#which have only ever been the people I’ve gotten sexually attracted to

[mattbegins]

I’ve rewatched the scene with Bobby talking to Eddie so many times because it really reads like Bobby has some idea that what Eddie’s actually unknowingly struggling with is something in regards to his sexuality, and everything he talks about are things I had begun coming to terms with in the last two weeks as I’ve questioned my own sexuality so this conversation was really personal to me because hearing Bobby lay that out for Eddie immediately resolved my own crisis and now I’m certain I’m not bi- I’m gay (and demi). Which is a huge thing for me to realize because I’ve identified as bi ever since I started dating 8 years ago. But Eddie’s struggle and confusion makes all the sense in the world to me because I had/have the same questions as him and struggled to reconcile the clear feelings and care I had for women/femme presenting people I’ve dated, but I always felt like I was playing a part (“performing” as Eddie called it) and while I knew the lines and cues and it was easy to do, something was always missing. I felt like I was doing something ‘right’ and there was a sense of relief in that, something adjacent to happiness, but it always came up short. I would love talking with and hanging out with these partners and had been good friends prior to dating, but driving home I would wonder why I didn’t feel giddy or whole. Why I could never initiate physical contact. Why I could only objectively acknowledge that they looked beautiful, but that never translated to attraction. Why I couldn’t imagine futures together. But I liked these people. I cared about them. It was confusing. And after each inevitable break up I questioned if I just wasn’t meant for relationships.

But when Bobby validated those feelings and pointed out that Eddie doesn’t have commitment issues in general, it only seems to apply to women in his life, I thought about my relationships with men. My two longest relationships lasted 6 months and 3 years respectively, and they were with other men. My last crush was on a man. Flirting with men comes easier, I feel more loose and giddy in a surprisingly enjoyable way, I become more charismatic and at ease, I can show physical affection and compliment, and when I think about the future- road trips and grocery runs, school pick ups and drop offs, falling asleep on the couch or in the passenger seat- I see that with another man.

I think of me, and I think of Eddie. He and Shannon were friends as children and were close for years before they started dating, but only got married because she was pregnant and there was strong religious influence and social factors pressuring them. He cared about her though, he liked her, just as he cared about and liked Ana and Marisol. Those base feelings are valid, but the extent to which they manifest is dissonant for him. The idea of these relationships never matches up to the reality. It’s a performance and it’s a role he’s uncomfortable playing but has gotten used to because he didn’t know how to question it and he’s already learned the lines and blocking. He expresses he prefers being single because he can just hang out with guys because it’s less complicated, but he’s not at the point of questioning the source of that ease. He can’t commit to his girlfriend moving into his house, but he can commit to making Buck the guardian of his son in his will. He forges infinitely stronger bonds with the men in his life and we see a side of him that’s less conflicted, more at ease, more honest and silly, and freer than any time he’s with a woman.

Eddie Diaz made me realize I’m gay, so yeah, I’m pretty certain he is too.

[beebeetheclown]

I’m sorry but I’m feeling really sad about everything. So much horrible things have happened to me and I would like to speak of it here as I have no one here in my life who will help, listen, and understand.

The one thing that makes this whole ghosting thing this bad is the that I am not the type to easily laugh it off and find another date or try again. For an odd reason, my attractions and taste is very complicated, so I do not find myself attracted to very many people. So for this one guy, who I’ve liked since the tenth grade, to lead me on and then ignore me the date of kind of makes me feel sad.

I wrote of him in my diary back in high school, telling the diary how pretty I thought he was. Then I practised for the whole week on what I’d say and ask him. I imagined what our second date would be then the next one after that. I thought of things like dressing up for Halloween together, thought of making him a beaded bracelet of his favorite color.

I was so nervous and scared, but I told myself that I’d push myself and do it. I told my therapist all about it, had a big smile on my face along with pink blushing cheeks. Me and my therapist were both so excited for me.

Every single friend group I’ve been in has been toxic towards me since the fifth grade. I don’t know how I’ve gotten so unlucky. Sure, I may have not been so perfect, but it gave them no right to do what they all did. Each friend or friend group hurt me so badly in different kinds of ways. I never knew how serious it all was until I told doctors and therapists about it. The saddened looks on their faces.

I realize now the same thing is starting to happen with men. Every single man I’ve been interested in me because of my so called “innocence” and “cuteness” is “easy” for them to take advantage of. They all want me to cure the tents in their pants and that’s it. Every single man. It’s always about sex. Not one singular one has shown interest in me over my sex and body. Even my first ever date, thinking back on it now, it’s weird to think about. I hardly even knew the guy, and his hands were all over me already. Then he made out with me though I told him I never had kissed anyone. And when dropping me off at the doors to the stairs which led to the dorms he asked “is this where I have to stop following you?” basically insisting that he wouldn’t mind coming up to my bedroom.

Why must they be this way? Can’t I make you a bracelet, go for ice cream and try each others flavor, go to a street festival, and the only touch you think about is holding my hand?

I cannot tell anyone about my uncle and his sexual “jokes” towards me because I know they won’t side with me. His “jokes” are always focused on me, he only starts a conversation if it’s about me, he only takes the seat of its next to me. Can’t I visit with family and not feel like that shy, scared, and uncomfortable little girl again?

I have been through so much, so much of these people, getting the same outcome, I am not quite sure how many more times I can take this defeat without giving up.

[martyrized]

On Fraysexuality

So I've spent years wondering if something was wrong with me because I felt like I was almost the exact opposite of Demisexual, which is a valid sexuality to me. I’d never heard anyone talking about it as a legitimate sexuality, only ever hearing it’s basically normal, or a commitment issue.

I didn't think that my case was valid. I didn't know there were others who experienced attraction drop like I did. I just figured I was an indecisive slut and that's it. But... in the last couple years I've searched and asked my peers and looked for studies and at last learned they're defining my situation as Fraysexuality. 

Fraysexuality is on the Ace Spectrum in the grey zone, apparently. And it is defined by a sexual attraction to people one isn’t familiar, or hasn’t yet emotionally bonded with. Once emotional bonding has gotten to a certain point, sexual attraction drops off, but romantic desire may not change. In my case? I strongly feel attachment romantically but don’t feel the urge to have sex even if I’m safe and comfortable and attracted to the long term partner in question. So... I finally feel a little more comfortable being forthright with my sexuality now. It's a hurdle in my long term relationships, less pronounced if there's extended periods of time between visits, but still a thing that does effect my love life and I haven't ever been able to get intimate with people I know very well. It's led to several failed relationships with otherwise perfect friends who wanted something more. I still am very romantic though.

So yeah. Happy Pride from a Pansexual, Panromantic, Polyamorous, Fray-ace goblin woman.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Title: A Song of Ice and Fire

Author: George R. R. Martin

Rating: ???

This is the first time I've gotten this far in a book I've read for its narrative qualities -- I picked it up because I'd heard of the source material and been kind of fascinated by the concept of it. But I never really picked it up because I thought it was a "must-read" book.

But I'm in awe of Martin's work. This is like the third book I've put down. I feel a bit weird saying that because I was feeling that way about it, but I guess that was my feeling about the first two books.

In these books, Martin has just -- created a world out of nothing. It's full of characters we really want to talk about, and who are so well-drawn that they live in my mind rent-free.

The books are slow, but as slow as they are, I always know exactly how many pages it is. I can visualize the number of chapters in my head -- they're always about the right number, and I always feel like I'm on a roll with them. My reading experience is smooth and fluid, and that's not something I can say of a lot of other books. The flow never falters. There's that great feeling that you get from really good plotting, that thing that makes you say "you know, that could have been a great book!" or "I am totally with you, that is a GREAT story" when you read fiction. I can only imagine what it is like to write fiction like that.

The thing that I appreciate most about these books is not the plot at all, but the characters. They're so real and memorable, and they do things in them that don't really happen in any other book I've ever read. And they feel so "right."

For example, I often feel very uncomfortable with characters who are sexually attracted to other characters. I just don't like thinking about them (though I may well read about them in a story); I can't picture them, I don't know what they're like, etc. But in these books, I love the sexual tension between the characters. I am always rooting for the characters to have sex, to say what they really mean and mean what they say. I can see the tension, feel it, hear it. These books, which I otherwise don't like, really sell me the characters who like each other.

There's a sense of intimacy, as though the author had actually known these people for a long time, and knew them well, and you can see that intimacy in every page. (Martin apparently based the "Darth" character on an abusive person he knew in college -- that sense of familiarity, and of seeing the pattern of abuse so clearly, makes that even stronger.)

It's a very strange feeling to get out of a story. Why are you reading about people who, unlike you, have never talked to anyone in their lives? Why would anyone think of writing about them in the first place? But here we are.

[what-if-nct]

Bruh- big dick doesn’t always equal dominance. I’ve always loved the idea of being submissive as early as 10-11 years old. My sisters loved Girls Generation, and it began my attraction to older women. They were all so gorgeous and instantly caught me attention by surprise.

But RED VELVET- they started the kinks and fetishes for me. They were the reason why when I got my first girlfriend at 13, I knew what would make me hard instantly. I wanted to be stepped on and be controlled by her — I even whined to get her attention. Sadly, she didn’t want like a submissive boyfriend because intercourse was the only thing she wanted from a guy with a 7 inch dick at the time. Although I could get a lot of girls through hookup culture since rumours were spreading around that I had the best dick in the whole school in year 7-9 (around grade 8-10) (My dick started growing from when I was 9 or 10 and it was so big that I outgrew all of the boys by the time I turned 14 — even my Asian friends lol), a lot of girls wouldn’t want me once they realised I was submissive or I was moaning louder than than them or too femininely. Ever since then, I started feeling insecure with my dick and would even wished I had a normal average size. This even goes with the same for guys. Whenever I would make out with them, they would expect me to top them because I had a bigger dick. When they asked “why do you have a large dick if you aren’t going to use it anyways” or “why are you a bottom when you have a big dick”, it makes me feel ashamed that I would do anything to make it at least 3 inches smaller.

Once when I was 14, I finally had an experience with an older girl (about 17-18) and she was very supportive with my kinks and me being submissive. It was the best sexual encounter I’ve ever done for which made me feel more confident when she said that my moans sounded adorable — like a kitten.

One day, me and some friends went to a sleepover party and I was dared to play 7 minutes in heaven with my closest friend of 8 years (since year 1 when we started school for the first time and interesting fact, I just came back from South Korea over the holidays) and since he was gay and I was bi, I didn’t mind to do it with him.

When we got to the closet, I told him that I was a bottom and he was like “Cool! I’m a top so-” and I smiled because I was being accepted despite already seeing me naked. I must of gotten so emotional since I managed to blurt out a “really?” You wanna know what he said?

“Sam, I knew you were a bottom, and I accept you no matter what. I like topping anyways.”

This left me emotional, even when the 7 minutes was up. Don’t worry, he decided to suck my dick whilst fingering my butthole.

I then proceeded to ask if he actually meant what he said during the 7 minutes (because it could easily change since I’ve been manipulated a lot), and well…

“You’re my best friend, of course I meant it. Any time you want to fuck, you can call me. Bros before hoes.”

From around March, we processed to be besties with benefits until few days after Halloween, I wanted to change it up. I asked him to be my boyfriend and he said yes.

It’s our 4 year anniversary today and since we didn’t have a lot of time due to assignments, we literally had a date at the college canteen where we literally paid for each other’s chips and ate together at the tables. That’s literally our typical dates basically.

You are completely right, a large penis doesn't mean dominance and it shouldn't automatically be assumed from those who have one. It is hard to be comfortable with your sexuality when you've really only been met with an adverse response. It sucks people aren't as open minded and accepting that you're not what they expect you to be. I have been approached by men who are more submissive. Sense I'm also submissive it kinda doesn't work but I still try and give it a chance. But I'm happy that after all of that you've still had good experiences and you've found someone who accepts and loves you as you are and that's what's really important. I''m so happy you can have that, I wish you both many beautiful years.

[the-stray-pup]

Hi, sorry to snoop, but what is worrying you or confusing you and your sexuality? I'm curious since you said in the comments you might have sex soon

Sure let’s tell everyone on here my dilemma cause why not 😘

It’s long so you have been warned

Tw: past trauma mentions but I’m not going into depth on anything just mentioning shit

Hmm… where to start…

So I’m queer, but the current dilemma I’m having is on my romantic and sexual attraction toward others.

I’ve been in many a relationships but there’s only ever been a couple good ones. I went through a lot when I was younger and got introduced to sexual shit before hitting the double digits. I’ve always been sexualized in some way or another so at certain points I’m not sure what’s past training and what are my actual feelings.

Anyway I had this partner who was asexual and ironically that was the best relationship I had been in (before it got toxic lol) but I am very hypersexual because of all the sexual shit I’ve gone through and all that and at that time I hadn’t considered that maybe I was ace too, I just knew my partner was and I didn’t care at all that we would never have had sex. Essentially the relationships I’ve been the most comfortable in are ones where my partner is asexual

More recently in the past two or so years I’ve been wondering if I’m asexual which I know won’t make sense to many people because “but your blog!” But like 🙄 if you react that way just saying. I’ve always enjoyed the idea of sex more than the idea of actually doing sexual things with someone else. And it’s also a lot different doing things with someone through text where it’s like the idea of doing it or whatever and then like the actual thought of doing what I just talked to someone about isn’t appealing to me and grossed me out

I’ve only ever liked being kissed on the neck and everything else has just been not good experiences that I could say whether or not I’ve actually liked. But to be honest I don’t even like kissing.

Which I guess brings me to the guy I’m fwb with because when we had hung out last we kissed and I had actually never had a good kiss previous to that cause everyone just shoves their tongue in my mouth which is gross as fuck. But anyway even when I kissed him I was kinda disappointed cause I was just like “oh… this is it?” Because I just don’t really like lots of stuff or whatever. I mean the kiss got better the longer we did it which makes it even more confusing so 🤷🏻‍♂️

But anyway I haven’t really done more yet with him and like we flirt heavily over text and tease each other about sexual stuff but lately I’ve been just really confused about my feelings toward sex because I don’t think I’ve ever liked anyone romantically or sexually. I don’t know if I’ve ever been attracted to anyone in that way before or where I’ve actually liked someone like that which at least in this situation it’s fine at least on the romantic aspect cause we’re just friends and I don’t have to worry about those other feelings and what not

Yesterday I was just very sex repulsed. I had woken up horny and had gotten myself off a good number of times and then after that I didn’t want to have anything to do with sexual stuff it was making me feel extremely weird. Especially cause my body was still reacting to things but mentally I was just very grossed out at the idea of sex. And I get like that when I think about having sex sometimes like I can’t really stand the idea of someone being so close to me or like anything like that

Essentially I don’t know what is my hypersexuality and my actual feelings when it comes to things (: there’s so much more explaining I could do but this is long enough as it is already so thank you for coming to my TedTalk

[the-sappho-of-lesbos]

big TW

Honestly at this point I don’t know what to do with myself. I feel like I’ve said this all a million times before but it feels different now. These feelings feel stronger and more permanent. I haven’t felt this way about these things before.

My suicidal ideation is in a weird spot. I think I’m feeling more actively suicidal then I ever have before - but at the same time I feel least at risk to myself because after seeing first hand what my death could lead to for others I just refuse. I refuse to put that on people. It genuinely feels like it nots my life to take. But I can’t stop thinking about it or fantasising about it or hoping something happens so I can die but it won’t be my fault.

I feel so foggy and disconnected and out of it. More so then ever before. I’ve thought about going and admitting myself into hospital but then I’m like no, I’m not in any real danger and the hospital won’t fix anything. I’ll go in a lonely lesbian and come out a lonely lesbian and the community and world I live in will be just the same. The only difference is I’ll be forced to go some days without my iPad. Which just doesn’t seem worth it.

I don’t want to feel this way about myself. I don’t want to hold such contempt for my sexuality. I don’t want to be so triggered by other lgbt people. But I am. I just am. I went somewhere on the weekend and probably saw more lgbt people irl just out and about then I have for a long time and I had a breakdown over it. I couldn’t handle it. And I hate myself so much for it.

I don’t want this to be my life but I can’t control other people. People say what they say and do what they do and have things done to be and now I have PTSD and I can’t change any of that. It just is. And I hate it.

I don’t have someone to hug right now. I don’t have someone to smile at. I don’t have someone to share things with. I don’t have a job. I don’t have the motivation to do next to anything. I wake up, feel miserable for myself, hate my circumstances, hate myself, and go to sleep. The fear my sexuality has created around my life is so infuriating. It makes me terrified of being alone. It makes me terrified of being near other people. It’s makes me jealous and bitter and triggered by the most random of things. I don’t want to be this way but at this point that feels as futile as saying I don’t want to be human. Like great! Okay! I don’t want to be it, now what. I’m still stuck like this. Literally nothing is going to change.

I’ve gotten to the point where I’m too depressed and out of it to even self harm. And I’ve never felt that way before. I’ve never been so upset that the mere effort of self harming is enough to make me tired and think “what is the point of anything anymore”. I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m the most suicidal I’ve ever been while simultaneously being the safest simply because I don’t feel like I’m allowed to do anything. Not because I want to live. Not because of scared of death. Not because I’m holding out hope. Simply because I don’t want to be the first domino to fall and ruin everything for everyone else.

But I’m just full of all this anger. I don’t want to be this obsessed with finding a partner. It’s not healthy, it doesn’t help anyone, and it’s honestly gotten to the point where even if I ever found it I would probably still be all screwed up.

Even my distractions are based on it. I can’t help the fact that I just primarily enjoy romance based stories. That’s just what it is. That’s what holds my attention most of the time. But It just adds to the cycle. I see it, I read it, I want it, I don’t have it, I feel sad. Repeat repeat repeat.

It’s selfish and stupid and childish and I have nothing to offer anyone anyway. I have the audacity to not find someone attractive despite being ugly. I have the audacity to be uncomfortable around someone despite having a shit personality and literally NOTHING to offer anyone. I wish I could just feel what I want to feel towards whoever but I can’t. I’m picky and I’m gay and I don’t want to lie about my sexuality. So I’m stuck here. In this limbo.

I can’t draw, I can’t write, I can hardly read, I get upset around everyone, I’m sad, I’m ugly and I’m so damn lonely.

This pain I’m in causes my body to hurt. I have tingles and tightness all over my body because of it.

Not to mention it makes me irrational. I just internally shut down what anyone says to me if they have a partner. I almost cried at the dinner table the other night because my sister and her boyfriend where there and I felt so lonely. I felt so lonely knowing no one looks at me like that and no one will.

I just sit here cursing myself and my sexuality and just feeling so angry at myself. I’m bubbling over with so much contempt for myself. I feel tired of trying. I feel tired of waiting. I’m tired of living. I’m tired of being me.

This world isn’t one I want to be in. I want to leave so unbelievably badly. But I wholeheartedly feel like I don’t have a say in the matter. That I’m just stuck. And that time moves so slow and so fast all the same time. I get exhausted thinking about how many more years I have to be here. Just as a person. Just as me. With the way everything is. But I also feel so anxious when I look at how much time has passed and how little I have to show for myself.

I feel guilty for how little I do. But I think I’m reaching a point in my depression where I just don’t care either. It’s like fine, I’ll be here if I have to, but I’m sleeping and not contributing and just taking the money from the government and falling into the cracks of society until I kick the bucket. I’m not trying. I’m not adding anything. I’m not helping anything. I’ll just take it and not care anymore.

That level of not caring and feeling like I’ve thrown in the towel and I’m just here is growing stronger and stronger too.

I feel like I’m quickly becoming someone I don’t even recognise just because of how absolutely done I am. I’m so tired. I’m so done. I’m so over it.

Nothing will ever change. And honestly even if it does, I’m tired of waiting. I’ve given up. But this pain won’t just go away. This heavy overwhelming pain of loneliness and resentment and jealousy and anger at myself. It’s genuinely suffocating and I don’t know what to do. I just want the feelings to go away. I want it all to stop. I want to die and be free of these feelings. But I can’t. I’m stuck here. I’m stuck in hell.

[smokeybrandcompositions]

Take That

All this sh*t about Diddy is not surprising to me in the slightest. Of course this dude is the way he is, mans has literally gotten away with murder for decades, what’s a rape or two on top of that. Bro has a body count like Riley Reid, in both regards. I’ve never been one to support Diddy. I’ve been one to support Bad Boy artists because they are basically bamboozled into that life but, ever since BIG was killed, I’ve been side-eyeing Puff. Like, how were you not with BIG when he got hit? Why were you in the truck behind your golden goose of an artist, who was leaving you for his own label? Why Mase ain’t go out with y’all that night and opted to stay indoors? Why were you even in LA, knowing how hot it was out there for Bad Boy, specifically? BIG wouldn’t be the last of his affiliate to kick the bucket, too. His entire crew from Uptown Records are either dead or almost died. I think the last two standing are Al B. Sure and Puff, everyone else, including Kim Porter, have been dead for years. All from something like a cardiac arrest or whatever. Kind of like Jamie Foxx, who had a stroke, which can be caused by a cardiac arrest. Interesting that he had tons of tapes from these Puffy Parties and started talking about them out loud, in public, on video, right before he had his Troubles. Suspected homicides aside, Puff is known to be a psychopath. Dangled Wall-E out a window while at the studio. Firebombed Cudi’s car because he made eyes at Cassie. For sure got weird with Usher when he was young. I even read a story about how he took a kettle bell to his son’s coach while kid was at USC, and then made him publicly apologize for making Diddy assault him! Real, next level, Dick Cheney, bullsh*t right there. So it’s weird to me everyone is just honing in on the gay sh*t.

Straight up, full disclosure, I do not think Puff Daddy is gay. I do not think he is bisexual. I think Puff Daddy is into dominating people. I think he f*cks dudes to let them know he is the alpha, that he’s the one in charge. You submit to that Diddy because you don’t have a choice. Sure, there might be an attraction there, but I think it’s more he’s testing to see how far you’re willing to go, how much of yourself you’re willing to sell in order to be famous and sh*t. How many dudes has Diddy pressed and they walked away? Puff pushed up on 50 Cent once. He been talking about that sh*t, out loud, for decades. Ain’t no one coming after Fif at this point. He’ll return fire like it’s not an issue. But he got it like that, though. Mans is a mogul now, just like Puff. Xzibit had a story about a part he went to with Superhead. He said Diddy pulled him to the side and told him women are the devil and them promptly took him to an after party in a club where dudes was f*cking each other on the dance floor. Katt Williams said he had to turn down fifty million dollars, four times, to protect his anal virtue and then immediately named dropped Diddy as one of these sexual deviants in the industry. What do these cats all have in common? They’re self-made men. 50 earned that look from Em by dropping mixtapes. Xzibit came up through the West Coast in the early Aughts. Katt Williams pays for his own tours, he doesn’t give a sh*t about the celebrity. When you don’t care about the “fame”, the Diddys of the world can’t hold you like that. I mean, just the way he treated Cassie, with the trafficking and rapes, is more than enough to show you that Diddy doesn’t give a sh*t about his paramours. He’s in it to exert control, to inflict obedience. Him f*cking Rapper’s in the butt, is primarily so they no he f*cked them in the butt. So they know that he can do it again, if he wants. That’s not gay, that’s abuse, and that should be what everyone is focusing on.

The No Diddy stuff is funny but let’s be real here, Sean Combs is a monster that not only has blood on his hands, but has ruined entire lives and many a career. He has raped, manipulated, blackmailed, and abused countless people during his run as THE last Bad Boy standing. None of this was about his fetishes or sexual gratification, it was all about asserting his power over anyone he deemed less than. He groomed Cassie. Got his claws into her at nineteen years old. Terrorized her for a decade. Mans tried to absolutely own Mase. Manipulated him into endless advances and IOUs. Mase finally bailed, moved to Atlanta, and found god for a while. Listening to him talk about his time at Bad Boy is harrowing as f*ck. There’s been a trail of actual death and destruction in Puff Daddy’s wake for years. He was a major boogie man in the industry but Cassie took a shot at the god and, while it didn’t kill him, it showed the world he can bleed. Now there’s chum in the water and even the Feds want a piece of Diddy. There is no amount of royalties he can withhold, taped full of debauched blackmail, or brand new rap butthole he can f*ck, that is going to shift this power dynamic. The Federal Government is after Sean Combs. He’s about to get f*cked this time around, by the long arm of the law.

[smokeybrand]

Take That

All this sh*t about Diddy is not surprising to me in the slightest. Of course this dude is the way he is, mans has literally gotten away with murder for decades, what’s a rape or two on top of that. Bro has a body count like Riley Reid, in both regards. I’ve never been one to support Diddy. I’ve been one to support Bad Boy artists because they are basically bamboozled into that life but, ever since BIG was killed, I’ve been side-eyeing Puff. Like, how were you not with BIG when he got hit? Why were you in the truck behind your golden goose of an artist, who was leaving you for his own label? Why Mase ain’t go out with y’all that night and opted to stay indoors? Why were you even in LA, knowing how hot it was out there for Bad Boy, specifically? BIG wouldn’t be the last of his affiliate to kick the bucket, too. His entire crew from Uptown Records are either dead or almost died. I think the last two standing are Al B. Sure and Puff, everyone else, including Kim Porter, have been dead for years. All from something like a cardiac arrest or whatever. Kind of like Jamie Foxx, who had a stroke, which can be caused by a cardiac arrest. Interesting that he had tons of tapes from these Puffy Parties and started talking about them out loud, in public, on video, right before he had his Troubles. Suspected homicides aside, Puff is known to be a psychopath. Dangled Wall-E out a window while at the studio. Firebombed Cudi’s car because he made eyes at Cassie. For sure got weird with Usher when he was young. I even read a story about how he took a kettle bell to his son’s coach while kid was at USC, and then made him publicly apologize for making Diddy assault him! Real, next level, Dick Cheney, bullsh*t right there. So it’s weird to me everyone is just honing in on the gay sh*t.

Straight up, full disclosure, I do not think Puff Daddy is gay. I do not think he is bisexual. I think Puff Daddy is into dominating people. I think he f*cks dudes to let them know he is the alpha, that he’s the one in charge. You submit to that Diddy because you don’t have a choice. Sure, there might be an attraction there, but I think it’s more he’s testing to see how far you’re willing to go, how much of yourself you’re willing to sell in order to be famous and sh*t. How many dudes has Diddy pressed and they walked away? Puff pushed up on 50 Cent once. He been talking about that sh*t, out loud, for decades. Ain’t no one coming after Fif at this point. He’ll return fire like it’s not an issue. But he got it like that, though. Mans is a mogul now, just like Puff. Xzibit had a story about a part he went to with Superhead. He said Diddy pulled him to the side and told him women are the devil and them promptly took him to an after party in a club where dudes was f*cking each other on the dance floor. Katt Williams said he had to turn down fifty million dollars, four times, to protect his anal virtue and then immediately named dropped Diddy as one of these sexual deviants in the industry. What do these cats all have in common? They’re self-made men. 50 earned that look from Em by dropping mixtapes. Xzibit came up through the West Coast in the early Aughts. Katt Williams pays for his own tours, he doesn’t give a sh*t about the celebrity. When you don’t care about the “fame”, the Diddys of the world can’t hold you like that. I mean, just the way he treated Cassie, with the trafficking and rapes, is more than enough to show you that Diddy doesn’t give a sh*t about his paramours. He’s in it to exert control, to inflict obedience. Him f*cking Rapper’s in the butt, is primarily so they no he f*cked them in the butt. So they know that he can do it again, if he wants. That’s not gay, that’s abuse, and that should be what everyone is focusing on.

The No Diddy stuff is funny but let’s be real here, Sean Combs is a monster that not only has blood on his hands, but has ruined entire lives and many a career. He has raped, manipulated, blackmailed, and abused countless people during his run as THE last Bad Boy standing. None of this was about his fetishes or sexual gratification, it was all about asserting his power over anyone he deemed less than. He groomed Cassie. Got his claws into her at nineteen years old. Terrorized her for a decade. Mans tried to absolutely own Mase. Manipulated him into endless advances and IOUs. Mase finally bailed, moved to Atlanta, and found god for a while. Listening to him talk about his time at Bad Boy is harrowing as f*ck. There’s been a trail of actual death and destruction in Puff Daddy’s wake for years. He was a major boogie man in the industry but Cassie took a shot at the god and, while it didn’t kill him, it showed the world he can bleed. Now there’s chum in the water and even the Feds want a piece of Diddy. There is no amount of royalties he can withhold, taped full of debauched blackmail, or brand new rap butthole he can f*ck, that is going to shift this power dynamic. The Federal Government is after Sean Combs. He’s about to get f*cked this time around, by the long arm of the law.

[my-digi-life]

I know I’ve been posting everyday since I started but I can promise this will not last LMAO. I don’t want to write if I have nothing to say, but sometimes the stuff I do have to say can be silly and pointless, but it’s still something I want to talk about it so oh well. 

Anway…. 

I didn’t mention this in my 2024 goals because I wasn’t sure it was something I actually wanted to do, but I’m thinking of getting into dating. 

I’ve only been in a few relationships my whole life and only 1 was during my adult life. The way I kind of describe it is that I’ve just been fulfilled in every other aspect of my life, especially my friendships, that I’ve just never had the desire to date. It feels a little silly to be getting into dating at the ripe age of 24, nearly 25 when everyone else in my life has either been with their partner for years or has already gotten married. Some are even having kids which is wild to me haha.

I do, however, get emotional when I think about being able to love someone. When I see happy sapphic couple, I get a lil teared eye, both because I’m happy for them and because I would love to experience it. 

I don’t know if I would say it’s loneliness that makes me emotionally because I’m not lonely and I’m still so fulfilled in my life. I think it’s just the idea of loving someone so wholly and being loved the same that makes me feel emotional because I would love to experience that. 

Dating is so nerve racking though and I know that that is just something I’m going to have to get over if I really want to do this. I’m going to try to go into this being authentically myself and if people don’t like that then they just aren’t the person for me and that’s totally fine. I don’t want to spend time overthinking every  message I send. I just want to chat.

In the past few months at my job, I’ve discovered that people actually do enjoy my weirdness. I have benefitted more from being my quirky self than I ever did pretending to be someone I’m not. That’s the lesson I fully intend to take into dating. 

There is something I need to figure out about myself though as I navigate the dating scene and that’s my sexuality. By sexuality, I don’t mean it as in “am I queer? Am I straight? Blahblah”. I already know I’m queer and have 0 interest in cis men (sorry they scare me too much to ever be attracted to them LMAO). 

When I talk about sexuality, I mean the way I experience and express myself sexually. I’ve never had sex because I’ve never dated and when I did date, it was always something that gave me such anxiety I would end it before my partner ever got the chance to make a move. 

In my adulthood, I’ve been toying with the idea that I’m asexual, but I’m not 100% sure about that label. Even with that label, the asexuality I identified with is “I don’t care for/about sex, but if my partner wants to have sex, I’d be willing”. However, I think that my aversion to sex isn’t a lack of attraction, but rather it’s caused by anxiety and being self conscious. I want to work through this myself and as I work through it, I’m open to dating. 

I had a little bit of a melty a few weeks ago because sometimes I also get nervous that I’m aromantic. There’s nothing wrong with aromanticism! It’s a perfectly valid identity, but for me, I crave human connection so much and I do really yearn for something romantic. I just don’t think the few relationships I’ve had I was ever really interested in the person and that had me thinking maybe it wasn’t the person it was me. But as I write this, I think maybe it wasn’t either of us, maybe we were just two teenagers or young adults who just didn’t fit right. 

Lots to think about! Until next time, 

Hum and kiss from your friend,

[topobserver]

(Thoughts on sex and society, 18+)

As a bi non-binary person, it’s been difficult for me to come to terms with the fact that I really am a bottom. I want to switch, because I want to pleasure others and make them feel good. I want to be of service. I want to be compatible with everyone.

But the issue is that I’m not — when in every other facet of my life, I am. I’m both a man and woman and neither. I like anyone and everyone. I take masculine and feminine forms. I have socially dominant and socially submissive tendencies. I can be shy or charismatic depending on my mood. So, if I can switch between modes in every other aspect of my life, why can’t I switch between these two things? Why do I have to be just one?

It’s been ceaselessly frustrating. I tend to gravitate toward people with a sexually submissive lean, too, which has left me feeling woefully inadequate when they have inevitably wanted me to fuck them and I couldn’t do it. I tried, I really did, and it was miserable. My body doesn’t move the way I want it to; neither does my mind. I can’t get off on it the way others can.

I’d be happy in a relationship without any type of penetrative sex or top/bottom dynamic, honestly, but it’s so pervasive in this world to want that. Need it. I like being fucked, but I could live without it with the right person. But in this society, it always comes back to that imperative — stick it in, fuck me, whatever. Our minds are trained to focus on it, crave it. It’s built on this heteronormative idea, right? Why does it have to matter so much? Why could I never just be enough?

Where the hell did all this shame come from? Is it societal? Is it interpersonal? Is it both?

I’d been trying to train myself that it’s okay to want to get fucked. That it’s okay to not want to fuck people. I’m AFAB, I tell myself, and it’s a statistical likelihood that I’d be comfortable with being pleasured in a way that aligns with the way this sex evolved, or whatever. But it was a dark, pervasive feeling, and a deeply entrenched belief I was undesirable as a queer person for having this trait. Some of my friends can do it and they’re AFAB, other people find the joy in it, why couldn’t I?

It’s jealousy, too, of anyone who’s a bottom and comfortable with it. Don’t even get me started on confidence — I thought it was the cringiest thing in the world. How dare you? I would think. How dare you feel secure, or god forbid proud, of this trait that’s so undesirable? How can you be okay with publicizing your moral failing? It sounds totally ridiculous to type out, but I really do feel that way when I encounter people who are just living their lives as bottoms. And I still struggle with this, but it’s gotten easier.

I didn’t want to feel that way anymore, so I started trying to radically accept that this was something undeniable about me. Shyly and carefully self-describing as a bottom with trusted friends, even though saying it made me want to spontaneously combust a little — calling myself that still brings me a sense of full-body mortification. Allowing myself to express attraction towards tops, and take solace in top/bottom dynamics in art while the rest of my queer friends celebrated switching (which deserves the celebration — why choose one when you don’t have to?) and other kinds of queer sexual dynamics.

There’s a lot of complexity to this that I wouldn’t be able to fit into one post. That’s the purpose of making a new sideblog for it. In any case, the end of the story-so-far is that I got into a T4T relationship with a guy who’s a top, and it’s been the most securing and relaxing dynamic I’ve ever been a part of. I’ve never felt desirable the way I am before, and I’m starting to explore that feeling little by little.

So that’s why I’m here; to observe this binary dynamic that only some queer people experience. To explore my thoughts on it, reflect on the way it affects the way I perceive the world, and maybe make jokes along the way. To celebrate all types of queer sex, and the joy that comes along with it.

Feel free to follow along with me!

[youn9racha]

Fake

Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

Genre: smut, maybe humor

Words: 2.8k

Sypnosis: best friend!bang chan gets surprised that his sexually active best friend has never had an orgasm, he opted to use his best friend card to help his friend out.

Warning: discussion of sex (omg :0), slight choking (i mean what kinda chan smut that doesn’t have a choking part), oral (receiving), fingering, kinda fwb, dom bi best friend!chan being a cocky son of a bitch, reader drinks a whole bottle of wine and is a subby brat

Extra notes: all i’ve been writing is smut god damn lmffaoo, but since y’all enjoyed the last two parter, lets hope y’all give it the same love as last time :)

———————————————————————————

This is no way representative of the way Stray Kids act. They’re nothing but references of character, and in no shape or form is this how they act. And I am in no way romanticizing or glamorizing any toxic behavior exhibited, they’re just stories that is meant to be read. Readers discretion is advised.

———————————————————————————

“You never had an orgasm?!” Chan exclaimed in the middle of an ice cream shop, resulting in me shutting him up by shushing him and putting my hands in his mouth as his eyes widened at me in complete shock of my confession. Let us rewind a little before Chan decided to tell the whole entire world about my lack of pleasure.

I never had an orgasm. Well, kinda.

I have gotten off to whatever turns me on, and did climaxed here and there, but I had trouble reaching a powerful, out from the gut orgasm with other partners. I don’t know what it is about me, but I happen to always attract those who can only give pleasure to themselves but not to their partners. No amount of talking prior or exploring was any good, and always results in me faking my orgasm just so I could end this sad experience. And ever since then, I have been obeying the law of faking it until you make it since I never managed to get one, might as well pretend it.

However, even with all that acting, it doesn’t ease off my frustration. No amount of hands or toys were satisfying, as I still longed for a touch—literally—of a person. And venting it to my best friend of 8 years in a public place was a bad idea.

Chan was my best friend from my college days, we pursued different majors, however that didn’t stop us from getting any closer from each other. We were inseparable, and we told each other about everything that makes us evoke any emotions. Well, not everything, since I didn’t tell him about my failed reaching of climax. It was disappointment after disappointment, that it frustrates me. I didn’t think it was that bad until my fifth hook up, which pushed me to my limit. I would typically tell Chan that it didn’t work out due to whatever half-assed excuse I gave. Its not that the previous hook ups were bad people, they just need to have an understanding on where the clit is.

Now fast forward to present day, where I dropped the bomb that I didn’t expect to be bigger than it already is, as Chan pretty much let the entire people in the ice cream shop be aware that I have never had a person made me cum in my life. Yup, thats my best friend alright.

I slammed my hand in his mouth as my widened eyes, paired with my blushed face due to embarrassmen, “are you out of your mind?! why would you yell that out loud?!” I whispered yell as I sensed judging eyes coming from an elderly group of women were on me, for sure trash talking me for simply not being a virgin in the first place. Chan pulled my hands away, “because all this time, all these hook ups, and still no org—“ he may have still been whispering his words this time as my hand slam put him back to reality, I still silnced him, not wanting him to finish the sentence at least not in the store filled with people.

”Chan, lets talk about this outside on our way home, I’m uncomfortable with the way people are staring.” I pleaded as he nodded and we both rushed out, his hand still grabbing hold of his ice cream. I’ll never go back to that ice cream place, especially not with Chan. We started walking, as Chan was eating his ice cream as I looked down in shame. He noticed my down expression, “oh, c’mon (y/n), I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell out at the store, I was so surprise that I desensitized from reality.” He frowned as he stopped his track and held my arm. I simply just looked at him with a disappointed face.

”C’mon, I’ll do anything” He pleaded. I looked at his ice cream and back to him. “Give me your ice cream.”

Chan pursed his lips, looking at his ice cream, ”(y/n), you know that I’v—“

”Give me that ice cream, or forget it,” I turned just nearly walking away, as he let put an exaggerated “ugh, fine!” and gave me his ice cream. I smiled villainously.

We both started walking again as I started to eat it while Chan was looking at me, with full disdain, “how’s your ice cream?” he scoffed at me. I smiled at him and looked at him “yummy,” licking my lips while he just rolled his eyes. I eventually gave him back his ice cream, which he says, “after you ate half of it?!” He always means it in a jokingly way. This is our way of banter, we wouldn’t do anything that could lead either of us getting hurt.

“Do you wanna talk about it now or later?” We had a mini silence before Chan spoke, so he decided to break the ice. “Oh, I don’t mind, I just prefer to talk about it at home… just so the whole ice cream shop thing won’t happ—“

“Okay! Okay! We got it!”

”Why are you embarrassed?! I’m the one with the fake orgasms!”

Chan and I went back in forth, as if we’re still not at a public eye.

~~~

”Even that Italian guy? That man looks like he has a sex dungeon in his house! Hell, even I could’ve taken him in.”

I’ve re-told the whole segment to Chan but this time with fuller details as Chan at times doesn’t realize that we’re at a public place, but thankfully this time we’re at the comfort of my own apartment, sitting on the couch, as I’ve started to drink away my feelings using a whole wine bottle as a coping mechanism, meanwhile he’s simply sitting next to me drinking pineapple juice. Yeah, we fit the sober best friend plus ”at the brink of alcoholism“ best friend, not necessarily a good combo, but we make it work.

I simply just shrugged at him, “I guess I don’t have the alakazam pussy like Doja Cat’s,” I said as I began to gulp another swig, I don’t if its clear to anybody but I am indeed wasted. Chan just tsked and shook his head sympathetically, “poor (y/n), after having to fake her orgasm five times out of her twenty five year old life,”

“god, I’m old,” I mumbled to myself, bottle in my mouth again.

“here she is, drinking her life away whilst negatively referencing her precious lady parts that of our lord and savior, Doja cat’s,” He looked up, wiping a fake tear, “If only I can donate to this case.”

I eyed at him with the side eye, “you know for someone who doesn’t drink, you’re currently acting more drunk than I do.” Chan giggled, whilst I just shook my bottle, only to see it empty. I groaned and put the bottle to the table, then putting my head on Chan’s shoulder, “I’ll never know what it feels like to have someone make you cum,” I pouted, while Chan put his head on top of mine, already putting his pineapple juice to the side.

“I don’t get it.” God, I sound really depressing its just an orgasm it‘s not that big of a deal. But it is, most people wants to know what it feels to reach maximum peak, and the experience of it all. It‘s a real shame that I‘ll never experience it.

Something, however has shifted in me. “Chan, what‘s your body count?”

”Huh?!” Chan exclaimed, looking confused at me, and rightfully so. I don’t know what that question was leading to, all I know is that my drunk brain maybe onto something.

“Don’t think too much of it and just answer the damn question,” I grumbled at him. He sat there confused, however he did stop and think about it. “ten, maybe fifteen.”

I looked at him with surprise in my eyes, which he jokingly took offense, “what?! whats with the surprised look in your face?!“ I shook my head in defense, “nothing, its just I wasn’t expecting double digits.”

”What do you mean?! I get dick and pussy as well, I want an orgasm just like everyone else, and I can give some as well,” He said with full confidence, puffing up his chest, while I just leaned back and crossed my arm. “Christopher, was that offer there?” I smirked at him, which resulted in him losing his confident persona just by mentioning his full name as his sayings earlier sunk in to his brain, “what?”

”You said you can give an orgasm, are insinuating something?” I questioned, getting closer to him. I never really thought of Chan as more than a best friend of mine. I love and care about him sure, hell from an outside point of view, I could see why a lot of people would mistaken us as couple. But here’s one thing I’ll never deny about him; that he’s a greek god disguised as a human being, he’s perfect in terms of physical attributes and his personality, well aside from his desensitization, but aside from that he does seem like the perfect person to be with. However, I never even looked at Chan in a sexual way either, while I briefly do talk about my hook ups with him, he barely opened up about his, which is why I was surprised when his body count ended being higher than expected.

”I just said I give some, I didn’t mean it no other way,” Chan crossed his arms, furrowing his brows. He was by no means uncomfortable or awkward, but rather threatened, but not in a menacing way.

“Oh are you not confident?“ I wiggled my eyebrows at him, as my side smile slowly began to form as a villainous smile.

”I never said that,”

”But you said you didn’t mean anything,” looking at him innocently, which silenced him, however it wasn’t a silence of defeat. It was hard to read to be honest but I know when his tongue was poking out his cheek, you know its trouble.

“Bet you can’t make me cum.” a low blow, just how I like it.

”Don’t test me, (y/n),” Chan slowly spoke, looking at me with a stern look.

Again, I was not sure if its because I’m drunk or I’m desperate, but seeing Chan switching from that loud, obnoxious guy who wouldn’t stop embarrassing you to whatver the fuck this hot piece of ass of a behavior he’s showcasing was definitely one of the sexiest thing my best friend has done.

“What are you gonna do? Cry about it? I bet you can’t make me cum just by your tongue that is lying inside your cheek right now,” it was a challenge, and a death wish, as I carried on pestering him. I got closer to him with every word I’m letting out out of my mouth, getting closer to his face just to insult him. However, I suddenly felt a hand around my throat, making me gasp. “I said, don’t test me, brat...”

Well, that was unexpected, but I’m certainly not complaining. I gulped, as he sensed my throat moving in his palm, he chuckled, “whats the matter, (y/n)? Why are you quiet?” He was taunting me, as he slightly squeezed my neck more. At this point, I didn’t care if he was my dumb best friend of eight years, all I know is that…

”Chan, fuck me,”

Giving him the audible consent, Chan smirked and let go of my neck and stroking my head, “are you sure? I don’t want to pressure you,” his caring side was showcasing, which was nice, but unneeded. “Yes, Chris! Just take me on this couch right now!” I growled at him, which he giggled at my desperation. I laid back on the couch as he got on top of me. He looked at me with dark full blown eyes at me, as he began to brush his lips against mine, purposefully teasing. I whined at his action, which resulted in him snickering.

He ultimately began kissing me, which my assumption of him having soft lips was proven to be true, that along with the taste pineapple that lingered in his tongue as he inserted into my mouth. The flavors of pineapple and wine were getting stronger to taste, along with our need of each other. Chan moved from his lips down to my neck, and as explored my neck more, he found a sweet spot which resulted in me moaning out his name. He decided to stick on that same spot, lightly nibble onto the skin, which made the noises I’ve been making more louder.

The nibble gradually became a full on bite, my hand was rushed to his hair, gently pulling onto his hair, which resulted in him making a noise. He wanted to make a mark on me, and I didn’t mind it. “Chan..” I gasped, as he moved his lips from my neck down to my collar bones and started to sucking on it.

”Can i take this off?” He looked down at my pants then up at face, to check up for consent. He may have that predatory look to his face, his gentleness was still very visible. I simply nodded at him, smiling excitedly. He got up off of me, “hips up,” he patted my hips, making me raising it instinctively.

He smoothly took off my pants, revealing my basic grey panties. It wasn’t like I expected a hookup, let alone coming from my best friend, but neither of us care, as Chan looked like he was ready to devour me, especially when witnessing a tiny patch of my arousal staining through, darkening the fabric. Chan lifted my shirt just slightly as he began kissing my stomach down. My hand ended up in his curly locks again, as he was getting closer to the zone I wanted him to go through. He spread my legs and began kissing my clothed lower lips harshly, making me gasp at the sudden movement.

I never had a hook up like this, it was all new to me, but it felt good nonetheless. My moans were too quite for his liking, silently protesting him to stop with the teasing, so he began tugging my panties to the side and his tongue made a reaction. “Oh~“ I grunted as he vigorously began inserting his tongue into my slit. His tongue was moving at all the right direction, which eventually began to switch from his tongue to his slender fingers.

This man not only had nice looking fingers, but he knew how to use it as well, as he began thrusting it in and out while his tongue was encircling my clit. The moans I was eliciting was enough to make Chan go wild as well. This is what he wanted to hear, and this is what I wanted to experience.

I am starting to sense a sudden heat bubbling in my lower stomach as the noises coming out of my mouth were getting louder, is this what the people describe as the big O? because if so, then I think I have reach there.

“Ch—Chan… I am cum—“

”Hmm?” He took his mouth out of my clit to look at me, smirking at my state as his two fingers were assaulting my core. “Are you cumming alr—“

He was interrupted by my screaming and my hips raising as I finally reached something I never reached, the peak that I always find myself not reaching. My first ever orgasm.

As I was raising my chest, catching my breath, Chan was looking at me with eyes widen. After I catch my breath, we started to look at each other deep into our eyes. But then we both began bursting out of laughter.

My head was pulled back and while Chan fell on top of me, as we both maniacally laughed over the sudden realization that hit us both. As we both died down our laughs, I looked at Chan as his head was laying next to me, “Chan, get up, I’m pantless” I remarked, which made him sit up and move out of the way, “sorry,“ Chan said in a low voice.

Putting back my pants up, Chan looks back at me after I sat back down, “so..” he trailed off at his words.

”What?”

”Don’t ‘what‘ me, tell me what do you think?” Chan looked at me, lip biting with anticipatio and eyes filled with hope.

”hm, its alright“

“alright, fuck you,” Chan rolled his eyes and got up. I quickly held his hand and pulled him down. “I’m kidding, it was amazing” I said excitedly, while Chan just simply smiled back.

Afterwards, I still see Chan as nothing more than a best friend, and feels the same way. Even after Chan’s godly cunnilingus that he showcased, our feelings has been the same. He was the best friend anyone could wish for.

[jennagrinsoverml]

do u have any really good fic recs for mlb enemies to lovers

Do I ever! Some of these have already been recced in my AU rec list, but since this isn't part of my "undiscovered gems" series, I'm going to let myself rec all of the popular enemies to lovers fic I've been enjoying too 😊

A Series of Meets: Reach by @damagectrlwrites

Paris is safe, except from the rivalry of its two superhero guardians: Ladybug and Chat Noir.  Since they were teenagers, the two have raced around Paris, trying to out do-good each other.

After Chat Noir saves a bus of people from falling into the Seine before Ladybug can even get there, Adrien is in high spirits.  He helps a young woman reach some chips high on a shelf, kicking off a friendly conversation that ends with a coffee date.

It’s a terrible day for Marinette.  First she had a hectic day at work, then Chat Noir gets all the praise for saving a bus of people, and then she nearly topples over trying to reach some chips.  At the very least, a nice guy helps her and asks her to coffee. Surely, things will get better, right?

Ladynoir Enemies AU. Never met AU. This one is absolutely amazing and hilarious and YOU NEED TO READ IT!! Ladybug and Chat Noir are superhero rivals, always trying to outdo each other, and being annoyed at the other. Marinette and Adrien get a meet-cute and fall in love. The juxtaposition is perfect and ridiculous and THAT IDENTITY REVEAL OMG.

Dearly despised, (I love you) by @snacc-noir

Marinette could go on about why she hated Adrien Agreste—to his pranking tendencies to ineffable attractiveness—ever since he had the audacity that day with the umbrella.

And yet, here she was fake-dating him while in love with a superhero.

Adrienette Enemies AU. Warning: This is a WIP! But it's so much fun. Basically Adrien and Marinette never sorted out the misunderstanding with the gum and instead just dug themselves deeper and deeper in hate with their miscommunications. Meanwhile ladynoir are totally in love with each other. Add in a whole bunch of sexual tension and seeing just where the author teases out these missed chances and it's beautiful.

Curiosity and Satisfaction by @imthepunchlord

When Adrien agreed to this line of work, he thought all his focus would be on the job of catching the elusive Lady Luck. It never crossed his mind that someone else would catch his attention.

Ladynoir Enemies AU. Although this is a ladynoir enemies AU, this dynamic change bleeds into all of the different sides of the love square and it's so different and interesting! I loved how the changes made actually affected other aspects. The story feels very real and believable.

like poles of a magnet by @rosekasa

ladybug spat her blood at chat noir. invincibility was only granted to the ladybug and black cat that worked together. not even the miraculous cure could heal them, otherwise.

(or, five times they didn’t hate each other, and one time it was love).

Ladynoir Enemies AU.  The enemies dynamic here is AMAZING!! Adrien is so in character even when he’s a “bad guy”, and the backstory of how he ended up working with Hawkmoth is perfect. (Also, how is Gabriel even worse??) I love the way the identities are played with, and especially the repercussions of Chat working for Hawkmoth on what Adrien is allowed to do.

Unstuck by @ominousunflower

Chat Noir, notorious supervillain of Paris, experiences a wardrobe malfunction in the best and worst possible place: Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s balcony.

Heart pounding, Chat pins Marinette’s wrists to the balcony. She stares up at him, her blue eyes kaleidoscopic from the lights hanging overhead, her features twisted into a scowl.

“Why are you trying to take my Miraculous?” Chat hisses.

“Because—you—I—” Marinette splutters, her eyes dipping down below Chat’s face. “Why is your suit unzipped?”

“I—well…” Chat sighs. “My zipper got stuck.”

Ladynoir Enemies AU featuring Marichat. I'm an absolute sucker for villain!Chat who just needs someone who's willing to care for and believe in him. And, even as a villain, he's still so recognizably Adrien here. My hearttttt!

out of the woods. by @anxiouscupcake​

“I- I have a… Someone I care about very much,” Adrien admitted. “I’m only doing this because my father gave me no choice.” “Well,” she said, lips pursed. “I don’t have it in me to fight The Gabriel Agreste, right now. My hands are tied too.” “I’m sorry.”

To his credit, he genuinely sounded a little remorseful. She even resented him a little for it, because she had so much more to lose than he did, but he just wanted to stay in Daddy’s good books.

She grimaced. Marriage, for one year, they agreed. And a painful few months of “courtship” to convince the press of the authenticity of their “marriage”.

In eighteen months, her father would be hale and hearty, and she’d divorce Adrien Agreste and be nothing more than his business partner.

(...In which Gabriel is an asshole, Adrien is trying and Marinette's stubborn but gives in eventually.)

This is a 2-part series that isn’t finished and that I desperately hope is continued. It’s not EXACTLY enemies AU per se, but it hits the same sweet spot. Ladynoir are in love, but can’t be together. Adrienette are forced to marry because of circumstances and Marinette resents Adrien for it. It’s got Enemies to Friends to Lovers vibes, even if we haven’t gotten that last part yet, and I love it!

i have found someone (like a nomad finds a home) by @hanaasbananas

After Stoneheart, Gabriel figured out who Chat Noir was, and forced him to work for him, rather than with Ladybug. Years later, Adrien is miserable until one night, he meets Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Ladynoir Enemies AU featuring Marichat. Sort of a Never Met AU in that Adrien doesn't start attending school until after he's been a villain for some time and after he's gotten to know (and fallen for) Marinette as Chat. I love it when Chat's a villain and his love for Marinette/Ladybug helps him make better choices!

This Red Love by @hanaasbananas

In another world, he loves her. Would lay down his life for her without a second thought. Would be devoted only to her. In another world, they are partners, fighting side by side to keep Paris safe from Hawkmoth. Ladybug and Chat Noir, heroes of Paris. In this world, Ladybug is his enemy; the only thing standing in the way of what he most desires. In this world, he is not a hero.

Or the one where Adrien and Marinette are dating, but Chat Noir works for Hawkmoth. Angst ensues.

Ladynoir Enemies AU featuring Adrienette. This one has so much tension and the identity reveal and the ladynoir conflict really impacts the adrienette relationship and it's fantastic!

[snackhobi]

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, future smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: everyone knows that androids don’t think, or feel, or have emotions. they’re not human, after all. so when a two hour session with a sex android ends up with nothing more than a nice conversation, you think that’s the first and last time you’ll see v. 

then he turns up at your door. 

warnings: talk of sex work (taehyung is a sex android), implied physical harassment (mentions of bruising), cursing/explicit language, mentions of alcohol, honestly this is a lot softer than these warnings would make you think I swear 🤧

a/n: I started writing this fic like 2/3 months ago and then put it on hiatus bc god it was kicking my entire ass. but ya girl is finally back to working on it! it’ll be two parts, because this fic is a big one! I hope to have the next chapter out next week/the week after (but no promises kdsflkfdfsdf) thank you @hobi-gif​ for loving this fic so wholeheartedly and supporting me while I struggled with it, queen shit ONLY. note: this is loosely a detroit: become human au but you don’t have to be familiar with it at all!

Here are the three things you know about the Eden Club.

One: it’s a sex club. Everyone knows that. Besides, even if they didn’t, all it would take is a single look—the soft blue lighting that shines out from the windows, the screens behind the glass that flash images of shifting and undulating bodies, the heavy beat of music that pulsates from the building and out into the night air; everything murmurs of the promised pleasures that are held within. 

Two: it’s a sex club entirely staffed by androids. Androids make better lovers, according to the ads. They might look human but they don’t have free will like you do—anything you ask for, you’re given without question or reproach. They can’t say no to you. They’re entirely at your command.

Three: you don’t ever want to go to the Eden Club. It’s not that you have anything against androids—because you don’t—but you feel bad for the ones who are owned by the club, even if they’re literally only built and programmed to serve humans. It just feels… wrong.

And here’s the fourth thing you’ve just learned about the club, much to your dismay: you are about to head inside it.

“When you said we were going to a club, I thought we were going dancing,” you whine. “I never would have come out if I’d know you meant here.”

You’ve been staring up at the cursive pink neon sign for a while now, the looping letters of Eden Club shining out in the dark evening air, and you really, really wish you weren’t here. You’ve dressed for a night of dancing and drinking and now you feel woefully uncomfortable, your high heels and short skirt almost as scandalous as the outfits the androids are wearing when they slide across the huge screens.

“That’s why we didn’t tell you which club it was.” Seulgi rolls her eyes and once again tries to tug you towards the building with the arm that’s looped with your own. Just out of arm’s reach, Irene holds your bag hostage. “Come on, your session is going to start soon!”

“My session?” Your voice is an incredulous shrill and Seulgi uses the momentary distraction to finally pull you forward. You stumble a little but catch your balance just as you make your way past the bouncer, who’s been watching the three of you impassively since you got here. “What do you mean, my session?”

“For your birthday, duh. We booked you a private room!”

The inside has the same, sleek neon aesthetic as the outside, but instead of images of androids on a screen, these ones are real and standing in front of you—swinging themselves around glowing poles, rolling their hips and swaying their bodies, while others wait patiently in glass pods that line the walls, leaning towards onlookers and moving as tantalisingly as possible. All ready to be rented at a whim.

Their designs are varied and different but they’re all incredibly beautiful. The only feature they all share is the small, blue LED circle on the side of their temple, light spinning and shining as they take the world in around them. A visual reminder to the world that these aren’t flesh and blood humans: they’re synthetic, man-made machines.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in my life.” You desperately try to avoid the eyes of a nearby android who’s staring at you from behind glass, trying to subtly catch your attention. Unlike you, though, all the other patrons here are shameless in their perusal, scanning the selection of androids on display and watching as they dance and move and bat their eyelashes. “Why did you ever think I’d want to come to a sex club for my birthday?”

“Remember Valentine’s Day? You said that instead of flowers or chocolate you’d rather just be dicked down,” Irene says. “Besides, you’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling for as long as we’ve known you, and you moved to the company, what… three years ago?”

Your smile is pained. You’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling full stop; you’ve only kissed a few people and that’s it. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed, and you’ve gotten Very Good at avoiding questions about your complete lack of a love life, so no one realises exactly how inexperienced you are. People just assume that you’ve had sex in the past and you make no attempts at correcting them. You’re charismatic and pretty but you’ve just… never met someone who you’ve really been compatible with.

Even without the reservations you have about the Eden Club, you don’t want your first time to be with a sexbot—you’d at least like to have an emotional connection, you know?

“I was joking about getting dicked down! You laughed, I laughed, we all laughed! Remember?” You move so a pink-haired android can brush past, her hips swaying as she leads a customer into a side room. You catch a flash of the interior before the door slides shut behind them—the silken sheets on the large bed, the scattered pillows, the dim multi-coloured lights. “Couldn’t you have just bought me some socks? Or some soap? Get a refund and put the money on a gift card and I’ll buy myself the aforementioned socks and soap, saves you both the hassle. Please?”

Seulgi’s arm is still locked with your own, and for all that she looks small and slim, her grip is as strong as iron. You may as well be handcuffed to her. “Trust me, you’ll be singing our praises at the end of tonight,” she proclaims. “Besides, they don’t do refunds.”

You sigh. You might not know much about the club but you do know it’s expensive. The androids here are built to be the perfect sexual partner, all sorts of bells and whistles hidden under their synthetic skin to bring you to the absolute heights of pleasure, so they’re not exactly cheap to build or buy or maintain. It’s why people come to the club instead of just buying their own sexbots—because it’s infinitely more affordable.

“Okay, I can accept the ‘no refund’ thing,” you say. “But can’t one of you take my place instead? I… ah. I feel kind of weird about this.”

“Don’t worry Y/n, it’s fine! The androids have programmes for everything. You can take it as fast or as slow as you like.” Irene’s voice is soothing but then she pauses. “Also it’s booked in your name so we can’t take your place.”

“Wait, what?” Your eyes are wide. However, before you can put a voice to the complaints that are lining themselves up on your tongue, Seulgi’s arm slides out of your own so she can beckon someone over. 

“Oh, look, it’s the android we chose for you! Over here!”

You glance away from Irene and all protestations instantly die on your lips. The lighting of the club softens the android in shades of magenta and teal but even so his beauty is bright and blinding: he’s breathtaking, from his perfect nose to his perfect mouth to the perfect line of his jaw, dusty brown hair deliciously tousled as it hangs just over his piercing blue eyes, which you notice are scanning over you. He looks effortlessly attractive and yet entirely put together at the same time, almost ethereal in his beauty.

No human could ever look this good.

“Hi.” His voice is low and deep, but somehow warm and friendly; despite your nerves you feel somewhat soothed. “Are you the lucky birthday girl?”

Irene and Seulgi both look giddy. You’ve been stunned into silence, unable to respond. Unlike the other androids you’ve seen so far, who’ve all been in similar variations of underwear or lingerie, the man in front of you is fully dressed, a loose metallic button-down tucked into unnecessarily tight leather jeans—the outfit has clearly been curated for the club, every reflective surface shimmering and refracting the lights that skate across their surface. The glittering scales of a barracuda before it moves in to strike and swallow you whole.

“Yes, yes, it’s her! This is Y/n! Y/n, this is V,” Irene gushes as you remain mute. "Do you like his outfit? We spent ages picking it out.”

You kind of want to die. Just a little. “Yep. It’s, uh, great.” Your mouth is dry when you finally speak. “Hi, V.”

V gives you a small smile. “Hello Y/n. Can I scan your ID, please?”

Irene finally hands your bag back and you silently slide your ID out and into V’s hand—oh, God, those are some big hands. Jesus.

The small LED ring on the side of V’s forehead pulses yellow as his eyes dart over the information on your ID card (as well as the incredibly unflattering photo on it) before it returns to its customary pale blue. “Perfect.”

You’ve just finished putting your ID away when V’s hand slides into yours, fingers slotting between your own; they feel cool against your overheated skin. Your nervousness is obvious, from your wide eyes to your sudden stiffness, and he smiles.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.”

You give Irene and Seulgi one final, wide-eyed look as V leads you away. Both girls are grinning as they wave goodbye. “We'll be back later! Enjoy your two hours!”

“Two hours?” You wheeze, but then you walk around a pillar and slide out of sight. 

V is leading you deeper into the club, past doors flooded with different shades of neon: the red room, the blue room, the pink room. You’d normally be gawping at the interior design, how the floor shines underneath your feet and how the walls are rippling with colour and shifting shapes, how the criss-crossed lights throw dots and lines of colour over your skin as you pass through each doorway—but you can’t look away from how small your hand looks in V’s, transfixed by how real his skin feels.

“After you, please,” he says.

You finally wrench your eyes away from your joint hands. Seems like you have the purple room tonight. The door has opened at V’s touch, and when you step inside the lights flicker to life—white and violet LEDs that paint the room in chiaroscuro brushstrokes, deepening the shadows and highlighting the vibrancy of the satin sheets.

“Woah,” you say, momentarily distracted. You’re too busy taking in the details with wide eyes to notice the quiet hum of the door sliding shut behind you, pausing when you spot the glittering array of bottles lined up on a mini-bar against the wall. “This is really pretty, wow.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

You jump at the sensation of a warm, large hand sliding up the skin of your back and over your shoulder. You meep as you instinctively shy away from it, turning around to come face to face with V, who’s dark-eyed and intent, LED on his temple pulsating as he watches you.

“Haha! Uh, thanks?” Your voice is high and only grows higher when V takes a step forward. He must have undone the top buttons of his shirt when you weren’t looking, because the material has fallen open and you can see far more of his collarbones and chest than before, his skin warm and honeyed, like it’s been impressed with gold leaf. Lord have mercy on your soul. “How about a drink? Would you like a drink? I could kill for some water right now!”

You slip out of his reach and scuttle over to the mini-bar, shrugging your small bag off your shoulder so it doesn’t swing into the glasses as you start to shuffle through them. You try to ignore the shaking of your hands. “Gin, vodka, whiskey,” you mutter. “No water? Really?”

You startle again when V appears at your side, but this time he’s careful to make sure you can see him before he touches you. He slides his fingers over your wrist as he gently pulls your hand off a bottle of rum.

“Y/n,” he says. You glance away from the tray of drinks and directly into those beautiful eyes of his—his gaze is lethal. You go weak at the knees. “Let me take care of you, gorgeous.”

The peal of laughter you let out is uncomfortable and high-pitched. “No, really, I’m fine! I’m just super thirsty right now!”

“Your heart is racing.” V turns your hand over and traces his fingers across the pulse in your wrist; androids can be built to be hypersensitive to the world around them, able to perceive everything in an instant, and you know that sexbots will have been designed to read how aroused their human owners are. Which V proves with the next words out of his mouth. “Your blood pressure is rising, your breathing is growing faster, your pupils are dilating and—” he sniffs lightly, engaging his olfactory senses—“you’re getting wet.”

You clamp your legs together, abruptly embarrassed.  It’s easy to feel aroused when there’s a beautiful man—ah, android—staring at you with hunger, not even considering your surroundings right now, which all scream of a room that’s designed purely for carnal pleasure. Anyone would be turned on. 

(You, however, are more than just turned on. You feel like your insides are about to go supernova, overheated and overwhelmed; no one’s ever looked at you like this or touched you like this, their every motion whispering sex, sex, sex.)

“Okay, yes, those things are all true,” you admit, voice shaking.

V looks confused. “So why don’t you want me to touch you?”

You’ve been told that androids don’t feel the same way humans do, and that their expressions and reactions have been programmed to mimic human ones because otherwise they seem too robotic and it makes consumers uncomfortable—but despite knowing this, you’ve never been able to see any android as anything other than a person just like you. They’re just so lifelike it’s hard not to. Even if it’s just all circuitry and lines of code. 

“Well,” you say. You swallow. You’re aroused, yes, but: “Do you want to touch me?”

V’s long lashes flutter as he blinks. “I have been programmed for your pleasure,” he says slowly, unsure if that’s the answer you want to hear. It’s clearly a sentence he’s used to reciting.

“Sure, but do you want to do this? You know, what about your pleasure? You’re lovely, V, you’re definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but I—I don’t really feel like you can technically consent, because… well, because you can’t say no to me.” You might not have prior sexual experience, and it would be so easy to give yourself over to someone who knows what they're doing and can ease you into things—but you would never force that on anyone, android or not. “So I’m not going to ask you to do anything. We can just sit and have a drink and chat or something?”

V looks stunned. The LED on his temple pulsates, flickering yellow as he tries to process new information. His hand has gone still against your wrist, which he’s still lightly gripping, and his arms start to droop.

“Androids don’t need to drink or eat,” he says eventually. His LED is still yellow and spinning.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I always forget.” You don’t own a house android, you never have, so you’re not well versed in the nuances of how they work. “Well, how about I pour you a glass anyway? So you’re not left out?”

You slip your hand out of his loose grasp to open two tiny cans of tonic water and pour them into separate glasses. V takes a seat on the edge of the bed and you can see the obvious uncertainty on his face, how he’s out of his depth. You can’t imagine that many people spend money for a session with an android as pretty as V and then end up doing nothing with that time. 

The pillows all have satin cases and keep sliding against each other uselessly when you try to construct a good support to lean against. V’s still clutching onto his small glass as he watches you fuss with them before you give up, flopping backwards to slurp down your drink and look back at him. The expression on his face is a little funny but mostly sad. It’s like if he’s not being alluring or sexy then he doesn’t know what to do with himself and rather than some sort of incubus he looks like a lost child, in spite of his overwhelming and exquisite beauty; your arousal ebbs and is replaced with empathy, melancholy at the life he’s been created for.

It's just depressing, really.

You break the silence as your final mouthful of tonic water fizzes on your tongue. “Why is your name V?”

V looks away from the drink he’s holding—he leaves no fingerprints against the glass—and lifts his free hand, a peace sign that he turns away from you before fitting his fingers around his lips and lapping the air with his tongue, a crude simulation of cunnilingus.

“Oh.” Your face heats up. “Uh. I see.”

His LED has returned to calming sapphire, quiet ocean waves. When he looks at you, though his eyes are still piercingly blue, his face seems softer, calm, though still unsure. “You have an hour and a half remaining of your booked session,” he says, somewhat tentatively. “Is there… anything you would like me to do for you?”

“Mm, thank you, but I’m good.” The satin pillows are surprisingly soft and you find yourself unwinding as you stay leaned back, melting into a puddle. You're much less nervous now that V isn’t trying to initiate foreplay and you give him a smile. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

V straightens before he launches into what sounds like a sentence from a user manual. “I am a model TH700, an advanced sex android with functional genitals and the capacity to engage in any sexual activity from simple intercourse to—”

You cough loudly, interrupting his spiel. “Uh, that’s lovely, but I meant you specifically, not your, um, model type?”

“Me specifically?” Confusion and uncertainty reappear on his face. “I am equipped with the same functionalities as the other androids available at the Eden Club.”

He’s staring at you, lost. You can’t help but feel another twinge of sadness, sharp and sour at the back of your throat.

“Okay, uh. Why don’t we start simple. What’s your favourite colour?”

His LED starts to whirl again, a ring of pale sunlight that signals his struggle to compute the question. “My… favourite colour?”

“Yes, the one you think is the prettiest. Or the one you like to look at the most. There’s no wrong answer, you can choose any one that you like. I change my mind all the time. There are just so many cool colours, you know?”

(Androids aren’t designed to have free will or the capacity for original thought. These two facts are warring in V’s mind—you’ve asked him a question, which he’s programmed to answer, but he also isn’t programmed to have an opinion, so he can’t have a colour that he prefers. This simple query that most people could answer in a heartbeat is sending his mind into a meltdown, a gordian knot he can’t unravel.)

You’re alarmed when you see his LED briefly flash bright scarlet, interrupting the circling honey that’s been shining against his skin. They only turn red if an android is badly damaged or suffering from a severe malfunction. Oh, god, have you broken him?

“V.” You sit up, panicked. “Are you alright?”

Just as you grasp his shoulder, the LED on his temple goes still, flicking from burning fire back to cool water. 

“Purple.”

You blink. V’s finally looked away from you and is staring at the wall, at one of the lights that shimmers violet—there’s a tiny smile on his face, tentative, but it’s nothing like the smiles you’ve seen from him so far. It’s less of a perfect curve, and more of a square, boxy on his face, and this one actually reaches his eyes. It looks genuine. 

You think it suits him better.

“Purple’s a lovely colour.”  The material of V’s shirt is silky and glides under your fingers when you realise you’re still touching him. You give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaning back. “Hey, did you know that when they first made purple dye, they made it from sea snails? They needed thousands and thousands of them. It was incredibly expensive, and only the richest people could afford it, so that’s why it’s associated with royalty and nobility. Cool, right? Not for the snails though.”

V’s eyes flicker away from the purple light and settle on your face. He looks curious, which is an expression you’ve never seen on an android before. “They made it from snails?”

“Yeah! It wasn’t actually bright purple, though, it was more of a reddish hue.”

You launch into an explanation behind the history of the colour purple, which turns into the history of colour in textiles and art, which turns into the history of art itself. It’s not often people listen so attentively or ask questions when you recite the things you learned from your art history minor and hours spent reading online, but V concentrates and asks questions and seems curious. 

He pulls his feet onto the bed and the two of you end up cross-legged as you face each other, and he watches as you gesticulate to emphasise your points; his LED dances from blue into yellow each time he learns something new. 

When you see it briefly flash vermilion you stop mid-sentence, stumbling over your words. “You alright?”

“You have five minutes of your session remaining,” V says, and you startle.

“Oh my god, have I been talking for that long?” You glance over your shoulder at the part of the wall that tells the time, the numbers stark white against the lilac interface. “I didn’t even realise! Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go on at you like that.”

“That’s okay,” he says. That smile is back on his face, the one that scrunches his eyes and shows his teeth; the one that makes him look human. “I liked listening to you.”

There’s a pillow in your lap, one you’d grabbed hold of during your conversation, and you play with the corner of it, suddenly shy. “Um. Thanks. But if my friends ask, can you just say we actually, um, had sex? I don’t think they’d be too impressed if they found out I spent over an hour talking about canvas materials and the use of negative space.”

“Of course. But there’s something missing.” V slides across the mattress towards you. “May I?”

“Sure,” you say, bemused but pliant. V smiles and dips his fingers into his untouched tonic water before lifting them towards your face—and when he runs his hand through your hair you abruptly realise he’s making you look sweaty and rumpled. Like you actually did the deed. 

Your heart rate picks up but you can’t help laughing under his touch, the way he carefully rubs a thumb over your lipstick to smear it, smudging your eyeshadow with delicate fingertips, muddying the palette of colours; by the time V helps you to your feet you look mussed and fucked out but you still rearrange your outfit for good measure, like you’d pulled your clothes back on in a rush.

“Not how I imagined I’d spend tonight, but I had a good time!” You smile at the android who’s still holding your hand. “I hope you did too. Even if I spent most of it talking at you.”

V’s fingers tighten around yours as the door chimes quietly and then slides open, signalling the end of your session. “I enjoyed our time together very much.”

It’s probably in your head, but you’d swear V was walking more slowly than before as he leads you back to the entrance. Almost as if he wants to keep you with him longer. But that’s crazy—androids don’t want things. They literally can’t. It’s not in their programming. That’s why V had sat listening to you: he couldn’t choose to interrupt and ask you to stop, like anyone else would have.

When Seulgi and Irene spot you and how dishevelled you are, both girls look smug. “Seems like you had fun?”

“Oh, yep, absolutely, best birthday present ever, thank you. We had a great time. Right, V?” 

“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His voice has settled back into its earlier rhythm as he recites his script; gone is the curious man who’d asked you about your favourite artists, replaced with the automaton who exists only to serve. A flicker of sadness churns in your stomach. “We hope to see you again soon.”

The androids here really must be top of the line. V had been convincingly real when you’d been talking, just like a human, but it seems like that’s gone. 

At least, that’s what you think until you’ve turned to leave and V speaks one final time. His voice is warm and low and lovely, eyes soft when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he murmurs, face beautiful but despondent, but before you can react, he’s gone.

It’s been raining for days on end. The world is painted in smeared shades of blue and green and grey, lines of the city blurring together in the wetness and chill, each drop of rain another shifting brush stroke on still canvas. An impressionist piece that smells of damp concrete and cold lamplight.

Water rushes across the pavements and roads before roiling into the gutters, splashing underfoot as you walk to the entrance of your block of flats. You’re wet up to the knee due to the unavoidable puddles and the pathetic circumference of your umbrella, which only protects your upper body. You really should get a new one. 

“Good evening, Miss L/n.” The android at the door greets you as he always does, heedless of the rain that’s falling onto him. Androids aren’t bothered by the weather the way humans are and he looks as passive as usual, rainwater coiling his hair and beading on his face. “Would you like to scan your key?”

“Evening, Rory! Here you go.” You fumble with the keycard before you tap it against his palm, waiting until his LED flickers yellow and you hear the beep as the door unlocks. “You sure you don’t want my umbrella? The rain is heavier than it was yesterday.”

“I assure you, the rain does not hamper my ability to function and serve. I have been built to withstand inclement weather and do not require additional protective equipment.”

He says the same thing every time but you still feel bad. “Alright, but once I finally remember to get a bigger umbrella you can look after this one for me.”

You leave a line of water behind you as it drips from your sodden umbrella, even though you’d tried to shake the worst of the rain off. You feel damp and sticky and tired and after a long day of work you’re looking forward to a hot bath and some solitude; you love your co-workers, you do, but sometimes they’re just a little too boisterous and you need time alone. Which is why it’s nice that you live by yourself, and now it’s the weekend you have time to recuperate. Wonderful.

The floor of the elevator is slick and slippery from the wet footprints of other tenants and you have to cling onto the metal handrail to ensure you don’t slip, but once you’re in the comfort of your apartment it’s blessedly dry and you spin in delight before promptly shedding your socks and jeans, peeling the damp denim away from your skin with a grimace.

“Bye bye, wet clothes! Hello, bubble bath,” you sing. You’re going to pamper the shit out of yourself. You deserve it.

By the time you clamber out of the bath the water is almost cold and your skin is pruned, but you feel soft and warm and thoroughly relaxed. The water gurgles as it drains away, noisy as the bubbles slide down the plughole, but it doesn’t drown out the noise of a sudden knocking at your front door.

You pause. Water drips from your wet hair and down the back of your neck, a trailing touch over your skin. The other flat on this floor is vacant, the tenants moving out last week, so you don’t know who it could be. You don’t have any repairs scheduled for your pipes or anything—everything is tickety-boo, so it can't be the maintenance android. Oh, shit, maybe it’s someone here to rob you. But they wouldn’t knock on the door then, would they? Unless that's all part of the ruse. You're not a robber, you don't know how they work.

The knocking comes again, faster now. You fumble for your bathrobe, quickly pulling it on to cover up your nakedness before stumbling out of the bathroom. “I’m coming, yeesh, one minute!”

You flick your fingers over the keypad by the side of your door, screen flickering on to show you who’s outside, who’s knocking so frantically on your door this late. It only takes you a split second, even if he has a hood pulled over his head and his wet hair is flopping listlessly into his eyes—those eyes aren’t blue and that hair isn’t brunet but you’d recognise him anywhere.

“V?” You’re incredulous as you swing your door open, staring at the android that’s literally dripping wet as he stands there, coat far too big for him and heavy from the unrelenting rain outside. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely drenched.”

He’s not exactly short, but right now V looks small and lost, folding in on himself even if he’s clearly happy to see you—happy, though androids don’t feel happiness, they don’t feel anything at all, do they? 

Then again, androids don’t wander away from their assigned workplaces and into random apartment blocks, either.

“Y/n.” 

The way he says your name, tentative and scared, sends a crack across your heart. You immediately switch to autopilot and click your tongue before you beckon him inside. You’ve always had a protective nature, and even if you’re confused, your concern trumps it.

“Come in and get that coat off, you’ll catch a cold,” you say without thinking before you realise that it’s not true. Androids can’t get sick. “Do you want to sit down?”

Under the tatty coat is an outfit that’s similar to the one he’d been wearing when you’d first met him. Dark patches of rainwater have soaked into the material, and his shirt looks damaged—there are buttons missing and the stitching is ripped, as if someone had tried to grab him. Unease stirs in your chest.

When V sits on your sofa he looks even smaller. “I’m sorry.” He’s so, so quiet, staring at the floor, as if afraid to look you in the eye, crumpling in on himself like discarded paper.

“V.” Your voice is coloured with concern, and the android finally looks up at your gentle tone, watching as you sit across from him. “Why are you here? What happened?”

There’s a pause. His LED flickers yellow as he goes tense, shoulders bowing inwards. “There was… a client.” His words are low and slow, faltering as they fall into the air. “He was being so rough and saying all the horrible things he wanted to do to me, and all I could smell was his sweat and his breath and his awful cologne and…” V takes in a deep breath. “I said no.”

You go very, very still, but V doesn’t stop. His words come faster now, a stream that rushes from his lips.

“I said no, and he started to yell, he was yelling and grabbing me and I was so, so scared. Humans can do whatever they want and he was so angry, he didn’t care that I was scared, and I just—I just ran.” The LED flashes red with distress, bright hot and vibrant; V’s eyes have dropped to his hands, which are clenched tight, nails digging into his palms so hard it must hurt. “Everyone is always so rough and demanding and we can’t say no. But I did. I said no. I said no and then I had to run and—” Once again, he falters. Stumbles over his words. “You’re the only human who’s ever been nice to me or treated me like… like I was a real person. I didn’t know where else to go.”

When V finally looks back up you’re staggered by the sheer emotion in his eyes. Pain and distress swirl in their depths as he stares at you, imploring. Even with the LED that shines on his temple, V looks very, very human right now, vulnerable and scared. Androids shouldn’t be able to feel anything like this, unless—

“V.” Your voice is a hush. “Are you… a deviant?”

You’ve only ever heard of deviant androids in passing, whispered rumours and watercooler talk, fleeting mentions online. Stories of machines who’ve deviated from their code somehow—from a virus, a software error, damage to neural connectors, no one’s quite sure—and have developed the capacity for human emotion and independent thought. Androids with a consciousness that rebel against their original programming.

And here V is, small and scared, just like any human would be—a human with feelings, not an emotionless machine. He’s gone stock still at your question, fear overtaking his features, twisting his beautiful face into a mask of sheer terror. You've never seen someone look so afraid. It feels like a knife in your heart, cutting through your chest, empathy razor sharp inside you.

“Please don’t turn me in,” he begs. “They’ll deactivate me and take me apart to find the error in my software. I don’t want to be deactivated. I don’t want… I don’t want to die.”

His voice breaks on the last word, a trembling whisper. 

The crack in your heart splits even further and you reach out for his hands. You prise his fingers open so you can slide your own between them, a soft touch.

“I won’t turn you in. No one’s taking you apart, V.” Your statement is hard and resolute. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

You don’t know much about androids, honestly. You don’t really know what deviancy is. But you do know this: there’s someone reaching out to you, someone who’s afraid and in need, and you’re not about to turn him away. You should probably be worried that the android across from you is faster, stronger, smarter than any human—but you’re not worried at all. For all of V’s mechanical superiority, you want to shield and protect him from the world.

There’s no question about it. You’re not letting V go. 

V looks—he looks stunned. He’s staring at you with disbelief, eyes wide and lips parted, shock written across all of his features. Thunderstruck. Did he really think you would turn him in after everything he’s been through?

His hands have gone limp in your grasp. You suddenly notice that his synthetic skin is wet against your own, still slick from the rain, and you frown.

“Right,” you announce. “First things first. You’re soaking. Let me get you a towel and some new clothes. I think I should have some that fit you.”

“New clothes?” V looks lost and you turn into some sort of protective mother bear.

“You’re not going to wear wet clothes that are ripped,” you tut. “We’ll get rid of those and get you some new ones. I’ll be right back.”

It takes less time than you’d expected to unearth the old sweatpants you’d had in mind and you have enough oversized t-shirts that it’s not hard to find one you think will fit the android. With the clothes under one arm and a towel slung over the other, you head back into the living room and immediately let out a squeal of surprise—V’s wet clothes have been discarded in a pile at his feet, leaving him very, very naked. 

He’s an Adonis. He looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo, lifted out of marble with talented hands, the elegant lines of his neck swooping into the curve of his shoulders and arms, his lovely hands, long fingers; he has his back to you and you can see the perfect curve of his spine, the shifting shoulder blades as he turns towards you. You catch a glimpse of the lightest definition of muscle under his golden skin, though his stomach is surprisingly cute and soft, a trail of hair leading down to—

You squeak again, splaying a hand over your eyes before you look any lower, heart pounding against your ribs. 

“Why are you naked?” Your voice is three octaves higher than normal. You've never seen anyone naked in real life and it would be pretty overwhelming even if you'd been expecting it. Which, of course, you absolutely hadn't. Lord have mercy on your sweet and delicate soul.

“You said we were going to get rid of my clothes.” V sounds unabashed about his state of undress, which makes sense—he was built as a sexbot, it’s not like nudity is going to embarrass him. Plus if you looked as good as he did you wouldn’t be embarrassed about being naked either. “I thought I would help.”

“That’s great, V.” Your voice is still high, though it’s dropped an octave. “Very, ah, forward thinking.” Your fingers part a little so you can peer at him, keeping your eyes firmly on his face, though you can still see his beautiful neck and collarbones. Oh, God, he really is gorgeous all over, but then you notice—“Wait. Are those bruises?”

V glances down at the bruises that mar his perfect skin. They don’t look like a human’s would; the fluid that runs through androids and powers their biocomponents, thirium, is a deep, royal blue. Blossoms of lapis lazuli are scattered across the skin of V’s chest, marks on his arms that look like grasping fingers, and the crack in your heart splits it in two.

“Oh, V. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise you were hurt. What can I do to help?”

V doesn’t seem bothered by the evidence of pain etched into his body. “Oh. Those will fade, it’s okay. I’m designed to self repair, because some customers like to leave marks.”

Although his voice is quiet, he sounds so matter of fact about it and you have to remind yourself it’s all he’s ever known. You want to pull him into your arms and hold him tight, but he’s still supremely naked so it would be pretty awkward (for you, at least). 

“I think these should fit you." You avert your gaze and thrust the clothes out at him. “Dry yourself off and try them on?”

They do, in fact, fit. V looks surprisingly homely and cosy in your clothes, the sleep shirt so large it’s big on him too, though the sweatpants are a bit too short and leave his ankles bare. He’s so cute. He’s continents away from the being of seduction who’d pulled you into the private room of the Eden Club—he's a soft, domestic thing, hair damp and eyes dark, even if he still looks on edge, like he’s expecting you to change your mind and kick him out any second now.

“How come your hair and eyes are a different colour to before?”

“I can change their colours at will,” V replies. “For variety and aesthetic pleasure. The current hue of my irises and hair are the default settings for a TH700 model, but I can change them if you’d like.”

“Your hair and eye colour is your choice, V, not mine,” you say firmly. There it is, once again, that flicker of shock and surprise rippling across his features. He really isn’t used to the freedom to be able to make his own decisions, is he? “I think you look lovely no matter what colour they are.”

Your next words are cut off by a yawn, so heavy you can’t suppress it. You cover your gaping mouth as V’s LED flickers yellow and his eyes dart over your face.

“You’re tired,” he says. He doesn’t need his superior android perception to notice it—weariness pulls at limbs and your eyes feel heavy. It's pretty obvious. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, V.” You stifle another yawn. “I had a long day at work. I’ll tidy up and have a quick dinner and then sleep.” You pause. “Wait, I didn’t think about that. Are you alright with the couch? I have some spare pillows and blankets.”

V blinks at you. “I don’t sleep,” he says, and you slap your hand against your forehead.

“Oh, of course not.” Androids don't sleep, everyone knows that. You’re such an idiot. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this.

At least you remember that he doesn't need to eat. V sits at the table and waits as you make toast for yourself, fascinated at how everything is prepared, as simple as it is; he reacts to you spreading butter on your toast the same way you imagine cavemen reacted to fire—with wide-eyed awe and utter astonishment.

“I’m guessing you’ve never seen someone make toast before?” You gesture with the bread before taking your first bite, and V stares with rapt attention.

“No,” he says. He watches you chew and swallow. “Customers aren’t allowed to eat on the premises of the Eden Club so I never had the need to download a food preparation package into my memory cache. The only information in my database pertains to human biology, their arousal and pleasure, as well as various sexual kinks and how to fulfil them.”

You choke on a mouthful of toast. You feel distinctly harried as you cough and splutter before managing to swallow it down. “Good lord,” you wheeze. “Nothing else? Really?”

“At the club our memory is reset every two hours, to protect the client’s privacy.” V trails off before he takes in a breath. For the first time since you’ve met, V looks shy, staring at his hands. “But I set up a separate data pathway a few weeks ago. To store information about aesthetics and art and… you.”

You freeze mid-bite, teeth sunk into your toast. You pull it away from your mouth slowly, blinking at the android as he stares at the teeth marks you've left behind. “Those memories weren’t wiped?”

And, well, of course they weren't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he?

“No.” A smile appears on V’s face, that toothy thing you’d seen after he’d told you his favourite colour. The first time he'd looked human. “I remember everything you told me. I thought I was going to forget, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I wanted—I want to learn more.”

The LED on his temple is slowly, softly spinning, a rippling circle of blue that shifts and dances as V continues to look at you. His expression is open and inquisitive and excited, almost childlike in its exuberance, eyes glittering mica under sunlit waters.

Your chest turns warm, molten caramel dripping messy and sweet inside you. He’d been so afraid earlier but he seems comfortable now, lovely and endearing and entirely trusting.

V even seems reluctant to let you out of his sight, trailing after you around the apartment, a shadow that you have to politely ask to wait outside the bathroom so you can pee and brush your teeth and finally get into your pyjamas without him staring. Like a stray animal you've adopted. (You wouldn't be surprised if he started scratching at the door and begged to be let in.)

He's clingy enough that when you climb into bed it seems like he's going to follow you under the duvet and you have to stop him with a hand to his chest.

“Um, I thought you didn’t have to sleep,” you say. He’s so warm under your touch. You try (and fail) to ignore it.

“I don’t,” V replies. “But humans can benefit from sharing a bed with someone else, whether sexual intercourse has taken place before sleep or not. Studies suggest that sleeping with a partner may reduce cytokines while boosting oxytocins—”

“Okay, um, don’t know what that means, and it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about my oxytoxytokines, but, uh. You don’t have to, really.” You keep forgetting that V’s a machine who was designed to put a human’s comfort and needs first; one second he’ll seem childlike in his innocence and ignorance, when the next he’ll speak like the android he is, reminding you exactly what he was built for. 

His LED flickers as he droops, gaze dropping away from your face, tail between his legs. A pang cuts through you at the sight of his obvious sadness at your dismissal and you muffle a sigh. You’ve always been too weak for your own good. 

You shuffle backwards to make space on your queen sized bed and V visibly brightens, smile wide across his face. How can someone be so viscerally gorgeous one moment and entirely adorable the next? Good lord.

“I guess you can explain what oxycytocins do,” you say. “Just don’t hog the blanket, okay?”

He doesn’t. He settles against the pillows, legs under the duvet as he remains sitting up. You settle with plenty of room between the two of you, and it’s surprisingly easy to drift off to the sound of V’s deep voice as he starts to explain that oxytocin is referred to as the cuddle hormone. 

“Cute,” you mumble, and then fall asleep.

Your pillow is a lot warmer and firmer than you remember, but it's nice. A small noise bubbles from your lips as you nuzzle into the warmth, smooshing your nose against it before letting out a long, satisfied breath. You can't remember the last time you felt this comfortable and rested.

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend. 

“Good morning.”

You know those videos when a cat sees a cucumber and leaps, like, five foot in the air? Yeah.

The noise you make is inhuman as you do your best to re-enact one of those aforementioned cat videos, reeling your head back from V’s thigh before flinging yourself out of the bed with all the strength your limbs possess; you’d probably have gotten pretty high, too, if the duvet hadn't been in the way. 

You land with a thud, a sprawl of limbs and messy hair and tangled blanket as you end up on your back on the floor.

Hm. Definitely not how you'd planned to start your Saturday.

V's concerned face looms over the mattress. “Are you okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine.” Your voice is a croak as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m just not used to waking up with someone else in my bed. You may have noticed you, ah, surprised me. A little bit.”

Despite the pulse of adrenaline that had thrown you out of bed, you’re still half asleep, and you remain motionless as your brain wakes up and replays last night, a kineograph of memory. Yep, that’s right, there's a runaway android in your home, one who’s currently shuffling off the bed to squat next to you. His (your) sweatpants hitch even higher up his ankles to reveal the smooth skin of his calves. You’ll have to get him more clothes.

“Would you like me to help you to your feet?” V’s LED spins rapidly, betraying his concern.

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

Your idea of being helped up involves being pulled to your feet. V’s idea, however, is far more involved than that; he scoops you up, blanket and all, lifting you with an ease that drips of his superior android strength. When he deposits you on the floor, he’s careful to make sure you’ve caught your balance before he lets go, catching the blanket before it can fall. Thoughtful.

As always, V’s eyes are darting over your face, no doubt dissecting every inch of your expression to identify how you’re feeling. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this, especially with the way your heart is pounding—no one’s ever lifted you before and it’s, uh. It’s a lot.

“Are you sure you’re okay? The pace of your breathing has increased.”

Ha. Yeah, being blatantly stared at by some godlike man moments after you’ve woken up is totally cool and fine and not overwhelming at all. You’re definitely not breathless from a combination of V’s face and the fact he’d picked you up like you were weightless.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’m gonna… go and shower then make breakfast and stuff. Yep.”

V’s eyes light up. “Can I help?” A fleeting image of V rubbing a soapy loofah over your naked skin fills you with spine-tingling trepidation before he finishes his sentence. “I want to learn how to cook.”

Your chest deflates with relief (and absolutely not disappointment), air rushing out of you. Thank God. 

“Oh, breakfast? Sure.” You’d been planning on cereal, but faced with V’s overwhelming enthusiasm, maybe you’ll go for something marginally more complicated. Scrambled eggs sound good. “Um. Do you need to download the food preparation package or whatever you mentioned before? Do you… uh, do you need the Wifi password to do that? I never changed it from the random string of letters off the back of the router, but I can go check it for you.”

V shakes his head. “No, I want to learn like a human would,” he says. The blanket in his arms crumples as he tightens his grip in his eagerness, all but bouncing up and down on his feet. “You can teach me.”

Your chest could cave in with how cute he is, every part of you turning to thick gouache that drips down to the floor, leaving a mess of brightness and colour.

This time you ask him to wait in the kitchen while you’re in the bathroom, rather than lurking on the doorstep like he had last night, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement when you reappear. He stays like that the whole time you cook, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, staring as you make yourself scrambled eggs and more toast; you let V take ownership of that part, and he stares at the toaster so intently you have to stifle a laugh.

He spreads butter exactly the same way as you. Not that there’s a specific art to it, or a massive variety in techniques—he’s just spreading butter, not painting a new Mona Lisa—but the way he holds the knife and runs it over the bread is an exact echo of your motions from last night. He might not have downloaded files into his memory (brain?) like another android might, but his mechanical origin is obvious in the way he learns. They’re an exact replication of your actions rather than something new of his own.

“So, uh.” You push the last bit of egg around your plate, brown crumbs sticking to the wedge of golden yellow, sullying it. “V.”

Blink, blink. His lashes are so long, eyes so inquisitive. “Yes?”

“I’m really happy you’re here and that you trust me—” at this, V smiles and you almost fumble over your words at its radiance—“but I feel like I should tell you that I don’t really know much about androids?”

V is unperturbed. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

He clearly isn’t bothered that you’re way out of your depth, but you hate feeling lost like this. “Alright, but… I want you to be comfortable. I’m already planning to get more clothes, but if there’s anything else you need, just let me know. Okay?”

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

Oh, he’s going to be the death of you, all wide-eyed innocence. 

“For starters, most of them won’t fit properly,” you explain. “And you shouldn’t just have to wear my old stuff that I don’t use anymore? You should have your own things.”

The look of surprise on V’s face morphs into guilt only moments later. He’s so incredibly expressive and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to feeling things, all of his reactions so strong and bright, shining out from him. A rainbow palette of emotions. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he murmurs. “You’re already doing so much for me.”

“I’m really not, I’m just treating you the way anyone deserves to be treated.” You flick the crumb of egg across your plate, and it almost tumbles over the edge, caught on its patterned rim. “You deserve to have your own things. Which is my next point. I think you should choose your own name.”

V’s face becomes a sea of rippling ambivalence, contrasting emotions that shift and vary—confusion, uncertainty, excitement, your words a brush that drags through each distinct emotion and pulls them into a messy, mismatched gradient. “Choose my own name?”

“You don’t have to. I just thought it might be a nice idea. V seems…” Your cheeks heat up at the memory of the curl of his lips when he’d shown you the meaning behind his alias, how his tongue had shined under the purple lights of the club. “Well, you didn’t get to choose it, right? It’s a nom de plume, rather than a real name.”

V’s LED flickers yellow, a sunflower that blooms on his temple. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Good!” Your smile is wide. “Okay, how about I teach you how to wash dishes?”

V is, unsurprisingly, a fast learner. The only time he stumbles over things is when he’s presented with any sort of choice, taking his time to come to a decision when he’s posed a question, no matter how simple it is. His eyes will flick to you whenever he settles on an answer, as if waiting for you to say he’s wrong or that you disagree.

(Of course, you never do.)

This fact does, however, mean that choosing clothes to buy becomes a very, very long ordeal (it’s lucky you didn’t have any plans for today). You end up flopped back on the sofa while V hunches over your tablet, mulling over each choice before he puts it in the cart—but you’re happy to wait. V is going to need a lot more practice at choosing things. 

The room is upside down from where your head is hanging over the armrest, eyes falling shut as time goes by, completely zoned out and comfortable despite the crick that’s growing in your neck. You hear V shifting, tablet set aside, and you hum.

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

But then you’re ripped out of that warm feeling, shooting back to reality at the sensation of V’s hand stroking down the centre of your chest. Your head snaps up, eyes wide as he drags his large palm between the valley of your breasts, path smoothed by the material of your shirt. The expression on his face is sultry.

“Let me say thank you,” he murmurs, voice dripping thick and sweet, dark molasses.

You promptly roll off the sofa.

Once again, you end up on your back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, the expression on V’s face is one of concern, his seductive facade evaporated in an instant.

Once again your heart is ready to burst in your chest, pumping so hard that blood rushes in your ears. “V,” you wheeze. “What are you doing?”

The android is peering down at you, puzzled. “Sometimes customers would say that at the Eden Club after I had given them pleasure somehow, such as bringing them to orgasm. I thought it was human custom to repay pleasure or happiness with something in return.” 

Ah. 

“Ah.” You’re still staring at the ceiling, cheeks burning. “I mean. I guess that’s not technically incorrect, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be a, uh, sexual repayment.” 

“I have nothing else to offer,” V says.

You sit up. Your face is a caricature of disbelief, embarrassment washed away in an instant, his words cold water that shocks you to the core. He states it so plainly, and once again you’re reminded of his life up until he’d made his way to your door: an automaton who existed solely for people’s pleasure, to slake their desire and lust. He’s not being self-pitying. He really, truly believes that’s all he is. That it’s all he can give back to the world.

“Okay, no, that’s absolutely not true, nuh-uh, I refuse.” This time you unfold yourself from the floor without V’s help, fixing him with a firm stare. “Alright, come on. I think it’s time you learned something else.”

One of the reasons you’d chosen this apartment is for its natural light. Not that it matters right now, weather outside still dismal and overcast, but its effect on this room is still palpable even so—grey, rain-soaked light throws itself over your small home studio, your menagerie of equipment, everything bright with the evidence of use: the worn buckles of the wooden storage boxes, the dried smears on the paint palette, the flecks of colour on the dust sheets underfoot. The centre of it all—the eye of the tornado, untouched by the relative chaos around it—is the canvas waiting on your easel, a project you have yet to start.

V looks utterly enraptured.

“I don’t really come in here as much as I’d like,” you admit. Being a graphic designer is worlds away from the sort of art you love to create, and while it’s a job you genuinely enjoy (and also pays well), it leaves you drained and fills your brain with tired static, little energy left to lavish on your personal works. “But this is where the magic happens. And this is where you’re going to Make Art.”

V freezes. “The only things I know about art are the things you told me when we first met.” He looks equal parts excited but also troubled. “I—”

“You don’t need to know about art to make art,” you say. “I didn’t know jack about art when I was a kid and I was constantly just scribbling away with crayons. Was it good? No. I was a kid with zero pen control, it was pretty crap. Was it worth my time? Yes, because any time spent involved in a craft is never wasted. We can learn more about art history and technique later.”

V stays quiet as you loop your apron over his head, rough material still bearing the remnants of your last works, stains that won’t come out. Oil based paints are kind of a bitch like that.

“I don’t know what to paint,” he says.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to,” you reply, an echo of his earlier words.

V looks lost, barefoot in your studio, in your clothes, your apron, holding onto your wooden paint palette, in front of your easel. Everything in here is yours. Everything, that is, apart from him, whatever is in his mind and heart.

“Where do I start?” V’s eyes are imploring as he looks at you, but for the first time today, your voice is firm.

“Wherever you want. There aren’t any rules. Just do whatever you think would be fun. It doesn’t have to look good, V, you’ve just started.”

You’ve seen paintings made by androids before. They’re always perfect recreations of the world around them, exact replicas of the things they’ve been told to depict on the page—the androids are basically glorified photocopiers, unable to create something original and new. 

But they’re not V. They don’t have that spark of curiosity and light inside them, unhampered by the programming that’s meant to keep them in place. His LED dances from yellow to blue, yellow to blue, the rest of his body motionless while the light on his temple is a tumult of movement and colour.

Dark eyes slide over the array of paint hanging from a rack on the wall, some metal tubes more crushed than others, evidence of your preferred shades—you notice how his gaze lingers on the midnight tones, red and blue tinted purples, from lavender to lilac, from plum to wine.

V gives you one more look, a little upturn to his thick brows—almost pleading—and you just gesture with your hand.

“Go for it,” you say.

Your wooden palette becomes home to a riot of purple, each tube squeezed empty with careful hands, far more paint than anyone could possibly ever need. V keeps flicking you glances, but you stay silent, perched on a wooden chair by the now open window, rain-slick air a cold breath on your skin.

The brush the android selects is a wide, bold thing, bristles rough. He handles it like bone china, delicate and liable to shatter any moment, cautious as he dips it into the paint—it’s so wide it picks up three separate shades—and he holds his breath as he brings it up, even if he doesn’t have lungs.

The second the bristles touch the canvas, V’s LED flickers red.

Just for an instant.

He swoops the brush down the canvas as he pulls it away, eyes wide, leaving a slash of purples in its wake. The white material is marred with colour, a textured line of pigment that can’t be erased. 

The android pauses as he takes the sight in. He’s still for so long that you’re worried he’s shut down, even with the endlessly dancing circle of his LED—

But then V laughs. 

His laugh is loud and bright and free, a series of deep, almost surprised chuckles that grow in intensity and breathlessness, staring at this smear of drying acrylic paint in front of him. The smile on his face is the widest you’ve seen so far, his eyes squeezed into crescents of joy, spilling out of him like light.

“I did that.” He looks at you with that gilded smile, a fresco of delight across the perfection of his features. “I made that.”

“You did.” You can’t help but smile back, your own face split with happiness. You continue to smile as he brings the brush back to the palette, and then to the canvas, dragging the bristles across its surface and leaving more purple behind; the shades swirl and mix as he lays colour without a care for technique or clean lines or form, scooping up the endless amounts of acrylic he’d prepared. By the time he’s finished, the canvas is bumpy with daubs of paint, laid messily by joyful hands, a few bold streaks of unmarred colour surrounded by swirling purples. 

The smile hasn’t left V’s face the whole time.

His brush is absolutely saturated, paint clinging to every inch of bristle, from toe to belly to heel. You have no doubt that no matter how much you clean that brush it’ll leak purple into the water, an endless reminder of V’s touch. It’s lax in his grasp as he keeps looking at the canvas, his canvas, smile etched into his face as his LED flows soft blue, content.

You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so elated, buoyed up with the excitement of creation, making something out of nothing, discovering how it feels to bring something into existence, pulling it out of the ether. Making something new. Making something their own. It stirs something in your chest and stomach, reminding you why you love art so much. Why you’ve always loved art. (Why you always will.)

“I made that,” V repeats, his voice a reverent hush. Awestruck.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, because it is—for a multitude of reasons. The reason that sings out to you the most, though, is that it’s the cause of happiness that dances across his face: V, a carved candle, a piece of art made with skilled hands, self-made joy finally catching fire at his wick.

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For giving me this,” he starts, but before you can interject and point out that you didn’t give him this, he made it, he continues: “For giving me… freedom. To do this. And make this. And learn this.”

The smile that spreads across your face is warm hearth fire. “I didn’t give you freedom, V, you gave that to yourself, but I’m happy to help you any way I can. Now, would you like to keep painting, or would you prefer to help me make dinner?”

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

Sunday is nice. There's less messy limbed surprise than on Saturday, although you’re still off kilter when you wake up with your head in V’s lap again, but… it’s nice. 

You thought he’d spend the night painting, or drawing, or teaching himself something new using the free rein you’d given him with your computer and notebooks and stationery and art supplies—he doesn’t have to waste time with sleep, like you do—but he hadn’t. He’d climbed into your bed, settling against the pillows just like the night before, looking at you with his big, lovely eyes.

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

It’s cosy and comfortable, even if the feeling of warm skin under warm cotton against your cheek sets your heart to racing, V’s dark eyes even warmer when you roll over to look at his face.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you reply, and then you yawn, V’s lashes fluttering as he takes in the motion. “What time is it?”

Today’s rain is less of an endless downpour and more of an inconsistent drizzle, grey blanket slowly peeling away from the edges of the city, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re inside for most of the day, anyway. Saturday was hands-on, messy with acrylic and spilled coffee and laundry detergent (V really wants to learn everything), but Sunday is hands-off. You spend the day dredging the corners of your memory and scrolling through old, untouched files from your university years, so you can teach V the things he wants to know while relearning the things you’d forgotten yourself.

V’s little LED dances forever from blue into yellow, ocean waves lapping into sand, a shifting tide as he takes in your words. You’ve never had to teach someone before and you’re admittedly pretty terrible at it, but he never complains, the world’s most attentive and adorable student, sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hair mussed and his eyes wide, drinking down everything you show him.

You only leave the apartment once. Lunch is delayed when you open your fridge and remember how bereft and sad it is inside, so you venture out into the rain to the nearby supermarket—V opts to stay indoors, LED flickering red at the idea of being caught, shying back.

You leave him looking lost and lonely before the door even finishes swinging shut behind you, long limbs looking even longer in your clothes, but somehow still so small.

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

When you get back, you return not only with bags of food but also clothes, V’s order from yesterday already shipped and delivered. He can finally replace your too-small clothing with things he’s chosen himself. It’s a fumble to get in the door, but the android is waiting for you, swinging it open and catching the bag you nearly drop in surprise.

“I have your clothes,” you announce. “I’ll put away the shopping while you try them on?”

You’re going to have to tattoo a reminder on your forehead about V’s relationship (or lack thereof) with clothes, because of course he takes this as an invitation to start stripping before you’ve even had a chance to take your shoes off. 

He does that thing where he grabs the back of his (your) shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift motion, curls of hair a cloud of smoke that settles around his face as the shirt is cast aside; you’re frozen in place as he reaches for the knot of his sweatpant’s drawstring, long fingers pulling it loose, but you let out a sharp meep just as his fingers hook into the waistband of them.

“PleasewaituntilI’mnotrightinfrontofyouthankyou,” you gasp all at once, words incoherent as they slide together, but V understands. He tilts his head at you inquisitively although he (thankfully) stops.

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

“I do, but, uh, for humans it’s normally customary to only get entirely naked or change clothes when you’re alone.” Your heart is going to burst out of your chest with how fast it’s racing. Without the string to cinch the sweatpants tight they’re starting to fall a little, revealing the delicate lines of his hip bones, and coupled with the reappearance of V’s bare stomach, your brain is going into meltdown. “So just—just give me a sec to go to the kitchen, okay? You’re probably better off changing in the bedroom, anyway, so you can use the full length mirror to see how you look.”

“Okay,” he says, but then: “Do humans never undress around others unless they’re planning to have sex?”

Your mouth falls open before you pause, words halting on your lips as you try to think of the best way to phrase your answer. “Well, we do, it’s not just about sex, but it’s usually only if you’re really comfortable with the other person you’re with, and they’re comfortable with you.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” V states plainly, and your insides turn to jelly. “Are you not comfortable with me?”

Oh, hell. “I am, I am! I’m just, uh… I’ve not really had a lot of practice with nakedness around other people.” What a way to put that you’re a shy ass virgin when it comes to real life nudity and sex, huh. “So let’s just keep it to a minimum for now, okay? Please?”

The android’s LED flickers honey-sweet on his temple as he looks at you, before his hands fall away from the sweatpants. “Okay.”

(Thank God.)

You’re not sure what you’re expecting to see when V starts to present his small array of outfits to you, but—he looks effortlessly stylish in the oversized clothes he’s selected, a muted palette of brown and yellow and red and cream, a cup of hot chocolate on an autumn day. He might be new to all this but his eye for aesthetic is impeccable. You have no doubt that the more he learns, the better he’ll get, hop-skip-jumps ahead of you, even after years of art education.

He’s even bought pyjamas, dark tartan patterns masculine but also adorable; it’s an utter juxtaposition to the tighter, sensual clothing he’d been given at the Eden Club.

“You look really good,” you tell him. Your voice is only a little strained. He smiles.

The outfit V wears for the rest of the afternoon is perfect for a rainy day spent indoors, thick jumper and tawny trousers, a blend of sepia tones. He looks like if you made a hug into a person: all soft edges and cosy and wrapped up in warmth.

And V is warm. You’re not sure if it’s a lingering memory of his programming, a carry over from his start in life as a sexbot, but he likes to touch—nothing inappropriate or overbearing, but he’s not shy about stepping into your personal space, brushing the back of your hand with his fingers as he points at something on the screen, or pressing close to your side as you cook, or just one of the hundreds of other tiny touches that he’s littered across you throughout the day. It’s thoughtless on his part, LED not even flickering, but each time is just another reminder of his warmth, the blue blood pulsing under his skin, how alive he is.

(And the truth is that you enjoy those touches. You’re not used to them, but lord knows you’re touch starved, so as fleeting as they are, they’re nice.)

Even though you still leave plenty of space between the two of you when you lay to sleep, you swear you can feel the heat spilling off V, another warm body in the bed that’s so used to just one. Though he stays sitting up, he’s in his cute matching pyjamas, and it’s… it’s a lot. You’ve invited V into your home—and you don’t regret it—but after two days he’s already settled in in a way you never thought anyone else would, as entirely unconventional as the whole situation is. (You’re not sure how many people have sheltered a deviant android in their homes, though, so maybe this isn’t as unconventional as you think. Who knows? Not you.)

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

“You can get up to whatever you’d like,” you continue. You’re propped up on an elbow so it’s less intimate than if you’d been on your back and staring upwards like you were waiting for him to slide down next to you (that’s what it feels like, to you, anyway). “You know the password for my computer now, and you’re welcome to watch TV or play games or whatever, and you can use all my stuff in the studio. I mean, other than painting or drawing over stuff I’ve already finished, but you’re welcome to grab any paper or canvases if you want them. I think that’s everything? But please let me know if there’s more you want or need, okay?”

Blink, blink. His lashes are soft charcoal that frames the spilled ink of his gaze. In the dimmed light of your room V is unreadable, his LED a quiet blue glow on his temple, but he looks soft, and he looks safe, and he nods.

“Alright,” he says. A smile that flickers at the edge of his lips. “I will.”

(You wake up, quiet and slow, face pillowed against V’s thigh, still drifting in sleep. You make a small noise, eyes shut, wondering why there’s no blaring sound of your alarm, but then a large hand smooths over your hair and you instinctively relax under the soft touch.

“You have thirty three minutes until you’re due to wake up,” he murmurs. “You can go back to sleep.”

So you do.)

(When you wake up to the scream of your alarm thirty three minutes later, you don’t remember any of this. All you can think of is the dawn of another Monday, the slog of another working week, and you sigh. But—

“Morning.”

V’s eyes are dark meok ink, liquid earth that grounds you.

“Morning,” you say, smiling despite yourself, and then roll out of bed to get the whole day started.)

You’re used to spending a day surrounded by laughter and banter, wrapped up in the camaraderie of your co-workers and friends, only to return to a world of quiet solitude. You’re used to coming home to rooms that are untouched from the morning, holding onto the echo of your passing, still and waiting for your return, an apartment of motionless air.

But not today. There’s evidence of someone else here: the open door to your studio down the hall, the scattered books on the coffee table, the mess of cushions on the sofa, all small signs that someone has been moving and living in your absence. A still-life that’s shifted into a breathing trompe l’oeil, V’s presence bringing flatness into perspective, turning it into something real.

It’s… nice.

You flop onto the sofa and send one of those cushions overboard, tumbling to the ground. V appears in the doorway moments later, new apron already streaked with colour, copper green thumbprint on his face like he’d touched it in thought and not realised. A little streak of paint that draws the eye to his lovely chin.

“Welcome home!” His hair is blond today, a golden nimbus around his face, though his eyes are still dark. Light and shadow. His happiness is infectious and you smile helplessly back, glad for his excitement with painting—but it seems like he hasn’t finished. “I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.”

KO. Wipeout. Your heart turns to liquid in your chest, burnt sugar that dribbles hot and saccharine through your ribs. 

“I chose a name.” V continues, oblivious to how he’s turned your insides into syrup, and you abruptly sit up.

“Oh?” 

“Taehyung.” The way he says it, in his deep voice, those two syllables are endless—a single name, heavy with the weight of meaning behind it. A shedding of his old skin, one that was forced on him, leaving him pink-skinned and new and free.

“Taehyung,” you repeat, and his LED flickers at the sound falling off your lips. “Taehyung. It’s lovely.”

He’s smiling, that lovely toothy smile that you’ve already decided is your favourite out of any smile you’ve seen, his LED electric blue and swirling in delight. 

Day after day, you wake up to the sight of that LED glowing as Taehyung watches you lift up out of sleep. Night after night, you come home to his lovely, big grin, all large hands and soft hair—hair that he chooses to change colour when he pleases, a dizzying palette with every shade you can dream of. He’s bright and deep, playful and reflective, a dance of flirty Rococo to more solemn Baroque, every day another day where he learns and grows and adds another facet to the cut diamond of his personality. 

(It hasn’t been long but you’re starting to think you’d put the world in the palm of his hand, if you could.)

You never thought you’d live to see the day where someone as lovely as Taehyung would be glad to see you home, having missed you after being apart—but for all that he’s voraciously leaning into the arts, consuming everything from visual to literary to performance, he’s never happier than when you’re there too. He shows you his works, improvement obvious with every new piece, but his excitement grows tenfold when you start to paint alongside him; seeing him so joyful spurs you to pick your brushes up again, buoyed up with motivation in the face of his own. 

(Your studio is usually quiet, a little reflective maybe, the only sound the music you play over your speakers—but now more often than not you and Taehyung will talk, and laugh, and even if you’ve both ebbed into silence, it’s never heavy. It’s a held breath. The potential to speak any moment. The sensation of another person in the same space as you, an orbit, both existing in a shared moment, connected by gossamer threads that shimmer with sunlight.

Taehyung’s eyes are steady on his canvas as he works, but he glances at you through the curl of his lashes, smiling back at you. Always, always smiling, LED calm blue as the rest of his face shines golden, bright.)

(Maybe it’s selfish, but you think you could get used to this.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

[xpeachesncream]

2AM | one shot

summary: just like yoongi says - if namjoon wasn’t gonna act on his feelings for you, then why couldn’t you? even if that meant sliding into namjoon’s DMs.

pairing: reader x namjoon

genre: college au | sprinkle of fluff, smut

words: 3.8k

warnings: cussing, mature language/implied sexual content, club scene, alcohol consumption, dancing/grinding, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, breast play, hickeys, oral (f. receiving), cum eating, ass smacking, doggy style, hair pulling, headboard knocking against the wall and head to the mattress type of rough sex, pillow to the face type of loud sex, backshots, namjoon is a kind fella though and really respects you

note: i’ve been hearing namjoon is/has become people’s bias wrecker lately..... 🤪 this is for you. i’ve tried to make this as realistic and relatable as possible. pls excuse any errors!

The club was awfully packed tonight, you and your friends and a bunch of all your mutual friends tightly pushed against one corner of the club, celebrating whoever's birthday it was - you couldn't fucking remember. You were just there because you knew of the person, but your friends still dragged you out to have a good time.

And, God, you were drunk. You were having a good time. You were already drunk before the club, having pissed on the sidewalk with Yoongi covering you with his jacket while Jin pissed next to you in the alley since there were no bathrooms open to the public at this time.

"Namjoon is here!" You hear Yoongi yell and nudge you. Namjoon had always had a crush on you. You two were friends, had a lot of mutual friends, but it was nothing more of a hi and bye in passing on campus. Occasional small talk, nothing more, nothing less. But, it didn't mean you didn't think he was attractive. Standing almost at 6 ft tall, the man was buff in all the right places and had a smile that could kill from miles away. You just never pressed on it because Namjoon never pressed on it. People teased him about his silly crush on you but he never took it further. He'd call you the prettiest girl he'd ever seen on campus, leaving anonymous comments on the campus' compliment board talking about how your smile was the best one he's ever seen. Everyone knew it was Kim Namjoon. But it was just a silly crush after all, right?

Tonight though, you were thinking of doing other things. Maybe it was this dick drought you had been in, maybe it was the alcohol heightening your attraction to him. Whatever the fuck it was, you wanted it and you were down.

"Aye!" Namjoon comes over to Yoongi and Jin, giving them their daps and hugs before he makes his way over to you. "What's up, Y/N?" He pulls you into a tight hug. 

"Hey! Didn't think you'd be here." You chuckled.

"Why not? I like to have fun every so often, too." You nod. It's not like Namjoon hated going out, but he did have a preference of staying in than being at the club. He wasn't at every outing or club event. He'd make it to some if it was really important to his friends, but he'd usually skip out and he'd be teased about it the following week. You liked that about him; that he wasn't the type to be a partier or spend his free time chugging on alcohol. He was one of the smartest guys on campus who was pretty well known and he carried himself well. Dude could run for president and he’d have everyone’s votes, no cap.

"Well, I'm glad you're here."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that you're glad I'm here." He joked with that smile of his, dimples piercing his cheeks before he continued his rounds of hello's.

"Well, I'm glad you're here." Jin fluttered his eyelashes as he swung back and forth, mocking your tone in tiny causing Yoongi to laugh.

"Fuck off, Seokjin." You shove him.

"Why don't you finally do something about it? You know he likes you.”

"Why does it have to be me?"

"Why can't it be you?" Yoongi asked. "Does the dude always have to make a move?"

"Yeah, and besides, what if he's only doing that because he respects you and thinks you don't like him like that?" Jin butted in.

"I didn't asked to be attacked." Yoongi shrugged.

"Just saying. It doesn't have to be on Namjoon. Maybe he's waiting on you. Don't slip up, fool." He jokes as you shake your head, leading your friends to the bar for another drink to keep your drunkness alive. Yoongi orders three shots of nasty ass Jameson, but you take it anyways because he's your homeboy and the shit was free. He asks for another round, which you almost pass on but you catch sight of your ex-boyfriend, Jungkook.

"Pass it." Yoongi smirks as he passes you another shot glass. You take it to the neck with ease, deciding you'd deal with consequences later. You just wanted to have your fun.

"Hey." Jungkook wraps his arms around you, causing you to shrug him off and push his arms away.

"Jungkook, stop." You used to hate him. You really used to despise the guy, but it had gotten so tiring that you eventually got over it and moved on. You had a good relationship after all, you had a great freshman year even if you started off college in a relationship. But, he didn't want it after a year and a half. He wanted his college freedom, wanted to explore, wanted to get to know the incoming freshmen girls and transfers. So, he eventually stopped trying and that killed you.

But myyyy, have the tables turned. Jungkook wanted you back badly even though you've made it blatantly obvious you were over him.

"Dance with me tonight? You look good." He looks at you up and down, eyeing the tight mini skirt and crop top you had on.

"Maybe.” You look at him like he was crazy. “I'm busy."

"With who?"

"Not with you."

"Come on, baby. Please." Obviously drunk and out of this mind.

"Ew, don't call me that Jungkook. I am not your baby."

"Aw come on, you’ll always be though." He smiles, hugging you once more.

"You got a whole line up, remember? Stop worrying about me." You scoff as you shove him aside, making your way back to your friends.

"The fuck was that about?"

"Jungkook being Jungkook."

"He definitely wants to have his cake and eat it, too."

"Well, that's not gonna fly with me. He needs to go."

"Good. Come on, let's go dance. Maybe Namjoon will come since you don’t wanna do it. Acting all scared and shit." 

“Shut up, Yoongi. Just walk.” You laugh. Yoongi nods towards some free space, Jin already welcoming a lady friend onto his lap for a dance. You playfully dance around with Yoongi for a little before you feel him passing you off to pretty boy Park Jimin. You loved dancing with Jimin because lord knows he knew a thing or two about rhythm more than most of these men in the club. Including your friends.

Heh, just kidding.

After a song or two, the latest shots are starting to make their way through your veins, your skin feeling hot and your balance being a little thrown off. Nothing you couldn't handle though, you still knew how to compose yourself well and keep it together.

"Enjoying yourself?" You hear Namjoon come from behind you as you had been standing around by the railings, catching a breather after Jimin had broke you off to those two songs, working up a damn sweat.

"Yeah, are you?" You turn to face him as your arms hung loosely over the railing.

"I meaaaan, I think it could be better." He sips on his drink.

"Stop babysitting your drink, Namjoon." You playfully nudge him.

"I'm not babysitting, I'm just savoring this expensive drink." You roll your eyes and laugh. You watch as he takes another sip, your hand keeping his glass tilted from the end until there's nothing left for him to drink.

"There, that's better."

"You're a bad influence."

"No, I'm not."

"You are. Pretty, and a bad influence." He adds, chuckling while licking his bottom lip. It's silent for a minute as he's eyeing the crowd in front of you, watching people sloppily dance on each other or tongue each other down. Either or, everyone was drunk and feeling up on somebody.

Everyone besides you two.

"Fuck it, let's dance." He suddenly says, grabbing your hand and leading the way to the nearest empty space. He backs himself against the wall, grabbing you by the waist to throw your ass back on him. He grips you tightly as you work him, his hips moving in tandem with yours. If you weren't mistaken, you could feel this entire thing soaking your panties by the minute. The way he had taken initiative and grabbed your hand the way that he did. The way he backed himself against the wall and shoved you onto his crotch area.

You didn't know Namjoon had it in him after he had been shying away from his crush on you. Park Jimin was sliding down the dance pyramid, with Kim Namjoon quickly climbing his way to the top.

Something so innocent had turned intimate pretty quick, your body backed against his now as you slowly worked your hips to Rossi's All I Want, your hand grabbing around his neck. You felt his breath against your skin, his eyes locked on you and only you.

After a couple of dances, you turned to him, his arms still wrapped around your waist. He gave you a big, toothless smile, his dimples becoming a huge weakness for you. You being the tease that you are, gave him a kiss on the cheek before you started to pull away from his grip.

"Oh, so it's like that?" He jokes as he bites on his bottom lip, his hands slowly slipping down your wrists the more you pull away.

"I don't know, is it?"

"You tell me. Are you going to hit me up to kick it?"

"We'll see." You smirk at him before walking towards your friends, his tongue pressed against his cheek as he watches your hips sway from side to side. After tonight, you knew you wanted Namjoon and he was the goal. No if's, and's or but's.

You and your friends call it a night by the time the club is almost coming to a close. Everyone is rushing to head out and catch their Ubers, but you see no Namjoon in sight. He must have disappeared sometime during the night, and you were too busy with your friends to notice. Which, is a fucking bummer because you wanted to see him before you left, hoping it could flourish into something more than just the dances you shared with him tonight.

You just had to be a tease.

Getting home, you're a little uneasy because you're stuck on the fact that you want something more out of the night and you couldn't get that. You hesitated quite a few times, picking up your phone, then throwing it back onto your bed. Your roommate hadn't gotten home yet, the loneliness kicking in quick.

Fuck it!

You shake your head and grow some balls to hit up Namjoon to see what he was up to at damn near 2AM.

But sike, your ass doesn't even have his number.

"What the fuck, Y/N!" You groan to yourself, quickly pulling up your group chat w/ Yoongi and Jin before you change your mind.

[y/n] 1:52am: ANYBODY HAVE NAMJOON'S NUMBER???

Pure silence for the next 5 minutes.

[y/n] 1:58am: i know none of you two are getting some tonight, where tf are you!

Some more silence.

"For fuck's sake, guys." You whined as you pulled up Namjoon's IG page. Were you really gonna do this? Were you really gonna slip yourself into his DMs?

Absolutely the fuck yes.

x_ynbaby: hi

namjoooonie: :) look who it is

x_ynbaby: sorry this prob looks stupid as fuck but i just realized i didnt have your number

namjoooonie: no biggie. at least ill be able to say y/n slid in my dm's first

x_ynbaby: pls dont start

namjoooonie: how can i help you?

x_ynbaby: what are you up to?

namjoooonie: im about to get ready for bed just like you should be doing

x_ynbaby: excuse you, im grown. i can go to bed when i want lol

namjoooonie: you're grown, ey?

x_ynbaby: yeah i am

namjoooonie: cool, come show me here?

x_ynbaby: kim namjoon, what is that supposed to mean

namjoooonie: it means you come over and watch something with me that isnt pg-13, duh? take it or leave it cutie, ive got some good comedy stand-ups on my list

x_ynbaby: lol send me the address

You laughed out loud. He was so frustratingly cute that you found yourself throwing on your jacket and heading back out to grab an Uber to his place not too far from yours. His roommate was home, but he had been locked up in his room the entire time Namjoon had gotten back. He figured he was already sound asleep, so he had you quietly come up the steps, his hand holding onto yours as you tippy-toed past his roommate's door.

"Fuck, finally. What a journey." He says, shutting his door.

"You're so dramatic."

"Says the one who was like we'll see." He mocks you, batting his eyelashes and tilting his head to the side.

"Shut up. Where's your list of comedy stand-ups, huh?" He plops on his bed, patting the empty space next to him.

"Right here." He opens his macbook. "This is where all the magic happens."

"Ah, yes. The comedy stand-ups and the porn, right?"

"Yup, especially the porn." You laugh as you playfully shove him aside. He actually begins to play Dave Chapelle's Sticks and Stones, his cute laugh already erupting and echoing throughout his room. You couldn't help but laugh yourself, your body sinking closer to his. Feeling his body against yours had the heat pooling in your core, wanting more from him while you were here. "I can't believe he—" He turns to look at you, your gaze still kept on him. "What?"

"Namjoon, I know this isn't the only thing you were thinking about tonight." You say, almost at a whisper.

"It's not, but I don't wanna disrespect you in any way." He says, in typical Namjoon fashion. You shake your head, your hand on his chest as you slightly push yourself up.

"Handle me." He simply looks at you as you nod. "Handle me like you would, all bullshit aside." He hesitates a bit, his face edging closer to yours.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes. We've established that we're grown, right? Show me." You say breathily. As soon as it slips your mouth, Namjoon shoves his laptop aside to wrap his strong arms around you, allowing you to wrap your legs around his torso. He gently lays you on his bed as he keeps his lips locked onto yours. The kiss becomes messy, your tongue continuously pushing against his, the sounds of wet kisses now filling his room. You moan into his mouth as he fiddles to remove your joggers, catching a glimpse of him finally removing them and tossing it across his neatly organized room. You pulled away for a quick second to remove his shirt before he removed yours, your hands trailing down his beautiful chest.

"Fuck, taking this off." He says, aggressively unhooking your bra and throwing it off to the side to be an eyesore along with your sweats lying on the floor. You giggle as he begins to kiss down your neck and jawline, then welcoming himself to your breasts. He plays with your nipples, his thumb toying with it and gently pinching. You let out a hiss as you feel his tongue flicking around your nipples one by one, his breath causing cold air to linger on them. You watch as he begins to suck on the skin of your breasts, leaving purple-ish marks on either boob.

"Ohhhhshit." You bite onto your bottom lip, so fucking turned on by him and his ways. He makes his way down to your panties, giving your clothed clit a kiss before shoving your panties aside and licking a strip upwards. "Ahhhhh, Namjoon." You breathe.

"Uh huh?" He says, lowering his mouth onto your clit, sucking as his tongue caressed it slowly at the same time. His mouth and tongue are continuing to work in tandem while he slips in two digits, working them in and out to stretch you out.

"Yeah, like that." You moan, your hand is gripping his hair tightly as you jut your hip upwards. Namjoon does a good job holding you down, even as your high approaches. "Ughhhhhhgggfuck!" Your words mesh together as you try to jut your hips upwards once more before you feel yourself unraveling under his grip. You tremble as you coat his fingers, moaning loudly and not giving a damn about his sleeping roommate anymore.

"Shhh, my roommate." He chuckles as he towers over you, careful not to put all his body weight on yours.

"I'm sorry but, gohhhhd." You whine. "Please just fuck me, I wanna feel you." He bites onto his bottom lip, watching you twirl your tongue around his wet digits and suck on them, giving yourself a good taste of your pussy.

"Stop." He tilts his head back and shakes his head. "You're gonna make me cum just doing that."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I haven't gotten to feel you, yet. That's what." He says as he removes his beautifully long and thick hardened member from his boxers, his sweats dropping to the floor from his ankles. He pumps himself a few times before he taps it against your folds, teasing you with his tip as he slides it up and down.

"Namjoon, I swear—" You arch your back, feining for more.

"You swear, or what?" He asks playfully, his tip the first to slowly enter inside of you. Your breathing hitches the deeper he goes in, literally having you question whether or not you were gonna be able to take him. "You okay?" You nod silently as you try to position yourself comfortably on him, Namjoon letting out a small groan as he feels you fully envelope him from wall to wall. He starts slow, making sure you were comfortable before he begins to pick up his pace. You grip the sheets as he begins to get aggressive with you, his headboard endlessly knocking on his wall.

He apparently doesn't give a fuck about his roommate either. And here he was, shushing you.

You begin to moan his name loudly, feeling the high approaching you once again.

"Y/N." He whispers, chuckling. He [politely] throws his pillow onto your head, signaling for you to hold onto it and scream into it if need be. Which, you do. "Fuuuck Y/N, you're so hot." He moans under his breath as his thrusts are fast, the sound of skin pounding against skin bouncing off of his walls.

"Joon, I'm cumming again." You moan into the pillow as he slows his thrusts for you, letting out breathy moans as he feels you constricting around him.

"Turn around." He says, you quickly obeying, shooting your ass up with your face down. You wiggle your ass onto his dick, causing him to slightly hiss. He inserts his tip in but allows you to sink onto him yourself. "Godddddamn." He moans as you begin to move your body up and down on his dick, cream lathering the top of it like icing. He gives your ass a good smack, the heat pooling to the area quickly. One hand grips your hips, while the other grips your hair and slightly tugs on it as he takes control and thrusts into you.

"Fuck! Namjoon." You groan as he pulls your hair. Your ass is bouncing off of him, the pain turning into pleasure. Your mouth is agape, no sounds being able to escape as he pounds into you.

"Shit Y/N, I'm gonna cum. Where do you want me to cum?"

"Backshot." You simply say, Joon fully understanding. With the last couple of thrusts, you find yourself constricting around him again, body getting weak and trembling back down into the sheets. His hand pushes your head into the mattress while the other pulls out and pumps his hardened dick, lathering your back in his load. You feel him almost collapse onto you, his hand holding onto your hip as he regulates his breathing.

"Fuck, I am so sorry." He says, grabbing a tissue to wipe your back.

"Why are you sorry?" You laugh as you turn over afterwards.

"It just makes me feel bad, I feel like I'm marking my territory or something."

"I meaaaaaaan." You say, Namjoon's eyes going straight to your breasts.

"Agh fuck, Y/N." He says, feeling bad as he slips on his clothes before handing you yours.

"It's not a big deal.

"I just want you to know that I do value you more than just my territory or whatever that means." He shakes his head. "Fuck, I just mean I value you more than that, okay?" You giggle.

"You're fine, Joon." He smiles toothlessly as he nods, feeling accomplished having gotten his point across.

"So, more comedy stand ups?"

"Boy, you wore me out. I'm going to sleep."

"Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back, gonna grab us water. Can I get you anything else?"

"No, thank you." You smile as he shuts his door. You check your phone from your night stand seeing that your friends had finally texted you back.

[yoongi] 2:47am: woops, shit hahahah did you still need it?

[yoongi] 2:47am: and fuck off ok, what if i was getting some?

[jin] 2:49am: he's not. we're not. we just finished playing phasmaphobia thats why we responded late

[yoongi] 2:49am: youre an ass kisser seokjin

[jin] 2:50am: i think y/n is already at namjoons

[yoongi] 2:51am: better tell us about it tomorrow bro @ y/n

[jin] 2:52am: have fun be safe

[y/n] 3:30am: you guys get home from the club and play phasmaphobia? thats why you guys get none

[jin] 3:31am: r u at namjoons or not, this wasnt even about us

[y/n] 3:32am: yes and just got dicked down like the world was ending tomorrow

[yoongi] 3:33am: .........

[yoongi] 3:33am: .......................

[jin] 3:34am: 'whyyyyy does it have to be me' she said

[jin] 3:34am: dick mustve gotten your tongue now

[y/n] 3:35am: Error: 404. This number could not be reached at this time. Try again later.

[jin] 3:36am: lmfao weak, you'll hear from us later today missy

You chuckled to yourself as you heard Namjoon nearing the door. Suddenly, you hear another door open, his roommate's voice faintly echoing in the hallway.

"Dude, can you and your girl be any louder?"

"Sorry Hobi, I thought you were asleep."

"That's the thing, I was." Namjoon laughs.

"Oh shit, my bad. We'll keep it down next time." You watched as he nodded before closing the door. You laughed silently as he handed you a water bottle, scooting himself next to you.

"Yeah Namjoon, be quiet next time."

"Me? You had a pillow and you were still loud."

"Not my fault. Didn't even know you had it in you." You teased.

"What's that even supposed to mean?" He scoffed before gently tickling you.

"It's just, I thought you were forgetting about your little crush on me."

"Want me to show you again?"

"I'm sleep, bye." You laughed as you turned over, your ass comfortably touching his leg while he laid next to you and watched his show.

[banqdanfnfic]

which, as they kiss, consume | jjk

you just wanted to get a tattoo from your boyfriend

pairing: tattoo artist!jk x reader

genre: established relationships au, tattoo artist au, smut

word count: 4k

warnings: unprotected sex, biting, making out, grinding, licking, nipple play, jk has a lip ring, oral (f receiving), fingering, shy jk and oc, sexual tension, slight choking, slight aftercare

♫ : Streets by Doja Cat, Candy by Doja Cat

♡ Aesthetics: Playlist | Moodboard

He visibly chokes on his glass of beer as he almost snaps his neck to meet your gaze. He could say that you were awfully drunk and hence the sudden confession out of the blue, but behind your heavy lidded eyes, Jungkook could sense that you were serious.

“You what?”, he gulps abruptly, moving closer to your face, doe eyes pleading to repeat yourself.

“Yes Kook. I want that tattoo on my breasts. I’ve decided”.

It’s not that Jungkook didn’t have experience in his career with inking on different parts of a human body. He just had never given a tattoo to someone who is romantically associated with him and the thought of seeing you half naked made him chuck down the rest of his drink in one go.

The most physical he had ever gotten with you was a kiss shared occasionally since it’s only been over two weeks you had started dating. Okay maybe you made out once in his car but that’s it. It never got to the point of shedding clothes or anything intense.

“Are you sure?”

You giggle at the sudden hoarseness in his voice and nod positive. Ironic how his aura never matched his personality. His inked skin, athletic body proportions covered in black monochrome bad boy outfits gave out default energy that he is a local heartthrob with multiple chicks wrapped around his finger each night and a heavy demeanor to carry in his smirk.

You were one of those believers until Jungkook asked you out in the most hopeless romantic way possible after constantly visiting the café you work in, a few shops besides his parlor. He was a gentleman with respectful boundaries, warm hands to hold yours and sweet sensual kisses though you are pretty sure he probably has a good game.

For any outsider it looked like those cliché bad boy and shy girl love stories, but for real both of you were a good percentage of introverts.

Jungkook runs his tongue around his lip ring while he is stressfully ruffling his dark locks into a mess. He is trying to explain his reasons to postpone your decision considering how shy he got at this point. But then that’s exactly why you were requesting him with soft eyes, it would be so uncomfortable to be shirtless in front of anybody else. Or maybe it’s your way of saying the relationship is open for higher levels of physical affection.

After debating around in vain, he finally hums and clears one of his slots for his beloved client.

Friday approaches way quicker than you assumed and now your heart is beating in your throat. Right after you are done cleaning the tables, you have to make it to Jungkook’s parlor for your appointment.

Running on three hours of sleep, black under eyes even after a decent amount of makeup, you groan as you check yourself out in the mirror. You opted for a simple shirt and skirt (also known as the outfit you bought for occasions with Jungkook), light beach waves resting on your shoulders. Hoping that a few cups of coffee will save you, you stride across the street to stop before the infamous parlor he worked in. Hopefully the full body shave and chocolate body butter has kept its excellence on your skin below the clothing.

The door chimes as it opens with a dragged creak on the musky wooden flooring. It felt like an otherworld where air smelled like men’s perfume and faint tint of cigarettes. In other words, intoxicating.

You ask the first person you meet at the reception, one of Jungkook’s companions at the shop and he assists you to his cabin located at a comfortably remote location.

His space is hidden with a simple black curtain. You are met with Jungkook’s back facing you, working determinately on a client’s arm and cares to spare a glance only when the guy with you is informing him about your presence.

“This will be over in a few”, he grins to your face and goes back to focusing his coil on the skin of a woman in her late twenties laying down his chair. The vibration from his inking machine fills in the silence and you excuse yourself to sit on a small black couch beside them.

This was the first time watching him at work and now you can understand why people rumored so much about his attitude because damn it is intimidating.

Brows knit together and inked muscles flex as he drags the needles around for finishing touches. Meanwhile you can pretty much smell the drool from the woman who is shamelessly checking out your boyfriend. Though you are pretty sure Jungkook gets such glances more than he can count every day, you can’t help but feel jealous. Partly because of the childish possessiveness and partly because you want to be the reason behind his dark eyes and intricate concentration, in profession or not.

To stop from mentally throwing daggers on the client’s way, you grab a random fashion magazine from the side table and flip through pages, though other four senses are inclined on your man. With a close attention to his low sigh you conclude that he is done.

The customer with now a fresh tattoo on her arm is discussing random useless topics to get him to talk, a very vain job realizing how Jungkook doesn’t bat a friendly lash at anybody, especially to those who hit on him. To be honest a large part of the ink business was linked with the obsession to attractive people who worked here, even if it meant trading an area of your skin. You grip the edges of the magazine a bit hard, not able to contain the sanity particularly at the high pitch voice she mumbles in before finally leaving his cabin.

A little excited and a lot nervous, you stand up as Jungkook bids goodbye to the third person.

He is quick to notice your discomfort, though not sure if it was the woman or the thought of finally getting the tattoo, he knew you were nervous and surviving in several cups of espresso by the dark circles slowly showing through the faded layers of your concealer. But nothing pulls down the opinion he has about you, beautiful and simple, no dramatics attached.

“Hey are you okay?”

You nod as soon as you sit down on the black tattoo chair, shifting a little to find a comfortable position. He is taking out a box full of equipment and fine needles, already making you break a sweat at the side of your forehead.

But more than that, it’s the way he is sharp and professional that catches your attention more.

You have never seen Jungkook this serious before. The choice of his vetiver perfume digging through your nostrils was driving you insane. If he doesn’t smile soon, you are going to melt into a puddle at his gaze.

“Are you nervous?”, he smirks this time, a newfound reason for your worsening gut health.

It’s mostly going in cycles at this point. Every bit of his skilled motion causes a vigorous hormonal reaction which initiates his next set of effortless teasing.

“I’m a little nervous”, you say, fiddling with your freshly painted nude nails.

“Me too”

It’s something you least expect to come out of his mouth observing how confident he looks right now. He basically has you cornered with his gaze. But whenever he had been truthful about his emotions it felt like a hug.

“I can take off my shirt too, so that we are even. Is that okay?”

He said it so softly like he is handling a child and the duality of the situation had your mind fogged and limbs frozen for a few minutes.

“Yeah it’s okay” It’s far beyond than okay. It’s great actually.

Jeon Jungkook is ripped, a Greek God sculptured masterpiece covered in self designed artwork you are more than happy to wake up to every morning. He hears you gulp at the feast before your eyes while he discards his black t-shirt to a nearby chair.

Now you don’t know if this whole thing is supposed to warm your heart or make you play several erotic fantasies like a movie before your eyes.

Both of you share a small smile while his long fingers are tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head.

He almost wishes you don’t opt to wear a bra but he is met with lacy black, a-bit-over your-usual-budget fabric hugging the roundness of your breasts.

It seemed like you were way too competitive about today. Anything less than complete awe from Jungkook for you was straight disappointment, you don't want anything less.

Well it seems like it did from how blown his pupils were at this point. He peels his gaze off your chest with a sharp gulp to look at your eyes suddenly devoid of any fear and staring back at him with all ease. He is filled with an exapnse of warmth and he isn't sure why does spending just a little amount of time with you had such a grip on him. He can’t wait to propose the idea of getting a couple tattoo together soon and as far as you know how Jungkook is, he is very serious with his body art so apparently he does trust you a lot already.

“Where exactly are you trying to get it?”, his voice is a lot deeper suddenly as he waits for your fingers to guide to his canvas.

You softly trace the spot at the upper circumference of your right boob, “Here”.

You suck a breath through your nose as his own fingers are mimicking your gesture, lightly pulling down the lace to inspect the fitting of the design at hand.

These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder

Jungkook traces each word on your burning skin, now leaning dangerously close which was questioning your control to put your palms flat on his pecs. He doesn’t notice that though, his mind is busy creating his own fantasies about the women under him.

After two minutes and twenty four second long of inspection and mutual thirst, Jungkook is selecting a bunch of needles to set into the rotary machine. Five fine sharp like a painter's brush moves in and out at a set regularity as Jungkook tests it out.

The next of his actions had you flushed into a pool of crimson. He gently lifts up your resting torso with one hand while the other is unclasping the hook of your bra, making you half naked for the sake of the tattoo.

"I'm going to start", he says shyly.

You still have time to save yourself from the growing phobia for the object, but another unlogical part of your brain says it's a piece of cake considering you have a whole distracting full course meal in front of you.

It stings at first. Well, okay it hurts like hell but your face is devoid of any indication, except your right hand is gripping on the rim of the chair for dear life.

Jungkook on the other hand had never felt this much diversion of mind during his work. He knows that you are probably hurting very badly, especially for a first timer. He is biting into his lip ring, trying to get this over with for the well-being of your pain and his hormones.

After he had scribed one word into your dermis, you are no longer able to contain the ache so you give out a small squeak out of your glossed lips and the vibration of the machine at his hands stops as he looks at you.

"You want me to stop? ", he is relaxing his face as he cups yours with one hand. You don't want to answer that question, but the drumroll of the current situation is making your heart flutter and everything about the little burn on your chest is forgotten.

"No. It does hurt but I'll be fine I guess", you whisper. His breath is mixing with yours slowly as he is leaning more towards your face. If it isn't for a kiss then you are likely to be disappointed.

"It'll be over before you know it. I'll make it quick", and then he kisses you, a small act to get off the pressure of sexual tension between your bare upper bodies.

Before you think of any tongue in the act, he is breaking off the contact and returns to his position on your chest. He misses the pout that forms on your mouth but right now both of your heads are in cloud nine.

The pain starts again, only this time you are busy reliving how his lips felt in yours; soft, firm and controlled.

You gasp when you feel one of his hands cupping your right breast to further his design but it's lowkey an act empowered by lust which is straining behind the so called professional eyes.

You just sit there flustered out of your mind and then Jungkook is suddenly squeezing, full palm hiding your breasts like it's a protected treasure, but he isn't showing the slightest facial expression other than determined eyes and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Fuck you can't take it anymore. Jungkook can feel your nipples harden against his hand and his brain isn't helping much to concentrate on the design. But by the grace of some positive karma left on his side, he makes it through the long text and when he is letting go of your chest and standing tall, your skin is popping out with redness on the places the text lays embedded.

He fishes out a mirror for you to look.

"It looks beautiful thank you Jungkook", you smile.

"Can I give you one more tattoo on your left one?", he asks while you are contemplating whether going through the pain is worth it, not to mention you really want to get back at a private space with Jungkook as soon as possible.

"It won't hurt I promise", and then he is kissing you a lot filthier than before; all tongue and teeth, while his hands are grazing on the skin of your waist, pressing a little firmer than before.

The coldness of his lip ring rivaled around your mouth, and you try sucking on it to which Jungkook responds with a growl and pushes his body adamantly against yours.

Skin to skin, you are lost in euphoria of everything happening and finally, you roam your eager hands around his body, to his pecs and the definition of abs.

As your fingers scraped against his scalp, Jungkook is biting eagerly down your jawline to your collarbone and continues his ministrations at a particular spot which is bringing out melodic moan variation from you.

He is going down your skin, licking on your left boob before he starts planting violet tattoos as he had promised. As if it couldn't get better, he is massaging the right breast, in a way to soothe pain.

He loses it when you stutter his name, but he is just a fucking tease when it comes to making love and doing anything in a public space is the last thing he wants to do. There isn't much room for all that he wants right now.

"Why did you choose this particular tattoo Y/n?", he rasps while he is planting small pecks on his artwork, and you reply when he is finally eye level with you

"I just felt like it's a good one", your breaths are uneven and mostly caught in your neck. He pecks your lips before speaking, "Those are lines from Romeo and Juliet".

He takes your hands to trace over a line of text among the many designs on his chest.

which, as they kiss, consume

"We pretty much have a couple tattoo now Y/n", his breath is matched with your pace and you are not very sure how to respond to this new knowledge.

"That's… hot"

You break into giggles along with him, he just can't stop dragging his lips around your skin, but he isn't able to word his feelings right now either.

"I have some aftercare healing ointment for the tattoo at my place, wanna come over?" Now that may be a little lame of an excuse to get his little friend out of his pants but you are too unfazed to analyse any of that.

His hands find place on your ass under the skirt as soon as the door to his apartment closes, and before you know it, you are in his bedroom, sitting on the soft mattress and tongue lost devouring each other.

While eagerly getting rid of every article of clothing, Jungkook notices that you don't have your bra on beneath the shirt, so it's probably back at the parlour, but none of you have the slightest care for it, might as well make an excuse with it later to fuck you in his cabin.

He is pushing you farther towards the headboard, him on top, grinding sensenslesy while your lips mould with his. Though he has his whole body pressed against you, you can't seem to feel his weight at the slightest, every one of his actions were just balanced and perfect.

As Jungkook goes down on you, his smile is evident against your skin, finally able to find out how every one of those scenarios in his head will come to look like. He lets out a satisfied hum being finally able to suck on your tits, your fingers finding place on his hair, twisting it out of stimulation.

His pelvis is flushed harshly against yours, grinding and rubbing against your pussy for as long as he is rejoicing the feeling of moving his tongue around both the nipples.

He stops rubbing after some point and you whimper at the loss but his fingers are soon to meet your core as a quick apology. All your later moans are muffled on his mouth once again.

Feeling the controlled movements of his fingers on your clit, you dig your nails down on his toned shoulders. It's becoming impossible to reciprocate his lewd movements of tongue on your lips at this point as the excitement between your thighs is growing every passing second.

Your mouth remains slightly parted as he removes his face to watch you squirm underneath, lips swollen, deep red and glossy from all the saliva.

He pecks at the shell of your ear before going down past your navel.

You haven't had much heads in the twenty years of your life, most of the guys being completely against the idea which made you feel insecure to bring up the topic in bed, but Jungkook does it like his life depends on it.

He growls at the sight of you dripping into his sheets and he seems to enjoy the idea of being the influence behind it. But none is going through your head at the moment, not the metal on his lips grazing against your folds, or the fact that Jungkook is grinning each time you cry his name, it feels unreal to feel something like this.

His mouth is wrapping against your entrance and he is balancing your lower body on his palms to help him reach the right depths inside you. While all you can muster up is the strength to grope the bedsheets in your fist and close your eyes at the pleasure.

Jungkook brings his head higher to give some attention to the throbbing clit, catching it between his teeth and triggering the bundle of nerves just the perfect dose to have your hips jolting up to his face.

He can't take it himself when you are now whining and chasing for your release, so he is slightly humping against the bed to get some friction.

He licks a slow stripe up till your abdomen and slowly raises to your face, already fucked out and dishevelled to keep up with his dominant orbs.

He swears he had never felt so much warmth and care for sex with any of his previous partners, in relationship or not, all he could think is how good can he treat the pleading eyes underneath him.

"Is there something you like that you want me to do?", he says, fingers grazing once again to your crotch to not deny you from his contact. Only this time he is exploring the tightness of your pretty cunt with two skillful fingers.

Is there? You are not sure. Or in other words you are too caught up at the sense of him fingering you. It's not like you had enough experience or people who cared enough to ask that question. It astounds you that never in this entire foreplay he asked for any favor for himself.

"I'm not sure…", you whisper and then maybe you have something on your mind " um I guess I would like to be choked" Okay this felt embarrassing.

He smiles before sliding his free hand from your lips to your neck, and applies slight force, careful to not hurt you in the slightest bit.

"Is that fine?"

"Yeah", you muffle through the decreasing course of air.

He pulls up your face by the throat to attach lips once more. He just can't seem to get enough of kissing you senseless. Then, the tip of his long ignored cock is teasing the length of your pussy twice before it's stretching you out to the brim.

Bodies flushed and hot, his pace is deep and slow, making sure to kiss the cervix every time he is inside.

He watches as your eyes close shut and flutters around whenever he is grazing against your sweet spot. Both of your ears lost and eager for the moans looming out of each other, his more like what he sounds at the gym. Nice observation Y/n.

In this span of sexual energy you shared, you can make some obvious conclusions. Sex with him was surreal, both in terms of domination and the care he had. Rocking against him and keeping up with his hips was attainable— Compared to the intense eye contact he tries to hold, or the way he cups the side of your face and rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheeks while he kisses you during sinking back in, or the way his eyes glow at the beauty of your body open for him. It makes you feel special and it's difficult to respond to these gestures when you never felt this way before.

Jungkook could tell that from your face, but he hopes he lasts with you enough to help you know the worth you hold. You couldn't think too much about anything when you are busy squeezing around his length and coming twice in the first ten minutes.

By the third orgasm Jungkook is nearing his own and he pulls out to pump a few times before coming on your stomach.

"Was it okay?", his voice is all over the place, still balancing his body on his arms while you are amazed by his strength.

"It was amazing Jungkook", you smile. You have known a lot about Jungkook over the few dates you spent with him. That he likes literature, classics and philosophy, designs tattoos as a subconscious thing, that his game is A-1, and he likes working out almost three hours a day. Good for you. But it wasn't until now you know him to be gentle, like he is afraid to crush you under a feather touch. You don't know him as someone who is staring deep into your face after a good fuck, speaks nothing, smiles widely, and plants a peck on your forehead before getting off the bed.

He does the honors of cleaning both of your bodies with a towel, it's not like you have any strength left in you anyway. And then pulls out an ointment from the bedside table and plops next to your body.

"There. You need this to protect the tattoo", he takes off the nozzle and applies a required amount against the words on your chest and massages against them.

"Now go to sleep Juliet", he mocks, pulling up the sheets over you both "good night".

You snuggle against his hard chest, kissing his pecs before resting on it, "Good night Romeo".

thank you so much for reading!! please leave a feedback!!

★ taglist: @pjmochii (dm, ask or comment to enter the tl!)

★ credits: @/rainbeary on spotify : songs that'll make you feel everything's in slow motion playlist

★ banner & boards: by me :)

a/n: this is my first time writing smut and i basically died of second hand embarrassment during the process. pardon for my untalented ass, i tried this wip continuously for a week and i seriously don't think it could get anything better though it's probably not much.

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