "Good girl, keep focusin' on me, yeah? You're doin' perfect." Simon doesn't care about the blood or the screams of sirens in the distance.

For the first time in his life, he doesn't care if someone else happens to see his face.

Your husband pulls his head back and shifts his hold to your cheeks, angling your runny and chilled face upwards. He grits his teeth and his eyes bleed with concern; fear.

"...He do anything?" You can only make out half the words as the sounds all huddle together in a ringing tone, but you shake your head in small flinches. Lips find your forehead—heated and firm. Muttered words. "Did so good, Love, I'm so proud of you. S'not your fuckin' fault, you hear?"

Sniffling, you only whimper once more before lips kiss away your tears; thumbs coming up after to swipe at the remnants. Curling over you, this beast—defined so often as ruthless and deadly—shields you from the image of the man you'd killed in self-defense like a demon of smoke and ash. Holding you as if he can make everything else disappear.

After all, you weren't meant for this. You were meant for your soft skin and your loving eyes. Everything else that Simon tied himself to you for—goodness.

"Simon," you gasp again and shove your face into his chest. For the life of you, you can't say anything else. He knows what you mean.

"I'm here," he repeats. Caressing the back of your head, his hand tenses and softens with leaving adreanaline. "Nothin'll happen to you again. It's all gonna be alright."

You believe him.

[lilacstro]

pac: what big thing is coming next for you and when

on the suggestions of @darkbragance I would be making this post.

choose from 2 piles, idk why 2 and not 3 but yeah, choose as you like :)

paid readings open !

pile1 pile2

support me on ko-fi :)

⭐decks used: spirit speaks tarot, poesis oracle and vessel oracle for energy check

Pile 1

Energy check:

Did some of you travel to your childhood home or thought about it recently? Seems so. Some of you have been working on finding balance and structure in life I feel. Some of you could be overwhelmed with how tiring your life is, especially at home I feel. Maybe there is a responsibility on you all to always serve and be ready to give, to manage problems and give people structure either at your home or maybe even at your workplace. Some of you could also be tired of being stuck at home, finding work-life balance or wanting to travel somewhere that is not happening. Some of you could also be travelling back in time, thinking about the past a lot, especially childhood nostalgia. Did some of you like collecting stones or crystals as a child? Color green is coming through, an emerald crystal. There seems to be the thought of wanting to go back because the situation currently feels painful. There is a desire to go back in time, to travel somewhere mentally and physically and get out of this exhausting cycle. There is desire to escape and avoid pain. Some of you could be dreaming about your childhood home, children or even past memories, liking very old, as if digging the grave. There is a feeling of loneliness. Good luck babe is constantly playing in my head, maybe it is relevant to someone here? Special focus on "You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling" and this is what I have been feeling in this group. Someone here is distracted and definitely needs a wakeup call.

If this sounds like you, this is your pile<3

Main messages:

Someone here is definitely feeling isolated, or they have distanced themselves from other people, but they will find meaning in isolation. Someone here could be feeling frustrated, lashing out on small things. Ok so instead of writing a paragraph I would list out all the things I see happening! You may see what resonates with your situation :)

If you were willing to start a project or taking some kind of brave action (even if it is just a simple confession of love for example, or maybe going back to school because too much time has passed etc.) but was afraid of starting for whatever reason, you would get strength to start and take action!

if someone was wanting to travel somewhere, move somewhere, study abroad, travel abroad and if money became a problem, or maybe your father or some authority figure, say visa services became problem, you would be fine and would be able to travel regardless

If someone has been working hard to get some award, achievement or rank, especially globally, it could be happening!

If someone was willing to work with people all over the world, especially in regards to money, maybe working on a worldwide freelancing site or maybe even social media to get foreign customers to get money, that could also be happening :)

If someone felt hopeless about a situation, especially regarding finances, maybe lost money even for some of you, you guys would be able to recover the money and get the money arranged. Someone could be offering you money I feel :)

If someone was wishing to get stability especially in regards to their home and family, or maybe seek approval of a father or authority figure in family for something, they could be getting approval for what they've been wanting.

There is a happy ending to all the situations above :)

Expected Timeline:

This is happening very very soon, you could also be receiving some kind of communication too, especially. If we talk about particular date, we have November 23 - December 2 or 8 weeks of a time.

I hope it resonated, take care xoxo

Pile 2

Energy check:

This feels like a rather hopeful, accepting energy, both in a happy and a sad way, as if you are hopeful but at the same time you have accepted the current circumstances. There is not a turbulence like pile 1. I am hearing "its just the way life goes, I push my luck it shows" from Gracie Abram's song I love you, I'm sorry. There is a fresh energy here, a very good chance to grow and evolve, you are growing and changing and I may rather say, blooming. Someone here may like spring or sitting in the sun in winters, it may feel healing. You guys have absolutely not given up, there is a silent rebel kind of energy, you know it is not over and that you will rise back up again, but for now you are not mad and turbulent about it, but rather calm and peaceful and accepting, as if, "what worse can even happen, its fine" There is a lot of wisdom you are gaining currently that would helping you for the fresh start of your journey you would be preparing. I am seeing you would be ready to take a leap and go seek what it is that you want. But for now, it is important to let your emotions out and grieve, even if it means that you will lose your composure. I am constantly seeing the message that says "it gets better". If you were wanting something to happen, know you'd have many choices, either it can be done some other way you do not know yet, or maybe people would help you or you find better things, so many that you can literally choose from them. Keep your heads up:) it would be fine I promise :) Seeking out support with people you love is a good idea for now, and if you are alone, I would suggest joining support groups or maybe creating an account that just follows motivational, uplifting content, but you need to open yourself, there is a possibility to find help between people. If this sounds like you, congrats this is your pile :) Keep your heads up princess by Anson Seabra is playing in my head especially the line,

"Yeah, keep your head up princess, it's a long road And the path leads right to where they won't go I know it hurts right now but you don't got far to go So keep your head up Yeah, keep your head up"

Main messages:

I feel some of you could be grieving a loss of something falling down, and maybe you just let it fall altogether before picking it back up once again. Maybe you held onto something that you are letting go, releasing for now.

If any of you were stuck onto something in life, especially mentally, you would be able to find your answers, find balance and finally move ahead in life

There is a mental clarity that may come on why did something not work out for you. Someone may also get clearer decision making skills on their current choices, and may also find contentment in their current choices and how to find a way to move on with current options

Some of you could be calming down the chaos by finally being able to get control and authority, either it may be mental conflict or conflict with someone else, especially people who you may work with is one thing I see

If someone was trying to manifest a love offer, to find a new romantic partner that seems to be happening !

if someone was looking to start a new creative project, a passion project that they wanted to start for a long time, that seems to be happening too!

Some of you could be breaking out of cycles of substance abuse or maybe something toxic in your life, breaking free from falling back into some kind of addiction, breaking free from spiraling and that can be any sabotaging habit

One intuitive message I am getting is the ground is fertile, whatever you sow, you would equally gain back, what I mean is whatever is it you are wanting to do right now, putting your efforts into, your fruits and flowers would blossom. It would reap you rewards, whatever it is that you are working for, a relationship, healing, money etc.

Some of you could also be getting out of depression or a depressed mental state after a long time, spring after the winter is what I am hearing

you could also be getting clarity or news about someone or something that troubled you in the past, some truth about why did it not work out

many options would be available to something that stressed you out mentally, a job, college, relationship, you name it, you would be able to chose rather being stuck with a single option. Wait, I think I did something in the energy check as well, interesting!

someone could also be getting into their dream school or travel somewhere for education is one other thing I see.

Expected Timeline:

As long as you are taking fearless action is one thing I see. Apart from that Fixed sign season (Leo, Aquarius, Scorpio, Taurus), Sagittarius Season/Capricorn Season, November, 1 month from now, 11 weeks from now or quite unexpectedly are the messages that I see, There is definitely an element of divine timing here, and your actions and both of them seem to influence each other. Damn that is a lot of timings.

thank you for reading, have a good day :)

[thatwritergirlsblog]

10 worst ways to start a book

1. An irrelevant point of view

It's extremely frustrating as a reader to read the opening scene of a novel, get invested in the story and start rooting for the POV character, only to have that character never show up again or show up as an unimportant character.

Your readers will feel betrayed. Why did they get emotionally invested in this character? Why did they care?

One of the most important functions of your first scene or chapter is introducing your main character and getting the reader to root for them.

Don’t waste that crucial moment on an unimportant POV.

2. Too many characters

Starting to read a new book is usually a bit confusing. You have to get to know new characters, a new world, a new writing style etc.

Don’t add to that confusion by introducing two dozen characters in the opening scene. Readers won’t remember their names or care about them; they’ll just feel overwhelmed and confused.

Additionally, readers will also struggle to root for the main character, because there are too many other people crowding the scene.

3. Telling

My name is Lisa. I’m a short, feisty brunette who loves horse riding. I have two best friends called Anna and Daniel, and we carpool to college every day. I have a crush on Josh, one of my tutors, but he’s twenty-seven and isn’t interested in me.

Telling is boring. It has its place, but the start of your novel is not it. The above paragraph could have been an interesting scene in which you showed the reader all the information via action and dialogue.

Unless you’re using subversion to surprise the reader, e.g., My name is Lisa and I’m a class-three demon, don’t start with telling. 

Immerse the reader in the story through action, dialogue and the senses. Show us who the main character is, don’t just tell us.

4. Description

Please don’t start your book with a page-long description of the setting. In fact, I would recommend not starting with description at all. 

Yes, a few lines of description later in the opening scene is fine. But the reader needs to care first. 

No matter how beautiful your writing is, readers won’t be sucked in by a five-paragraph description of a field.

5. Worldbuilding info dump

Please don’t start your book with an explanation of your world’s climate, politics, history, magic system etc. 

Once again, the reader needs to care first. 

There needs to be action and conflict and a compelling plot. The world exists as a backdrop for the story and the characters – it’s not the protagonist and it shouldn’t take up the opening scene.

6. The dream sequence

The main reason that this is a bad way to start your book is that it’s been done way too many times.

But that’s not the only reason.

It also feels like a betrayal to the reader, because they got invested in the story and the character and the events, and then you tell them it was never real.

And oftentimes the storyline and world of the dream is much more interesting than the actual story, which makes the latter look very boring in comparison.

7. Looking in a mirror

Once again, it’s just been done too much: A character looking in a mirror and describing their physical appearance to the reader. 

Firstly, no one describes their appearance in detail when they look in the mirror.

Secondly, the reader doesn’t even know who this person is. We don’t know if we’re interested in the character yet. We don’t know why we should care. So, we don’t want a detailed description of the character’s appearance right off the bat.

Show us interesting aspects of your main character’s personality, hobbies and life. Weave in physical description as it becomes relevant. It’s not important enough for the very first paragraph.

8. Starting way too early

Yes, most books don’t start with the inciting incident (although I recommend that they do), but the start of your book shouldn’t be too far away from your inciting incident.

So, don’t start with a long scene describing the main character’s everyday life. The readers want the thing to happen.

Providing context and introducing the main character is fine, but don’t leave the reader hanging for too long before you get to the good stuff.

9. Trying too hard

“Your first line has to be amazing and hook the reader. It needs to be something no one has ever read before.”

I bet you’ve heard that piece of advice hundreds of times. It’s not bad advice, but taken to the extreme, it creates an opening that is disjointed, conflated and confusing.

Your first scene should introduce your character, story and voice. So, don’t write a single line of profound purple prose that has very little to do with your actual story as a first line.

Focus on writing a good story. Introduce the reader to the book and make the main character intriguing. You don’t need a mind-blowing first line.

10. The lesson

Most books have a theme or something the author wants to say. Oftentimes, that takes the form of a life lesson.

This is good, but the lesson needs to be subtly woven into the story.

It should not be forced down the reader’s throat in the very first scene.

Don’t tell me what I’m going to learn, show me the lesson through the story.

If you’d like to read a Fantasy Adventure novel that does not have any of these opening mistakes, check out my debut To Wear A Crown.

Reblog if you found this post useful. Comment with your own tips for writing a good opening scene. Follow for similar content.

[silverstonesainz]

resident fluff lover asking u to give me the following prompt w oscar 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️: Using your partner's phone and discovering a note that has all of your likes/dislikes/food orders etc. written

ok thanks love u bye

oh to be loved is to be seen. and how i wish to be seen

“Hey, is this funny?” 

Oscar shoves his phone into your view, the notes app open with a paragraph typed up. You drop your own phone in your lap before taking his and skimming over the mess of words. “Funny?” you quirk, looking up from the screen and over at your boyfriend. 

He groans softly, falling back into the couch as he digs the heel of his palm into his eyes. He mumbles a soft fuck before mumbling, “Or creative? It's supposed to be for the party next week and Lando said it needs to be funny. But the examples he sent weren’t even funny to me…” 

Oscar's complaints fade into the room as you read the lengthy paragraph, cringing quietly at the vernacular and slang that you’re almost sure your boyfriend never uses. You give him a side glance, he doesn’t notice. You hope he never uses these words. 

You make it halfway through the paragraph when you decide you’ve had enough, looking back up at Oscar who sits quietly at his end of the couch, picking at his cuticles. “It’s fine I think. I don’t know if it’s funny, but I’m sure this is what Lando was looking for.” 

Oscar whines softly, pushing back the phone towards you. You bicker for a bit, the boy begging you to fix it somehow while you refute his requests. I’m not a sorority girl, I don’t get a kick out of this you reason. He glowers in your direction, bottom lips jutted out in a slight pout before mumbling a quick please. You spend another minute or so pushing and pulling the phone until he gives it one last shove into your chest.

“Just look at it one more time, at least tell me it makes sense.” 

You sigh, giving into your boyfriend’s request with a soft fine. You give him one last half-serious scowl before looking down at his phone. Somewhere between the pushing and the pulling, between the pleas of to do or not to do, the original note had disappeared. Instead, the screen reads your name in bold. Your heart drops into your stomach, unsure if you’re meant to be seeing this note, but curiosity keeps you from giving the phone back to its rightful owner. You scroll a little further, just enough to see past your birthday and favorite flower listed to the top of a table labeled likes and dislikes. The table details every food you’ve enjoyed and didn’t, all the colors you adore and the ones you despise. You see every note of you on a little table, serving as reminders of who you are to him. 

You try to blink away the tears, you hope you do it successfully. 

“Is it bad?” Oscar asks, staring at you and waiting for harsh criticism.

You forgot about the note. You swipe away quickly, clicking back into it and barely giving it  a glance before nodding. “Yeah,” You smile up at him, crawling on the couch and over to him to peck his lips. “Just perfect.”

come to the kickback

[kellysue]

The Suit-Making Metaphor

[Written in January, 2024] The cold eventually got bad enough that the Grandma, the kids and I fled to a hotel while Matt stayed at the house with the dogs. We were fortunate to be able to that of course, and sharing a room in a nice warm hotel was not suffering by any stretch of the imagination. Even so, it was stressful. We brought ipads, paints, books and needlework to keep the kids entertained and alleviate some anxiety, but time also had to be made for school work—especially as they would be going back to class just in time for finals. We made lists of their classes, what they had to study, what we could help with and what questions would need to be put to their teachers.

Henry’s 16 now (!!) and instead of an exam, his Humanities final was a personal essay. We chatted a bit about his writing process, what he liked about what he had done so far and what was frustrating for him. Though he had a terrific topic, he’d written and rewritten his opening paragraph several times and wasn’t making any real progress.

Been there, buddy.

As we talked, I stumbled on a metaphor that I found helpful, and so I’m going to try and share with you roughly what I said to him, and perhaps some of you will find it helpful too.

I get it, I do. It’s exactly my inclination as well. But writing like this-- where you try to perfect everything as you go, effectively writing the third draft before you finish the first--it’s like trying to make a suit from the top to the bottom. You can’t make a suit like that. You can’t start with the collar and get that perfected and then move to the shoulder. You can’t topstitch the upper part of the button placket before the bottom even exists. And even if you could figure how to do it that way, your suit isn't going to fit. Because that’s just not the best way to make a suit. Finishing the thing from top to bottom is not the best way to write, either. You start by choosing your fabric—your topic. What material are you going to craft the suit from? What’s the subject of the essay? You want to write about your relationship to various monsters. That’s terrific! That’s like a nice wool; there’s heft there—memories and feelings and personal details that resonate as truths; it should make a rich and interesting suit. Now, instead of cutting out the collar immediately, let’s choose a pattern. We need a pattern to help us cut the wool into the proper shapes. The pattern is the very basic structure of your essay. How might you organize your thoughts and feelings about monsters? The order isn’t as important as the categories. For the suit jacket, we’ll need right front, left front, sleeves, collar, lining etc. For the essay, what monsters do you want to write about? King Kong, the Rancor, the Minotaur and Bernard the Bull. Perfect. Cutting the pattern pieces out is equivalent to gathering your thoughts on each monster. Write freely about each one, taking the time to remember in as much detail as possible where you first encountered each monster, how old you were, etc. Go through each of your senses to help you recall the moment. What did you see? Smell? Taste? Feel? Who was with you? How did you feel in your body? How did you feel in your heart? Include everything that jumps out at you, you can always edit it down later. In our metaphor, this step is not just cutting out the pieces but also taking the time to transfer the pattern marks. You might not need them all, but you're sure to make a finer suit if you have them all available. Once you have the pieces, the next step is to see how they fit together. Read through each monster and look for connections. Is there an order that suggests itself? Rearrange and then edit and expand to highlight those connections. The first pass of this is basting stitches—loose connections just to test the fit—once you’re happy with the shape you can go ahead and lay in seams. Here is where our parallels start to fall apart: For the suit, you’ll want to do all the finishing touches—the handstitching, buttons, pressing, etc.—and then try it on and style it. But in writing your essay, these steps are reversed—styling is crafting the last paragraph, bringing the piece to a close. Your essay doesn’t have to wrap up neatly, in fact, you don’t want it to be too matchy-matchy. Just as an outfit’s style is improved by personal idiosyncrasies, a piece of writing is enriched by the author's capacity to engage with complexity and ambiguity. With the styling done--when you really know what it is you're trying to say--now you can go back with needle and thread and do that hand-stitching: tighten the prose where you can, polish rhythms, word choice, grammar and voice. With the whole of the thing in front of you, you now have what you need to do the kind of “third draft” finishing work that was impossible to begin with.

This might be the very definition of beating a metaphor to death, but I surprised myself with it. It was as revelatory for me as it was for Henry--probably more so.

And with that, I need to get back to those now-422 emails.

Cheers,

Kelly Sue

PS New creator-owned book coming out late fall this year--first launch in a decade or so, I think? I do need to figure out this whole newsletter/blog conundrum sooner rather than later. Advice and opinions welcome.

[sugurusdiscordmoderator]

Halo bby! <3

Do u perhaps take request? I have been thinking about husband!gojo who feels offended after wife!reader told him about how men can only ejaculate 3 times a day after after she saw it on facebook :3 So Satoru had to cum in wifey more than what she believes because the truth is better than rumours, right? 🤔

hi anon! my inbox is always open for requests (it just might take me a little to finish them lol)

Sorry I’ve been working on this for like 3 weeks lol, I am going to take a break from writing Gojo for a little after this though (:

I didn’t proof read this my apologies

MDNI

cw: smut lmao, handjob, 69, riding, missionary, doggy, daddy kink (oops), shower sex, etc.

—

You scroll through your Facebook feed, when an article from Cosmopolitan magazine pops up called “How To Make Your Man Orgasm Better”. You read through some of it, not really absorbing much until you see an actual doctor’s name listed as research for the article. I mean of course if there’s a penis doctor listed in this article it must be legit!

‘Generally, a person with a penis can orgasm no more than 3 times a day. It can become painfully overstimulating the penis after that I’m afraid. In fact over 80% of this study shows that the person with the penis could not go longer than one orgasm, and 95% could not continue after the second one. That leaves just 5% of the population able to orgasm a third time in a day. There is the possibility for an asymptote - a line that never actually reaches zero although approaching it rapidly after the number 3.’

After reading through the article you decide to scroll through the comments, reading about middle aged women’s sex lives and how their husbands are rather bad at being intimate.

But oh, you could not relate.

After all, you are married to the Satoru Gojo. As a newer married couple with no kids, the two of you fuck at least once a day, usually after work or before bed. You like to get a little more creative on weekends, with morning sex, shower sex, kitchen counter, couch (and just about any surface in the house he can bend you over he’s already fucked you on). You guys can have sex for hours, pulling multiple orgasms from you, but the most he’s ever came in a day is three! So that doctor must have been right.

Just then, your lovely husband Satoru comes home to your beautiful little house, strolling in with a smile on his face like usual. He sits his bag down and takes off his blindfold before making his way over to you and kissing the top of your head where you sit on the couch.

“Hi baby, how was your day?” he asks

“Good, I was just reading a medical article!” You giggle mischievously, getting up to join him in the kitchen with your phone in hand.

“You can read?!” He sarcastically responds, pretending to be shocked before coming up behind you to hug you. This time he kisses the side of your head near your temple, smelling your freshly done hair and you can smell the remnants of his cologne that he sprayed before leaving this morning. “What were ya reading baby?” He kindly asks, not joking this time.

“Well this doctor says guys can cum at most three times a day! And I was thinking about it and even when we stay in bed all day on the weekends having sex the maximum you’ve hit is 3 so it must be true!”

Your husband breaks out laughing, a truly angelic sound, but you’re not quite sure what he’s laughing at. He breaks your hug turning you around to face him with his hands on your shoulders.

“Oh. You actually weren’t joking.” He says reading the expression on your face.

“No babe. Here read it!” You shove your phone towards him with the article pulled up. He reads the same paragraph as above and makes a mental note of the doctors name and credentials and thinks about how he’s going to contact him once he proves this theory wrong.

“Oh, interesting babe. Since you’re so into these ‘medical’ articles you find on cosmopolitan, why don’t we test this theory for ourselves?”

You giggle and blush at his sentiment, still getting shy when initiating sex even after being together for 5 years! You close the distance between your bodies, wrapping your arms around your husbands neck and pulls him down for a kiss.

“Yes please” you whisper against his lips. Satoru deepens the kiss, taking control over you like always. He continues kissing you and backing you up until your back reaches the refrigerator. He plants kisses all over your face before moving down to your neck.

“Y’know, I think we’ll have to make me orgasm all different ways for it to count. Something about a control variable.” Satoru mumbles against your neck.

You’d protest but your pretty little head is thinking about the way his mouth is on your sensitive spot, too horny to shut him up. He pats the back of your thighs for you to jump into his grasp, and you do wrapping your legs around him like a koala. The two of you continue your passionate make out before heading to the bedroom.

Leading you to the gorgeous master bedroom satoru closes the door behind you even though nobody else is there. He begins unbuttoning his jacket and throws it on the floor followed by his undershirt and black jeans. He lays back, his stiff member pulling his boxer briefs tight as he looks over to you expectantly. You waltz closer to the bed, only wearing your matching silk tank top and short set that satoru bought multiple of and loves so much.

He bought every pastel color and loves when he can see your somehow always hardened nipples through the silky fabric. Today’s outfit was baby blue, which happened to be his favorite. Being Satoru’s housewife really isn’t so bad, he makes good money and takes care of you in every way. You just can’t help but be submissive to him when he asks you to wear certain things or cook a certain food. For this man, you threw feminism out the window, and oh how he knew that.

Satoru pulls you onto his lap, looking up at you with those stupidly beautiful eyes as he gently squeezes your hip. “Cmon princess let’s start this experiment,” he winks at you before helping you take off your tank top.

While yes, you play a submissive role in your relationship, he doesn’t always dominate you in the bedroom.

That being said, you roll off satoru so you are laying beside him, leaning to him to resume your steamy make out session.

“Mmm.. I love making out with you, we need to do this more,” he mumbles against your lips. You “mhm” in agreement before proceeding to enter your tongue into his mouth. One hand grips into his white locks while the other reaches down to rub his erection through his boxer briefs. He moans at your touch, reaching his slender arm around you and firmly grabs ahold of your ass, as if you would run away. Satoru takes over the kiss a little more, but as you’re still trying to be in control you stick your hand inside his underwear, rubbing your thumb against his slit.

You break the kiss so he can lower the underwear, before spiting on your hand to lube his shaft as your soft hand runs up and down. He shudders and rolls his eyes back, putting both of his hands behind his head, showing off his sculpted physique completed by the tufts of white hair on his armpits.

You try your best to talk dirty to your lover, being shy in bed like usual is not going to work if you want to make him cum more than 3 times.

“Such a pretty cock belonging to my pretty man”

Satoru knows he’s in for a wild ride when you start to talk seductively. It doesn’t happen often because while you’re vocal in bed… it doesn’t usually include words or full sentences. 😉

You keep eye contact with your lover while you rub your thumb in circles against his sensitive spot, on the back side of the shaft where it meets the head. He lets out a mixture of a whimper and moan while closing his eyes. You add the dripping precum to the tip of his cock will you rub him up and down just like he had shown you previously. He likes when you start towards the middle and rotate up and down, not too fast and not too slow, but not too much pressure and not too light of a touch. He openly told you before that you weren’t very good with the whole handjob concept even though you’re basically professional at everything else, and so he went into great detail, and now you can really make the man quiver.

You sit up, moving so you can use both hands, because his balls look just a little too neglected. You straddle his left leg, allowing him to feel your bare soaking pussy against him. He grunts at the new feelings, getting to be too much for him to handle.

“Baby please make me cum,” he whines as you start to grind yourself on his leg, matching the rhythm that you’re stroking his length. Your other hand gently caresses his full sack, you know he will be cumming so much tonight and you cannot wait.

“Satoru, baby, please? Cum for me?” You let out a small moan as he rubs his leg against you for some extra friction, which simply sends him over the edge. Looking into your big sweetly innocent eyes he shoots his seed all over his abs. Neither of you even look at his cock when he cums, too mesmerized by the lust contained within the eye contact.

Finally, you let go of his penis as he catches his breath with his eyes closed. You want to give him some time to recover but not too much, because it will mess up the variable data!

“My sweet, are you ready for more?” You ask innocently already devising a plan for what you’ll do to him next.

“Whatever you want princess,” he breathes out finally opening his eyes when he has caught his breath.

You try to remain confident as you shift your weight off of his leg and swing your body around.

“Can I sit on your face please baby?” You ask again sounding way too innocent for the words coming out of your mouth. Satoru lets out a moan at the unexpected question, his cock growing hard again.

“Please, fuck yes, please let me make you feel good,” Satoru begs, grabbing your legs to help you get adjusted.

“No baby, I want to face the other way.”

“Oh,” Satoru breathes out, knowing what is coming next.

You get adjusted, your warm soaking cunt hovering over your husbands mouth, thinking about how long it has been since you’ve done this position, surely it won’t take him long to reach peak number 2.

Satoru wastes no time diving in like a starved man. That is the thing about your husband, is he loves pleasuring you almost more than he likes being pleasured himself. Seeing and hearing and feeling you feel good drives him crazy, being the reason he loves sixty-nine so much.

Pulling out all the stops tonight you lean down, licking a strip down Satoru’s abdomen, the exact line where all of his previous cum was. You lick from the bottom of his pecs down the whole way until you reach the base of his dick, proceeding to lick a stripe up and wrap your lips around his tip.

“Oh my fucking god baby that was the hottest thing ever”

Now he really starts eating you out with a passion, tongue circling your clit before plunging in your hole. You attempt to match the bobbing of your mouth on his cock but he simply goes too fast. You come off his cock to let out a guttural moan of his name, which only eggs him on further.

“I’m - I’m not going to last long - ahhha - if you keep that up S’toruuu”

“Mhmmm,” he hums against your clit, knowing how good the vibrations feel for you.

You close your eyes before going back down on his cock, feeling him twitch as you messily tongue his tip.

“-m sensitive hmm” a muffled Satoru says but you don’t care. Using your previously covered in cum hand, you run up and down his shaft while moving down to suck on his balls. This sends toe curling electricity through his body, and he reaches his arm around your thigh so he can access your tight hole with his thumb. Sucking and licking while you feel his thick thumb being sucked into you. Being as turned on as you were, a first orgasm is almost instantly ripped from you, catching both of you off guard but you moan against Satoru’s balls. The combination of feeling you convulse against his thumb plus the sensitive state of his dick in your hand sends Satoru over the edge, but he at least gets to give you a warning.

“Cummin for ya again baby please take it all,” he says barely coherent being so overtaken by pleasure. You attach your lips back to his tip and finish sucking him off until you feel cum stop coming out. You try to get off of him as gracefully as you can, moving to lay down for a minute to give you both some air. You look at the lower half of his face as he licks his lips, and you hold out your tongue showing him you swallowed all of it.

“Cmere pretty girl,” he murmurs, wrapping his right arm around your shoulders and pulling your sweaty bodies close.

“Don’t get too comfortable my baby were only half done, at least,” you smile up at him and watch as he realizes you really weren’t kidding earlier.

Once you’ve recovered from your orgasm, you crawl back on top of Satoru, but this time straddling his pelvis, his semi-hard cock under you. He still looks a little out of breath, but you’re going to do all the work so he doesn’t need to worry right?

You grind your soft wet folds against his growing erection, “can I have it in my sweet pussy this time baby?” You ask doing your best to give him puppy eyes. His eyes roll to the back of his head, humping his hips up a little to give more friction.

“You can have anything you want Princess, you’re being such a vocal good girl t’night,” he sounds out of breath, whiney, and desperate as he watches you reach your hand down to line him up with you. You smile as you playfully rub his tip on your clit.

His hands cover his face, “please. Please stop teasing me, please baby,”

Without further notice you slip him inside, slippery from the previous orgasm Satoru ripped from you.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” he whispers before a porn like moan courses through him, “y/n I’m so sensitive, I don’t think I can do it!”

You slowly ride and grind up and down his shaft, one hand on his chest to support you, the other rubbing at your clit. “Please, daddy… for me?” You emphasize that word, knowing being called that drives your husband crazy.

Satoru’s large skinny hands find the squishy sides of your hips and he squeezes hard. Not that he meant to, but there will definitely be 10 small oval bruises on your ass and hips tomorrow.

“Say it again…” he moans.

“Say what again?” You smile innocently, batting your eyelashes. With that he lifts one hand off your hip and lashes out a spank on your ass check, making your tight hole clench down on him more.

“You know what I meant.” God, something just slightly feral comes out of Gojo when you play so innocent but also act so seductive for him, especially when he hears that word from your lips.

“Daddy, I need two more orgasms from you, please?” You whine as you find a particularly good spot that his cock is rubbing inside you. It’s like your words revived Satoru’s stamina, firmly grabbing your hips again before helping you lift off and on him at almost inhuman speed. Each thrust goes so deep in you, you think you feel it in your stomach. A few more hard thrusts and he is pulling you off of him, and pushing you straight back so your back is on the bed now. He hovers above you, reclaiming his dominance, before pushing back into you with both legs dangling off his shoulders. You know he is holding out as long as he can, but he’s going to want you to cum first so he can feel you clench around his cock and push him over the edge. He leans down kissing your lips, forehead, and cheek before whispering seductively, “such a good girlll,” while emphasizing the last two words with two particularly rough thrusts. He continues his praises inbetween licks and sucks on your neck

“You looked so pretty on top princess but I just had to have my way with you,” before he leans down to suck which will surely leave a hickey. When he comes back up for air he breathlessly groans,

“And you just taste so good and your throat knows my cock so well!” You think he may be slightly going insane and wonder if orgasm numbers 3 and 4 are necessary. Moaning with him, he knows you love his dirty talk because he can feel you squeeze his cock without trying.

Satoru fucks into you with relentless speed, causing your chest to bounce up and down, and all you can do is grip onto his shoulders and let your toes curl from pleasure.

“Mmm, daddy, g’na cum for you,” you barely breathe out, getting closer to the edge as your back arches off the bed. At this he puts your legs together and pushes them back towards you, knowing exactly how to hit your favorite spot in this position.

“Come on princess, cum for daddy, that’s it,” he groans, temporarily forgetting about his overstimulated cock while being so focused on your eyes rolled back and mouth hanging open in pleasure. Just a few more thrusts and he has you squeezing his dick so tight, he knows he won’t last much longer. Your orgasm hits you, not even able to control the beautiful sounds coming out of your mouth, face red, tears threatening to spill from pure bliss. Satoru slowed his pace to let you finish your orgasm before pounding into you harder than before

“Sa-tor-u” his name comes out of your mouth broken up not being able to catch your breath.

“I-I’m gonna - toru!” Being fucking into overstimulation has made you squirt all over Satoru’s cock and lower abdomen, which puts him over the edge, two more hard thrusts before he pauses, spilling his third load of the evening into your throbbing cunt.

His breathing heavy, sweat making his usually fluffy white hair stick to his forehead and his whole body seems to be glowing from the shine of sweat covering him. God you feel so bad for him but also do you really? As he’s said before “your pussy is heaven” so like it’s not really bad that you’re giving it to him…

“Let’s get you in the shower hun,” you whisper next to his ear, having plans for how you can get at least one more orgasm out of him. Still huffing, he gets up and his glorious skinny body looks so beautiful you feel yourself getting horny again. At least you weren’t as tired as your husband!

You set out 3 fluffy clean towels from the linen closet and turn the shower on a good temperature. Satoru has his arms wrapped around you from behind as you both wait for the water to warm up. “I love you,” he says, kissing the top of your head.

“Love you too, Toru” you smile up at him, turning around in his grasp. You kiss him sensually slowly at first, on your tippy toes gently rubbing your fingers along his cheek and neck. You deepen the kiss, knowing exactly how your husband loves it. He reaches down, each hand grabbing each ass cheek and squeezing before giving you a light spank, causing you to giggle.

“Naughty girl, still haven’t had enough?” He asks down to you. Without responding you gently wrap your had around him and pull him into your beautiful giant shower. The water is perfectly hot , making your eyes roll back in relaxation. You pull Satoru under the water taking care of him first. He turns into your big baby, leaning down to let you shampoo his hair and wash his body. When you get to clean his pelvis area you gently lather his soft penis with soap. He whimpers just from you touching it, but you have to clean it! Next you fondle his balls, massaging the soap in. His erection slowly starts to grow again and you know orgasm number 4 won’t be too far away.

“My turn,” you say looking up at him and turning around so you ass rubs up against his hardening member.

Satoru pumps a generous amount of your fancy smelling body wash onto your pink loofa, his frontside still pressed up against your backside. His long arms maneuver around your smaller frame, using all his energy to make sure he washes you in every hard to reach spot, only detaching himself when he had to wash your back and ass. He ignores the boner that impossibly came back after cumming 3 times already, and thought you didn’t notice.

He opts to hang the loofa back up and uses his hands to sensually rub the soap in, starting with your tits, although they needed no extra attention. Your nipples have always been sensitive in the best way, so when he starts rubbing them you can’t help but feel your core heat up again.

“Spread your legs hun,” he whispers, barely able to hear it over the running water. You do as satoru tells you, and he runs his hands down from your chest to your folds, making sure the area is soapy and clean. Your eyes close, leaning your head back against his chest while he massages your slightly tender pussy.

You take this opportunity to reach behind you, grabbing your husbands hardened shaft, and lining it up with your slick cunt.

“Baby…” he groans, voice laced with concern.

“Shhh, it’s okay I’m going to take care of you,” you answer back and with that, push yourself back onto his cock. You both moan in unison at the connection, like a melody between the differences in your voices. You can tell Satoru is tired by his rather lazy thrusts, so you hold onto the shower wall in front of you, fucking yourself back onto him. He is back there whining and groaning uncontrollably, being such a trooper for letting you do this experiment on him.

He puts his hand over yours on the wall, while snaking his other around your waist and under you to rub at your swollen clit. Immediately when he touches it you gasp, not realizing just how sensitive it was from this evening’s fun.

“-hmygod, don’t squeeze me like that,” Satoru whimpers, you turn your head to the side to see his eyes squeezed shut, a blush covering his whole face and chest, and his abs flexing over and over.

Seeing your hot husband so worked up is just the ammunition you needed to finish this last round. You ask him to sit on the little stone bench you have in the shower, which the two of you don’t utilize enough. He sits and you turn around, reverse cowgirl, and bounce up and down with as much energy as you can.

You didn’t even realize how loud your own moans had gotten, his hands on your waist, with yours resting on his knees.

“Please Satoru, let go for me, cum for me please,” you babble and moan with your head empty. Satoru is completely pussy drunk and fucked out in a way you’ve never seen him before.

“Love you ‘Toru,” you moan out as you reach your last peak and the combination of words and friction send him over the edge. He nearly convulses, gripping your hips to the point it actually kind of hurts. No moans, whimpers, or grunts can even come out of his mouth at this point, his jaw is just slack and eyes pressed shut.

You still on his lap, he leans forward and presses his head against your shoulder, and you think you may have made him pass out.

“Babe, cmn, let’s get you out of the shower.” You stand up turning around to see your husband in all his glory, looking half dead on the shower bench with his cock softened and red. You give him and yourself one more rinse over to get the last rounds residue off and turn the water off. You help Satoru stand, although nearly a head above your height, he wraps his arms around your shoulders and lets you guide him out. You wrap his fluffy extra large towel around him and he slowly grabs the edges, just standing there letting water drip off and making no attempt to dry himself. You wrap your hair in a towel, and quickly dry your body off, tired yes, but not nearly as worn out as your husband.

You look over to him, head thrown back, holding onto the towel. You decide to pamper him for the rest of the evening, drying him off, putting his usual hair product in for him, helping him put on a clean pair of boxer briefs and crawl into bed. It’s not even 8 pm and the sun is just starting to set, you giggle but he hasn’t eaten dinner since being home from work. For christs sake he hasn’t had dessert either. He rolls onto his side scrolling through his phone as you get yourself dressed and brush through your hair.

You kiss his forehead and he tiredly smiles up at you. “Thank you babe,” you whisper, “you helped me prove that article wrong.”

His eyes roll jokingly, “well thanks to your damn article I don’t think my dick is going to work for a few days, so who’s loss is it really?”

You ignore his question, “do you want takeout babe? Are you hungry?”

“Can I just have ice cream..?” He squints up at you like a kid asking their parent to have dessert without finishing their vegetables.

“I guess..” it’s your turn to roll your eyes at him, “stay here I know how you like it.” That brings a smile to his face, snuggling into your cozy bed.

You leave the room to head to the kitchen and Satoru goes back on his phone. He googles the doctors name from the article that he noted to himself earlier and finds the email address.

Dear Doctor Yeager,

Please note that my partner and I experimented after reading your article, and I would like to inform you I am an outlier, and finished four times before nearly passing out. If you would like to do any tests on me please let me know.

- world famous Satoru Gojo

he pushes the send button as you walk back in with his ice cream.

[marvelouslizzie]

unconventional methods - chapter 1

Summary: Bucky Barnes has a big problem: he is too anxious to date and too old school to enjoy porn. But he needs some kind of relief, and he needs it right now.

After getting an accidental boner during a mission, Natasha suggests him an application that seems to be exactly what he needs.

Will your content solve the problem for him? Or will it create new problems?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader (SHIELD Agent Bucky Barnes x Adult Content Creator Reader)

Word Count: 5.7K

Warnings: 18+ NSFW MINORS DNI, sex deprivation, adult content creation, sexy lingerie, sexy photos and videos, male masturbation, self-doubt, overthinking, flirting, sexting, sending explicit content to each other, pet names, mutual masturbation, jealousy, feeling possessive (nothing toxic), hiding the real identity, no mention of y/n.

A/N: This was such a random idea but as I started to think about it, more details came to me. After a point, it became impossible not to write.

In this story, Bunny is the reader but we view most of the story from Bucky’s side so there’s no use of you during the story. We don’t know what the reader is up to, how she feels about stuff. Only as much as Bucky knows or sees. That’s why the reader is mentioned as she mostly.

>> indicates incoming messages and << indicates outgoing messages in this story.

This story is not exactly how it seems but I don’t want to spoil it by revealing things too soon. Just stick around, if you wanna know how things will turn out to be.

Again, a big thank you to @notafunkiller for helping me every step of the way. She helped me the moment I felt stuck or something felt off, beta read the whole story and turned this into a readable piece. Thanking her won’t be enough. I would literally add her as a co-writer if that was possible on Tumblr.

All work is mine, please do not repost or translate without my permission.

Every like, comment and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message me or send me a question regarding the stories I write. I would love to talk about it and no, it would never bother me as long as it’s not a hate comment. They are never welcome.

Read more tag starts after the first paragraph of the story.

Bucky wasn’t sure if he should do this. He looked at the paper Natasha handed him and then back at the screen again. The internet browser was open for a while, but he couldn’t decide what to do. It felt weird to be in this position. It didn’t feel right… but why was it wrong again? She was sharing her own content: whatever she was comfortable with. They were all there for people to see if they wanted to, right? He took a deep breath, started to type the link Natasha wrote down for him, and pushed enter quickly before he changed his mind.

The page loaded quickly, but all he could see was her profile picture and the header. There was a huge subscribe button and under it, he could see how many posts she had, different subscription options, etc. He scrolled back up to look at her photos. They were not clickable, but her profile picture was her in blue lingerie and cute bunny ears, which made him smile for a second. Then he looked at the header. She was on all fours, staring directly into the camera. It was a different look. Not that “I’m trying to look sexy” look that usually turned him off when it came to porn. It felt genuine somehow. How genuine it could be under these circumstances…

He looked at her profile picture for a while, thinking what could go wrong? A lot of people were doing this, weren't they? Some people were making money, some were paying for it. It wasn't that different from buying a dirty magazine. No, actually this was better because she had all the creative control over her own content. She was the one putting it out there. If that was not consent, then what was? He quickly created an account for himself, using a new email account like Natasha suggested. He didn’t need anyone to find out about this.

The next part felt like falling into a rabbit hole because dear god… She looked gorgeous! She had some free content that didn’t show much. Different poses in different lingerie. The photos were serving their purpose, making you want to subscribe and see more… of her. So he kept looking for a while.

There was something about her that made her so much more attractive, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He clicked next, looking at her pic in front of the mirror, with her legs wide open, but not actually showing anything. The slight smile on her face was warm and inviting. He knew he had no other option than to subscribe and see all of her content. He needed to see more.

The process didn't take long. After unlocking the special content, he just stared at the screen. How can she be real? He palmed his face, feeling nervous like he was on a first date with this attractive woman. He knew he wasn't. She was way out of his league, but he still felt nervous and intrigued while checking out all the content. There were so many different options and he didn’t know where to start.

At first, he decided to go slow and just check a couple of nude photos. The pics were in order, showing her getting rid of one piece of clothing with each new shot. It started with her fully dressed, looking super sexy: short skirt, modest cleavage, looking all cute. First, the skirt was gone, then her top, and she was left standing in her pastel pink lingerie that covered her chest completely, but it was lacy and see-through. It was fitting her like it was custom-made. He couldn’t stop himself and kept swiping, finding different concepts. His cock was pressed against his pants, aching for attention as he was unable to look away.

After spending god knows how long on her profile, Bucky finally couldn’t take it anymore. This was the point of all this, wasn’t it? Creating the need at the right time to please himself, so he wouldn’t get random erections during the missions… He unzipped himself and finally freed his cock. Still, his hands didn’t go there directly. He kept looking at her profile, discovering other features: like videos she uploaded while getting off!

“Dear god…” He gulped after seeing the thumbnail. She had a dildo in her hand. There was no way he was not going to click on this. No way!

He watched her taking her sweet time, teasing herself and, of course, the viewers, then getting really wet and adding lube on top of it before she pushed the dildo inside. The moan she let out sent a powerful jolt through his whole body. It was so beautiful and felt so fucking authentic, nothing like those fake, unrealistic porn moans. They were always a huge turn-off. This, on the other hand, was too much to handle. His cock was dripping so much precum, begging him for some attention. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this turned on. Either it never happened or it was so long ago, it doesn’t matter anymore.

He finally reached for the lube, poured a generous amount into his flesh hand, and quickly grabbed his cock. 

“Fuck.” It felt so sensitive. Like he had been edged for the last hour. Maybe he had been… after all the content he went through.

His fingers were loose, moving up and down slowly while the most beautiful girl he ever laid eyes on was pleasing herself on the screen. He didn’t want this to end too soon. He wanted to take his sweet time and maybe imagine she was the one doing this to him. That was a nice image: her between his legs, looking up at him with those big eyes while she moved her hand up and down slowly, torturing him, not letting him come until she said so.

His breath shuttered at the thought, his fingers moving faster than before, like they have their own mind. His cock was grateful, but no, he didn’t want to come before the video was done. Somehow it felt like disappointing your date during your first sex.

Luckily, she started to shatter, moaning as she came on the dildo she was riding. And the noises she made immediately sent him over the edge. 

“F-f-fuck,” he slurred as he started to come. It felt good, really good. He lost himself in pleasure and kept stroking until he emptied himself. Until he felt that overstimulation creeping in. That was when he noticed he closed his eyes. When he opened them back up, the video was done and the black screen with a play again button welcomed him. 

Disappointment washed over him. She wasn't there with him. Even if he came before the video was done, she wouldn’t know. There was no one to disappoint. He was alone in his bedroom, jerking off to a computer screen, but in his defense, the girl was hot. Really hot.

He took a deep breath, letting himself enjoy the afterglow. That was the point of all this: enjoying small stuff like satisfaction without going through the tedious process of meeting new people. He reached for the wet wipes and cleaned himself quickly. As he clicked the exit button on the video, he saw another one. It must be old because she looked a bit younger, and her hair was a little lighter. Also, it looked like a short one so he clicked on it.

“Hey. Thank you so much for subscribing.” This was the first time he heard her voice. It was soft and calm. “I know this isn’t conventional, but I enjoy sharing content like this. Don’t judge me if you don’t wanna be judged, okay?” She winked and god, it was adorable. “I'll try to share new content every Wednesday. I hope to see you here. Feel free to message me if you like. Take care.”

If he hadn’t come thirty seconds ago, he would have gotten hard again after hearing her voice. He was glad even the super soldier serum had some limits. Before his body could recover from his intense orgasm, he closed the window and decided to go take a shower.

-------

The next week passed in a blur. There were missions, briefings, and someone’s birthday… He didn’t care whose. It was not someone from the main team, that was all he knew. He was eating his cake in the corner, minding his own business when Natasha sat next to him.

“Hey.” She tried to sound as casual as possible.

“Hey.”

“You look better.”

Bucky looked at her confused.

“Does that supposed to be a compliment, Romanoff?”

“It’s a simple statement, Barnes. It looks like you took my advice and gave yourself a break.” Bucky averted his gaze from her. “No accidental erections during missions, congrats.”

“It was one time, Natasha. One time. When will you let it go?”

“Whenever you tell me about your… experience.”

“My experience?” He looked back at her, with the same confused expression all over again.

“I wanna know if you liked her or not. I don’t need details.”

“Why do you care so much about it? She’s just a random girl.” He lied to her. She wasn’t. At least not to him. He had been checking her account anytime he got a chance. This whole week, he had been masturbating more than he ever did before. Sometimes even the thought of her was turning him on so randomly, he was starting to get worried, but at the same time, he couldn’t stop himself from checking for updates.

She was sharing content very regularly. Sometimes they were new photoshoots, and sometimes just random cute photos in pajamas. He didn’t know which content he was looking forward to the most. All he knew was he loved how genuine it felt she was.

“I’m just noisy. So tell me…”

“Yes, Natasha, I like her. She’s cute and hot, exactly what I was looking for. What do you want, a thank you?”

Bucky really had no idea how Natasha managed to hit the bull's eye when she suggested this girl to him. She was absolutely his type, so he could say thank you for this, but nothing more.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Thank you.” It was Natasha’s turn to feel confused because in all the time they spent together with Barnes, he never once thanked her. This was a first.

“Wow. You really like her.” She sounded proud of herself.

“Hey, Buck!” The moment Bucky heard Sam’s voice, he jumped off the couch. He didn’t want to spend another minute talking about his irrational crush with Natasha. It was pointless.

-------

As the time passed, Bucky felt like he was addicted to her content. He was checking his phone much more often than before, just to see if she shared something. He didn’t notice it until Sam pointed it out and asked if he got a girlfriend or something. He quickly denied that possibility, finding a lame excuse. He wasn’t sure if Sam bought it or not, but he definitely needed to check his phone less often. 

When he came back home, he felt so tired. The whole day was full of meetings and he let himself be consumed by the details just not to think about her. It was Wednesday, which meant new content,  yet he still tried to stay away from his phone. 

He literally consumed every content she ever shared. There was no photo or video on her profile he didn't see. There were some he masturbated to more than once. He just wanted to take a step back and if he could manage this, he would feel less of a creep. The problem was he was home and he had nothing to do.

He tried to distract himself with food at first, and it only worked for 15 minutes. Then he took a shower, which took even less. Watching television didn’t even last more than 5 minutes, so he decided to go to sleep, but his mind kept wandering to her. He wanted to know what she shared and how she looked. Finally, he gave in and opened her profile… to see nothing. Since yesterday she shared literally nothing. That was so unlike her. She shared something every day and she never missed Wednesdays. He didn’t care about the lack of new content. It worried him that he doesn’t know if she was alright. Why wouldn’t she be? Maybe she was busy. He tried to calm himself down but falling asleep was impossible.

Then he made a promise to himself: if she won't share anything by noon the next day, he would message her. That thought calmed him down a little.

-------

The next day, Bucky forgot that he was trying to avoid checking his phone in public. His body was at work, but his mind was stuck on… her. He kept looking at her profile to see something, anything to assure himself you’re alright, but there was literally nothing. Complete silence. When it was finally noon, he had no patience left. Normally, he wouldn’t even consider sending a message, but he was just worried. And it didn’t occur to him that it was not his place to be concerned about this woman. 

He opened her profile and clicked on the direct messages feature. His mind was completely blank. He had no idea what to say, looking at the screen for a couple of seconds as he trying to collect his thoughts.

“Hey.” That’s all he could come up with. How to say you are worried about someone who has no idea you even exist? It was ridiculous, but there was no way he could just wait and do nothing. “I’m sorry for bothering you. I hope you are alright. You have been absent lately. It could be something totally personal, I know that, but you never miss Wednesdays. So I wanted to check in to see if you are fine. I really hope you are.”

He took a deep breath after he pressed send. It was a long shot for sure. He didn’t really expect an answer. Maybe a seen. And that would be more than enough.

-------

An unfamiliar chime got Bucky’s attention. It surely came from his phone, but he never heard that sound before. When he took his phone out and saw the notification, his heart skipped a beat, just for a second. It was a message from her. The nervous feeling spread through his body like poison, sweat pooling on his forehead before he even clicked on it.

>> Hey, handsome. Thank you for checking in. I have been a bit busy and sick at the same time. Not the best combo. Sorry for missing the content day. I will make it up next Wednesday.

Bucky looked at the message, a bit confused. He wasn’t interested when the new content was gonna drop. He just wanted to know if she was okay. Being busy and sick at the same time didn’t look so. Content should have been the last thing she should be worried about.

<< I’m not worried about the content, darling. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.

He definitely didn’t expect her to respond this quickly, it didn’t even take a minute.

>> Really? I thought you’d miss me.

She was talking like she knew him personally. Like they have chatted before. It was weird and comforting at the same time.

<< I did miss seeing your cute little face, I’m not gonna lie, but I didn’t message you for that. Content can wait until you feel better.

>> My cute little face is a little bit unpresentable and I appreciate your concern. It’s refreshing to see someone actually cares how I am feeling instead of why I did not share anything lately.

<< I’m sure your cute little face is still the cutest thing on the face of the earth. I wouldn’t worry about being presentable.

>> Get ready for a jumpscare. 

He had no idea what that meant, but the text was followed by a selfie: her, in bed, looking rather exhausted, with a messy bun, cute pajamas, and a cup of tea in her hand. Bucky quickly googled what jumpscare means and came back to the messaging screen.

<< You clearly don’t know what jumpscare means. It would be me, in a dark hallway or an alley. That’s real jumpscare. This is a cute lady who needs a bit of time to recover.

>> First darling, now cute lady. Are you sure you aren’t 60 years old?

<< Why, do you have an age limit?

>> For my content? No. << And for other stuff?

>> The answer is still no, but are you?

<< 60? No. I’m 107.

>> How do you know how to use the app at 107? 

That question made Bucky laugh a little, but he chose to be honest.

<< If I don’t know something I just google it.

>> Shouldn't you be semi-dead at 107?

<< I should be fully dead yet I’m still here.

>> Your profile says 33. Why are you lying handsome?

<< Believe me, my body and soul are older than 33.

>> I kinda believe that because you are talking differently.

<< Is it why you are answering my messages?

>> That and I feel a bit lonely. Your message sounded cute. I usually end the conversation before it gets too far.

<< What’s too far for you?

>> When they start demanding private pictures or try to sext.

Bucky had to google once again what sext means, just to be sure, and it was exactly what he thought it would be.

<< But you sent them to me.

>> Just one picture. A sick selfie and you didn’t ask for it. I thought it would turn you off really badly and you would say take care and end the convo.

<< I still think you look cute.

>> I am starting to believe you might be cute as well.

-------

Bucky had no idea how things got this far with her. After that message, they were literally sending texting each other daily. Just checking in, asking random stuff, or getting to know each other. It was not the same every day. Sometimes it was just a couple of messages and dead silence. Sometimes they communicated all day, non-stop, but Bucky didn’t mind. He didn’t mind not talking to her every day. Knowing that she was okay gave him a bit of peace. Just a good morning or a good night message was enough to ease his anxiety. 

>> Good morning, handsome.

That was the text he woke up to, that made him smile almost all day. Every time he remembered her calling him handsome or taking time to send a message to him, it made him happy. It made him feel different than others. He knew that was not the case. Maybe she kept talking to him because he didn’t make her uncomfortable. Maybe she talked to others too. He had no idea, but whenever he thought about her messaging someone else, he felt a faint pain in his stomach. He knew this feeling was irrational, so he avoidedto think about it as much as possible.

<< Good morning, bunny.

<< Is your favorite color pink? He randomly asked as he had been doing all week. The question came to him because he noticed she wore that color a lot.

>> No, it’s light blue. Why?

<< You wear pink a lot, that’s why I asked.

>> That’s what they like. Most men still think blue is a manly color.

<< You look divine in blue. It’s their loss really.

Her answer was a picture of her in blue lingerie. It surprised him because that photo was not on her profile. He remembered seeing this set, but not this exact photo. He kept looking at the pic for much longer than he should have. Another message woke him up from his trance.

<< I take that as you like it.

>> This photo is not on your profile.

<< No, it’s not.

>> But you feel fine sending it to me.

<< You said I look divine in blue. 

>> You do. I’m just surprised you sent me a photo you didn’t share before. I’m glad you feel comfortable.

<< I’m pretty comfortable talking to you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t talk to someone whose name I don’t know.

>> I don’t know your name either, bunny.

<< You are a smart man. Most assume this is my real name.

>> Using your real name would be an unnecessary risk.

<< Is that why you don’t call me Viv?

>> Maybe. I wasn’t doing it on purpose. Why are you calling me handsome?

<< I don’t know, I never really thought about it.

>> Yeah, exactly. You don’t know what I look like but you are calling me handsome.

<< I would love to see what you look like, but I don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable.

>> I’m sure what you are imagining is much better than the reality, bunny.

<< Why do you call me bunny?

>> Because of your profile photo. The bunny ears. You look really cute.

-------

Bucky was in the middle of debriefing. After a really long mission, he was finally back in New York. He wondered if Bunny messaged him. That was what he’d been calling her in his mind for a while and suddenly, he realized it might be too weird. Was he getting too creepy? Too comfortable? They didn’t even know each other properly. The last time they talked, she asked him why he didn’t use Viv. Maybe that was a signal for him to go for the fake name instead of his nickname.

“Barnes.” Fury’s voice brought him back to reality.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if you want to add anything else.” His voice was firm.

“No, no. Romanoff covered it well.”

“Good. Rest for a couple of days. We will be going back to finish what we started.”

When Bucky finally reached out for his phone, Natasha was smiling in the corner.

“Does he have a secret girlfriend?” Sam asked.

“Maybe. I have no idea.” She lied.

-------

>> Good morning, old man.

>> Busy day?

>> I got a funny story to tell you, but you aren’t around.

>> Please tell me I didn’t offend you with the nickname.

>> I am messaging you a lot, aren’t I? I should leave you alone.

>> I’m sorry…

Bucky’s heart was racing as he read the messages. He should’ve warned her about not being online for a while. Instead, she thought she did something wrong. He looked at the message screen, trying tocome up with a good response to assure her that he wasn’t offended. He was an old man after all. What was there to get offended?

<< Hey. I’m sorry. I was away for work. There was no signal. I did not see your messages before. 

<< Just know that you never bother me. You can message me as much as you want. Whenever you want and I will answer when I can.

<< And you know I should be the one to worry if I’m bothering you or creeping you out. Not you.

<< If you still wanna tell me that funny story, I’m here to listen, Viv.

Bucky wasn’t sure if she would reply. After all, she didn’t get a message from him for a while. Maybe he’d already lost his chance… But then his phone chimed.

>> Viv? Where did Bunny go?

>> 🐰

<< You want me to call you Bunny?

>> I got used to it.

<< Okay, Bunny. If that’s what you want.

This made him feel better. Maybe he was just overthinking. She didn’t seem to mind half of the things he was thinking about.

<< Should I get used to being called old man?

>> Does it bother you?

<< It doesn’t. I am an old man.

>> You are 33 if you didn’t lie while creating your profile.

<< Biologically, yes.

>> But you feel older, so you don’t mind.

>> I’m glad you are back.

<< I’m sorry that I didn’t warn you about work.

>> It’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.

That last message broke his heart. He knew she was right. He didn’t owe her anything, but that wasn’t the reason why he was explaining himself. He was doing it because he wanted to, and a small part of him wanted to owe her an explanation. He also wanted her to owe him an explanation. Yet he knew that wasn’t the case.

<< Is that how you feel?

>> Isn’t that how I should feel? I don’t know who you are. I don’t even know what you look like. I just know I like talking to you. If that’s the only thing you are willing to do, then it’s fine by me. I mean you could be married or engaged and I wouldn’t know. So it’s fine, you don’t have to explain yourself.

Bucky looked at the message for a while, digesting what she was saying. She was right. She had no information about who he was while he had access to her all of her content and now private messages. She was completely exposed, and he didn’t even share his name with her. Why would she trust him? Why would she owe him any explanation at all?

<< It’s James.

>> Nice to meet you, James 🐰

>> You have such a beautiful name. 

-------

After he shared his name with her, something changed between them. Something subtle, but it meant a lot to Bucky. It felt like she was more open, and more curious now. 

>> What are you wearing?

Bunny’s question caught him off guard. He looked at himself in panic. He was sitting on the floor, only with his boxers on, so there was no way he could tell her the truth.

<< Pajamas, you?

>> What kind of pajamas? I’m guessing old man pajamas but…I never saw an old man in old-school pajamas. Maybe you can show me.

Shit, shit, shit.

Lying to her was a huge mistake. He had no pajamas to put on. He only had a couple of pants, and henleys, and maybe three jackets. Natasha always made fun of him for wearing the same stuff over and over again. She was trying to hit a nerve so he would go buy something new, but it didn’t work, of course. Now, he wished it did.

He started to panic a little, looking around to find a solution. I could cover my body, a voice in his head said. And that’s what he did. He laid down, covered himself with his blanket, and took the picture. His face wasn’t in the frame, just the tip of his chin. Since he shaved this morning, his dimple was showing. He used his vibranium hand to take the selfie, and in this way, it looked like a normal photo.

It was too late when he noticed the fact that he laying on the floor, not in bed was visible. He cursed to himself while waiting for her answer. There was no way she wasn’t going to comment about the absence of the bed. No way.

>>  I am not seeing any pajamas or your body, old man. It is that bad?

Bucky took a breath of relief. Maybe she did not even notice. After all, she wanted to see him. Maybe she didn’t even pay attention to his surroundings.

Or maybe she just didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. That thought changed his mind. He literally saw every part of her body. Sending a picture back in his boxers shouldn’t be a big deal, right? He stood up and extended his vibranium arm. The new selfie was quite similar except this time he was showing a lot of skin. Starting from the tip of his chin, he showed his upper body only. He looked at the photo before sending it: upper body and black boxers. No bare legs and no face.

>> I see no pajamas. And this body doesn't belong to an old man at all. Are you lying to me, James?🤨

He might have made a mistake by sending this picture. There was no way he could prove to her this is actually him. Especially after all that old man talk. While he was thinking about what he’s gonna do next, he got another message.

>> Cat got your tongue?

<< A bunny did actually.

>> You look good, James. Really good, but you don’t seem excited.

Her response confused him. 

<< Excited?

>> Maybe you need a photo to get excited.

Before he could ask what that means, she sent him a pic of her. Definitely not professionally taken. It’s her in front of the mirror, wearing only shorts and covering her naked breasts with one of her hands while taking the picture with the other. 

>> Hope this helps.

>> But if you wanna see more, you gotta share more.

<< You're very beautiful, bunny, but I hope you know this was not my intention. I was waiting for you to tell me that funny story.

Her response was another photo: a close up on her covered breasts. She looked like she was about to drop her hand and reveal it like he did not see them before.

>> I know.

>> So does this mean you're not excited? I was trying something here…

>> I can tell you the story if that’s what you’d rather do.

“Fuck…” Bucky cursed out loud. He was really good at this before. Flirting and finding the best possible response were easy back in the 40s, but it didn’t feel like that anymore. He was constantly worried about doing something wrong or creeping her out. He wanted to hear the story, but he really wanted to see her breasts too.

<< What do I have to do to see more?

>> I’ve just told you. Share more to get more.

Oh, so she wanted more photos of him, and he literally had no idea how to take flattering pictures.

>> Maybe start by showing me if the photos worked or not.

He looked down at himself and saw his rock-hard cock. How is he supposed to show her? Maybe I should mimic her photos. He touched the outline of his dick, making it a little more visible before taking a picture.

<< Is it clear enough?

>> Oh, you got really excited, didn’t you Jamie?

>> Not an old man after all.

He loudly groaned when he saw what she called him. Jamie. God! He felt a jolt of arousal the moment he read the nickname. He was sure he got even a little harder if that’s possible. 

Before he could find an answer, Bunny sent him another photo. This time her palm was stretched on her breasts, fingers not hiding much anymore, but still, her tits weren’t completely visible. Yet he could see how erect her nipple was. He already had a lot of dirty thoughts: like taking her nipple into his mouth and torturing her before giving in. He just didn’t know if he should voice them or not.

<< Oh, that nipple…

>> What about it?

<< You wanna hear what I am thinking about?

>> Well, since I’m trying to tempt you here… What do you think?

<< Fuck, Bunny. You have no idea what you are doing to me.

>> I am dying to hear it though.

Instead of telling her, Bucky decided to show her. He tried to position himself in front of the camera and take a good photo of his erection. He tried a couple of different angles, but it was a dick after all. Nothing he tried seemed to make it seem more appealing in his view. When he finally sent the picture, he added a small text.

<< How about I show you instead?

>> Oh my god!

>> You were hiding that from me all this time?

>> Damn, I feel robbed.

<< Does this mean you like it, doll?

>> Oh, that’s new.

>> And I like it.

>> Maybe even better than Bunny.

>> And yes, I am actually drooling right now even with that horrible angle. 

<< Horrible angle? How should I do this then? I never...

>> Do you want me to teach you, old man? Because I can.

<< I’m always open to learning new stuff. That’s the only thing you can always rely on.

>> Ohh, I love that. Open-minded, doesn’t mind taking criticism, no fragile masculinity. All very hot. 

>> Try taking a picture in front of the mirror maybe. Don’t take the picture from above or too down. Try to use eye level if you aren’t particularly doing something. That works better.

Using a mirror wasn’t a good idea for him. He could imagine the photos looking better like that, but there was no way he could hide his metal arm.

So instead of positionin his camera above, he tried to level it down, showing his full length and thickness. A photo didn’t seem to work so he decided to record a short video of him playing with himself: his flesh hand going up and down slowly on his full length. He couldn’t help but let a low moan when his hand brushed against the head. Fuck, imagining her seeing this… The idea turned him on even more. He got so excited that he forgot to check the video before sending it.

>> Fuck, James.

>> Fuck fuck fuck.

>> Your voice is so fucking hot.

>> And you are so aroused. Is it all for me?

<< It’s all for you, doll.

<< This is what you do to me. All the time. 

<< God, I wish you were here.

Bunny or Doll, he had no idea which one suits her better, sent a video as the response: her fingers, two of them, going in and out inside her. She was going pretty fast, indicating she had been doing this for a while, and there was a faint moaning in the background, which Bucky couldn’t get enough of. He watched the video twice before answering.

>> You are gonna be the death of me.

>> Are those fingers enough? Do you want a third one or maybe you would rather have a big dildo inside?

<< I would rather have you inside me.

After this point, everything felt like a blur. Things got out of hand, they kept exchanging photos and videos until they both got pretty powerful orgasms. Yet James found himself wanting more. So much more than she probably wanted to offer.

>>> Next Chapter

[ladyamanda123]

You guys….my head just EXPLODED

🤯🤯🤯

Okay bare with me here because my thoughts are literally chaos right now! Going to try and take you through the ninja katana that just happened to my brain!

1. Everyone has been focusing on this album being white. Taylor wore a white dress, Taylor used the 🤍, etc etc

This has been bothering my photographer mind since I very first saw the cover. That cover is not black and white. That cover is Sepia.

Rep is Black and white…..Folklore as well (though more muted and grey than stark black and white like Rep)

Poets is Sepia!

Now obviously there is no Sepia heart emoji so it could be that simple BUT Taylor is a mastermind and she doesn’t do accidents. The Sepia toned album cover is not white and that immediately drew attention to it when everyone is focused on the white aspects (which also lended itself nicely to the Rep TV/Poets bait and switch)

2. So I decided to go learn about the history of Sepia and quickly came across this very interesting article. I started reading. Immediately aspects of this colours history started setting off lightbulbs 💡

Sepia comes from the Cuttlefish’s defence mechanism. When under attack the cuttlefish releases a cloud of ink to distract the predator and make a swift (SWIFT!!) escape!?!?

Already we have the ink tie in specifically mentioning jet black (like the octopus and squid) but the cuttlefish’s defender cloud is sepia……this album is a defence mechanism so she can distract the predators (hetlors/the press) to make her escape to safety. It’s the bait and switch. The distraction. The decoy.

This was already enough to have my jaw on the floor…but wait! There’s more!

3. Sepia’s use in photography…

This love story began in black and white…in Reputation.

🎶I once believed love would be black and white….but it’s golden (Daylight)

This cover photo is very clearly Daylight after the long and tortured Midnight….now she only sees Daylight!

Sepia has come to represent a by-gone age….

Everyone thinks that Kaylor is over and done. Just an ended friendship, a burned bridge, no longer relevant…but the act of making that relationship look old was actually used to preserve that love and allow it to be long lasting!

There’s also the very obvious photography connection with the Polaroids significance to Kaylor.

Also note the nod to 1920s….along with the Clara Bow track pointed at that era here’s another possible link to the roaring 20s

Another link to Daylight coming after Midnight…the opening of the Karma music video shows the Midnights album which turns into a golden sunlight over the golden Taylor statue. Midnight to Daylight.

So as if all of this wasn’t already enough I kept reading and the next paragraph made me scream…..

The Wizard of FUCKING OZ you guys!!!!

(Side note that we have the Blake/Taylor Dorothy and Ariel combo call back here as well! Worth noting maybe Daddy I Love Him will shed some light on this Halloween Party…we know our 🎃 anon wanted us focusing on Halloween! Maybe this evening was significant in the story!)

So everyone thinks of it as black and white but it’s actually Sepia…..yes yes go on…..

So you’re telling me to create the illusion (🎶All eyes on me your illusionist) of sepia to colour they were using a body double. A double! A bait and switch! A stand in! Like every single beard relationship and every single Karlie stand in we have been seeing lately! Blake at Beyonces premiere….Keleigh at the Golden Globes, Keleigh as the bride, etc etc etc.

Slight of hand, more illusions and bait and switch imagery to make the art work and the magic happen.

Holy Shit!!!

I need to go pass out now!

Link to the Sepia article:

[writers-potion]

Techniques for Building Suspense

Pose a Question

Plant a question in the readers' mind for which they want an answer. This will motivate them to read on.

What is going to happen?

What has happened? Dark pasts, unrevealed motivations, good for mystery plots.

What is happening? Mystify the POV character and the reader for a few paragraphs, making them wait for the moment when it all falls into place.

The Ticking Clock

Give your protagonist a time attack for their goal to be achieved.

Show how time passes with each step, the stakes rising with every hour spent.

The sun sinking into the horizon, the digital watch blinking out of battery, the distant church bells chiming with impending doom.

Pacing

Generally, fast-paced action scenes with have little description, allowing the reader to feel the exciting rush of immediate action.

When the suspense is great, you can increase it even more by slowing the pace. Keep the reader waiting for the big blow that is definitely coming.

Works best when the MC is unable to do anything (e.g. tied to a chair, trapped in the attic, etc.)

Insert sentences of description to slow pace. (e.g. upstairs, a toilet flushed, and water gurgled through the pipe in the wall.)

The Door Opens

Put a door between the MC and the danger. It serves as a psychological barrier, the last chance to turn back.

Use any kind of door: a front door, entry arch, trap door, garden gate, stile, ave mouth, etc.

Describe how the door looks and opens. (e.g. The door's white paint was flaking, revealing previous costs of scarlet and black. The door whined inwards on its hinges.)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2 

💎For early access to my content,  become a Writing Wizard 

[preeningpisces]

JJK Men vs. Tinder

What the men are like on Tinder! Non-Curse AU

AN: I discussed these with my sister & it’s such a fun topic. If you have any thoughts/headcanons, pls share them!

Includes: Choso, Geto, Gojo, Kenjaku, Nanami, Sukuna, Toji

Below the cut, toxic behavior, enjoy!

Choso

❥ Photos: not the best at taking photos. They’re awkward, but in an endearing way. A classic above view selfie where he tries to look neutral/cool, but it ends up looking kind of pouty and oh-so babygirl. A photo with itadori with a forced smile, and one that itadori took of him while they were at an arcade & he won a plushie from a claw machine

❥ Bio: itadori did some major editing because Choso wrote like a whole paragraph that no one wants to read

Hi! New to the dating scene. If you like video games, anime or sci-fi too then should talk🖤

❥ Opener: pretty standard, afraid of coming off like a creep because he's awkward

hi how are you?

❥ Messaging: makes you feel like you’re messaging a bot at first because his responses are pretty fast because he's eager, but also straightforward and bland because he doesn't want to say something wrong. Itadori has to come in & do damage control until Choso can see you're interested. Very much a penpal--might be a week or more before he asks you out. He's the type that wants to have an emotional connection going on a date

❥ How he asks you out: he's nervous but he's direct. Stares the phone down until you reply

I really like you and want to meet you. do you want to go on a date?

❥ First date: he’ll take you somewhere sweet and fun, like an arcade or a carnival. Having activities takes some pressure off, which helps with his nerves a lot. Googled how to act on a date, so he brings flowers - aaaaw. Pays too, even if funds are tight.

❥ If it doesn’t work out: omg having to end things will STRESS HIM THE FUCK OUT. He's going to mull over the decision for a hot minute before he does it. He's apologetic, but makes it clear that he doesn't want to see you anymore

♡ ♡ ♡

Geto

❥ Photos: the best at taking photos. They’re pretty normal for the most part, one with him petting a cat, another at a cafe with Gojo and Shoko. But he has a pretentious black & white photo of him reading a book or staring off to the side. He looks so pretty it cancels out the cringe tho

❥ Bio: keeps it simple, he believes it's better not reveal too much. That's what getting to know someone is for, afterall. Definitely has his spotify connected

Looking for real connection, someone that's my bestfriend before anything else. Always looking for new music, any song recs?

❥ Opener: opens with something from your profile to show he actually read it and didn't just swipe because of your looks, and to start with an interesting convo!

Saw you like reading. What’s the best book you’ve read so far this year?

❥ Messaging: engaging conversationalist, but not the type to instant message endlessly. Doesn't take forever to respond tho, and if he's about to become busy he'll warn you. Will ask more questions about you than he will share about himself. Gotta keep up that mysterious art hoe vibe he ikes to give off

❥ How he asks you out: would ask you out pretty quickly, perhaps after talking for 2 days or a day and a half. You’d be instant messaging, and he just says your name as if he’s about to say something serious, & lets it hang there for a moment before following up with:

I’ve really enjoyed talking, we should go on a date

❥ First date: chill but gives you something to talk about. Museum, aquarium, bar with a jazz music night, pottery class, etc. Gentlemanly but in a cool way, if that makes sense? Not quite as strict as Nanami, but you will feel a bit like a princess. Definitely pays! Cuts out the awkwardness by saying he's going to cover things before you even go

❥ If it doesn’t work out: lowkey kind of dismissive! He’s not going to outright ghost you…but he’ll breadcrumb you until you bring it up

♡ ♡ ♡

Gojo

❥ Photos: has the most normal photos. Always looks like he’s having fun & hanging with people. One where he took an unwilling selfie with Nanami, another of him standing over a maximum height chart at an amusement park with an exaggerated pout, and a video deadlifting Geto at the gym with passerbys staring judgementally

❥ Bio: uses the stereotypical bios but ironically. You need 3D chess insight to know he’s joking because it kind of suits him LOL

If you like pineapple on pizza, it’s not gonna work 🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️ looking for my partner in crime. The Pam to my Jim 🥰 short king 👑 let me climb you like a tree mens 14 shoes, if you know what I mean 😈

❥ Opener: Gojo likes a casual and playful approach. If your profile has something funny he'll open with that

heeeeey what’s up?

❥ Messaging: weaponizes girl texting. Playful, cheeky. Instant messanger most of the time, but will randomly disappear for a whole day and come back with a lame explanation like 'sorry, was busy with work'

❥ How he asks you out: he’d ask while you’re joking around, after you roast him. Will text for several days before meeting up

mmhm why don't you come say that to my face? 🤨 this weekend over coffee my treat definitely not a date or anything

❥ First date: surprisingly, he goes for the classic coffee shop, window shopping, or movie type dates. Very lackadaisical when planning--kind of stressful if you're a big planner or have a tight schedule. A lot more chill on the date than he was over text. Will pay for everything, obviously, might even buy something you see and casually mention liking

❥ If it doesn’t work out: straight up ghosts you - sorry buddy. He just doesn't like dealing with that mess, and to him, if you haven't been seeing each other that long he doesn't feel obligated to end things directly

♡ ♡ ♡

Kenjaku

❥ Photos: normal, flattering, down to earth. He wants people to swipe so he can mess with them. On other occasions, MIGHT use random people's photos and catfish just because he was feeling goofy. Has been banned SEVERAL times

❥ Bio: Kenjaku is tricky. His profile and approaches change all the time because he's the type that wants to do 'social experiments' on Tinder. I can see him doing the whole 'I made the most toxic profile to see if ppl will still match with me' or making one that comes off SO sketchy it's insane anyone would talk to him. Even worse, will make one looking for a serious relationship only to commit psychological warfare on the poor sap who matched.

❥ Opener: depends on what he wants. Very much a wild card. Some examples:

sends a questionable link - it's a photo of your house from Google Streetview

If being normal, like Geto he comments on something from your profile: you like hiking, have you been to X trail? It has great shade

❥ Messaging: eratic. Either endless chatter, or radio silence. Definitely the most verbose of the bunch--if you've caught his interest or bring up a topic he likes he's texting paragraphs. Will get bored easily if you're a dry texter. Occasionally sends voice memos because it's like a one-sided phone call LOL . Sometimes he asks out quickly, sometimes he doesn't. Sigh.

❥ How he asks you out: I'm a broken record at this point, but it depends on his intent! Sometimes he's charming, sometimes he's insane and wants to creep you out

I have tickets to X, want to join me?

That cafe you went to yesterday looks nice, we should go together sometime

❥ First date: if he's trying to charm you, he'll take you somewhere he knows you like (that he can stand) OR somewhere entertaining like an open mic comedy night. If he's being a menace, he'll take you somewhere really weird like a Quaker meeting (thank you fleabag). Or just stand you up. He'll actually be there, just to watch how you react

❥ If it doesn’t work: will gaslight you into believing YOU'RE the one with the problem and are the reason it isn't working. You might delete the app after suffering this demon

♡ ♡ ♡

Nanami

❥ Photos: his company headshot photo, a few work function photos that he’s cropped and are blurry. He’s not smiling in any of them, except for one of him accepting an award at work where he gave the smallest smile for the photo to look agreeable.

❥ Bio: fills it out like a job application. Straight to the point.

Dating with intention. I enjoy reading and cooking. I look forward to speaking with you.

❥ Opener: Nothing crazy - very standard but more formal than typical

Good afternoon, how are you doing?

❥ Messaging: very formal and polite, doesn’t like small talk but will engage in interesting convos. Doesn't reply instantly, but doesn't leave you hanging for hours--he's a busy guy, afterall. Respectful of your time, and expects that in return. Prefers phone calls! Especially while he's making dinner.

❥ How he asks you out: he’s very effecient, he’s not going to be your penpal. He’ll ask you out within the first day of talking if he’s feeling the right vibe. Thinks meeting in person is better for getting to know someone. Will arrange all the plans and make sure it works with both of your schedules comfortably

I would like to get to know you better. Would you be interested in dinner at XX?

❥ First date: classic dinner man! Won’t take you somewhere intimidating, but definitely something nicer. He doesn’t go on dates willy nilly, so he’s going to treat you right. Will be baffled if you offer to pay

❥ If it doesn’t work: Very respectful, of course. He'll let you know quickly as well and won't lead you on. Will thank you for going on a date with him and say it was a pleasure to meet you.

♡ ♡ ♡

Sukuna

❥ Photos: a shirtless pic with him flexing, one of those middle-aged man selfies where they look stern but also a bit confused bc they aren't sure they're doing it right LOL. One of his car or a bike. He's gotta look badass but kind of looks lame

❥ Bio: BOSSY. He basically has a DNI list but for swiping. Sees it as you being audacious if you swipe on him and aren't worth his time

If you're clingy, desperate, have kids or a moron don't bother

❥ Opener: will say something about your appearance - whether this is positive or negative entirely depends on why he swiped. Somtimes he'll swipe on ppl he finds ugly just to see if he gets a match. He's an asshole like that

You look sexy as hell in that 3rd picture

Don't get your hopes up. You're fucking ugly, just thought you needed to know

❥ Messaging: very dry texter. Don’t ask multiple questions, only 1 will be answered. Takes long to reply as well. Prefers calls, but doesn't like calls where it's just chatting to chat yknow?

❥ How he asks you out: basically tells you you're going out LOL. Will ask you out pretty quickly, he just doesn't care for texting that much

Come to X on Friday. We're getting food.

❥ First date: He's going to take you to dinner, but is one of those annoying mfers that's like 'if you won't get messy in public you’re too full of yourself' so it'll be like bbq or wings at a sports bar. 50-50 type of guy. He's not spending $$ on someone he doesn't know

❥If it doesn't work: oh you know he's going to be ruthless. Your ego isn't going to be wounded, it's going to be evaporated

♡ ♡ ♡

Toji

❥ Photos: only 2 photos - a shirtless, dirty mirror selfie with flash obscuring most of his face & a gym selfie where he’s flexing

❥ Bio: tinder isn’t important to him, so he isn’t going to put effort into his profile, but if it catches him the occasional hookup he won’t complain. One of those terrifying mfers that straight up puts their number on their profile (I'm always tempted to send them something insane)

text me if we match (XXX) XXX-XXXX

❥ Opener: he doesn’t usually open, you gotta text him first. What a bitch. If he does open he'll comment on a photo, something that stands out so it isn't odd to comment on it, but still invovles your appearance somehow so it lets you know he's basically checked you out. He knows being too bold will scare most ppl off

I like the hair. suits you

❥ Messaging: nonchalant, and doesn't reply quickly. Dry, but not as dry as Sukuna. Big breadcrumber - engages juuuust enough to keep you around

❥ How he asks you out: Toji’s intention is usually hookups, so he’s pretty straightforward & will ask if you want to meet that night. Too old for ‘you up’ or ‘wyd’

I’m at X. Want to join for drinks?

❥ First date: usually a bar. Then his or your place. Very low effort. Whether he pays or not depends on you, to be honest. If he gets the vibe you don't care, he won't offer. If he gets the vibe you will care, he'll pay. Very good at reading people

❥ If it doesn’t work out: ghosts, but keeps your number if he wants to hit you up again. You’ll probably get a text 3 months later LOL

♡ ♡ ♡

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

THE SOUND OF SILENT GRAVES (X)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER XI

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 15.5k

WARNINGS: Angst, threats, exploitation, stalking behavior, very dark/toxic modeling standards/expectations, body issues, scar descriptions, mentions of past intimacy, broody/stubborn Nikto, brief smut, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your mind doesn’t remember the first time you looked in the mirror and saw the beginnings of the flaws. Perhaps your nose was a bit too strange—lips a bit too…there the second you turned thirteen. Maybe fourteen. Fifteen. You know it started slow, like all poison does; the point to where you actually begin to pay attention to the chains around your neck. 

Your eyes hadn’t left where Nikto’s sweatpants sat so well over your hips for at least five minutes. Usually, you’d pick at those flaws here, on the cold bathroom tile with the black and white wash of nothingness. But this is distraction enough to block it out, at least for now. 

You smell like him. 

You’d noticed after you had woken up for the second time and had found Nikto gone—his thigh no longer the firm pillow to your skull. It startled you, admittingly, and you thought it was unlike him, but then your ears had picked up on the barked Russian sentences outside the bedroom door, drifting in from under the wood as your haze cleared. Best guess? He was on the phone with someone while you kept getting the rest he said you needed; you could only speculate how he got out from under you without making your eyes snap open. But, yes, it was undeniable that every ounce of your skin was bathed in his scent; marked, branded as if a sheep. 

Rotting wood coated in gunpowder, and gnawing metal that peels back flesh. 

It’s stuck in your nostrils as you itch at the side of your nose, blinking away from your reflected visage as if it’s on fire. 

Focus, you plead, and you don’t even know to whom. 

So much had happened, that the thought of your brain calming down was impossible. Nikto knew. He knew about the purpose of the parties, he knew about your doubts and fears, he knew your body. 

As you exit the bathroom, your mind slips into a dark thought—maybe learning to care about someone turns you into a bit of a stalker of your own. No one else could say they knew you as well as Nikto now does: your fears and your hopes. Not even Alyona, you flatten your lips at the realization, and you consider her your best friend. 

“Jesus,” you groan quietly after a moment, pushing your palms into your eyes with a heavy sigh. 

It can’t be past noon now, and you can’t run from this forever. 

The phone on your nightstand is taken up, and, sitting back on the bed, your eyes dart and skate past the tossed party dress on the floor, wishing someone would go out and burn it already. As the visible tear in the lace catches your attention, along with the slashed corset, there’s an unmistakable twitch at your lips, that only makes your chest tighten immediately after.

Clearing your throat, you turn back on the device and try to give it your undivided, though anxious, attention. The sound of sharp Russian beyond the door gives a sliver of comfort. 

But still…why hadn’t he woken you up? There’s a sliver of confusion that takes place in your mind, but you push it back softly.

The first wave of notifications is expected, and exactly the same as it had been before breakfast. 

Kliment Fedorov, Alyona, your Mom, even the investigators—texts and calls, ranging from clipped sentences to long paragraphs. Thumb hovering over the screen, you raise your opposite hand and rub at the base of your skull, a low sound in the back of your throat. There was so much, you didn’t even know where to begin. You should be worrying about the stalker, not your job. 

But…when had you not been worried about your job?

Just another thing to make me lose my mind faster, you think. God, this is getting to a point where I’m starting to not care if they get rid of me—at least then I’d be able to make my own decisions. You start with Aly, and you quickly slap the call icon just to ease your shaky fingers of the stuttered typing they would have had to do otherwise. Phone to ear, the ringing only persists for two seconds before there’s the hurried panic of static and a frantic voice. 

“Seraph!” 

“Aly—” You try to quickly calm her down, mouth open with the half-formation of speech.

“Bastard! Why did you not call me?!” The woman snaps, and your ears twitch, your body flinching at the guilt that grows. “I have been up all night and worried most of the morning—damn you. Everyone at AMA is silent and Fedorov won’t let me into his office.” 

That’s right, you had told her you’d call her after the party—when you’d talked to her after seeing Nikto’s back tattoo. 

After you’d touched his ravaged flesh. 

Your face heats slowly, head tilting to the floor as you clear your throat. It was all wrapped in tissue paper, those memories. The storage room, the way those pale eyes had dug into your form in that damned dress, wanting to try and compliment you in his own strange way but being unable when you degraded yourself so consistently—unsure of himself. It was addictive seeing such a frenzied and numb man walking on cracking ice.

But that doesn’t make you any more sure of yourself.

“I meant to,” you hurry into your explanation, waving a hand even if she can’t see it. “You know I wouldn’t leave you wondering unless I had a good reason.” 

Alyona huffs over the line, silence falling as her anger tapers into a line. “...I need to put a bell on you, Солнышко.”

You close your eyes and sigh, fingers moving to push into your nose bridge. 

“Yeah,” your mouth utters. “Honestly, it’s not a bad idea, Aly.” 

It isn’t long before there’s the low plea—that heavy insinuation. You know she’s still now, waiting for you to begin. “Tell me, then.”

Face tightening, you pause and listen for Nikto. You still hear the muted conversation, and occasionally, the stomp of heavy boots along the floors. He’s pacing. 

What’s going on out there? Who was he talking to? You wonder silently, perplexed. Nikto had made many phone calls before, and while he preferred to be in a nearby area and speak in his mother tongue, they hadn’t been as long as this—nor as snappy. Shaking your head, you suppose it’s a problem for later, and in the back of your mind, every word that he’d ever spoken to you rattles like rocks. 

You were nervous around Nikto now, and that doesn’t make any sense to you.

Doesn’t the nervous part come before getting touched in the back of some dark storage room? 

You grunt under your breath, clenching your jaw; becoming more and more like Nikto as the days pass, it seemed. 

“I didn’t sleep with Tarkovsky,” your words are breathy and low. Trying to hide. “...Nikto stopped it.” The heavy pause is enough to make your palms sweat. “Aly?”

“Perhaps I judged the beast of man too early.” You blink, tilting your head as your eyebrows draw in. “Christ, Seraph. I’m relieved, of course I am, but what will Fedorov do once he finds out?”

“He already knows,” you relay. “Nikto wasn’t…subtle about his refusal to let me go.”

“Blood?” Aly asks.

“And bone,” you sigh. 

“Shit,” the woman over the line grumbles. “Do you…” she trails off slowly. “Do you think AMA will keep you on?”

“This hasn’t happened before,” you shrug to yourself, hearing Nikto speaking louder. Your eyes dart to the door, and as you blink, your fingers run your thigh in a self-soothing motion. “I don’t know. Right now I’m debating if it’s even worth it.” A painful chuckle. “Any advice?”

“Keep the bastard around long enough to break someone else's bones.” Aly’s laugh is sharp and smooth. “Show them what happens when they do anything he doesn’t like.”

“The night wasn’t all bad,” you try to defend his personality a smidge. “He’s not some monster, Aly.”

“I wasn’t implying that,” there’s the sound of moving fabric from over the call, and Alyona is most likely in a fitting room herself, taking up your call as she rushed out of a photographer’s shoot at light speed. “...You like him, then? Truly? Or are you just enamored by his capacity for violence?”

Your body slows at the obvious jest, taking it seriously. Face stilling, you blink at the wall across from you. Everything else blurs for a moment, memories slashing to every opened car door and meal made with expert hands. Organized magazines on your tables and cleaned dishes. There was something funny about the way you enjoyed the stretch of his sin coating you like blood over the visible flesh of a masked face.

Nikto wasn’t a good person. You knew that.

“Yes,” you whisper regardless, feet shifting below you. “How can I spend so much time with someone and not like them?” Your words try to reason.

“Very easily,” the Russian woman scoffs, not wasting time. “You know what I mean, Little Seraph. Don’t try to push me off like I am stupid.” A low hum. “When you talk about him, your breath goes light.”

“It does not,” your voice tightens. 

“Denial,” Aly sighs. “The first sign.”

“Oh, shut the hell up,” you groan, standing up and beginning to walk the room casually. You enjoyed the banter—the teasing: you two were good at that. 

As soft chuckles waft around, your lips twitch into a smile. “He’s not horrible. That’s all I’ll say.” 

“No beast?”

“No, no beast. A stubborn brute of a dogish ex-soldier?” You roll your eyes, and the commotion outside of the door takes on a different tone. You pay it no mind. “One hundred percent.”

“You like strays, yes, Seraph?” Alyona’s line crackles.

“I was burdened with a good heart,” you joke with a chuckle, nodding. As the second of silence draws, you reluctantly push out, “I need to check in with everything else.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it,” is the easy reply. The next sentence is troubled. “...If you’re kept, will you have to go to the rest of the parties?”

You don’t get to reply, because there isn’t a moment to think above the sinking in your gut and the sudden shove of the door. Head snapping up, the phone is tilted from your face as your eyes bug wildly. 

Iakov makes it three steps into the room, searching for you, before a growled shout and a ruthless hand connected with his suit’s collar. Watching wide-eyed, you see the way the pale-haired man is dragged out with a loud call of alarm.

Mouth agape, all you utter is a quick, “I’ll call you later,” before rapidly hanging up and moving as fast as you can to the door.

Shoulder hitting the frame, you stutter as you right yourself swiftly. “Nikto?”

“Go back to bed,” the black void grunts, gloved hand releasing Iakov with a violent shove. The two men are in the living room, your guard glaring with venom at your media coordinator as he stumbles back, nearly falling to the floor. 

“She can’t!” Iakov meets that fire with fire, strengthening himself. His face is a tone darker—eyes sharply snapping. “Fedorov has been waiting all day to have a meeting, and I won’t have my job on the line because of some entitled bra—!”

Nikto’s hand re-wraps itself around the man’s collar, jerking the fabric, and in turn, the smaller body forward until the rough fabric of the lower half of his mask is nearly brushing Iakov’s nose.

“I will cut out your tongue,” Nikto eases out far smoother than you’d heard thus far in your many days together. 

Your heart skips a beat.

“...Okay,” you say under your breath, face on fire as your coordinator freezes like a bird under a cat, a flash of rage simmering in his expression. The tension was palpable.

Truth be told, you’d never seen Iakov so unmanaged before—hair this way and that, suit ruffled not only from Nikto but from the apparent running of hands. He was always so put together. You swallow down your shaky worry. 

You’d never known him to be anything but respectful. It was like a knife to the chest to see such a rabid switch of emotions—of personality. Christ, it was damn near wrong.

“Nikto,” you say quickly, and the brute only tilts his head your way, not looking at you as his fingers tighten. Your tongue darts to wet your lips. “Please.”

Iakov is pushed back once more, and your guard grunts, light gaze unwavering as he backs up only a half-step nearer to you, widening his shoulders as the trunks of his arms cross his chest. Suddenly, thoughts of sex, power, and a stalker boil down to the sight in front of you instead, and the great confusion gets larger still.

Nikto is back in full gear, and here you are in sweatpants and an oversized shirt. When had your Russian bear managed to change? Had he left the bedroom far sooner than you’d thought? And…why? Keeping the Russian in the side of your narrowed eye, you take a breath and quickly address the greater problem. 

I thought Nikto was only on a phone call.

“How did you get in here?” Your voice is low, riddled with exasperation and a tinge of stiffness. Would Nikto even have let someone in without talking to you first? It seemed unlikely.

Iakov sneers, clenching his jaw—the void beside you is silent. 

“Key.” Long fingers disappear into his suit, peeling out the gray face of a hotel room key and holding it between two fingers. Eyes pierce you, narrowed with a wave of horrible anger and swirling contempt that makes your breath hitch as if under the scrutiny of a wolf.

Your lungs hold themselves in your ribs like prisoners at the confession; eyes widening. 

Key?

Nikto levels out slowly, shifting with canid-like movements. “Walked in when we were speaking to the investigators over call.” He breathes out a rumble. “Nearly shot his head off.”

“You would have had a harder time than that, Хуй,” Iakov barks, dress shoes clicking as he slaps a foot forward. 

Heart hammering, your anxiety dances—questions muddling. Paranoia. Why would Iakov be allowed to have a key to your room? Had he always had one when you were sent out to parties?

What if he’d walked in before….?

Shaking your head at the implication, you step in before Nikto has a chance to jump the man, snapping out in a fashion that was unlike you, but came from both a place of desperation and nervousness. Your face pulls into a sharp display of panicked anger.

“Both of you shut up and listen!” Nikto freezes, eyes flashing instantly to shock. After a moment, any discernible emotion vanishes from his pale eyes, and he blinks down to you; shoulders lowering as if a display of submission.

While you can’t see it, Nikto’s heart sputters. He hadn’t expected that from you. 

Even back in Yekaterinburg, you were more prone to letting the course go calm—letting others lay themselves over you to avoid confrontation. You were still like that, of course; that was plainly seen in your unwillingness to explain before the party what was going on, but an outburst like that Nikto had never seen before. 

He watches you closely but remains mute even if his throat cages in a grunt of surprise.

Iakov freezes as well, neck snapping over like a fish on a hook. He was rageful and arrogant, you could now see it plainly. Even if he was always composed, you weren’t blind to the looks he would give you when he passed you in AMA—the discreet touches to the back of your shoulders or arms when you’d be given schedules face-to-face. 

You were stuck in a circle of distrust and lustful eyes, and the only reprieve was a man with more blood on his hands than a butcher holding a pig’s heart. 

Trying to calm yourself, you shake your head softly.

“Iakov,” you utter at the glaring face, hate and disgust stuck behind pupils. “Explain it to me.”

“You fucked it all up,” he growls, and Nikto’s gaze snaps to return to a pale face. Yet he still doesn’t interfere, hanging around like a puppy lacking his needle teeth. Muzzled. It doesn’t stop his eyes from sparking, however. “There is no deal with Tarkovsky! You know what that means, Seraph?” His hair is flattened down by a fast hand, tongue licking at his lips. “No money. Fedorov is wringing my neck! Why have you not answered the phone?!” 

“I was resting,” you mutter stiffly, face a tension-ridden mess. Glancing at Nikto and his tight pupils, the Russian doesn’t look over, only his hips moving in a small shuffle. You clear your throat with a small ache starting to form at the base of your skull. “Just got up.”

“It is past noon,” the shorter man barks. “This is absurd!” 

“Lower your tone,” Nikto utters. 

“I will speak what I will,” Iakov’s expression is like a knife as you stuff your shaky hands into your pockets. “Seraph needs to listen to what I tell her to do before—”

“Before what,” your guard interrupts, tilting his head. Around him is a false calm that somehow seems more violent than if he was yowling like a mutt. Your lips thin into a line. “Hm? Speak. You were doing it not a second ago.” 

Your coordinator stills and he wisely keeps his tongue from flapping.

“We will say it only once more,” you watch Nikto from the corner of your eye, breath trapped in your throat as his hips tighten and arms slip to hang by them; gloved hand flexing where the lack of a digit is glaring at you. “Watch your tongue.”

“I’ll call him,” you comply to Iakov’s complaints after a moment of heavy silence, face on fire and your chest being hit by every palpitation of your heart. Your mind is airy, and that scent of rotten wood is back as your legs push in on themselves. “I’ll explain what I can and—”

“Too late,” is the hissed answer. “He already gave me my workload. You’re going out tonight if you still want your job.” Your spine goes rail-straight. “This is the last chance, Seraph,” the pale-haired man spits. “This is it—you’ll put on what I have for you to wear, you’ll give yourself to the man who wants to invest into AMA, and you’ll keep doing what I tell you to. Your dog,” Iakov stares at Nikto for a long while, opening and closing his hands like he wants to say more, but only growls, “will do as he is ordered.” 

Nikto is about to punch him, you can tell by the roll and shake of his wrist. In an instant, you have your hand grabbing at his bicep, barely applying pressure beyond the initial grasp and yank. It does the trick though. 

Nikto’s body halts.

“Give me the key and get out,” you say in a monotone to the raging coordinator. 

Iakov looks like he’s going to fight on that, and your unease at his presence gets larger. The knowledge that he had access to your hotel room the entire time makes your muscles writhe with something dangerous—alarm bells. But the stalker isn’t here with you, is he? He’s back in Yekaterinburg unless there’s something you don’t know about.

Before you can pull on your guard’s arm again, Nikto pounces and slaps the key to the floor, which skids along the white tile as you gasp softly. Great hand connecting with a shouting Iakov’s collar, Nikto doesn’t let go as he begins dragging the man away like a toddler with ease, dress shoes scuffing the floor. 

Face loose, your eyes follow as the Russian grasps the door handle, yanks the barrier open, and tosses the coordinator out with a snarl. 

“You need to obey what I tell you—!” The scream is cut off as the door is slammed shut in Iakov’s face ruthlessly. A lock clicks in place, and that’s the end of it. 

Nikto stays to stare through the peephole, eyes beady and chest heaving with heavy breaths. Under the mask, his skin is taut with feral tension. 

In his youth, the Russian had been unswayable in his anger—a fact that resulted in many a school fight and bloodied faces, usually not only his own. It’s what brought him to the military, to be completely honest with himself. A lust for something he could control like a pocket knife in his hand, but bigger than two teenagers wailing on each other in some field while a gaggle cheered them on. Split knuckles and cut lips. One thing never got any easier, though. 

That damn spark of animalistic loyalty.

He’d formed some bond with you, that was certain. Mutual gain? Who knows. Bodily need? Maybe. Actual care? …Curse him, but perhaps. Yet, hold his toes over a fire if he didn’t feel a horrific rage at some man he could break over his thigh speaking to you like that. 

He feels your gaze on the back of his head even now, as he watches that media coordinator scurry off like a rat, and he flashes to the ongoing gag the two of you had formed. 

Looks like a Shrew. Little rodent.

Nikto sighs under his breath, fingers coming up to rub at his covered chin, scraping gloves against the thick canvas. He backs up with a scoff and stalks away. 

“The man is weak,” Nikto says to you, keeping a tight side-eye. “Get a better one before we dispose of him.”

You strangle down a quick laugh, mouth slowly opening as you think over your words. The comment, said in that rough and sandpaper-like accent, flows through you like water. You should be put off by it, you think to yourself in the back of your brain, especially after the explosion in the bakery and the death of your three previous guards; of Yefim.

Yet…

Your throat tightens. “You think he was being serious?” You ask. “About the party tonight? My job?”

“You are not going.” It’s immediate. 

“Nikto,” you frown, stepping forward as he brushes past you to grab his phone that was sitting on the coffee table. “There are parts that I won’t be a part of again, but I know that you know, that I need to keep my position at AMA. With any hope, showing up will be enough—I can speak, persuade, the person who—”

“Why?” he spits, shoving the device away as his pale eyes glare, head tilting. 

If you knew any better, you’d compare this to a boy pouting. Just perhaps a bit more serious. 

“Oh,” you vaguely motion with a hand, sarcastically uttering as your heart slows now that it’s only the two of you. “I don’t know—food, rent, the ability to live comfortably. You know, the usual.”

Nikto huffs, taking out his baretta and placing it on the table before the cleaning rag is slipped from his belt. He sits down near the neatly folded blanket and perfect pillows, silent. You’d have to keep this conversation going later, there was a low curiosity in your stomach. His phone—the speaking you’d heard from the bedroom. 

“Who were you talking to before I came out?” Walking forward, you listen to the click of dark metal as Nikto takes apart his gun piece by piece, setting them all down in a well-thought-out order. He glances up, and you see his lashes dip in a blink. As usual, his expression is unreadable while behind that mask. You almost missed the balaclava—at least you could see the outline of his lips that way.

“Anything important?”

“Investigators,” Nikto grumbles. “They have taken Sergi into custody, but can get nothing out of him,” he pauses, troubled though you can’t see it as your eyes widen, body going to sit beside his own before intently listening. 

“That’s perfect!” You speak, a smile overtaking your lips. “Maybe that’s why I haven’t gotten any more texts from the stalker. Do you think that they’ll keep him there?”

“No,” you still, smile freezing. “They cannot.” Pale eyes stare into your own smoothly before they break away. Nikto clears his throat, fingers twitching as more bits and bobs are polished. “DNA does not match those found on the letters from your lockbox. It is illegal to falsely detain someone for over forty-eight hours. He will be released unless further evidence is discovered.” 

It’s a slow moment before you swallow down the sharp disappointment in your gut, attention darting from the silent Russian to the table. 

“Oh.”

Nikto’s muscles tense the longer this silence permeates, eyes unconsciously darting back from his gun to you. After a long while, he sighs aggressively, dropping the rag and the slide he had been polishing without thought as it thumps to the table.

“Птичка,” he turns, and you blink back to him just to notice the instant tension as your eyes lock. 

Such grays and blacks make up his being, that you wonder if color even mattered when it came to him—you already know those shades of in-between things, and Nikto could certainly be described as in-between. The activities of the storage room flash behind your vision, and your lips part softly. 

But something isn’t right. 

You’d thought that maybe Nikto would always be something of a blank slate to you—obviously, you could tell when he was frustrated and such, but anything beyond that was still up to your imagination. But it’s especially telling when you can understand the way he hesitates to touch you when his hand rises. 

The limb moves to your bicep before the Russian drops it back down, turning back to his rag, and gets back to work with the lines beside his eyes visible as if grimacing. Beyond the anxiety, and the paranoia, you find the hurt burns sharper than those two ever could.

Not to mention the uncertainty. 

You stare openly for upwards of three minutes, hesitant with the white noise in your brain overtaking your thoughts. 

Nikto’s head is thumping—attacking every ounce of common sense to be found. The picture on his phone; the implications. The stalker wasn’t Sergi, because Sergi was at this very moment still detained and had been since last night…how could he tell you that? A man who was already horrible with words, so used to barking out his true feelings to soldiers and civilians alike. He can’t be that with you. Not anymore. He doesn’t want to be. But he’s stubborn—he’s prideful. Arrogant. It’s easier for him to figure it out himself than burden you, and in many ways, you were the same beast.

Mutt, mutt, mutt. Golden chains around supple flesh.

Nikto opens and closes his mouth many times, not knowing how your heart is cracking piece by piece; so averse to speaking about yourself. He’d left while you were still asleep to make the phone call himself to your investigators, not able to stare at your face any longer or feel your flesh. It had made his attention slip, and his focus fail. 

The lack of control where he already had so little. He couldn’t take it, and in that, he felt dirty. Tainted. 

The knowledge that someone had a picture of you in perhaps the most vulnerable moment he’d ever seen you in was worse, still. Like the blood on his hands was smearing itself over you, dipping along your waist and hips; sinking its dripping knuckles into the tight clutch of your welcoming walls. Fingerprint marks over your navel, clawing. 

Nikto flinches subtly in his seat, a low sound echoing in the back of his throat. He wishes he’d never known the color of blood if only to not be able to imagine it along your pretty skin. 

The Russian had only been thinking about it when you were sleeping, a slow infection seeping in as it always did—the stalker had been just behind him and he hadn’t heard a thing. The thought was enough to nearly make him vomit.

It was an utter disgrace to his skills. 

He can’t be distracted anymore; not now. Not when he feels the fingers digging into his scars, the cuts, the drags of knives, and the burn of fire. He needs that control back. Some semblance of stability. 

You try not to show how much you’re taken aback—how much Nikto’s sudden distance is a physical pain to you. The dead air settles, and you feel your pulse through your skin like a wound. 

“...Anything else, Nikto?” Your voice is deathly still. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe you had pushed something too far. 

“...Нет.” The Russian’s fingers are hovering over the pieces of his gun, dismantled and laid bare to the overhead light of the blinding hotel. This place is cold; sterile. You’d said it before and you’d say it again—this was not a place you’d want to live. Now…even less so. Nikto clears his throat as you stand jerkily, sending a glance that lands on your throat and not your eyes. “There is nothing.”

You nod quickly. 

“Good. I’m, uh,” your tongue wets your lips, and pale eyes try not to follow the motion even as he finds it like a siren call. Control. “I’m glad. I’ll figure out the details about the party tonight and get back to you.” 

Nikto’s shoulders froze, but by the time his damaged brain had caught up with his mouth, you were already back in the bedroom and shutting the door with a soft hand. 

A blue gaze sticks to the barrier, but not a single sound creates so much of an echo as the seconds draw into minutes. 

“Enough,” Nikto orders himself, turning back to the table. Lips shifting into a deep frown, there’s little in the way of understanding his own actions, but wasn’t that the norm? Distance lets him think—thinking means solutions. Solutions for you; solutions for him. 

But the feeling of your warm flesh is addictive, and there are moments in between the flashes of bloodshed that circulate when your brushing fingertips scrape down his back—a bear to a deer, but now he’s not too sure which is which. There’s a need to consume and eat down sustenance until his face is bloody and raw again, that half of a Glasgow smile ripped open and hanging, brutality ingrained into his psyche by way of pain and pleasure. 

You touching him was both.

Being near you was both.

Knowing about that picture he’d been sent was worse than the former.

Nikto had thought to tell you, he’d been getting better with that, but then he’d truly thought it over and in his own way wanted you to be safe from just one more violation. It was how he was—a silent, brutish, mutt-like hired gun. He was smart, though. 

And, damn him, he liked it when you smiled. 

“Focus on the task,” he grunts, his knuckles under his gloves surely white from how hard he handles the metal of his beretta, stress cleaning even if he doesn’t know it—doesn’t acknowledge it.

His tight-pupiled eyes keep dragging themselves back to the door.

—

The hotel stayed in a suffocating silence even as the stylists came and went. They didn’t say a word as the hours lengthened—nervous, if you had to guess. The story of ‘the guard who snapped a man’s wrist in one motion’ had made its rounds quickly; gossip always on loose tongues. 

You’d had a call with Fedorov. You think you had only gotten through it because you’d dug your nails so hard into your hand, that the initial scrape of cartilage had distracted you from the threat of being fired. The beady-eyed CEO had been less than pleased, and that was all you wanted to comment on; to even think about.

“I’ve heard troubling things, Seraph. Very troubling. What is this about your guard? I had thought we had come to an understanding about it. Tight leash, yes?” 

Your fingers skate the smooth front of the newest dress you’ve been given, and you play with the dangle of cold metal around your fingers. Rings. You don’t know if they’re gold or silver, nor the gems set into them, but you know they’re elegant—just as the fabric you wear is.

There’s no great slit here, not in this form-fitting sleeve of white. Two pieces of fabric move up to cover your breasts and meet at a collar around your neck of the same silk, the train extending from the back of that collar that trails the ground. Lace, of course. Your shoulders are bare, just as a good ninety percent of your back is; only stopping at the small of your back where the fabric is once more tight to you. Pearls and feathers create a beaded version of a corset, tantalizingly caressing your bare flesh. 

Your first thought is that you’ll freeze in this, but the second is how you’re going to walk in the heels—a silk strap looping your ankle before a big bow meets your eyes.

And the third is even worse.

“I think I’m losing my job tonight,” you whisper, blank-faced and knowledgeable of Nikto once more waiting where he had been before. A vicious repeat, a hopeless deja vu. 

A pawn in someone else's game.

Your fingers tap your abdomen in broken intervals. There had to be a way out of this, you try to tell yourself. 

Think. 

But your mind always drifts back to the damn ex-soldier that’s in the living room. His attitude today—his distance from you was like taking a bullet to the gut. You should be celebrating the detainment of Sergi, of possible breakthroughs even if the DNA didn’t match. 

The baker’s boy knew something, that was a fact. 

But nothing. No joy—no jokes or sarcasm. 

As you look at yourself now, you can only now recognize the expression of utter defeat you wear so plainly like a burial shroud. This was a cruel game. But there was something truly frightening about how close you and Nikto had become in such a relatively short period. Akin to soulmates finding one another, except for the simple fact you didn’t believe that was what the two of you were anymore. 

It had been a brief hope, truly. But one that you’d wanted more than anything, and you don’t know why. You don’t know why you let him touch you; let him be so near—it runs around your brain to speak itself in tongues just like the rest. Problem after problem. 

One at a time, you turn and exit the room, not looking at yourself longer than you have to. 

Nikto stands stiff by the door, already in his suit and balaclava—M13 and Beretta back where they belong respectively. The knife, you have no clue, though you know it’s somewhere. 

There are no compliments from the two of you. No speaking. So quickly something flipped on its head. Pale eyes dart, but when they meet yours, drip and drag away to the coat rack as you grab for your jacket. As your attention tries not to linger, you see him momentarily peel back his eyelids at the sight of your elegant dress but say nothing beyond a garbled sigh.

The air was so thick, that it was nearly enough to display how idiotic and childish the two of you were for acting like this.

You open your mouth and push out, “Ready to go?” 

In the hours you’d taken to get ready, the Russian had come up with a plan. 

He nods to you now and opens the door, allowing you out as he stays behind, making sure the lock clicks as you glance over your shoulder. Beginning to walk with him just a foot away, Nikto runs over his idea once more. 

With any hope, the stalker now had a personal vendetta against him for getting physically involved with you—he’d been looking up studies in his spare time while you were getting dressed; tapping his fingers along his phone stiffly. 

Only one sentence stood out to him, and it still stands out now as you go to wait in the elevator ahead of his looming form, eyes to the ground and hand massaging the back of your head. 

‘Stalkers like to get their target isolated; they’re selfish. They want the person all to themselves and dislike anyone who can possibly get in the way of that. Whether it’s a romantic partner, family, or friends, if they pose a roadblock for the stalker it can result in added stress or an urgency to act.’

Nikto moves to stand beside you, shoving a firm finger to the ground floor button and glaring at the wall, lips stiff from under fabric. 

If the man would come after him, then it would get you out of the spotlight at least for a short amount of time—perhaps it would even be enough to catch him. 

Maybe tonight, Nikto wonders silently, eyes narrowing as his feet settle. He will be there. We need to be ready. 

Your lungs breathe down a slow breath, taking in oxygen until your chest rises with the swell like a bag in the wind. This feeling is something you don’t know if you’ve experienced before beyond the sensation of having to relearn your limbs after your accident; an expectation and a draw, something just there but out of sight. 

Inebriating instability. 

Instead of your hands being shaky, now your mind was. 

Nikto is so close—so there beside you. You wanted to reach out to him, to hang off of his arm. To be something. It was pathetic of you, especially after he’d already assured you that you both would deal with the uncomfortableness of your prior affair. 

Was this his way of dealing with it? Avoidance? He didn’t seem the type, and you’d already known that he wasn’t. 

So it’s bigger, your face pulls in. But what? Why this…hesitation?

Your eyes spark. 

Hesitation, no. In the elevator, your arms tense as the small sound of the metal box meeting the ground floor echoes; Nikto also darts his head up, deep in his thoughts. You both share an unexpected side-eye, before the doors open and you hurry out on unstable feet as your face burns. This is fear. 

“What are you afraid of?” You whisper to yourself, hearing those boots behind you. 

At the Russian’s unease, you find your own doubling just as simply. 

Who could make a bear afraid of the forest?

—

As you enter the party, you go about business and try not to stay on the fact that you have just gone through one of the most uncomfortable car rides you’ve ever experienced.

Passing off your jacket and hearing the doors close behind you, your curated smile dims to an imitation of happiness, shoulders drooping. 

Nikto had only touched your arm to guide you along the sidewalk to this more humble residence—not at all like the previous party you’d been to. Every step and click off your heels had welcomed the same nervousness, however. 

You still didn’t know what you were going to do, but right now, it was more important to just calm yourself to a state of taking it moment by moment. If it all came down to it, would you need Nikto to guard you again? Order him to break more bones? Welcome the spray of black fluid and gray meat? 

“Nikto,” you address the Russian as he blinks over, fixing his hold on his M13. He doesn’t like this either—he doesn’t understand why you don’t listen to him and go to events like this. Nonetheless, he’ll follow and steer you clear of any situations you shouldn’t be in. It was his job to watch you, not force your hand.

Pale eyes level with you before they go to survey the foyer. “What is it?” 

“When all of this is over,” you utter, walking forward. “What will you do?”

The Russian pauses, heart stuttering. What would he do? That wasn’t the question he thought you were going to ask, but it’s a welcome distraction from the mess of his head. 

“Go back to KorTac,” he breathes, elbow brushing yours with his voice like rocks. “The contract will be over. I will not be needed anymore, да?”

You tilt your head, licking at the corner of your lips to push back the bead of fear that had settled into your stomach. “That makes sense,” your mind pulls a flat-falling tease. “But who will tell me what color of the paintings on the wall?”

Nikto’s hidden face is a stiff reflection of your own, scars tight. It’s a strange thing, he understands, the pressure on his chest that grows stronger. He’s so used to keeping secrets…why was this so hard for him?

“The blonde woman will be at your side, no doubt,” he grumbles, looking away from the image of your beauty and the silk of your dress. “She will tell you. I am not the only one able to understand the need for it.” Those feathers and pearls make a strung corset of utter angelic purity. 

Blood on my hands. 

He’d already tainted you enough, hadn’t he? When did sex suddenly become important to him? Weighted with…with care. There were so many times he could carelessly get his fill and leave with nothing mattering to him—just another way to get off and forget the formalities of waking up next to someone and making breakfast. 

But wasn’t that exactly what Nikto had willingly done with you? Willingly sat near you for breakfast, willingly allowed you to coax him into bed to be a pillow, willingly touched you? Like a loyal beast, he had. He had. 

You were a horrible creature. A beautiful, lovely, creature. Disgusting. Awe-inducing. As holy and as blasphemous as all of the monsters that sit on his shoulders; the ones he cannot name.

Nikto’s fingers pull into soft fists, and his gloves stretch. He grunts as your face falls a bit at his reply, your head nodding as he clenches his jaw until his molars scream. 

You were messing with his head again. It wasn’t like he wanted you to not understand his motives—he needed to focus. 

“I didn’t think Iakov was like that,” you change the subject as you both awkwardly move into the party, voices moving along the airwaves as you enter the large living room. “I’ve never seen him so angry.”

“Men like that care about money and power,” Nikto answers, keeping your body nearest to the wall as he sticks to your right. “He will never forgive you for letting him lose it.” Pale eyes jump from one set of curious gazes to another. “It is not in his nature. Waste of skill.”

“Isn’t money what everyone wants?” You mutter, staying close to him and nodding politely at those who look your way with digging gazes. “That's why I’m here.”

“You are not the same,” is the swift answer, shifting vision stilling on a man with blond hair that moves through the crowd, camera sitting around his neck as dark eyes meet Nikto’s own. The guard blinks, and the individual is lost to the crowd.

Looking at you, the Russian’s eyes narrow. “You are not selfish, did we not explain ourselves enough earlier?” 

“You said I was good,” you explain slowly. Not good enough to keep?

“I did,” Nikto grunts. “I say what I mean. We do not lie.”

“Too prideful for that,” your mouth pulls into a smile. “Aren’t you, Big Guy?”

His eyes swirl, low amusements littering the pale orbs like a sly cat. “Да, вот именно.” 

You huff, not understanding the words, but knowing they’re agreeing with you. It’s as if a glass wall is dissecting the space between your bodies. You can see Nikto—hear him and feel his presence, but you can’t touch him; can’t get the smudges off without a rag. A blurry mess of black and white, not a slash of color to be understood. 

This separation was thin but still there.

“What aren’t you telling me?” You have to finally push as you stop near the back of the room, as far away from anyone as possible, but it isn’t at all private. Eyes turn and fingers shift over wine glasses. It was quieter here, too. Not so blatant in its display of choking wealth, but still rich if decor was anything to go off of. 

Nikto’s amusement vanishes instantly, and he’s back to a careful blankness.

Stopping as well, he only waits a second before uttering, “I do not tell you many things, Seraph.” 

“You know that’s not what I mean,” you bounce off of him, hands moving up to motion softly as your face twists. Shame hits you in the chest, and you take a shaking breath. “...I knew it would end up being like this if you found out about all of it. All your job stated was a simple protection contract, not some—”

You stop yourself. 

Pale eyes don’t blink once as they keep themselves tight to you. Nikto lets his mind calm before he speaks. “Why are we here?” 

Your brows shift, and you open and close your mouth. “I don’t know. I’m hoping my boss might give me some credit for just showing up and not—”

“Then we are going now,” he growls, attention flying from one prying person to the next. There are too many eyes here—too many ears. Nikto knows who might be lurking. 

“Why,” you lightly push back, chuckling sarcastically. “I’m not in any danger, Nikto. At every turn, there aren’t any stop signs at the side of the road—at least here I have a grab at good wine and company that doesn’t hide the truth from me.”

Pale eyes flare. People start to turn your way. There’s a pause as if there’s something the Russian wants to state, but it fails on lips that you barely see rise from under his balaclava.

“I told you I do not lie, woman,” Nikto grunts, stature ridgid from where it spreads like a steady corruption; a shadow lengthening. 

You had always avoided confrontation—always. You hated it, and, currently, you hated this as well. But the stress was getting to you, the threat of losing everything on top of your own life. Nikto had become a lifeline, and now he was trying to pull back. 

Why?

Your face turns, and you stalk away. “Then do me a favor and stop telling me half-truths.”

—

If steam were able to come out of your ears, you would have filled the room with that heavy layer of your anger. Nikto was still stapled to you—unable to leave after what he now understood might come to fruition at these events if he did. 

So, you both stood. 

Silent.

Stoic.

Unsatisfied.

A dog without a bone left longingly glancing as if its eyes could speak all the words that needed to be explained on a human tongue. 

Your hands push at the base of your skull, massaging the forming headache that had grown from when Iakov had let himself into your hotel. You can’t wait until these parties are over—until you can get another call from the investigators saying that your stalker has been apprehended with Sergi’s statements. There needed to be a happy ending to this; needed. 

This can’t be all your life is meant to be. 

You didn’t come here thinking that you would be sleeping with someone. Currently, as you’re sipping down the second glass of wine brought to you, you can see the head of the man you’re supposed to be attending to. 

Borya Belov, or something close to that. Your coordinator had sent a text, but you’d barely looked at it and the picture attached. Large and middle-aged, he was up and coming in the city, generating impressive amounts of money and influence through his iron and steel plants. He knew your CEO, too—old family friends. 

Your eyes tear themselves away before he can look in your direction, frowning heavily. A rock and a hard place. 

You were foolish if you thought that by you being here it would allow you to keep your job without handing yourself over. It seems you’ve been foolish a lot lately. Your gaze sneaks to look at Nikto and only finds a rigid pole in his place. No under-the-breath jokes or knowing glances. No indecipherable emotions. It was just blank.

Shaking your head lightly, you bring the wine glass to your lips and take a large sip, letting the swell of it fill your mouth before it slips into your throat; tasting the bitter edge. With all of the blatant mess of emotions, it wasn’t any wonder why anyone hadn’t come over to talk to you. 

“All of these things are the same,” you speak to yourself quietly, trying not to sweat as Nikto’s body shifts closer when Iakov walks past the two of you stiffly. The pale-haired man sends you a dark look and you bite your tongue, eyelids narrowing with unease. 

Get dressed, speak gossip, get used, repeat. 

Already the trap had settled, routine following like a pet. 

Your fingers run over the glass in your hand, nails dragging as Nikto’s eyes stare from the side, thighs tightening before he rips his attention back to the party. He grunts and tilts his head, shoulders rolling. 

Focus.

It’s in the atmosphere of a taut rope that you hear the thin conversation from not that far away. 

“Look at him.”

Your ears quirk, but you don’t think of it much as you drink down the last dredges of your wine, licking at the corner of your mouth—careful of the lipstick. It was a group of women all turned into one another, muttering quickly and giggling even more so. 

“Which one?”

“The big bastard, obviously. How much do you think he eats, hm? I’m betting an entire kitchens worth a day.”

Pausing, your spine slowly begins to straighten up, face stuck staring into the wall far across the room. 

“I bet he’s hideous under all of that. Look at the mask—see?”

The round of muffled laughter behind silken gloves makes your heart jerk inside of your ribs as one of the photographers passes by Nikto and you, fiddling with his camera in his hands.

Beside you, the Russian either hears what’s going on and ignores it, or can’t and is simply not moving because he found someone in the crowd to pay attention to. 

Looking over now, you’d place your bet on the first. 

Nikto’s eyes are void, tiny pupils stuck in on themselves as he stares at nothing—his M13 is strangled under the grip of black gloves, and that little sliver of skin you see from his wrist has visible tension in it. He cracks his neck silently, sets his feet, and pretends.

Watching as he’s so apt to do to you, your anger-ridden face steadily freezes the longer your ears strain themselves to hear above the clink of glasses and useless chatter. Work and pleasure are zapped from your mind.

“You think so?”

“I am willing to bet on it—a thing like that is hiding its face because it has to. No soulmate, either. Go up and speak to him; I want to see.”

“But…what if he does have a soulmate? That woman beside him, isn’t that the one from Yekaterinburg? They could be—”

Nikto’s fingers twitch, eyes flashing. 

“If I had a soulmate that had to hide his face from me, I would think he was a beast. No one would want to be within five feet of that.”

Few things made you angry. 

Liars, cruelty, and the rest of the normal points that were on the list everyone keeps. But there was something particularly special about how you hated someone talking about Nikto like that. Forget him hiding something from you, forget his distance and his inability to speak about his emotions—you still cared about him deeply. The words he’d said to you, how he carries himself; his blunt honesty. 

Your heels are hitting the ground before you can remember you’re here to not make a scene.

“Excuse me,” you say, slipping into an easy smile as you nearly trip over your own feet as you settle near the group. All of their eyes widen, some turning around to lock gazes with the sudden arrival. “Could you repeat yourself for me?” You chuckle without humor. “I swear I had thought I heard you talking about my guard over here.”

Your chin moves to allow your eyes to settle over your shoulder, looking back at Nikto who had walked two steps after you initially before seeing where it was you were stomping to. His wide eyelids are snapped back like book covers, darting from you to the women as if utterly confused.

“That one,” you point casually before turning back. “The, uh,” your body leans a bit closer, hand coming up to your grinning mouth, “beast.” 

The gray shade on some of their faces darkened, a few stuttering through a Russian and English jumble of words. 

You blink at them as a familiar shadow begins to sit over you, heavy boots connecting to the floor. Your face burns, but there’s truth in your words—in your conviction. 

“Seraph,” Nikto says quietly in warning. 

“One moment,” is the response he gets. Pale eyes are stuck to the back of your head. He doesn’t know what to do, but in his throat, there’s an airy feeling stuck there that he can’t describe. It swells in his chest first, spreading through his veins.

Nikto was always used to being the one to stand in front of you. 

His heart is pounding, and he doesn’t know how to tell you to stop—that it doesn’t matter. The bigger question he should be asking is if he wants you to. The man wasn’t unused to comments. He can take it. But that fire behind your eyes rendered him speechless.

“His name is Nikto,” you say firmly. “Not that I expect you to remember it,” you tilt your head, looking them up and down. “In fact, I think it would be better if you didn’t.”

Huffing, you’re acutely aware of everyone watching, and your previous anxiety over your work is null. Disgust breeds like death flies. 

None of this was worth it. 

“Nikto,” you utter purposefully, setting your glass down on a side table and stepping behind. One of the Russian’s hands hovers over your back, the weapon resting on his chest clicking as it shifts. “We’re leaving. I don’t know why we came in the first place. There are more important things to worry about.”

“...Understood,” he levels, voice deep. Nikto blinks a few times, face under his mask layered with heat. There was no focusing when it came to you—his iron will was being smoothed down like a rock in water. 

You push past Borya Belov without a glance, looking to the side to see a shock-stricken Iakov burning you with his orbs. There was nothing for you here. 

Heels clicking over the floor, your dress ripples out behind you, unable to think beyond the deep insult you had taken on Nikto’s behalf. What gave those women the right to say anything? Especially about his appearance. 

When physical looks meant so much to you, you dreaded that being placed on someone else as well. Even if it was apparently obvious that Nikto suffered just as you did.

“You did not have to do that, Птичка.” A hand grasps your upper arm and guides you away from the table you were about to run into as you both enter the hallway stiffly. “It does not affect us. Useless opinions—they do not reflect my character.” Jumping only slightly from being ripped from your thoughts, your head darts over. 

You frown into a hidden face, Nikto stuck on the site of your pulled expression. 

Cute, he silently thinks in that jumbled mess of a brain before his memories flash to the sight of that picture on his phone. The hand leaves you in an instant, moving back to his M13.

“I know I didn’t,” you breathe sharply, shaking your head. Closing your eyes, your shoes halt as you stop.

Nikto follows suit, pausing before turning back with a furrow of his brows.

It’s a special thing, the way your desperation bleeds into your sentence. “Will you tell me what’s going on with you, or not?”

He stares, body pausing under your attention. 

“Nikto,” you breathe, far enough away from the main living room to indulge in a bit of horrific truth. “I like being with you,” your words slip. “I mean with you, with you. Y’know? I like you near me—watching over me. I don’t want this to become something that jeopardizes what we’ve built up. I’m not asking for a relationship, or even for you to tell me that you care about me, I just…” you fail to finish, eyes breaking off to glare at the floor; fighting against the sting. “You’re making my head spin,” your words dip lower, and Nikto flinches. “Just…tell me what’s wrong. You’re not acting right, and you’re worrying me.”

You don’t think you’ve been looked at this intently before now. Not by boyfriends, not by flings, or crushes. It’s a bare thing, Nikto’s eyes. A landscape of pale gray tundras and white snow—you don’t know what he’s thinking as he stands there like some Greek statue; Aries personified and dropped right in front of you.

You want that blood of his, that malice and incurable damage. Not to fix it—not to change what’s already scored into flesh—but just to see those eyes soften as they had a handful of times before.  

A war god and a white bird. 

Nikto’s throat bobs in a slow swallow as you finish, pulse hammering as his gloves suddenly constrict his hands far too much. He doesn’t want to tell you. He doesn’t want to explain why his distance is more for his benefit than yours. 

You push once more.

“What are you so afraid of?” 

“You.” He grunts stoic-like, and all of it falls into a swift silence thereafter. Your breath is taken on one great rapturous theft. Nikto stares as your jaw slackens, mind going blank. 

He darts his eyes away and tilts his head. 

“...Come. We do not want to be here any longer.” The Russian’s body is next to yours and in a fast movement, you find yourself being gently prodded along to the front door, jacket grabbed from the side of it and settled over your shoulders. 

Grasping at the corners, this moment is verging on irreparable—you’ve never found yourself so thrown off course besides when the inevitable advances from the stalker had come to you. 

Your hands shake in unsteady intervals as you blankly stare ahead. 

Me? 

The car is cold when you get into it, pulling your jacket closer as you slip across the seat—Nikto grabbing the long trail of your dress and making sure it stays inside. The man sits next to you, grabbing and slamming the door with a fist thumping the window twice. 

Under you both, the engine starts up and the tires push against the concrete. 

Your eyes ogle Nikto, and not once do they leave them even as the Russian pointedly ignores you by keeping his head locked forward. His body moves to the turning of the car, and your phone in your jacket pocket is going wild with call after call as his feet shift to steady himself unconsciously. It’s all a blur of needless sound and emotion. 

“Me?” Your voice finally finds itself; breathless. 

Nikto doesn’t react, spine so straight, the seats of the vehicle don’t touch anything. His fingers over his gun twitch before he grasps the cold metal harder to stop them. 

The Russian tries to halt the way his eyes want to gravitate to meet yours, trying to think over every face from the party and who had made any attempts to get near to you; just in case something pops up tonight. Yet, the hitting pain in his ribs is akin to something ripping them open with a fork, mutilating an entrance to his heart just to take and grasp it in soft hands.

He was never taught gentle love. Nikto was taught to grab and rip at it, to claw into it with fangs until there was blood on his face, seeping down his throat to settle in his stomach—hoping it might find a way to spread to his soul. 

Iakov had a key, the man catalogs, trying to fight his quivering fingers as you just can’t seem to look away from him with those eyes of yours. Does he have motive? Perhaps. We need to add him to the list regardless. I did not see any repeating faces from last night here unless they were in another room or waiting outside. 

Pale attention briefly pauses to the driver of the car, strong jaw clenching.

Drivers? Stylists? Who else could be here and not be noticed even by me? 

Eyes flash to the previous party again, back to the crunch of bone under his grip. Hands trailing flesh, ripped lace, and silk that pools at his dress shoes. The feral rubbing of a gun between two panting bodies. It should have been enough stress relief for the both of you—Nikto wasn’t lying when he equated the affair to something he could look past. He wasn’t new to flings; he considered himself a master of them in his youth. It wouldn’t have made him think any differently about the job, except for that one pin-pointed problem:

He was right behind us. 

Nikto’s mouth goes dry, anger brewing. He blinks to stare out the window, and your gaze is still present as if a knife to his throat.

It doesn’t leave once.

—

The hotel room is seeped in an eerie level of silence. 

You’d long since called Iakov—said a firm and swift answer of, “I’m done with the parties,” and hung up before the yelling could start again. 

You’re not even sure if you still have your job at AMA, but that’s for a later date, it seems. Not having an income was worse than the emotional turmoil that had settled right on your chest.

Leaning in the window seat of the bedroom, you keep your legs tucked in close to you with the curtain stuck at your back, head resting against the glass. White lights twinkle, but the places that aren’t illuminated are too dark to focus on—an amalgamation of shadows like a veil. The night was always difficult for you and your sight, but right now you think it’s best to just sit here and stare, even if it’s at nothing. 

Your eyes drag slowly along the thin view of the street below, feeling the cold seep in through the glass, softly easing the headache that pulses at your temple. 

“He’s…afraid of me?” The door to the room is slightly ajar, a sliver of light from the living room making its way in. Your face twists. “What does that mean?” 

You pose no threat to him without something like a gun, so it couldn’t be that. And what had changed since this morning? He’d let you lay next to him—see a part of his face. You’d traced his tattoo with willing fingers; Nikto hadn’t pushed you away then. 

What had happened? 

There’s a small squeak of the metal hinges of the bedroom door, and your head rises quickly. 

Nikto stands there, in only a white button-down shirt and his dress pants; normal mask re-stiuated. Blinking gently, a thick pause emanates before you glance down at his hands and see a soft display of an olive branch. 

The gruff hired gun holds a tiny, white, tea-cup. 

“Magnolia,” he huffs, not moving an inch as he motions with his hand, the ceramic material clinking. 

You stare, oversized shirt all to cover you besides your undergarments. You’d long since lost the sense of embarrassment of bare skin—particularly yours. 

Pale eyes slip to caress the image of your flesh bathed in the sliver of warm light, your curious eyes stuck on him as his feet re-situated themselves. 

“You remembered?” You ask, trying to sound casual beyond the surprise. 

Nikto blinks, voice muffled. “I do not forget when it comes to you,” he hums, accent thick. “Drink.”

Softly standing, your bare feet hit the coldness of the floor, yet you feel it little. Walking over to stand in front of him, your hand reaches only to bounce off the small tea plate instead, fingers flinching back lightly from the miscalculation. Your face heats, and you’re about to utter a quick apology before Nikto’s hand captures yours. 

Gasping under your breath, the warmth that seeps through his glove goes bone-deep as he manually wraps your digits around the handle. Nikto grunts in satisfaction and lets you take it to you, keeping the plate which he lowers his hand with.

After a moment, you clear your throat and say while staring down at the liquid, “Where did you get this?”

“Bag.” Your brows tighten.

He sighs gently. “We packed it. You forgot, yes?” 

“Oh,” you nod. “Yeah, I didn’t even realize I had left it behind. Thank you, Nikto.”

The Russian nods once, and then pivots to walk back to the living room, leaving you standing there as the sound of rummaging items in the kitchen echoes. Holding the mug, the tea rippling under your unsteady grasp, your head shakes itself in slow exasperation. The man wouldn’t talk about this unless you pushed him…but would that break the unsteady relationship you’d been trying to build?

“All of this is so confusing,” your lips mutter before your body follows after Nikto, slipping out into the light of the room as you blink rapidly in response. 

Locking sights on Nikto as he cleans up the counter, your form is wracked with an impending sense of nervousness. Damn him and his mask—you didn’t have something you could hide your emotions behind. 

It was times like these when you wished your mother was warm enough to ask advice from, that your father wasn’t back in the USA with limited involvement due to the peaceful contact order. You were alone here, except for Aly. But this was something that only a parent could help you with, and you were fresh out of those. You doubted that your mom knew everything going on—you weren’t about to tell her you’d allowed a ruthless killer to get you off in a storage room after you’d seen him snap a man's wrist back. 

Nor that you enjoyed it. 

It falls on me, your breath is thin as you breathe it down, steadily moving to set the teacup to one of the many tables holding useless decorations. You scowl at the boring interior design unconsciously before your focus locks in. 

What you had to do was bring up your points clearly and smoothly—

“Why are you standing there doing nothing,” your eyes widen as Nikto fluidly turns to look over his shoulder directly at you. His gaze narrows behind Kevlar and canvas. “If you want to say something, speak.”

“I want you to tell me what’s gotten you acting like a constipated bear,” you blurt out. 

It’s almost funny the way his eyes flinch. 

Nitko grinds out, “We do not understand.”

“You do,” you huff, crossing your arms as your voice bounces off the walls. “I don’t have infinite patience, believe it or not.” Inside of your sockets, you feel your gaze soften; voice lowering to the level you’d raised it. “I think I’ve been honest with you, Nikto. I’m not trying to push you into a corner. You know that. I need an explanation,” you take a breath, “and you’re going to give it to me.” 

Pale eyes move to the side, and you visibly see the large Russian’s body fighting itself both internally and externally. You had noticed a few things from the time you’d come under his protection, some obvious—Nikto valued cooking and a clean place to rest; he liked reading, and a silence built on mutual respect. Nikto’s fingers twitched when he was either nervous or trying to focus. He tilted his head when he needed to think. 

You liked to think that you knew him quite well, despite it all. You especially knew his fraying patience. 

Nikto’s shoulders roll, bones cracking from under the button-up. His masked face is the only thing he feels gives him protection. A cover. 

“It is not something,” the man begins slowly, trying to convince you, “that you need to concern yourself with.” 

Your lips thin out, feet taking you forward as you shiver from the cold of the hotel. 

“Nikto,” you utter again, softly knocking your side into the counter before you can stand in front of him yourself. He looks down at you, chest moving up and down in slow breaths. 

You know the horrors that live under that fabric. The great scars—the burns that had slipped into your dreams as you’d laid on his thigh like a child afraid of the dark. You can remember the dips of them under your fingertips; the trauma that bleeds still. 

You’d called him beautiful, and of course you had, but the very base of it still left you cold with a betraying sense of sickness. Same with the lower half of his face, which you’d only chosen to see a glance of. It was a deep rolling of your stomach. You cared more for the marks he had put on, willingly, himself; the tattoos. Dark ink.

But that didn’t stop you from reaching out to him—responding to that addictive pull that had always seemed to be there from the moment you’d first met him in the Consulate Building. 

Your fingers hover over Nikto’s pec, right above his heart as you swallow saliva and stare with parted lips. Piercing eyes give way to nothing, but there’s a knowledge in the heart that beats above your waiting touch. 

You tilt your head and wait silently.

Nikto’s pulse moves his flesh, and he can feel every drop of blood under his skin. 

“It does not need to be explained to you,” he tries again, his firm words now only comparable to the sensation of rocks thrown along the sand. Salt-stained throat raw as your fingers brush his shirt. “Seraph,” Nikto attempts a tone of authority.

“Call me by the other one,” you mutter, and it’s pathetic the way he responds to your request in that hotel kitchen. Like a soldier following an order. A whining little dog beholden to a white-lace collar.

“Птичка.”

Your smile makes him want to rip himself away from you and take a cold shower, maybe stare at his scars; even break his mind again before it slips away to thoughts of your curling lips and your shining eyes. 

“That’s it,” you whisper, and your hand flattens over his heart as his gaze breaks away to the simple contact, blinking in confusion as his flesh pulls tight. “That’s the one.” 

But he was more surprised when he didn’t flinch rather than when he shivered. 

It’s only after a small moment of nothing that he lets himself bathe in the warmth of your skin and the scent of your perfume as it slips under his mask. A mask that has seen far too much death for you to bear. Then he’d want you to bear.

Your words make his bones ache.

“Tell me,” you urge, as perfect as a bird’s dew-coated feathers.

Nikto’s vision is stuck only to you, and his greatest fear is that this is all it will ever be bound to—not by honor, the man had no such thing, but by utter devotion. There was no lying about it now as his lips parted, those cut and torn-up things like a ragged jigsaw puzzle of pain. He cares not about soulmates or brain trauma. Blood or bile.

He cares about the sound a silent grave will make when his bones are the ones that chain themselves to rest beside yours. 

Mutt.

Now that, maybe, would seem an honor-coated title to carve into his corpse, but only if it was in reference to his affection for you.

“Picture,” Nikto grinds out, fighting to step closer to the addictive sensation of your touch. The warmth. The pound of blood. You listen silently, and not once do those eyes separate.

“Sent to my phone.” He pauses, and suddenly his voice is very low—you can feel it in your chest as it rumbles the walls, the floors; the bedroom door. It’s difficult to say how you feel when he explains it to you, there’s something relieving in knowing, though. Yet, it still makes your throat close in on itself. “Of us.”

“From the stalker?” You ask, already knowing the answer but hoping it might have just been a fluke. 

Pale eyes don’t blink.

“Да. From him.”

You take a large breath, nodding as your fingers quiver over Nikto’s dress shirt, creasing the fabric slightly. He takes a quick glance down at them again, and his own twitch at his sides.

“...Don’t tell me the details?”

“Never,” the Russian sighs, clenching his jaw. “Я бы этого не сделал. We did not want to explain, regardless.” 

You shrug as well as you’re able, hand beginning to slowly slide off of him. “Still,” your lips pull into a steady smirk, though it lacks enough amusement to make it convincing. “I’m glad you told me—I was getting worried that it might have been by fault you were acting strange.” 

“My emotions are,” Nikto struggles for the correct word in English, grunting as his mouth closes under his mask. He glares at the wall behind you as if a toddler without a snack.

You tilt your skull, tiny chuckles wafting out of your mouth. 

“Stuck, Big Guy?”

“Enough,” he grumbles, feet re-situating themselves from under him. 

Your hand is only a millimeter away from his flesh before his grip finds your wrist and brings it back, digits caressing to press into your pulse. You blink quickly, air getting stalled in your nose. 

Nikto’s eyes slowly dip to stare at your hand, and you notice the shades even more clearly now that you’re so close to him—though they’d always just be pale gray to you, there were moments when you wondered the true color. A silly dream, seeing as you wouldn’t know how that color would look anyway, but, still. 

The Russian’s large fingers turn your wrist. 

“Your heart is racing,” he mutters. If having your bodyguard check your pulse was something that you found attractive, now was only the realization of it. 

Your face suddenly feels like you’re walking on the sun, and a small noise in the back of your throat makes Nikto’s attention leave the fast thump of your blood.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Your breathless question eases out past your lips like a soft flutter of wings. 

“Hm,” Nikto hums, and you can also see his throat bobbing. His hold squeezes, his face looming just the tiniest bit closer to yours. 

The Russian takes a chest-rising inhale and speaks.

“I am not good,” he mutters, eyes moving the dips and drags of your face—it feels like his gaze is touching you when he stares like that; studying your visage as if he’d be tested on it. “We are not…” He blinks, and his pupils are small voids of inky corruption. “Perfect.” 

You wonder how often he’d found you in his mind, and feel both foolish and hopelessly lost in his shadow.

“I never said you were,” you murmur back, seeing the wickedness in his heart. Painted on his skin. “I think it’s lovely.” 

Here is where this should end—you’d both had your fun previously. You’d been sipping your sugar water like a little hummingbird; reveling in the intimacy of that storage room. You should be thinking about the stalker, about your job, about what will happen tomorrow when you open your eyelids to light through the curtains. 

Not about how Nikto’s fingers would feel digging into your hips. Not the panting of fast breaths. Not how the color of his eyes would be, perhaps, the most beautiful shade you could ever hope to imagine in your damaged brain. 

“Nikto,” you breathe, body light. He’s as still as a statue above you, not saying a thing. “What color are your eyes?”

“Blue.”

And then you’re being picked up as if a doll by the back of your thighs and hefted up with a throaty huff akin to a boar. Your forehead connects with his, and your arms wrap his neck to hang off with crossed wrists. 

“Blue?” Your legs tighten around his waist, squeezing as the man’s nose pushes into yours. Breath bounces off the mask, your eyes flutter at the firm press of fabric prodding at your underwear. You fight a small whine, bodies tight to one another. “Your hair?”

“Brown,” is the puff from under the mask, and tiny pupils dilate the longer you hold eye contact.

Your hips roll, and Nikto’s strained grunt reverberates against your chest. “Tell me it in Russian.”

“Карие.” He growls, fingertips digging into your flesh like the teeth of a bear trap. Nikto thumps past the place where you’d set your tea, completely forgotten by everyone just like the previous tension was. 

When the two of you were together, things managed to get out of hand quickly—at least, emotionally-wise. You both were utterly hopeless, just as the room was now far from the cold monochrome wash of white. It was bathed in spraying sparks lit behind your eyes when one of Nikto’s hands staples itself to the base of your back, just above the curve of your tailbone, and angles your core further into the growing prod of his erection. 

You gasp as your pelvis jerks, face twisting up with your pulse impossibly increasing. 

“You are curious,” Nikto pants, pushing past the bedroom door with a shoulder as the handle smashes into the wall. Not that you care. “You push me, Woman. Leave my head loose and my body aching.” You feel the way your core burns, aches, nearly, as your underwear gets wet with the anticipation of flesh. 

Your lips sear Nikto’s soul when they push to the canvas of his mask—just as they had in the storage room though now it’s harder to feel. 

“Don’t act like you don’t like it, Big Guy,” you whisper, tongue darting out to lick at your lips, eyes half-lidded. 

That pull between the two of you only seems to increase as you’re dropped back to the bed, head pointedly planned to slap a pillow as you involuntarily gasp. Your shirt is ruffled up to your breasts, and the sheets are around you like a cocoon of expensive finery—eyes darting to Nikto, you find his gaze easily standing beside the bed. 

He stares at you like you’re the greatest meal ever placed in front of him. Forget the items he cooks, forget the things he’d eaten, even forget the way it satisfies him; nothing could compare to even the thought of what he now has. 

You’re staring at a man with blood on his hands and wishing he would spread you open already. 

Nikto’s chest bounces with a pleased noise, gaze shifting to study your bare legs and arms—the stain that coats your underwear, spreading by the second as your thighs tighten in on themselves to trap the chill. Your face is on fire, and your lungs heave.

His ravaged hand grasps at your knee, coaxing them back open as he says a simple order with a raw voice, “Keep them open.” 

You’re not embarrassed with how you listen, letting the limbs be forced back to display your instinctual need to the large Russian. Your thin whine is choked back as his fingers run up and down your clothed core, teasing. 

Nikto chuckles, and you shiver. 

“We do like it,” he breathes out in response to your previous comment. Pale eyes dart to find and lock with yours—not leaving as his index and middle finger find your clit, pressing firmly and lightly rocking up and down. Your hips jerk as you bite on a shocked moan, relishing in the sudden ricochets of electricity that run your bones. 

Head tilting back, you bite your lip and pant out, “Nikto, yes.”

His fingers leave just as quickly as the words do you, and your desperate eyes move with near pain until your hand darts to grapple onto Nikto’s wrist like a cat. He lets you try and guide him back firmly, to no avail, before you grit your teeth and glare at him, opening your mouth.

Yet, the Russian’s hidden face finds your ear with no trouble and leaves your upcoming words frozen.

“But we like it better when you are too choked on pleasure to think at all.” 

Nikto moves back, taking his other hand and making yours release him before he steps away. He blinks, watching your aroused state as you stutter over your sentence; smirking to himself and tilting his head as if you’re an exhibit in a museum. The man grunts, now free grip able to slide to his belt slowly and fiddle with the buckle.

“Y-you’re horrible,” you grumble, eyes unable to stay on the image for long before you have to slash it away so you can breathe. The clinking of metal

“We did warn you,” Nikto pauses, his voice so laced with smugness that it seemed an insult. “Птичка.” 

Your lower body shifts, trying to satiate the urge for stimulation. 

Breathing heavily, you raise your forearm and put it over your eyes, expression tight as you try and focus. Your ears twitch to Nikto’s steady undressing, hearing the pull of dress pants and the unclipping of a thigh holster. Each sound sends a pulse directly to your weeping slit, and it becomes so strong that Nikto can only watch as your other hand slips under the elastic of your panties. 

He stops himself instantly, his eyes pulling back as he pauses. Slipped out of everything besides his shirt, boxers, and obviously his mask, Nikto’s shoulders tense wildly at the sight in front of him.

Your body is tight as you begin to breathe heavier, lips slightly open as your fingers idly roll your bundle of nerves a bit harder. Hips jerking every so often, your fingers stretch the fabric of your garment as your toes curl. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, jaw clenching and eyes closed from under your forearm. 

Nikto is firmly planted, the firmness in his boxers now seemingly to a point of no return—his fingers twitched to dig into your skin, his eyes stuck to how you were playing with yourself. Clothed in only a large shirt that was bunching up further to allow a glimpse of your breasts and hearing those tiny little noises escape your mouth…

“Harder,” Nikto grunts, his own hand slipping into his boxers as he hisses in pleasure at the state of himself. Firm in his grip as he wraps his fingers around the hot pulse of his cock, groaning when his thumb slips along his tip to collect the beads of pre-cum.

Your breath hitches and through your soft pants, you sigh as your arm slides, “I think I know how to—”

Your fingers twitch harshly as your eyes flutter open to lock onto the scene in front of you, causing you to moan before it strangles off with a quick noise in your throat. Eyes wide, you watch Nikto begin jerking himself off one slow stroke at a time, his thighs tense as his other hand moves to unbutton his shirt one at a time.

There was something so inherently intimate about seeing the other in the throws of self-pleasure, half-clothed and desperate for something that can’t be named. The chain of events was building, and some concerns needed to be addressed, but it isn’t fair to have to put your life on hold for them—necessary, yes, eventually. But Nikto’s eyes were so hellishly pale, and your hands were shaking, and the scent of sex was permeating inside of your nose. It’s different than the storage room, it’s hinged on the knowledge that this bear of a man is afraid of you, which in and of itself is unfathomable, and that he was in such a sour mood simply because he had been trying, once more, to spare you from the unseen threat. 

He had done it with the birds in the box, he’d done it when you’d gotten the first pictures sent to you, and he did it every time he let you hang off of his arm. 

You push your digits across your clit harder and whine out as Nikto’s open dress shirt slips to his waist, the cuffs rolled up as bare skin meets the darkness of the room. That sliver of light from the door was all that was needed, the barrier having slowly crawled its way back from where the Russian had shoved it, to witness the bulge and dip of scar tissue—the shades of hyperpigmentation. 

And you wanted to drag your nails along all of them.

“Смотреть на себя,” Nikto’s chest heaves, the bulk of his frame just the same as when you’d touched along his back. His hand inside of his boxers stutters, and his eyes flinch closed for a moment, masked face tilted. “Хорошим слушателем. Good for us, hm?”

“Touch me,” you ask, unconsciously mirroring Nikto’s pace as the sensitivity of your core heightens, leaking out to stain your underwear to the point it’s no use to keep them after this. Your spine is tight—begging to be arched just as your cunt begs to be filled. It tightens over nothing, and you whimper with a push of thin breath. “Please, Nikto, you filled me so well last time.”

His eyes glint, that Russian pride bleeding to fill the cup in his abdomen. Nikto smirks, but you can’t see it above the large hand that goes to grip your face, angling it to him as his other hand continues with the wet slapping of his cock. You want to see it—you want to watch it. Damn him he’s making this into a game of cat and mouse.

“What is that? You like when we fill your tight cunt, Птичка?”

Your face burns, and your eyes study his own as your pace below increases—rotting wood taking root beside sweat and pheromones. 

Nikto’s grip squeezes and you hear the rutting of flooded skin more clearly as he looms over your body, both fucking yourselves for no other reason than liking the sight and the sounds of the other.

“Answer.”

“Yes,” you stutter, unable to stop the thin noises from your mouth that follow—the cord in your abdomen pulling until taunt. “God, yes.”

“Not God,” the Russian chuckles before he groans, forehead connecting with yours as it rocks to the rabid abuse of his own hand, trying to imagine the sensation of your walls against them instead of his calloused fist. Your flesh would be softer than his ever could be, and the knowledge of that is enough to reduce him to a mindless beast. His breath hitches tightly, his hand moving rapidly, unconcerned about how fast his release is finding him just by hearing your little pleas. “No, Seraph, there is no God in this room.”

When he drinks down the sounds you give him he feels your body tense one final time, your lips flattening as your eyes flutter—only seconds away from your orgasm, perhaps. 

Nikto’s hands leave your face, and so does his forehead. You barely notice, truth be told until it’s not a second later that fingers are gripping the hand down your panties and dragging it out just as your hips begin rising off the bed. 

“No!” Your desperate keen echoes off the walls, eyes snapping open to rip your head down to the scene. Nikto was lacking his shirt, boxers are gone, and as he staples your arm beside your head, his body drags itself atop yours until his weight is as firm as stone. “Nikto, why did you—?”

“Hush,” he utters, knocking your leg up over his hip in a swift thrust that leaves the leaking tip of his dick prodding against your sopping cunt. Your eyelids flutter at the sensation, painting only to have your breasts shove into a sweaty chest.

“So close,” you beg, the feeling of your release draining away, leaving you irritated and unsatisfied. 

Your hips roll in a play to find friction, and the feeling of Nikto’s happy trail seems promising as you grind up into it, but there’s only so much you can do when the man’s other hand snags your waist and pushes you down.

You glare heatedly up into blown and smug eyes. 

You know better than to ask him to remove the mask, and now that you look at it, maybe that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. There was something alluring in those eyes, set into the dark void around them, deadly and numb, yet showing more emotions than anyone else would be able to tell besides you. 

“Let us help,” Nikto pushes himself up, grinding into your core as your glare breaks away into blown need. “I have something better than fingers. Show you how good it can be, yes? Show how you are supposed to be treated, Little Bird.”

Your hands slide up to his shoulder blades and he groans under his breath, taking in the sensation of nails along flesh, catching on the scars until they settle. Had he not imagined this before? Had he not fantasized? Desired? Sinful, yes, but he’d do it again if he could still feel the wet fluids of your arousal coating his abdomen. If this was the outcome of Nikto becoming locked in his own stoic emotions, there was a part of him that was greedy because of it.

There was no possible way that this was going to continue…right? 

His ears twitch to your voice as your legs shift to wrap the top of his hips, dragging his pelvis ever closer until he’s fighting the wave of agony by not having your cunt pulse around him. 

On your part, there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation.

“Then show me.”

It’s easy to slip the tip of himself inside of you—there’s enough fluid to render even the thought of dry friction impossible. Nikto's body shudders at the sensation, though it’s only a small portion of what you both need.

Your head rocks back, fingertips digging into the Russian’s shoulders as you both curse at the stretch of your folds. You hadn’t been able to gawk at the build of the man tonight—both too desperate for release—but thinking about how he gives small thrusts to help himself along, his eyes not moving from you unless to blink, you’d safely say he was well-endowed.

“Fuck,” your lips quiver, sweat at your brow. Through the whimper, you moan, a large thumb finding your clit and rolling as the sound of squelching echoes between the groans and whines. You’re both nothing but damn animals. “Could have,” you gasp, and Nikto stops before you shake your head and pull him closer. “Could have given a girl a warning, Big Guy.”

His strained chuckle only makes your core welcome him more, and the feeling of textured veins and warm flesh steadily driving itself home was addicting. Sex had never felt as fun as this. As safe.

Nikto made it safe.

“Apologies,” he grunts out, great form above you before you feel the nested base of his pelvis connect with yours. 

You both shake and your face is open with a pleasure-driven emotion as the Russian slides his head to your shoulder, his breath echoing from under his mask into your ear. He licks his lips, grip on your waist and arm pulsing with steady intervals of—tense, release, tense, release…

“Are you—”

“Fucking hell, please start moving,” you gasp out, grinding into him as the string on Nikto’s caution flees like a loose animal. 

His hand travels back from your waist to your hip, the other to the back of your neck, and as he staples his forehead to yours, he grinds out a quiet, “да,” and moves himself out of you nearly all the way as your eyes roll to the feeling. 

When the bed starts knocking the wall, there’s little to the imagination as to what’s taking place, and the steadily rising sounds mean nothing as sheets rustle and skin slaps faster, both sensitive from such near releases earlier. There are mutters in Russian, fast, harsh things that hold no venom—slow mutters that make your legs go numb long after both of you had finished. 

Nikto was right: for such a brute, he did know how to treat a woman. Well, maybe he just knew how to treat you right. 

Multiple times.

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