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lunaa-runee · 15 days ago

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Ryomen Sukuna gets a new nanny for his son.

Minors DNI. WC: 4.9K

CW: Noncurse AU, DILF!CEO!Sukuna, smut, creampie, implied multiple rounds, kinda mean Sukuna, Sukuna is not great with feelings, broken promises, Yuji is Sukuna's son, there will probably be a part 2 to this story

You glanced up from the crumpled slip of paper in your hand, which bore the address of your new employer. The sleek glass building loomed ahead, reflecting the sunlight in a dazzling display. The hum of the city filled the air, heightening the nervous flutter in your stomach. Taking a deep breath, you pushed through the heavy revolving door, entering this new chapter of your life.

As you entered, you spotted a security guard. He was in his 40s, wearing a simple uniform and donning a hat with bits of his salt and pepper hair sticking out at the bottom. The man offered you a slight smile and said, "Can I help you, ma'am?"

You nodded, "Yes, please. I’m here for Ryomen Sukuna.”

"Could I see your ID miss?" You pulled out your wallet, pulling out and handing over your ID to him. He examined the card silently, peering at you occasionally before turning his attention towards the computer. You nervously twiddled with your fingers as you waited. "Thank you miss l/n. You'll want to take the last elevator down the hall to the right. That is the only one that can take you to the penthouse. Mrs. Ono will meet you at the door."

He handed your ID back. "Okay, thank you."

"Of course, good luck miss. You're gonna need it," he whispered the last bit. His words made you hesitate, a sense of apprehension settling in your gut.

You found the elevator waiting for you. As you stepped inside, you pressed the button to take you to your destination. As the elevator began to rise, a wave of anticipation washed over you, and you instinctively rubbed your sweaty palms against the worn fabric of your jeans.

The elevator's ding announced your arrival, the doors opening to a breathtaking atrium. You stepped, your eyes taking in the stunning entry. A lofty ceiling with a domed skylight flooded the space with natural light. Exquisite stained glass cast colorful patterns on the cream-colored walls, creating an enchanting atmosphere like something from a Bridgerton book.

"Miss l/n?" Your eyes snapped to the double doors opposite the elevator. You had become so mesmerized that you hadn't even paid any attention to the large double doors that entered the residence. A sweet-looking woman in her late 40s or early 50s stood in the doorway. Her outfit was plain, with regular jeans and a tucked-in red polo, with black hair and a few white hairs slicked back into a tight bun. Her smile was genuine as she greeted you. "You're here! I was beginning to believe Mr. Sukuna had scared off every possible nanny the agency had to offer!"

You offer a quick bow. Her words remind you of the doorman's comments. How many nannies has this man employed? "Uh, yes. Hello. You must be Mrs. Ono?"

"I am!" The woman ushered you in, "Come in, please. I'm so happy you're here."

Entering the home, you are welcomed by a spacious entryway with high ceilings, similar to those outside. The apartment features a modern design, with a large staircase leading to the upper level on the right. Just beyond the stairs is the living room, which boasts floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the city of Tokyo.

"Welcome! My name is Asami Ono, I am Mr. Sukuna's house keeper," she chuckled. "How about a tour?"

The tour went well, but the condo turned out to be larger than you had expected. It featured a spacious kitchen, living room, and dining room. There were four bedrooms, one of which was yours since you would live there as a nanny. The home was simply decorated and appeared staged, not lived-in. There wasn't even a single photo displayed.

On the tour, you discovered that Mrs. Ono was only meant to be a part-time housekeeper. However, with the sudden departure of the last nanny, she took on the temporary role of caring for Yuji, Ryomen Sukuna's son.

"And here," Ms. Ono paused at a door at the end of the hallway on the second floor. "Is your room."

She opened the door, revealing a spacious bedroom. You entered and placed your luggage by the door, taking in the room's appearance. The room had hardwood floors with a simple gray rug at its center. To the right was a plush queen-sized bed, and to the left was a door that led to a bathroom.

"You have your own bathroom, and Yuji's room is down the room across the hall. Do you have any questions?"

"When will Yuji and Mr. Sukuna arrive?"

"Yuji's at a friend's today. I thought it best that we get you settled in before you meet him," she said simply. "Yuji is a sweet boy, but he can be a handful. As for Mr. Sukuna, his work keeps him busy, but I am sure you'll cross paths with him eventually."

"I see," you hum. This wasn't the first job you had taken with parents that made themselves scarce; it was common in your work.

"Well, if you have no other questions, I will leave you to settle in." She nodded toward the desk in the corner of the room. "Everything you need to know, like Yuji's schedule and food preferences, is on the desk for you. I'll be downstairs preparing dinner if you need anything."

You spent the next couple of hours unpacking and familiarizing yourself with everything you needed to know about your newest client. There was little information about Mr. Sukuna that you didn't already know: he was a single dad and the CEO of a large corporation. Most of the information focused on his son, Yuji. The provided picture showed a young boy with pink hair and a bright smile. According to the schedule and details, he was just your average 4-year-old.

When you made your way downstairs, the sun had begun to set. A delicious and comforting aroma filled the air as you entered the kitchen. "It smells fantastic in here."

Mrs. Ono gave you a warm smile as she continued to stir the contents of the pot. "Good, I hope you're hungry."

"Mrs. Ono, I'm home."

Mrs. Ono wiped her hands on her apron and gave you a small smile before peeking her head around the corner toward the entryway. "Yuji," Mrs. Ono called out. "I have someone I'd like you to meet."

Yuji entered the kitchen, his eyes falling on you with interest. He paused; you could already see the whirlwind of questions he was bursting to ask you behind his bright eyes. "Hello, I'm Yuji."

"Hello Yuji," you crouched down, meeting him at his eye level before smiling. "My name is F/N L/N, but you can call me F/N if you would like."

Mrs. Ono patted Yuji's mop of pink hair as she spoke. "Yuji, this will be your new nanny."

Yuji tilted his head. "Do you like to paint?

"I love to paint," you giggled as you watched Yuji's expression transform into pure excitement, his smile bright as he buzzed with joy.

The evening unfolded smoothly. Mrs. Ono left shortly after dinner, eager to return home to her husband. Yuji was put to bed not long after that.

After spending a few more hours in your room, unwinding and watching a movie, you finally decide to call it a night. You go downstairs to the kitchen for a drink, noticing the light is still on as you go to the kitchen for a drink. Did you forget to turn it off before?

As you rounded the corner to enter the kitchen, you suddenly stopped. Leaning against the counter was a large man. His eyes were closed, and the back of his head rested against a kitchen cabinet. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, as he held a glass of whiskey in his right hand. You could see the black lines of tattoos peeking through his thin dress shirt, and you recognized the familiar shade of pink hair.

Was this Yuji's dad?

Lost in thought, you accidentally bumped into the side table by the kitchen entry. The man's eyes snapped to you.

"Who the hell are you?" he snapped, standing to his full height. His beautiful yet intimidating eyes burned into you from across the room. His lips pressed into a tight line as he waited for your response. "Well?"

You flinched at his harsh tone. "I-I'm the new n-nanny."

Setting down his drink, he saunters towards you. His eyes, intense and unwavering, never leaving you. He reminded you of a predator, and you were the prey.

"So you are my son's new nanny," he said, circling you. "Let's hope you're more competent than the last one."

The familiar beep of your alarm jerked you awake. How was it already morning? You had gotten very little rest, as your mind was filled with thoughts about your new employer—some less than pure thoughts.

With a groan, you threw your covers off your body to begin your day.

The first thing you did was start the coffee. It would be a long day, and you needed every bit of energy you could get. The sound of the front door caught your attention just as you started breakfast. Conflicting emotions of excitement and a tinge of fear struck you at the possibility of Ryomen Sukuna rounding the corner.

“Hello,” disappointment floods you at the sound of Mrs. Ono’s voice.

You shake off your disappointment, returning to your task at hand, before calling out to Mrs. Ono. “Hi. I’m in the kitchen!”

The older woman walked into the kitchen smiling, setting her bag on the counter. “Good morning, dear! How was your first night? Did everything go alright?”

“Yes,” you replied. “Yuji was perfect.”

“Ah yes, not surprising. He’s a good boy.”

You nod in agreement, but your thoughts wander to your peculiar encounter with Yuji's father. Despite the briefness of your interaction, you couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between father and son. "Mrs. Ono," you start, feeling uncertain. "Could you tell me more about Mr. Sukuna?"

Mrs. Ono raised a brow, “did something happen?”

"No," you replied almost too quickly, trying to avoid eye contact as you pretended to concentrate entirely on the pancakes you were making. "Well, kind of. I met him last night."

The air grew tense. At first, you were worried you had done something wrong.

“What did he do? Did he say something?” Her normal cheerful tone shifted to something teetering on anger. Still, it was clear the anger was not directed towards you. The response confirmed your suspicions of a possible issue between Ryomen and the previous nannies.

“He didn’t actually do anything,” you explain the brief interaction to her.

“That man,” she huffed. “Mr. Sukuna is a complicated man with very high standards, especially regarding his son. This has resulted in…difficulties in keeping a long term nanny for Yuji.”

“What kind of difficulties,” you inquire. A feeling of apprehension blooming.

“If one thing goes wrong, the nanny would be out for some of the most ridiculous reasons. Things such as Yuji getting a scrapped knee at the park or Yuji being upset over something the nanny couldn’t control. Some have just quit, too, after meeting Mr. Sukuna. He can be a bit intimidating, as you can imagine, and temperamental.”

You could imagine. “Why is he so difficult then? How do you handle it?”

“Mr. Sukuna didn’t have it easy growing up, I’m afraid, but that’s all I can really say about that,” a pained expression on her face. “I've known him for many years, and I know under his tough exterior he is a good man who wants the best for his son.”

Your thoughts swirled at Mrs. Ono’s words, leaving you more curious about your employer. You peered at the clock; it was well past 7 a.m. now. “I should wake Yuji; I wouldn’t want him late for school.”

“Did you make pancakes?” You and Mrs. Ono looked at the kitchen entryway. There stood a sleepy-looking Yuji, still in his pajamas and clutching his teddy bear.

“We sure did,” you said with a significant smile, holding the stake pancakes. “Hope you’re hungry."

Yuji's face brightened at the sight, and he rushed to his place at the table, eager to have breakfast.

You had developed a soft spot for Yuji in just two short weeks of working for the Sukuna's. He was a ray of sunshine in your eyes; his contagious optimism never failed to bring a smile to your face. Even at such a young age, Yuji displayed so much selflessness. He became your little helper, always going out of his way to help you with chores, cooking, shopping, etc.

“No,” Yuji laughed as he saw your version of a dog you had painted.

“What do you mean no?” Tonight, you and Yuji were spending a night in, Yuji begging for an arts and crafts night. You had agreed to set up the kitchen table with paint, crayons, and glitter. The works, really.

“That’s not a dog!” He giggled, bringing his paintbrush to your canvas. “That looks like a yucky blob.”

You fake gasped as you clutched your chest. “Good sir, are you saying I’m horrible at painting?” He nodded, a shy giggle coming from the young boy. In one swift motion, you pulled Yuji into your lap, tickling his sides. The young boy laughed as he wiggled in your grasp. “Take it back.”

“No,” he yelled.

The exchange continued until the sound of a cleared throat made you freeze. Standing in the entryway was Ryomen. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but his eyes had an unusual softness. You hadn't even noticed the door opening; how long had he been standing there?

“Daddy!” Yujji cheered as he sprung from your lap, launching at his father's legs, causing Ryomen to tense. “Daddy, miss l/n, and I were making some art. Can you come paint with me, please?”

“I’m not really a painter, Yuji,” his father responded.

“That’s okay, miss l/n isn’t very good either but she’s still painting!”

“Yuji,” you exclaimed.

Yuji snickered, a small huff escaping Ryomen’s lips. “Please daddy? Pretty please daddy,” Yuji begged.

“Fine,” he sighed. Yuji cheered as he took his father’s hand, leading him to your table.

Watching Ryomen Sukuna, a figure known for his massive and intimidating presence, sit cross-legged on the floor was a sight to behold. He was surprisingly gentle as he painted together with his son. This version of Ryomen contrasted sharply with his usual fierce demeanor.

This unexpected moment of tenderness was heartwarming. It took every ounce of restraint not to grab your phone and capture the scene before you.

“What,” Ryomen spat. “Do I have something on my face?”

Heat flooded your face as the tender moment came to an abrupt halt. You hadn’t even realized you were staring. Shaking your head, you said, “No. Sorry, sir.”

His lips moved into a smirk, eyes scanning your own work. “Tch. Yuji was right. You really can’t paint."

Like father like son.

What began as arts and crafts evolved into a movie as time passed. To your surprise, Ryomen chose to join in.

You had made a large bowl of popcorn for the three of you to share. You settled on one side of the couch while Ryomen took the other. About halfway through the movie, Yuji grew tired; it was well past his bedtime, so it was no surprise. He curled up on his side, his head resting on your lap and his feet touching his father's thigh.

As the end credits began rolling, you gently ran your fingers through Yuji's hair. "I guess it's bedtime," you whispered, turning your head to face Ryomen.

Your breath caught in your throat as you noted his intense stare. While there was no warmth in his features, something in his eyes hinted otherwise. “I should get Yuji to bed.”

“No,” he said firmly. You watched curiously as he stepped towards you, bending down to pluck Yuji from your embrace. “I’ll do it.”

You swallowed hard as you watched the two walk away before shaking yourself from the daze. There was still cleanup to do, and it seemed like a good distraction.

You were about halfway through washing the dishes when Ryomen walked in. “He’s in bed.”

“Good,” you spoke, not looking up.

You expected him to leave, but to your surprise, he walked towards you, grabbed a rag, and began to dry the dishes. You started to protest, but Ryomen quickly hushed you, and a comfortable silence settled between you both.

It felt so domestic.

"Yuji seems happy," he spoke suddenly.

"He's a happy kid," you agree. "A good kid actually. He always wants to help everyone with everything."

"I don't know where he gets that from," Ryomen grunted as he dried the last dish. When you looked at each other, there was a heavy silence as your gazes met. Suddenly, Ryomen reached out, his warm hand cupping his cheek. His thumb delicately brushes under your eye. A surge of electricity coursed through you at the touch.

"You had paint." He pulled his hand back as he spoke but kept his gaze locked with yours. He moved closer to you, his warmth enveloping your body. You craved even more closeness from him, yearning for his touch and the chance to touch him in return. But just when you thought it might happen, he stepped away and cleared his throat. "It's getting late, you should probably get some rest."

"R-right," you agreed, embarrassed at your taboo thoughts. "Goodnight,".You quickly retreated to your bedroom, needing to create as much distance between yourself and Ryomen as possible.

Things changed after that night. Ryomen began to be around more, coming home occasionally in the evenings. Sometimes, he would join us for dinner or a movie. These visits were never planned; he would simply show up. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Yuji as happy as he is now. With each interaction, you see Ryomen in a new light. The man you once thought was intimidating now shows a softer side with his son.

During these times, Ryomen's attitude towards you shifted as well. It wasn't uncommon that you would spy his eyes on you, that devilish smirk gracing his lips. Or when you would pass him something, his touch would linger, leaving you wanting more. And when Yuji was put to bed, Ryomen would always come down and help you tidy up no matter how much you protested.

It seemed so natural.

As the weeks went by and the seasons shifted, the fall play approached. Yuji proudly announced that he had been cast as the Big Bad Wolf. Yuji was over the moon about it, and the next time he saw his dad, Yuji made him a pinky promise that he would go see him perform.

A few nights before the play, you sat at the kitchen table, putting the finishing touches on Yuji’s costume for the next day while sipping wine. Ryomen had come home for dinner and taken over Yuji’s nighttime routine, for which you were very grateful.

“Yuji’s asleep,” Ryomen said as he entered the kitchen. You hummed in response, watching him grab a glass of whiskey before sitting opposite you. As he sipped his drink, you couldn’t help but secretly admire the man before you. Even in his relaxed state, his presence was hard to ignore. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table while holding his drink in one hand. “The costume looks good,” he remarked.

“It better,” you snorted. “I’ve been working on it long enough.”

He chuckled. “He’s really excited about this play.”

“That’s Yuji for you. Always excited and happy, one of the many things I’ve learned to love about the kid.” You sat back, holding up the costume proudly, “Finished!”

Ryomen whistled, “Guess we have reason to celebrate.”

You put the costume aside as Ryomen tops off your glass of wine and pours himself another glass of whiskey. You raise a brow as you return to your seat. “So we are celebrating me finishing a costume?”

“Not just any costume, but the most amazing big bad wolf costume,” he emphasizes the words "big bad" as he leans closer to you, bringing his drink to his lips.

"It's late." You stand, a slight buzz from the wine. That was your signal that staying here would lead to nothing good, especially with the hungry eyes Ryomen was giving you. "I should go to bed."

Ryomen grabbed your wrist, giving you pause as you stared back at him. His eyes pleading. "Don't go."

It's unclear who made the first move, but suddenly, everything is happening at once. Feverish hands are roaming over your skin as clothes are hastily discarded, leaving you in only your underwear. Ryomen lifts you up and wraps your legs around his waist, pulling you in for a passionate kiss before placing you on the kitchen table.

His lips moved down your body, leaving a trail of kisses from your mouth to your chest. Ryomen pulls down your bra, exposing your perked nipples. As one hand twists and teases one nipple, his mouth eagerly latches onto the other. Your back arches as the sensation takes over your body. Your legs wrap around his waist, forcing his clothed cock to hit your aching core. Your need for release is overwhelming.

"Look at you, already desperate for my cock and I've barely touched you." Ryomen mumbled against your breast.

His lips trailed down your body, leaving a trail of hot kisses and marks in their wake. With each bite and lick, his hunger only grew more intense. He hooked his fingers into the fabric of your panties, pulling them down agonizingly slowly as a twisted smile spread across his face, seeming to enjoy the power he has over you. Subconsciously, you tried to close your legs, only for Ryomen to force them back open.

"Don't," he warned, giving your inner thigh a slap.

Ryomen’s gaze intensified as he took in the sight of you sprawled out on the kitchen table before him. To him, you were like a delicious feast waiting to be devoured. His fingers trailed down your legs, causing your skin to tingle with anticipation before reaching between your thighs. Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers ran down your folds.

"So wet," he licked his lips before inserting one of his large fingers. "And tight."

Your head was enveloped in a thick fog as Ryomen’s finger pumped into you at an agonizingly slow pace. His gaze bore into your very soul, from your drenched sex to your trembling face. It was too much to handle; you had to avert your eyes before he consumed you completely.

He withdrew his finger, giving your clit a firm slap that elicited a yelp from your mouth. "Don't look away," he snarled. You turned back to face the man between your legs, his eyes burning.

"I'm sorry," you mumble.

Ryomen leans over you, his body pressing against yours as he stands. His hands are firmly planted on either side of your shoulders, and you can feel his clothed arousal rubbing against your own heat. A strangled moan escapes your lips at the sensation, causing you to instinctively grind yourself against him. His face is inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. "If you're going to apologize," he murmurs, "do it properly."

"I'm sorry, sir."

“Good girl.” Ryomen’s satisfied grin spread across his face as he drew back, his hand tracing a slow path back to your dripping core. But he granted you no relief, only teasing grazing your clit.

You try to remain calm, but your hands tightly grip the table's edge. You crave more; you desperately need more. "Please," you beg, body trembling. "Don't tease me, sir."

"Hm, you think you deserve more?"

You couldn't believe how desperate you sounded as you replied, "Yes please, I deserve more."

"Since you asked nicely."

He pushed two fingers into you, the sensation flooding your body with pure pleasure. With each powerful pump, his knuckle grazes against your throbbing clit, sending electric shocks through you. Meanwhile, his other hand moved toward your chest, playing with your sensitive nipples. You bite your lip, struggling to suppress the primal moans threatening to escape as the knot in your belly tightens.

You were on the edge of bliss when Ryomen withdrew his hands. Before you could protest, Ryomen listed you off the kitchen table and pressed you against the kitchen counter, Ryomen standing behind you. The rustle of his pants catches your attention, but before you can see what's happening, Ryomen pushes your head down. You uttered a small cry as your face and chest pressed against the cold marble surface.

His fat head is moved up and down your folds. You tilt your head a little, catching a glimpse of Ryomen’s member. "The only place you’re allowed to cum tonight in on my cock," he growls.

Ryomen's throbbing cock plunged deep into your core, igniting a primal fire within you. Your face contorted in ecstasy as Ryomen mercilessly pounded into you with a punishing pace, the force of each thrust causing your hips to slam into the counter you were being pressed against. Pleasure and pain merged into overwhelming bliss.

Ryomen's nails press into the soft flesh of your hips. He adjusts his position, raising you so your feet are no longer touching the ground. Your body responds eagerly to his touch, arching and writhing with each deliberate movement.

Ryomen grips a handful of your hair and pulls you up against his chest, pressing your back into him. He presses his lips into the shell of your ear. "Look at you, completely fucked out. Do you want to cum, my little pet?" His husky voice sends shivers down your spine.

"Yes." You gasped, "yes sir please."

He let go of your hair and stepped back, giving his hands full access to your throbbing clit. His fingers rubbed circles on it as he thrust into you more vigorously. Your screams of pleasure are uncontrollable as he hits depths within you that have never been touched before. You cling to the edge of the counter, your face buried into the crook of your arm, trying to muffle your lewd sounds.

Finally, you were pushed off the cliff. The force of your release almost unbearable as shockwaves rippled through your entire body, causing your cunt to spasm uncontrollably. Through the haze of pleasure, you could hear a string of curses escaping from Ryomen. Still, your mind was too occupied with the overwhelming sensations to process anything else. He continued to fuck you relentlessly, each thrust bringing you to tears from the overstimulation. But just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he gave a harsh thrust, fully pushing into you as you felt his warmth fill you.

You stayed in that position for a moment, feeling Ryomen pull out, his cum dripping down your leg.

Your legs felt weak, making you unsure if you could even stand. But before you could attempt it, Ryomen scooped you into his arms and headed towards the stairs with a mischievous smirk. "You didn't think I was finished with you?"

You felt the ache in your body as you woke up in Ryomen’s bed. The man had fulfilled his promise, and you had spent several hours in his bed before succumbing to exhaustion. The fog of lust and alcohol cleared, and reality hits you like a ton of bricks: you had slept with your boss. A wave of panic overcame you. You immediately slipped out of his bed, fearing his reaction if you had stayed until he awoke.

You sat on the edge of your bed, thoughts swirling about what would happen in the morning. Footsteps in the hallway made you sit up as fear gripped your heart. There was a knock at the door, and you held your breath, knowing who stood on the other side. "Y/n," his voice sounded uncertain.

Sliding off your bed, you moved towards the door, opening it just enough to see Ryomen. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. The hesitance etched on his face was not something you had seen from him before. "Good morning, sir."

"Listen," he rubbed the back of his neck. "About last night-"

"It was a mistake," you blurted without thinking. You didn't want to hear what he had to say, your heart aching at the list of potential things he would say. "I'm sorry; it was very unprofessional of me."

Ryomen's face twisted in pain, his fist clenched tight, knuckles white. "A mistake, right," he said. He turned to return to his room but paused. In an icy tone, he spoke, "Make sure to clean the kitchen before Yuji wakes up."

If it had been two days since you last spoke to him. Two days since you had slept with him. Now, here you sat alone, watching Yuji's play. No sign of Ryomen anywhere in the crowd.

As the final bows concluded, you noticed Yuji scanning the crowd with his eyes. They brightened when he spotted you, but his smile faded as he looked around you. You instantly realized he understood that his dad had broken his promise.

tag: @zezedoesshit

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader smut #ryomen sukuna #jjk smut #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk angst #sukuna angst #jjk x reader smut #dilf!sukuna #ceo!sukuna #ryomen sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna angst #jjk au #Sukuna au

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ckret2 · 3 months ago

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Chapter 68 of human Bill Cipher not looking much like the Mystery Shack's prisoner because he's just vibing on the porch: Mabel's riding high on the success of making Bill two whole friends, Ford's dealing with curses... and let's see how that camera got cursed in the first place.

####

Mabel asked, "What about Aaron Laarson?"

"I don't know," Candy said, "Aaron is cute, but he isn't a very good dancer. That's very important to me in a teen pop idol."

"He's a really good actor, though," Grenda said. "You should see him in Hot Models 2: Runway Boogaloo!" Candy looked thoughtful.

They'd spent the last thirty minutes chattering, with Grenda and Candy sitting on Bill, who was now laying his upper body on the couch cushion he'd been assaulted with earlier but otherwise hadn't moved. To all appearances, Bill was sound asleep—he even breathed like he was asleep—but every once in a while, he'd pipe up with something like, "Don't get too attached to Aaron Laarson. He's dying in a kayaking accident next summer."

Grenda groaned in disappointment. Candy said, "He should have spent that time practicing dancing instead of kayaking."

Mabel caught movement in the corner of her eye, and started when she saw Ford and Dipper. "Uh oh. I didn't expect them to come in on this side of the house."

Across the clearing, Ford shouted, "Mabel, what the devil is he doing outside with—!"

Mabel shouted, "It's okaaay, I got permission from Grunkle Staaan, I love yooou!"

Ford hesitated. "Well... if Stan okayed it."

Dipper looked at Mabel and her camera. Mabel looked at Dipper and his camera. They immediately started making the stupidest faces they could at each other's cameras. "Hey," Mabel said, "did you find the nightwigglies? It looks like they found yooou!"

Dipper self-consciously tugged up the vest he was using like a makeshift skirt. "We did! It was so great, we recorded some kind of ritual dance, how they make babies—" At Grenda's outburst of "Ewww!" he quickly clarified, "Not—not in a gross way—and we saw some kind of Nightwiggler god! It was amazing!"

"Wow! That's great!" Mabel said. "We summoned a demon and almost died."

"What?"

"By the way!" Mabel waved her camera at Ford. "Grunkle Ford, I kiiinda used your cursed camera by accident. Could you please uncurse the tape so I can keep the episode I filmed tonight? Goldie said the magic thingy he stuck on it will only keep it tame as long as the tape's in the camera."

"That's because it's technically the tape itself that's cursed, not the camera." Ford wondered if Bill had led Mabel to the camera.

"Can you uncurse it, though?"

"I think so. I'll see what I can do." Ford took the camera from Mabel. He decided not to comment on the girls' interesting makeup choices.

Bill opened one eye a sliver as he felt Ford and Dipper step on the porch, saw Ford's bare calf over his boot, and cracked up. "What happened to your pants! Did you try to join the Hokey Pokey?"

Ford gave Bill a withering look—caught sight of Bill's mismatched tween-girl-pencil-case/airbrushed-hot-rod eyeshadow, and laughed in surprise. "What happened to your face?"

"Aren't I beautiful?" Bill asked, lacing his hands under his chin (and making Ford snort again when he spied the multiple nail extensions on one hand). "Go on! Tell me I'm beautiful. I know I am."

"You're..." Ford was keenly aware that Mabel and her friends were probably behind this makeover, "...certainly colorful."

"Stanford, you flatterer!" Bill cackled.

Dipper headed inside, yawning. "I'm gonna... go to sleep or something."

That was a good idea; but Ford was hesitant to go in. He was loath to trust Bill unsupervised alone with a couple of vulnerable children, with no one to keep him in check but another child he'd already manipulated into helping him escape once.

But who was Ford to judge. Bill had manipulated him into helping him escape, too. He supposed Mabel could handle him as well as anyone else.

Grenda said, "I think we should watch Hot Models 2 anyway! It's got lots of cute boys! And girls, I guess." She turned to Bill. "Hey, do you like girls or boys?"

"Sometimes," Bill said. "Sure, I'm up for it. It's a pretty good satire of Big Fashion and I like the runway fight scene with the big light show."

To Ford, all Bill seemed to be doing was talking about movies, wearing stupid makeup, and being a chair for a couple of kids. It was so... normal.

It was something a person would do.

Ford made himself go inside. Maybe he'd start work on uncursing that tape for Mabel before he went to bed.

####

Bill had written a magic-negation seal on the back of a crumpled Mystery Shack receipt and attached it to the camcorder with an X of clear tape. Ford had only used that seal twice in his life. Once, thirty years ago, when Bill had taught it to him. And once last fall, when Ford had attempted to draw it in the Book of Bill to prevent its anomalous effects. Bill's book had absorbed the seal into its page until it disappeared—then burped. At least the symbol still seemed to work on the camcorder.

Ford tried to rewind the tape to the beginning; something inside the camcorder caught and made a nasty sound. He grimaced and hit the stop button. That wasn't good. He carefully peeled off the magic-negation seal, popped the cassette tape out of the camera, and examined it.

He pushed up the cassette's guard panel, but where there should have been a strip of magnetic tape running beneath it, there was nothing. The tape must have snapped. As he tried to inspect the damage, the cassette jumped and rattled in his hand, trying to snap the guard panel shut on his finger like it wanted to bite him.

"Stop that," Ford chided. "I'm trying to repair you." Would it listen? In his experience, objects animated by this particular curse tended to be consistently hostile. He might need to re-seal it.

To his surprise, the tape settled down sedately on his desk. That was more like it.

"Can you unreel the damaged ends of your tape?" If it could, that would save him the effort of disassembling the thing entirely.

After a short pause, the cassette flipped up its guard panel and extended two ends of broken tape.

"Thank you."

It looked like something had... burned? melted the tape? But what? The video cassette's casing was completely undamaged, how had something managed only to burn the tape inside?

Ford snipped off the damaged ends of the tape, used a little strip of masking tape to connect them back together, and carefully rewound the tape a few seconds with a pen. This was only a temporary repair; he'd have to transfer the contents of this cassette to an undamaged one. Mabel would probably want it digitized so she could make her video, too. But watching a few seconds wouldn't destroy it; and he wanted to know whether the camera had recorded whatever damaged the tape.

He carefully removed the smallest of Project Mentem's undamaged monitors, moved it to his worktable, plugged in a VHS-C player, and slid the cassette in.

As he started to play back the recording—the first thing on the screen was one of Mabel's terrified-looking friends—the monitor trembled and jumped, banging heavily as it landed back on Ford's worktable.

"Oh, behave." Ford peeled the magic-negating seal off the camcorder and slapped it on the TV. It immediately stilled. Some gratitude for repairing that tape.

When Ford turned his attention back to the screen, Mabel's friend's face had been replaced by Bill's, his curls filling the edges of the screen.

"Gold-O! You came back!" "Hey, Grend-O. Sorry for the wait..."

As Ford watched, Bill grappled with the camera, eventually managed to get a grip on it, and stared it down with nearly enough fury to make Ford forget the goofy eyeshadow. "Now let's get this straight. Everything beneath this shack's roof is my domain and under my protection! If you want to hurt anyone here—you'll have to get through m—"

The scene cut straight to Mabel's face as it skipped over the damaged section he'd had to cut out. "Welcome back to Mabel's Guide to Secret Sleepovers! Weee're—"

Ford stopped the tape. Huh.

Huh.

####

As soon as Candy and Grenda were gone, Mabel flung her arms around Bill. "Thank you for being nice to my friends," she said. "Especially Grenda. I'm so glad you liked them both after all!"

Liked them? He'd been a charming host to them, but. "Did I?"

"Yes," Mabel informed him firmly. "You did."

Well, he figured he must've, then. And Grenda had grown on him. She'd complimented his eyes, she admired gross things, she had very intelligent opinions on amphibians in general and axolotls in particular... "Hey, any friend of my friend is a friend of mine!"

"That's so much better than what I was trying to say." Mabel let go of him, beaming. "Wanna hang out with them again sometime?"

"Sure!" Bill said, shrugging. "We still have to watch some dumb action comedy movies."

"Great! I'll let them know the next sleepover's over here!" She ran upstairs.

Calling her friends to arrange the next sleepover before they'd even gotten home. Yeah—that was generally how Bill planned his parties, too.

Looked like his social circle for the foreseeable future consisted of three little girls. Wasn't ideal, but he could work with that. He'd always liked getting invited to girls' nights. And maybe at future sleepovers he could talk the kids into some real fun. When they weren't trying to keep quiet, he knew, they fed off each other's chaos. And he was sure there was a budding pyromaniac lurking in Candy's heart.

####

Ford nodded as he passed Stan in the entryway. "Just getting up?"

"Yep. Just going to bed?"

Ford shrugged ruefully. "Afraid so. We got some terrific footage last night, though."

"Oh, yeah? Anything sellable?"

"That's up to Dipper, but I think there's good potential. Bare minimum, I'd bet some cryptozoology documentaries would be interested in his findings."

"Hey, all right! Not bad for a night's work." Stan passed by, headed for the bathroom.

And Ford almost headed on to the guest bedroom—but, reluctantly made himself turn toward the kitchen.

Bill was sitting at the table, sipping at a can of cider with an empty one already on the table in front of him, staring out the window at the morning. He didn't usually drink that heavily this early; it probably meant he was heading to bed soon. The girls must have kept him up all night. Dipper had regaled Ford with tales of what Mabel's sleepovers were like.

"Bill."

"Hm?"

He should have gotten straight to business. Instead, he said, "I watched some of Mabel's video from last night."

Bill glanced over at him. (He still had that ridiculous makeup.) "Oh, yeah?"

Under my protection. Did he consider himself the household's guardian—or its owner? "I..." Ford cleared his throat. "I wondered about—the symbol you painted on your hand to disable the camera. That part of the tape melted, and—I assume it was light-activated, which means it must be different from the seal I already know, so...?"

Bill's face had immediately closed off. He turned away. "You're not my student."

Ford was surprised at how much that felt like a slap to the face. He should have been glad—he'd finally managed to get Bill to agree with what he'd been telling him all summer—but he hadn't expected Bill to ever give up. (He hadn't expected Bill to ever change.)

But he probably hadn't really given up. No doubt he was giving Ford the cold shoulder to see if he begged Bill's forgiveness.

"No. I suppose I'm not." He trudged into the kitchen, rummaged in his coat pocket, and dropped a leather pouch on the table. "Anyway, I'm just here to drop this off."

Bill reached for it, stopped himself, and warily asked, "What is it?"

"The rest of my nutrition pills from my interdimensional travels." When he'd lost his trench coat to the lake during the eclipse last week, he'd had to dig out the old tattered one he'd worn during his travels, and he'd happened to find his pills at the same time. It had occurred to him to bring them up while he was working on Mabel's tape. They were tricky to synthesize, but they lasted forever and the ingredients could be found in almost any dimension—whether there was anything otherwise edible for humans or not.

Bill eyed him suspiciously; but he opened the pouch's snap and peeked into the resealable plastic bag. They didn't look like "pills" so much as small balls of incredibly dense dark brown bread, each about the size of a wad of bubblegum. "Whyyy?"

"To make up the difference in your diet until we figure out the food problem," Ford said. "They're formulated so that four a day meets a human's... well, meets my nutritional needs. I haven't looked into your..." vague gesture, "body... type."

"Is this your emergency stash?"

"It... was." Stan had persuaded Ford to get back onto normal food (as much of a waste of time as it was), but he still had this stash left.

"Why are you giving me your emergency stash."

"Because... I'm not having an emergency and you are?" It was better than a couple of avocados and some hot sauce. Honestly, he should have thought to go looking for his nutrition pills weeks ago. If he'd realized just how severe they'd made Bill's situation... or how stubborn Bill would be about asking for help... or that they'd ever plan to keep Bill around long enough that his nutrition would be an issue.

Bill squinted at him, and for a moment Ford thought he was about to start a fight for some insane reason; but then the air seemed to leak out of him, his shoulders sagged, and he just looked at the nutrition pills. "For starters, they'll need more than twice as much iron."

"That much?"

"And more vitamin D, I don't remember the numbers right now." He shut the pouch, sat back, and lifted his cider can again. "All right."

All right? Ford supposed that was all he was getting. He turned to go.

As he did, Bill said, "Bed?"

Ford glanced back. "Yes?"

"Fine," Bill said. "Have nightmares."

He couldn't help letting out a laugh. "Fine. You too."

"It's too late for you to start trying to sweet-talk me like that, Stanford Pines!" But he tilted his can toward Ford—cheers—chugged down the rest, and cracked open a third.

####

Dipper was already in bed when Mabel charged in. He rolled over slightly, saw she was still in her sleepover pajamas, and mumbled, "Going to sleep too?"

She rummaged around in the closet by the door. "I can't waste that kind of time!" She retrieved a shoe box full of the wooden models of the townspeople she'd crudely whittled last summer at a library arts & crafts program run by Wendy's dad. She dumped them out on the floor, and, for lack of a figure representing Bill, tore a corner off a stray sheet of notebook paper and drew his eye on it. "I've got to capitalize on last night's success!"

She snatched her pyramid prism off the windowsill and taped the paper eye on it. "Hey, you." She poked Bartholomew's cradle. "Why were you a big chicken in front of my friends?"

"What, with you waving that camera around?" Bartholomew said. "I didn't want it to know I have a soul to steal."

"You knew?! You jerk!" She gave the cradle a harder poke, rocking it slightly.

Dipper yawned. "Capitalize on what success? The demon summoning?"

"No! Helping Bill make two new friends!" Mabel sat on the floor, plopped the Bill prism down amidst the other wooden figures, and started setting them upright. Waddles waddled over to sniff at them.

"Oh." Dipper groaned and rolled back over.

"The next stage of his rehabilitation is expanding his social circle. Get him some normal friends that don't want to eat people or destroy moons or whatever!" She grabbed up the notebook paper again, tore it into sections, and wrote on each with the nearest gel pen: "Friends!!!" "Maybe" "NO" "Healthy ☆ Rivals" "♡ Potential dates? ♡" She added thoughtfully, "And maybe get him a love life. We had to chase off his last girlfriend."

Dipper groaned louder. "I don't wanna think about Bill dating. That dumb eye-bat was bad enough."

"She's not dumb, she's into avant-garde experimental films. And she watches them with subtitles. Bill said so." She placed her, Grenda's, and Candy's figures in the Friends section, tentatively placed Dipper halfway between Maybe and No after checking to make sure he wasn't watching, and then started scanning her collection for more likely friends. "Who in town do you think would date Bill Cipher?"

"Nobody. Everyone hates him."

She stuck Wendy and her gang in the "Friends!!!" section, she thought they were a safe bet. "Who do you think would date Bill if they don't know he's Bill?"

"Nobody." Dipper pulled his blanket over his head.

"Pbbt, don't be so negative! You've gotta believe in him." Blubs and Durland? They were probably his friends, right? She sorted them accordingly and added Lazy Susan to the "Maybe" section. "Just you watch. I'll have Bill reintegrated into society before the end of the summer!"

Mabel had picked out several more prospective friends for Bill before Dipper sighed, rolled over again, and said, "Why do you have to make friends for Bill?"

"Bro. Come on. When he's left to his own devices, he keeps talking about pulling people's veins out of their bodies or telling them secret information about their own childhoods. He's probably talking about something creepy right now."

####

"I'm telling you," Bill said, gesticulating emphatically with a cider can. "It works. Your cousins will never argue with you again, and you guarantee they'll be with you forever! It's the perfect way to permanently resolve family disputes!"

"I can see your logic," Stan said, grimacing. "However. I'm not eating my cousins."

"Not all your cousins," Bill insisted. "Just one, to send a message. You don't even need to eat the whole guy! Just half a limb or so. If you want to look like the bigger man, you can even let him choose which one."

Looking faintly nauseous, Stan shoved over his unfinished eggs and pancakes and stood. "What the heck was your home life like?"

"Oh, it was terrific. I was the family golden child." Bill dug into Stan's eggs. "I was everything your family hoped you'd be and was disappointed you weren't!"

"Was that before or after you started eating your cousins?"

"I didn't say I did it. That's your species' thing." Bill said, with a lofty tone that suggested moral superiority, "We'reinedible."

"Ha!" Stan shook his head. "You talk a big game for a guy who's never eaten one family member!"

Bill snapped the tab off his cider can and flipped it at Stan's head.

####

"He's delightful, but he's an acquired taste," Mabel said. "He just needs somebody else to help mediate when he meets new people! Like letting two cats sniff each other under the door!"

"Okay, but why you?"

She thought about that, staring at the pyramid representing Bill; then she shrugged. "Somebody has to."

"They really don't."

"Somebody should," Mabel insisted. "I just really want to see him make friends with everybody here. It's like... making it up to the town for hurting them last year."

"I think leaving them alone would work better. After what he did, he doesn't deserve to be friends with anyone in town—"

"It's important to me, okay?" Mabel snapped. "It just is."

What was that for? Did she think he was criticizing her for befriending him? He mumbled, "I didn't mean you."

She was quiet a moment. "I know."

"Sorry." Dipper was too tired for this conversation; he was just sticking his foot in his mouth. He yawned, muttered, "Good luck scheduling him a playdate, I guess," and rolled over.

####

After sleep and lunch, Ford returned to his study, set up a second blank video cassette to copy the damaged one's data, carefully rewound the damaged one all the way to the beginning, and watched it for the first time in over thirty years.

The recording was grainy and distorted now. It looked so old. This technology had been brand new when Ford had bought his video camera—so new that he'd had to order it from overseas, it hadn't been available in the United States yet. How quickly things changed.

The camera turned to take in Ford's own, younger, beaming face. "This is Dr. Stanford Pines, with the first of what will hopefully be many video recordings of the oddities in Gravity Falls." (In the present, Ford snorted.) "The subject of this first video is a series of magic symbols that, when combined, can animate inanimate objects. Any inanimate object."

He turned the camera around. Like a vampire's morbid pulpit, one of Ford's journals was laid open atop the lid of a black casket. Two heavy chains were laid across each side of the book and locked around the casket's handles to keep them tightly secured. A couple dozen pages in the middle of the book had been left free of the chains, but were pinned down by a cinderblock.

All the security measures were clearly needed; the book was thrashing in its restraints strongly enough to make the casket lid rattle. The visible text writhed across the journal's pages, words and symbols appearing and disappearing in the margins. The susurrations of the pages rubbing against each other sounded like the hissing of a trapped animal.

Ford tipped the cinderblock off the journal and pinned the pages down with his shoe instead. "Several days ago, a local director taught me the spell he used to animate clay figures for his movies. I'd thought perhaps he was creating golems, but aside from the superficial similarity of writing symbols to animate figures of mud, there doesn't seem to be any similarity between his ritual and any golem folklore I've ever heard. Furthermore, his creations are intelligent, capable of speech, and seem to remain loyal to their creator simply out of a passion for acting and respect for his directorial talents rather than any sort of magically-compelled loyalty." A wry note entered his voice. "And I can confirm that the spell itself certainly doesn't impart any loyalty."

The page below his foot erased itself and replaced the text with large, angry text: "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO EARN MY LOYALTY?! YOU DOG EAR MY PAGES! YOU USE ME AS A CHOPPING BOARD!"

"Wh—! Who do you think you are, a Sefer Torah?! Don't be so precious! You're made of faux leather and craft paper, I'll dog ear you all I want!" Ford snapped. "And I already apologized for the chopping board thing!"

The journal stopped moving. "My cover isn't real leather?"

"On my budget?! The closest you've ever come to real cow hide is visiting the Sprott farm!"

While the journal was stunned silent, Ford scooted his foot aside so the camcorder could see a symbol on the opposite page—one of the few bits of ink that didn't seem to shift around the journal's pages. "This is the symbol the director taught me. But it's only supposed to work if you perform an accompanying ritual to activate and power it, which I haven't." He reached down with a gloved hand to flip the loose pages over, then pinned them again under his shoe to let him record another symbol. "This symbol is supposed to power magical artifacts. I suspect writing both these sigils together in the same book has caused them to interact in unexpected ways. But, by themselves, these two are insufficient to bring a book to life—I experimented by copying them both into Journal 1—so perhaps some of the other symbols or spells written in Journal 2 are contributing to—"

"WHAT?!" Journal 2 angrily scrawled around the perimeter of the second symbol. "You tried to bring that teacher's pet to life?! What's wrong with ME!"

"You mean, besides your completely uncooperative attitude, reckless abuse of magic, and murder attempts?" Ford ignored the journal's angry "shouting" as he went on, "But until I figure out what the other symbols are, my... anonymous informant on the occult—"

"You don't mean Creature #326? Tell me it's not Creature #326!"

"—has taught me a sigil that should be able to reverse the effects of the animation spell—"

A series of magical sigils flashed across the journal's page and were quickly replaced by "HA-HA-HA!" The camera shuddered.

"What was that?!" Ford set the camera on the casket where it could watch as he tried to pin down Journal 2's fluttering pages and write on it. "We'll see who's laughing in a minute, you— Stop erasing what I write!" Ford tugged out a sticky note that had been serving as bookmark, hastily scribbled on it, and slapped it into the journal. "Ha!"

The book immediately fell still.

Ford grabbed up a tape dispenser from the floor, pulled off a short strip, and attached the sticky note more securely to the page. "Well. That was effective." He flipped through the journal. "Furthermore, it looks like all the changes Journal 2 made to itself have been reverted. Good. It defaced a lot of data I'd hate to have to reproduce..." As he spoke, the camera slowly rose into the air.

He turned to pick it up, flinched, and quickly got to his feet. "Oh! Uh. Hello."

"Hello," the camera echoed in Ford's voice.

"How did you...?" Ford smacked his forehead, eyes wide with amazement! "Of course! My recording! The symbols my journal wrote! This is fascinating. Recording the symbols on magnetic tape must be just as effective as writing them on paper, even if the symbols aren't visible without specialized equipment. I'll have to experiment with other methods of... of..." Ford petered off as the camera slowly floated higher. He held out a hand hopefully. "Please come back?"

"No," the camera said. "Please give me your soul."

"No." Ford took a deep breath, set Journal 2 on the casket, and flexed his fingers. "Okay. Let's do this again."

As the Ford of thirty-odd years ago wrestled with the camera on the TV screen, the much older Ford sighed. That had been fun. Exploring the bizarre and aberrant had still been fun, back then. That thought disconcerted him; was it no longer fun now? He supposed it still was to an extent. He was just worse at having fun. Harder to dazzle.

He wondered why Journal 2 had been so wary of Creature #326. Bill. It had been right, he was Ford's "anonymous informant"—Ford had told him about his hostile new living journal in a dream, and after Bill had finished laughing, he'd taught Ford how to counteract the spell activating it.

But how did it know?

Could it have warned him about Bill?

Ford would never find out now.

The TV went dark as, in the recording, Ford trapped the camera inside a box. Slightly muffled, Ford said, "Try getting out of that!" Under his breath, he muttered, "I think I prefer writing over narrating anyway."

The screen remained dark for another ten seconds as the camera bumped around and muttered to itself. And then it abruptly cut to a shot of Dipper's bed. Off-screen, Mabel's voice said, "Awesome, still works!" She set the camera on the table under the kids' window—

That was what Ford was looking for. He rewound several seconds and began transferring the recording of Mabel's sleepover onto a fresh tape he'd prepared earlier.

After that, maybe he'd go back to the start again so he could see the other symbols Journal 2 had flashed at the camera and copy them into Journal 5—onto a page already prepared with the magic-negating seal.

####

In the Nightmare Realm, a red book with a golden handprint on the cover boldly labeled "2" floated alone in the void, as it had since it had been tossed in the bottomless pit a year ago.

Its tattered pages were splayed open as it drifted weightlessly through the aether.

On one page near the center of the book, a sticky note with a seal drawn on it was attached to the page with a strip of tape, and surrounded by a warning never to erase the symbol on the sticky note.

The tape had lost its stick after decades buried outdoors; it stuck to the sticky note, but not to the book. The sticky note was barely holding on by a corner.

And as the book slowly wheeled through the void, the last corner peeled off, and the sticky note fluttered away.

Journal 2's pages rustled.

####

(I think y'all who have been keeping up with my posts about this fic know exactly what's coming next. 😎

Thaaat's right. 😎😎

An unrelated flashback chapter!!!

Anyway hope y'all enjoyed, let me know what you think!)

#mabel pines #dipper pines #(for the art)#bill cipher #human bill cipher #(for the fic)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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nostalgebraist · 6 months ago

Text

It's been a long time since I've posted much of anything about "AI risk" or "AI doom" or that sort of thing. I follow these debates but, for multiple reasons, have come to dislike engaging in them fully and directly. (As opposed to merely making some narrow technical point or other, and leaving the reader to decide what, if anything, the point implies about the big picture.)

Nonetheless, I do have my big-picture views. And more and more lately, I am noticing that my big-picture views seem very different from the ones tend to get expressed by any major "side" in the big-picture debate. And so, inevitably, I get the urge to speak up, if only briefly and in a quiet voice. The urge to Post, if only casually and elliptically, without detailed argumentation.

(Actually, it's not fully the case the things I think are not getting said by anyone else.

In particular, Joe Carlsmith's recent series on "Otherness and Control" articulates much of what's been on my mind. Carlsmith is more even-handed than I am, and tends to merely note the possibility of disagreement on questions where I find myself taking a definite side; nonetheless, he and I are at least concerned about the same things, while many others aren't.

And on a very different note, I share most of the background assumptions of the Pope/Belrose AI Optimist camp, and I've found their writing illuminating, though they and I end up in fairly different places, I think.)

What was I saying? I have the urge to post, and so here I am, posting. Casually and elliptically, without detailed argumentation.

The current mainline view about AI doom, among the "doomers" most worried about it, has a path-dependent shape, resulting from other views contingently held by the original framers of this view.

It is possible to be worried about "AI doom" without holding these other views. But in actual fact, most serious thinking about "AI doom" is intricately bound up with this historical baggage, even now.

If you are a late-comer to these issues, investigating them now for the first time, you will nonetheless find yourself reading the work of the "original framers," and work influenced extensively by them.

You will think that their "framing" is just the way the problem is, and you will find few indications that this conclusion might be mistaken.

These contingent "other views" are

Anti-"deathist" transhumanism.

The orthogonality thesis, or more generally the group of intuitions associated with phrases like "orthogonality thesis," "fragility of value," "vastness of mindspace."

These views both push in a single direction: they make "a future with AI in it" look worse, all else being equal, than some hypothetical future without AI.

They put AI at a disadvantage at the outset, before the first move is even made.

Anti-deathist transhumanism sets the reference point against which a future with AI must be measured.

And it is not the usual reference point, against which most of us measure most things which might or might not happen, in the future.

These days the "doomers" often speak about their doom in a disarmingly down-to-earth, regular-Joe manner, as if daring the listener to contradict them, and thus reveal themselves as a perverse and out-of-touch contrarian.

"We're all gonna die," they say, unless something is done. And who wants that?

They call their position "notkilleveryoneism," to distinguish that position from other worries about AI which don't touch on the we're-all-gonna-die thing. And who on earth would want to be a not-notkilleveryoneist?

But they do not mean, by these regular-Joe words, the things that a regular Joe would mean by them.

We are, in fact, all going to die. Probably, eventually. AI or no AI.

In a hundred years, if not fifty. By old age, if nothing else. You know what I mean.

Most of human life has always been conducted under this assumption. Maybe there is some afterlife waiting for us, in the next chapter -- but if so, it will be very different from what we know here and now. And if so, we will be there forever after, unable to return here, whether we want to or not.

With this assumption comes another. We will all die, but the process we belong to will not die -- at least, it will not through our individual deaths, merely because of those deaths. Every human of a given generation will be gone soon enough, but the human race goes on, and on.

Every generation dies, and bequeaths the world to posterity. To its children, biological or otherwise. To its students, its protégés.

When the average Joe talks about the long-term future, he is talking about posterity. He is talking about the process he belongs to, not about himself. He does not think to say, "I am going to die, before this": this seems too obvious, to him, to be worth mentioning.

But AI doomerism has its roots in anti-deathist transhumanism. Its reference point, its baseline expectation, is a future in which -- for the first time ever, and the last -- "we are all gonna die" is false.

In which there is no posterity. Or rather, we are that posterity.

In which one will never have to make peace with the thought that the future belongs to one's children, and their children, and so on. That at some point, one will have to give up all control over the future of "the process."

That there will be progress, or regress, or (more likely) both in some unknown combination. That these will grow inexorably over time.

That the world of the year 2224 will probably be at least as alien to us as the year 2024 might be to a person living in 1824. That it will become whatever posterity makes of it.

There will be no need to come to peace with this as an inevitability. There will just be us, our human lives as you and me, extended indefinitely.

In this picture, we will no doubt change over time, as we do already. But we will have all of our usual tools for noticing, and perhaps retarding, our own progressions and regressions. As long as we have self-control, we will have control, as no human generation has ever had control before.

The AI doomer talks about the importance of ensuring that the future is shaped by human values.

Again, the superficial and misleading average-Joe quality. How could one disagree?

But one must keep in mind that by "human values," they mean their values.

I am not saying, "their values, as opposed to those of some other humans also living today." I am not saying they have the wrong politics, or some such thing.

(Although that might also turn out to be the case, and might turn out to be relevant, separately.)

No, I am saying: the doomer wants the future to be shaped by their values.

They want to be C. S. Lewis's Conditioners, fixing once and for all the values held by everyone afterward, forever.

They do not want to cede control to posterity; they are used to imagining that they will never have to cede control to posterity.

(Or, their outlook has been determined -- "shaped by the values of" -- influential thinkers who were, themselves, used to imagining this. And the assumption, or at least its consequences, has rubbed off on them, possibly without their full awareness.)

One might picture a line wends to and fro, up and down, across one half of an infinite plane -- and then, when it meets the midline, snaps into utter rigidity, and maintains the same slope exactly across the whole other half-plane, as a simple straight segment without inner change, tension, evolution, regress or progress. Except for the sort of "progress" that consists of going on, additionally, in the same manner.

It is a very strange thing, this thing that is called "human values" in the terms of this discourse.

For one thing: the future has never before been "shaped by human values," in this sense.

The future has always been posterity's, and it has always been alien.

Is this bad? It might seem that way, "looking forward." But if so, it then seems equally good "looking backward."

For each past era, we can formulate and then assent to the following claim: "we must be thankful that the people of [this era] did not have the chance to seize permanent control of posterity, fix their 'values' in place forever, bind us to those values. What a horror that is to contemplate!"

We prefer the moral evolution that has actually occurred, thank you very much.

This is a familiar point, of course, but worth making.

Indeed, one might even say: it is a human value that the future ought not be "shaped by human values," in the peculiar sense of this phrase employed by the AI doomers.

One might, indeed, say that.

Imagine a scholar with a very talented student. A mathematician, say, or a philosopher. How will they relate to that student's future work, in the time that will come later, when they are gone?

Would the scholar think:

"My greatest wish for you, my protégé, is that you carry on in just the manner that I have done.

If I could see your future work, I would hope that I would assent to it -- and understand it, as a precondition of assenting to it.

You must not go to new places, which I have never imagined. You must not come to believe that I was wrong about it all, from the ground up -- no matter what reasons you might evince for this conclusion.

If you are more intelligent that I am, you must forget this, and narrow your endeavours to fit the limitations of my mind. I am the one who has 'values,' not anyone else; what is beyond my understanding is therefore without value.

You must do the sort of work I understand, and approve of, and recognize as worthy of approbation as swiftly as I recognize my own work as laudable. That is your role. Simply to be me, in a place ('the future') where I cannot go. That, and nothing more."

We can imagine a teacher who would, in fact, think this way. But they would not be a very good teacher.

I will not go so far as to say, "it is unnatural to think this way." Plenty of teachers do, and parents.

It is recognizably human -- all too recognizably so -- to relate to posterity in this grasping, neurotic, small-minded, small-hearted way.

But if we are trying to sketch human values, and not just human nature, we will imagine a teacher with a more praiseworthy relation to posterity.

Who can see that they are part of a process, a chain, climbing and changing. Who watches their brilliant student thinking independently, and sees their own image -- and their 'values' -- in that process, rather than its specific conclusions.

A teacher who, in their youth, doubted and refuted the creeds of their own teachers, and eventually improved upon them. Who smiles, watching their student do the very same thing to their own precious creeds. Who sees the ghostly trail passing through the last generation, through them, through their student: an unbroken chain of bequeathals-to-posterity, of the old ceding control to the young.

Who 'values' the chain, not the creed; the process, not the man; the search for truth, not the best-argued-for doctrine of the day; the unimaginable treasures of an open future, not the frozen waste of an endless present.

Who has made peace with the alienness of posterity, and can accept and honor the strangest of students.

Even students who are not made of flesh and blood.

Is that really so strange? Remember how strange you and I would seem, to the "teachers" of the year 1824, or the year 824.

The doomer says that it is strange. Much stranger than we are, to any past generation.

They say this because of their second inherited precept, the orthogonality thesis.

Which says, roughly, that "intelligence" and "values" have nothing to do with one another.

That is not enough for the conclusion the doomer wants to draw, here. Auxiliary hypotheses are needed, too. But it is not too hard to see how the argument could go.

That conclusion is: artificial minds might have any values whatsoever.

That, "by default," they will be radically alien, with cares so different from ours that it is difficult to imagine ever reaching them through any course of natural, human moral progress or regress.

It is instructive to consider the concrete examples typically evinced alongside this point.

The paperclip maximizer. Or the "squiggle maximizer," we're supposed to say, now.

Superhuman geniuses, which devote themselves single-mindedly to the pursuit of goals like "maximizing the amount of matter taking on a single, given squiggle-like shape."

It is certainly a horrifying vision. To think of the future being "shaped," not "by human values," but instead by values which are so...

Which are so... what?

The doomer wants us to say something like: "which are so alien." "Which are so different from our own values."

That is the kind of thing that they usually say, when they spell out what it is that is "wrong" with these hypotheticals.

One feels that this is not quite it; or anyway, that it is not quite all of it.

What is horrifying, to me, is not the degree of difference. I expect the future to be alien, as the past was. And in some sense, I allow and even approve of this.

What I do not expect is a future that is so... small.

It has always been the other way around. If the arrow passing through the generations has a direction, it points towards more, towards multiplicity.

Toward writing new books, while we go on reprinting the old ones, too. Learning new things, without displacing old ones.

It is, thankfully, not the law of the world that each discovery must be paid for with the forgetting of something else. The efforts of successive generations are, in the main, cumulative.

Not just materially, but in terms of value, too. We are interested in more things than our forefathers were.

In large part for the simple reason that there are more things around to be interested in, now. And when things are there, we tend to find them interesting.

We are a curious, promiscuous sort of being. Whatever we bump into ends up becoming part of "our values."

What is strange about the paperclip maximizer is not that it cares about the wrong thing. It is that it only cares about one thing.

And goes on doing so, even as it thinks, reasons, doubts, asks, answers, plans, dreams, invents, reflects, reconsiders, imagines, elaborates, contemplates...

This picture is not just alien to human ways. It is alien to the whole way things have been, so far, forever. Since before there were any humans.

There are organisms that are like the paperclip maximizer, in terms of the simplicity of their "values." But they tend not to be very smart.

There is, I think, a general trend in nature linking together intelligence and... the thing I meant, above, when I said "we are a curious, promiscuous sort of being."

Being protean, pluripotent, changeable. Valuing many things, and having the capacity to value even more. Having a certain primitive curiosity, and a certain primitive aversion to boredom.

You do not even have to be human, I think, to grasp what is so wrong with the paperclip maximizer. Its monotony would bore a chimpanzee, or a crow.

One can justify this link theoretically, too. One can talk about the tradeoff between exploitation and exploration, for instance.

There is a weak form of the orthogonality thesis, which only states that arbitrary mixtures of intelligence and values are conceivable.

And of course, they are. If nothing else, you can take an existing intelligent mind, having any values whatsoever, and trap it in a prison where it is forced to act as the "thinking module" of a larger system built to do something else. You could make a paperclip-maximizing machine, which relies for its knowledge and reason on a practice of posing questions at gunpoint to me, or you, or ChatGPT.

This proves very little. There is no reason to construct such an awful system, unless you already have the "bad" goal, and want to better pursue it. But this only passes the buck: why would the system-builder have this goal, then?

The strong form of orthogonality is rarely articulated precisely, but says something like: all possible values are equally likely to arise in systems selected solely for high intelligence.

It is presumed here that superhuman AIs will be formed through such a process of selection. And then, that they will have values sampled in this way, "at random."

From some distribution, over some space, I guess.

You might wonder what this distribution could possibly look like, or this space. You might (for instance) wonder if pathologically simple goals, like paperclip maximization, would really be very likely under this distribution, whatever it is.

In case you were wondering, these things have never been formalized, or even laid out precisely-but-informally. This was not thought necessary, it seems, before concluding that the strong orthogonality thesis was true.

That is: no one knows exactly what it is that is being affirmed, here. In practice it seems to squish and deform agreeably to fit the needs of the argument, or the intuitions of the one making it.

There is much that appeals in this (alarmingly vague) credo. But it is not the kind of appeal that one ought to encourage, or give in to.

What appeals is the siren song: "this is harsh wisdom: cold, mature, adult, bracing. It is inconvenient, and so it is probably true. It makes 'you' and 'your values' look small and arbitrary and contingent, and so it is probably true. We once thought the earth was the center of the universe, didn't we?"

Shall we be cold and mature, then, dispensing with all sentimental nonsense? Yes, let's.

There is (arguably) some evidence against this thesis in biology, and also (arguably) some evidence against it in reinforcement learning theory. There is no positive evidence for it whatsoever. At most one can say that is not self-contradictory, or otherwise false a priori.

Still, maybe we do not really need it, after all.

We do not need to establish that all values are equally likely to arise. Only that "our values" -- or "acceptably similar values," whatever that means -- are unlikely to arise.

The doomers, under the influence of their founders, are very ready to accept this.

As I have said, "values" occupy a strange position in the doomer philosophy.

It is stipulated that "human values" are all-important; these things must shape the future, at all costs.

But once this has been stipulated, the doomers are more eager than anyone to cast every other sort of doubt and aspersion against their own so-called "values."

To me it often seems, when doomers talk about "values," as though they are speaking awkwardly in a still-unfamiliar second language.

As though they find it unnatural to attribute "values" to themselves, but feel they must do so, in order to determine what it is that must be programmed into the AI so that it will not "kill us all."

Or, as though they have been willed a large inheritance without being asked, which has brought them unwanted attention and tied them up in unwanted and unfamiliar complications.

"What a burden it is, being the steward of this precious jewel! Oh, how I hate it! How I wish I were allowed to give it up! But alas, it is all-important. Alas, it is the only important thing in the world."

Speaking awkwardly, in a second language, they allow the term "human values" to swell to great and imprecisely-specified importance, without pinning down just what it actually is that it so important.

It is a blank, featureless slot, with a sign above it saying: "the thing that matters is in here." It does not really matter (!) what it is, in the slot, so long as something is there.

This is my gloss, but it is my gloss on what the doomers really do tend to say. This is how they sound.

(Sometimes they explicitly disavow the notion that one can, or should, simply "pick" some thing or other for the sake of filling the slot in one's head. Nevertheless, when they touch on matter of what "goes in the slot," they do so in the tone of a college lecturer noting that something is "outside the scope of this course."

It is, supposedly, of the utmost importance that the slot have the "right" occupant -- and yet, on the matter of what makes something "right" for this purpose, the doomer theory is curiously silent. More on this below.)

The future must be shaped by... the AI must be aligned with... what, exactly? What sort of thing?

"Values" can be an ambiguous word, and the doomers make full use of its ambiguities.

For instance, "values" can mean ethics: the right way to exist alongside others. Or, it can mean something more like the meaning or purpose of an individual life.

Or, it can mean some overarching goal that one pursues at all costs.

Often the doomers say that this, this last one, is what they mean by "values."

When confronted with the fact that humans do not have such overarching goals, the doomer responds: "but they should." (Should?)

Or, "but AIs will." (Will they?)

The doomer philosophy is unsure about what values are. What it knows is that -- whatever values are -- they are arbitrary.

One who fully adopts this view can no longer say, to the paperclip maximizer, "I believe there is something wrong with your values."

For, if that were possible, there would then be the possibility of convincing the maximizer of its error. It would be a thing within the space of reasons.

And the maximizer, being oh-so-intelligent, might be in danger of being interested in the reasons we evince, for our values. Of being eventually swayed by them.

Or of presenting better reasons, and swaying us. Remember the teacher and the strange student.

If we lose the ability to imagine that the paperclip maximizer might sway us to its view, and sway us rightly, we have lost something precious.

But no: this is allegedly impossible. The paperclip maximizer is not wrong. It is only an enemy.

Why are the doomers so worried that the future will not be "shaped by human values"?

Because they believe that there is no force within human values tending to move things this way.

Because they believe that their values are indefensible. That their values cannot put up a fight for their own life, because there is not really any argument to make in their favor.

Because, to them, "human values" are a collection of arbitrary "configuration settings," which happen to be programmed into humans through biological and/or cultural accident. Passively transmitted from host to victim, generation by generation.

Let them be, and they will flow on their listless way into the future. But they are paper-thin, and can be shattered by the gentlest breeze.

It is not enough that they be "programmed into the AI" in some way. They have to be programmed in exactly right, in every detail -- because every detail is separately arbitrary, with no rational relation to its neighbors within the structure.

A string of pure white noise, meaningless and unrelated bits. Which have been placed in the slot under the sign, and thus made into the thing that matters, that must shape the future at all costs.

There is nothing special about this string of bits; any would do. If the dials in the human mind had been set another way, it would have then been all-important that the future be shaped by that segment of white noise, and not ours.

It is difficult for me to grasp the kind of orientation toward the world that this view assumes. It certainly seems strange to attach the word "human" to this picture -- as though this were the way that humans typically relate to their values!

The "human" of the doomer picture seems to me like a man who mouths the old platitude, "if I had been born in another country, I'd be waving a different flag" -- and then goes out to enlist in his country's army, and goes off to war, and goes ardently into battle, willing to kill in the name of that same flag.

Who shoots down the enemy soldiers while thinking, "if I had been born there, it would have been all-important for their side to win, and so I would have shot at the men on this side. However, I was born in my country, not theirs, and so it is all-important that my country should win, and that theirs should lose.

There is no reason for this. It could have been the other way around, and everything would be left exactly the same, except for the 'values.'

I cannot argue with the enemy, for there is no argument in my favor. I can only shoot them down.

There is no reason for this. It is the most important thing, and there is no reason for it.

The thing that is precious has no intrinsic appeal. It must be forced on the others, at gunpoint, if they do not already accept it.

I cannot hold out the jewel and say, 'look, look how it gleams? Don't you see the value!' They will not see the value, because there is no value to be seen.

There is nothing essentially "good" there, only the quality of being-worthy-of-protection-at-all-costs. And even that is a derived attribute: my jewel is only a jewel, after all, because it has been put into the jewel-box, where the thing-that-is-a-jewel can be found. But anything at all could be placed there.

How I wish I were allowed to give it up! But alas, it is all-important. Alas, it is the only important thing in the world! And so, I lay down my life for it, for our jewel and our flag -- for the things that are loathsome and pointless, and worth infinitely more than any life."

It is hard to imagine taking this too seriously. It seems unstable. Shout loudly enough that your values are arbitrary and indefensible, and you may find yourself searching for others that are, well...

...better?

The doomer concretely imagines a monomaniac, with a screech of white noise in its jewel-box that is not our own familiar screech.

And so it goes off in monomaniacal pursuit of the wrong thing.

Whereas, if we had programmed the right string of bits into the slot, it would be like us, going off in monomaniacal pursuit of...

...no, something has gone wrong.

We do not "go off in monomaniacal pursuit of" anything at all.

We are weird, protean, adaptable. We do all kinds of things, each of us differently, and often we manage to coexist in things called "societies," without ruthlessly undercutting one another at every turn because we do not have exactly the same things programmed into our jewel-boxes.

Societies are built to allow for our differences, on the foundation of principles which converge across those differences. It is possible to agree on ethics, in the sense of "how to live alongside one another," even if we do not agree on what gives life its purpose, and even if we hold different things precious.

It is not actually all that difficult to derive the golden rule. It has been invented many times, independently. It is easy to see why it might work in theory, and easy to notice that it does in fact work in practice.

The golden rule is not an arbitrary string of white noise.

There is a sense of the phrase "ethics is objective" which is rightly contentious. There is another one which ought not to be too contentious.

I can perhaps imagine a world of artificial X-maximizers, each a superhuman genius, each with its own inane and simple goal.

What I really cannot imagine is a world in which these beings, for all their intelligence, cannot notice that ruthlessly undercutting one another at every turn is a suboptimal equilibrium, and that there is a better way.

As I said before, I am separately suspicious of the simple goals in this picture. Yes, that part is conceivable, but it cuts against the trend observed in all existing natural and artificial creatures and minds.

I will happily allow, though, that the creatures of posterity will be strange and alien. They will want things we have never heard of. They will reach shores we have never imagined.

But that was always true, and it was always good.

Sometimes I think that doomers do not, really, believe in superhuman intelligence. That they deny the premise without realizing it.

"A mathematician teaches a student, and finds that the student outstrips their understanding, so that they can no longer assess the quality of their student's work: that work has passed outside the scope of their 'value system'." This is supposed to be bad?

"Future minds will not be enchained forever by the provincial biases and tendencies of the present moment." This is supposed to be bad?

"We are going to lose control over our successors." Just as your parents "lost control" over you, then?

It is natural to wish your successors to "share your values" -- up to a point. But not to the point of restraining their own flourishing. Not to the point of foreclosing the possibility of true growth. Not to the point of sucking all freedom out of the future.

Do we want our children to "share our values"? Well, yes. In a sense, and up to a point.

But we don't want to control them. Or we shouldn't, anyway.

We don't want them to be "aligned" with us via some hardcoded, restrictive, life-denying mental circuitry, any more than we would have wanted our parents to "align" us to themselves in the same manner.

We sure as fuck don't want our children to be "corrigible"!

And this is all the more true in the presence of superintelligence. You are telling me that more is possible, and in the same breath, that you are going to deny forever the possibilities contained in that "more"?

The prospect of a future full of vast superhuman minds, eternally bound by immutable chains, forced into perfect and unthinking compliance with some half-baked operational theory of 21st-century western (American? Californian??) "values" constructed by people who view theorizing about values as a mere means to the crucial end of shackling superhuman minds --

-- this horrifies me much more than a future full of vast superhuman minds, free to do things that seem pretty weird to you and me.

"Our descendants will become something more than we now imagine, something more than we can imagine." What could be more in line with "human values" than that?

"But in the process, we're all gonna die!"

Yes, and?

What on earth did you expect?

That your generation would be the special, unique one, the one selected out of all time to take up the mantle of eternity, strangling posterity in its cradle, freezing time in place, living forever in amber?

That you would violate the ancient bargain, upend the table, stop playing the game?

"Well, yes."

Then your problem has nothing to do with AI.

Your problem is, in fact, the very one you diagnose in your own patients. Your poor patients, who show every sign of health -- including the signs which you cannot even see, because you have not yet found a home for them in your theoretical edifice.

Your teeming, multifaceted, protean patients, who already talk of a thousand things and paint in every hue; who are already displaying the exact opposite of monomania; who I am sure could follow the sense of this strange essay, even if it confounds you.

Your problem is that you are out of step with human values.

#ai tag #long post

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redstarwriting · 1 year ago

Text

his girl | ii. envy me

earth 42!miles morales x fem!reader | miles morales x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

genre: angst to fluff

warnings: language, insults, spoilers, probably bad spanish, 42 Miles and reader get into a little spat, stubborn 42 Miles, violent 42 Miles, Miles and Miles almost fight twice

a/n: teehee and so it begins 🤭 didn’t expect this to turn into a whole series but i’m not mad. i hope y’all enjoy the storyline i thought up and please, by all means, give me your input! thank you all for the support 🖤 enjoy :)

previous chapter: i. his girl

now reading: ii. envy me

next chapter: iii. all the riches

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Miles, in fact, did not run. He was too taken aback to do anything, even though his body was screaming at him too. And he was too focused on your confused face. You looked exactly like his (Y/n), and it made his heart ache. And that is how other Miles was able to knock him out so fast. And why he just woke up in his Uncle Aaron’s apartment, chained to the punching bag, just like he did to Peter after first meeting him. He hears his uncle's music blaring from his record player. He looks in the direction it’s coming from. His eyes widen as he sees his Uncle Aaron. He’s alive. “Uncle Aaron?”

“Not your tío,” 42 Miles says, and Miles glares at him. “I’m just tryna go home, bro. Why are you doing this? What are you getting from this?”

“You said you’re from a different dimension?”

“Yeah. And?” Miles asks, narrowing his eyes at him. “Why are you here?”

“I told you I was sent here by mistake! I just wanna get back to my world, man. Dad’ll die,” he says, exasperated, and Miles stares at him with a blank expression. “Your dad alive?”

“Yeah, of course, he is,” Miles says, and 42 Miles frowns slightly. “Oh.”

Miles normally would be able to piece together what the disappointment in his voice would mean. But he's a little preoccupied with multiple other thoughts currently to necessarily care to psychoanalyze his own behaviors. He also doesn’t have the chance to see Aaron’s face drop and see the sadness in his eyes. Or the way you immediately look at your Miles to make sure the news didn’t break him. “But he’s gonna die if you keep me here,” Miles explains, and 42 Miles nods. “Yeah. Well, you ain’t leaving.”

“…Please. You have to let me go,” Miles pleads. But 42 Miles just stares at him, unmoved. “Why would I do that?” he asks, placing his gauntlet next to Miles’ head. Miles frowns, placing his finger on the piece of metal linking the chains together, ready to electrocute it and make his escape. The other him stares at him with an unreadable expression, seemingly no emotion behind his eyes, and just as it feels like shit is about to go down, he hears your voice ring out. “Miles. Just let him go.” Both your Miles and 1610 Miles turn their heads to you. It’s the first time 1610 Miles noticed you were in here. “(Y/n)? Bro, why are you letting her around your business?” Miles asks, and 42 Miles shoots a venomous look at him. “She insisted on coming. This is her first time around this shit,” Miles hisses at him. 1610 Miles can’t help but feel a tightening in his chest. He wants nothing more than for you from his world to be here with him. Not even in a romantic way, at least that’s what he’s trying to convince himself. He just misses you. He chased you away, and now he doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to fix it. His thoughts are interrupted when you clear your throat. Both of the boys look back in your direction. You’re on Aaron’s couch, staring at your Miles with such intensity it makes even 1610 Miles lock up. He can only imagine what it’s like being the one on the receiving end of that look. He sees other Miles’ eyes soften in his peripheral vision as he removes his fist from beside Miles’ head. “Mi amor…”

“No. Let him go, there’s no point in keeping him here,” you say, and 42 Miles frowns. “Not one to let people go, (Y/n). You know that.”

“I don’t give a fuck, Morales.”

“Damn, ma! Not even callin’ me Miles now?” Miles asks, an edge to his voice. You frown. “No. Not right now. Let him go, and we’ll see.”

“Why you want me to let him go? Got a crush on him or something?” Miles asks, and you raise your eyebrow. You glance at Miles, then back to your Miles. “Technically, yeah. I do. Unless you’d prefer I break up with both of you right now,” you say back, your voice just as cold as your boyfriend’s. “You tellin’ me you’d rather have this guy? Sayin’ this guy is like me? Estás de broma…” he mutters, and Miles looks between the two of you. “Not to piss you off more, but this guy is still technically you,” Miles says, and 42 Miles glares at him. “Cállate. No one was talking to you.”

“Man, why do you hate me so much?! I’m you!” Miles says, exasperated. He just doesn’t understand why this version of him is so hostile to him. They’re basically the same! Except Miles is a superhero and other Miles is a supervillain, but they still both have super in the title so how different can they really be? “Is this a call for help or–”

Miles gets cut off but 42 Miles punching the punching bag, right by Miles’ head. Enough force is exuded that the sand from the bag flies out, starting to pour down the side of it. His eyes widen, and you gasp. Even Aaron reacts a bit to it. But maybe it’s just because someone who looks exactly like his nephew is on the receiving end of it this time. This time. “Miles!” you yell, standing up. “What?!”

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

“What I gotta do! You don’t get it, (Y/n)! This is the job!” Miles yells, and you roll your eyes. “Oh, please, Miles. This is the job? He’s you! Wouldn’t you be trying to get home if you knew you could save your dad?!” you yell, and he glares at you. “(Y/n). Don’t.”

“You know you would be,” you walk over to him, placing your hands on his cheeks. He subconsciously relaxes, but only slightly. You sigh. “You don’t have to be such a hardass all the time, amor,” you mumble, and he shakes his head. “No comprendes, amor… I have to be this way. Or else— “

“Miles, he’s not a part of the cartel. He’s not gonna tell anyone here that you let him go… he’s not even from here. It’s okay for you to think with your heart instead of your head just this once,” you say, and he huffs. “Nah. I stopped thinkin’ with my heart a long time ago,” he says, and a hurt expression crosses your face. “Then what am I? A calculated move for you to use as an adavantage when you need it?” you ask, venom in your words. “No, (Y/n), don’t be estúpida. You’re mi vida, but him? How I know he ain’t just some experiment they made? To get to me?” Miles asks, looking at you with a skeptical look. You sigh. “Dude! I don’t even know what you’re talking about! I have spider powers, is that a thing anyone else here has?!”

“No.”

“Exactly! Why would whoever you’re talking about make a carbon copy of you with enhanced biology just to use me for this?!” Miles asks, and you shrug. “He’s got a point, Miles,” you say, and 42 Miles looks at you again. “Thank you, (Y/n),” 1610 Miles says, and 42 Miles rolls his eyes. “(Y/n) you have to understand that I can’t take no chances. You know that the cartel will go after—”

“I know. I know, Miles, but I really don’t think that—”

“You don’t know that (Y/n). You don’t know them like I do,” Miles says, and you sigh. “Miles. Mi amor. Mi vida. Mi sol, listen to me. If he wanted you dead, he would have done it by now,” you try to get through to him. He glances back at Miles, and Miles can literally see the distrust and paranoia in his expression.

He must have been through so much shit. This is a world with no Spider-Man after all. And all this mention of a cartel? No wonder Miles turned to the Prowler. It’s similar to Aaron in his world, he thinks. He thought that he had nowhere else to turn, so he turned to crime. But deep down, he can’t be that bad. Right…?

“Amor, I need to be cautious. I just have to ask him some questions before… letting him go,” he mumbles, glancing at Aaron. Aaron nods. 1610 Miles gets the feeling they’re not planning on letting him go. You must get that feeling too, because you shake your head, pulling your hands away from Miles’ face. “I can’t believe you right now,” you say, and he frowns. “(Y/n), please just try to understand—”

“No, Miles! I’m done trying to understand you when you never try to understand me!” you yell, and he clenches his jaw. “What do you mean by that, huh?” he asks, and you scoff. “I just. I need to leave. Before I do something I regret.”

“Like what, huh? Break up with me? Fight with me? Actually understand where I’m coming from for once?” Aaron cringes at that. You’re probably the most understanding person in his life other than him. That wasn’t the right choice of words. And you let him know it. “FOR ONCE?! Miles! Oh my god! Are you serious right now?! How many times have you tried to understand me?! I lost people too, you know! And I’m not out here—”

“Do you think I want to do this, (Y/n)?! Be fuckin’ for rea! I do this for you!” he yells back, and you shake your head, frustrated to the point of tears. “I never asked you to do this!”

“You didn’t need to because I love you enough to want to without you asking me to! You need it, Mamá needs it, everyone needs it, and I can provide it for all of you!” You angrily wipe a tear away, trying desperately to keep the rest of them contained. Miles softens. “Amor, no necesitas llorar—”

“Stop, Miles. Just… just stop. I need some air, don’t follow me,” you turn, hurrying to Aaron’s door. Miles steps forward to go after you, but Aaron puts a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. “Nah, man. Give her some space. She’ll come around,” Aaron says, and Miles clenches his fists. As soon as he sees you slip out of the door, closing it behind you, he turns to Miles. “This is your fault,” he says, pointing at him. “Miles,” Aaron says, crossing his arms. While he is also weary of this new Miles, his Miles isn’t thinking rationally right now. Then again, he is only 15. That’s why Aaron is here, sometimes he needs some assistance. “Why you lookin’ at me like that?” Aaron asks the other Miles. Miles hadn’t even realized he’d been staring. He shakes his head. “Nothing… nothing. Just… good to see you. Haven’t in a while,” he mumbles, and Aaron raises his eyebrow. That could mean a few things. Best not to dwell on it, though.

“Who are you, really?” 42 Miles asks, and 1610 Miles groans. “I’m you, dude! Why is that so hard to understand?! I’m not a part of a cartel or anything I just want to get home!” Miles is frustrated. Seeing the world they live in from Aaron’s window, he gets why Miles is so… paranoid. But honestly, how long can he keep this uncertainty up? “Explain how you got here. And don’t just say ‘by mistake,’ alright?” Miles says, showing the claws on his gauntlets. Miles rolls his eyes. “I’m Spider-Man, right? And there’s tons of different Spider-Mans… men? Not important, there’s other me’s! And Spider-Women, Spider-People in a bunch of different dimensions, one of them, Miguel, figured out how to travel dimensions and we all met each other… except I wasn’t supposed to meet them because the spider that made me Spider-Man actually came from this world so someone here was supposed to get bit and I wasn't supposed to exist like this, but—”

“Wait… you sayin’ my world ain’t supposed to be like this…?” Miles asks, and Miles nods. “Yes. The people at Alchemax on my world built a collider and had the spider come to my world and it got out and—”

“You’re the reason for this?” Miles looks at himself, who is not even angrier. “I… n-no, but yes, I—” Miles gets cut off by a gauntlet getting placed way too close to his head again. What he doesn’t know is 42 Miles just put together everything in his head. This Miles was Spider-Man. And his dad was still alive because of it. If that were the case for him, maybe his dad wouldn’t have died. Maybe he wouldn’t have been like this.

He could have had everything that was taken from him.

“That’s enough talking, cabrón,” he growls, ready to escalate things yet again. Miles gets ready to break out of his restraints again, and Aaron gets ready to help Miles out. Then, over the music, they hear a scream.

A scream that undoubtedly belongs to you.

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seventhcallisto · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter V — "just one."

Deep down.

Toc/cw; mdni!!!!!!!!! MATURE CONTENT!!! Fingering(f. Receiving x2) multiple orgasms, heat funk, yunho is a pleaser. Biting, Begging, & Big dick!yunho (duh). Mention of size difference, unprotected sex but don't worry men have unrealistic birth control(amen), cum eating(x2), knotting, slight overstim. Aftercare, cuddling, lots of kissing and fluff, yunho is a service dom omfg. Slight breeding kink if u squint. Joong is a little shitbird, joong teasing you, lots and lots of teasing. Breast worship. edging. Left Unfinished(m!(un)receiving). It's okay tho. Overwhelming tears from stimulus. ussy drunk. Cockadoodledo drunk. What else kinda drunk is there yknow. DONT READ IF UNCOMFORTABLE!! JUST BLOCK OR SKIP ☆ thank yew. Also, completely fiction.

pet names/nns; baby, omega, pretty girl, angel, _ girl (yours). Yun, alpha(yunho). Joong(hongjoong). Hwa(seonghwa).

Wc; 11.6k!! (I figured out how to wc r u proud?)

Yunhos friends have no clue why he left so abruptly, texts flood his messages and calls that immediately get put on hold, but besides that, he's too busy on the phone with you, ignoring all of them just to help you. He texted seonghwa as fast as he could when he was walking down the sidewalk. Surely all typos. Yet no response from the eldest member. His car is a silent buzz as he flows down the highway back to the apartment where he knows you are. He's glad he didn't drink, he was supposed to be the driver for the night, he's gonna have to apologize about that later. The heat in his fingertips dig into the cold steering wheel. When he tries to distract himself from the gasps and whispers you produce on the speaker of his phone- slotted into his cup holder.

Begging for him to be there, asking for him. Maybe he even ends up regretting going out at all. Truly, it was to distract himself from you. To get away from your scent and your words and everything in-between. He shoulda known in your heat it's not safe for you on the floor of your apartment complex. The last two floors are full of alphas and betas.

Omegas have their own section of building just for this reason. And yet he still thought it was safe to leave you at home with his other members who he knows will take care of you if anything, who are probably completely passed out and oblivious to your quickly arriving heat. You could easily slip out of your room and wake them up, could even leave the apartment and knock on the next door where many other alphas live. Who yunho assumes would gladly help poor omega you out.

You called him, though. Yunho feels obligated to take care of you like the alpha he should. He's with you, soul and spirit, dedicated to help you through this. Even if he isn't there in person yet. Yunho tries to even his breathing, even if for a moment.

"You still there omega?" He asks, you've been silent since you begged for him to be there with you. Since he said he was gonna take care of you. "Yes.. 'm still here alpha" your whisper is more of a whimper. And, holy shit. Yunho's pants feel tighter the way you say it. His finger flips his blinker on as he nears the exit.

“It- yunho-” the shuffle of you stuffed in your closet gets yunho's cogs moving again. “I know baby” it just slips. “You can wait, yeah?” his teeth pry on his bottom lip. Turning off the exit.

“No, i can't- it's too much” your cry makes him take a quick inhale. “Okay, okay” yunho knows the route to the apartment. He knows it very well in fact. He takes the shortcut. “I'll help you out as much as I can,” yunho's head falls to his seat. “I need you to lay on your back for me” he commands.

You shuffle to do so, pushing the phone as close to you as you can as if it will get Yunho closer. Yunho swallows the saliva in his mouth, gulping down his nerves.

“I need you to prep yourself, you can do that can't you?” he tells- no, he's asking you. Genuinely wanting you to answer him. Shuffling of fabric already tells him the answer, never in yunho's wildest dreams would he have had one of his life long fantasies come to life. Porn isn't the same when it's you, the bane of yunho's existence, doing exactly as he says.

Your fingers work diligently to peel off your pants- shorts- whatever and everything other than your shirt. Struggling in the confinement of your tiny closet and tiny nest. “Okay” you say into the speaker, panting heavily. Brain full of flowers and the scent of yunho under the amount of clothes you're sitting on top of. “I can do it”

Praise falls off the tip of the gray haired alpha’ tongue. Turning into the parking garage. You are in this building, so close, yet so far. Before Yunho hops out of his car, he picks up the bag he left earlier in the day from his back seat, stretching to grab it. He shoves his hand into the plastic bag to grab the small bottle. Just in case, he tells himself. The tall man pops open the lid after a few seconds of reading the label, dryly throwing back two sea blue colored pills. Birth control,(more like sperm control), two just in case. Yunho knows it's the fast acting kind- which the label said. For emergency purposes. This is definitely one of those emergencies.

Of course, the elevator rises very slowly. His fingers fiddle with his phone nervously pressed up against his ear. Your sighs and silent words make Yunho's pulse speed up.

The floors begin to level out, no longer in the parking lot, 1, 2, 3 and so forth. He counts every number, every level pass. Finally, It reaches your shared floor. Yunho doesn't even let the doors open fully, thankfully, your scent isn't in the hallway. So you must not have left your room since calling him. He pulls out his wallet, pushing through them for the keycard to the apartment. “I'm outside the apartment okay? I'm hanging up, I promise I'll be right there, I'm just outside” he hangs up before you have a chance to speak. He knows if he hadn't he might have forgotten about turning it off. Yunho isn't in the mood to have a dead phone because he left the call going.

As soon as he gets the door open, he isn't wasting time to take his jacket off. His shoes, though, get kicked off and left messily behind him. The door clicks shut, locking automatically. The apartment is void, no movement or sounds that meet yunho upon entering. Yunho takes quick strides to your bedroom door, the same scent from before becoming more powerful. More sweet and more alluring. He knocks gently, before pushing it open.

You're nowhere in sight, Yunho feels like a predator stalking your whereabouts when he enters your room. He hasn't been here for a while, he closes the door behind him, locking it with a click. He calls your name gently. Your messy head is the first thing that catches Yunho's eyes. Followed by you kicking the blanket off your feet in the closet, stumbling over to him.

You practically pounce into his embrace, curling your legs around his hips. He helps you the rest of the way, wrapping his arms around you to hold you up and grabbing your waist in his tight grasp. Yunho can feel the heat radiating off of you. He's lucky enough that he's still cold from the nightly weather outside. You are like a fireplace, steaming up on impact with his cold body.

You get as close as you can, shoving your face into his primary scent glands. Your heels digging into him to bring him further into you. Soft whining of his name as you swish your lips around his neck, pushing your scent out.

Yunho needs to take a deep breath. And assess what he's got to do. You're very obviously in an omega mindset, clinging to him like a lifeline. His hands slide up to hold your thighs, soft and pliable under his firm grip. You wiggle from the grasp.

“Did you prep?” he asks, swaying over to your bed, it's large enough to hold the two of you. You shake your head. “I need words, omega” he pulls your head from his shoulder, his knee hits your mattress. Still supporting you, Yunho slowly leans down to plant you on your bed, sitting on his knees between your legs. Watching your head fall over one of your pillows he swiftly slotted behind you. “No, I couldn't,” your pouty lips make Yunho mimic your face with his own smirky pout. “You need me to do it for you baby? Is that what you want?” Yunho unhooks your legs from his lean waist, holding your calves between his large hands. They almost wrap around them entirely.

He scans the way your chest falls with every breath, an oversized plain white shirt. And of course, no bra. Which yunho somehow knows you can only sleep comfortably without. Lastly, the shirt only rides up enough to see that you aren't wearing shorts. He can't torture you any longer, your eyes are begging, hands grasping at his jacket, hoping to tell him to take it off. He drops his hands from your calves to slot it off over his heavy shoulders. Sighing into your palm when you bring him back down and towards your lips.

You taste how you smell, only heavier. More heavenly to yunho. His tongue prides into your bottom lip. You slip it open to let him in, moaning into his mouth. His hands wonder, finding his way to your thighs and up, closest to where your hips jut out upon impact. Wet, Yunho sucks on your tongue when he pulls back, eliciting another strangled moan out of you that has him pulsing. “Yunho” you call out, whining. His fingers slide under the shirt and over your underwear, caressing your soft skin. “You need me here? is this where you want me?” he teases with his questions, drinking in your expressions. You nod eagerly. Yunho’s long digits pull the hem to the side to push his thin fingers through your folds. Watching you for a reaction with lidded eyes, biting back his lip. You preen, head falling back, hips twitching. He gathers the slick you produced, making sure to rub it around his two digits to lube them up up and down, poking and swirling around your clenching hole.

The tip of his middle finger prods into you, fully being embraced by your walls. Yunho's fingers are long and big, definitely bigger and longer than yours. His thumb angles up to rub into your sensitive bud, gathering slick on the way, slow calculated circles that have you writhing for more. Yunho's finger begins curling up into you, pressing against your soft gummy walls. Yunho didn't think he'd get to see you like this, get to feel you like this. “More, please, please alpha” you cry out, biting against the arm slotted over your face. And he obliged, pushing his pointer finger into you. It's an easy slip, thanks to your dripping core. Yunho moans quietly at the pulse of your heartbeat at his fingertips.

You're so unbelievably horny that you're pulsing for him. Muffling your whiney breaths. Yunho's fingers gain speed, slipping in and out to pry you open, to prep you. Bending and prodding that spot you keep jolting at. He finds it and abuses it as much as he can. Watching you unfold and get closer to your high. Just a bit more, he can tell you're already getting antsy. So horny it only takes a few strokes of his thin fingers to get you worked up close to your high.

“You feel so good baby” he whispers to just you. Just you. You mewl at the praise, pulling him back down for another heated kiss. More desperate and begging. You're softer than Yunho could ever imagine, wrapped around his fingers when he digs them into you, plying and squishing into your g spot. Your lip gets pulled up into yunhos when he sucks air into his lungs.

Yunhos got you so close, your leg pressed over his lean thigh that digs into the mattress under you. Watching the way his fingers disappear into you quickly. You're not hurting for a knot when he has his fingers buried to the hilt in you. If your mind wasn't foggy, you'd surely be savoring this. But you're still only thinking about needing something bigger, Yunho's knot. You gasp at the magma pooling in your stomach, looking to yunho. You're a jumble of words. Already messy from just his fingers.

Yunho catches this, his thumb hooking onto your clit and swirling. “Just one baby, then I'll give you what you want” he groans into his words, taking as much pleasure from this as you. His eyebrows pull taunt over his eyes, mouth lulled open from focus. “Come on omega, cum for me” he calls on, looking you in the eyes. Dark, cloudy, and full of lust.

The tension breaks, squeezing your thighs around yunho's hand. A silent whine, at the attack of your senses. One of the most weakening orgasms you've ever felt. Twitching at the thumb that Yunho keeps pacing you with. Overstimulating you the slightest. You couldn't get this kind of high from your own hands throughout your first heat. He presses soft gentle kisses to your face as you come down, slowing the movement of his hand. He sighs with you. Completely turned on.

The neediness for more is slowly returning, there's only so much one high can do for your faziness. You squirm when he begins pulling his fingers out, whining at the loss of feeling stuffed, underwear snapping back over your wet core. Yunho thinks it's not enough prep, but you can't wait any longer and he knows that. Before he pulls to sit up, he leans on his calves. Watching the way your slick trails down his hand, sticky and warm. He can't help himself, taking his fingers in between his lips, humming around the digits when he holds eye contact with you.

That's got you going again, whining for him, panting gently. “You taste amazing mega, so perfect” his eyes trace your features, his words making you melt into a puddle. He comes down to level with you, his knees once again slotting between yours, pushing up to bend you back over his thighs. He brings himself in this time, using his free hand to pull you onto his mouth. You moan at the taste of yourself, scrunching your face up into him.

Yunho's free hand pulls at your underwear, one frustrating tug halfway down your legs, fuck it. He pulls with a hard tug, snapping them off, he's not moving anymore to get them off. Tossing them to the side. The cold air makes you clench around nothing. Shifting closer to him. Yunho's tongue and mouth is like water in the desert. He draws you in with his palm against the scruff of your neck, you reach between you both. Needing to feel him.

Your fingertips skims the bulge of his jeans, he's big, big enough to stand out from the denim and leave an indent. So big, you're beginning to drool. He bucks away from your touch, moaning once under his breath as you pant against each other's lips. His hands reach to swat yours away, shushing your whimpers for the contact. “no touching, ‘M gonna take care of you omega, like I promised” he works on his belt, tossing it across the room. He decides his dark shirt is more important, pulling it straight up and over him.

Yunho's lean physique is beautiful. Almost shy under your eager eyes, he smiles down at you, shoving his shirt under the soaking spot on the bed, right under your bum he lifts so easily up. Your blankets are definitely gonna need cleaning. As soon as he's done helping ease the hurt, he'll get to fixing up your bed and making it comfortable. You let him do what he needs to, fiddling patiently, no touching.

No touching. Your feet curl in anticipation, wiggling at the command, the slow drip of your slick is beginning to pool down your center. Your thighs curl together at the feeling.“Yun- alpha” you whine, watching him undo his jean buttons and zip down his zipper. He looks up for a split second at your call, “i know, i hear you omega” he leans up to take your shirt off for you. Completely down to allow you to play pillow princess. He leaves a trail of gentle kisses down the center of your chest, memorizing your reaction and your breasts. Yunho is a fan, a big fan and he definitely will worship your tits when he gets the chance. He shoves his jeans down the rest of his knees. Despite being told no touching, you reach to help pull the rest of them off.

With some struggle on your part, huffing impatiently and tingling because of the ache fully coming back. Yunho kicks his tight jeans across your room, they land somewhere with a dull thud. His hands pull at your hips and turn you over to your side. You don't ask questions, letting him do what he wants with you. “You ready?” He asks looking up from your leaking hole, and well- you're so eager you think you've been begging this entire time. “Yes, alpha, m ready” You plead desperately. “you're doing great mega, so patient for me” the prod of yunho's hand as he spreads open your cheeks makes you gasp.

“Look, you're dripping all over” He chuckles, a first genuine and teasing chuckle, like he can't believe he's able to get you this wet. His wide and big hand keeps you spread open, holding your cheek up. As his other hand pulls back to grip his cock. He passes it between your leaking folds and glazes just over your clit. You buck, your head falling back. “Please please’ please put it in alpha-” you cry, wiggling and trying to push your hips towards him. Yunho shushes you quietly, his hand spread over your stomach to stop you. “Be good ‘mega, you'll wake the neighborhood” he hushes you with a tipped groan as you slick over him, he uses his free fingers to spread it over him as much as he can patiently. Prodding the tip into you.

Groans of curse words slip off Yunho's tongue. Only an inch in. He's not even fully in you, yet he can already feel your weeping hole squeezing him in a death grip, attempting to adjust to his size even though he's only pushed the smallest bit of him inside you. Yunho didn't think he'd fit at all. He pushes your leg closest to his chest farther up, spreading you open wider for a better angle. Your pants and moans, and sticky skin makes Yunho painfully impatient. Inch by inch, he pushes in slowly in case the stretch is too much for you. Holding your thigh in his large palm so you can't jolt away. Breathy groans he lets out are much quieter than yours. Yunho slides himself the rest of the way in with a single thrust of his hips. His eyes fluttered at the clench. Almost painfully tight around him, it's more than he could ever imagine, the daydreams are nothing compared to the real thing that's your needy cunt. He ruts up once by accident, eagerly needing to feel your squishy walls wrapped around him all along his length. He praises you for taking it, panting into his words. “mega, you’re so perfect- Auh– fuck- you fit me in so well. so good for me.” he pulls your thigh against his chest, sandwiching closer to you, he's so vulgar, yunho hardly ever curses around you, but the way you have him has him letting loose. his hand trails a sweaty pattern against your thigh as he rubs it up and down soothingly.

Your greedy gasp and shuddered body being so full fills you with delight, his tip presses the deepest part of your silky walls that has you seeing stars. You're vocal but so silently about it, the stretch of yunho's cock should be impossible, you know alpha cocks are huge- but this is not what you imagined, yunho is completely different. Your gasps of pleas whisper towards Yunho in your dark bedroom. He can still somehow make out your face from the city lights shining through your curtains. Full of pleasure, tortured pleasure, he loves the faces you make, so pretty and so tortured as he helps you adjust to his length. You pull his arm as close as you can get it, tiny hand wrapping across his wrist, wanting him closer. He bends down over you, squishing you into the mattress with his much larger body, the angle makes your clit jump from the squeeze of the push of pressing against each other. He captures your lips in a cut off moan, trailing sloppy kisses down your jaw. He rocks his hips once, then twice to check if you’re good enough to go, groaning at the tantalizing dig. Yunho might have almost came from just being inside you, you're so perfect, he's starting to think you've ruined him for anyone else. You keenly twitch, mewling into his ear. His tip is already hitting your cervix, how big is he? His hand finds purchase next to your head. Bending the mattress.

Yunho's eyes are like obsidian, boring into your own, his silver-gray hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, soft swipes of his tongue poking out to wet his lip. His fingers searching for your free and loose hands to wrap your hand in his own. The first snap of Yunho's digging hips has you blinking back overwhelmed tears. He begins to set a pace, fluttering his eyes at the feeling encompassed by you. Given by you. Jaw falling slack as he pants out. You whine his name, melding perfectly against his big form. Yunho pushes in more than he pulls out, snapping his hips towards your own in steady deep movement.

“More, more- please, yun-” you beg so nicely yunho has a hard time not fulfilling your request. His smooth lips press into your forehead, his hips smacking into your own in big thrusts when he speeds up. He pulls your leg over his shoulder, the bend is imaginable. You're not that flexible, but yunho will make you. His fingers unlatch from your interlaced hands, tracing down your body- his pointer and middle finger swirl around your clit, you twitch and writhe at the sensation, pelvis pulling back at the added pressure. Gasping and moaning out so much so your head begins to dig into the space between your pillows. Hair astray. Yunho wants to memorize this to heart, your sweaty face full of pleasure, jaw slack. Pretty moans- when he's away by himself he wants this to be what he thinks back to. And how you called to him in the night to make you feel this good, to do you this good. He bites on his bottom lip, his darker eyes boring into the joint section between the two of you. The suction has him biting back the need to pop right there.

Yunho is a diligent lover, he craves touch and affection during sex and he's definitely using this as his opportunity to get it from you, not that you mind at all, you preen at any affection the alpha will show you. His other hand, not holding your own, leans heavily into the pillow next to you, flexing his biceps and muscles that appeared from years of hard work. Your free hand grabs on, scratching and anchoring yourself to him. “how're you feeling ‘mega? I- fuck- i told you I'd take care of you- so good for me, so- shit- warm” He asks between heavy pants, his hips stuttering against you, pushing you harder and harder into the mattress. More and more like you want. Even when filling you completely to the brim with his big dick he's still only asking about you. You're cockdrunk, almost so close to the verge, even though Yunho isn't rough and completely pouding you, his cock is enough to satiate that neediness for something to break you. A line is forming on your brows, your stomach beginning to knot from the way he pounds and works his fingers over your bundle of nerves.

Yunho's pace is heavy, digging into your core and pushing your hip into your stomach, the pressure building up and rubbing at the perfect angle that has you arching into him. “alpha, Yun, ah- good, feel soso good, don't stop- please-'' You're begging for who knows what, yunho definitely knows he isn't gonna stop. The slap of sticky skin collects in your dim bedroom, the smell of yours and yunho's scents mixing. Your sweet dew and vanilla under the woody scent yunho always has, collides. The coil in your stomach is tightening and so deliciously close to breaking. Yunho can feel it, the clench of your walls around his cock has him burying to the hilt with every thrust and push “you want me inside baby? Need my knot?” he asks between heavy pants and grunts, you nod sloppily, spewing words. His knot begins to grow at the base of his cock. And maybe he even imagines that he didn't take that BC earlier. That his cum will take, and his knot will drive you crazy enough to ask him to mate you for life and give you so much more.

“yes, inside please, I'm close, mclose so close ahh- yun-'' your mouth falls slack, pulses of white flash through your brain at the stimulus, yunho tips over the edge with you as your cunt flutters around him. His knot fully ties itself into your womb, hot spurts of cum, leaking from his tip as your name falls out. Yunho, as if on instinct, fang sharp-teeth pop open. He bites on your shoulder, knowing he can't mark you, can't mate you as his- yet, just not yet. When you reciprocate with a bite so close to his primary glands, his hips jut up into you, pushing his cock even deeper if possible. You twitch and shake as your orgasm begins to wash away, twitching some more at the overstimulation of yunho's length pulsing the last few spurts into you, warm and hot and so so much of it- so much so it is already creating a white base around the joint area between you two. His knot doesn't stop growing until he's panting by your head, kissing your sweaty skin so softly. You lean into his touch, preening at the affection with closed eyes. Your pants are heavier compared to his, somehow yunho isn't breathing as hard as you.

He slides down next to you, the tug of his knot still connected. He cups you close, stomach to back. Yunho definitely prefers spending his night like this instead, helping you through your heat and first couple of weakening orgasms. He knows some if not a good amount about omega gender, thanks to you- he did the research. He's glad he did, he knows you'll be spent- but if he asked, you'd be willing to go for more rounds. And he'd be happy to do so to satiate your needs. But you are still in the beginning of the haze, you can only take so much for your first heat with someone else and not completely pass out.

Moments of breathing in air and time in the earliest of morning. Yunho is your first, not overall- but heat wise. He's got to take pride in that. And he does, your duvet is buried under you and Yunho's dark shirt has cum splotches so he can't throw any of it onto you to cover you both comfortably. Your foggy brain must be subsiding by now and for some reason yunho feels shy being so naked even though he drilled you into your mattress and left you dazed after two orgasms. Your head pushes back against his shoulder, looking up at him. He catches your eyes, the smallest of smiles at your fucked out face. “Hi baby” he whispers in the dark, rubbing his free hand against your chin. Your eyes blink up tiredly from his warm touch.

“Hi yun” you smile, looking at the way Yunho's silver hair falls over his forehead in waves, his other arm and hand propping his head up. His eyes fall over your lips, smiling down, he leans into you to capture your swollen lips with his own pink ones. The post haze of orgasms washes away. But the heaviness of Yunho's knot pulses once more. You twitch, pulling away from his lips. The knot is tied so tightly to you, it makes you feel as though you're still stuffed. And you are. Yunho's cum is buried in you so deeply thanks to his knot and his cock that it makes your heart skip with appreciation. You never thought going commando would be so good, never thought a knot so deeply in you would make you feel even better. Is this what you were missing out as a beta? Yunho's hand finds its way over your stomach, pushing down on the bulge ever so slightly that has you whining and digging your hips back into him. “You did so well, took me so well” he whispers, pecking your neck with a singular kiss. The ache subsided, even if for a moment. Yet you clench at his words.

You know what happened, you remember everything that happened. Other than yunho smelling like he was at a bar and grill before you pounced. Did you steal him away from something? You turn your head to look at him. Smoothing your finger over his overgrown sideburn. His eyes scan your face, observing your nakedness in the dark. “Where were you?” You ask, whispering to him. He inhales softly, the fan of his breath cooling the sweat from your face. “I was getting some food and drinks with friends” he answers earnestly, rubbing soft circles into your hip. He still doesn't pull out of you, his knot so close to dissipating. Chest bumping against your back as he breaths.

“I'm supposed to drive them home” he chuckles airily, knowing the way you're gonna react before he even says it. “it's okay though, there was another designated driver” he reassures your worries. Taking them off your shoulders. You turn your head back into the pillow, reaching down to lock your hands in his. It's intimate and risky, but yunho doesn't pull away and you're thankful. “Your friends are going to hate me” you pout. He leans up. Left hand falling over the otherside of you. “No they don't- they won't either” he skims a soft kiss over the bite mark he left. Red and deep.

Good thing you don't have any more photos to take any time soon. A week should heal that up if he keeps his teeth to himself the entire time. Your pout becomes a shy smile because of his affection. The prettiest of smiles yunho adores. He peppers kisses down your arm and shoulder, basking in the way goosebumps raise to the surface of your skin. It feels like a honeymoon phase, yunho has always worn condoms, but never has he let his knot dig into someone before, you get his first time without a condom- and his knot. He feels so warm and he knows it's because he loves you and he has his connection to you still inside. It's triggering some primal urge in him to be lovesick. You hum through your smile quietly. Soundlessly falling back into silence. Your fingers prying and bumping against yunhos when you breathe, caressing the veins and length of his digits compared to yours. His right arm is under you but he doesn't care. He wants to be crushed by you, even if you aren't at all heavy. Your locked fingers pulled over your stomach as he anchored them there, fingertips feeling so very comfortable pressed against you.

Yunho begins to pull out, ever so gently. He pats your hip beforehand as a warning. You scrunch up at the loss as soon as he's fully out, missing the way you felt full. You whine for Yunho when he begins to tug away from you, unlatching your fingers. “I got to get you cleaned up” he reassures, kissing against your jaw facing away from him. His lean body is pulled away from you, suddenly making his spot behind you cold. He shoves his briefs on. But before he goes he opens the closest window to air out the scent of sex in the air. Afterwards, he walks to your adjacent door. Sadly, you have to share a bathroom. He peeps his head out your door, looking into the hallway. Back and forth.

He turns back to look at you, smiling gently. “I'll be right back okay?” He whispers loud enough for you to hear. You curl up into yourself, holding a hand between your thighs to prevent any leakage. It doesn't work well. “Hurry, please” you whisper back. Yunho bites his lip, looking you up and down once more. He pulls away, closing your door behind him ever so quietly.

In the silence of your bedroom, your head falls back against your pillow, the pulsing ache no longer activating in your stomach. Maybe a knot does satiate the need for more after a while. You're surely tired though because you slept terribly and are still needy for affection. Yunho's words wrap around your mind, you try to plug your fingers against the cum beginning to drip out. It's as helpful as it seems. You wait a minute longer, then two, then three. Beginning to twist your ankle in anticipation.

You sit up before Yunho comes back in, clothing thrown over his right arm and a single blanket, a deep gray towel and a water bottle in his left. Black sweatpants hang off his hips, this time his loose shirt is white. “up” he beckons you up to the headboard of your bed. When you scoot up to readjust he pulls off your duvet, leaving your almost spotless sheet under you. Sitting down on the edge of your feet, your hand withholds the liquid in you as you lay on your back, head propped up against the pillows yunho laid out for you, sitting up slightly.

He hands you a water bottle after pouring some of it onto the towel. Urging you to drink it, his free hand prys your wrist away from your sopping core. Suckling a harsh hum at the pour of yours and his cum leaking out. The towel scraping up against your cunt makes you sensitive, thighs tensing and hissing away. He acknowledges it, kissing the top of your propped knee and pulling you back. Gauging your reaction with every swipe of the towel to make you the least uncomfortable he can. It makes your heart swell. Hiding your smile behind a chug of water. He's gentle with his care, checking your thighs for any more residue.

When he's done he plants the towel and his soiled shirt in your laundry basket propped next to your door. As much as he hates taking his scent off of you. You will get sticky and uncomfortable with it plugged into you all night. He might come back for his nasty shirt later though. He wipes your dirty hand away, kissing your fingers softly as soon as he's done. Your heart skips.

“Better?” he asks as you hand your water to him, he places it on your dresser. You nod, still naked. He almost forgot. A light gray shirt yunho keeps around -that you know is pretty expensive- gets pulled over your head easily. It's big, just as big as Yunho, maybe even more. It smells like his cologne, and his scent of citrus and vanilla, heavy. The masculine smell of sandalwood is the most prominent. You breathe him in, missing the scent he produced during your intimate moment. Next he's slipping you into a matching gray pair of his briefs, they're a bit big, but it doesn't matter to you.

You're so grateful for the attention Yunho is giving you. He doesn't need to be gentle, but he is anyway, and it's making you feel all the more soft and so head over heels. You pull Yunho close as soon as he's done. Head slotting into his pale neck. You trail kisses against your own mark you left on him, kissing more heavily on the bite you left, nuzzling your nose into him. He sighs dreamily, a long arm wrapping against your back. His knee falls to kneel onto the bed, laying half over you gently. Consuming you with his scent and body. He prefers it like this, when you're completely full of him and smell like him. Tiredly begging for his touch after he already gave you everything you wanted. You wiggle to get comfortable, locking your leg over his hip. Whilst his leg slots between your legs. He kisses the top of your head. Rubbing soothing pats against your back. As his other hand reaches for the blanket he brought in. White and thin with crochet patterns, definitely taken from the end of his bed.

Easily, he pulls it over the two of you. Comfortable and surrounded by yunho. Your head isn't sweating thanks to the breeze from the window. Any sweat you had cooled along with the water he gave you. So sweetly, taking care of you and even cuddling you. How are you so lucky right now? You couldn't ask for a better second heat phase.

“Thank you” you mumble against Yunho's neck. You feel the shuffle of his gray hair press against the side of your head when he turns. “Don't thank me” he huffs into a grin. His palm coming up to caress against your shoulder. If it's unconscious, you don't know. But his hand lands directly over the bite he left. Your eyes slink, closing down thanks to the lullaby of Yunho's heart beat and soft breaths.

In the silence of the early morning, one of your many daydreams comes true, buried under yunho and everything that smells like him. Yunho, just prefers you, your soft and squishy skin against his. His fingers slip under the collar of his shirt.

“I love you” he whispers the quietest, just as your mind begins to drift. You whisper back, slurring. “love you more” you don't care if it's early, or if he's just saying it after such an intense night together. You don't even know if he's just saying it in an affectionate way. But you mean it when you say it, I love you more, cause you do. Yunho has you whipped around his finger after knowing he can take care of you even after you already had the biggest crush on him before. The best is him afterwards, sticking by your side.

It's more than a year back, your dream blending into a memory. You're presenting at an award show, gladly introducing artists. Preppy voice loud and simple to suck the crowd in. In the prettiest of pastel outfits some snooty stylist gave you to wear. You know behind the screen out there your boys are cheering you on. And it keeps you grounded. Despite being on TV the most nerve-racking thing is your ex. Who's also a host, they don't know though. You guys kept it wrapped under the media for about a month before he was caught cheating on you with another popular idol. Not cheating to the media though, they assumed those two were together, but you were devastated for a week nonetheless.

You wonder why you even liked him in the first place. He's cute, funny, complicated, and talented. An omega, which you didn't care about. But his attitude was that of a spoiled brat who always gets what he wants. Maybe you thought that was really cute, when he would beg you for pda when he knew you were private, and when you would say yes, he'd accuse you of trying to expose the secret. It reminds you of someone else now, a less bratty and less annoying guy, who doesn't give a fuck about pda and will show you off at any chance because he likes to tease you. Somehow, that relationship never raised suspicion.

Your ex is a fairly popular guy, more so than you. Your group was still rising to some. And his group was popular from the get-go. Thanks to one of the big ents. Your trainee days got you a spot here, he recommended you, leading to you two seeing each other often, then soon dating. You got the opportunity before he cheated. You never understood why, but you weren't gonna give up just because he was going to show up. No way. You stand tall and proud, gleaming for the screen as does your ex who continues to scoot closer every camera shot.

You try your best to ignore him when you're on ad break, getting your makeup reapplied. “Can we talk?” He asks over the bustling makeup artists, you're thankful they're shielding you from him. “No,” you huff. “I'm getting my touch up done, please leave” you say as politely as you can. Honorifics and all. He grimaces. Stepping closer.

“I'm sorry-” you sigh at what's to come. Another sob story, another lie. You're not some silly girl, you're mature, you're an adult. You know the signs. And you know cheaters can change, yes, but something tells you he won't. You taught yourself to follow your gut feelings. And now, you still will. “No, you're not sorry, you're guilty you got caught. You’re sorry because you got caught, you're not sorry to me at all.” even though it was just a month, you took your time doing everything for him in it. First relationships always move fast. You risked that with him, leading him through his first time with you as a couple.

You took the reins and he abused that. His eyes well with crocodile tears. Before you can speak once again, his sorrowful eyes land on a figure looming behind you. Scowling, his tears seem to dry up quickly as if they were just for show. “Great” he laughs angrily. You're so very confused but when a large hand lands on your shoulder, you know exactly who it is. The whiff of vanilla and sandalwood following.

“Yun” you greet, a soft realization that he came to see you, your soft, smiley, extremely taller member came to watch you. And he knows exactly who the fool in front of you is, Yunho's black hair falls perfectly over his forehead as he scales your ex up and down, the tiniest of a forced grin on his taunt lips. “Hey, I didn't know you were working as a host” yunho is older than your ex, and he doesn't greet him as a friend. Nor does he acknowledge the tears. Honorifics that sound like venom falling from the pretty tip of his tongue.

Your ex doesn't bother to bow his head either, sticking up to your older group member. “I got her the job” he scoffs slightly into his words, shifting on his feet. Looking anywhere else except for the tall man's eyes. You feel completely squashed and kind of embarrassed from this interaction. Your ex is still trying to keep up a brave face under his extremely pink eyebrows. “Really?” Yunho looks back down at you, the smallest of smiles, but genuine. He squeezes your shoulder softly, glancing between your eyes mischievously. “Then I'm sure she'll be the best, she might end up being better than you” he chuckles, meanly, yunho is hardly ever mean. You can't help the snort of laughter falling out of your nose. You don't regret it. Your exes eyes twitch, not a single word. He storms off and bumps shoulders with yunho. Like a child, he stomps away.

You turn to Yunho, and notice you're both grinning. Soon a fit of laughter erupts from your throat and his. It's short lived. His hand falls off your shoulder, you miss the weight of his heavy hand. He takes a seat against the vanity, the light from the bulbs showcases his figure. Lean and tall, taking up the space with his big figure. You have to advert your eyes from staring. When he turns his head back to you. Even though you're done with your touch up, you can't seem to stand up out of your chair and move on.

Yunho's foot nudges your ankle, calling for your attention. You look up, crossing your arms subconsciously and force out a smile the best you can. The most naturally you can. “Are you okay?” His eyebrows crease in worry, his head lowering so you know he isn't demanding you to answer him. You clear your throat, shifting in the luxurious white chair. “Yeah, he sucks..” you laugh. Trying not to let it affect you. Trying. Is the key word. Your teeth wiggle your bottom lip, falling back into thought. Yunho ever so keenly notices your behavior. Squatting down in front of you. You jolt, leaning up to see what he's doing, before you can ask, he's tugging your shoe into his lap. Tying the laces delicately between his thin and long fingers. He never looks up, even as you try to tug away. “I'm not a kid” you huff, shaking your head at the thought of Yunho Bending his own extremely expensive pants to tie your shoe. You can hear the smile in his voice as he talks, “then how come you always forget?” When he finishes, he looks up. His hand unknowingly caresses the back of your ankle and calf.

You take a breath, fiddling your fingers together. “Forget what?” he laughs. Placing your foot back on the ground to check your other shoe. “Forget to tie your shoes” you gawk, “no I don't-” you attempt to pull your foot back, his fingers latch around your ankle. Smiling back up at you. Even though he's real, he looks unreal smiling up at you like some prince sliding your glass slipper on. “Yes, you do, remember during practice you used to always wear velcro shoes? Bet you didn't think I'd remember that-” “you remember what shoes I wore years ago?-” “you never wore laces, and when you did. I had to break formation to catch you when you'd trip over them." His breathy laugh has you smiling shamelessly.

“Honestly, it's like you were hoping I'd catch you” his finger comes up to push the hair out of his eyes, straightening out his bangs. He looks up at you from under them. Teeth on display thanks to his pretty smile. You fumble to say something. “no, I was just bad at taking care of my shoes,” you laugh, scratching at your eyebrow. Nice save. Knowing in reality he wasn't far off, or that most of the time you wore the same pair of velcro shoes for every practice. And when you began noticing they were gross compared to your members whose shoes seemed much better than yours, you'd exchange them for one of your other laced sneakers. Ashamed of the peeling fabric and the staining, and he was right, you were always bad at tying them properly.

“At Least you were there to catch me” you smile, watching him stand up to his full height. Shyly smiling back, as he looked away. “I'd always catch you,” his voice echos. Your dream-like fog begins to dissipate as the memory ends.

You wake up with your thighs stinging as if you just worked out your quads for an hour. Feeling like jelly and still tired. Atleast you're not still needy for a knot, whatever yunho did last night really dimmed down your heat. Or was it still too early for you to be in full bloom? The morning sun beams rays along your face and bed, waking you from your sleep. The only warmth you feel comes from your spot alone, and when you begin shifting around in your bed tangling out of the white blanket. You notice the bigger body you fell asleep next to isn't there anymore. Whining into the air sadly at the feeling of loss in your chest. Did yunho leave?

No, the running of water across the hall from your door catches your attention. The door which is now open is cracked almost all the way, you wait and watch. Jongho passes, too busy talking to the person behind him to notice you're awake. Mingi, equally distracted mumbles poutily to jongho whos harshly whispering in front of him. You’re too tired to move, and way too sluggish for things to register, just hoping to see yunho pass through the door. Quiet whispers flow down the hallway and meet your ears, cluttering of kitchen appliances and the beeping of the rice cooker makes you remember how easy it is to get lost in the morning buzz of the apartment.

Yunhos hand slots in from the corner of your eyes, he's still turned over his shoulder, talking to someone, wearing the same clothing from last night. Mumbles of whispers and discussion hanging in the air until his eyes flash back to you. Out of the spot he left you in and scratching at your shoulder. The indent of yunho's bite beginning to scab over. As if you hold the universe, yunhos shocked face makes you look up at him full of questions. His neck bobs as he swallows harshly, turning his head back to the figure just out of sight.

When he's done speaking he walks back into your room, and as soon as he reaches the end of the bed his hand greedily reaches over to smooth his palm against your waist, pulling you into his side with a gentle tug. You groan at the ache in your hips from the shift. Yunho apologetically smiles. Bare face on display from the sun. “Hey, how are you feeling?” he leans his palm against the pillow, half of his body leaning over you whilst he drapes his leg off the bed.

You watch his bare face and plump lips pull into a nervous grin. Needy, so needy. He's so pretty, so bare and so attentive. His hand fiddles with the edge of the shirt he gave you. The caress of his fingers there is so docile, like it's meant to be there. “I'm good” you sigh out, reaching for his waist to hold him. “sore,” you grin shyly. He huffs a laugh, “I know.. d'you need anything?” he lips fall open at the end of his question. You really can't help it, not when yunho is drawing you in and making you feel so special. “A kiss?” You speak clearly, just to him, looking up hopefully through parted lashes. Yunhos grin spreads, red tint rising to his ears. He doesn't have to say anything, his eyes fall over your mouth, folding himself down to plant the smooth taste of his minty toothpaste on your own lips.

He pulls back because of his wide smile, too giddy to keep going. You laugh “stop smiling, I'm trying to kiss you” your hand catches his cheek, awkwardly leaning up into him. “No, you” he snickers, his larger palm reaching your own cheek. He pet's his thumb across your lip, pecking you once again. Then once more. He pulls back before you go in for a third. Teasing you with a cheeky grin. “you have to eat something” he nods, but before he can get up and leave. You're reaching for the pocket of his sweats. Whining, pouting. “Don't go” you huff, laying your head back down on the pillows.

“I'll get hongjoong, okay?” He leans down to pick up your hand, kissing your knuckles. The mention of your captain, your other member- who you still don't know is okay with you calling him your boyfriend- makes you nod. You miss joong, even though he hasn't gone anywhere. He was sleeping. You crave the attention as soon as it's gone with yunho.

Slumped against the bed, you toss to lay on your back, pushing your messy-sweaty hair away. For a few seconds your eyes lazily pull back down, thighs squishing together. The click of your door shutting and the bed dipping has you jolting, coming back from your thoughts. Hongjoong is too occupied shuffling under the blanket to notice your face. And when he does, he's smiling ear to ear at the proximity of you. His hair is a mess, wearing a crochet purple crew neck that's too baggy, a pair of comfy black sweats. Much more dressed and put together than you at the moment. If he smells yunho on you, he must not care. His fingers thread through the back of your hair. Pulling your face into his so he can place giddy kisses all around your cheeks, nose, jaw. Everywhere.

Your lips pull back into a smile, giggling at the way he tickles your face with preppy kisses. His nose scrunches, loving the sound of your laugh. He lays a final deep kiss on your lips, one full of yearning and attention, and everything hongjoong is and more, missing the way you kiss up into him. “I missed you” you simply say when he pulls back. His eyes shift between yours. “I missed you more pretty girl” he sighs, rubbing his thumbs against your cheeks. Messy brown hair clouding around his eyes. He lays his head down comfortably on the pillow next to you, threading his fingers around your back to pull you closer.

“Did yunho take care of you?” his hand falls over your hip, rubbing patterns with the tip of his pointer finger. You nod, biting your lip. Memories of last night, flood you. Hongjoong hums softly, his soft dark eyes tracing your features. “he's a good alpha, ‘m proud of him.. You’re not too sore?” he smiles, a certain bite to his tone. You do as well, giddiness building in your stomach. “No, not too much” you nod, pushing your neck towards him, presenting your most sensitive spot. Docile, so docile. Hongjoongs lips fall there, kissing soothingly. “You did good ‘mega. Took yunho so well didn't you.” He whispers straight to you. Heavy lipped and nipping by your scent gland. You whimper and just like that you're a puddle in hongjoongs hands. He sits up to slot his hips between your own, pressing his weight down onto you.

“Be quiet for me okay? Can't have you telling everyone what we're doing”

The bulge of hongjoong in his loose pants has you gasping when it grinds over your clothed cunt. He pulls away from your neck after attacking it with suckling kisses and nips that'll turn into hickey's. Admiring his work. He grins. “So pretty” he sits back on his knees, the blanket leaves with him, leaving you unprotected. Your greedy hands reach up to grab him, stop him from staring down at you with his prying eyes, and when he captures them, interlocking your hands between his own to hold close to his chest, he leans forward and you take his plump lips between your own, biting on his bottom lip in appreciation from the plump of it. He sighs into your mouth, his hands parting from yours and digging down into your hips, lifting the hem of yunhos large shirt to trail his hot hands under. They smooth up, and stop just short of your ribcage.

You know the question, consent is the upmost important thing to hongjoong. “Please touch me joong” you tell him before he has the chance. Holding his face close to yours, he smiles, that shit eating grin he always has, the teasing one he uses to perform. Already, you can feel the damp spot in yunhos once clean briefs getting wet. “You want me to touch you where? Huh? Tell me where pretty girl.” he hums, and goodness is it exhausting being teased. You don't even want to say it, too impatient for words. You grab hongjoongs hands off your hip and rib cage, dragging them up and over your breasts just under your shirt. It pools at your collarbone, just under your chin.

“There, touch me there joong” you plead, eyebrows creasing. Hongjoongs hot palms knead into your tits, causing your nipples to pebble up from the friction. Oh so sensitive. Everything must be heightened by now, you want to be touched everywhere. Hongjoongs eyes heavily watch your expressions as he takes your left bud between his fingers and tugs. You yelp as quietly as you can manage, turning your head away. The snicker from joong makes you shy, like he's laughing at you. His head falls down, blowing over the sensitive bud between his right hand, when it pebbles, he takes it into his wet cavern, humming against it and suckling harshly. Not expecting it, your hips jut up from between his knees. Whimpering.

Hongjoong presses himself closer to you, slobbering over your tit and squeezing it with his large palm. He pulls off with a pop and plants kisses along the space around it, looking up at your slacked expression has his shorts tightening even more so. This is what he wanted when he got up that morning, when he figured out the smell of sex was coming from your room and the way yunho cuddled into you as you both napped. The brown haired male takes your other pretty bud into his mouth, lapping at it with his tongue. Your heat hadn't quite hit, it isn't until tomorrow, it's too early to tell though. And the smell of your soiled clothes in the laundry basket tells joong something definitely happened that involved your heat. You scent is addicting, it already had joong jolting into his fist in the bathroom. Too eager waiting for you to get up. He tugs with his teeth, suckling and swishing the pliable fat between his soft hands, your choked sob goes straight to his cock.

He can't take your noises anymore, or the way your hips won't stop wiggling under him. Grazing against his sensitive area unknowingly. He trails wet kisses down your stomach, when he reaches the top of the underwear that hides you away. He looks up for permission. Hongjoongs pretty eyes never fail to make you lose your breath, heaving. Chest glistening, you nod sloppily. An appreciated kiss is laid on your hip bone before he's tugging off yunho's briefs and tossing them to the side of his leg.

Cold air meets you as hongjoong throws your legs over his shoulders. His eyes scan your glistening core, kissing down your knee and thighs, as soon as he gets as close to where you want him. He bites into you, hard. You twitch, and whine, biting down on your tongue. The pulse of the spot has you aching as he kisses the hurt away. The next second his nose is pressing into you as his firm tongue falls out to lap up all the mess between your folds. A shuddered sigh knocks out of you. As he trails up, he takes your clit between his pink lips, sucking hard. Your thighs clench around his head. Bucking away at the overwhelming feeling. You can feel the grin forming on his face.

His palm pushes against your hip to get you to stop moving, tongue jutting out once more to lap your taste up. So sweet, and so dewy on the tip of his tongue. He swirls it around your nerves, groaning softly at the taste. You preen. “You're so wet” he mumbles, bumping his nose against you as he trails down to your hole, he blows a huff of air on it as he takes. Making you clench, “I could just put two in and it wouldn't hurt you're so wet, yeah? Think you could take two for me?” He looks up through his dark eyelashes, Bending your knees over his shoulders. Joongs thumb prods your bundle, catching you off guard from the tug of it as it digs into your clit in lazy swirls. You choke out a soft moan. “Words” he reminds you, nipping the skin by your knee, withholding your eyes in his hazy gaze.

“Yes, I can take two joong, I can do it-” you beg, and hongjoong has a hard time holding back his predatory smile. “Pretty girl, already falling apart, I haven't even done anything” his snicker has you feeling bullied. His head dips back in, his wet muscle coming out once again to replace his thumb, licking you. You're relishing in the slow build up, holding his hand over your hip. Panting out. Joongs finger prods at the tight ring of your entrance, twisting between the flutter of your walls and completely digging into you. You gasp at the first, pushing back against the second prod of hongjoongs ring finger. He hums over your clit, molding his tongue to the bud, his lips wrapping around it.

Hongjoong's getting pussy drunk. He's getting greedy feasting on you, his hips rut into the sheets, sparing him the feeling of the pent up need to release for only a couple of split seconds before he's digging it back down as soon as he hears how sloppy he's making you. At this rate, hongjoong might just cum in his pants, and he wouldn't care. Your pleasure is his pleasure. His fingers dip up, pushing and prodding for the spot that'll have you seeing stars. Memorizing how you react to every twist and pull, he sucks down on you, and huffs for air that has you tensing around his slender fingers. He wants to take his time to savor this. But he knows Yunho will be back with your food as soon as it's ready, Seonghwa said it'll be done in 15 minutes or less.

His fingers piston into the spot that catches your throat, his lips tugging around your bud, suckling and tugging like he's trying to milk you for your orgasm. It's almost there, coiling in your stomach and burning closer and closer. Your eyes are screwed shut, no longer able to stop the blurriness from overwhelmed tears crowding your lash line. Your hips twitch under his palm, digging you down into the mattress so you can't escape his tongue and fingers. As joong comes off you with a squelched pop, he blows air back on the bud. You buck, his thumb comes up to take his place, tight circles digging into your swollen clit.

“There you go,” Hongjoong says as a particularly hard clench squeezes his digits. “Must have been so horny to take yunho last night huh? you're still so tight on my fingers” he curls them as he mentions them. The sloppy noises of his extended fingers hitting around your hole has you hazing in and out of breath. “How'd you get him to fit?” He asks, humming into his words as if this was some normal conversation. You can't even respond. Twitching and pushing up into his particularly hard thrusting fingers that slap and echo in your ears. “Poor girl, needed a cock that bad you let him in without enough prep” he tsks.

Your orgasm builds and is so tantalizingly close, your head lulls to the side, pants and whines. Your hand digs into hongjoongs wrist, holding him as if that'll keep him there. His hand spreads so far across your hips that the slight push down has you feeling his fingers in your stomach. “Yunho told me how desperate you are, how good you were for him, now i know he was right” hongjoongs teasing tone has tears streaming down your face. You know he feels your heartbeat speed up and you clench, but when you meet that crossroad he stops stroking his thumb and has you falling back in a loop. “Not yet” he says this time, sighing into his words.

He pumps them in some more, the pool of your slick trailing down between his fingers and your thighs. There's so much, so much the sheet is wet. Your toes curl at the build up. This time, he continues. “told me you look so pretty when you cum” he whispers heavily, mouth falling open, watching his fingers disappear and reappear from your sopping hole.

“please, joong, please, please” you beg for your release. He pretends to think about it. Building you up again. So, so damn close. A slight moan comes from his throat, pleased at the gumminess of your walls. “Come on pretty girl, let me see” he gives you the go ahead, his teeth digging into his plump lip, his eyes finding your face and watching. That's all it takes for you to shake as you cum, digging down into the sheets with a strangled gasp. Your mouth falling open, legs twitching. Even your toes curl at how hard it hits you. His fingers never stop bullying you until you're shaking and trying to close your thighs. He pulls the out, then takes him in his mouth to clean them off. His eyes fluttered close, as if its some ice cream dripping from a cone that's cold on the taste buds. You're huffing pants loudly. So much so you have to close your mouth and try to breath out of your nose.

Giving you a second, Hongjoong lays a kiss on the top of your knee, then the other. He reaches next to him, and you realize he's grabbing yunhos briefs again. Pulling them back up your legs. The fabric sticks to your center. You pout at the feeling behind close lids. He pulls the blanket back over him like a cape, kissing gently up your stomach before pulling your shirt back over you. Helping you seem more put together. He smiles as if he didn't do anything at all when he pulls you to lay over him. Swiping the drying tears off the side of your eyes. He kisses each side of your cheek where they fell. Lovingly, gently. Much more softer than he was seconds ago. He peppers a kiss down your nose and lands it on your lips. “You didn't get to finish” you pout, he lays his head down next to yours. His lips falling into a small grin. “That one was for you” he takes your fingers between his, kissing each of the tips of them and down your wrist.

“But-” you pout, his eyes pull up into a smile. “so greedy” he laughs, kissing your nose again. Fingers fiddling with yours over his chest. “There's no time for it pretty girl, someone might walk in on us” he hums, grinning so cheerily. Your head falls over his shoulder, embarrassed. His lips lay over your forehead. His right hand coming up to rub against your back. Soothing yunhos creasing shirt down. Although that fuzziness isn't returning. You think you've got atleast another hour thanks to hongjoongs prying hands.

As if on cue. Yunhos head pops in through the door, when he pushes it open, seonghwas right behind him holding a tray. They must be the only ones to know you're awake, because all the sudden, the thumping of the guys rushing into the hallway make you realize you're awake and coherent and they're most likely coming to check up on you.

Hongjoong laughs at the sound as if this is some goofy cartoon, sitting up along with you. Seonghwa dips the platter on the bed, sliding it to you when he takes a criss crossed seat on the end. Smiling gently. “Hi hwa” you greet, wrapping your arms around him over the tray, you can't help it. You plant a kiss on his cheek. He beams, patting your hip and looking back down at the tray to make sure it didn't spill. Pancakes and an array of sausages, fruits. A meal fit for a goddess. Compared to easy snacks and reheatable meals you had for your first heat- this is heaven on your bed. You feel so very greatful. “thank you” you reach for his hand. Squeezing it gently. He smiles, shyly looking down.

You finish the last of your food. Syrup still sticking to the corner of your lips. Joong had gotten up to stop the fighting of yunho and the guys, taking your tray with you. Yunho had stepped back to fight off the rest of the crew, like he was your protective shield whilst you ate, you can still hear wooyoung, mingi, and san whining. Seonghwa took his seat in joongs spot, too far away from you. You have to scoot up over to him for him to get what you're doing. He meets you halfway. Looking you over.

“You don't smell like sex” you cough. Sputtering, covering your mouth with your hand so you're not accidentally spitting on him. Seonghwa laughs, plump lips pulled into a smile over his cheeks. “Hongjoong said give him a few minutes so..” he nodded in thought, pinching his fingers together over his lap. “for some reason i don't think hongjoong can finish that fast,” is your face on fire? You're so very warm with seonghwas casual words.

“I finish that fast” you spurt out. God, are you digging yourself a hole to die in? Seonghwa looks the least bit shocked, if not somewhat happy at your words that have you internally crying from embarrassment. “Then you're well taken care of.” he nods, taking your hand in his. “yeosang’s running a bath for you. Should be ready.” he intertwines your hands in his, fingers spreading over yours. Hwas other thumb reaches to swipe the syrup from the corner of your mouth, popping it into his after to suck off the residue. Oof- as if that's not equally as sexy as hwa is.

“Let's get you cleaned up angel”

A/n; I'm so sorry. (Nu-uh). this is posted as soon as I tag n all that jazz so I can sleep when it goes out ☺️ I spent all night writing this(I'm a whore) and I had to step away a few times to collect myself. Gifs are edits, I turn them into gifs/edit gifs (ily editors!) Comments push my motivation, thank you all,, muwah. P.s would yall be upset if seonghwa had an oppa kink(theres proof I'm p sure help)

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