What would their reaction between if we brought them flowers? (Johan, Zack, Eli, Gun, Goo, Kitae, James, Eugene, Jake, Samuel.)
Thanks for mentioning the characters ♡
JOHAN SEONG
Johan gives you pebbles like a penguin, so you decide to surprise him with flowers.
And when you hand him the bouquet, he just stares at them.
Not because he dislikes them. His brain genuinely has no idea what to do with someone giving him flowers. This is a man who has received Gun’s punches, not bouquets.
“For me?”
And when you nod, he takes them, his cheeks slowly warming.
That tiny smile on his face is so ridiculously cute.
He'd probably hold the bouquet somewhat awkwardly, almost like the flowers are fragile simply because you were the one who gave them to him.
Later, you'd notice that he had carefully put them somewhere safe.
And then you'd find out he told his mom that the flowers were given to him by the most precious person in his life that is you 🤭
ZACK LEE
Zack might initially see this as a hit to his pride.
Because why are you giving him flowers when he should be the one giving them to you?
But then he sees how big the bouquet is, how carefully you're holding it, and the genuine happiness on your face as you hand it to him.
Immediately flustered.
“What? Why are you giving me flowers?”
Meanwhile, his ears are turning bright red.
He'd initially act like it's ridiculous for a guy to receive flowers but he's absolutely keeping them and cherishing them like they mean the world to him.
He'll water them properly, make sure they get enough sunlight, and probably touch the petals ridiculously gently as if he's imagining that he's touching you.
And because Zack is Zack, he'd probably buy you a truckload of flowers afterward. You should always have something better than what he received from you.
ELI JANG
This sweet baby deserves flowers.
And he gets so happy receiving them, but he's also completely taken aback because you're probably the first person who's ever given him flowers just because you wanted to.
“You didn't have to do that.”
He'll reassure you that you didn't need to get him anything, while simultaneously making absolutely no effort to hide how much he loves them.
The moment he gets home, he's basically prancing around the house like a lovesick fool.
He'll look at the flowers every few minutes.
He'll rearrange them.
He'll make sure they're somewhere nice.
And every time he looks at them, he'll remember that you thought of him.
That's what makes them special to him.
GUN PARK
Gun will look at the flowers as if you've just handed him a used condom.
His brain is genuinely going: What is the purpose of this?
But he'll take them respectfully. Then he'll look at you suspiciously.
“Why these?” Gun ask.
“Because I wanted to give you some.”
“Is that so?”
And then he places them in his car. That's it.
You'd think he didn't care.
Except later, you discover that the flowers are sitting somewhere well-maintained.
And if someone else tries touching them? Gun will crush their hand.
His attachment isn't necessarily to the flowers themselves. It's to the fact that you gave them to him. Even if they'll eventually wither, your effort shouldn't be wasted.
He likes them.
A bit. A tiny, microscopic bit.
Don't expect him to admit it, though.
GOO KIM
Goo is jumping with excitement.
Because hello! You gave him lowers?
“Love, you brought me flowers?”
He'd probably dramatically clutch his chest.
“I'm touched.”
You'd roll your eyes.
“Did you mix some aphrodisiac into them?” He'd ask.
“Ugh. No. Can't you just accept them with gratitude?”
He'll smile so brightly that even the sun would feel shy. And underneath all the chaos, he'd genuinely be pleased.
He'd probably bring up the fact that you gave him flowers for the next six months.
“Remember when you bought me flowers?”
“You mention it every week.”
“Because I really liked it.”
And you can't help but kiss him silly and promise to give him more flowers.
KITAE KIM
Kitae might or might not crush the flowers. But he isn't that much of an asshole.
If you give them to him and he can see how genuinely happy you are to give him something so simple and seemingly useless—something that he feels should be coming from him to you—he'll take them.
“No need for these.” He'd say.
“Flowers don't need a special occasion.” And then you leave him standing there.
Just staring at the bouquet because when he buys flowers for you, it's basically just a little splurge of money.
But when you give flowers to him?
He has that little smirk on his face.
Like ...huh. This actually feels good.
And knowing Kitae, his brain might eventually go somewhere completely different.
Maybe he'd scatter the flower petals over the bed later for better sex.
JAMES LEE
James is used to receiving flowers.
Be it fans, pomotions or some events. Bouquets from people who admire him.
He's seen it all.
But those flowers don't carry the same weight as receiving them from you.
You hand him a bouquet of his favorite flowers, yes, his favorite, because besides you, practically no one knows that.
He looks at them for a moment.
“Is something special today?”
“No. Just because.”
And that?
That gets him.
Because doing something for James just because isn't something he's used to.
There's no occasion and no expectation.
You simply saw something you wanted to give him and thought of him.
It tugs at his heartstrings more than he'd ever admit.
He takes the bouquet, gently kisses your hand, and gives you that tiny sweet smile.
“How thoughtful…”
And suddenly, those flowers mean more to him than every bouquet he's ever received from his fans.
EUGENE
Eugene will be surprised at first. Then his expression would immediately soften.
“You got these for me?”
He'd probably smile and inspect the flowers carefully.
And because Eugene deeply cherishes the people he loves, anything they do for him carries a lot of meaning.
“Thank you.”
Then he'll probably ask what made you choose those particular flowers.
Why did you choose those for him?
It's his way of understanding your thought process and figuring out how you think about.
Which is also why you can bet that next time, he'll come back with something way bigger and way more beautiful for you.
JAKE KIM
Jake's face would light up like a christmas tree.
“These are for me?”
He'd remember the gesture far more than the flowers themselves.
“You are the sweetheart.” Jake tells you.
And then he'd immediately start thinking about where to put them.
Jake would act like a little kid who just received his favorite candy. He'd admire the flowers and then he'd probably tell everyone in Big Deal Street.
“My girlfriend got me flowers. You better look at them and appreciate them.”
Like some proud boyfriend showing off an Instagram reel 😭
SAMUEL SEO
Samuel would initially look at you like:What are you trying to get from me?
Because Samuel's first instinct is suspicion.
“Why flowers?”
“Would a dildo be a better choice for you?” you ask.
He'd scoff at you but he'd take them anyway.
Because he knows you only joke like that when you're actually being serious.
He'd look at the bouquet.
“Fine.”
And he'd act like it means absolutely nothing.
Except he'd keep looking at them.
Again.
And again.
And later, when you're not around, he'd probably stare at them for a moment longer than necessary.
Because somehow, that stupid bouquet would make him feel a little more loved than he'd ever admit.
I’ve been wanting to share some of my thoughts about Shingen’s character w someone, but I’m not great at putting into words what I’m thinking and feeling😭😭🙏.
Still, I keep coming back to this how does someone like him end up depressed just because he lost? Let’s say that really is the reason, but it still doesn’t make sense to me I think what actually happened is he shut himself off after that loss, and that isolation turned into laziness, and then into depression.
I also realized he never really learned what love or affection is, or even how to deal with his own feelings. All that power and presence just… didn’t mean anything in the end and the Yamazakis don’t seem to care about loyalty at all, which explains a lot!
No one can really blame shingen for being a bad dad. He’s just drained and depressed even the whole thing with the concubines was completely planned by his brother, the one who’s obsessed with rules :D I honestly don’t think shingen ever planned on becoming a father or anything like that.
I also feel like if somi had gotten a little closer to him and shown even a bit of what she was feeling, he would’ve noticed her and started feeling drawn to her. He’s complicated and doesn’t express his emotions easily… and somi’s the same way, in my opinion. even when she stabbed him and he told her he felt curious about her, those words hit her like a knockout blow.
Sorry for going on so long, but I’m genuinely excited to hear what you think about all this >_<!
I think it’s pretty clear that Shingen didn’t simply become depressed because he lost to Gapryong. It’s vaguely mentioned that something happened in his past, and Shingen himself talks about a mistake he made and how, while protecting Gun, he won’t repeat those mistakes again. So we really need to see what exactly happened.
I do think losing to Gapryong might have played a small part, though. Because imagine being this incredibly powerful guy who comes out of nowhere, has no special clan backing him, and still manages to defeat you and then something else happens that actually pushes you into depression. We simply don’t know what that event was yet.
I also think no one in the Yamazaki clan, except maybe Haruto, really understood what love and genuine affection were, and honestly, that sucks. It makes me wonder how Rei is going to raise Kitae now 😭
And yeah, despite everything, I agree that we can’t entirely blame someone who never wanted to be a father in the first place and was basically forced to impregnate women. The whole situation is so messed up. Shintaro and his obsession with rules especially make me want to scream 🤮 But at the same time, I think everyone had their reasons for doing what they did. That doesn’t mean I’m justifying their actions, though.
You know what all of this made me realize? I think a lot of my hatred for Shingen comes from those annoying powerscaling dudebros 💀 When you guys share your thoughts about Shingen, I’m actually able to see him in a more humane light and look beyond his strength and powers.
That said, I still really dislike how he didn’t seem to care when his other children were killed right in front of him. Like, sir what? I know this man never wanted to be a father, but that’s one thing I just can’t let go of.
And about Somi and Shingen getting closer, I do believe that if they had both opened their hearts, even just a little, they could have fallen in love. They carried so much inside them but never actually expressed it.
Overall, I genuinely think the Yamazaki clan is doomed in this story. So, with everything we’ve seen and everything you’ve shared, I can acknowledge that Shingen’s story is tragic in its own way. Imagine being used as nothing more than a sperm bank just to defeat your enemy, but he is a yakuza invader so my sympathy for him is still pretty limited, though 🥀 Like, yes, I feel bad for him, but I also completely respect your perspective. If you like Shingen, I would never intend to be rude or dismissive about that.
I hope this makes sense, and thank you for sharing your thoughts with me 🫶
You’re being unmade by a ghost—touched by something that looked like a man but felt like nothing at all. OR: You're having sex with Johan except you're more scared than horny.
EXPLICIT CONTENT BELOW. Read with discretion.
◣─────• ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ •─────◢
The room is suffocatingly quiet, the only sound is the ragged hitch of your own breath against the stillness of his.
Having sex with Johan feels like having a mannequin doll maneuver you as if you're not human too, as if you're less than a thing yourself.
Indeed, you feel your center quivering as he moves with a slow deliberate rhythm—that you don't deny. His fingers are covered by your essence, too; a heavy, grounding weight in and out your core that pins your whole body to the mattress. He smiles whenever he feels you clench on him, or whenever you moan a bit too loud. He teases you just right whenever he feels your hips trying to meet his pace.
But there's something wrong, something you can't deny.
It's not that he's rough. In fact, he's terrifyingly gentle, but it's rather the gentleness of a collector handling a rare, fragile antique.
Beyond its physical sensation which is, by far, feeling normal so far (like you're having a sex with a normal person and you're positive you're going to cum), the texture of this experience is wrong because of Johan himself. There's a distinct lack of humanity in the friction. His skin is too smooth, flawless to the point of feeling synthetic—like cool, polished porcelain against your own sweat-dampened flesh. How can you not let it bother you when his smile is so flat, his teases empty, and his eyes utterly void? Hell, you can't even bring yourself to look at him in the eye when he pulled out his fingers and licked it clean before you. More than anything, you just bent your head away from him and let out a moan in hopes he wouldn't notice that small moment of wanting to stop out of jitters.
He doesn’t fumble, doesn't gasp, doesn’t lose his rhythm when he lined up his dick to your entrance either. In fact, as soon as he slides himself in your core, he lets out a ragged exhale—and this, by far, is the most human response he has ever given yet.
"Are you okay?" Johan asks while slowly pushing himself in.
No, I'm scared. My heart is beating fast. I'm scared. "Y-yes, ah—Johan. Feels good," you cling to his shoulders in support. "Please keep going."
"Yes," he cups your cheek then, "my good girl."
Physically, the remark made you wetter. But deep in your mind, the condition of you being his brought overwhelming fear to your nerves. To belong to someone this inhuman? You close your eyes shut, hoping he doesn't sense the voices in your head screaming, okay, let's stop this. Oh no, stop, stop. Please stop. I'm scared!
When he feels you have adjusted to his size, he starts moving with the hydraulic precision of a machine, every shift of his weight calculated for maximum efficiency.
He reaches out, fingers wrapping around your wrist. Only that he doesn't hold your hand; he moves it like its will lie upon his and not yours. He lifts your arm and places it above your head, adjusting the angle slightly as if he were posing a mannequin in a shop window to catch the best light.
You lie there, breath hitching, feeling less like a sexual partner and more like a prop. An accessory to his existence.
Then he asks, "Is this better?"
Stop. Just fucking stop. "Yeah, hah, this is good."
Why stop, when he sounded polite? You better cease asking yourself, however, because deep inside you know: he wasn't asking if you felt pleasure, he was asking if the mechanism was functioning correctly.
God, it shouldn’t have felt like this.
To distract yourself from vocalizing your looming regret, you stare up at him instead, right at his beautiful, sculpted face that showed no strain, no flush of desire. With your mouth open, his hand locks to your jaw—he tilts your chin, while his other hand shifts your hips so he can thrust deeper.
"Look me in the eye," he whispers. It's not a request.
Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
You force your eyes open, meeting his. That's the hardest part—and he doesn't close his eyes either. He doesn't lose himself in the sensation the way you're beginning to (only that it's difficult to reach your peak when you're this scared).
But you can't make it known.
Of course you can't; Johan is watching you—he's studying the way your breath catches in your throat, the way your fingers dig fruitlessly into his shoulders. You have to keep going and pretend you're feeling nothing but pleasure, even if his gaze is pale, abyssal blue, clear and unclouded by lust. Even if he's looking at you right now not like a lover, but a man observing a fascinating collapsing mountain.
He shifts, presses closer, and the sudden friction drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. He absorbs the sound, a faint, ghost of a smile touching his lips.
"You're trembling," he notes, voice steady, devoid of the raggedness tearing yours apart.
Your confusion then starts, whether to feel more of the physical pleasure or the emotional fear.
He reaches for your other hand as he lurches, interlacing his fingers to yours to pin you further to the bed. His grip is firm, inescapable (much to Johan being petite and feeble-looking, moreso when naked). He's not just touching you this time around; he's dismantling you, taking you apart piece by piece through this physical act to rummage what you really feel inside.
The pleasure is there, sharp and undeniable, but it's edged with fear that prevents you to fully relish the moment. To be this close to him is to be consumed.
And he can't know you're bothered by that. He can't know you're scared.
You arch into him, seeking an end to the tension, but he controls the pace, he keeps you suspended on that precipice, he forces you to endure his complete, undivided attention.
Even as he lets out a short moan then spills inside, he doesn't let you move your hands away, doesn't let your eyes stray far from his. Trapped, bound together, all to be consumed by him.
As if he's curious to see how the human body bends and reacts while he remains entirely separate from it. As if he's not human himself.
You're being unmade by a ghost—touched by something that looked like a man but felt like nothing at all.
content warning⚠️ nsfw, smut, bdsm, masturbation + dual masturbation, cream pie, p in v, uncomfortable power dynamics, sadism, manipulation, porn with plot, happy endings hurray
synopsis‼️johan liebert has been missing for three years since his escape. One day, after a blizzard, you come home from your tireless job as a surgeon to find him frozen half to death after crawling into your home through your window. As the months progress with Johan, he enjoys a new cozy life as a wife-like housemate, supporting your career. The issue arrives when you can't stop masturbating to the idea of Johan, and he can't stop himself from listening.
an: this fic came to me in a dream (lie), and it's entirely self-serving. I biased Johan's character off the little rumor that Johan becomes a fisherman in the countryside after his escape and lives peacefully. If you don't like that, then the fic is not for you. Barely proof read
wordcount: 6.3k
UNDER REWORK!!!! REWORK ENDS AT THE BOLDED PERIOD SIGN. " . " 7/2026
You had been living with Johan for quite some time. You remembered that bitter wintery night when a destructive blizzard had struck Düsseldorf. The blizzard was harsh and violent, predicting to reign over country throughout the week. You had just painted your room hours before you learned of it, and childishly, you left for work as a surgeon, leaving your window open.
When you came home, you were surprised to find a half-frozen, strange, scruffy man unconscious on your bed. He was barely breathing when you found him, with icy skin that pierced you for every touch. You jumped into action to help, with stress and adrenaline bumping in your veins. You fought death all day at work, and there was no way you'd let someone die in your very home - on your very bed.
You were so sure your mind would break if he did. And with your, stressed, frantic, but calculated efforts you succeeded. You watched him take his first full, steady breath. And in that moment, you felt a deep, traumatic connection to this stranger. Only the world waited at his feet now.
When he finally came to, you learned a lot about your unexpected patient. He was homeless, struggling to cope after leaving the foster care system. How life was like for him as an orphan, and how slim his chances were in life without any government documents.
You yourself were no stranger to this information. You received your masters in the United States, a country known for its ruthless against unhoused indiviuals. It was terrible. There was no way you were going to throw him out, so long as he wasnt deceiving you.
You learned his name was Johan. He was incredibly bright, with a love of intimate, russian poetry and a leen mond for philosophy. He kept you laughing and intrigued, hanging on and ouleld away by every charimastic word falling out of his lips. And it brought you to tears knowing if it weren't for his situation, he couldve been a great politician.
You were the same age, but your lives were so different.
He tugged at your heart strings. Afterall, without you, he truly would've died. The world would've lost another mind in the game of money. Or at least, that's what you thought you knew of him.
You were cautious, but ultimately gullible. Johan, a soon friend and companion slept in your home on your couch for the time being. He didn't stay for free, although, you had him doing all the heavy lifting around the house. You had only just arrived to Germany and so your home was flooded with unopened boxes and furniture waiting to be assembled.
And Johan was ever eager to earn his keep. His hard work and resilience had you swooning, in a way you'd never admit. Not only was he brilliant, and witty. He was responsible and neat. And with the way he had you giggling all the time, there was no doubt he knew it too. The positive way you felt of him.
All the while you couldnt help but worry, as a young lone woman. What if he deceived you? Decided to turn on you?
The days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and somewhere along the way you completely abandoned all worries. He was just Johan, your sub-tenant. And you were just (Y/n) a close companion and tenant.
You both bonded over soccer, sub culture, music, wine, silly unrelated opinions on the world. You both were easily able to live around eachother. As Johan quickly took up cleaning responsibility. After a while, he began to unload half the boxes of things you had - a task that you had long since abandoned under the mountains of stress from work.
It was really cute. A fuzzy bearded man wearing a feminine apron and cleaning your house like a wife. It always embarrassed you. But he looked too earnest to tease. He grew on you like a spot on a piebald dog. And just as a husband spoiled his wife, you unoticingly spoiled the man you claimed was just your sub tenant.
It started with nicer clothes, more hygiene products, little beautiful trinkets and gifts you brought home from stores. He really took to all the pampering. He blossomed under all the care. You remember the day he shaved his beard smooth and clean. His face was so beautiful underneath that warm, inviting fuzz.
And thus came the difficulty.
You were rapidly developing feelings for the poor man who had no choice but to stay here. And by god, did you feel like some sort of monster. You tried your hardest to pull the reigns up. But his tenderness, his gentleness, that beauty became more enchanting by the day. That poor man couldn't ever deny you if you confessed to him. Afterall, he had no where else to go. So you bottled up. In a mixture of shame and quiet delight.
That became the first issue.
Every morning before you went to work, Johan would prepare you a nice hearty breakfast. And every morning you felt yourself slip further away into that husband-wife fantasy. You were embarrassed, he'd tease you. You were pouting, he'd lean further into that role, like a snake in the garden. Despite this, you remained the level-headed, responsible one. To you, no matter if Johan played into it or not, never could you place a heavier load on him that what he could bare.
So. You kept it quiet.
Quiet were the nights when you fed into your shame.
He was someone you didn't want to lose.
Quiet were the nights where your breath became rigid and enamored. How your hands roamed over your body, how your moans sweetened into the air. You claimed it was unrelated to him. How you were a healthy young woman, how it was expected of you to pleasure yourself. But glimpses of bright pale blue eyes, and a earnest smile and laugh frequented your mind. And always at your climax.
.
You remember that day you were in the shower, trying to stop your hands from plummeting deep within your walls, but you couldn't. The way you'd arch and moan out his name deathly quiet as you rocked against your fingers. The embarrassment that fled you when you orgasmed, and even more so having to face Johan at dinner, trying not to seem suspicious as he told you about his day at home.
You remember how, after a year of having him, you got so out of control that you couldn't use your fingers anymore. You bought a few toys to play with, and sneaking them into the house was so hard, too.
Knowing Johan, the sweet housemate that he was, he kept trying to put the "groceries" up for you, and you didn't have the strength to tell him the truth. You kept insisting that it was menstruation hygiene, something he didn't want to see. But he kept going on about how he didn't care about that, it's what you needed.
He was so perfect, like a sweet angel.
Luckily, you were able to hide your new purchases in a locked bin under the sink cabinet, and that night, you got to town feeding your itch.
You fantasized about him. He was a perfect housemate, gentle and kind. Would he also be perfect and gentle with you in bed? You imagined that bare body from all those years ago shamefully as you rocked back and forth on the dildo you trapped to the side of the tub. It was incredibly uncomfortable for your legs, but you were so out of your mind that you didn't care.
You could imagine those pale hands drumming up your body to your breasts, gentle peppery kisses lining up your nipples and you'd arch even more, sopping wet down below.
You remember facing him again at dinner that night, hearing how he commented on your long-winded showers. You, being too embarrassed, simply told some fab about how it detoxed you after work, and you watched his careful, icy eyes flicker in curiosity. You gulped, and even now, you can hear the chilling words that fell from his lips.
He spoke, "My, well… Keep taking those showers, doctor. I'm sure you have a lot of... pent frustrations. It's good to wash it all away and… take care of yourself."
Every part of you felt conflicted about his sultry words. Your brain was convinced that somehow he knew about your daily routine, that he knew what you did in the image of him. Your heartfelt odds about the words, was he inviting you? Was he flirting? That pause he had, he bound to have-- What did he mean by that?
His gaze was narrowed down on you like you were prey. And it was in memory of those hunter eyes that you fucked yourself again at the croak of night, slapping a hand over your mouth to stay quiet. Turning the shower on now would be too suspicious because the bathroom was right next door to his room.
You couldn't believe yourself, your lack of control. It was disgustingly shameful how your brain twisted his innocent, caring words, his innocent caring eyes to fit some sadistic fantasy you were building up of him.
The truth is, Johan was deadly aware of your little playtime. He first noticed it when he went to get something from his room while preparing dinner. When you first started masturbating, you were loud, and the bathroom wall was thinner than you could imagine. In his shock, he pressed his ear against the wall and heard the muffled cry of his name.
He twitched in his pants.
And even after that, your house was more his than it was yours, so he was bound to have found your little bin. All the cleaning supplies in the bathroom were in your cabinet, and he had nothing but time to kill. Did you really think you were sneaky?
The monster in him was salivating. You had tamed him well. He was loyal to you, grateful to you for saving him (a lot at first, he longed to die). The monster in him respected you-- it needed you at times. You were the only thing that made him calm, and this lovely little life of being a housewife was something he couldn't imagine he'd end up loving.
Him? A runaway killer? Finding delight in wearing the aprons you bought for him and gardening your home to look better for the neighborhood. Mowing your lawn, cleaning your home, unboxing all your stuff, and doing laundry. Sweeping and cleaning became his favorite coping mechanism. It made him feel fully in control and fully zen. You'd take him fishing on the weekends, and whatever you caught together, he'd always cook something lovely and aromatic.
He found he loved orchids, especially the blue ones, and he gardened the front of the house with it. He heard from neighbors the compliments about him, how'd they call him your boyfriend or your lover. You weren't any of those things officially, but for some reason, he liked it.
It was stable.
It was serene.
He felt sort of.
Normal.
So when he found out you, his savior, was lustfully touching herself to him every single damn day, he had mixed emotions.
Fear.
That was his first. He was afraid of himself, afraid of the sudden power he was given over you now. Before, he was in your control, meekly like some little wife tending to your every need (despite your protests). He liked it, when he was powerless, the monster never complained. But now, now he's given some authority and control over you. You could do whatever he wanted all for a little sex.
He wasn't that person anymore.
He wasn't a manipulator.
So out of fear, he wouldn't dare to walk near the bathroom under any circumstances. He didn't ask about your day at first, he couldn't keep himself down enough to see you flush like that. To watch you come up with an excuse or try to forget your playing to remember something else that happened in your day. It gave him too much power, and he didn't know how to handle that burning feeling yet.
But. Your beautiful affirmations about him made him feel vulnerable again. What if he trusted that feeling? What if he explored it? What if he let it take control over him just for a second? You always told him that he could trust his body, that his body is "capable of handling every sensation" he experiences.
So maybe.
When Johan passed by your bathroom while you were at work, he couldn't help but freeze. That burning sensation was back, the monster in him clawing at him. He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. And that burning continued.
He let his darkest fears hold him for a second. And Johan quickly found himself on his knees shifting through your dirty laundry, pumping his pent-up cock into his fists, moaning like an uncontrollable wild man.
It was then he discovered his second emotion about wasn't fear after all.
Lust.
Upon his discovery, he never realized how heavy his balls had gotten. He spent three years on the run before finding your home by accident, not once did he ever have the time or energy to release himself. And it was like once he opened those floodgates, he couldn't stop the desire that overtook his body. He felt like a predator, looking for any opportunity to extend himself.
Like that one time, you stumbled into his room drunk after a work outing, confessing your dirty sins to him. It was something you long forgot, and it took him all his strength to trap you in your room so you wouldn't do anything stupid.
But man did he spend that whole night playing with himself, replaying your drunken confession over and over. He was so excited to explore this with you, to hear you apologize in the morning, and for him to segway that into a discussion about sex. So he could communicate how he felt. But when the morning came, and his eagerness budded- you had completely forgotten. And so, his body, the monster, ruptured with more delight. He gained more power over you.
The lust was burning.
Confidence was his third and final emotion.
Johan knew he was beautiful. How else did he survive all those years in hell? He swindled women, he gained the trust of men. He slaughtered.
Yet he noticed how embarrassed he had become and how skittish and secretive he was about masturbating. It was like he was a teenager all over again, pretending to cook food until you got in the shower and then running to his room to touch himself to your sweet voice. He always finished early so he could clean up and rush back to the food. Developed a system where he'd cook before you got there but didn't assemble anything and kept it all separate, which cost him many pans and extra dishes, but it kept the facade up just so he could wank off like a child.
His favorite thing was the nervous conversation you had with him after your shower, too skittish to look him deep in the eyes. That's when his confidence started pouring in. At dinner, he'd be more challenging, more teasing. He'd "accidentally" stroke his foot up your leg to hear you squirm. He'd make more eye contact than usual, watching you bounce around a bit. He'd stop you right before you'd walk into the bathroom to make small talk while your frustrated eyes struggled against his stare.
You thought you were slick, but you weren't.
And he decided he'd test the waters.
He remembers making his fateful inquiry.
"Doctor," he spoke, "you always take such long showers. It's become a large part of our dinner routine." He smiled innocently and watched his prey tense up like a bunny in the stare of a hawk.
"Ah. Aah… Well, it helps me detox." You panted, keeping your eyes down on your plate.
Checkmate.
You were right where he wanted you.
"My," He made his voice low as he burrowed a deep stare, "Well… Keep taking those showers, doctor. I'm sure you have a lot of... pent frustrations from work. It's good to wash it all away and… take care of yourself."
And you practically fell apart for the rest of the night. He watched your shame confusion and fear plague your face while you helped him watch the dishes. And to be extra harmful, he bothered you all night with conversations and small talk, knowing the frustration and confusion that was uncomfortably building in your body. He forced you up late, chatting with a glass of wine until you had to scurry into your room to retire.
His trap was set.
And just as quickly as you disappeared into your room, he disappeared into his and awaited himself on the bed (that he pushed against that wall this morning), cock in hand. Much like how he planned, you couldn't help yourself, and he couldn't help himself either. It was thrilling, the power placed on his shoulders as he heard your moans finally unmuffled by the streaming shower. His cock was extra twitchy and sensitive that day.
It was the chase and hunt of it all that made this so rewarding.
He played cat and mouse with you all week. Always pushing you, making you feel uncontrollable and weak about your growing desire. He pretended to be sick, too weak for dinner, and paraded around the house without his shirt and in some shorts instead of his usual day wear. He made up some excuse as to why he stayed in his pajamas, it cost him too much energy and he was sweating so much. He watched the guilt that panned over your eyes for looking at him so dirty.
He begged you to watch television with him, saying how lonely he was all day just so he could scoot close to you and trap you in his body. The body that he knew you could not handle. You could cut the tension in that room that night like a knife. And after pushing you to stay up late just like before, he waited, once again, for you to play with yourself:
Johan snuck into his room and laid back on the bed, thrill striking through his body. He laid flat on top of his comforter, his pillow cupping his head forward. He had already prepared by leaving a bottle of lotion next to him. His hands pulled down his shorts, an eerie sense of satisfaction and gratification bubbling in his body. His hand scooped up his hardening member, squeezing it a few times to manage his excitement.
You would be heading to the bathroom any minute now.
His eyes widened.
He reached over and sprayed the scentless balm into his hands, working them from his fingers and to his currently dry muscles. Precum leaked from his reddened head.
He heard your door open and his mouth ran dry. "There she goes." He mutters, unable to fight the way his hands moved before his show began.
You were so easy to push. Johan couldn't stop the moan that bullied from his lips, he was too eager. He couldn't calm himself. His hand pumped himself fast, that cold, devilish glare striking his face once again. He couldn't help the self-serving grin that sliced his face open.
By now you were probably inside the bathroom, fishing for the little toys you always--
Suddenly, he heard his doorknob creaked, and a striking gasp fled his lips.
You called out, "Johan I -"
Time froze.
You didn't go to the bathroom.
His eyes flew to you in the dark, as the lights from the hallway cast a shadow over you.
For you, you only wanted to remind him to take his medicine. It was true, you cared for his sickness but also you wanted to see him one last time. So when you creaked open his door, you never would've expected such a sight.
There was Johan, laid back comfortably on his bed, cock in hand, head shot forward, with piercing blue eyes that saw right through you. You clenched on air, frozen in shock. Silence filled the air, and after a second of it, he moaned wistfully. A sound that went straight to your ears and down to your wet pussy.
"Oh my gosh," You half-screamed. You quickly dove behind the door, shutting yourself back in the hallway. "I'm so sorry!" You cried, hands covering your face.
You cry, "I should've knocked!" To your horror, the door swiftly opened again, and there stood Johan, his face unreadable, threatening, and bland. He stepped out into the hallway, and you looked into his eyes for reassurance, but nothing was there. Confused, cautious, and anxious, you threw yourself away, hitting the other wall. Your thighs clamped shut, and you clenched again and again on nothing.
What was he thinking? This was scary. This was scaring you.
Your hole clenched around nothing again and again and again, begging to be filled.
"Sorry?" He finally said in that cool, collect monotone, "Oh, doctor. You shouldn't be sorry."
"I caught you uh… M-" Despite being a doctor, you couldn't even say it. It was like saying it would make it all the more real.
"Masturbating," He finished it like it was nothing, "You caught me masturbating? Haha. Why, doctor, I didn't take you to be skittish. It's natural, isn't it? Masturbating? It shows that I am healthy." He said, and boy was he right.
He was just throwing that word around and around everywhere. It took everything in you not to whimper, your pussy beginning to drown in dirty slick. A vicious puddle was ruining your underwear.
You said, "Um... Still, I'm so sorry I uh…" You didn't know what to say. You were cornered.
"It was a mistake, wasn't it? You weren't trying to peek at me." He said, his head tilting like a wild hare.
You gulped as guilt bound sickeningly in your chest. You were trying to peek, not at him masturbating you didn't know! You were trying to see him before he went to bed, that's why you didn't knock- it was innocent. You rushed out without thought, "I wasn't!"
Innocent?
What were you saying? You were peeking for masturbation fuel. You gulped, guilty your eyes couldn't find his.
"Johan I-"
He asks, "What brings you?" He asked so kindly, so calm. It only made you feel worse.
"I wanted to make sure you took medicine for your cold," You whispered, but the sound was too soft.
Checkmate.
You felt him step closer. "What was that," He asked, a cunning grin slicing about his face once more.
"I said I wanted to give you medicine," You said.
"Medicine? But you don't have anything in your hand?"
Your face dropped in horror, your eyes running to Johan's stare. You couldn't think of anything to say.
And that's when he finally won. His cock hardened like a rock, large and proud, and he didn't care if you saw it.
He spoke coldly, "Doctor, I think you are lying."
Your knees buckle into each other, rubbing your thighs together like a madman. You couldn't stop dripping, your panties were completely soaked by now, and it only made you feel more horrified of yourself.
"I know what you've been doing," He said, and your gasp was soul-sucking. "Every day you touch yourself to me. And then you pretend to be a normal housemate," He was sharp.
"I didn't mean to--"
"You lie to me at dinner time."
"I'm not trying to -"
"Trying to what? Take advantage of me? You know I have nowhere to go, I can't say no to you. Can't you see the power dynamic here?" His hand lay against the wall next to your head, pinning you to the wall as he leaned close to you. "I am at will to you. If I say no to your advances, I could be out of a home. You want me to stay here forever so you can get your pleasure off it, doctor."
You couldn't help the moans that bubbled out of your body, your hips that rocked uncontrollably, your clit that begged for friction, and your little hole that cried for a stretch. Humiliation bounded tears from your eyes.
He was right.
"Johan I'm so--"
"A-Ah… Haa." He moaned, and wildly your eyes found him again.
His eyes shut.
You glanced down.
He was hard.
You glanced up.
His eyes opened.
Slowly the pieces came together in your mind.
Johan could see your gears turning.
He was toying with you. He was getting off to all of the torture he put you through this past year.
You blinked once.
That asshole.
Before you knew it you crashed your lips onto his angrily, muttering out a string of curses as you wrapped your legs about his waist. "Fuck you, Johan. You're so horrible." You muttered between the kiss, unable to stop your hips that grinning against the bare skin of his waist.
He laughed but you were quick to interrupt it with your tongue. You slipped your muscle deep into the services of his mouth, sliding wild hands into his hair and pulling at it tightly. You lapped and licked at his inside, feeling your pussy burn for attention. His tongue was even quicker to steal yours as he hobbled back into his room, his hands supporting you to him. He turned about and laid you down on the bed, breaking the kiss to pant.
His room was dark, with the only air of light being the moon glow drifting from the window about you. It caught his eyes in a captivating icy loom, and your hips bucked forward in anticipation. Your mouth began to water.
You waited for this for so long. He leaned down and found your mouth again, sucking on your wet muscle, milking an aggressively dirty moan from your confused lips. His hands quickly invaded your space again, and with total carelessness for your well-being, he clawed away your pajama shirt, unbuttoning it tiresomely.
Being a well-respected surgeon you always had respect and might power in your hands. You had lives in your hands, you had to always be in control. But here with Johan, as he brutally pulled your bra up and nipped at your bottom lips, he didn't give you a second to think- no he stole your power right from under your nose. His bullying bites dipped into your neck, licking and slurping at your throat like some sort of wild beast.
His canines dragged harshly against the cost of your throat, his body etching around your life- the life he had planned to take years ago. His penis twitched hard in his pants, feeling his balls get heavier by the second.
He's never had sex like this. Before it was all perfect, he'd pleasure his partner, they'd give him what he wanted. Whether it was money, information, silence, or just to seem normal, it all was painfully forced. Here, he could fully intact his deepest desires to hurt you. For total domination over you but in a safe way.
The paradox of wanting to hurt you but wanting to be safe about it reigned ruler in his mind and coated his brief with serious precum. Look at you, you tamed his monster.
He dipped his tongue from the cup of your collarbone in a lengthy stripe to your chin, feeling his eyes lid as he succumbed to your intoxicatingly confused moans. His mouth parted and sucked on the base of your neck, careless with how his teeth rubbed against your skin. Your mind had shut off, the thoughts of stress that typically plagued your everyday growing deathly quiet. Every part of you agreed that right now you needed his cock so deep inside of you.
You needed him to pleasure himself on you like you were some sort of toy. You arched forward when he finally parted from his barrage of sucking and biting. He leaned up and stared down at you with hunting eyes, his hands reaching and pulling and twisting your poor nipples in his hands.
"Ah! Oohh." You cried in shock, his winding of you was direct and sharp, sending vicious sensations to your drenched hole. His face grew in satisfaction at your frantic sounds, a sadistic giggle trailing from his lips.
"Of course you'd like that. You dirty doctor." He snickered as your eyes looked deep into his belittling glare. You moaned hoarsely at his words, feeling your thighs grind against each other. One of his hands flees from your hand and dives into his shorts again. As you watch breathlessly, he pulls himself out. His cock springs out of its confinement, his penis pulsing with furious veins, his cock head a pungent red as his slick made his member a wet mess.
You moaned egregiously at the sight, your arching back hardening into a locked state. He did all this teasing and he was just as wet as he was. He was just as uncontrollable as you felt. "Johaan." You whined reaching up to touch it.
He swatted your hand away, and punishingly so his other hand pulled your nipple. "I didn't say you could touch. You dont deserve to touch." He hissed as you whimpered out. "You've lost all sorts of manners, haven't you? So wild from all those toys you put up inside you. Does it make you feel better about yourself?" He says in his painful, precise rasp.
You gasp and grunt at his words, feeling your clit pulse and cry out. Your mind was becoming a jumbled mess, your crying sex overtaking your every move. You couldn't take it anymore, and you slipped your hand down your pajama shorts, diving past your underwear to bully your hole. The restricting pressure of your underwear snapping back against your knuckles limited your movement, but your mind was savage.
You plugged your little hole with two fingers, rocking and plunging them hideously.
"A-Aah… Doctor..." You heard Johan suddenly cry. Your eyes flickered up to his and his face was incredibly red. His jaw was slack and his eyes bulged out in surprise. "You're so-ugh wh--" Was all he could say before he leaned his head back, his hand jerking himself furiously. Your orgasm was building harshly at the pretty sight.
"Mngh… Ah!" You cried. There was Johan on top of you, with each leg of his straddled against your side. He stood up above you on his knees. Careless with how he fucked his fists inches away from your face, his body hovering over your stomach. The view from below was ridiculing, and his furious pumps splattered precum all over your face and neck.
"Scheiße!" He cursed, his fapping growing wild, dysregulated, and brisk. He did this as if you were truly nothing to him, like a pornographic magazine that he couldn't get enough up. That he pent himself off so he could cum on the pages. It made you hornier than ever.
Your hole clenched hard around your fingers, your breath stammering si hard your brain had to convince your pussy's vice grip to loosen so you could pummel yourself. "Te-- augh! Tell me ah… Tell me I'm a whore uh-ah-again Johan." You whined, unaware of how saliva drooped pit of the corners of your mouth.
"You're so filthy, d-dirty, doctor. Whore." He gulped, watching his head lean back farther, revealing the peak of his neck and chin. Your orgasm was becoming familiar to you as you arched your hips high forward, plunging your hands faster and faster, matching Johan's rapid pumps.
"J-Johan… Johan!" His name became the only word you knew.
Your voices became a choir of delighted song, the sounds loud and free, and your eyes were privy to soak up all of his beautiful cries. His voice grew raspy and higher for each pump, his orgasm trailing near to yours. You dropped your mouth open wild, your tongue barreling out to catch the wayward fluids flying towards you.
"Ich k-komme, aah Doktor. Komme." He growled out. Your orgasm burst deep onto your fingers at the word, your eyes fleeing back up to the crevices of your head. Your hole wrapping deadly tight against your fleeting fingers.
With a few high sounds from Johan, you blinked out of your high, forcing your eyes open to watch. His head leaned back down to you, his teeth bared and clenched tensely, while his eyebrows folded upwards angelically. His blue eyes peeked out from his daze and found you, tongue out and ready for his disposal. With one final cry, the sight sent him over the edge.
White, hot ropes shot out from him and onto your nose, his hand quickly redirecting his aim to splatter onto your tongue and teeth. He shot heavy, long-winded loads with hard pants, his hands shaking trying to contain his excited high.
With heavy pants, his cock sent its final queue of hot cum and softened slightly. The room was filled with you and Johan's doggish pants, trying to catch our breaths from your ecstasy.
"Johan." You mewled pulling your hand out of yourself. You reached up for him and he buried himself into your arms, digging a whorish needy tongue into your mouth. His body hovered over yours, with his chest slumped against you. You whined into the sloppy kiss, but it didn't last as his wet mouth brushed you on his way down. His forehead leaned into the bed next to you, his bottom flying into the air weakly.
"Scheiße." He mumbled again but it was quieter this time.
Now that the high was running to a close. Humiliation and embarrassment were piercing his pale blue eyes. Instead of cuming deep inside the doctor, the object of his fantasies for months, he got too excited and came all over her. She didn't even get to touch him once. How pitiful had he become since becoming her housewife?
"Johan that was amazing." He heard her sweet voice say. The shame was building as he hid his face in the crook of her neck. Her hands slid up his back to chase him, her dirty slicked-up finger intertwining worriedly into his hair. "Johan? What's wrong sweetheart." You whispered comfortingly, and his heart whined at the sound.
He was becoming too soft, too attached.
He couldn't fight his words.
"I came on you. Not in you." It was humiliating. He was reduced this low. By this woman?
Your eyebrows quirked up with a hearty laugh. "Then cum in me, crybaby."
He blinked.
Crybaby?
Johan slid out of your neck with unreadable eyes and stern brows. You blinked at his stare, one you were quick to identify as his surprise.
Suddenly his face melted into a loving smile, his eyes brewing with butterscotch affection. A cooing laugh fell out of him. Under the twinkling moonlight, he truly did look like an angel. Your breath caught in your lungs. His lips leaned down and kissed you politely, a dance of short bubbly friction. "Alright, my dear. Let me take care of you." He said as his hands nicely gripped your hips, helping you to turn onto your stomach.
What?
What was that? He was a totally different person? An angelic sweetheart, just like the man who cooked every meal for her. The man who unpacked her home and did her laundry so innocently.
You couldn't help but moan in confused eagerness. He lifted your hips to place a pillow under you, propping you up so that you didn't have to arch for him. You gulped and mewled again in confusion, feeling as he guided the rest of your unbuttoned shirt off you.
"Johan," you whined childishly, "I can't take this." You felt your hole clench again on nothing. His behavior was so overwhelming, your pussy began to scream needly.
"I'm sorry. I'm here now." He said, and his tongue innocently and neatly swiped the nape of your neck. He kissed the middle of your bare back gently in reassurance before his gentle fingers slid off your panties and shirts in one long swoop. The air nipped at your exposed sloppy sex, the sight of it making him groan. He grabbed the softness of your ass, giving it a tender grope.
He leaned into your sweetness, pulling your lips apart with each of his thumbs. Peering into your hole, he could see your leaking cum and slick water out of you, dribbling down your folds and onto your messy clit. With a deep inhale he memorized your scent.
"Oh, darling." He sighed wistfully.
You melted like butter into your arms. "Fill me up, please. Sweetheart, I need it." Your voice matched his contagiously charming tone.
"Yes, dear. I will." He let go and you whined at it. You peered back at him while he shuffled out of his shorts, his exposed body being revealed to you once again. He caught you looking as he leaned back dear to you, kissing your lips before lining up his cock to your sweet hole.
"Going in now, alright my dear?" He whispered. His tip kissed you civilly, and the sensation took everything in you not to clench down. Soon the innocent kiss dipped deeper, as a quarter of his length plunged into your cum lubed body. "Aa-ah." He groaned delightfully, choking out the sound as his breath grew heavy. Your eyes rolled back, your jaw falling slack.
"Here's the rest." He hummed as he pressed himself fully inside you, the stretch bonding through your body. He wasn't the girthiest, but his length was piercing. You could feel him snuggly bump your service as you mewled out in sync with him.
"Oh god, Johan." You clenched around his pretty cock, earning a delectable moan from him.
"Darling…" He chuckled, leaning in to pepper your shoulder. Before you could beg for friction, Johan began to move slow tantalizing strokes. The kind you were privy to distract yourself with after a long day. You cried out at the feeling, more heat rising to your flushed face. "I memorized this rhythm to all your moans." You shivered at his hushed words in your ear.
"You're so cr-creepy…" You moaned.
"You like that, don't you? Doctor." He groaned, loosing himself in the pumps. You couldn't say anything against him either. "On good days," His thrusts turned erratic, "You fucked yourself like this- ugh. I always guessed… Mmh. It was cause you were rushing to… See me." He was right. You gasped and cried out.
"Too fast, Johan!" You cried, your gummy walls struggling to adjust to his sudden speed.
"This way is too sloppy." He muttered. Painfully he janked himself out again, causing your body to sputter and arch harshly. "You need something like this." Johan slipped back in again, his cockhead ramming straight into your bladder. You jerked forward with a start, crying out loudly.
His hand laid against the back of your perked head, guiding your face back down into the bed. "Relax, Doktor." He laughed airy. He thrust strongly into you, never failing to hit your sweet spot. His thrusts were tender and precise, each slap of your ass against his hips made him grumble out a groan.
"Johan! Ooh! F-fuuck." You groaned. His cock pumped into your walls, each hit making you leak out sloppily. Your wetness squleched and squleched deep into the night air, the smell of your needy sexes filling the closed room.
The tantalizing strokes numbed your mind, your breath heaving, your saliva building on your parched tongue. You arched your head down deep into the sheets, overstimulating and tickling your pussy wickedly. Your cries were loud, rough, and painfully uneven as the pleasure choked up air in your throat.
Johan's bitter cock twitched and seized under your tight, suffocating walls. Sweat beaded onto his forehead as his body begged for another release. His senses dulled, the sound of your sweet noises and the taste of your lovely pussy around his dick was sinfully extraordinary. His forehead leaned against the fruit of your shoulder, perching himself into the moment as his thrusts grew rapid. He mewled out, bullying nails digging into your hips as he slammed you.
His sounds were lewder than you could ever imagine, his loud moans impregnating your sorry ears. His sounds were growing higher and rasper just like before, and you clenched around him in anticipation.
"Cum inside!" You managed out from between his defilement of you.
He groaned wild and long, shutting his eyes tight. His balls heaved, his teeth clenching shut.
Your pussy sucked and pulled at his sweet cock, delicious wetness scorching his senses with mind fucking pleasure. His thrusts grew sloppy and erratic, his moans weighted. "Komme!" He cried as leaned his head upwards, bucking his hips and delivering his load deep into the breath of your cervix.
His hot cum shot deep inside you, as you mewled out and came all over his angelic cock. Johan panted weakly, slapping his hands down on either side of your head, arching his hips deep down. His shoulders dropped in satisfaction, jaw slacked with a shiver trailing down his body.
Meekly, he slid out of you, his cock whining for the hotness of your insides once more. The mess that spilled out of you was disgusting, as barrels of mixed white cum and slick drooped out of your whorish hole and waterfalls down your folds.
You moaned with a stammer, gripping chunks of the bedsheets.
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