#then it was satisfaction that brought it back

[nmhdreamscape]

wanna bet? ✧ l.dh

pairing | non-idol!haechan x fem!reader word count | 6.4k words synopsis | a bet with your enemy where the winner gets whatever they want, what could possibly go wrong? besides, you weren't one to lose, especially to lee haechan. content | enemies to lovers (one-sided), flirty, smut, lots of back and forth, they love to cut each other off, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (stay safe!), teasing, hair pulling, some marking, messy request | haechan + 1 (as part of valentine's gift series)

meeting up with your friends after class was almost routine at this point. your chosen hang-out spot was the small garden area at the centre of campus, always sitting on the grass as the tables were always taken. the small group of you would take it as an opportunity to debrief and vent about your days. however, today was different. when you had agreed to meet with everyone like you always do, you were expecting an opportunity to vent about the group assignment coming up or how your latest essay was marked way too harshly. instead, you were greeted by talk of date night plans and romantic gifts.

it was valentine’s day, and you hadn’t even noticed. cursing yourself for not noticing, you reluctantly sat down alongside your friends, preparing yourself for an hour of listening to just how great everyone else’s love life was. 

you were barely paying attention when the sound of your name brought you back to reality. it seems that your friends had all finished talking about their plans. all eyes shifted to you, it now your turn to detail your valentine’s plans. being the only single one of the group, you didn’t know exactly why they were asking. You decided to indulge them anyway. You began to rattle off something about how you had decided to spend the holiday alone. Too engrossed in coming up with a plausible story, you failed to hear the sound of footsteps coming up behind you.

“alone on valentines, a little sad, isn’t it?” you froze, recognising that voice from anywhere. you turned to look up at a smirking haechan. your eyes immediately narrowed, looking away from him with a scoff. you hated how he always seemed to have this air of smugness around him. hated how he seemed to command the attention of whatever room he walked into. you hated how he now sat across from you, giving you the same look he always seemed to give you. a knowing look as though he had you right where he wanted you to be, like it was only a matter of time before you fell for him like everyone else seemed to.

you hate lee haechan. and you would never give him the satisfaction of falling for him.

“god you’re annoying. didn’t your mother ever teach you to not interrupt people when they’re speaking” you spat, arms coming to cross underneath your chest. you didn’t miss the way that haechan’s eyes travelled downward to watch the movement before snapping back upward again, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“she did, but i’m sure you can teach me some more… creative ways to shut up.” haechan leant back down onto the grass, body spread out and on full display and a hand brushing through his hair. your eyes scanned his body as he did so, feeling a slight heat rising to your ears at the sight. he was attractive, not that you’d ever let him hear that. you were stubborn, not a liar. if only his personality better matched his looks, maybe then things would be different between the two of you.

haechan just couldn’t seem to wipe the smirk off his face. he had clearly noticed the way you had noticed him. it was clear to you now that his actions being done with the intent of you gawking over him. you hated the way he got some sort of sick enjoyment out of getting a rise out of you.

“you’re actually disgusting.”

this was the normal routine between the two of you. whenever your friends has the displeasure of being in the same room as you both, they would watch your back and forths like a tennis match. haechan would always open like he had tonight with some teasing remark, always seeming to know how to push your buttons just right. you would then follow up with some kind of insult, only for haechan to then turn it into some vaguely sexual innuendo. your back and forth would continue like that until you both felt satisfied. your friends now knew better than to try to intervene after being reprimanded many times before, instead choosing to take a backseat to it all.

so that’s what your friends did, choosing to watch on in silence as you continued to go at one another. and while they knew that haechan’s comments came with the intention of driving you mad, they would have to be blind not to notice the obvious tension between the two of you. they were just waiting to see who would cave first.

“why don’t i do you a favour and take you out, that way you won’t be lonely.” haechan suggested. he now had a certain look in his eye, as though he would be doing you a favour by taking you out. you tried to barely pay it any mind, fobbing his comment off.

“i don’t need you to take me out, if i wanted to have a date, i could go out and get one.”

“really? want to bet on it?” now that caught your attention. “if you get a date by midnight you win, if you don’t, i win.” haechan continued, now sitting back upright. 

“what does the winner get?”

“anything they want, so long as it isn’t too crazy.” you thought it over. knowing haechan, this was probably some sort of trap. and yet, you couldn’t seem to figure out what the downside could be. sure, there were many things haechan could force you to do if you lost. but you don’t lose, and you weren’t planning on starting now.

“bagging a date and getting to see the look on your face when i win. how could i refuse?” you sated, returning haechan’s smug attitude. 

the two of you fleshed out the details together, while your friends carried on their own conversations. you needed to secure and go on a date before valentine’s was over. it could be anyone, so long as it was a legitimate date and not just some friend you had convinced to play along. you also had to make sure to get some sort of evidence of your date, such as a picture or a gift. once it was past midnight, you would meet haechan outside his dorm room and determine who was the winner. 

the winner would get whatever they want from the other person, so long as it is within reason. the two of you went back and forth about what exactly ‘within reason’ meant. haechan eventually suggested that there be some sort of veto system whereby you could bypass a request, stating “i’m not an asshole, i’m not gonna force you to do something you don’t want to do.”. that was before immediately suggesting that using the veto would be the ‘cowards way out’ and something that ‘he would never do’. after thinking it over one last time, you held out your hand in agreement. haechan simply smirked at this, reaching forward to take your hand into his own. you firmly shook hands, sealing your agreement.

finding a date was going to be so easy, you had nothing to worry about.

fuck dates. fuck valentine’s. and fuck people who had dates on valentine’s.

turns out, finding a date at 6pm on valentine’s day wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be. though the universe did seem to enjoy making you suffer, so you don’t know why you were surprised. anyone you had been talking to or were casually interested in seeing were busy, already having made plans for the night. 

at 7pm, you messaging anyone you had come in to some sort of contact with in your classes to see if they were free. anyone from people you’ve done a group project with to the people you’ve simply exchanged greetings with. all seemed to be busy with their own plans.

by 8pm, you were stalking the social media pages of your exes, trying to figure out if any of them were single and would be willing to take you out. much to your dismay, they all appeared to be in some sort of relationship that would prevent them from taking you out. and even though you knew some of them were shitty enough to take you out despite having someone else in their lives, you weren’t about to step on anyone's toes.

9pm brought with it desperation. time was well and truly ticking now, and you still had no hope in sight. that’s how you ended up with a horde of freshly installed dating apps staring back at you. you must have broken some kind of record trying to set them all up, cursing whoever decided that you needed to hand over your life story in order to have a complete profile.

once you got in, you immediately began swiping right in every profile that came your way, not caring if your efforts came off as desperate so long as you won. matches trickled in at a snails pace it seemed. half of them were looking for a hook-up, you now being traumatised by multiple unsolicited dick pics. the other half seemed unwilling to meet you straight away.

10pm signalled you losing hope. you finally just began to be brutally honest with the people you were matching with, hoping one of them would take pity on you and take you out. you weren’t having much luck with that strategy either, even having one of your accounts banned after one match was particularly concerned for your well-being. 

11pm was when you were meant to meet the one guy crazy enough to take you up on your offer. you had thanked any holy figure you could think of when you matched, the guy being both close to campus and not scared off by your whole date-to-win-a-bet thing. you had agreed to meet at the 24-hour café on campus. and yet as the time ticked on, your match was nowhere to be found. 11 became 11:15 then 11:30 and still nothing. at 11:45 you accepted your fate, you had been stood up.

well that’s embarrassing.

but nowhere near as embarrassing it will be to admit defeat to haechan. when the alarm went off on your phone signalling that it was now midnight, you could have cried. you had actually managed to lose. you begrudgingly grabbed your things and left the café to make your way over to haechan’s dorm. after six hours of hopelessly searching for a date, you don’t think you were mentally prepared to deal with his antics. but a deal’s a deal.

pushing the door to haechan’s dorm building took more out of you than you would like to admit, your dignity seemingly vanishing into the wind. as you approached haechan’s dorm room, his figure came into view. he was wearing the same ripped jeans and sweater as before now paired with a pair of thick dark frames you had only ever seen him wear before on days when he had forgotten to put his contacts in. he chose to lean against the wall and play with his phone as he waited for you. you had taken notice of the outfit before, as you thought he looked particularly nice today. how did he manage to look this good, so late? shouldn’t he be dishevelled and in his pajamas by now? 

but it also got you thinking. did haechan even have a date of his own? you knew he didn’t have a girlfriend to go out with, but maybe someone else? that would explain why he was still so well put together so late at night. but during your hangout, he never mentioned having a date of his own. and he hadn’t posted anything to indicate he was going out. did he stay all dressed up because he was meeting with you? surely not.

the sound of your platform boots against the floor altered haechan to your presence. he put his phone away in his back pocket, his eyes finally looking up to meet yours. a smirk immediately graced his lips. it was clear on your expression, he had won. you positioned yourself on the wall on the other side of the hallway with a huff.

“you can wipe that smug grin off your face, just tell me what you want as a prize.” you conceded with a roll of your eyes. you hated losing, but this was even worse. you absolutely hated giving him the satisfaction. at least you could say you tried. 

haechan simply watched you, revelling in your dismay. he didn’t seem to even mull over what he might make you do, having already thought it over with the assumption that he was going to win. you knew he already had something in mind, otherwise he wouldn’t have offered the deal in the first place. what exactly was he planning?

“for my prize, you owe me a kiss.” your eyes went wide, looking at him in pure horror. as much as you wanted to believe that you had misheard him, he was crystal clear in his request. images started flashing through your head of what it would be like to kiss haechan. him having to lean down to meet your lips, hands coming to grip at your waist. how good it would feel to have him pressing against you, fingers running through his hair as he claimed his prize.

what. the. actual. fuck. since when did you think about him like that? you would slap yourself for thinking like that, but haechan had a habit of sniffing out weakness, and you didn’t want to let him see you sweat. haechan narrowed his eyes at the lack of a clap back, expecting a more explosive response. you finally decided to indulge him.

“are you serious?” you exclaimed, ignoring the slight heat you felt on the tips of your ears. 

“deadly.”

“out of all the things you could get, a kiss?” haechan simply nodded, looking at you expectantly. the thoughts from earlier came rushing back to you, cheeks flaring red now.

“i’m not kissing you!” you shouted before slamming a hand over your mouth, hoping that you hadn’t woken anyone in the dorm with your antics. haechan let out a small laugh, shaking his head. 

“that’s unfair! it was part of the bet, i won fair and square. it’s a perfectly reasonable request!” he justified with a huff.

“to you maybe!”

“does the idea of kissing me turn you off that much?” haechan pouted, arms crossing over his chest. you had no reasonable response to that question. because despite what you insisted you felt for the man in front of you, the idea of kissing him was not turning you off. in fact, it was kind of doing the opposite. this had to be the result of sleep deprivation, or mental overexertion from trying to find a date in such a hurry. and well… he’s attractive, who wouldn’t want to kiss an attractive man?

lee haechan was trying to coax you into kissing him. and it was working.

you studied the expression on his face. at first, you thought he was playing it up, acting all pouty in an attempt to get you to cave. but underneath it all, there was something else. had your rejection managed to genuinely upset him? it seemed like it had. the back and forth between you had always been mostly lighthearted. and while you hated his attitude, you would never deliberately want to make someone upset.

well, that’s what you would say to justify what you were about to do.

haechan watched as somehow your cheeks managed to flush an even darker red, taking a couple steps forward so that you were well and truly in his personal space. you leant upwards to press a chaste kiss on his cheek, just below the mole on his cheek bone. you immediately scurried back to your side of the hallway, watching as haechan just processed what you did.

haechan was stunned. you had actually gone through with it. sort of. his eyes scanned over your blushing figure with a smirk, fingers coming up to trace where your lips had been. you watched on in horror, coming to grips with what you had just done. you could already hear the teasing remarks he was about to spew, most likely about how you hadn’t actually fulfilled your end of the deal. 

he had managed to reduce you to a fumbling, blushing, rambling mess at the mere proposal of a kiss. which is probably why you jumped to speak before he could make fun of you.

“you never specified where you wanted to be kissed. if you wanted it to be somewhere specific, you should have said. i think i did you a favour by kissing you on the cheek. if anything, i think that’s a more valid form of kissing, more intimate even. i swear i read a study that said-” your rant was cut off by the feeling of lips against yours. you froze in place, eyes finally focusing on the image of haechan in front of you, his eyes having fluttered closed as he kisses you in the way he had originally intended to happen.

and for some reason that you would definitely have to unpack later, you began to kiss him back.

now that it was happening, your imagination did not do it justice. the way his soft lips left against yours. how he chose to cup your face with his hands instead of resting them on your waist. how he pulled you in closer to him as you reciprocated, his movements becoming more rushed as you leant into him. you gripped onto his sweater tightly as his tongue slid into your mouth, eliciting a sigh from the back of your throat.

it was a few minutes before the two of you parted, out of breath and panting into each other’s mouths. you stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, coming to some silent agreement, before haechan turned around to open the door to his dorm room. you quickly shuffled inside, haechan following close behind as he closed and locked the door behind him. 

you barely had time to kick your shoes off before he was on you again, lips pressing against yours in a way you could only describe as desperate. you returned his kiss with a giggle, hands coming up to tangle in his hair. at the feeling of you tugging on his hair, haechan let out a groan. he nipped lightly at your bottom lip before trailing kisses down the column of your neck. he seemed to find your most sensitive spots with ease, paying them the most attention as he basked in whatever small noises he could coax out of you. 

he slowly began to move you both towards his bed, lips coming up to meet yours again. with the back of your legs hitting the edge of the bed, you felt haechan lightly push against your shoulder. now separated, you fell back against his mattress with a huff. you quickly shuffled further up the bed, watching as he crawled to be on top of you. 

haechan paused when he came face-to-face with you. he stared down at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. your cheeks grew warm at the intensity of his gaze, hands coming up to hide your face. haechan wasn’t having any of it, moving your hands to pin them either side of your head. 

“what?” you finally questioned, unable to suppress the goofy smile forming on your lips. haechan let out a hearty laugh, leaning down to resume kissing you.

“you know, you could have easily won today.” he stated when he decided to pull away from you once more. you looked up at him in confusion.

“how?”

“you could have asked me out.” now you were even more confused. to accept your invitation for a date would have meant an automatic loss for him. did he want to lose?

“but that would mean you lost?”

“yeah, but it would have been worth it so see how happy winning made you.” oh. well that caught you off guard. you don’t think you had ever heard haechan say something so… romantic. and he was so genuine in his sentiment, that’s what caught you off guard the most. 

haechan took your silence as an opportune moment to go back to pressing kisses against the sensitive spots on your neck. his fingers began to work at the buttons on your shirt. you watched in amusement as he struggled slightly.

“where’s all this sappiness been hiding?” you questioned, finally giving in and helping him to take off your blouse. 

“it’s always been there. teasing you is just more fun.” he winked, quickly taking his own shirt off before resuming his trail of kisses down your collarbones and to the swell of your breasts. 

“you’re actually evil.”

“yeah, but don’t act like you don’t like it that way.” haechan teased, movements pausing so he could rest his head on your chest and look up and you mischievously. you looked down at him and scoffed, mind beginning to conjure an appropriate retort. however, any rebuttal you had died on your tongue when haechan’s fingers slipped underneath your skirt to palm at you through your panties. he watched on with a smirk as your expression shifted from one of reprimand to pleasure. 

haechan let out a quiet curse as he felt how wet you had gotten. he hastily pushed your panties aside, fingers coming to part your folds. you let out a moan as his fingers found your clit, drawing small circles around it. haechan positioned himself directly above you again, crashing your lips together in a hurried kiss. he ate up every single noise you gave him, tongue teasing them out of the back of your throat. 

you felt him slip his middle finger inside of you, shallowly thrusting it in and out as his thumb came to resume the ministrations against your clit. you involuntarily parted from him with an elongated whine, back arching and head lulling back in pleasure. you felt yourself growing flushed at the depravity of it all. haechan fingering you underneath your skirt, groaning into the nape of your neck at how good you felt, spit slicked lips pressing against your skin with every noise.

“not so evil now am i?” he smirked, finally letting his finger slip all the way inside. you let out something between a laugh and a moan at the sensation, haechan somehow being able to angle his finger in just the right way to hit your most pleasurable spots with every thrust.

he was very clearly taunting you with his words, thinking he had rendered you incapable of engaging in the back and forth he enjoyed so much. the first time you attempted to respond, he slipped a second finger inside of you, resulting in you cutting yourself off with a gasp. haechan let out a small laugh at your reaction. it was like he knew you were about to make a smart ass comment. after a few more quiet moans made their way past your lips, you managed to respond. 

“that’s debatable.” haechan watched you in amusement. it was clear from the way you were now gripping at his sheets that he was doing something right. and yet you still wanted to push him for more.

“how do i show you i’m good, then?” he asked with feigned innocence, removing his fingers from you entirely. you let out a high-pitched whine at the loss of pleasure. he backed off of you entirely, straddling your lap as he waited for a response. you let out a frustrated huff at his teasing. 

haechan sat there silently, smirk growing wider with every moment. he wanted to do some good? then you were gonna tell him exactly how. you pushed yourself up into a sitting position, now once again face to face with the boy in your lap. 

“by shutting up and putting that mouth to better use elsewhere.”

you let out a giggle as haechan pushed you back down into the mattress. he shimmied further down with his target in mind, trailing kisses along your abdomen as he moved downward. when he reached the waistband of your skirt he simply flipped the pleats up, dragging your panties down your legs and flicking them where he had flung all your other clothes.

he then positioned himself in front of your now exposed sex, letting out a string of curses at how good you looked to him. he began trailing kisses along your inner thighs, taking his time to leave some evidence behind that he had been there. on reflex, your thighs came to close around his head. he let out a groan at the feeling, hands coming up to hold them apart.

you sat up onto your elbows, letting out small noses at the feeling of his lips against your thighs. although you were a little confused. why hadn’t he taken your skirt off? surely it was just getting in the way at this point. just as he was about to move on to the main event you gripped at his hair, holding him in place. he looked up at you with an irritated look, disappointed you had just prevented him from getting a taste.

“you’re keeping my skirt on?” you questioned, your hold on haechan’s hair loosening. he furred his eyebrows in response.

“yeah? is that a problem?”

“yeah it is.”

“why?” you knew it wouldn’t be as simple as him agreeing and moving on, it never was. you were beginning to feel embarrassed by your protest, remaining in silence instead of answering. haechan sensed your reluctance, rubbing soothing circles into your thighs. “i can’t help you if you don’t tell me.” he added, looking up at you with genuine concern.

“i wanna watch you.” you admitted quietly, avoiding his gaze. haechan felt himself relax in knowing that he hadn’t done anything wrong. haechan pursed his lips as he contemplated his response. he could give in, but where was the fun in that? 

“well i think you look really fucking hot in this skirt, so i’m gonna keep it on.”

“but-“

“y/n, relationships are about compromise.” haechan said with a mocking tone. the situation was almost comical. you two were probably the only people who would start bickering over the way you were about to be eaten out.

“we’re not in a relationship!” you corrected with a huff.

“just give me about five minutes and i’ll convince you otherwise.” he said with a wink, hands reaching up to grab at the hem of your skirt. he pushed it up in your direction, waiting for you to grab onto it. you did so despite your confusion, looking down at him in disbelief.

“what does that even-“ you cut yourself off with a loud moan, haechan licking a stripe up your pussy. you clung onto you skirt for dear life as haechan began to tongue at you. you watched on intently as his tongue moved against you expertly.

that didn’t last very long though, as the sensation of him finally paying attention to your clit again drove you back down into the mattress. you were sure the noises you were letting out now were loud enough for his dorm mates to hear, but you didn’t care. you released your hold on your skirt to grip at haechan’s hair, hips bucking against his face as he continued to suck on your clit. 

haechan let out a groan at the feeling of your nails against his scalp. he was trying to focus on getting you off. but fuck. the sight of you was practically pornographic, expression contorted in pleasure, lips wide open with continuous moans pouring from them. haechan couldn’t help himself. he began to buck his hips against the mattress, clinging on to the small amount of pleasure that was providing.

you were well and truly lost to the pleasure at this point, fucking yourself against haechan’s face in search for your release. you untangled one your hands from his hair to push the cups of your bra aside, boobs spilling out. you began to pinch at your nipples eliciting a high whine from the back of your throat. haechan watched on in amazement, growing even more turned on if that was possible. 

you were getting close, movements becoming more frenzied and desperate. haechan seemed to pick up on this. he slipped two fingers back inside of you, curling them to hit your sensitive spot just right. he felt you clenching around him, wetness dripping down his fingers and onto his sheets. that’s a problem he would gladly deal with later. you had a vice-like grip on his hair, chasing after your orgasm with little care for anything else.

your climax rushed in, suddenly clouding your senses. your eyes screwed shut as your back arched up off the bed in pleasure. haechan let out an audible whine against your clit at the way you tightened around his fingers, having to halt the movement of his own hips to avoid cumming in his pants. he helped you ride out your orgasm, only removing himself once you started letting out small whines of overstimulation. 

you fell back against his mattress with a content sigh. you watched as haechan cleaned up his fingers using his tongue. when he caught your gaze he sent a wink your way. you simply shook your head with a laugh, this in contrast to the way your thighs clenched together at the sight. when you had regained some energy you came to sit up next to him. haechan looked at you expectantly, the same smug grin he wore earlier in then day now once again on his lips.

“have i convinced you?” he asked, pressing a quick kiss against your lips. you didn’t let go get away that easy. you pulled him back in, tongue slipping into his mouth. he gladly returned your movements, letting out a groan when you backed up to suck on his tongue. after a few moments, you pulled away from him, suppressing a giggle at his disappointed expression from your separation.

“almost.” you beamed. haechan looked back at you in exasperation.

“jesus woman! what more do you need?” he whined, bottom lip coming forward in a pout. it was now your turn to smirk at him.

“lie down.” you commanded. haechan complied without much thought, lying back against his mattress. you turned to straddle his thighs, reaching forward to open up his jeans. he watched on, wide-eyed, as you pulled his jeans and boxers down simultaneously, getting them off without much help from him. you bit your lip as his cock sprung back against his abdomen, tip leaking at the lack of proper attention it had received. he let out a groan as you grabbed his cock. you shifted yourself forward, your other hand coming to align yourself with him.

once his mind came back to him, haechan scrambled to stop you. he didn’t want you to think that he had only done all of this in order to get something in return. you looked back at him confused, wanting to know why he was hesitating.

“hey, you know you don’t need to do this. i wasn’t expecting anything. i’m totally fine if you leave now. i’ll be even better than fine, i’ll be amazing, spectacular even. here, i’ll just-“ you cut him off by sinking down onto his cock. you both simultaneously let out a moan at the feeling. you relished in the feeling of haechan stretching you out, while he let out strings of curses at the feeling of you being wrapped around him. once you were fully seated, you leant forward to press a quick kiss against haechan’s lips.

“you won the bet, now enjoy your prize.” you smiled. haechan returned your expression, smiling up at you brightly. you pushed back on his shoulders to position yourself up right again. you stared down at him as you lifted up your hips before slamming them back down again. 

haechan watched intently as you rode him. the focused look on your face, the way your tits bounced against your bra with every movement, the way you frustratedly flipped your skirt out of the way when it was messing with your chosen rhythm. he loved how you were letting him see you like this. not the uptight and well put together person he always saw, but another side to you entirely. desperate and messy, doing whatever you could to get a sound of pleasure out of him.

“you look like a fucking mess.” haechan let slip. your movements faltered slightly, the comment flustering you. you weren’t normally like this. haechan always seemed to bring out different sides to you, and you were beginning to realise that you really enjoyed it.

“do you ever shut up?” you snapped back with a particularly harsh bounce. haechan let out a whine, hands coming to grip at your hips, halting your movements.

“i mean in a hot way! you look so fucking hot right now.” he clarified, worried he had accidentally offended you. in response, you rolled your eyes, hips rocking slightly on his cock in impatience.

“you still haven’t answered my question.”

“i’ll shut up if you make me.” challenge accepted. your lips came together in a mess, almost missing each other entirely. once haechan settled on sucking on your bottom lip, he began to thrust up into you. you let out a loud curse at the sudden movement, giving him the go ahead to take over.

haechan used his grip on your hips as leverage to continue thrusting into you, finally allowing himself to chase his own orgasm. his sharp and rough movement were sure as hell taking you along for the ride, finding yourself meeting his movements as you cried out in pleasure. haechan’s head came to rest in the nape of your neck, using it as a way to suppress his whines and groans.

as his movements became sloppier, you could tell that haechan was close. the feeling of you clenching around him was definitely helping that along. you felt your own release building up once again, hands coming to grip at haechan’s shoulders for leverage. nether of you were lasting much longer, and you were both perfectly fine with that.

haechan came first, groans morphing into whines, which morphed into a loud string of curses as he released inside of you. you continued to ride him, chasing after your own release. haechan let out whines of oversensitivity as you rode him to your own completion. you came with a loud moan, nails digging into his back, almost guaranteeing that there will be marks left there in the morning. 

you let out a whine as you moved off of his cock, feeling his release leaking out of you. haechan shot off of the bed, racing to get a cloth for you to clean yourself up with. you let out a lazy laugh at his swiftness, thanking him for the cloth when he handed it over. haechan pulled you into his chest when he returned to the bed, wrapping his arms around you as you nuzzled into his chest.

“so… what now?” you asked, playing with his fingers. 

“well, did i convince you that we should be together?” 

“you haven’t even taken me on a date!” you exclaimed, looking up at him with a teasing look. haechan took a moment to think it over before he shot out of bed once again, reaching for where his boxers had landed. he slipped them on before reaching for his pants, you looking at him in confusion.

“what are you doing, i’m tired.”

“too bad. get up, we’re going on a date.” you shot up in the bed in shock, looking at him like he was crazy.

“now?!”

“i’ve waited for you long enough, we’re going out now.” you let out a scoff at his suggestion. you looked down at yourself, thighs covered in bruises that your skirt barely covers, said skirt being crumpled and creased from having two sets of hands gripping on to it. you didn’t even want to think about how your hair or makeup looked right now.

“i look like a mess!” you whined, slamming your hands down onto the mattress.

“i thought i made it clear to you that i’m into that.” haechan stated, wiggling his eyebrows at you. you let out an annoyed sigh. his insistence had worked, and you were giving in to his request. 

“fine! just give me a second.” the second you attempted to walk away from his mattress your legs refused to comply, faltering and causing you to stumble back onto the mattress. haechan burst out laughing at your display, your cheeks blazing red at his reaction. 

“holy shit! i mean, i knew i was good, but i didn’t know i was that good.” haechan joked, going around the room to pick up the various clothing items of yours that had been flung around during your activities.

“god, you’re annoying!” you complained as haechan began to help you back into your clothes. he even went so far as to help you slip your shoes back on, tying and zipping them up. you watched on with a soft smile on your lips, cherishing the romantic gesture. haechan looked up to catch you staring down at him with your love struck smile. he let out a small laugh, standing up slightly so that he was now face to face with you.

“don’t act like you would have it any other way.” haechan whispered against your lips before giving them a peck. you hated that he was right, but you couldn’t help but smiled at how well he could read you. he let you go and fix your hair and makeup quickly, watching you in the mirror of his bathroom as you did so.

once you were done, haechan outstretched his hand for you to grab. you took it gladly, being pulled into his embrace. his arm wrapped around your shoulders as he guided you out of his dorm room, going on about how he was going to give you the best post-sex date you’ve ever had. you don’t think that either of you had ever had one of those before, but you weren’t gonna correct him, simply looking forward to whatever he was pulling out of his ass as a last minute plan.

and at that moment you decided that maybe liking lee haechan wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

valentine's gift masterlist main masterlist requests and asks are open!

[mononijikayu]

widower! nanami pt 1.

widower! nanami kento who slowly found himself waking up with a bright wide smile on his lips as he slipped into a quiet, comfortable routine with you in this pandemonium called life as the sun rose in the wide expanse of the morose sky. 

everything has started to be comfortable to him when it comes to being with you. more than what his life had been without you. day after day, this life he was living with you had become one that became second nature. it was as though this new genuine and tender presence in his life felt as effortless as breathing.

widower! nanami kento’s mornings begin when he’s sitting across from you, listening to the birds perched up in the trees as they sing. each day began as you hummed along with the birds, eyeing them with satisfaction. his caramel eyes trailing your golden glow as you point out the birds by the names you gave them.

soon enough, time passes by and your hand is warm against his own. you both burst into small conversations over coffee as you bask in the sunset beam, and late into the moonlit evenings ended with gentle goodnights exchanged under the dim glow of porch lights where you both part your ways and leave, thoughts trailing every bit of wonder gifted to each other as you both lay down on your beds, smiling, knowing that you will live such a life again when the sun rises once more. 

with each passing day, the massive gaps in his grievous heart didn’t feel so gaping anymore; the weight of his never–ending grief, though still present each and every moment, was something he no longer carried alone. you were there to carry it with him, as much as you were bringing warmth to his long lonely hands as you carried it against your tender palm.

widower! nanami kento who slowly lets himself indulge in the wondrous warmth you offered him. little by little, he had let these small things you do mellow him into a harmony that brought him back to life. at times, it was allowing his long fingers to linger just a second longer when he handed you a cup of tea, or listening to your gentle voice with an intensity that spoke of deep appreciation.

everything about it wasn’t rushed. and it wasn’t hurried, either. but nanami kento was sure that it was there. he started to notice that there had been a shift, that there had been a change in the air between you two, one that was no longer just quiet courtship dancing around companionship but the beginning of something more, something deeper — one that he’d never expected.

widower! nanami kento who becomes so damn red as he hesitated before taking your hand on a chilly evening walk from the cafe you ate at, his caramel eyes glancing shakily at you as if asking for permission to cage it with his own. and when you smiled back at him so beautifully, eagerly entwining your fingers with his as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he just knew. this was it. you were it for him.

all the way while, he felt his heart stutter in a way it hadn’t in years. it was almost as though he was that young shy, flustered boy again, the one who had first learned what it meant to love.

he could feel the rush of warmth spreading through his chest, the slight hitch in his breath, the way the world around him seemed to narrow to just this moment. it was all achingly familiar, yet impossibly distant, like a melody half-remembered from a dream when he looked at you. 

kento had thought he’d outgrown this feeling, that time had worn it down to nothing but a distant echo. he hadn’t thought about this before, that this could be happening to him again. this feeling of love, this want to love, to live for love.

and yet, here it was, surging back to life with the same reckless intensity. the weight of experience, of heartbreak, of all the years that had hardened him, seemed to vanish in an instant. kento was just him again. that boy in love, who was unguarded, vulnerable, and utterly, helplessly captivated.

widower! nanami kento who still visited his wife’s grave, still whispered those sweet quiet apologies into the abundant wind, but he knew that there was no longer because he felt trapped in his grief. no—this time, it was different. this time, he spoke not just of loss, but of you. about the life he had found himself living again, with you by his side. 

kento knew he was smiling as he told her stories of you, as if he was alive again. he didn’t realize how much he was saying, about the light you brought into his dark lonely days. he spoke of the small, bright moments that made life feel like something he could cherish again. and he knew his wife was smiling with him. 

he knew it was because he was alive again, smiling in that boisterous beam that his wife had loved and knew. he knew it would mean a lot to you, that the grief he had held from the loss of her had started to be enveloped by the hope of being loved again.

that’s why kento knew that if you were here with him, the winds would graciously kiss your warm cheek. and he would know that it was that thankful kiss that could only come from his wife, thanking you for being an angel, for bringing back what should be.

widower! nanami kento watched as the deep amber glow of the kitchen light cast soft shadows over the room, pooling in the hollows of his face as he sat across from you. his fingers curled loosely around the stem of his wine glass, though he had long forgotten about the drink in favor of watching you.

for a moment, he looked away to check on the dinner cooking in the oven when he heard you gasp loudly with exaggeration. he turned to you who had just spilled a small splash of red wine onto your shirt, only to dissolve into laughter a second later, shaking your head at your own clumsiness. his face contorts as he moved towards you almost immediately, concerned. but you merely continued to laugh.

“are you okay?” he’d asked you, shaking your head as you laughed.

"i am, i am. don’t worry." you huffed, biting back another deep giggle as you dabbed at the stain with a napkin. "well, so much for trying to be elegant about it."

kento let out a slow breath, something dangerously close to a chuckle ghosting past his lips. "you were never in any real danger of that, don’t worry." he murmured, his voice laced with fond amusement.

your beautiful bright eyes flicked up to him, still crinkled with mirth, and the sight of you in that moment. the way the light caught in your hair, the effortless ease with which you laughed, all of it had struck something deep in his chest.

he swallowed thickly, suddenly hyper aware of the warmth curling in his ribcage, the way it had begun to take up more and more space inside him. and it was overwhelming, especially as your laughters bellowed together like it was the perfect choir. he didn't know when it had happened, but at some point, he had stopped just appreciating your presence and had begun yearning for it instead.

It was a dangerous realization to him, as much as he thought it was natural. one that left him feeling unsteady, like standing too close to the edge of something vast and unknowable. one that he feels tender, as though it was as fond and familiar as taking in the air in his lungs.

"you okay?" you asked, tilting your head slightly, your laughter softening into something gentler.

kento hesitated for only a fraction of a second before nodding. "yes, don’t worry." he said, voice steady, betraying nothing. "just... i suppose i haven't laughed like that in a long time.”

something flickered across your beautiful face—understanding, maybe. or something softer. yet figuring that out somehow didn’t matter. not when you smiled at him so brightly, he could feel his chest tightening at the sight of you. 

"guess i'll have to spill wine more often, then, don’t i?" you teased.

and he should have responded with something dry, something nonchalant. but instead, he just looked at you—really looked at you. and all the words that settled on his tongue, the ones he didn't dare to say, burned like an ember behind his ribs.

i want this. he realizes from the depths of his soul. i want to be with you for the rest of my life.

instead, kento took a slow sip of his wine once again, watching as you grinned at him and excused yourself so you could wash up. kento moves away from his drink and onto the guest room cabinet, bringing you clothes he had from his sister when she came over and handed it to you. all the while thinking of how he loves you.

widower! nanami kento who sat across from you at the kitchen table, his heart unsteady in his chest as he watched you sway absently to the soft music playing from the speaker. the wine stained shirt in the corner is forgotten, your fingers tapped against the table in time with the melody, your body moving instinctively with the rhythm.

when you turned to him with that bright smile of yours and your gentle outstretched hand, he found himself at the crux of hesitation. “dance with me, kento!” you said, your voice light, inviting. “come on!”

widower! nanami kento who almost said no, because it had been years since he had held someone like that—since he had allowed himself to. but then you wiggled your fingers playfully, coaxing, patient as always.

he found himself exhaling a quiet, resigned, utterly down right fond sigh before slipping his own hand into the warmth of yours. he was helpless when it came to you. that was already certain before, but now it is more stronger. he had just realized he loved you, after all.

widower! nanami kento whose breath caught when you pulled him close, your free hand settling against his shoulder as you led him into an easy, swaying rhythm in the middle of his kitchen. the room was dimly lit, the air thick with something unspoken, something warm, something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

kento found that, despite himself, realized that he found comfort in the way your body moved so closely with his, the warmth between the two of you made him feel the butterflies all over his stomach. the way you smiled at him as you swayed to the music had made his heart skip a beat, you were so beautiful like this, when you were close to him. 

widower! nanami kento who, when you rested your head against his chest and let out a contented sigh, couldn’t help but close his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to feel—really, truly feel—the quiet peace of it all. the peace he knows he can only find in you.

kento couldn’t help but murmured against your hair. “i didn’t realize how much i missed this.” his voice barely above a whisper, as though saying it any louder might break the fragile sanctity of the moment.

widower! nanami kento who, when you tilted your head up to meet his gaze, saw something in your bright eyes. something warm, something patient, something unwavering. and for the first time in years, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could reach for it.

he felt his breath hitch as you lifted a hand, fingertips brushing delicately over his cheek, the touch so gentle it made his heart stutter. he had been careful, so careful—not to overstep, not to let himself want too much. to be too greedy. but here you were, looking at him like he was something worthy of love, of tenderness, of a second chance.

widower! nanami kento who almost closed his caramel eyes when you spoke, because the words were so quiet, so reverent, so devoted, so tender, that they wrapped around his heart like a prayer — “i love you too, kento.”

he swore he felt the earth shift beneath his feet at the sound of his name in your ethereal voice, at the certainty in it. no hesitation. no conditions. there was nothing else but that look of love, that sound of love. it was just that pure unadulterated love. a love so freely given, the type of love he had once feared he would never feel again.

widower! nanami kento who, for a long moment, said nothing in response. he could only tightened his arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer, until there was no space left between you, until he could feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat against his own.

when he finally did speak, pressed his forehead to yours and breathed. “you have no idea how much that means to me.”

widower! nanami kento who couldn’t help but lean in closer to kiss you then and there—not so desperate, not so hurried, either. but with the kind of quiet, devoted reverence only a man who has known loss and dared to love again could offer.

kento knew at that moment he had finally stepped out of the shadows of his grief because with you, in this quiet kitchen, with your hands in his and your love wrapped around him, he was no longer just surviving.

nanami kento was home in your arms.

[getaapologist]

Hey, Hi, Hello, can I tempt you further with more servant!reader? This came about after @kingoftruands kindly suggested something a bit darker? Thought it would suit servant!reader. Enjoy!

[ first blurb for servant!reader ]

Sweat soaked your skin as his large hands wrapped around your arms, pulling your body back against his, his presence domineering and lustful.

The warm summer night only contributed to the heat you felt now, his hands reaching, grabbing, groping, his breathing the only sound besides the fabric rustling.

You felt loose, like fresh clay. Moldable. Pliable. Moving into whatever shape or position he dictated, the sounds of the party far away now.

A fever, a reckless, unchecked need had caused him to seek you out, the amphora plucked from your hands before he dragged you away from the revelry, away from prying eyes, which you were grateful for.

It was a confirmation. An assurance that the connection made at that earlier party was something that persisted, even as you began working at the Palace. And it was hard to even call it work. This night was the first night they even tasked you with anything besides standing in the room as the twins debated, as they ate, as they held council. 

Wear this. And these. And pour wine.

Those were your instructions. And as you ran your fingers over the fine material of the clothing, finer than you had ever touched, you became certain of one thing.

Your job was not merely to pour wine. 

Though as the clothing was pushed up, aside, you could admit that this didn’t quite feel like work. As more of you became exposed to him, he grew greedier, his touch more firm, almost desperate. It felt forbidden to call an Emperor desperate. But that’s what he was. 

As if he didn’t have his needs satisfied whenever he asked. As if there weren’t others, brought there specifically for their satisfaction, seated around them that he could’ve called on. He chose you, saw something in you back at that other party. 

A foolish notion, one dismissed quickly from your mind as he pushed inside.

A strangled cry, part pain, part pleasure. Something he liked, apparently. His hand found your throat and pulled you back against his chest, his lips pressed to your ear as he moved, his fingers squeezing with each thrust. 

You heard each intake of breath, each grunt. He wasn’t gentle, didn’t prepare you, didn’t touch you in a kind or thoughtful way. But why would an Emperor ever do such things?

Slowly but surely, he moved easier. And with that came an ache, on the verge of being satisfied. His grip went slack, and you reached out, needing support so you didn’t fall over, finding the wall within reach.

“You will not let another touch you, little lamb,” he grunted, hand abandoning the clothes and instead moving around to press at your abdomen, bringing you in closer.

“Y-Yes,” you breathed, face heating up at the way you sounded. So affected.

“Not even my brother,” he insisted. It should have worried you. You should have known this would be a doomed venture. But you nodded, muttering assent. And that seemed to be enough for him. 

The stonework was smooth in front of you, cold to the touch. You would’ve wanted to press your cheek to it if you weren’t sure you’d wind up with a head injury. 

Lightheaded and legs shaking, you felt his grip around your neck tighten. Pulse pounding in your face as his fingers didn’t let up. You could feel the press of the adornments around his neck as he pulled you back against him. Choked gasps echoed in the small space, his hips stilling. 

Tension. Pressure. A fresh cold sweat. Before you could reach for the hand at your throat, you fell to the floor. He stood above, his expression guarded as he righted his clothes, his chest heaving.

���Go clean yourself up, and wait in my chambers.”

An order. 

Your job was not to pour wine at all.

[moonzzip]

my song for you | prologue

a/n — I decided to make this mini-series in celebration of g-d's new album (and due to the lack of new stories these days), I've been busy and that's why I haven't been releasing any more stories, but I hope you like this one, I'll release the next chapter soon!

summary: your passion for music has always been something that kept you grounded, but soon you found yourself lost. your friend gets you into trouble, and you wonder if your wounds will ever heal.

pairing: jiyong x pianist!gn!reader

!warnings: mention of toxic family, bruises, blood, fainting

lowercase letters, w.c: 2,1k

nothing. nothing comes to your mind, nothing.

you play, play, and play the keys, but nothing forms.

the sound is empty, the melody is empty, the notes are empty, everything, absolutely everything is empty.

none of the forms give you feeling, never satisfied with what you're doing.

everything is bad, everything sounds bad, you don't feel like you're doing it right, nothing seems right.

your hands tremble, your fists want to clench, false notes, off-key sounds, your finger clicked the wrong key, your foot stepped wrong, you missed by a millisecond, you played two at the same time, you played none.

and you stop.

your breath is tired, frustrated, disgusted, agonized. your soul feels broken and empty, lonely.

that song that once made you happy no longer fills you.

you've been playing the piano for as long as you can remember. your family is a great pianist family, so you always had this obligation to know how to play. everyone in the family was considered a prodigy.

but not you.

you were slower compared to your cousins, took longer to understand compared to your aunts when they were children, didn't have the motor coordination of your mother or the speed of your father.

you were incomplete.

the scars on the top of your hand say it all, every little scratch, purple mark, dripping blood, silenced scream, cry, and sweat.

even so, you never felt anger toward them, your family.

much less hatred for the piano.

it was an object, it wasn’t its fault.

it wasn’t the piano that made your blood run, it wasn’t the piano that made your tears fall.

you used the piano as an escape, despite it having brought you misery.

anger rises to your head, your fists finally clench completely and begin to strike the instrument fiercely, horrible sounds coming out due to the aggression on the black and white keys, your screams scratch your throat, your body sore and tired, your mind full, yet empty at the same time, too messy, your already dried tears no longer fall.

you continue the attack for a while, until exhaustion almost wins.

you bite your lips so hard they bleed, your head tilts back, the blood running down your lips, your vision blurs, and your body falls back, staring at the ceiling as you let out a sigh, and everything goes dark.

your feet walk along the crowded sidewalk, your hands in furry, warm gloves, looking at your feet but still seeing ahead to avoid bumping into someone.

you stop at the edge of the sidewalk, now looking up, the cars passing at high speed, countless people on the other side and beside you. you sigh, hiding your face in your warm scarf, your eyes catching the large sign meters away from you: ‘galaxy corporation,’ and you sigh again.

what was your friend thinking? he called you out of nowhere, saying he needed you to come to the company where he works because it was urgent. what the hell could be so urgent that he needed your help? nothing comes to mind. your day had been going so well, you had slept reasonably well, and it was cold enough to stay under the blankets for as long as you wanted. just thinking about it makes you yawn, stretching your back, hearing a small crack, and adjusting your clothes, brushing off invisible dust.

well, here goes nothing.

the door opens automatically, the warm air hitting your face. you breathe in satisfaction and step inside—it’s well-lit and spacious—the door closes behind you. you take off your scarf and store it in your bag. there aren't many people, a small group and some scattered around, but nothing beyond that.

you wonder if your friend is waiting for you down here. you look around but decide to go to the reception.

“ah... excuse me?” the receptionist looks up and gives you a small but still gentle smile.

“hello! how can I help you?”

you try to return the smile, but it feels awkward, so you continue, “mr. kim jonghoon called me and asked me to come. could you check if he’s here?”

you could just call him, but this isn’t the first time jonghoon has called you out of nowhere saying he has something important to say, only to disappear when you try to call back. you’re not in the mood to waste your phone credits on him.

“ah! kim jonghoon-ssi? just a moment.”

you watch her pick up the fancy black phone and dial some numbers. it rings, and jonghoon answers almost instantly.

that bastard. he knew you wouldn’t come if he kept answering and responding to your questions. this man is getting too clever for your liking. you roll your eyes internally.

the receptionist is smiling like an idiot on the phone. jonghoon has a habit of flirting with people, but he could do that another time.

the sound of the phone being placed back on the receiver pulls you from your thoughts.

“he is in the building, yes. he’ll be here soon, please wait patiently.”

it’s not like you have anywhere else to go.

you look around and see an empty armchair nearby. it looks comfortable, so you sit down. you wonder if he’ll take long, then pull out your phone, looking for something to do.

ah... you should have downloaded some games.

would it be rude to put on your headphones? you think about it but take them out anyway, connecting them via bluetooth. you scroll through your spotify, maybe something by bigbang? lots of options, your finger hovers over a few, clicks one, skips, until you find one.

‘my heaven’ appears on your screen. ah... this song is so good. you remember watching the m/v when you were younger. you used to follow the group more closely. they were your inspiration to play that... thing. after a while, you just gave up on music altogether.

you sigh, looking at your hands, the scars hidden beneath the gloves, running from your elbows to your fingertips.

hours and hours, endlessly playing that thing, until your nails broke and your fingers formed calluses, or until you passed out. most times, that’s how it went.that leather whip was used on your delicate little hands, mercilessly, without pause.

you had always been a well-behaved child, never complained, never gave a reason for such methods to be used, but apparently, your difficulty in learning was reason enough.

always put down, always compared to everyone in your family—

"your aunt learned this in three days."

"your sister wouldn’t make a mistake like that."

"you never get this right on the first try. useless."

things like that.jonghoon only knows the surface. you never had the courage to give him many details, and you don’t plan to.

he understands. he never crosses that line, and that’s it.

you played so much, so much, participated in so many projects nonstop, took courses, tests, competitions, but never received a 'congratulations', never an applause. it was as if you were performing for no one.

but you never complained. as long as you liked playing, nothing could affect you.

until it did.

your thoughts are once again interrupted by a light kick to your shoe. it’s jonghoon.

(internally, you thank him for pulling you out of those thoughts.)

“hey, ___!”, he greets you excitedly.you look at him blankly before putting him in a headlock, muttering angrily,

“you bastard. you call me in the middle of the night, say it’s important, then ignore me? you know I have no patience for this, and you call me at 3 AM?? I’m going to kill you, kim jonghoon.”

he knows you’re really mad when you say his full name.

“a-ah, _-__, I can’t talk—”

you tighten your grip.

“your silence is starting to please me, jonghoon. you in a coffin would be even better.”

he taps your arm, and you loosen slightly.

“i-if you let me g-go, I c-can talk.”

you click your tongue and release him, crossing your arms.

“speak. before I change my mind and leave.”

he knows you’re not joking, so he hurries.

“so... I kind of... signed you up for a temporary job... playing piano for an artist’s production here.”

kim jonghoon was a dead man that day.

...or so you wish.

but here you were, sitting at a table with your friend in front of you. he bought you lunch, so you forgave him—temporarily. two days, you told him.

"jonghoon, you know i haven't played in three years. what the hell were you thinking!?" your voice rose slightly, laced with disappointment, and you didn’t hide it.

he lowered his head a bit, knowing what he did wasn’t right. "sorry, ___… i just wanted to help. seeing you in the same situation as three years ago makes me anxious. i hate seeing you like that at home, and—"

letting out a frustrated sigh, you ran your hands through your hair, elbows resting on the table. "this is something i'm working on, jonghoon. i know you want to help, but—" you stared at the table, eyes slowly filling with tears.

"it’s not something that heals just like that... i hate the piano. i hate my music. i hate my family. and i hate hating these things."

the man in front of you stood up and walked over, gently running his fingers through your hair. "look… i know what i did was wrong, but ___…"

he hesitated, and you looked up at him. "i know you don’t actually hate the piano. i know you don’t truly hate your music. it’s what lifted you out of where you were, ___. don’t say that, please."

you looked at him, anger flashing in your eyes. "kim jonghoon, don’t talk about things you don’t understand."

you stood from your chair, grabbing your things. "sometimes, you're just like them. you try to dictate how i feel. you don’t know anything. you shouldn’t have done this, and you know it."

you walked toward the door, ready to leave. "i’m not completely mad. i get that you want to help, but… just leave me alone. for a while."

just before you reached for the handle, the large door swung open. you took a few steps back as a man entered.

his colorful hair, cap with a scarf tied over it, yellow-tinted glasses, vibrant clothes, and perfectly painted nails made him stand out. he brought color into the dull, lifeless room—like a stylish rainbow.

jonghoon perked up, walking over to the man.

"jiyong-ssi! hey, how are you!?" he greeted the man enthusiastically, who smiled at him and bowed at a precise 90-degree angle.

"jonghoon-ssi, hello. i'm doing well. and you?" his voice was calm and deep, slightly raspy but steady. the more energetic man simply smiled and nodded in agreement.

you stood with your hands in your pockets, feeling a little out of place, glancing around.

the man with colorful hair noticed you in the room and fidgeted with his hands slightly but still greeted you. "you must be ___-ssi, right?"

you nodded with a small ‘yes’ and bowed at 90 degrees as well, polite. the man in front of you did the same. "i'm kwon jiyong. nice to meet you. i heard you’ve been playing piano for years—i’m interested in your work."

you stared at him for a few seconds, but before you could respond, jonghoon cut in. "ahh, ___ is definitely interested, jiyong-ssi! i told them about the job, and they rushed right over—you can trust me on this."

giving your friend a deadly glare, he continued undeterred. "the absolute best pianist in the world is standing right in front of you! i’ve never seen anyone like them—pure dedication! the music that comes from ___'s fingers takes me to heaven, seriously!"

you rolled your eyes at jonghoon’s exaggerated praises but stayed silent. he wasn’t going to give up on making you play again. you didn’t know how to feel about it—grateful or incredibly frustrated.

the more energetic man pulled you and jiyong by the arms, making you both sit at the table as he started talking.

"___, jiyong-ssi recently started producing his third solo album, something highly anticipated by his fans, of course. it’s not every day that g-dragon releases an album, and—"

ah.that’s why kwon jiyong seemed familiar to you.

the man sitting beside you was g-dragon.

you put your elbows on the table and buried your head in your hands.

what the hell had you gotten yourself into?

a/n – so, I wrote this while listening to gd’s ‘drama’, seriously, what a wonderful album, where I live it came out at 2 in the morning, but I woke up to listen to it, I don’t regret it one bit, thank you for the wonderful album gd, I have no complaints (and never have). thanks for reading! I’ll release part one soon, I think it will have at most 3 parts (not counting the prologue), but I can’t guarantee anything. feel free to correct any mistakes!

[gainercontent]

Max's Body Transformation Part 3

Check out my blog for parts 1 and 2

The day Tyler suggested meeting in person, Max felt a nervous excitement stir within him. They had talked online for months now, exchanged pictures, shared stories of their gains, their routines, and their challenges. Tyler was someone Max admired—not just for his own impressive physique, but for the way he always pushed Max, encouraged him, and validated his decisions. Now, Tyler wanted to meet up, in real life. The idea felt surreal, but Max couldn’t deny that part of him was eager to see him, to finally step out from behind the screen and experience the connection in person.

Tyler suggested the Jade Buffet, a well-known spot in the city where all-you-can-eat was the name of the game. It felt fitting—Max could already feel the excitement of all the food he would consume, the possibility of pushing his limits even further. He imagined all the plates he would pile up, the satisfaction of devouring everything in sight. And Tyler would be there, right by his side, encouraging him just like he always did.

When they met at the restaurant, Max was struck by Tyler’s appearance. Tyler was even more handsome in person—fit, chiseled, with broad shoulders and a confident, easy smile. He greeted Max with a firm handshake and a friendly hug, sizing him up with a quick glance. Max, on the other hand, was now well over 220 pounds, his body soft and full, a clear reflection of his choices in recent months. But despite the slight self-consciousness, he felt a rush of excitement seeing Tyler in person.

“Looking good, Max,” Tyler said with a grin. “I’ve seen your progress pics, but in person? Damn, you’ve really packed on the pounds.”

Max chuckled, feeling a mix of pride and discomfort. “Thanks, man. It’s been… a journey, for sure. Been eating a lot.”

Tyler slapped him on the back, hard enough to make Max’s stomach jolt. “You’ve earned it. That’s what it’s all about, right? But hey, let’s see how much you can put away tonight. Jade Buffet has everything we need, man.”

They sat down at a large table, and Max immediately felt his stomach stir with anticipation. The waitstaff brought them both water, and Tyler ordered a small plate of sushi and some dim sum. Max, however, was already planning his first trip to the buffet. He stood up, eager to fill his plate. But as he walked toward the buffet, he could feel Tyler’s eyes on him. There was a sense of expectation, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air.

When Max returned with an enormous plate piled high with various dishes—fried rice, spring rolls, dumplings, and even a few plates of noodles—Tyler raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Max dug in immediately, eager to fill the void, his stomach already rumbling.

As Max ate, Tyler seemed completely content with his tiny portion. He nibbled at his sushi, took a few bites of the dim sum, and occasionally looked up, watching Max’s progress. Max couldn’t help but feel the pressure, the push to continue eating. The more he ate, the more the voice in his head began to cheer him on, just like Tyler’s quiet encouragement.

“You’re doing great, Max,” the voice murmured. “This is what you wanted. Keep going. You can eat more. There’s no stopping now. Tyler’s proud of you. You can’t back down now. You’re bigger, stronger, more powerful.”

Tyler, sensing Max’s growing hunger, leaned in, his voice calm but insistent. “You’ve got this, bro. Just keep going. You’re pushing yourself, and it’s paying off. Just think about how much fatter you ca get. This is what you’ve been working for.”

Max nodded, the words hitting him in the same way they always did. He could feel his stomach beginning to stretch, but the thrill of the challenge kept him going. He piled more food onto his plate and ate with abandon. He could feel Tyler’s eyes on him, a quiet approval in the way Tyler watched him devour the meal.

“You’re doing great, Max. You can feel it, can’t you? The power of all those calories. The satisfaction of feeding yourself, of growing bigger. Keep it going.”

The voice, ever-present in his mind, echoed Tyler’s words, reinforcing every action Max took. Each bite felt like a victory. The fullness in his stomach began to swell, but there was a strange sense of pleasure in that sensation. Tyler leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with a quiet, knowing look. He wasn’t eating much, but he was enjoying watching Max indulge.

“Man, you’re making me look bad,” Tyler joked with a laugh, but it was clear his admiration was genuine. “I could never eat like that. But you’re doing great. Keep going, Max. You’re unstoppable.”

Max’s chest swelled with pride. Unstoppable. The word reverberated in his mind, his confidence growing as he shoved more food into his mouth. The voice seemed to grow louder with every bite, louder with every plate of food that disappeared.

“You’re getting bigger. You’re becoming something else. This is just the beginning.”

By the time Max finished his third plate of food, his stomach was stretched tight, his face flushed from the effort. But he couldn’t stop. He looked at Tyler, who was nursing a glass of water, still looking pleased but not pushing himself like Max was.

“Feeling good?” Tyler asked, watching him closely.

Max nodded, a small smile forming on his face as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. He felt full, overstuffed, but there was a sense of thrill in knowing that he could keep going. That he could push himself further. This is who you are now, the voice whispered. You’re a machine. You’re capable of so much more.

“Yeah, I feel great,” Max said, his voice a little strained from the amount of food he had already eaten. “But I could go for one more round.”

Tyler chuckled. “I knew you were going to say that. You’ve got the hunger, man. You’ve got the drive. But remember, it’s all about control. You’re in control of your body.”

Max paused, staring at his plate. The voice echoed Tyler’s words, urging him to keep eating, to never stop. He could feel the weight of his choices, the pull of his indulgence. He wasn’t just eating for the calories anymore. He was eating to fill something deeper—a hunger for validation, for power, for the rush that came with growing, becoming bigger.

As the night went on, Max kept eating. Tyler’s small, supportive remarks continued, but it was the voice in Max’s head that truly pushed him to the limit. With every bite, Max grew bigger, more swollen, and the power of it made him feel invincible.

Eventually, the meal ended, and Tyler paid for their food. They left the restaurant together, and as Max felt the discomfort of his bloated stomach, he couldn’t help but think about what Tyler had said—how he could keep going, how he could keep feeding himself, keep growing.

Max didn’t know what the future held, but he knew one thing for sure: he was on a path now. The voice was louder than ever, and Tyler—his guide and encourager—had made him feel like he was unstoppable.

And in that moment, Max believed it.

*****

Max felt a warm buzz of satisfaction as they left the Jade Buffet, the evening’s indulgence weighing heavily on his stomach. He was beyond full—his stomach stretched to its absolute limit, and he had that familiar, almost painful sense of fullness, but with it came the thrill of pushing his body to its boundaries. He had eaten more than he had in weeks, and the sense of accomplishment was intoxicating.

They reached the parking lot, and Tyler stopped at his car, giving Max a knowing smile. Max glanced at the car, a small part of him uncertain what was about to happen next, but the voice inside his head had him feeling invincible, unafraid of what might come.

Tyler leaned against the hood of his car, casually waiting for Max to catch up. “You’re really killing it tonight,” Tyler said with a grin. “You did great. But I can tell you’re feeling it, huh?”

Max chuckled, a bit breathless from the meal. “Yeah, I’m absolutely stuffed.” His stomach felt heavy, stretched tight under his shirt. It was hard to even stand without feeling like he might burst. “I’ve never eaten so much in my life.”

Tyler’s eyes sparkled with a mix of admiration and something deeper, something Max couldn’t quite place. “I can tell, man. But that’s what it’s all about. Pushing yourself, going beyond what you think you’re capable of. You did an amazing job.”

Max felt a rush of pride at the praise, his chest swelling with the recognition. He had worked hard for this—he had given in to every craving, every urge, and now his body was proof of it. But despite the pride, he could feel the weight in his belly, the fullness that made every step feel slower.

“Come on, man,” Tyler said, stepping closer, his voice lower now, like he was sharing a secret. “Why don’t you come sit in the car for a minute? We can chill, you look like you could use some rest after all that food.”

Max hesitated for a second, then nodded, feeling that familiar pull, the sense that something was about to shift. He followed Tyler toward the car, the voice whispering, “You deserve this. This is just another step. Let yourself enjoy it. Let yourself go.”

Once inside the car, Max sank into the seat, his stomach protesting the movement, but he didn’t care. He wanted to be closer to Tyler, to feel the comfort of his presence after the indulgence. Tyler closed the door gently behind him, then slid into the driver’s seat, facing Max.

Tyler looked at him with an intensity that made Max’s heart beat faster. “I know you’re full, Max. But you did a hell of a job. I want to make sure you feel good. You deserve a reward for that effort.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “What kind of reward?”

Tyler’s smile widened, and without another word, he leaned toward Max, his hands gently resting on the sides of his stomach. Max sucked in a breath at the touch, feeling a jolt of warmth spread through him. His belly was so full, it almost felt strange to have someone touching it, but Tyler’s hands were gentle, soothing.

Max felt Tyler’s fingers work in small, firm circles around his bloated stomach. The pressure, the way Tyler massaged him with such care—it was unlike anything he had ever felt before. He let out a soft sigh, his body relaxing into the touch. It wasn’t just about the physical relief; it was the sense of comfort, the way Tyler’s presence seemed to ease the discomfort that had been building in his gut.

“That’s it. Let go,” the voice in his head murmured. “You’ve earned this. He’s rewarding you. Let him help you.”

Tyler’s hands continued to knead his stomach, the pressure easing the fullness and giving him a sense of release. He felt lightheaded, almost intoxicated by the sensation of Tyler’s touch and the flood of positive reinforcement from the voice in his mind.

“You did so well tonight, Max,” Tyler whispered, his voice low and almost hypnotic. “You’re really growing. I can see it in you. Your body—everything about you is becoming fatter, chubbier.”

Max could feel the heat rising in his face, a flush spreading across his cheeks. The words, the praise, felt good. They felt right. They made him feel like he was on the right path, like he was becoming exactly what he was meant to be.

Tyler’s hands stopped for a moment, and he leaned closer, his lips hovering near Max’s ear. “You’re getting fat, Max,” Tyler murmured, his breath warm against Max’s skin. “You’ve done such a great job. I’m proud of you.”

Max’s breath caught in his throat, the words sinking deep within him. He was proud of himself too, for pushing his limits, for surrendering to the hunger. And Tyler was there, right beside him, validating every choice, every step he had taken.

Before Max could respond, Tyler turned his face toward him, his lips brushing against Max’s. It was a soft, tentative kiss at first, but it deepened as Max leaned into it, his body still aching with fullness but overwhelmed by the sensation of being desired, of being accepted. The kiss was slow, exploratory, and the tension in Max’s body melted away as he let himself sink into it. He could feel Tyler’s hands still on his stomach, a gentle reminder of the relief, of the connection they shared.

The kiss broke, and Tyler pulled back just enough to look into Max’s eyes, his expression soft and sincere. “You’re amazing,” he whispered again.

Max felt a swell of gratitude and excitement. He had never felt so accepted, so seen, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. The voice in his head had led him here, and now Tyler was here too, guiding him, encouraging him, making him feel invincible.

Max leaned back, resting his hand on his stomach as he closed his eyes. “Thanks, Tyler. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

The night felt like a new beginning—Max wasn’t just growing physically, but in ways he hadn’t anticipated. And with Tyler by his side, he knew he could keep pushing forward, embracing every moment, every change. The road ahead was wide open, and for the first time, Max felt ready to walk it.

*****

Max leaned back into the seat, feeling the weight of the evening press into his body. The fullness in his stomach was a constant, heavy presence, and he was floating in that space between satisfied and overwhelmed. The weight was intense, but there was something about being with Tyler that made him feel safe, like he could just surrender to the moment and everything would fall into place.

Tyler's voice cut through the haze of Max's thoughts, pulling him from the comfortable daze he'd slipped into. “I’ve got something special for you,” Tyler said, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. He opened the back door of the car, reaching into a small cooler nestled behind the passenger seat. Max couldn’t help but watch him, curious.

Tyler pulled out two cases of Boost VHC, the high-calorie drink that had become a staple for Max’s increasing appetite. He could already feel the weight of the cases, the promise of calories that would push him further, expand him even more. Max’s eyes widened at the sight.

“Tyler…” Max murmured, his voice tinged with hesitation. He was already so full. The thought of drinking more seemed almost impossible, but there was a part of him that knew—he couldn’t say no.

“You’ve done so well, Max,” Tyler said, his tone coaxing, encouraging. “You’ve eaten all that food, you’ve made amazing progress. Now, we just take it one step further. You’re going to feel incredible after this. You deserve it.” His voice was warm, full of care, but it carried an unmistakable edge—one that Max had come to recognize. Tyler wasn’t just supporting him; he was guiding him, pushing him forward, just like the voice in his head.

Max was so full he could barely move, his body already stretched to its limits. He felt sluggish, bloated, but the weight in his stomach was strangely comforting. He let his eyes flutter closed for a moment, unsure of how he could possibly drink more.

But then, Tyler’s hand was on his shoulder, shaking him out of his thoughts. “Max, you’ve got this. Don’t worry about how much you’ve eaten. It’s about the obese piggy you’re going to become. Drink it, and feel how much bigger you get. Just trust me.”

Max didn’t respond, just nodded weakly, feeling the pull of Tyler’s words, the authority in his tone that seemed to fill every corner of his mind. Tyler opened the first case and pulled out a cold bottle, twisting off the cap with ease.

“You’re going to drink this down for me, okay tubby?” Tyler asked, his voice low and soothing. Max could feel a strange warmth spreading through him at the command. He was so full, but part of him couldn’t resist.

Tyler gently lifted the bottle to Max’s lips, helping him drink as he massaged his swollen stomach, his touch comforting, guiding him. Max felt himself relax into the sensation, allowing Tyler to feed him. The liquid was thick and creamy, more like a treat than a drink. The voice in Max’s head swirled with Tyler’s words, and for a moment, they seemed to blend together into a single, undeniable force.

“Drink it, Max,” the voice inside him urged, louder now than ever. “You’ve come this far. You’ve worked so hard. Let go. Let it fill you. You’re not weak—you’re strong. You’re in control. You need this. You need to grow.”

Max took another gulp, his stomach tightening as the liquid slid down his throat, but the voice continued, urging him on. “You’re becoming exactly what you were meant to be. Bigger. Stronger. More. Drink it all, Max. You deserve it. Tyler believes in you. I believe in you. Keep going.”

Tyler’s voice merged with the internal voice in Max’s head, creating a constant rhythm of encouragement that drowned out any doubt or discomfort. “That’s it, fat boy. Drink it. You’re doing amazing. This is what you’ve worked for. This is what it’s all about. You’re pushing your limits, and it’s worth it.”

Max could feel the pull—his body protesting, but his mind lost in the harmony of Tyler’s praise and the voice inside him, both pushing him, urging him to consume, to keep going. As the bottle emptied, Tyler grabbed another, twisting the cap off with practiced ease.

“You’re incredible, Max. You’ve got this. You’re not stopping here. Drink more.”

The combination of Tyler’s encouragement, the sweet, thick drink, and the insistent, now unified voice in his head created a powerful force that drowned out the discomfort. Max drank, his stomach stretching further, his body shuddering slightly with each swallow, but the voice inside him seemed to smooth over the resistance, giving him no choice but to keep drinking.

“Yes,” the voice whispered, now one with Tyler’s. “Keep going. There’s no limit now. There’s only growth. You’re doing what you’ve always wanted. This is who you are. This is who you’re meant to be.”

By the time Max had finished the second bottle, his stomach was so swollen it was almost painful to move. He was breathing heavily, his shirt tight against his skin, but his body felt oddly light, despite the pressure. His chest heaved with each breath, but his mind was buzzing with satisfaction, with the certainty that this was exactly where he needed to be.

Tyler gently cupped Max’s face, guiding him into a kiss, soft and slow at first, but with an undeniable intensity. Max felt everything in that kiss—the praise, the encouragement, the weight of the moment, and the undeniable pull of the voice that had been with him all along, now seamlessly merged with Tyler’s presence. It was more than a kiss. It was the affirmation that he was on the right path, that he was exactly where he needed to be.

As they pulled back, Tyler’s eyes searched Max’s face, a deep understanding between them. “You’re a real piggy, Max. I knew you had it in you.”

Max could only nod, his mind swirling with a mix of pride, fullness, and a strange sense of peace. He had done it. He had given in, and now, in this moment, it felt like everything had fallen into place. The voice inside him, the pressure to grow, to feed himself, to be more—Tyler had helped him reach a place where it all made sense.

Max was no longer fighting it. He was embracing it.

And in that moment, he felt like he was ready for whatever came next.

*****

Max sat back in the car, his stomach a bloated, heavy mass as he processed everything that had just happened. He was beyond full, feeling like he couldn’t move, but also strangely at peace in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time. The warmth from the Boost VHC drinks still sat in his gut, settling comfortably, and the voice in his head whispered contentedly. The moment felt surreal.

Tyler’s eyes locked onto Max, that same intense, guiding look he had seen before. He smiled, a slow, knowing grin that seemed to hold secrets Max hadn’t yet discovered.

“You’ve done a good job tonight, Max,” Tyler said, his voice low and soothing, yet charged with an unshakable confidence. “But I know you’ve got more in you. You’re not done gaining yet. This is just the beginning.”

Max blinked, feeling the full weight of the words as they hit him, a strange mix of satisfaction and something deeper—something that stirred deep inside him, something that yearned for more. The voice, now a part of his thoughts, echoed in time with Tyler’s words.

“You can do it. You know you can. You’ve always wanted more. You’ve always been meant for this. You need it. 230. That’s where you need to be.”

Max's heart skipped a beat, his breath catching in his throat. The idea was absurd, and yet it felt right. 230… The number felt like a promise. A place of validation, of reaching his peak. The voice pushed him, urged him, made him feel like there was nothing standing in his way.

Tyler leaned in closer, his hand resting gently on Max’s bloated stomach, and Max could feel that familiar pressure build in his chest—the hunger, the longing, a sense that he couldn’t turn back, that he was already too deep into this to stop now.

“You’ve made amazing progress, but 230, Max…” Tyler’s voice was almost a whisper, yet every word felt like it was imprinted directly into Max’s mind. “That’s where the real magic happens. You’ll feel incredible when you get there. You know it. I know it. We both know it.”

Max could feel it now—the pull of Tyler’s words, the soothing yet insistent force of the voice in his mind, both merging, becoming a part of him. He couldn’t escape it. It felt like a cycle he couldn’t break, like each step forward led to a greater sense of purpose, a deeper connection to this version of himself that had been growing and changing over time.

“Yes,” the voice in his mind urged, coaxing him forward. “230. You deserve it. You were meant for it. Give in. Let go. Let yourself grow. You know what you need to do.”

Max let out a shaky breath, his body both exhausted and yet strangely energized by the promise of what was to come. He looked up at Tyler, a mix of uncertainty and excitement swirling in his gut.

“230…” Max repeated, his voice soft but resolute. He didn’t feel like he was in control anymore, but somehow, it didn’t matter. The decision was made. He was committed.

Tyler’s smile widened, his eyes lighting up with pride and approval. “I knew you’d get it. I knew you’d say yes.”

Max felt a rush of exhilaration, his body tingling with excitement, the pressure in his stomach only adding to the thrill of it all. He felt alive, connected to something bigger than himself. And as the voice echoed in his mind, it no longer felt like a choice—it felt like destiny.

“Now,” Tyler continued, his voice almost a whisper as he leaned closer, “I’ve got a gift for you. Something that’ll help you get to 230 faster. You’re going to love it.”

Max didn’t ask questions. He was beyond that now, fully immersed in the moment. Tyler opened the trunk of the car with a satisfying click, and Max glanced over, his curiosity piqued. Tyler reached inside, pulling out a large, insulated bag that seemed to be packed with something heavy.

With a grin, Tyler handed the bag to Max. “This,” he said with a wink, “is your next step. It’s going to take you further. You’re going to feel unstoppable with this.”

Max opened the bag carefully, excitement bubbling up inside him. Inside were several more cases of Boost VHC—enough to keep him going for days. Along with the drink, there were a few extra surprises: high-calorie snacks, protein bars, and a few other indulgences Max hadn’t even thought of. Tyler had thought of everything.

“Now, you’re all set for the journey,” Tyler said, his voice full of pride. “Drink up, fat boy. Keep pushing. I know you’re going to hit 230 in no time. Your stomach is bigger than you think.”

The voice in Max’s head buzzed with energy, affirming every word Tyler spoke. “230 is your destiny. Keep drinking. Keep growing. This is who you are.”

Max’s hands shook slightly as he reached for another bottle, his mind racing with the thought of what was to come. He didn’t hesitate. With Tyler’s voice in his ear, guiding him, and the echo of the inner voice filling him with resolve, he unscrewed the cap and took another long drink, the liquid slipping down his throat, bringing him closer to what he had agreed to.

Tyler’s touch was gentle on his shoulder, a constant source of reassurance as Max felt the weight of the decision settle into his body. He was committed now. 230 was just the beginning.

And with that thought, Max felt something inside him snap into place, like all the pieces of the puzzle were finally falling together. The cycle was complete. He was on his way to becoming something bigger, and there was no turning back now.

Max smiled to himself as he finished the bottle, feeling both powerful and content in the moment, ready for whatever would come next.

Part 4 will be posted next Wednesday

[sportsentranced]

the obedient champion

The celebration was over. The echoes of champagne-soaked cheers still rang in the back of Max’s mind as he trudged through the paddock, exhaustion pressing down on him like the weight of his drenched racing suit. His Red Bull overalls clung to him, sticky with sweat and victory. The collar was unzipped, exposing the tight, soaked Nomex shirt underneath. His cap sat low over his forehead, shielding his damp, disheveled hair from view.

All he wanted was to strip out of this suffocating gear, shower, and sink into his hotel bed. But Christian had summoned him. “Just a quick meeting,” he’d said, offering nothing more. Max didn’t have the energy to argue.

He pushed the door to Horner’s office open, already itching to leave. The air inside was cool, a stark contrast to the humid, alcohol-laced atmosphere of the garage. Christian stood near his desk, but Max’s eyes were drawn to the stranger beside him.

Richard.

The man was older, sharp in a tailored suit that suggested influence. His gaze settled on Max with an unnerving familiarity. Max stiffened as Richard took a step forward, his presence carrying an ease that didn’t match the tension curling in Max’s gut.

“Long day,” Richard murmured, his voice smooth, practiced. His hand landed on Max’s shoulder, kneading gently, expertly. “You should relax.”

Max’s muscles twitched under the touch, but his body didn’t pull away. A strange warmth spread through him, dulling his immediate desire to leave.

Richard’s voice softened further. “You remember, don’t you? The sessions. The spiral.”

A pulse of unease flickered in Max’s mind, but it was sluggish, distant, like trying to grab something through water. His breaths shallowed.

“The warmth,” Richard continued, his fingers pressing just so against the knot in Max’s shoulder. “The focus. The surrender.”

Something deep within Max stirred—recognition, an understanding he hadn’t chosen but was still there, waiting beneath the surface. His eyelids fluttered, his vision swayed. The exhaustion he carried wasn’t just from the race—it was deeper, buried in his subconscious, woven into him over endless sim sessions, hidden within the spirals that had drawn him in, over and over again.

At the end of every sim session, they played the spiral. The audio tape, prepared carefully by Richard, whispering commands, reinforcing the lessons. And now, as Richard watched Max closely, he knew it had worked. The sim sessions had been successful.

Richard snapped his fingers.

Max sighed as he went under. His head swayed slightly, his vision swam. And then—

His eyes rolled back, his body slackening under Richard’s touch. His mind slipped, the tension in his frame unraveling, surrendering. Heat spread through his limbs, slow and liquid, drowning any impulse to resist.

Somewhere in the periphery, Christian watched. Silent. Satisfied.

Richard kneaded Max’s shoulder as he brought him deeper under, his grip firm yet reassuring. “You will obey Horner,” he whispered, the words curling into Max’s pliant mind.

“Yes,” Max murmured, his voice distant but sure.

“Lift your arms and flex,” Richard instructed.

Max obeyed without hesitation, his muscles tensing, his body moving effortlessly under command. Horner’s smirk deepened as he watched, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. His star driver, once so stubborn, now fully obedient.

“Speak,” Richard prompted.

“I will obey,” Max murmured, the words slipping from his lips as naturally as breath.

Richard studied him for a moment longer, intrigued by the progress. He straightened the fabric of Max’s suit, smoothing out the creases as if resetting him.

He leaned into the driver, his voice dropping to a mere whisper.

“Go to your motorhome,” he said, the command laced with quiet authority, meant only for him. “Wait for me.”

There was no answer, not that he needed one. Max was ready, too far gone to question that simple command.

Richard turned to Christian, who smirked, satisfied.

"You're remarkable." He shook his head in disbelief. "He's like a different person."

Richard shrugged confidently.

"Everyone has their buttons. You just need to know how to push them."

Richard turned to Max again, snapping his fingers.

Max’s eyelids fluttered, his body tensed, and his awareness slowly resurfaced. He blinked, disoriented, glancing at Christian.

“Are we done?” he asked, none the wiser.

He ran a hand across his chest absentmindedly, feeling the warmth linger beneath the surface.

Something felt off, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Christian simply gestured toward the door. “You’re free to go.”

Without a word, Max turned and left, his steps sure, his destination already set.

The race had been won.

But Max Verstappen had lost.

The hum of the air conditioning was the only sound inside Max’s motorhome. He sat on the couch, his leg bouncing restlessly, arms crossed over his still-damp racing suit. His body was tense, his mind clouded with frustration. He had no idea why he was waiting. No explanation, no instructions—just a strange compulsion to be here.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his face. He should be at the hotel by now, showering off the remnants of champagne and sweat. Instead, he was stuck here, lingering in his own discomfort. Something wasn’t right.

Before he could push himself up to leave, the door clicked open.

Max’s head snapped up, his sharp blue eyes narrowing as Richard stepped inside, closing the door behind him."

You—"

A snap of fingers cut through the air.

Max’s protest died in his throat. His body shuddered once, muscles going lax as his mind plunged into stillness. The tension melted from his face, his lips parting slightly, breath slowing. His gaze, once piercing and alert, dulled into an unfocused haze.

Richard smiled.

He took his time crossing the space between them, watching the way Max remained perfectly still, his obedience absolute. The golden boy of Formula 1, the unstoppable champion—reduced to this.

Richard knelt in front of him, reaching out to trace his fingertips along Max’s sharp jawline. His touch was slow, deliberate, almost reverent. Max didn’t flinch. His skin was warm beneath Richard’s fingers, his pulse steady, completely surrendered.

"Max Verstappen," Richard murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "The champion. The golden boy." He brushed a stray damp curl away from Max’s forehead, admiring the way his expression remained slack and pliant. "Now, finally mine."

There had been no hesitation when Horner reached out to him. The moment he learned what they had planned for Max—the conditioning, the slow rewiring of his mind, to make him more obedient —he couldn’t resist.

Richard ran his thumb over Max’s cheek, drinking in the sight before him. The strongest driver on the grid, the fiercest competitor, now utterly docile under his control.

"Good boy," he praised, his voice low, possessive. "You don’t even know how perfect you are like this."

Max didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Richard tilted Max’s face up, his fingers firm against his jaw. "How do you feel, boy?"

For a moment, Max hesitated. His brows twitched slightly, as if struggling to think through the thick fog in his mind. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and groggy.

"Tired… warm… confused…"

Richard’s lips curled into a smirk. He patted Max’s cheek, a patronizing touch that made Max’s eyelids flutter slightly. "Good."

He let his fingers trail down, tracing the damp skin of Max’s throat, feeling the slow, steady pulse beneath his fingertips. "You watched that spiral for so long," Richard murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction. "It’s deep inside you now. My golden boy. My champion."

With a firm tug, he pulled Max up from the sofa. Max stumbled slightly, his body slow to respond, his limbs loose and compliant. Richard took a step back, letting his eyes roam over him like a prized possession on display.

His hands followed, brushing over Max’s arms, feeling the firm muscle beneath sweat-slicked skin. He gripped his biceps, testing their strength, then slid down to his forearms, his fingers pressing into the toned sinew. He hummed in approval.

From there, his touch wandered—over Max’s chest, the damp Nomex clinging to the hard lines of his pecs. Richard’s fingers flexed against the soaked fabric, playing with the material, relishing in the way it stuck to Max’s skin. He let his palm press against his abdomen, feeling the heat radiating from his body, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

He reached the zipper of Max’s racing suit, tugging it down just a little further, exposing more of the drenched white undershirt stretched taut across his body.

Richard exhaled slowly, savoring the sight, the sensation, the absolute control."Perfect," he murmured, almost to himself.

Richard let his palm slide firmly over Max’s chest, pressing against the damp fabric, feeling the heat of his skin underneath. He could feel the slow, steady thud of Max’s heart, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly at the touch.

"Good boy," he murmured, his voice rich with satisfaction. His fingers flexed, kneading the hard muscle beneath his hand. "You worked so hard today. Pushing yourself. Fighting. Winning." His touch drifted lower, dragging over Max’s abs, feeling the way his body responded, even in trance.

"It must be exhausting," Richard continued, his tone almost sympathetic. "To think. To act like you’re actually a person."Max’s lips parted slightly, his dazed blue eyes blinking slowly, his body instinctively leaning into the touch."

You don’t need that anymore." Richard’s hand traveled back up, fingertips grazing Max’s collarbone before settling over his racing suit again. "No fears, no worries, no thoughts."

Max exhaled, shuddering under the weight of the words. The edges of his mind, already blurred from conditioning, softened even further.

"No thoughts?" he echoed, his voice distant, hollow.

Richard cupped his cheek, his thumb stroking over damp skin. "Yeah. Just feel. Just obedience."

A slow exhale left Max’s lips. His body melted into Richard’s grip, his tension completely gone. No resistance, no hesitation. Just soft, pliant submission.

Richard’s fingers found the zipper of Max’s racing suit again, tugging it down further, exposing more of the sweat-drenched Nomex beneath. The damp fabric clung to his skin, highlighting every defined muscle, every subtle movement of his breath.

Slowly, deliberately, Richard slid his hand inside the open suit, pressing his palm against Max’s chest. The heat of his skin radiated through the fabric, his heartbeat steady yet unguarded. He let his hand roam, feeling the slick material move under his fingertips, teasing out every sensation buried deep inside Max’s conditioned mind.

"No thoughts," Richard reminded him, his voice low, coaxing.

Max sighed, his head tilting slightly as his body responded to the warmth, the pressure. "No… thoughts…" he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"That’s right." Richard took Max’s wrist, guiding his limp hand upward, pressing it against his own chest. "Feel. Just feel."

Max hesitated for a fraction of a second—but hesitation had no place here. Obedience always won. His fingers twitched, then moved, stroking over the damp Nomex, following the path Richard had set for him.

His fingers curled into the fabric and into his chest, then further down to his waistline.

And then he felt it.

A strain.

The familiar, undeniable pull of fabric tightening against his body. His breathing hitched as awareness seeped in, but his mind was too fogged, too deep in the spiral’s grip to process it fully. Instinct told him to hide it. To suppress it. But it was already too late.

Richard’s knowing smile was almost lazy as he leaned in. "Ah," he murmured, his touch never ceasing. "You feel it, don’t you?"

Max’s lips parted, but no words came. His body betrayed him, the reaction buried deep, embedded into him through every sim session, every whispered command that had shaped him.

Richard chuckled, brushing his fingers over the taut fabric. "Good boy," he praised, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Richard’s fingers barely ghosted over the fabric, tracing the subtle outline of the strain beneath Max’s suit. He didn’t push, didn’t rush—just let the sensation sink into Max’s fogged mind, letting him feel every deliberate touch.

"See?" Richard murmured, his voice smooth, coaxing. "Your body knows before your mind does."

Max let out a slow, unsteady breath. His muscles twitched, as if caught between instinct and the deep-seated obedience buried within him. He wanted to move, to shift away from the overwhelming awareness building inside him—but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Richard’s fingers teased along the outlines of his cock again, barely a brush, watching with satisfaction as Max’s breath hitched.

"Good boy," he praised, letting the words settle into Max’s subconscious, reinforcing the programming that had already taken root.

Then, ever so slowly, he took Max’s wrist and guided his hand downward.

"Feel," Richard whispered.

Max hesitated. Even in his trance, something deep inside flickered—an old, fading instinct to resist. But it was fleeting. He obeyed, because that was what he had been trained to do.

His fingers pressed against the fabric, against the source of his own betrayal. A shudder ran through him as the realization fully took hold.

His fingers dragged along his hard cock, the sensation causing him to furrow his brows.

Why did his body betray him like that?

His cheeks flushed a crimson red as he exhaled deeply.

"That’s it," Richard encouraged, watching him squirm. "No thoughts. No worries. Just feel."

Max let out a quiet, helpless sound, his body fully melting into the sensation, into the words, into the control that had already consumed him.

Richard’s voice was steady, coaxing, pulling Max deeper. "Feel the heat," he murmured. "Let it build. Let it pool."

Max’s breathing was uneven now, his body caught in the throes of something he barely understood. His fingers twitched against his suit, the conditioned response overriding logic. Every session, every spiral, every whispered command had led him to this moment.

And yet—somewhere, buried beneath the haze, the fighter in him stirred.

He was Max Verstappen. The champion. The unstoppable force on the track. His mind was sharp, his will unbreakable. He wasn’t supposed to bend, to be led, to submit.

A flicker of resistance sparked within him, his muscles tensing. His jaw clenched as if some distant part of himself was trying to claw back control.

But then he felt it.

The warmth. The undeniable pull of his own body betraying him.

The dampness of surrender.

His cock was puldating beneath the fabric, so close to releasing all that pressure that he was leaking.

Max gripped his cock, as if sheer willpower alone would hold it in. Hold him back. But it was futile.

His eyes fluttered, the last threads of resistance fraying at the edges. The programming was too deep, the conditioning too absolute. His mind had been shaped, molded, rewritten into something pliant, something obedient.

At the end, his body gave way.

His body twitched, his hips buckling as he came into his suit. Feeling the wetness slowly soak through his suit against his hand.

Max’s fingers lingered, tracing over the dampness that had seeped through his suit. His breath was slow, unsteady, as he registered the sensation—the proof of his own surrender. His mind, thick with the fog of obedience, barely grasped the weight of it. He just… felt.

Richard watched with quiet satisfaction as Max’s movements grew sluggish. His body, once taut with resistance, had gone loose, pliant. The last traces of tension melted away as a dreamy, unfocused expression crossed his face. His eyelids rolled back, his body swayed—then, without warning, he slumped forward.

Richard caught him effortlessly, arms steady as he pulled Max into his hold. His cap fell to the floor with a low thud, max resting his head against Richard's frame.

"Shhh," he murmured, cradling him close, one hand splayed across the damp fabric of his back. "There you go."

Max moaned against his shoulder, the warmth of his breath uneven but content.

Richard ran a hand through Max’s damp curls, fingers threading through the soft strands. "Good boy," he praised, his voice smooth, possessive.

A hazy, drowsy smile tugged at Max’s lips. The words settled into him, blooming in the depths of his conditioned mind like a seed taking root. He didn’t need to think. Didn’t need to fight.

Just feel. Just obey.

Richard tightened his grip slightly, holding the weight of the champion in his arms. Max had been unstoppable on the track, a force no one could tame.

But here—here, he was something else entirely.

Richard held Max close, his grip firm yet soothing, as if cradling something both powerful and fragile. His hand traced slow, deliberate patterns over Max’s back, feeling the heat radiating through the damp fabric.

"Good boy," he murmured against Max’s ear, his voice rich with approval.

Max shuddered at the words, his body pressing unconsciously into the touch. The praise settled deep in his mind, reinforcing everything that had been planted there—every command, every instinct, every response carefully conditioned into him.

Richard’s hand drifted lower, fingertips grazing the dampness that had seeped through the fabric. He pressed gently, not to push, not to demand, but to remind.

"Let it all out," he whispered.

Max let out a slow, shaky breath. The last remnants of tension unraveled inside him, his mind slipping fully into the warmth of surrender. He barely registered the way his body reacted—he only knew the feeling of release, of letting go, of floating in the certainty that he didn’t need to think, only obey.

Max kept cumming, again and again. He didn"t register how much—he just felt the wet stickiness spread everywhere, thin streaks running down his thighs.

He moaned again, softer this time.

Richard tightened his hold, his other hand threading through Max’s damp curls, grounding him. "That’s it," he murmured, voice soothing, possessive. "Just like that."

A dreamy, contented sigh left Max’s lips. His body was spent, weightless, completely given over.

Max trembled, the sensation of surrender pulsing through him like a slow, spreading warmth. His breath was shallow, his body slack, yet his fingers twitched—grasping, searching—until they found Richard’s shirt. His grip was weak but desperate, digging into the fabric as if he needed something to hold onto, something solid in the midst of his unraveling.

Richard steadied him with ease, one hand firm against Max’s back, the other reaching up to wipe away a stray line of drool at the corner of his lips. The action was slow, deliberate—an unspoken reminder of how far he had fallen, how deep he had gone.

"Look," Richard murmured, voice smooth, coaxing. His fingers trailed down, guiding Max’s chin lower. "See what you’ve done."

Max’s half-lidded eyes followed the movement, hazy and unfocused until they landed on himself—on the darkened fabric of his suit, soaked through, the evidence of his surrender unmistakable.

A slow, shuddering breath escaped him. The realization flickered through his mind, but there was no shame, no resistance—only acceptance.

Richard hummed in satisfaction, fingers brushing through Max’s damp curls. "Good boy," he praised, his tone rich with approval. "No thoughts. No control. Just this."

Max sighed, his grip on Richard’s shirt loosening as the last remnants of tension drained from his body. He had no fight left. No need for it. He was weightless, adrift in the certainty of obedience.

Max stared at himself, at the darkened fabric of his suit, his breath still uneven as the last ripples of sensation coursed through him. His fingers twitched against Richard’s shirt, his grip weak but lingering, as if seeking reassurance.

His lips parted, voice soft, dazed. "Did I… do well?"

Richard’s smirk was slow, satisfied. His hand skimmed over Max’s back, grounding him, keeping him steady. He let the question hang for a moment, watching the way Max’s unfocused blue eyes searched for approval, for validation.

Then, he leaned in.

"You did perfectly," he murmured against Max’s temple, the warmth of his breath sending a fresh shiver down Max’s spine. His lips pressed gently against damp skin, a slow, deliberate kiss—sealing his praise, his satisfaction, into Max’s mind.

Max exhaled, his body melting completely into Richard’s hold, the tension gone, the need to fight long forgotten. His eyelids fluttered shut, his grip on Richard’s shirt finally releasing as his body surrendered fully to the safety of obedience.

Richard smirked, holding the champion in his arms, knowing—without a doubt—Max Verstappen was his—his champion. His golden boy. Exactly as he should be.

[shyamanuensis]

little bird - t.r

semi-smut. mdni. enjoy.

The hiss of the ceiling fan working overtime in the middle of summer only barely sliced through the exacerbated breaths you took as Tom took his time with you. Eyes rolling back uncomfortably as his grip around your throat tightened; you managed only just to sweep your tongue out across your swollen lips to coat them gently. The move enabling you to refocus – but also disconnect. This rendezvous agreement between the two of you had exceeded past the expiration date originally agreed upon. Stress relief sessions were only meant to get the two of you through the gruelling requirements of NEWTs. Your unlikely collaboration, an agreement brought on by an inside joke the two of you had shared since 3rd year and a night of a few too many fire whiskeys.

Your heart raced in time to the rhythm of his headboard smacking the stone wall of the prefect chambers. His dark eyes, painted with a unique shade of antipathy pierced through your own as your nails carved a memoire across his back. You both only had two rules – no marks in visible places and no emotions. Fuck though - what you’d do to leave a hickey on his neck or address him as something other than his name in a hallway. Hips snapping vigorously against your own; Tom manages to hook one of your legs neatly over his shoulder; lifting to sit upright so that he has the perfect angle to view his hardened cock slipping in and out of you like a perfect sleeve for his own sick satisfaction.

“I’d call you a good girl but well – you’re not.” The smirk that tugs across Tom’s face as he announces that with a calculative tone makes you remember a friend once saying that he looks like the kind of guy who would put the hot in psychotic. Is he psychotic though? No – slightly mad, a little unhinged, completely fucking insane. As his pace slows; drawing out each thrust painfully – your back arching off the bed as sweat continues to drip from your forehead Tom reaches down to stuff two fingers into your mouth; the expression he gives coming across as an order to suck which you’re all too familiar with. No words necessary as your tongue flutters around his digits and when he’s done, Tom enjoys the trip they make out of your mouth, down your chin, between the valley of your breasts, over your stomach, coming to rest firmly on your clit as he begins to write out what you can only presume is a death wish against your sensitivity.

Your voice struggles to convey a whimper. A choked breath declaring enjoyment although you’re aware it wont last long. You’ve never been able to make or break the rules – only play by them. Teeth gritting together, fingers clutching at silken sheets; eyes so tightly shut that gravity tilts your head back you’re able to utter in a broken, incomprehensible sentence the question –

“What are we?”

Time stops. The chamber falls silent. It feels like a minute passes. Then two. Then three. There’s a certain scrutiny in the gaze that Tom washes down over you. He had been expecting this question – always a few steps ahead of you regarding predictability however hadn’t given much thought to an answer or potential meaning. What were you? What was this situationship? The sex had meant to only last a little over a month but here you were – every third night fucking like animals for over a year. His chest rises and falls near artistically. You were right to believe the rumours you’d heard so long ago – he was gorgeous, as if chiselled out of marble by Auguste Rodin himself – the standout feature within the Gates of Hell.

“We?” His voice like a fire – you; as cold as nice. “…are just having some fun my little bird.”

You manage to swallow the saliva, the uncertainty, the self-disgust overflowing at the back of your throat as his fingers curl with a little more pressure than before around your neck. A rush of blood coating the apples of your cheeks with a blush brought on by pain rather than pleasure. Cunt twitching for friction around his cock, you manage to buck your hips off the bed and against Tom’s own weakly as he chuckles lewdly at the sight of you quivering beneath him.

“Perhaps it’s time I clip your wings though. Tag you. Call your mine. Is that what you’d like?”

Nodding in a frenzy; you only stop because Tom shifts his grip from your neck to your jaw; squeezing your cheeks so tightly you swear your bones will break. Carelessly pulling out of you; his free hand smacks down against your clit before it finds its way to snake through and knot into your hair, the perfect grip as he tugs you off the bed, throwing you to the floor – the cold stone scraping your knees.

“Let’s put that little mouth of yours to good use huh little bird. Tweet for me. Beg around my cock for exactly what you want and maybe – baby girl – you might just convince me.”

for: @juliet-017, @kelseyreads22 and @darkmarkmarauder for putting up with my constant chit chat and inability to focus on a single idea. hope you enjoyed xoxo

[mothvalentino]

With their orders made, Valentino now has time to fully appreciate the moment. Looking around, he soaks up the restaurant's nostalgic atmosphere with its patterned wallpaper and brass light fixtures. His gaze wanders over the many framed illustrations of Italian advertisements before settling on the man opposite him. The new outfit suits him well, Val thinks, as does the hairstyle. His question makes the pimp's lips twitch in a lopsided smirk.

ཐིཋྀ "Not as much as in the bath house. Easier to get busy in a large pool than the rather small bathroom stalls they got here."

Memories of the last date he brought here ending up on their knees at the end of the evening are interrupted when the waiter returns with the wine. As is standard in high-end restaurants, he pours a sample into Valentino's glass and offers it to him for a taste test. The moth swirls the deep red fluid around before scenting the bouquet, mismatched antennas bending forward before flicking back in satisfaction. Humming, Val takes a sip and savors the sample on his tongue.

His ever-present poison tinges every taste slightly, but he can still tell that this wine is exceptional. He gives the waiter a nod, accepting the bottle.

"You don't go on dates often, do you?"

Not to be entirely outdone by Valentino's risque choice of outerwear, Alastor decides to take much a much less overt option, but still different and classy, snapping fingers once he is out of the water to put himself to rights without even so much as bothering to towel off. Maybe a not-so-subtle display of power, but he does not really care to be humble.

Though he does pause to tie his hair back up to keep it off his neck.

At the very least, he will not look inappropriately dressed for dinner, trailing after the other once they arrive and settling with legs crossed politely at the table. It's difficult to pretend as though he is not interested in the food, the earlier bloodshed having stoked his ever-present appetite which is only further prodded by the mention of pot-roast. Hm.

Really, he could eat anything.

"Then I'll take your recommendation," he says with a nod, not wanting to hem and haw about choices and options when there is an obvious one presented to him, instead turning his attention to the remainder of the restaurant that he cannot ever remember having been to.

Alastor does not make a habit of venturing out as often now - not when the hotel keeps him busy. And there are very few individuals worth conning into such a dinner these days. This time out with Valentino does not quite fit that definition either, Alastor's gaze casually wandering to the décor and overall environment. Perhaps there is the smallest bit of paranoia that he will be spotted - here with the other Overlord. Not because he is concerned that there will be conclusions drawn, but -

He really would like to avoid any possible photos being snuck.

Always aware of the possibility.

Occupying slightly fidgeting hands with the silverware on the table, he pulls from the setting the knife, fiddling it between his claws with vague attentiveness.

"I imagine it would be a bit obtuse to ask if you come here often."

[anjian]

In Finality

[catsshit-3]

Dick, in all his drama king glory, would probably be a theatre kid at heart, and so the first time he watched dead poets society it broke him. Because he would’ve been most movie like “Neil is so me” until the ending happened.

And so when he learns that Jason enjoys literature he makes him watch it with it as an excuse. It breaks him as well.

And when he learns about Tim’s relationship with his parents he makes him watched. It also brakes Tim.

When he gets closer to Cassie he decides to watch it with her. Because, again, parental problems. The girl ends up crying and a lot.

Duke already had seen it, but he still watches it with Dick so they can cry together. And they cry a lot

And when Dick went to make Damian watch it, the kid knew enough about his streak of breaking and making people cry with that movie that he just booked it and never watched it with him.

[wumbletumblebumble]

What I love about grace is that this is a man whose science nerd impulses outweigh his sense of self preservation and duty to Earth. You think if the rest of the crew had survived they'd be on board with putting everything aside to dedicate precious time to learning to communicate with the alien spider? Would they even be willing to follow through past first contact? The best part is that this could easily be treated as a fatal flaw but instead it is the key to his success.

[beksdec7201]

Somebody has probably already mentioned it, but Digory ringing the bell that woke the Witch and bringing her to Narnia accidentally totally matches up with “curiosity killed the cat.”

Not to mention “satisfaction [of the Deeper Magic] brought it back.”

[caleb-in-the-cockpit]

*Appears in a flash of light, frowning* The barbecue sandwich recipe didn't work.

"It didn't work? What do you mean it didn't work?" He asked, managing to only be slightly startled by the sudden appearance.

[specialagentartemis]

deeply tired reminder that the proverb “blood is thicker than water” has been used in the English language since the 1600s, and its ultimate origins may be from the 1100s; the longer version that tumblr likes, “the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” is first attested in a book from the 1990s by a “Messianic Rabbi” with no sources. It’s literally prefaced by “Warning: The truths contained in the following teaching are not for the faint of heart, or the lukewarm! You can be sure that haSatan (the adversary) will do all he can to keep you from understanding and applying the concepts and truths contained herein”. The whole covenant framing is being used here to justify a “Jews for Jesus” interpretation of Judaism. It’s not “original” in any sense. The idea of blood covenants is a very old one, but there's no evidence that that's what that proverb refers to at all, and certainly not in those specific words (and this guy never even claimed that the specific words were original, just the sense of them). And the Brothers Grimm even suggested the "water" being referred to in the phrase was the water of baptism.

You are not obligated to like the sentiment expressed by “blood is thicker than water.” You don’t have to agree with proverbs. You are perfectly allowed to like the sentiment of “ the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb” better. But it is not in any way “authentic” or the “real” version, and it was not corrupted into the common version. Please.

[occulee]

Having too many hobbies is like. There are hooks embedded in my heart, pulling it in a million different directions. Something's gotta give and I'm afraid it will be me.

[statementbeginsstatementends]

[CLICK]

_______

What if another student tried to befriend the anatomy class? Bro is in for a WILD ride here…

STUDENT: hey! Y’all look like a nice group, wanna study together?

ANATOMY CLASS: *intense creepy staring*

STUDENT: I’ll take that as a yes! What are y’all working on studying right now?

ANATOMY CLASS: *creepy staring intensifies*

STUDENT: can I come over to your place later to study? My place is a bit of a disaster right now

ANATOMY CLASS: *continued intensified creepy staring*

STUDENT: great! Let’s go!

————Later————

JANE DOE: bones are so fascinating. They grow so similar in each human but different sizes.

STUDENT: *gagged painful screaming*

DR. ELLIOT: *runs from the front door for the sake of his liver*

STUDENT: *muffled cries of pain and an attempt to call out for Dr. Elliot to come back*

JANE DOE: hmm… human teeth are also very interesting. Maybe we should leave the professor a gift of thanks?

STUDENT: *screeches incoherent words sounding something suspiciously like ‘go suck a dıck you ąssholes!*