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kittenan2 · 16 days ago

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Strictly Chaotic

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader Genre: Romantic Comedy, less Smut, more Fluff, Slow Burn, Fake Marriage AU Rating: 18+ (Explicit) Warnings: Explicit sexual content, mild language, fake relationship, age gap (10 years), bickering, sexual tension, soft dom Jin, passionate smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up!), emotional vulnerability, light angst, tooth-rotting fluff. Word Count: ~10k [sorry it's a long one] Summary: A drunken flirt at a bar leads to a six-month fake marriage with the icy, older, and devastatingly handsome Kim Seokjin. Chaos, stolen jams, stolen shirts, and stolen hearts ensue as you navigate living with a man who insists it’s “strictly business”—until it isn’t.

The bar smelled like whiskey and bad decisions, and you were knee-deep in both. Freshly graduated, 22, and buzzing with the kind of reckless energy only a diploma and three cocktails can give, you spotted him across the room. Kim Seokjin, all sharp jawline and tailored suit, sipping something amber and expensive. He looked like he’d walked out of a K-drama, and you, in your ripped jeans and glittery crop top, were a chaotic contrast.

You slid onto the stool next to him, ignoring his raised eyebrow. “You look like you need someone to ruin your night,” you said, flashing a grin.

He didn’t smile. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Undeterred, you leaned closer, the alcohol making you bold. “Come on, Mr. Serious. Live a little. Bet I could make you smile.”

His lips twitched, but it was more pity than amusement. “You’re a kid.”

“Graduated kid,” you corrected, winking. “And I’m fun. You should marry me.”

He choked on his drink, amber liquid splattering his pristine tie. You laughed, delighted by the chaos you’d caused. Before he could recover, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and his face tightened. A text from his father: “Settle down. I want you as my successor. Prove you’re stable.”

Jin’s eyes flicked to you, assessing. You were still giggling, oblivious. He sighed, long and suffering. “Be at City Hall. 10 AM tomorrow.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Marriage. You suggested it.” His tone was clipped, like he was scheduling a dentist appointment. “Don’t be late.”

You thought he was joking. He wasn’t.

"Are you s-serious?" You gulped and asked.

"Dead Serious," he replied.

The next morning, you woke up with a hangover and a vague memory of proposing to a hot stranger. Then your phone pinged: “City Hall. Don’t test me.”

Holy shit, he was really serious.

You stumbled into City Hall in a sundress and sneakers, hair barely tamed in a messy bun. Jin stood there, all Armani and annoyance, holding a folder. “You’re late.”

“It’s 10:02,” you protested, adjusting your sunglasses to block out the world’s judgment.

He thrust the folder at you. “Prenup. Six months. No feelings. No complications. We divorce after I secure my position.”

You skimmed the document, brain foggy from last night’s cocktails. “So, I’m your trophy wife for half a year?”

“More like a prop,” he muttered, signing his name with a flourish that screamed I’m better than you.

You signed, too, because why not? You were 22, broke until you find job, and this was the most exciting thing to happen since you aced your finals. “Deal, robot husband.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

Moving into Jin’s penthouse was like stepping into a sterile art gallery—white walls, sleek furniture, zero personality. It screamed I’m rich and miserable. Your duffel bag, bursting with colorful clothes and random trinkets, looked like an alien invasion next to his minimalist aesthetic. You dropped it on the floor, and the thud echoed like a declaration of war.

Jin appeared from the kitchen, holding a notepad like a professor about to lecture. “We need rules,” he said, voice clipped. He handed you a sheet of paper, his handwriting infuriatingly perfect.

You scanned it, snorting. “No entering each other’s rooms? No romantic involvement? No interfering? What is this, a prison contract?”

“It’s a boundary,” he said, crossing his arms. His suit jacket stretched across his broad shoulders, and you hated how it made your stomach flip. “This is strictly business.”

You leaned against the counter, smirking. “What if I need to borrow your fancy coffee maker? Or, like, your soul?”

His jaw ticked. “Buy your own coffee maker. And I don’t have a soul.”

“Oh, I’ll find it,” you teased, poking his chest. He swatted your hand away, but not before you noticed the warmth of his skin through his shirt. “Lighten up, robot husband.”

“Stop calling me that,” he snapped, but his ears were pink. “And don’t touch me.”

You grinned, undeterred. “Challenge accepted.”

That evening, you decided to stake your claim. You rummaged through your bag, pulled out a stack of neon sticky notes, and went to town. By the time Jin returned from a work call, his rice cooker was labeled “Emotional Support Husband,” his fridge had a note saying “Feed Me, Daddy,” and his coffee maker bore a winking smiley face with “Property of Chaos” scrawled next to it.

He stared, horrified. “What the hell is this?”

“Interior decorating,” you said, lounging on his pristine couch with a bag of chips. Crumbs fell onto the cushion, and his eye twitched. “Your place was boring.”

He tore off the rice cooker note, crumpling it. “This is a $500 rice cooker. It doesn’t need your… commentary.”

You gasped dramatically. “You spent $500 on a rice cooker? Does it sing lullabies, too?”

“It cooks perfect rice,” he said, like it was a personality trait. He ripped off the fridge note next, muttering, “Daddy? Really?”

You cackled, tossing a chip in your mouth. “You’re so easy to rile up. This is gonna be fun.”

He pointed at you, note still in hand. “No more sticky notes. No more touching my stuff. And clean up those crumbs.”

You saluted mockingly. “Aye, aye, Captain Uptight.”

He stormed off, but not before you stuck another note on his back: “Grumpy Cat.” He didn’t notice. You laughed so hard you nearly choked on a chip.

Three days into this fake marriage, and you were already testing Jin’s limits. Bored and hungry, you raided his fridge, expecting boring rich-people food—kale, probably, or some sad quinoa. Instead, you found a jar of strawberry jam, the label in French, looking like it cost more than your entire grocery budget. You unscrewed the cap, sniffed the sweet, tangy aroma, and decided it was fate.

You slathered it on a piece of toast, moaning at the first bite. It was like eating a sunset—rich, fruity, with a hint of decadence. You grabbed your phone and texted Jin, who was at some fancy meeting: “Your strawberry soul tastes divine.”

His reply came instantly: “That was $80. Imported from France. You owe me.”

You laughed, licking jam off your fingers. “Worth it,” you muttered, taking another bite. You were halfway through your second slice when you heard the front door slam. Jin stormed in, tie loosened, looking like a man on a mission.

“Did you eat my jam?” he demanded, pointing at the open jar on the counter.

You froze, mid-chew, a smear of strawberry on your lip. “Uh… maybe?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “That was a limited-edition batch. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get?”

You swallowed, grinning. “Tastes like privilege. Want some?” You held out the toast, batting your lashes.

He glared. “You’re a menace.”

“And you’re dramatic,” you shot back, hopping off the counter. You grabbed a spoon, scooped more jam, and popped it in your mouth, making exaggerated “mmm” noises. “Oh, yeah. That’s the good stuff.”

His eye twitched. “Stop eating it like it’s peanut butter!”

You shrugged, licking the spoon. “Too late. It’s mine now.”

The next morning, you found your toothbrush in a crystal cup labeled “Temporary Guest” in his perfect handwriting. You snorted, grabbing a marker and scribbling “Permanent Chaos” on the cup. Then, for good measure, you stuck a sticky note on his precious jam jar: “Soulmate Spread.”

When Jin saw it, he let out a groan that echoed through the penthouse. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, but you caught the faintest twitch of his lips. Progress.

Laundry day was a disaster of your own making. You’d forgotten to pick up your clothes from the cleaners, and your duffel was empty except for a single sock and a sports bra. Desperate, you tiptoed into Jin’s room—breaking Rule #1—and opened his closet. Rows of pristine shirts stared back, all crisp and smelling faintly of cedar and him. You grabbed an oversized white button-down, the fabric soft and luxurious, and slipped it on. It hung past your thighs, one shoulder slipping down, exposing your collarbone.

Back in the living room, you cranked up Dua Lipa’s “Levitating” on your phone, letting the beat take over. You swayed, hips popping, spinning in circles as the shirt flared around you. You felt free, alive, like the penthouse was your stage. The lyrics had you singing off-key, arms flailing, completely oblivious to the world.

Jin came home early, key in hand, and froze in the doorway. His eyes locked on you—hair wild, bare legs flashing, his shirt slipping further down your shoulder. The way the fabric clung to your curves, the glimpse of thigh with every twirl, sent heat coursing through him. His throat went dry, fingers tightening around the doorknob. You were a vision, chaotic and beautiful, and he hated how much he wanted to close the distance between you.

You spun again, unaware, your laughter mixing with the music. His gaze lingered on the curve of your neck, the way your hips moved, the careless joy in your abandon. His chest tightened, a mix of irritation and something dangerously close to desire. He shouldn’t be looking. He couldn’t look away.

Finally, he cleared his throat, stepping back. “Rule number one,” he called, voice rougher than intended. “Stay out of my room.”

You yelped, nearly tripping over the coffee table. “Shit, Jin! When did you get home?”

He raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Long enough to see you desecrating my shirt.”

You grinned, unrepentant, tugging the hem down. “It’s comfy. And you weren’t using it.”

“It’s Armani,” he said, like that explained everything.

“It’s mine now,” you teased, doing a mock twirl. The shirt rode up, and his eyes flicked to your legs before he forced them away.

“Take it off,” he said, then winced at how that sounded. “I mean, put it back.”

You smirked, catching the slip. “Make me.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might actually try. Instead, he turned on his heel, muttering, “You’re going to be the death of me,” and disappeared into his room. You didn’t see the way he leaned against the door, heart pounding, cursing himself for noticing you.

It was 2 a.m., and you were sprawled on the couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced on your stomach, SpongeBob SquarePants blaring on the TV. You’d meant to watch one episode, but three hours later, you were cackling at Patrick’s dumb antics, the remote clutched like a lifeline. Exhaustion hit, and your eyes fluttered shut, popcorn spilling onto the couch as you drifted off, mouth slightly open, snoring softly.

Jin came home late from a meeting, loosening his tie as he stepped into the living room. He stopped short, eyes landing on you. You were a mess—hair splayed across the cushion, one leg dangling off the couch, a kernel of popcorn stuck to your cheek. Your shirt had ridden up, exposing a sliver of your stomach, and you were hugging the remote like it was a teddy bear. His lips twitched, fighting a smile. You looked ridiculous. And… adorable.

He stood there longer than he meant to, watching the rise and fall of your chest, the way your lashes fluttered in sleep. Something warm stirred in him, unfamiliar and unsettling. He shook his head, muttering, “Get a grip, Seokjin,” and grabbed a blanket from the armchair.

He draped it over you, careful not to wake you. His fingers brushed your shoulder, and he froze, the contact sending a jolt through him. Your skin was warm, soft, and he pulled back like he’d been burned. For a moment, he stood there, watching the cartoon light flicker across your face, your lips parted in a soft pout. He wanted to brush that popcorn off your cheek, to tuck the blanket tighter, to—

No. He stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets. This was business. You were temporary. He turned off the TV, plunging the room into silence, and walked away, ignoring the ache in his chest.

When you woke up, the blanket was tucked around you, and the popcorn bowl was on the coffee table, cleaned up. You blinked, confused, then smiled. “Robot husband’s got a heart,” you murmured, clutching the blanket closer.

Jin’s warning came three days before the storm hit. “My grandmother’s visiting us,” he said, voice tight, as he paced the living room. “She’s traditional. She’ll expect us to act… married.”

You were lounging on the couch, flipping through a magazine you’d “borrowed” from his coffee table. “Married? Like, holding hands and calling you ‘honey’?” you teased, smirking.

He stopped pacing, glaring. “Like sharing a room. She’ll check.”

Your smirk vanished. “Share a room? With you?” Your heart did a weird flip, half panic, half something you refused to name.

“It’s not negotiable,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Move your stuff to my room. Today.”

You groaned but saw the logic. If Grandma Kim sniffed out the fake marriage, Jin’s CEO dreams could crash and burn. “Fine,” you said, dragging your duffel bag to his room like a kid sent to timeout. His bedroom was a fortress of order—crisp white linens, a mahogany desk, not a speck of dust. Your colorful mess—neon socks, tie-dye shirts, and Mr. Fluffel, your stuffed hamster—looked like a clown explosion when you dumped it on the floor.

Jin followed, eyeing Mr. Fluffel with horror. “What is that?”

“Emotional support,” you said, hugging the hamster. “Deal with it.”

He muttered something about nightmares and started rearranging his closet to make space for your chaos. You watched, amused, as he folded your shirts/ clothes with military precision. “You’re such a neat freak,” you said, tossing a sock at him.

He caught it, glaring. “And you’re a tornado.”

You grinned, sensing an opportunity to mess with him. Grandma wasn’t here yet, but you decided to practice your “married” act—and have some fun. You sidled up to him, looping your arm through his, pressing your cheek against his bicep. “How’s my favorite husband doing?” you cooed, batting your lashes.

He froze, arm tensing under your touch. “What are you doing?”

“Practicing,” you said innocently, but you leaned closer, letting your fingers trail down his arm. “Gotta sell it, right?” You ruffled his perfect hair, giggling when he flinched like you’d electrocuted him.

“Y/N,” he said through gritted teeth, “stop.”

You didn’t. You planted a loud, exaggerated kiss on his cheek, leaving a faint lip gloss mark. “Come on, honey, smile for your wife.”

His face was a battleground—annoyance, panic, and something hotter flickering in his eyes. “You’re enjoying this too much,” he said, voice low, stepping closer. The air crackled, his cologne wrapping around you, making your head spin. “Keep pushing, and you’ll regret it.”

You smirked, heart racing. “Oh, I’m shaking.” You ruffled his hair again, dodging when he reached to grab your wrist. The tension was electric, a push-and-pull that left you both breathless.

When Grandma Kim arrived, she was a petite powerhouse—silver hair, sharp eyes, and a smile that said she missed nothing. She hugged Jin tightly, then turned to you. “Y/N, my grandson’s wife. You’re even lovelier than he said.”

You blinked—Jin had talked about you? You glanced at him, but he avoided your eyes, ears pink. “Thanks, halmeoni,” you said, amping up the charm. Before Jin could brace himself, you latched onto his arm, pressing your body against his side. “I’m so lucky to have this guy,” you said, laying it on thick, your fingers teasingly tracing his bicep.

Jin’s jaw clenched, his body rigid, but you felt his pulse quicken under your touch. “She’s… enthusiastic,” he muttered, trying to extract himself, but you held on, grinning.

“Oh, Jinnie, don’t be shy,” you said, planting another kiss on his cheek. Grandma beamed, oblivious to his suffering. You caught the way his eyes flicked to you—half exasperation, half something that made your stomach flip.

That night, sharing his room was torture. His bed was massive, but you stuck to your side, hyper-aware of his presence across the divide. He lay still, but you could hear his uneven breathing, matching your own. You turned, catching his silhouette in the dark, and whispered, “Night, husband.”

He didn’t reply, but you swore you heard a stifled groan.

For the company dinner, Jin handed you a box. Inside was an emerald green dress, silky and fitted, like it was designed to make jaws drop. “Wear this,” he said, avoiding your eyes. “It’s… appropriate.”

You tried it on, twirling in front of him in the living room. The fabric hugged your curves, dipping just low enough to tease. “How do I look?” you asked, spinning so the skirt flared.

He looked up from his phone, and his breath caught. His eyes roamed over you, lingering on the way the dress clung to your waist, the bare curve of your shoulders. For a second, he looked like a man starving. “Fine,” he said, voice rough, almost strangled. He cleared his throat, looking away. “It’s… fine.”

You caught the heat in his gaze, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach out. The air felt thick, charged, like one wrong move could spark something dangerous. You stepped closer, teasing. “Just fine? I was going for breathtaking.”

He stood, towering over you, and for a moment, you thought he might close the gap. “Don’t test me,” he said, voice low, and walked away. Your heart raced, body buzzing with the tension he left behind.

The company dinner was a glittering affair—chandeliers, champagne flutes, and stuffy executives droning on about profit margins. You felt out of place in your stunning green dress, but Jin’s presence beside you grounded you. He looked unfairly good in his tailored suit, his broad shoulders filling it out in a way that made your mouth dry. You stuck close, playing the doting wife, your hand resting on his arm as Grandma watched approvingly from across the room.

The chaos started when you wandered to the dessert table, eyeing a chocolate tart that looked like heaven. A junior exec, reeking of cologne and overconfidence, sidled up. “You’re Jin’s wife, huh?” he said, leaning too close, his smirk oily. “Didn’t think he’d go for someone so… colorful.”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And I didn’t think they let walking cliches into these events, but here we are.”

He laughed, undeterred, stepping closer. “Come on, sweetheart. You look like you could use some fun. Jin’s not exactly the life of the party.”

You opened your mouth to roast him, but the air shifted. Jin appeared like a storm cloud, his arm sliding around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His grip was firm, possessive, his fingers digging slightly into your hip. “She’s my wife,” he said, voice low and sharp, each word dripping with danger. “And you’re done talking to her.”

The guy paled, stammering, “Mr. Kim, I didn’t mean—” but Jin’s glare silenced him. He scurried off, tail between his legs. You turned, expecting Jin to let go, but his arm stayed, his thumb brushing slow circles on your hip. The touch sent a shiver through you, and you looked up to find his eyes blazing—not with anger, but something hotter, more primal.

“Jealous, robot husband?” you teased, but your voice was shaky, the proximity making your head spin. His scent—cedar and something uniquely him—wrapped around you, and the crowded room felt like it had shrunk to just the two of you.

“He doesn’t get to talk to you like that,” he said, voice low, almost a growl. His eyes flicked to your lips, and for a heart-stopping moment, you thought he might kiss you right there, in front of everyone. “No one does.” He completed the sentence.

Your breath hitched, the air crackling with tension. Grandma’s voice broke the spell, calling Jin over, and he released you, stepping back. But the heat of his touch lingered, and you spent the rest of the night stealing glances, your heart pounding every time he met your eyes. At one point, you tripped over a chair in your distraction, nearly sending a tray of champagne flutes crashing. Jin caught your elbow, steadying you, his lips twitching like he was fighting a smile.

“Careful, chaos,” he murmured, and the nickname sent a thrill through you. You muttered a curse under your breath, and he chuckled, low and dangerous, making your knees weak.

Back home, you couldn’t resist. “You were totally jealous,” you said, kicking off your heels.

He loosened his tie, avoiding your gaze. “I was protecting our cover.”

“Sure,” you said, grinning. “Your cover’s super handsy.”

He shot you a look, and for a moment, you saw it again—that flicker of something dangerous, something that made your knees weak. “Go to bed, Y/N,” he said, but his voice was softer, almost strained. You went, but sleep didn’t come easy, not with the memory of his arm around you burning in your mind.

The rain came out of nowhere, a sudden downpour that caught you and Jin on your way back from a grocery run (you’d insisted on tagging along to “spice up” his boring shopping list). You were still sharing his room, thanks to Grandma Kim’s visit, and the close quarters already had your nerves frayed. By the time you reached the penthouse, you were both soaked, your clothes clinging to your skin, hair plastered to your face. You shivered in the foyer, teeth chattering, water pooling at your feet.

Jin, equally drenched, looked infuriatingly good—his white shirt translucent, outlining every line of his chest, his hair falling in wet, sexy strands across his forehead. He grabbed a towel from the bathroom and tossed it to you, but his fingers lingered on yours, warm and deliberate. “Dry off before you ruin my floors,” he said, but his voice was softer than usual, his eyes lingering on the way your wet shirt hugged your curves.

You wrapped the towel around yourself, still shivering. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Drowned Hamster.”

He smirked, stepping closer, and you froze as he reached out, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. His fingers grazed your cheek, and you choked on air, the touch sending a jolt through you. “Careful,” he said, voice low, teasing. “You’re looking a little… flustered.”

You swallowed, heart pounding. “I-I’m fine,” you stammered, but your voice betrayed you.

His smirk widened, and he leaned in, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. “You sure? You’re turning pink, sweetheart.” The pet name hit like a lightning bolt, and you nearly dropped the towel, your knees wobbling. He was flirting—flirting—and it was lethal.

“Stop that,” you managed, stepping back, but your voice was weak, and he noticed.

“Stop what?” he asked, all innocence, but his eyes were dark, playful, dangerous. He took another step, closing the gap. “Am I making you nervous?” His voice dropped, husky, and he tilted his head, lips so close you could almost taste them. “Because you look like you’re about to faint.”

You choked again, clutching the towel like a lifeline. “You’re evil,” you whispered, and he laughed, low and rich, the sound vibrating through you.

“Evil’s a new one,” he said, stepping back, but not before brushing his thumb across your jaw, leaving you dizzy. “Dry off, chaos. I’m not carrying you if you pass out.”

You stumbled to his room—your shared room now—heart racing, body buzzing. You peeled off your wet clothes, shivering in the air-conditioned chill, and grabbed one of Jin’s shirts from the closet, slipping it on. It smelled like him, cedar and warmth, and it hung loose on your frame, comforting in a way that made your chest ache.

Jin emerged from the bathroom, post-shower, a towel slung low on his hips, water dripping down his sculpted chest. You froze, mouth dry, as he caught your stare, leaning against the doorframe in a way that made his abs flex. “See something you like?” he asked, smirking, his voice dripping with smug confidence.

You squeaked, face burning, and turned away, muttering, “You wish.” His laughter followed you as you dove under the covers, pulling the blanket over your head to hide your flaming cheeks.

Another night, you were curled up on the couch in the living room, hugging your knees, tears streaming down your face after a brutal call with your family. Your parents had laid into you—about your aimless post-grad life, your impulsive choices, how you were wasting your potential. Their words cut deep, reopening old wounds about never being enough. You felt small, broken, like the reckless kid Jin first met in that bar, except now the weight of it all was crushing you.

You didn’t hear Jin come home, but you felt the couch dip as he sat beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. His presence was warm, steady, a quiet anchor in the storm of your thoughts. He didn’t speak, didn’t ask questions, just sat there, his breathing soft and even, grounding you. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was safe, like he was giving you space to exist in your pain without judgment.

You wiped your eyes, but the tears kept coming, and your voice cracked when you finally spoke. “They think I’m a failure,” you whispered, barely audible. “Like I’m just… throwing my life away. Maybe they’re right.”

Jin shifted, his hand hovering near yours on the couch, close enough to feel its warmth but not touching. “They’re not,” he said, voice low but firm, like he was stating a fact. “You’re not a failure. You’re… you.” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “You’re messy, reckless, and a complete pain in my ass, but you’re not a failure. You’re applying for job profiles, figuring it out, which role suits your interest. That’s more than most people do.”

You sniffled, looking at him through blurry eyes. His face was soft, unguarded, the usual sharpness in his gaze replaced by something gentle. The cartoon light from the TV flickered across his features, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the sincerity in his eyes. Your chest tightened, not from pain but from the warmth of his presence, the way he saw you when you felt invisible.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, voice small, hugging your knees tighter. “I thought I’d have it all together by now.”

He let out a soft huff, almost a laugh, but it was kind. “No one has it together. Not at 22. Not at 32. Not ever, probably.” He shifted closer, his shoulder pressing more firmly against yours, a silent reassurance. “You’re here, living in my penthouse, driving me insane with your sticky notes and jam theft. That’s… something.”

You choked out a laugh, wiping your eyes again. “You’re terrible at this pep talk thing.”

“I’m trying,” he said, and the faintest smile tugged at his lips. “You make it hard to stay cold, you know.”

Your heart did a weird flip, and you leaned into his shoulder, just a little, testing the waters. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand finally settled over yours on the couch, warm and steady, his thumb brushing lightly against your knuckles. The touch was so small, so careful, but it felt like a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge.

He stayed there, silent but close, until your tears dried and your breathing evened out. You drifted off, exhaustion winning, your head resting against his shoulder. When you woke up, you were still on the couch, a blanket tucked around you, and Jin was gone—but the warmth of his hand lingered in your memory, a quiet strength that carried you through the night.

You woke up feeling like death warmed over—head pounding, skin burning, body heavy as lead. You tried to get out of bed, but the room spun, and you collapsed back onto the pillows with a groan. Jin found you like that, tangled in sheets, muttering deliriously about “needing more jam.”

He pressed a hand to your forehead, his touch cool against your fevered skin. “You’re an idiot,” he said, but his voice was laced with worry. “You’re burning up.”

“‘M fine,” you mumbled, but your teeth chattered, betraying you.

He sighed, disappearing and returning with a tray—water, medicine, a damp cloth, and a bowl of soup. “Sit up,” he ordered, helping you prop yourself against the headboard. His hands were gentle but firm, and you hated how much you liked it.

He pressed the cloth to your forehead, the coolness a relief. “You’re a disaster,” he muttered, but his eyes were soft, scanning your face for signs of worsening. “How did you even get this sick?”

“Rain,” you croaked, remembering the downpour. “Your fault for not sharing your umbrella.”

He snorted, but his hand lingered, adjusting the cloth. “You stole my towel, not my umbrella. Drink this.” He held a glass of water to your lips, steadying it as you sipped, his fingers brushing your chin. The intimacy of it made your chest ache, even through the fever haze.

You drifted in and out, time blurring. At one point, you woke to find him sitting in a chair by your bed, reading a book, his glasses perched on his nose. The sight was unfairly endearing, and you mumbled, “You look like a hot librarian.”

He glanced up, smirking. “Fever’s making you honest, huh?”

You groaned, hiding your face in the pillow. “Shut up.”

He stayed, though, through the night. You woke once to find his hand resting near yours, his head tilted back, asleep in the chair. His breathing was soft, his face relaxed, and you felt a pang of something you couldn’t name. He stirred, sensing your gaze, and pressed the cloth to your forehead again, his touch lingering. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured, voice low and soothing. You did, lulled by the warmth of his presence.

It started with a fight, the kind that had been brewing for weeks under the surface of your shared space. You’d borrowed Jin’s car without asking, desperate to run an errand, and returned it with a fresh scratch along the driver’s side door. You’d braced for his reaction, bragging about his $90,000 car, but when he stormed into the kitchen, his eyes weren’t on the car keys you’d tossed on the counter—they were on you, wide with worry.

“Y/N, what the hell happened?” he demanded, voice sharp but laced with concern. He crossed the room in three strides, hands hovering near your shoulders, scanning you like he was looking for injuries. “Are you okay? You could’ve gotten hurt.”

You blinked, thrown by his intensity. “I’m fine, Jin. It’s just a scratch on the car.”

“The car?” He frowned, like he’d forgotten it entirely. “I don’t care about the damn car. You were out there, driving in that mess of a city, and you didn’t even tell me. What if something happened to you?”

His words hit you like a punch, the worry in his voice unraveling your defenses. You stepped closer, voice rising despite yourself.

“You’re freaking out over nothing! I’m not some kid who needs babysitting. I can handle myself.”

“Handle yourself?” he snapped, eyes blazing, but it wasn’t anger—it was fear, raw and unfiltered. “You’re out there being reckless, and I’m stuck here wondering if you’re okay. Do you know how that feels?”

The air crackled, charged with weeks of unspoken tension—every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every moment you’d pushed his buttons and he’d pushed back. You were nose-to-nose now, breaths heavy, the space between you electric. His eyes darkened, a storm brewing behind them, and you saw his breath hitch, his chest rising and falling too fast. You opened your mouth to argue, but then his hands were on your face, and he was kissing you—hard, desperate, all teeth and heat.

You gasped into his mouth, caught off guard, but your body responded before your brain could catch up. You kissed him back, just as fierce, hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. His lips were relentless, tasting of mint and the faintest hint of whiskey from some earlier meeting, and the world narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the press of his body. Buttons popped as you tore at his shirt, and he growled, low and primal, lifting you onto the kitchen counter with ease.

He broke the kiss, lips trailing hot and open-mouthed down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin below your ear. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice rough with need, his hands sliding under your shirt, fingers grazing the bare skin of your waist. “Tell me, Y/N.”

“Don’t you dare,” you gasped, arching into his touch, your nails digging into his shoulders. His shirt was half-off, exposing the taut lines of his chest, and you couldn’t look away, couldn’t think past the fire coursing through you.

He tugged your shorts down in one swift motion, tossing them aside, his hands roaming your thighs, parting them with a gentle but firm grip. His eyes locked on yours, dark and searching, as he knelt between your legs, his breath hot against your inner thigh. “You sure?” he asked, voice low, almost a growl, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze, a need for confirmation.

You nodded, breathless, threading your fingers through his hair. “Please, Jin.”

That was all he needed. His lips found your core, slow and deliberate at first, his tongue tracing a path that made you shudder, a soft whimper escaping your lips. He was meticulous, exploring every inch, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still as you squirmed. The heat built, unbearable, his tongue circling with a rhythm that had you gasping, your head tipping back against the cabinet. You tugged at his hair, urging him on, and he groaned against you, the vibration sending a shockwave through your body. He alternated between soft, teasing licks and deeper, more insistent pressure, drawing out every moan, every shudder, until you were trembling on the edge, your fingers tightening in his hair as you cried out, pleasure crashing over you like a wave.

He didn’t stop, not until you were boneless, panting, your body limp against the counter. He rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes still locked on yours, burning with a hunger that made your breath catch. He shed his pants, boxers following, and you couldn’t help but stare—his body was a work of art, all lean muscle and sharp lines, and the sight of him, hard and ready, sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

“You sure?” he asked again, voice low, his hands settling on your hips, pulling you to the edge of the counter. His eyes searched yours, and you saw it—the flicker of fear, the need to know this meant something.

You nodded, pulling him closer, your legs wrapping around his waist. “I’m sure. I want you.”

He entered you slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust, a low groan escaping his lips as he filled you. The stretch was intense, delicious, and you clung to him, nails digging into his back as he set a deliberate pace, each thrust deep and measured, like he was savoring every second. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring you, his eyes never leaving yours. The kitchen was filled with the sounds of your breaths, your soft moans, his quiet curses, and the steady rhythm of your bodies moving together. It was tender but fierce, each thrust pushing you closer to another edge, his lips brushing your temple, your jaw, whispering your name like a prayer.

When you came again, it was overwhelming, your body trembling, your cry muffled against his shoulder as you clung to him. He followed moments later, his face buried in your neck, a shudder running through him as he groaned your name, his voice raw and vulnerable. You stayed there, tangled, catching your breath, his forehead pressed against yours, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a blanket.

“This didn’t feel fake,” you whispered, voice shaky, your fingers tracing the curve of his jaw.

He met your eyes, and for once, there was no mask, no coldness—just raw, unguarded emotion. “It wasn’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, and the weight of those words settled deep in your chest.

Morning light filtered through the penthouse windows, casting soft shadows across the kitchen where you and Jin had unraveled the night before. You woke in his bed, your body warm and languid from the memory of his touch, his scent lingering on the sheets. You reached out, expecting to find him beside you, but the bed was empty, the sheets cool. Your heart sank, a quiet ache blooming in your chest.

You found him in the kitchen, already dressed in a crisp suit, his back to you as he poured coffee into a mug. The air felt heavier, colder, and he didn’t turn when you entered, didn’t acknowledge you. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the intimacy of last night.

“Jin?” you said, voice tentative, wrapping his shirt—still stolen from his closet—around yourself like armor.

He glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable, eyes guarded in a way they hadn’t been in weeks. “Morning,” he said, voice flat, like he was addressing a colleague. “Coffee’s on the counter if you want it.”

Your stomach twisted, the dismissal cutting deeper than you expected. “What’s going on?” you asked, stepping closer, searching his face for a hint of the man who’d held you last night, who’d whispered your name like it was sacred. “Last night—”

“Last night was a mistake,” he interrupted, his tone sharp but not cruel, more like he was trying to convince himself. He set his mug down with a deliberate clink, still avoiding your gaze. “You’re young, Y/N. You’re still figuring out your career, your life. I shouldn’t be distracting you from that. We got carried away, but this is still… business.”

The word hit like a slap, and you froze, your breath catching. “A mistake?” you repeated, voice rising despite yourself. “You’re telling me that was just—what, a lapse in judgment? Because I’m young? Jin, I’m not a kid. I know what I want.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something—guilt, fear, longing—but it was gone as quickly as it came. “You’re 22,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost pained. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, and I’m… I’m a decade older, tied to this company, this life. You need to focus on finding your path, not getting tangled up with me. Feelings weren’t part of the deal.”

You stared at him, hurt blooming into anger, your hands trembling at your sides. “You don’t get to decide what I need,” you said, voice shaking but firm. “Last night wasn’t a mistake for me. It was real, Jin. I felt it, and I know you did too. You can’t just hide behind ‘business’ because you’re scared of what this means.”

He finally met your eyes, and the crack in his armor was there—his clenched fists, the tightness around his mouth, the way his gaze softened with regret before hardening again. “I’m trying to protect you,” he said, voice low, almost broken. “You deserve better than being a temporary prop in my life. One and half month left, Y/N. Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”

The words cut deeper than anything, a rejection wrapped in concern that made your chest ache with a mix of love and betrayal. You wanted to scream, to shake him until he admitted what you both knew—that he was running from his own feelings, not yours. But his walls were up, impenetrable, and the coldness in his voice told you he wouldn’t budge.

“Fine,” you said, voice barely steady, tears prickling but unshed. “If that’s how you feel, I’ll make it easy for you. I’m moving back to my room. No more ‘complications,’ right?”

His eyes widened, a flash of panic crossing his face, but he didn’t stop you. You turned, grabbing your duffel bag from his room, your colorful mess spilling out as you hauled it to the guest room you’d barely used. You slammed the door, the sound echoing through the penthouse, and sank onto the bed, hugging Mr. Fluffel as the tears finally came. The room felt foreign, sterile, nothing like the warmth of Jin’s bed, his presence. You’d grown used to him—his scent, his quiet breathing, his rare smiles—and now it was gone, replaced by a hollow ache.

You spent the day replaying last night, every touch, every look, trying to make sense of his retreat. His words stung—you’re young, you need to focus—like he’d reduced you to a naive kid when you’d been clear about your feelings. You weren’t just some reckless graduate; you were falling for him, and he was pushing you away because he couldn’t handle it. The “Soulmate Spread” note on the jam jar, still in the kitchen, mocked you now, and you avoided the fridge, unable to face it.

By evening, Jin hadn’t returned, and the silence was suffocating. You curled up in the guest room, the bed too big, too cold, Mr. Fluffel a poor substitute for the warmth you’d felt in Jin’s arms. Grandma’s words echoed in your mind—she’d pulled Jin aside before leaving, her voice low but clear: “You’re in love with her, even if you won’t admit it.” You’d heard it, and you’d seen the way his jaw tightened, the way he didn’t deny it. But now, with his coldness ringing in your ears, you wondered if you’d imagined the softness in him, if you’d built it up into something it wasn’t.

Sleep didn’t come easy, the guest room’s silence a stark contrast to the nights you’d spent listening to Jin’s breathing across the divide. Every creak of the penthouse made you hope it was him coming to talk, to explain, to fix this. But he didn’t, and the distance between you grew, a chasm you didn’t know how to bridge.

Five months in, and the weight of Jin’s rejection was unbearable. The push-and-pull, the fleeting moments of warmth followed by icy distance, had worn you down. You’d moved back to your own room, but it hadn’t eased the pain—every corner of the penthouse reminded you of him, of the life you’d built together, fake or not. You couldn’t live like this anymore, caught between the man who’d held you like you were his world and the one who’d dismissed you to “protect” you. Your heart was heavy, bruised from the hope you’d clung to, and you knew you had to leave—for your own sake.

You packed your bags in the quiet of the morning, each item a reminder of the chaos you’d brought into his sterile world. Your neon socks, your tie-dye shirts, Mr. Fluffel—they didn’t belong here, just like you didn’t. On impulse, you grabbed his favorite hamster mug, the one you’d teased him about on day one. “Cute like you, but now it's mine,” you’d said, and the memory stung now, a bittersweet ache. It was a petty theft, but it felt like reclaiming a piece of the joy you’d lost, a piece of him you could hold onto.

You left a note on the counter, your handwriting shaky: “Taking the hamster. Good luck, robot husband.” The words were flippant, but they hid the pain tearing you apart—the pain of loving someone who wouldn’t let himself love you back. You dragged your suitcase to the curb, waiting for a cab, tears streaming as you stared at the city skyline. This wasn’t how you’d imagined it ending. You’d thought, maybe naively, that he’d fight for you, that the man who’d kissed you in the kitchen would show up before you could leave. But the street was quiet, and the cab was coming, and your heart was breaking.

Inside, Jin woke to an eerie silence. He shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and froze when he saw the empty spot where his hamster mug always sat. His gaze landed on your note, and panic hit like a freight train. He read it once, twice, the words sinking in like a knife. “Taking the hamster.” You were gone. He checked the guest room—empty, your colorful mess vanished, leaving only the sterile order he’d once craved. The sight of the bare room, stripped of your chaos, made his chest tighten, a hollow ache spreading as he realized what he’d done.

He’d pushed you away, not because he didn’t love you, but because he did—too much. You were 22, vibrant, still carving out your place in the world, and he was terrified of holding you back, of being the anchor that kept you from your dreams. That night had been real, too real, and he’d retreated behind his walls, convincing himself it was for your sake. But now, standing in the too-quiet penthouse, he saw it clearly: he’d been a coward. He loved you, had loved you since the first sticky note, since you’d danced in his shirt, since you’d made his orderly world a beautiful mess.

He ran outside, still in pajamas, hair a mess, heart pounding. The rain had started again, a light drizzle that soaked through his thin shirt, but he didn’t care. He saw you at the curb, suitcase in hand, your back to him, and the sight of you—ready to leave him—tore something open inside him.

“Y/N!” he called, voice raw, desperate, nothing like the controlled tone he usually wielded. “Where the hell are you going?”

You turned, startled, your eyes red from crying. The sight hit him like a punch, guilt flooding him. “I can’t do this anymore,” you said, voice breaking, tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks. “You pushed me away, Jin. You called it a mistake, told me to focus on my career, but I’m in love with you, and it hurts that you don’t trust me to know what I want.”

His breath caught, your words cutting deeper than anything. “I trust you,” he said, stepping closer, rain dripping down his face.

“I trust you more than anyone. I pushed you away because I’m scared—scared I’ll hold you back, that you’ll wake up one day and regret tying yourself to me when you’re still so young, still building your life.”

You shook your head, tears falling faster. “That’s not your choice to make. I want you, Jin. I want this—us. I’m not some naive kid who doesn’t know her own heart. That night meant everything to me, and you threw it away.”

He closed the distance, hands shaking as he reached for you, pulling you into his arms. “I didn’t throw it away,” he said, voice low, urgent, his forehead pressed against yours. “It was everything to me, too. I love you, Y/N. I love your chaos, your sticky notes, your damn jam heists. I was trying to protect you, but I was wrong. I need you—not for six months, not for some deal. Forever.”

The words hung between you, heavy and real, and before you could respond, he kissed you, fierce and desperate, like the world was ending. The rain soaked you both, but neither of you cared, lost in the heat of his lips, the way his hands cupped your face like you were something precious. The hamster mug sat on the curb, forgotten, a soggy symbol of the chaotic love you’d built.

You broke the kiss, breathless, tears still falling but softer now. “You mean it?” you whispered, searching his eyes.

He nodded, brushing a wet strand of hair from your face, his touch tender. “I love you, chaos. I’m done running. And you can't leave after stealing my peaceful life.”

You laughed, shaky but real, and kissed him again, the rain washing away the hurt, leaving only the warmth of his arms, the promise of something new.

A year later, your life with Jin was a whirlwind of chaos, love, and everything in between, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’d dragged him into your world of reckless abandon, forcing him to do things he’d never dreamed of—things his once-orderly self would’ve balked at.

You’d convinced him to join you in a neon-paint glow-in-the-dark 5K run, his pristine running shoes splattered with pink and green by the end, his laughter louder than your own as you both collapsed in a heap, glowing like human canvases.

Another weekend, you’d roped him into a karaoke bar, shoving a mic in his hand and cheering as he tackled an off-key rap of "Loner", his ears pink but his grin wide, the crowd roaring for more.

You’d even persuaded him to build a blanket fort in the penthouse, fairy lights twinkling as you binged SpongeBob and fed each other popcorn, his stiff dance moves softening into playful twirls when you blasted Pop songs at full volume.

Every morning, you woke tangled in each other’s arms, his warmth enveloping you, his breath soft against your neck. His once-sterile bedroom was now a riot of your colorful mess—neon socks on the floor, your tie-dye shirts next to his Armani, Mr. Fluffel perched proudly on the nightstand.

One morning, sunlight streaming through the curtains, Jin stirred beside you, his arm tightening around your waist. He propped himself on one elbow, gazing down at you, his hair adorably mussed, a sleepy smirk on his lips.

“How did I end up with you?” he teased, voice low and playful, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip.

You raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in your eyes. In one swift move, you rolled him onto his back, straddling his hips, your hands pinning his wrists above his head. His eyes widened, a mix of surprise and heat, as you leaned down, your lips brushing his ear. “You can think of it as purely good luck, Mr. Kim,” you purred, rocking your hips teasingly against him.

He groaned, his head tipping back, but his smirk didn’t fade. “Good luck, huh?” he murmured, voice husky, his hands flexing under your grip. “You’re trouble, Mrs. Kim”

You grinned, releasing his wrists to trail your fingers down his chest, feeling his muscles tense under your touch. “You love it,” you teased, leaning down to kiss him, slow and deep, your hips moving in a deliberate rhythm that had him cursing under his breath. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and you spent the morning lost in each other, laughter and whispers filling the room, the world outside forgotten.

When you landed a job at a digital marketing firm—a role that felt like the first real step toward your dreams—you couldn’t contain your excitement. You waited at the penthouse, practically vibrating with energy, until Jin walked through the door, loosening his tie after a long day. The second you saw him, you launched yourself at him, a squeal of joy escaping you. “Jin!”

He caught you effortlessly, his arms strong and steady, laughing as you wrapped your legs around his torso, clinging to him like a koala. “What’s got you so hyper, chaos?” he asked, but his eyes were already sparkling, sensing your news.

“I got the job, Jin! I did it!” you said, voice bubbling with pride, your hands cupping his face as you beamed down at him.

His face lit up, a grin spreading so wide it crinkled his eyes. “You did?” he said, voice warm with admiration. He spun you around, your laughter echoing through the penthouse, before pulling you close and kissing you deeply, his lips conveying every ounce of his happiness for you. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmured against your mouth, his hands tightening on your hips, and you felt your heart swell, the moment perfect and electric.

Life with Jin was never dull, especially with your knack for chaos. You’d sneak into his home office while he worked, his brow furrowed over spreadsheets, and steal kisses when he least expected it. You’d perch on his desk, ignoring his mock protests—“Y/N, I’m working”—and lean in, brushing your lips against his jaw, his cheek, his lips, until he’d pull you into his lap, surrendering with a sigh and a smile. “You’re impossible,” he’d mutter, but the way he kissed you back said he didn’t mind one bit.

Cooking, however, was a lost cause for you—you didn’t know the “C” of cooking, as Jin loved to tease. So every evening, he took over the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up, hair pushed back, looking unfairly hot as he whipped up dishes that smelled like heaven. You’d hover nearby, stealing bites of whatever he was chopping, earning playful swats with a spatula. “Out, chaos,” he’d say, but he’d always sneak you a taste, holding a spoon to your lips with a fond smile. The hamster mug, chipped but cherished, sat on the counter, filled with coffee you shared, a quiet reminder of the chaos that brought you together.

The penthouse was no longer sterile—your sticky notes still littered the fridge, now joined by new ones like “Husband of the Year” and “Feed Me, Chef.” The toothbrush cup in the bathroom read “Forever Wife” in your messy scrawl, a winking smiley face beside it. Every night, Jin pulled you close, his lips brushing your forehead as he whispered, “You’re my chaos, and I love every second of it.” You’d grin, stealing one last kiss, knowing you’d turned his world upside down—and he was all in for the ride.

A/N: Thanks for diving into Jin and Y/N’s chaotic love story! Hope their messy, heartfelt journey brought you some laughs and feels.

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog . @bebabido

#seokjin fanfic #seokjin smut #jin fanfic #jin smut #bts smut #bts fanfic #jin fanfiction #bts fic #BTSFanfic #SeokjinSmut #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #bts x reader #kittenanwrites #kim seokjin #seokjin #bts jin

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slut4thebroken · 3 months ago

Text

Just Business

── ⋆⋅��⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Robert Fischer x dom!reader

Summary | He’s a brat and deserves way worse than this tbh.

Warnings | Smut, non con more like dubcon tbh, heavy misandry🤭, humiliation, degradation, light praise, cunnilingus, brat taming.

Words | 2.4 k

Notes | Idk this was originally supposed to be way more non con-y than it turned out lol.

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

You had an appointment with Robert Fischer at 2pm… An hour later and you were still waiting. Finally his secretary brought you into his office.

“Ah, yes— The potential partner. Let’s hear it then.” He sighed leaning back in his chair. You sat down on the chair in front of his desk, trying to mask your anger.

“Our meeting was supposed to be at 2.”

“Yes, well, something came up.” You already didn’t like him…

“If this is the way you treat your business partners, I don’t think we’ll be a good fit,” you started, but he cut you off.

“I thought they were sending someone to go over the proposal— not an assistant.” He huffed. You clenched your jaw as you stared at him, holding back your emotions.

“The man you spoke to on the phone who scheduled the meeting was my assistant.” That made him scoff. “You know what? Thank you for your time, Mr. Fischer, but I don’t think we’re a good fit for each other.” You said, standing up.

He let you get halfway across the room before he stopped you. “Wait.” He sighed. “I... apologize for my lack of professionalism. Please continue with your proposal.” Even though you wanted to leave, you forced yourself to sit back down.

As you spoke, Robert seemed to have a hard time paying attention. There were rumors that he was a nepo baby through and through, but you didn’t think he’d actually be unqualified… You were handing him printed notes as you explained that detailed the numbers and what not. However, it didn’t really seem like he even understood what was on the papers…

“Mr. Fischer,” you said impatiently when he, once again, was just staring out the window.

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat, looking at you again.

“Am I boring you?” You asked plainly, reaching the limit of your patience.

“Not you… Just.. the content…” You couldn’t believe how incompetent this man was. Sighing heavily, you closed your eyes for a moment to compose yourself.

“Is there anyone else I can meet with? Your father perhaps?”

“He doesn’t handle this kind of stuff.”

“Clearly you don’t either.” You scoffed before you could help it.

“I handle it just fine.” He suddenly snapped, getting defensive. “Usually I meet with men who just talk to me, not give a whole presentation like a robot. And I’m not constantly distracted by their tits.” He spat, glancing at your chest for a few seconds before meeting your gaze again.

You raised your brows, giving him an unimpressed look. “Hm…” You finally hummed, getting lost in thought. Robert was surprisingly misogynistic for how… non-dominant he seemed to be.

“What?” And he just kept getting brattier… You finally stood up, but you didn’t gather your things to leave. Instead, you slowly rounded the desk until you were standing next to his chair. He turned to face you, looking both confused and irritated. Placing one hand on the back of his chair and leaning down into his space, you used your other hand to grab his cheeks, holding him still.

“Listen closely, Mr. Fischer because I’m only going to say this once.” You told him, your voice low and stern— almost sensual… He almost seemed shocked, but he hid it fairly well. “My boss wants this partnership to work out. Based on the way you asked me to stay, I’m assuming your father feels the same. I’ve laid out all of the facts for you, but since you can’t seem to understand, I’m going to change the terms of the deal.” He frowned when you blatantly insulted his intelligence.

“You’re going to prove to me that you want it— that you’re willing to work for it. If I’m satisfied, then we’ll move forward with this partnership. If not, well… I’m sure your daddy will be very disappointed.”

You felt his cheeks tense under your fingers when he clenched his jaw. “How am I supposed to do that?” He scoffed, his bratty attitude still going strong. You released him and straightened up, looking down your nose at him.

“Get on your knees.”

“Excuse me?” He choked out, staring at you with wide eyes.

“Get on your fucking knees or I’m leaving.” You said harshly. He hesitated for a moment, then clenched his jaw again. Finally, he moved to the floor, kneeling at your feet. “There you go…” You cooed mockingly, making him scowl. You walked around him to take his place in the chair. “Face me.” He huffed, but turned around toward you.

“Have you figured it out yet or do I need to spell it out for you?” He watched the way you settled back into the chair, your legs spread as wide as your pencil skirt would allow.

“You… Are you insane? I’m not fucking doing that!”

“No?” You cooed, tilting your head as you looked down at him. “Fine. I’ll leave and I’ll tell my assistant to call your daddy— tell him why this deal didn’t go through.” Despite your words, you didn’t move, giving him another chance. “Or…” Your voice lowered and you leaned forward, reaching out to grab his tie. He let out a choked sound when you yanked on it, pulling him closer. “You can be a good little boy and put that bratty mouth of yours to good use.”

“H-How dare you? Coming here— to a building with my fucking name on it— calling me bratty? I should be contacting your superiors.” He scoffed, making you smirk. Even with the outburst, you could tell he was already crumbling.

“I wouldn’t call you bratty if you’d stop behaving like a brat.” You said plainly, only making him more angry. “Listen, Robert,” you sneered patronizingly, “either you eat me out or I leave. You don’t have any other options.”

“No! Are you even hearing yourself?” He yelled, making you sigh. “I- I have a girlfriend. I’m not just going to cheat on her because you’re blackmailing me.”

“Blackmailing? Please,” you scoffed, “I’m not blackmailing you. And I’d hardly call this cheating.”

“Then what the fuck would you call it?” He asked in disbelief.

You hummed softly in thought as you considered it for a moment. “Business.” You all but shrugged. He watched with wide eyes as you grabbed the hem of your skirt and lifted it up above your hips, showing your panties. “Get to it, Robert. You’ve already made me late for another meeting, you don’t want to be the reason I miss a second one today.”

He gaped at you, his gaze shifting between your eyes and your crotch. “You’re fucking insane.” He finally said.

“No. I just actually earned my position and I have plenty of experience with bratty men who are used to getting everything they want.” He clenched his jaw and the tips of his ears tinged red with anger. “I won’t tell you again, Robert. You have five seconds to start or I’m leaving.”

Robert let out a heavy breath through his nose, but moved forward reluctantly, practically seething in rage at the fact that you were sitting in his chair in his office in ‘his’ building, demanding he service you sexually. And yet…

He pulled your panties to the side and got to work. At his clear attitude and lack of enthusiasm, you sighed in annoyance.

“I thought this was obvious, but if you do a shitty job, this deal isn’t going through.” You told him.

“Fuck you.” He gritted… but obeyed nonetheless. You let out a pleased moan when he dragged his tongue up your folds to your clit before sucking the swollen bud into his mouth.

“There you go…” You cooed mockingly, spreading your legs wider for him. He rolled his eyes, but didn’t bother with a retort. “God you’re fucking pathetic.” You muttered, looking away from him, bored. You examined his desk, snorting a laugh at the online game that was on his computer screen. At the sight of the coffee cup, you picked it up and took off the lid to smell it— black with sugar… not your favorite, but after sitting in that lobby for over an hour, you deserved a pick-me-up.

When he heard you drinking, he pulled back. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Three, two,” and just like that, he was back between your legs. You scoffed a laugh and took another sip of the coffee. “Only a man would be so pathetic and incompetent, he has to eat me out just to make a simple business deal.” You muttered to yourself, loud enough that he could hear though. With the exception of Robert, you made a mental note to tell your boss to stop giving you all the stupid potential business partners.

“At least you’re pretty though.” You sighed, running your freehand through his hair, making his eyes snap up to your face. God- his eyes… So fucking pretty— They’d probably look even more pretty all glossy with tears… “I swear, if you weren’t such a dick, I’d take you to dinner instead of making you eat me out like a common whore.” You frowned, feeling almost disappointed. “But maybe you’re only a dick because I haven’t put you in your place yet.”

He tried to pull back, but you just grabbed his hair and yanked him forward again, burying his face in your pussy— You were mostly talking outloud to yourself anyway, so he didn’t need to worry about doing something as silly as talking back.

“I’ll wait and see what your attitude is like after you make me come all over your face, then I’ll decide whether I should have my assistant set up dinner or not.” You decided. Robert tried to speak, but you were holding him against your cunt too firmly. “Shh… You’re so much prettier when you’re not running your mouth, sweetheart.” The way his cheeks went bright red made you grin sadistically.

“Use a finger.” You commanded, getting antsy for your orgasm already. Robert huffed, but used the hand that wasn’t holding your panties to slide a finger inside you. “Good boy.” You smiled. He let out a quiet sound when you started petting his hair again.

“You should feel lucky, you know. I’ve been so busy recently that I’ve barely had any time to get off for almost two weeks straight so I’m already getting close.” He let out another muffled sound in response, slipping a second finger inside you. “Oh, look at you… Such a good boy taking initiative.” You cooed mockingly. Was he just trying to get this over with faster? Maybe… But you didn’t really care. You’d have plenty more opportunities for Robert to take his time now that you were going to be business partners.

The constant suction on your clit with the way his fingers curled inside you made your back arch off the chair, pushing your hips down onto his face. Robert might’ve been a spoiled brat, but damn if he wasn’t amazing at eating pussy…

“God- you look so fucking pathetic with your pretty face buried in my pussy… and you love it, don’t you?” He grunted something unintelligible, but it wasn’t an obvious denial, at least. “Yeah you do.” You chuckled.

“C’mon, Robert… Be a good boy and make me come— make your daddy proud and secure this partnership all on your own like a big boy.” You couldn’t help but smirk as you patronized him, but he didn’t get angry or try to pull away. He just let out another sound and started sucking and licking more enthusiastically.

You brought your other hand down to his head as well, holding him firmly against your cunt. Your toes were curling in your heels as the pleasure continued building, until finally it all snapped.

You bit your lip to stifle a moan, knowing you couldn’t be too loud since you were still in an unlocked office. Robert whimpered when you forced his face against your pussy hard enough to squish his nose against your pubic bone and limit his breathing. Despite that, he never stopped sucking on your clit or moving his fingers inside you. Your cunt was gushing and pulsing around his digits, your clit throbbing in his mouth as waves of pleasure rolled through you, and nonsensical praises left your lips.

“Fucking hell… I needed that more than I thought I did.” You said through a breath, panting heavily. As you sagged back into the chair, you loosened your grip on him, but didn’t let go completely, you just let him pull back a tiny bit. He was also panting, the lower half of his face almost completely drenched, his cheeks a dark pink, and his eyes glazed over with what you assumed was lust.

“You were better at that than I thought you’d be…” You told him, but he barely reacted. “Take your fingers out and suck them clean.” You ordered, wanting to test whether he was still just out of it, or if you actually broke him down already.

He carefully extracted his fingers, then put them in his mouth, his eyes fluttering as he sucked off your arousal.

“Huh.” You said to yourself, slightly shocked— That was way too easy… As another test, you picked up his coffee cup and took another sip, making sure he was watching.

He just licked his lips, then cleared his throat. “…Are you going through with the partnership?” He managed to say, and you couldn’t hold back a smirk in time.

“I need to think about it some more. My assistant will call you tomorrow to arrange dinner plans. I’ll give you my decision then.” You finally released his hair and ran your fingers through it a little, trying to smooth it out so it didn’t look like he just had his head buried between your legs… “Do you have anything you want to say to me for giving you another chance?”

“Thank you.” Your smirk turned into a pleased smile and you cupped his cheek, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Keep being a good boy and I’m sure this partnership will work out just fine.” He nodded dumbly in response and you stood up, fixing your panties and pulling your skirt back down. Robert just stared up at you, almost in a trance, and watched in awe.

“Oh, and, Robert?” You leaned down a little, taking his warm cheeks in your hand to make sure you had his full attention. “The next time you think you can get away with being a brat to me, you’ll be doing much worse than just eating me out.” You smiled sweetly, making his poor, fucked out little head lag as he struggled to understand the real meaning behind your words.

(Also yes, I already started part 2 lol)

#robert fischer smut #robert fischer x reader #robert fischer #robert fischer x reader smut #cillian murphy

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oklooneytunes · 1 month ago

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i don't do the best because my tumblr page is only ever robot and tyrell, but the hatred towards angela especially grinds my gears.

it's the fact that men - and even i can be guilty of this - are overly critical of female characters for the littleist of mistakes, or being immoral but then glaze elliot in s4 for being immoral. it's hypocrisy and it limits people's understanding of the characters as well as fueling misogyny.

they expect characters like angela to behave perfectly, and find her annoying for having a mental crisis, for opposing elliot, but they drop these attitudes for tyrell and robot time and time again. they think dom is irritating for doing her job. i have moral convictions over disliking cops, but i understand she is well written and meant to parallel elliot's loneliness. people don't ever identify anything positive about female characters.

it's not just the ignorance, it's the high expectations of morality and attractiveness by the straight male audience of the show that causes this. as well as the plethora of fetishisation of whiterose as a trans woman and darlene and dom being in a lesbian relationship. the misogyny also explains the homophobia towards gay men by the same people, not taking lesbian relationships seriously but seeing gay men as deeply immoral and gross.

although i wouldn't say people understand mr robot as a character. people say he's the same as elliot and he faces a lot of ableism. people don't see him as a character and people demonise him often.

the ignorance of female characters in mr. robot is insufferable and it takes everything within me not to say something about it

what do you mean you FORGOT darlene’s name, a main character implemented in the first few episodes who is integral to the plot to the very end? the very last scene. a character with extreme plot relevance and defining characteristics who happens to be female so she’s naturally disregarded by half of the fandom. but, of course, you can talk about other characters like mr. robot or elliot with perfect fluency. checks out

also if straight off the bat you say the only characters in mr. robot that you disliked were darlene, dom, and angela, i’m just going to immediately plug my nose and walk away because you need to do some serious reevaluation

and i’ve seen more people being odd about irving and whiterose’s relationship than i need to. whether it’s that half of the fandom who appreciate making a pun of the fact that whiterose is transgender or people who insist they are genuine avid fans of the show; a confirmed and explicitly stated relationship including a transgender character in media and your first interpretation is fetishisation. jesus christ

#W #mr robot #darlene alderson #angela moss #dom dipierro #whiterose

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spr1ngbunni · 1 year ago

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Stress Relief (William Afton x Reader)

☼☽⋆｡°✧ ✧⋆°｡☾☼ ☼☽⋆｡°✧ ✧⋆°｡☾☼ ☼☽⋆｡°✧ ✧⋆°｡☾☼

Summary: Reader is stressed out as usual and William takes things into his own hands to relieve your stress.

Tags: nsfw, smut, vaginal sex, overstimulation, corruption, daddy kink, drugging (but the reader is into it LMAO), age regression if you squint, choking, multiple orgasms, creampie, breeding kink, toys, soft!dom!William, submissive!soft!reader

author’s note: AAAAAAA here’s my first William x Reader smut fic i’m a bit shy to post this tbh 🤧. This definitely isn’t for everyone as there’s some very self indulgent kinks but regardless I hope you enjoy!! Also no beta LETS GOOOOOO

Word count: 4k

You & William have been dating for a few weeks now, and you couldn't have asked for a better lover. He was the richest man in Hurricane, with an empire so great he could care for you, a whole family and more. His tall frame domineered in every room he was in. His usual bored, uninterested gaze always turned to one filled with love and admiration when pointed in your direction. William considered himself God, a man who created life itself, and every person in Hurricane was so much lesser than him, less smart, less powerful, less brilliant, except for you. You were his treasure, his most precious belonging. You belonged to him. Such a darling little thing for Mr. Afton.

You were always so kind to him, and he adored your sweet voice, kind eyes and he believed you to be absolutely ravishing. You had to be his, all his, and you took to his advances so well.

William had never loved like this before. Hell, he didn't even know a love like this could exist. William Afton was a whore, and despite this, his many partners in the past could never amount to how you made him feel.

Really there was nothing like it. He had remembered the first time he held you- you were a crying touch starved mess, and William’s gentle affection brought you to tears. And in his embrace sparked a unique, unforgettable and esoteric feeling. As you cried, you couldn't help but feel like a kid again, running to your Dad for comfort… and for William, he was a Father again, holding his newborn baby as they cried and cried. Gently rocking you in his arms to soothe your quivering, emotional self.

Since then the dynamics really shifted between you and William. Whereas he becomes more of a dom and caretaker than a traditional boyfriend. And you have loved it so much. Some people may say he was too controlling… But it was a comfort to you. You were always stressed, worrying about every little thing, and what kind of Daddy would he be if he didn’t help his baby bunny? So of course Daddy will help you out, pick out what you’re gonna wear for the day, what to eat… All he wanted was the best for his baby.

Which is why he made you a special little gift. You have been stressing out more than usual as of late, so William has taken the executive decision to remove every last bit of stress from you. And with this-

William held up a mechanical device underneath the blinding bulb of the overhead lamp sitting above his workbench. He inspected it for any imperfections. The device itself was sleek and smooth, a plastic outer shell, in the shape of an egg-like structure. The top had an opening, fit with soft smooth silicone. The opening was no more than a few inches deep, and at the base of the toy was a more phallic silicone object. All waterproof and skin safe of course.

William smiled at himself in self satisfaction. He had made great unbelievable advancements with his robotics, so certainly machines of this nature wouldn't be difficult for him to replicate.

Toys were no new thing for you and William, but it would be the first time he built one for you. Completely tailored to your body, your greatest weakest points all taken into account upon creation. To have William’s precious baby bunny come undone from his own creations, was an exhilarating thought. One that practically made his pants tighten at the mere thought.

After feeling satisfied with the aesthetics of it, William decided to try the power. A few second long press of the button and the little toy came to life. A soft humming resonated through the workshop, and William carefully examined the toy. Pressing the opening to his hand he smiled.

Just the right amount of vacuum pressure, vibration, and the pulsating inner core really tied it all together. His hand slid to the phallic object on the other end of the toy, wrapping around it tight, imagining his hand to be your inner core gripping onto it. He smiled once more as his hand ached, just knowing the thousands of nerve endings in your cute little pussy would be no match.

Yes this will do. This certainly will do.

It would take away his baby bunny’s stress but even their mind as well… Though this was no concern for William, you are his bunny after all, and that includes having ownership over your mind. He’ll take good care of it as he does you…

Though his little excursion didn't end there. Once the toy was all set he grabbed a miscellaneous dime bag, filled with crystalline substances and headed upstairs into the kitchen.

He loves his baby bunny he really does. And he’s so proud of them for working so hard. But his bunny works too hard sometimes, not knowing when to stop. Even he struggled to get his bunny to rest.. Some nights William had to physically pull you away from work and into bed… and with the amount of stress you’ve been harboring as of late… William wasn’t taking any chances! So of course he needed to take things into his own hands.

He was cooking dinner for you, and upon plating the servings did he make sure to incorporate a decent dose of the crystallized powder into your serving. He hummed in satisfaction and returned to waiting for your arrival.

☼☽⋆｡°✧ ✧⋆°｡☾☼

The familiar sound of the door locks unlatching brought upon William’s attention.

“I’m homee !” your voice called out, completely intertwined with stress and exhaustion.

Oh poor baby, you sounded so stressed..

William rushed over to greet you, cupping your face in his hands and pressing kisses all over.

“Welcome home Sweetie”

You giggled at the sensation of his beard and kisses tickling your face. You wrapped your arms around him tight as he showered you with his love.

William rubbed your back soothingly and gave you a gentle pat.

“Aww my poor baby…”, he cooed, running his hands through your hair soothingly.

“I can feel the tension in you…Why don't you let me take good care of you. I made dinner already so why don’t we get all cleaned up and eat hm?”

You pull yourself slightly away from him, not enough to fully separate yourself from him and nod.

“Yes.. that would be so nice” you respond, the sound of exhaustion in your voice apparent.

William hummed in satisfaction and scooped you up to head towards the bathroom. He turned the knob on the shower on and began to gingerly undress you, leaving gentle kisses on your bare skin whenever exposed. He really had to hold himself back from going overboard, there would be plenty of time for that later, but for now he just needed to care for his bunny a little bit.

Once declothed the both of you entered the shower, water now hot enough to your liking. You found yourself hugging Will again, feeling affectionate. The vague weariness in your limbs causing you to lean into him exhaustively.

“My poor baby, all stressed and tired” William squeezes you tight before running his hands down your body. He reached over for the soap to begin cleaning you, keeping you close.

Letting William bathe you like this was always so intimate and sweet. It really highlighted the more gentle side of himself. The way he worked was focused, methodical, similar to him cleaning his animatronics, and with that spark in his eye. That spark that said “This is mine”

Once clean, you both head to the kitchen to eat. You already feel so much better, the heat from the water and Will’s gentle affection soothing your body and mind.

You sat down at the table already feeling much better, and now noticing your hunger. Will returned from the kitchen with two plates of food, setting yours right in front of you.

“Aw Will, it’s so sweet of you to have cooked for us, its like you’re the housewife for a change” you joke, as Will cooking was rare. You tended to cook for the both of you like the sweet housewife you were to him.

Will chuckled in response “You’ll always be my little housewife bunny, plus, how could I not take care of my baby?”

You smile at his words and begin to eat.

“This is delicious! Thank you again Will” though you noticed something was off with the aftertaste. It was almost sour. Maybe William wasn’t the best cook but you paid no mind to it. You just pushed past it and continued to finish your plate.

“You don’t have to thank me bunny, I’m just taking care of you” he smiled.

As you finished your plate, you noticed the beginnings of a sensation pooling in your stomach. You could feel your head start to feel a bit hazy. It felt as if… something was kicking in? You shook your head, choosing to ignore it and finish your meal.

But the feelings only increased. Your vision shifted in and out of focus and you squirmed in your seat.

“What’s the matter?” William reached across the table and grasped your hand, rubbing soothing circles onto the back of it.

“I’m-I’m fine really, just a little dizzy” you go to stand up and thats when it really hits you.

You stumbled and Will was quick to catch you, getting up from his seat and headed towards you, wrapping you tight in his arms.

“Whoa there sweetie ! Be careful !”

“Aahh Will, I feel weird, like something is kicking in” You hold onto the man tight, feeling your head go more and more numb. The warm feelings increased and spread throughout your whole body. Being so close to Will and simply just touching him made it worse. Did being this close to him always feel this good?

His scent; cigarettes, cologne and a secret third thing that was just so purely William filled your senses as he held you close. And the tactile feeling of his soft shirt and warmth of his body was just so intoxicating.

“W…..Will, Did you drug the food…? I’m not mad… just wondering..” You nuzzle him affectionately and glance up at him with those sweet eyes of yours.

He smiles at you in return, petting you lovingly.

“Aww baby I had to! You were so stressed and upset I couldn’t just leave you like that… and you’re a very good bunny you always are.. but sometimes you don’t listen and won’t rest.. So Daddy needed to give you special medicine to help you relax is all. I just want the best for you”

You let out a soft whine as the drug continues to assault your system, and Will’s sweet words bounce around in your brain, registering purely as pleasure.

“Daddyyy… I love you Daddy… so good to me.. taking care of me like this”

You couldnt help but feel a rush of excitement over the situation. How Will loved you. Loved you so much he’d do anything to make you feel better. To even go as far as to drug you as a way to release you from your stress had your head spinning and your pussy throbbing.

“Now sweet bunny why don’t we get you to bed hm? So Daddy can help scrub away whatever stressful little things are left in that pretty head of yours”

William scooped you up once again and took you to the bedroom, making sure to leave a long kiss on your forehead, pouring all his love into it.

“There we are…. Now how are you feeling?”

Daddy sat on the bed as you lay next to him.

He gazed down at you, gently petting your hair, occasionally running his thumb across your cheek affectionately.

“Mm feeling all floaty… its nice…. want.. want Daddy closer” You reached out to him, wanting to hold him close.

“Of course darling” William moved across the bed to hold you tight, increasing his petting to your whole body. He ran his hands down your arms, your side, down your thighs and back up, repeating the motion, each time creeping closer and closer to your inner thighs.

All you could do was babble and whine as you regressed into a more docile and dumbed down version of yourself. High off the pleasure from the chemicals of the drug and your Daddy’s gentle touches and words.

William loved seeing you like this, all dumb and sweet for him. Seeing every last bit of stress leave your face, seeing you relax into him, unable to even form coherent sentences. He leaned down to kiss your face again, in between muttering words of praise.

“My bunny, so good for me”

You wriggled and whined, feeling increasingly needy as he continued. Eventually you couldn’t take it and captured his lips in a deep kiss.

Though you were the one who initiated the kiss, you were quickly put into submission as William took control, holding you firmly in place as he kissed you so deeply.

His hand dips in between your thighs as he lightly sucks on your tongue, rubbing gently over your clothed clit.

William smiled through the kiss and pressed his hand harder onto your cunt. He didnt move for a few seconds, but held his hand still, pressing into the dampening fabric. The firm pressure of his hand on your crotch made your head melt even further. Feeling the edges of your mind slip away as he continues rubbing you deeper into submission.

“Aww is my baby getting needy?”

You continue to make sweet noises for him, and he gently shushes and pets your hair, slipping his hand into your panties to touch you directly.

Your reaction is immediate.

You gasp out as your head spins. The feeling of his fingers on you is such a simple action, yet its breaking you apart.

“Such a good bunny for Daddy, taking pleasure so well” William kisses your forehead and removes his hand from your crotch and roughly pulls your panties down and off of your body. Then, he aligns his hips with your crotch and begins to grind against your bare cunt.

You can feel yourself soaking the front of his pants, the rough fabric and his hardening cock grinding into your overly sensitive pussy.

“Ddadddyyy too much ahhh—!” you cry out as he roughly ruts against you.

Your head still spinning you feel William grip your hips and push them against his, ignoring your cry.

“You’re all mine bunny, this cute little cunt of yours belongs to me ”

William wraps his arm around your waist and pushes you ever closer to him. His hips began to increase in pace as you start to cry out for him over and over. Leading into an explosive climax, you cum all over him, feeling a rush of wetness between the both of you.

William continues grinding into you, overstimulating you but not too much.

This was just the beginning, and he couldn’t get too carried away just yet. And look how cute you were, cumming all over his clothed hard crotch.

William kisses your forehead, and leans close to your ear and speaks lowly,

“Darling, I have a surprise for you,”

“Wha? Daddy?” You barely could register what he was saying to you, your mind melded with the drug and the overwhelming high of post orgasm bliss and overstimulation.

William reached into the nightstand to reveal a lewd looking object, clearly a sex toy that he himself had engineered.

“This is made especially for you my princess,” he leaned back over to you on the bed and started peppering your face with kisses.

Sliding his hand down your body he gently rubbed you again, and with his other hand clicked on the toy.

A humming vibrating noise filled the room along with your uneven breaths, your brain now registering just what he was talking about.

William went on to explain the toys functionality, in the same way he would go on about his own animatronic creations. Methodical and professional, his voice confident and unwavering as if he didn’t have a trembling little bunny beneath him.

“This here is for your clit. The opening is fit with soft silicone. I just know how sensitive you are there sweetie, its one of your weakest points and Daddy just can’t help but play with it hm?”

“When I place it on you,” William held the toy firmly against you,

“there’ll be a bit of vacuum suction and vibration of course, all meant to overwhelm your cute little clit with pleasure”

Before you even had the chance to respond William clicked the toy on, and your response was immediate.

“Dadddyyyyyy—!”

Your clit is sucked up gently into the toy exposing every sensitive nerve to devilish vibration.

Your hips jerk upwards and William pins you down firmly, pressing the toy ever so slightly harder into your supple flesh.

Its pleasure like you’ve never felt before. Your weakest point manipulated solely by your Daddy’s creation.

You writhe under his grasp, crying out broken moans and whines of “Daddy” fully melting underneath his assault directly on your clit. And it just keeps going.

It’s only seconds before you’re cumming again, and again, and again. Completely overwhelmed with continuous orgasms, your body unable to handle the newfound pleasure that has been bestowed upon you.

“Shhh sweetie its okay. Just keep cumming for Daddy alright?” William’s voice is sickeningly sweet, laced with lust as he continues pushing his creation harder onto your clit, upping the power even more.

“Too much Daddy— its too—!” tears slip out your eyes, completely overwhelmed with mind numbing pleasure.

“Aww my poor baby” William leans down to capture your lips in a deep kiss to shush you, wiping away your tears. You can barely kiss him back, just crying out as he dominates your whole being completely.

After he pulls a few more orgasms out of you he finally puts the toy to rest. He kisses you deeply, his feverish movements now slow and intimate. He sets the toy aside and rubs his hands soothingly up and down your body. He breaks his kiss with you and gently wipes your tears away. He then kisses down your body, leaving marks at your neck, down your chest, kissing softly on your tummy.

Once his face greets your overstimulated, swollen pussy he gently pushes a single digit into you. You’re tight, but due to your arousal and subsequent orgasms you’re cunt is more receptive to the intrusion.

He pushes his finger in and out slowly as you begin to whine again when his finger curls just right inside of you. He stretches you out slowly and fully, inserting another finger.

“Good bunny, taking my fingers so well”

Once he feels satisfied with his work, he reaches back for the toy, this time his attention on the other side of the object. He clicks on the button and teases your entrance with it. Your clit still buzzing and your head still melting, you cry out as you feel William push in the vibrator. Your walls clench against the vibrating toy, already feeling pleasure heat you up once again.

William wraps you into his arms and kisses you again as the toy assaults your insides.

At this point your head is mush, overwhelmed with so much bliss as Daddy cares for you. Every worry and every bit of stress you carried completely melting out of you. Your head lulls and William holds you up

“Don’t go out on me now sweetie, Daddy isn’t done with you yet. I still have to breed that tight little cunt of yours”

“Daddyyy please—-“

“Wanna feel you deep inside—!”

You whine out feeling your cunt overwhelmed with pleasure as the toy inside you continues to buzz. It feels so good but it isn’t Daddy. And you want Daddy’s thick cock and virile seed inside of you, desperately.

“No need to beg sweetheart Daddy’s got you” he pulls the toy out of you, then undoing his belt and fly, pulling his straining cock out his pants. He strokes himself a few times kissing the corners of your mouth as you gasp for breath.

He lines himself up with your heated core and slowly pushes himself in. Savoring the feeling of your tight heat with every inch.

“Biiiig stretch bunny” William completely sheaths himself inside of you, and you can feel your walls stretch to accommodate his large size. He’s much bigger than the toy so its quite the fit. You feel him snug against your cervix and you let out a drawn out moan as you’re completely filled with Daddy’s cock.

“Nggghhhh… so deep Daddy”

Slowly and firmly he presses even deeper before sliding out slightly. Sensually and gently fucking into you.

Your head spins, your breath quickens, your mind completely hazy as you take your Daddy’s cock so deep inside.

William presses his forehead against yours and intertwines his fingers with your trembling hands.

“My sweet baby bunny, you’re so good for me”

You can only moan in response, completely incoherent as the drug pulses through your veins and pleasure spreading from your cunt to your entire body.

William languidly fucks into you, wrapping his arms around you tight. He lifts your hips and pulls all the way out leaving your hole clenching on nothing for a brief second before he slams himself in again. This time rough and even deeper, practically bruising your cervix.

You cry out as William ruts into you at a rough pace, all his inhibitions gone. He loved toying with you, but he’s just been aching to be inside you all day.

“Ahh— Haah Daddyyy—!”

“Good bunny taking Daddy’s cock so well. Gonna breed you so fucking good”

William continues his brutal pace, bringing one of his hands to your throat and pressing down firmly. You gasp and squirm under his touch, bringing your hands to his, feeling the strength of his grip on your sensitive neck.

Your head becomes impossibly even hazier as Daddy presses his hand tighter onto your throat. You glance up at him and see nothing but love and adoration in his eyes. His precious bunny was being so good for him. Taking his cock so well while he choked you. He truly loved you so much.

Your hips lift up to take him as deep as possible, lewd wet sounds filling the room. Nothing but pleasure is coursing through your veins and in that pretty little head of yours.

“Look at my baby bunny, taking a proper fucking from Daddy, yeah?”

“Ahh- Haah fuck so good Daddy!”

William releases your throat from his grip and reaches over and grabs the toy again, pressing it on once more.

You gasp for air and once the sound of vibration hits your ears you feel yourself ache again.

“Daddy I can’t-“

before you even finish your sentence the toy is back on your clit, sucking and vibrating the oversensitive nub.

You cry out a broken scream as the sensations of being ruthlessly bred and your clit stimulated at the same time overwhelming your poor bunny brain as you cum all over again, clenching around William’s cock.

“Feels good doesn’t it princess?”

“Gonna fill your womb with my cum. Gonna make you a mommy” William groans out, watching your fucked out expression as he rams himself deep inside you.

Your mind goes nearly blank at the thought of carrying his child and William notices, and that look alone brings him to the edge. He curses as he feels himself spill inside you, thrusting and pushing his cum deep into your womb. He leans into the crook of your neck and groans as he feels you squeeze him so nicely.

“Such a nice hole for me to fuck…such a pretty womb all for Daddy to ruin”

“Mmm—! Daddyyy love you so muuuuch—!” You cry out, wrapping your arms around him tight, tears spilling out your eyes once more.

“Love you too bunny” William kisses you deeply, keeping eye contact with you as he does. You cum around his cock again, milking him for all he’s worth. He keeps lazily thrusting and sets the toy aside, settling on rubbing your sensitive nub in slow, soothing circles.

You continue to throb and clench around him involuntarily, softly panting in your post orgasm bliss.

“Mmm my pretty bunny”

William pets your hair softly, moving a strand out of your face.

You’re completely gone at this point, William having corrupted you completely and fully. Turning his sweet little stressed bunny into his pleasure filled fucktoy.

He kisses you again, gently and soft.

“Love you my sweet princess” he whispers, watching as you lose consciousness there in his arms.

#william afton x you #william afton x reader #steve raglan x you #steve raglan x reader #fnaf smut #my first time writing smut ajdjajdjsjsj #william afton invents the rose toy LMAO

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misscammiedawn · 1 year ago

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Dissociative Identity Disorder in Mr. Robot

So I have been writing little essays about Mr. Robot recently.

Dom's Sexuality, Gay Marriage and Whiterose

Back to the Future and Brainwashing

Today I wish to talk about the DID representation in Mr. Robot.

Actually I want to talk about the DID representation in the Hulk comics but there are 40 years worth of storylines involving it and it would require me to write about clinical understandings from the 1980s when it was called MPD (admitedly Mr. Robot's stumbles at the finish line with some of these same outdated treatment models) and that would take a while. Suffice to say it will happen eventually*. I shall make a new tag "Media Myself and I" and post it under that when I have more time to do it justice. Maybe I'll do others. I am uncertain. I believe I want to focus on positive depictions where there are no murder alters. The goal is to get people to want to enjoy things, not to steer them away. I have a few shows and games in mind at the very least.

Regardless… Mr. Robot is an easier topic to cover and is my hyperfocus of the moment.

So Mr. Robot is a show about isolation in the modern world. It's a show about socioeconomic stress, late-stage capitalism and what it means to enact meaningful change on a broken world.

But above all it is about the healing journey of Elliot Alderson, a man with dissociative identity disorder.

I say that at the start because Elliot's condition is never named until the final episode. In many ways a realistic depiction of a real world disorder was an afterthought noted in the final hour of the journey as a means of justifying the split personality trope and hiding a final twist. In spite of that the roadmap for the show was always leading to this destination and along the way they managed to get some fairly good representation out of the mix.

Season 2 even involves the only time I have ever seen a piece of fiction depict "blending" on screen. Blending isn't a symptom listed in either DSM or ICD manuals. It is, however, something one would hear about if they had a conversation with someone who had DID. I have used that scene to depict what it feels like to my partners.

I'm getting ahead of myself.

I love Mr. Robot. It is currently my favorite show of all time. If you have never seen it then please give it a shot. This post will be spoiler heavy and I'd hate to rob anyone the opportunity to watch S4E7 and have a pure emotional reaction to it. The show is on Amazon Prime and the full box set is available for $35-50 depending on format and vendor.

Go with my blessing.

The first season of the show begins with Elliot Alderson (Rami Malek) living a double life. By day a cyber security expert and by night he spends his time at his computer hacking people's accounts and satisfying a "little itch in the back of his head" that guides him to uncover the murky facts about people. The first scene of the show has him take down a cafe owner who hosts an illegal and deeply unpleasant website. I have seen individuals walk away from the first episode thinking that the show is "Dexter but with computers" but it is more lulsec activism with a Fight Club aesthetic.

The show has 4 seasons and each season depicts a different stage of Elliot's healing journey and with it completely different rules and depictions of his condition. I'll break down each season for what they do right and what they do wrong.

Season 1: Discovery

Elliot's system in season one is undiscovered but he has overt symptoms, meaning he is unaware that he has any alters but he suffers from clean breaks in his consciousness and drastically altered behavior patterns both which are a detriment to the "hidden" nature of the condition.

Commonly most people do not discover their condition until their 30s. I was 37/38 when our therapist started guiding us towards accepting our condition.

DID manifests in childhood but it's a hidden illness that does its best to go undetected. The point of the condition is to remain hidden. The internet and the educational resources it offers are helping younger individuals to recognize their symptoms and advocate for themselves at an earlier age but the standard medical understanding is that most people are developed adults before they are diagnosed.

Published statistics for DID indicate the global population of those with the condition is about 1.5% (some organizations argue the number should be higher due to how difficult it is to receive an accurate diagnosis, but 1.5% is the most consistent figure) which is rare but not to the point of never encountering it. For comparison, according to a 2023 census 1.0% of people in the USA identify as transgender. There are no tested classifications for Covert vs Overt display of symptoms but it is widely agreed that an overwhelming majority of cases within the 1.5% are covert.

We learn that Elliot is desperately lonely, abuses morphine and has paranoid delusions about men in black stalking his every move. Whenever Elliot is on screen we can never be sure what is real and what isn't, so there are times when men wearing black suits are on screen and we cannot be sure if Elliot is paranoid or delusional.

The show takes place through his perspective after all and we are a character in the show.

See… the narrative device of the show involves Elliot speaking to "friend", us. The audience. "Hello, friend." is a common refrain spoken throughout the show. The narrative begins a short while after Elliot had a complete mental breakdown and smashed up a server room, he is seeing a court appointed therapist, is socially paralyzed to the point of which we see him linger outside a birthday party and retreat home to cry in loneliness.

The entire first season Mr. Robot is depicted as another character, akin to Tyler Durden, a wild revolutionary who wants to encrypt the data of the world's largest bank in order to seal the debt records and reset everything back to 0. He starts off appearing in scenes involving the men in black stalking Elliot to mingle him in with the paranoid delusions and eventually begins interacting with him in earnest. Though the reveal is treated as a twist 8 episodes into the show Elliot does accuse the audience of knowing the entire time and he refuses to speak to us for some time, even going as far as to keep secrets from us because he cannot trust us any longer.

It's at this point that I will note that media depictions of DID tend to lean heavily on the phrase "it's a visual medium" and depict ways that characters can see, interact with and communicate with alters/parts in a dramatic setting. Off the top of my head Hulk is about the only form of fiction I've seen where the temptation to do this doesn't take over and even then the old "other face in the mirror" trope shows up there.

So for what it's worth the paranoid thinking and hallucinations are not DID symptoms and typically a person with the condition cannot see or hear their alters. In fact a testing criteria included in the MID exam is to rule out schizophrenia by eliminating the possibility that the voices heard are external or that any hallucinations exist. In Mr. Robot they are likely caused by Elliot's morphine addiction, but he gets clean after season 1 and Mr. Robot is always there.

There are some plot elements which I want to talk about but they do spoil the final "twist" of the show. So I want to warn again that anyone in the process of watching should be warned we are getting into entire show spoiler territory.

The Elliot we see in the show is the result of the stress fueled breakdown that Mr. Alderson had 6 months prior to the show starting. The timeline is fuzzy in my head but there were two triggers which set him off and began his condition flaring up (and/or caused him to lean harder into his drug addiction which in turn fueled his condition). The one we know about is that he was locked in a server room and forced to work long into the night on an issue and the already upset and stressed Elliot snapped and had a black-out.

We come to learn that he has had these his whole life but this is the first time such an incident occurred that he couldn't self-justify what had happened. He smashed up a server room, something he felt himself not capable of.

But the second trigger is the more important one.

His sister, Darlene, moved to NYC and started visiting him.

The bigger and better twist of season 1 is that Elliot and Darlene are siblings. This is hidden from Elliot and the audience for the first 7 episodes and her presence is treated much like Marla Singer from Fight Club, of whom she likely contains some inspiration, where she keeps showing up in Elliot's apartment and acting overly familiar with him.

In the earliest episodes when we are learning about Elliot's lonely life he looks at a photograph of himself and his mother at Coney Island. Due to some hallucinations we know that Magda is an abusive mother and screamed at/hit Elliot a lot. We learn more about her in future episodes and she is a truly horrible parent. Likely more than was ever depicted in the show.

The photo is actually of the full Alderson family including Darlene and Edward but is not shown as such until the reveals that Darlene is Elliot's sister and Mr. Robot is modeled after Elliot's father. The photograph is a reference to Back to the Future.

But it also is a fairly good visual representation of self-filtering information, even when it is contradictory in nature. This is common not just in DID but in all forms of CPTSD.

Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is a condition that develops during prolonged exposure to trauma and makes radical changes to the nervous system. CPTSD is considered a root of DID and it is universal for those diagnosed with DID to have a CPTSD diagnosis also.

One of the ways CPTSD symptoms manifest is "Emotional Avoidance". The nervous system is activated when triggers related to the trauma exist within the person's life. In order to function their brains push away these reminders and naturally avoid interacting with them. This causes those with the condition to become withdrawn, to isolate and to have distorted and often contradicting patterns of thought. For instance Elliot needs connection and safety that he associates with family but his family were his primary abusers and so he edits his memories to focus on positive associations such as a family trip to Coney Island that has become an obsession to him in adulthood. We later learn that Elliot's obsession with movies was born from it being his primary way of connecting with his father... which is fairly relatable.

His positive memories of his parents are held in high regard even though we know that his father "pushed him out of a window" and his mother used to put out cigarette butts on Darlene, tried to force her to commit animal cruelty and is often depicted in hallucinations as beating and screaming at Elliot.

In a case where it is impossible to avoid the traumatic trigger, for instance the return of relative who is a living reminder of his abusive childhood, the individual may begin to dissociate. Dissociation being where a person, overwhelmed by what they are experiencing has a separation from their normal state leading to a disconnect from emotions, sense of self and reality.

Episode 8 in particular contains a visual depiction of it when Elliot is having a quiet meltdown over finding out he has a 2 day deadline and his boss at work has known about the server exploit he installed all along.

(the show often uses the camera in ways to emphasize emotional walls, dissociation and isolation like this. This sequence does so by having hard cuts, shaky cam and frantic pace melt into a gliding slow lull where the background noise filters out and we can share in Elliot's distance from his situation for a moment)

Elliot's form of blocking out is extreme but has half a foot in reality (and half a foot in the logic born from the "twist" ending) in that in order to continue interacting with Darlene he views her as a member of Fsociety and edits out their connection until it is revealed in episode 7.

A small brilliancy about Fsociety is that the entire group is formed around Elliot and Darlene's need for childhood safety. The hacking elements of the show undoubtedly born from 9 year old Elliot spending time at Mr. Robot computer repair with a smile. The anon-mask that the show uses comes from an in-universe movie that Darlene and Elliot watched every Halloween and their base of operations is Coney Island. A place that both siblings seem to associate with safety and happiness...

Which is extra messed up when you factor Season 2's revelation that Darlene was kidnapped while on a family trip to Coney Island.

Darlene's panic attacks, need to feel special and her abusive upbringing are not the topic for this essay, but I wanted to make mention that Magda was such a horrible mother that a 4/5 year old Darlene thinks of being kidnapped from a family trip to Coney Island as one of her most precious childhood memories.

The desire to reach into the past and change things to create an ideal future is a heavy theme of the show and I feel it's important to note that though the Alderson siblings reject Whiterose and her scheme, they are both living in an almost literal fun house distortion of the few unambiguously GOOD childhood memories that they each have and have wrapped them around themselves like a protective blanket.

The plot of season 1 gets a lot more uncomfortable when you realize how much of Fsociety is two traumatized kids recreating positive elements of their childhood and trying to live inside of those memories while lashing out at those who took their father away from them. The entire plan is centered around events from 1995. The show takes place in 2015.

Mr. Robot himself is, of course, the ultimate symbol of that take on events.

Edward Alderson was a monster. He's referred to as such overtly in Elliot's detox fever dream. Everyone asks him who his "monster" is while handing him the key that we learn was to his childhood bedroom. A key that he hid to prevent Edward from entering his room late at night.

Yet throughout the first 3 seasons of the show we are only shown him in context of the positive memories that he and Elliot shared. Elliot was 9 years old when Edward passed away from leukemia.

At a point, Elliot is picked up from school. He has a bruise on his cheek and the scene begins with Edward asking "If I had to guess, you didn't tell Principal Howard your side.", assuring him it's okay to share his side of the story. Because Edward is convincing him to tell his side I am going to assume Elliot got into a fight but it's not impossible to assume that the school pulled Edward in to discuss the signs of physical abuse on the child. Edward would never tell Elliot to tell his side of that story so I assume it was a fight.

It's unclear if Mr. Robot is the one who participated in those fights (we only have 2 confirmed instances of Elliot's alters showing up in childhood. The window incident and the day Edward died) but Edward picks him up and protects him from his mother's wrath and bonds with him during that drive, he reveals his diagnosis to Elliot before inviting him to work with him at the computer repair store. Likely this is what leads to Elliot's hacker skills being born.

A hauntingly similar event in my own life is why I am a photographer.

Given that the majority of Season 1 has Elliot in the dark about his condition we are only given context as to why he is the way he is and see the display of dissociative symptoms which manifest from CPTSD. Mr. Robot existing at all is actually not required for this to be a good depiction of adults who grew up in abusive environments and the way they maladaptively cope.

I also want to give a little praise to the "itch at the back of [Elliot's] head" that shows up when he feels the desire to hack someone or dig deeper and the way he pushes forward with his own will until he calms down enough to let a creeping hesitation overcome him and prevent him from acting.

Passive Influence is part of DID. It's a situation where a "fronting" (that is to say part that is in control at a time) performs an unthinking action or is emotionally swayed by the influence of another part/alter that is not presently conscious. These are one of the biggest ways that the condition flies under the radar for many. When they are close to discovering proof of their condition they will often feel an unconscious push away from it. The phenomenon is fairly easily brushed aside internally as "a gut feeling" or an "impulse" but it's observable under the right conditions.

An instance I can think of in my own life is when our survival part is trying to push people away and our emotional part desperately tries to reach out. I will often find my hand grabbing a person's wrist and clinging tightly to it without even noticing that I've done it.

In the show Elliot is compelled by Mr. Robot when he feels someone is a danger or has a weakness that can be exploited. Part of him knows he needs to do something about it and so he lets himself be guided.

The season ends with The 5/9 Hack succeeding, all the financial data being encrypted and Elliot sent to prison for (minor) hacking charges.

He knows who Mr. Robot is now and he fears him as his enemy.

Season 2 (and the book): Exploration

The first 8 episodes of Season 2 are a filter for those watching the show, many drop off. Personally I love it but I can see why it's not for everyone. Season 2 is much slower than the first and Elliot is in prison for those 8 episodes. He's also imagining that prison is his mother's house.

That daydreaming coping mechanism is largely there to add a fairly unearned sense of mystery to a character development season and make things a little more visually interesting. For the most part I don't really want to focus too much on it or the way Elliot treats "us"/"friend".

The fact is that for this season Mr. Robot and Elliot are in direct conflict but they are feeling out their landscape and trying to find common ground. They are pulling in different directions but they are reacting and responding to one another. The show uses a chess match as a visual symbol of this and in such they are keeping one another in a constant state of check. They are opposed to one another but they are communicating and working things out.

So let's start by looking at the book. The book is a recreation of the in-universe journal that Elliot keeps while he is in prison. We see him writing in it during the show and the entire thing is available, it even includes little ARG elements to let you decode the messages Mr. Robot is receiving from The Dark Army.

The book is detailed like this and it's possible to note when Elliot's handwriting turns into Mr. Robot's handwriting. There are even points where there is "blended" handwriting. It's easy to spot in the above image because Mr. Robot writes with a heavy hand and in all caps where Elliot is soft and uses lower case, in the top line of the second page "you NeeD atteNtioN aNd aRe Willing to pay a lotta MoNey to get it." you can see Elliot slipping from one headspace to another while becoming upset at society.

Even still if you look above the FUCK SOCIETY image you see Elliot's calmer handwriting as clear and flowing.

When we were in denial of our condition we poured through journal after journal and chatlog after chatlog hunting for evidence to prove or disprove the theory.

It was when I looked at our old gaming journals (we took notes in pen/pencil live during TTRPG sessions because memory issues are gonna memory issues) that we noticed similar. Cursive used in some phrases, individual letters separate on another, the letters g and y getting curled at times and not at other times.

Subtler than what is displayed above but no less real.

Season 2 introduces us to Ray the warden brilliantly played by Craig Robinson. He empathizes with Elliot because he speaks to his dead wife as a means of coping with grief and assumes that Elliot is the same.

He offers Elliot guidance by asking him to play chess "against himself" and this leads to Elliot and Mr. Robot playing endless games of stalemate against one another with deletion on the line for the loser. It's the same brain and neither side wants to lose (nor do they truly want to win, Elliot admits as much in Season 3 that he likes having Mr. Robot and misses him when he's not around) and as noted above with passive influence, the games are always guided to end in a stalemate because no matter how opposed they are as forces, they both want the same things.

So... how about the Sitcom episode?

Elliot breaks his promise to Ray and looks at the website that he is tasked with doing tech support on. It's--- not good.

Ray uses a combination of crooked cops and convicted Neo-Nazis to have Elliot beaten into submission so he won't report what he saw. Elliot cannot handle this and has a mental break and wakes up in a 90s 4 camera sitcom world.

Alf is there. Because old episodes of Alf are playing in the medical ward at the time Elliot is being treated for his wounds.

The entire time he is taking a beating Mr. Robot is protecting Elliot by fronting and forcing him into an inner-world fantasy.

Okay... so Inner-Worlds.

In the show we actually had one of these in Season 1 during the detox trip but I want to talk about it now and round back and talk more in Season 4.

Inner-Worlds are a thing within DID treatment. Emphasis on the word treatment. It's one of the more commonly misunderstood things within discussion on the condition because it's regularly reported as part of the experiences within those who are diagnosed with DID but it's important to know that the existence of the diagnosis indicates the existence of treatment.

During any adapted 3 or 4 phase trauma treatment program that includes parts work, whether this be Internal Family Systems model which is used for individuals who do not have DID or system mapping and stabilization for those who do, the patient must work on creating a "meeting" space to visualize (or sense out emotionally for those with aphantasia) and much of the work of developing safety and structure within comes from filling that space with comforts and generating communication between parts.

I'll talk more on the "conference table" in Season 4.

It is possible for those not going through therapy to create one outside of the context of a therapeutic alliance but the creation of one is an intentional act. Not something that comes free with your childhood trauma.

Elliot's trip to the inner-world keeps him from experiencing any of the beating that the body is receiving and at the end Mr. Robot earnestly says he only wanted to take the punches for Elliot, nothing more. Elliot falls against him, tearful and whimpers out "Thank you" before we are given the flashback of the day Edward picked up 9 year old Elliot from school after the fight and confesses his leukemia.

For the record, my heart swells every time I see Mr. Robot acting as a protector.

So, let's talk S2E9 and the "blending" incident.

Blending is what happens when two parts/alters are co-conscious and are present enough that they are sharing control of the body. It's an uncomfortable experience. Co-Consciousness means that more than one part/alter is actively perceiving the world at any given time.

It's more complicated than binary yes/no. Every one of these experiences exists on a spectrum and no two people with the condition experience it quite the same way but there are levels of presence that one has.

The following is me talking more from anecdotes and personal experience than textbooks. I like to be clear when I'm not being academic because I do not want to spread misinformation in my arbitrary analysis of TV shows that will get 20 notes on Tumblr Dot Com.

Front is to be driving the body, to have your inner monologue playing (if you have one, most people do, but it's not a given) and have your emotions interact with the nervous system if you are grounded enough to feel your experiences. As I said, it's a spectrum. Everyone gets dissociated at times and can just go into auto-pilot or a trance. That all still counts as being in front.

To be conscious but not front is to exist in an emotionally reactive state. If Fronting is driving then co-consciousness is to be in the passenger seat.

It's truly difficult to describe and my therapist doesn't even fully comprehend it despite her being the one who educates me on these topics. Presently as I type this I can only feel one of our system (5 parts) active and "with" me right now. She's not speaking but she's reacting. I can feel her apprehension to us typing this much about our personal life, little flits of paranoid thinking that we'll get anon-hate or that people from our former life will see this and judge us. It's a presence and exists on a gradient. She's "awake" right now but I do not consider her fully "co-con" because if I asked her to tell me what she thinks about this sentence I can feel an emotional reaction (apprehension) but not a direct answer akin to "I think you should edit out references to our journal and focus on talking about the show" (which is what I imagine she would say right now). That's the spectrum.

Closer to the front a part/alter is the more direct communication happens.

There's also "asleep" and "dormant" when they are unresponsive. Pretty self explanatory. Elliot's system has 5 parts(plus "friend") and until Season 4 we only really see Mr. Robot and the main character version of Elliot. Magda and Young Elliot show up in hallucinations in Season 1 and Young Elliot is co-con in Season 4. Magda never shows up outside of emotional flashbacks and the inner-world.

So after Elliot and Mr. Robot combine forces (though Mr. Robot is still working with the Dark Army and is trying to move in secret) they have moments where they rapidly switch and cannot keep straight who is fronting at any given time.

There's a scene where Elliot is in another room thinking to "friend" when he hears an argument in the next room and realizes Mr. Robot is in the argument. As he walks in, Mr. Robot is surprised to see that Elliot is aware when he is fronting and he trails off and they switch.

Mr. Robot says that something feels off about how they are acting and that they feel like they're overheating.

A later scene depicts Elliot phasing out mid-conversation on the subway and picturing himself in the next car observing Mr. Robot talking to Cisco while a passenger plays erratic music on a keyboard.

That is such a horrifyingly accurate depiction of something we live with that I was stunned to see it on screen. I've included it in some of my stories that go over living with these experiences but the idea is when we are stressed out, can't keep our head straight and are blended like this we tend to have snippets of music playing over and over in our head. We also get what I refer to as "static" and that seems to be relatable in support groups.

A++ for the show depicting something about the DID experience that simply does not get spoken about outside of the spaces of people dealing with it. It was the moment I knew they actually spoke to people who experience this stuff and did proper research that wasn't just media depictions and medical textbooks.

The final part of Season 2's wild ride I want to talk about is the "lucid dreaming" bit.

Mind awake. Body asleep. Mind awake. Body asleep.

This again goes into Overt DID which I cannot comment on as much as covert depictions but the idea is that Elliot trains himself to remain awake when Mr. Robot takes over. We have seen from the blending experience that he is starting to remain when Mr. Robot is active and so he tries to force himself to stay when Mr. Robot is active.

In therapy this would be achieved through trust, communication and awareness. It's said in communities that systems tend to become more overt as they go through treatment as they are able to identify lines, parts can advocate for themselves and there's better understanding of what "self" means for every alter.

In my experience there's also an element of trying to pretend to be consistent and whole. We were coming out transgender when our therapist guided us towards DID diagnosis and there was a lot of tearing ourselves apart because we needed to act in a certain way for our safety and inability to do so put us at risk of being targeted. In accepting our system we have stopped trying to be the same individual and that has lead to a more overt presentation. As I tell my therapist "we need to act out our gender expression anyway. Every action we take is a performance."

That is to say, Mr. Robot has never attempted to maintain the illusion that he is Elliot Alderson (albeit he never identifies himself. He's even surprised to learn that Elliot calls him that) and Elliot doesn't even know he is "The Mastermind".

In opting to remain hidden and conscious he gains a greater degree of control and agency in his situation.

These things get easier as you learn your condition, build system trust and allow yourself to experience that which you feel comfortable experiencing. With the example of the beating earlier, Mr. Robot shut Elliot out and took the beating for him and Elliot resisted but ultimately did not want to be present. In this episode he learns that if he wishes he could have pushed through and been there and experienced everything, albeit as a passenger rather than the driver.

Therapy also teaches how to "go into the back room" to maintain stability. A technique that lets you volunteer to not be involved in a situation. My system all use this whenever I (Dawn) perform erotic intimacy of any kind. They cannot handle the thought of associating with those acts and prior to treatment it would emotionally disregulate our nervous system if parts that couldn't handle the concept were to be present during those moments because parts of me would be trying to dissociate while I am trying to act. It would either trigger a switch, cause blending or make a part shut down and become unresponsive for a large period of time- one of our partners actually discovered our system this way. She saw us shut down during a scene and realized it wasn't just a "mood swing" as we had insisted.

Elliot learns how to intentionally open up and be present when Mr. Robot is active and because Plot happens he is shot and decides to use this skill to close himself off and create a stronger divide between parts.

Season 3: Rejection

If Season 2 was the pair working things out on a chess match where they keep one another in check then Season 3 is after Elliot has tossed the board and decided to shut Mr. Robot out completely.

The arc words are "battling in our own voids", in Season 1 Mr. Robot was always aware of what Elliot was doing but Elliot was unaware of Mr. Robot's actions and in Season 2 they were fairly co-conscious to the point of overheating. Season 3 the connection is shut down. Mr. Robot has no concept of what Elliot is doing and Elliot no concept of what Mr. Robot is doing.

This goes back to the Overt/Covert thing mentioned at the start. It's a rare thing even within a rare disorder to have that level of amnesia barriers between parts and so I can't really comment on accuracy. It's a frustrating season for me in that regard because Season 2 was doing so well at depicting something that I have lived through that going back to Fight Club tropes was fairly disappointing to me.

Season 3 is great by the way. It's a debate on if 3 or 4 is the best but it's close enough that there is a debate.

The real meat of the discussion, spare for the events of the final episode where they reconcile, is in how other people treat them and talk about their condition.

Angela Moss is Elliot's childhood best friend and also lost a parent to the disaster that claimed Edward Alderson's life. She discovered Elliot's condition during his breakdown in S1E8 and was brainwashed by the show villain Whiterose in S2E11 (I have a write-up of the psychological principals at play with the brainwashing here).

In Season 3 she acts as Elliot/Mr. Robot's handler and is responsible for helping Mr. Robot continue his hacktivist terrorism without Elliot finding out. She betrays Elliot and exploits his condition. She also tells people about it without his knowledge or consent, which is pretty fucking monstrous in my eyes.

Don't out a person. Just don't do it.

When Mr. Robot asks how she can tell who she's talking to she responds "Your eyes. You're never trying to look away." which is accurate enough that I messaged my girlfriend to be sappy and grateful towards her as the first time she noticed our condition she told me it was our eyes.

From a 2022 IM chat, shared with permission:

"it's ... well, it's [...] your eyes soften, kind of, when going to Cammie. Dawn has this piercing gaze, like she's looking right into my heart and soul. Camden is just very alert, noticing so many things but not the level of piercing. Cammie... her gaze is softer. More focused, but in a ... drinking everything in, rather than seeking it out sort of way"

and added today when I asked for permission to share the quote:

"(for the record, Craig draws his eyebrows down in a particular way that makes his gaze intense in a good way)"

The show works as hard as it can to never let the audience wonder who they are seeing on screen at any time. Most scenes where Rami Malek is depicting Mr. Robot it is a brief perspective view to remind us what the other characters are seeing before switching back to Christian Slater playing the character. There are a few scenes which involve Rami playing the character for a full sequence. One is the context for a flashback where we see a scene Slater performed through another character's eyes where they see Malek.

The others usually involve us being in Darlene's perspective to highlight her unease and uncertainty of what is happening with her brother.

The only scene where it is ever treated as a surprise is when Darlene plants a bug on Elliot's computer while staying overnight and is roughly interrogated by "Elliot", only to realize midway through the conversation "Jesus. It's you".

The camera cuts back to reveal it has been Mr. Robot the entire scene. They avoid that trick throughout the show so it has large impact when it actually happens.

I feel like that scene (as well as the scene where Elliot wears the real Mr. Robot jacket and gives birth to the 2 Stage plan to take down Evil Corp) are important for reminding that no matter how differently Malek and Slater play their roles, to an outside observer they are the same person and when he acts "out of character" it could easily just be an emotional outburst.

Incidentally you can see the physicality of the acting if you go back and watch it again.

The end of the season has Elliot, betrayed, alone and terrified for the safety of his sister; finally reach out to Mr. Robot and open a dialogue.

He even goes out of his way to have this discussion on the Ferris Wheel at Coney Island both as a Season 1 callback and as a sign of trust. Elliot admits in this conversation that he missed Mr. Robot while he shut him out and wants him to be part of his life and in the season finale Mr. Robot says that he wants the two of them to keep talking.

Elliot also finds out that the window incident wasn't his dad pushing him out of a window. They jumped. Elliot asks in a kind and soft way to Mr. Robot, representing both his protector and an element of the loving father he wished he had, "did you know?"

Mr. Robot, the one who jumped. The one who wanted to protect Elliot from Edward says nothing. But he finally feels an alliance form with Elliot.

The road to healing finally has opened.

Season 4: Integration and Fusion

So let's address the elephant in the room right away. The show uses the word "real" to describe the Elliot who existed before the show started and considers him to be the only legitimate alter. There is enough wiggle room within the show to think that is in-universe ignorance but the show does nothing to prevent the fumble at the finish line.

I want to say upfront and before I start dissecting this season that outdated models of DID believed that there was a crack formed in a person's sense of self and that healing involved restoring the identity prior to the crack.

This is 100% UNTRUE and it upsets me that people once believed it. DID is formed in childhood during a time of a person's life (between ages 4-9) where the child is taking in data from their surroundings and integrating it into their socialized survival mechanics to form a personality. The child is working out what traits it can exhibit to receive nurture, care and protection from other humans and will adapt to those processes. Attachment Theory goes into greater detail about how this relates to the formation of psychological disorders, especially personality disorders.

For a traumatized child they will find that their environments do not offer consistent and reliable safety and thus they are unable to adapt to a version of their reality where they are able to maintain stable safety. This may be horrifying forms of physical, emotional and sexual abuse placed upon a child and is often depicted as such but it can also be a confused child trying to get affection from a cold and distant parent or having a parent who abuses alcohol and becomes inconsistent in their ability to give affection and care. Child psychology is a heavy and depressing field, sadly.

The result is that the child never forms a permanent sense of identity. This is a large factor in the formation of Borderline Personality Disorder and is why DID and BPD are so often thrown together within medical treatment and diagnosis. It's at the point of which when my therapist gave me our diagnosis she presented a clinical list of "myths" regarding DID and "BPD is the same thing as DID" was 5 on the list of 6.

The point of this detour is to say that there is no original self. A person who has DID never managed to form a stable sense of identity in childhood and thus they find themselves acting as chameleons in their day-to-day life, adapting to what they feel they need to become in order to receive the things they need from their surroundings. It's why there is a stigma in the BPD community over the concept of being "manipulative". In reality people with that condition are unconsciously adapting to their environment as a survival mechanism. With DID the added layer of dissociation is there to help the self function even when they are forced to interact with materials that are incompatible with their ability to function.

Pre-show Elliot was living a fairly comfortable life but his emotional needs were not met and at the time he was alienated from his sister. He was miserable and lived in a society that he felt was crumbling. His daydreaming gave birth to "The Mastermind" to remove the threats from his reality and Mr. Robot who had been there all along went into Protective Sicko Mode and decided to expedite the process in a way only a protector's morality could.

We'll get into system roles a little later.

The point is that day-to-day life Elliot (Janina Fisher's book "Healing the Fragmented Self" refers to the part untouched by trauma as the "going about daily life" part) is not Real. He is not The Original. Those terms do not exist and are meaningless in this space.

True/Real/Orignal-Elliot is as much a construct as Mr. Robot. He's a version of Elliot who does not have to think about the trauma, he can just live a happy normal life. The kind that Elliot speaks often and derisively about in Season 1.

With that out of the way, I'm going to ignore the bad use of language and talk only about what is depicted on the screen and not said out loud. Because if you remove the misconception about real/original from the mixture, this is a perfect depiction of final fusion model healing.

Season 4 introduces us to the conference table in the inner world. A conference table is a therapeutic technique used in trauma therapy where you bring the alters/parts to a conference. The idea is that it needs to be a neutral ground where everyone is comfortable and able to share their thoughts and ideas. With practice it can be a space one can close their eyes and imagine, seeing their system and allowing communication to happen between parts.

Mine is based on the Minerals Gallery in the Natural History Museum in London. I refer to it as The Library. You didn't need to know that but I didn't want to discuss this section without mentioning it.

Elliot's is the conference room in Evil Corp where he and Tyrell spoke in the first episode.

Interestingly enough there are only 4 seats in this set. I'm not sure what the implication is here as in the scene depicted above Magda (Persecutor Alter) is scolding Young Elliot (Child Alter) for sitting in a chair that isn't his. They mention all 3 alters who are not present (Elliot, Mr. Robot and The Other One).

My thought is that this is the show going all in on the idea that Elliot ("Real") is not an alter and does not take a seat at the table. Which I have issues with.

I'll note as I did with the inner-world that this is a therapy technique and not something Elliot would just have in his mind. It's an accurate depiction of DID treatment but Elliot isn't being treated for DID. Krista is no way near close enough to be able to help Elliot. She's wonderful and deserves the world and more for how she handles things in this season but she's in the pre-stabilization phase of therapy where she knows more than Elliot is willing to accept and needs to wait for him to come around.

Speaking of Krista. Episode 7 is the greatest hour of television rivaled only by Ozymandias from Breaking Bad and the M*A*S*H finale. At present it has a 9.9 on IMDB.

The episode is structured as a bottle episode in way of a 5 act play depicting the stages of grief. This is the episode where Elliot peels back to dissociative layers and understands the truth. The truth of what his father did.

I won't type it.

I don't need to.

The next episode involves Elliot seeing Young Elliot and following him to a museum exhibit with a model of Manhattan. In Season 1 when Elliot had his psychotic break after realizing Darlene is his sister Darlene and Angela checked this location stating it was a place he used to go in times of crisis.

It turns out when he was young Elliot hid the key to his bedroom here to prevent Edward from getting in. All these years later adult Elliot (or "The Mastermind" if you prefer, which I do not) discovers it and has a heart-to-heart with his younger self, screaming into the emptiness that he's sorry for not protecting him. Sorry for letting him get hurt.

The scene is lit in the golden hues that symbolize safety in this show. The final season also takes place during Christmas in New York so it gets to show off that color palette more often which is great for symbolism and aesthetic.

Young Elliot shows that the act of hiding the key from their father was protecting him. It was fighting back. Sometimes surviving is the best you can do and you need to forgive yourself for not being able to do more.

God I love this show so much.

That episode ends with the scene I most want to just overtly show off to an audience.

youtube

I already loved the show. The final episode may have broken my heart a little with its talk of "Real" but this scene? This scene gets it.

Prior to the above video clip Mr. Robot cautiously approaches and says "Hey, kiddo". Something he always says. It's who he is. Regardless of anything else he, Mr. Robot, is designed from the father Elliot wishes he had and when he hears Mr. Robot-- no Edward's voice he tenses up in terror, allowing the above scene to take place with Mr. Robot so scared that he has failed as a protector by allowing Elliot to remember and that he cannot be there for him any longer because of who he is based off of.

Those with the condition commonly create alters who are based on the traits of those in the child's life at the time the symptoms developed. I... have experience.

The lines I want to focus on the most are:

Mr Robot: If I could go back in time and change everything that happened to you... just make it all go away...

Elliot: Then I wouldn't be me... *He turns to finally look at Mr. Robot* ...and I wouldn't have you.

The final arc of the show is where the "Mastermind" twist takes center stage and Elliot enters his inner-world and finds out that he created a peaceful reality for "Real" Elliot to exist in so that he is unharmed by the horrors of the world that is crumbling in reality. Mr. Robot, as a protector, wanted to expedite the whole hack and destruction of capitalism in order to rescue "Real" Elliot from the inner-world prison. In time he came to accept "Mastermind" as a part of the whole and not a rogue alter who was endangering the body and their "Host".

S4E13 lays it all down. An imagined version of Krista speaks directly to Elliot and explains the system and their functions. Mr. Robot a father and protector who could prevent Elliot from intolerable situations. Magda, a persecutor who blamed Elliot for the abuse. Young Elliot, who Elliot could push the traumatic situations on, a common thing that many do unconsciously in CPTSD situations, dissociating from the person the trauma happened to, disconnecting until they are just another version of self.

Elliot then says "I guess she doesn't know about you." referring to us, the audience.

Krista(*) looks into the camera and addresses us directly, calling us the voyeurs who pretend we're not a part of it even though we have been here for it all. She even claims we are on her side in getting "Mastermind" to accept he is a constructed personality who was there to lash out at the society that caused him so much pain.

"You loved him so much you wanted to keep him safe, no matter the cost."

The episode ends with "Mastermind" Elliot waking up in a hospital and reuniting with Darlene only to realize that she has known the entire time that the person we have been following throughout the show wasn't her "real" brother.

...and god damn it I hate this element of the show so much.

I'll accept that they had very little time to clean things up and needed to get a way to have Mastermind agree to the fusion. I'll even demonize Darlene and say she was being selfish and ignorant in saying something hurtful because she missed the version of her brother that existed before Fsociety.

But Our version of Elliot says that he loves her and she doesn't reply. Her disappointment and resignation causes Our Elliot to go back inside and agree to the fusion.

The show ends in a first person perspective of Darlene seeing her "real" brother wake up and that's it. I'm glad we never actually see "Real" Elliot, that feels fitting.

Here's the thing about that last minute fumble though.

Let's talk about Integration and Fusion. They are different things.

Integration is when dissociative barriers come down. The system is stabilized to the point of which the alters are capable of communicating openly, sharing thoughts, memories and experiences and every part has the ability to opt in or out as life goes on.

"Functional Multiplicity" is what happens when a system is in harmony, no memories are being withheld and the system is able to go about everyday life with minimal disruption or disregulation. It is a valid goal for trauma therapy and there's a decent amount of medical stigma around it being used as the goal and not a step towards the goal. Many clinicians prioritize the appearance of normalcy over the function of the individual(s).

Fusion is when you go the extra step and take this communication and sharing of memory and experience and as you tore down the dissociative barriers you tear away the division between parts.

A system is made up of parts that make up a whole person and Fusion is the process of all parts uniting to "become" that whole person. It is a valid and normal goal for treatment. It shouldn't be held up as the only legitimate method of healing but it shouldn't be demonized for being an option. I say this because I have seen some people in support communities get real upset when the topic comes up.

The final sequence of the show, prior to Elliot opening his eyes, involves the system at the inner-world conference table agreeing to go through with it and walking towards a cinema screen. Elliot says this will only work if we go too.

The family (and audience) sit down in the movie theatre and memories flood onto the screen and pour out until all experiences and emotions are shared in one pool and Elliot Alderson opens his eyes with all 5(+audience) alters fused into one.

It was almost perfect if only Darlene hadn't have rejected the "not real" brother.

The cinema screen projecting memories, all the thoughts and experiences being shared as the Alderson System accept their parts in the whole and agree to the process? It was a beautiful visualization of a healing journey.

There are imperfect moments here and there. There are great moments I skipped over such as S3E8 (I'm not up for talking about Self-Deletion today) but all in all it's the best depiction of DID for a main character we'll likely get on TV. It's a whole and complete narrative and I love it so much. It makes me feel seen.

#dawn posting #mr robot #dissociative identity disorder #elliot alderson #did #plurality #domo arigato mr alderson #media myself and i #watch me post my trauma in public #Youtube #media essays

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