#Low pointed Pump Shoes

[styleandrole]

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FEATURES :

The heel is around 3 inches long.

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Platform height: around 0.5″.

Rubber TPR sole.

For enhanced comfort, choose a latex-padded insole.

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[ephie-om]

Mammon's Lesson on Humans

Mammon grinned, the adrenaline pumping through his veins heightening every sense, and the moonlight from the window was bright enough for him to see every bit of the house. It was so easy. How could he not take the opportunity? In the room so close to his, a little human slept, with their little human possessions. They were all going to be his eventually. But he needed something tonight, a little piece. It still smelled of them, their human stench a reminder of who it was stolen from.

Was that a thump from their room? Were they awake? He could almost laugh. Normally he wouldn’t want to get caught in the act, but the human had all the odds against them. Nobody they could call for help. They were a lamb in a house full of wolves, put there by the prince of wolves in the name of “peace” and “unity”. What could they possibly do? 

Their door creaked open. They stepped out, rubbing their eyes. Human eyes were terrible in the darkness, and he wondered if they could even see him, standing right there. A few beats passed, and their eyes must have adjusted, because their gaze swiveled straight towards him. “Mammon,” they said, their voice low. “Did you take my plushie?” 

He did laugh then, though quietly. The soft pink bunny dangled from his clawed hand, sharp points threatening to pierce the fabric. “Yeah. Yeah, I did take your little bunny.” 

“Give it back.” His smile dropped. A simple human, demanding something from him? 

“Over my dead body,” he snapped, and started to move. 

He ran down the stairs, using his wings to lighten his steps. The human went after him, but they were no match for his supernatural speed. He was out the front door in mere seconds, leaving them in the dust. He flew high into the sky, the moon drenching the plushie in pale light, making it look almost white. He admired his prize, turning it this way and that. What was it that the humans said? Like taking candy from a baby.

His superior demon eyesight caught the front door of the House of Lamentation opening again, and there they were, having swapped out their pajamas for sweatpants and a hoodie and adjusting their shoes. Did they really mean to go after him? What a pain. Their eyes caught him hovering silhouetted against the moon, and they started to run. He just chuckled and flew away. 

He drifted this way and that, leading them into the woods. He flew lazily, and laughed to himself at how slow they were. There was no way they were going to be able to catch up to him. He weaved in and out of trees, slowing down just enough to let them see him with their bunny clutched in hand, then put on a burst of speed to take him away again. 

After the fifth time, his lungs were starting to ache. They were just a human. They had to be slowing down, right? He turned his head back and caught sight of them, much too close for his comfort. He sped away again, but slower than before. His wing joints hurt, not designed for long-term use. But behind him was the human, still running. He could hear their breath behind him, smell the sweat. And yet they weren’t slowing down. 

Just a small break, he thought. Just a moment to breathe and rest his wings, then he would be off again. He landed near the base of a tree, tucking himself behind the trunk so he wouldn’t be seen. Maybe they would get lost and go a different direction. He clamped the plushie tightly in his arms just in case.

Unfortunately for Mammon, the human’s breathing reached his ears much sooner than he expected. He stretched out his wings, ready to fly again, took off, and dropped onto the ground. Shit. He tried again, only to get a few feet further and hit the ground again, plowing up fallen leaves. Now the stupid bunny was dirty and it smelled like a human.

Their footfalls got closer and closer, and Mammon accepted his fate. Even if they caught him, he could hang onto the bunny. There was no way they could be strong enough to take it from him. He stayed on the ground, facing away from their steps. 

They came up to him only a few moments later, breathing hard. “Give it back,” they repeated, panting. Mammon laid there stubbornly. “Mammon. Let go.” They tugged on one of the ears experimentally, but his grip was rock-solid. 

He growled. “No. I stole it from ya and now it’s mine.” His eyes gleamed yellow on the word ‘mine’, but the human wasn’t impressed. They gave it another fruitless tug, scared to pull too hard. “You’ll rip it in half if ya keep going. Guess you’ll just have to let me have it.” Their hand dropped away and he glanced up, thinking the battle won.

Instead, he was greeted with a close-up view of the human’s face as their glare pinned him in place. “Let me put this a different way. If you steal my bunny, damage my bunny, sell my bunny, I will hunt you down. I’m a stupid human with no magic and no brain, and I will run after you for a hundred years if that’s what it takes. Do you really want to keep doing this for the rest of my life?”

Mammon wouldn’t call himself a scaredy-cat; no, he would call himself one of the bravest demons in the Devildom. But he would also reason that the bravest demons in the Devildom would make the smart choice and let a little pink bunny go. They tugged it from his grip and secured it in their arms, brushing off leaves and frowning at the smudges of dirt marring its fur. They walked away without another word, slowly, like they had all the time in the world. Mammon was left in the dirt, heart thumping.

A few weeks later, Satan is sharing fun facts with the common room like usual. This time he has a book on humans, one of the many he read in preparation for the exchange program, but he’s deemed it necessary to share pertinent pieces with his brothers due to their abysmal lack of knowledge. “Humans’ bones can break and heal themselves in a matter of weeks,” he drones, and Mammon wonders how long he has to pretend to listen before Satan will let him go. “Oh, this one’s interesting. Humans rose to the top of their food chain as predators despite not having naturally evolved defenses. They’re something called an ‘endurance predator’, meaning they would chase their prey until it got tired, then finish it off and eat it.” Mammon swallows hard. His eyes wander to the human playing a game on their phone in a chair near the fireplace, and he scoots an inch further away. Just enough to give himself a head start.

[kquil]

REMUS LUPIN | 13:53 — ONE NEGRONI

SUM : to help pay the bills and your tuition fee, you get a new job at an elite club where the tips are incredibly generous. you’ve met a majority of the clientele already but they don’t match the stranger who ordered a simple negroni

TAGS. : mafia au ; modern au ; muggle au ; mobster remus ; mafia boss remus ; bartender reader ; reader is a hard working sweetheart that must be protected! ; catching remus’ eye ; remus lowkey wishes he can be the one to do the protecting ; and maybe more ; for now, he’s a low key stalker ; but sexy… ; stalking is bad, don’t do it! ; this is just fiction! ; but hey! remus owns an elite club! wooooo! ; i don’t know how to feel about my interpretation of the marauders as mafia men/mobsters ; it’s growing on me… ; also, im casting peter pettigrew as Dane DeHan in this!

LENGTH : 1.5k

It wasn’t as if you were new to the job; you had previously worked some years as a bar tender for a pretty well-established club, it paid well and managed to help pay for your rent and utility bills for most of your higher education years. However, all the built up stress and sleepless nights finally caught up to you. And you found yourself repeating a year, meaning that you needed to pay for your own tuition this year atop all the other monthly bills and necessities you keep up with. Perhaps it was the universe telling you that you needed to stop and change the direction of your life — you needed to choose an easier path, a doable path. But you were stubborn and also quite the optimist. So you kept at it, determined to finish what you started and earn your degree. 

Yes, it was a let down but you were still breathing. Life just gets hard sometimes. 

Thankfully, your past experience and phenomenal recommendation letter from your previous manager earned you another bar tending job at a very elite club, where tips were more than generous, considering the clientele composed primarily of the privileged class, some with multiple businesses under their belts, some who were phenomenal investors and some living off their parents’ money. You didn’t care to look too much into it, you were there to work and you were going to work hard and honestly. 

The patrons surprisingly had very similar tastes and so, you fond yourself making the same types of drinks repeatedly. It made the job a lot easier and you were able to focus more on your delivery and interaction with customers, leading to more tips. Times were rough after having to accept defeat with your studies and repeating a year with your own funding but things were looking up. If you keep at it, you’ll make it out alive. 

Your only complaint was the dress code. Make up was advised with a bold red lip but must be kept simple. You felt like a showgirl of some kind, squeezed into a high collar, white dress that came down to your mid thigh and with a low-cut, open back. The sleeves aren’t as long as you would like but, at least, you were permitted to use black kitten heel court shoe pumps as opposed to stilettos — your only saving grace, along with the higher salary and generous tips. 

“Looks like we have a newbie working the bar,” Sirius points out, drawing all attention to your lively figure as you served drinks with a sweet smile and airy voice. A hum of curiosity vibrates through Remus’ chest and up to his lips at the sight of you, “certainly easy on the eyes, huh?” the tattooed, right-hand comments again as he looks towards the head of the table where Remus holds up his glass of Negroni. 

“Very… innocent— a sweet, pretty, little thing,” James comments on Remus’ other side, which Peter grunts at in agreement as he takes a sip of his whiskey-sour. 

“Looks like she doesn’t belong,” Peter nods before smirking and letting out a light laugh. The domino effect had James and Sirius laughing too as Remus smirks behind his glass before proceeding to down the rest of his drink. 

“Exactly your type, eh? Moony?” 

Sirius’ teasing comment is ignored. Instead, Remus calls for there server and orders another drink with an additional request that only confirms his smirking friend’s disregarded statement, “Have the new bartender personally deliver my drink for me as well,”

There was no higher authority that could dismiss the club owner’s personal request. 

It was a strange request but you steeled your nerves and asked your fellow bartender to minister your unattended station while you made quick work on the order. It wasn’t unusual to receive requests like this from an isolated table that had privacy curtains for convenience. However, it was usually for drinks that you could make a show out of like a Holy Water cocktail, a Phoenix cocktail and even a Dragon’s Blood cocktail — a performance that you liked partaking in for the flammable aspect. But this was a Negroni. A cocktail of equal parts gin, saccharine vermouth and bitter Italian Campari. It’s a very egalitarian drink that was enjoyed by everyone, men and women alike, simple but elegant and definitely didn’t require a performance. Despite the odd summons, you were eager to fulfil your curiosity for who the client may be. 

With a professional smile, you place refined mix in the middle of your circular tray with it’s classic orange garnish and set off to the table. The standby server, who made the order, saw your approach and quickly announced your arrival through the small front opening, momentarily disappearing into the shadow of the curtains. He reappears a moment later and pulls the heavy drapes fully apart, to reveal the guests from beneath the, once, opaque shadows. 

To say that you were stunned was an understatement. 

It was pure luck that you didn’t stutter in your stride and spill the cocktail prematurely. At the table was seated four men, all dressed in suits and ties that were in various states of disorder. Among their collection of suits, you could spot Armani and Tom Ford, however, you were sure that their unconventional styles were not the way those suits were intended to be worn. 

One man with long, midnight-black hair and paper-pale skin had an array of mismatching tattoos littering both arms, revealed to you by his lack of a suit jacket and rolled-up sleeves. Another wore cute circular glasses and a cheeky grin with a suit jacket but no button up shirt and his chiseled upper body on full display. The last was a dirty blonde with piercing eyes and a deceivingly boyish smile. He had his ankle propped up on his opposite knee and several buttons undone where a tie should have been fastened over, his sleeves also rolled up as his suit jacket lay beside him.

It was the man at the head of the table, however, who stole your attention. If you had to guess who ordered such a simple but elegant drink, it would have to be him. He had his suit jacket draped over his broad shoulders and also had several of his top buttons undone, revealing some faded scars marked across his toned chest. His neat brunette hair and kind brown eyes gave him a deceivingly gentle appearance but his close company revealed a duplicity that caught and tensed your nerves.

You ignored the creeping goosebumps that prickled your skin, down from your toes all the way up to your ears. 

Just do your job…

“Gentlemen,” you addressed kindly with a slight tilt of your head, which they acknowledged with their own hums of acknowledgement, their eyes lighting up in subtle surprise at your actions, “I have an order for a Negroni,” you raise your tray with the drink and scan the four for some indication as to who the order belonged to. 

“That would be for me,” just as you suspected, it was the brunette with the kindest eyes but also the most ominous air. His voice is a deep and smooth lullaby, patient with it’s seduction on your senses. It was a trap that you resisted but are so hopelessly tempted to fall into, “Thank you, sweetheart,” he meets your eyes as you lower the drink into his large, outstretched hand. You notice how his knuckles and fingers are littered with scars also, some fresh, some faded with time and some hidden behind luxurious rings. Nevertheless…

He’s beautiful 

She’s precious 

“Not a problem,” you reassure with a soft voice, “have a good evening,” with your circular tray pressed against your side, you offer him an innocent smile and dismiss the butterflies in your stomach urging you to linger, “gentlemen,” you acknowledge the remaining three once more before offering another sweet smile. Turning on your heel, you leave the group and ignore the stares drilling holes into the back of your head.

She doesn’t know… 

Once you were out of earshot, Remus turns to his closest friends and most trusted colleagues. They all share a look, one that conveys a unanimous thought. It isn’t long before their agreement manifests into knowing smiles and a ring of laughter shared between them.

“Don’t get greedy now, Moony,” Peter chimes in as Sirius throws his head back with a barking laugh. 

“That’s not gonna stop him Wormtail, you know that; she’s a rare one,”  

“So what’s the plan, bossman?” James asks with a raised brow as he brings his drink up to his lips.

Remus doesn’t answer right away, he simply requests that the curtain remain open so he can fix his fond gaze on you for the remainder of the evening. The group already knew what to do and sat at the edge of their seats, awaiting orders eagerly despite their slack shoulders and composed expressions. Only they were able to observe the shift in the air between them; it became charged as soon as you entered their circle and slowly started accelerating, parallel to the climbing affection in Remus’ eyes as he watches you smile at customers while making their drinks. 

He takes a singular sip of his Negroni, bitterly sweet with a citrus edge. 

Heaven in a glass. And made by an angel. 

“I want a background check and profile put together immediately,” Remus finally orders, “I want to know everything there is to know about her,”

A/N : i downloaded some fics and read some over the holidays and there some mafia/mobster aus and i couldn’t help but picture remus as a mob boss, i’m sure im not the only one to ever imagine this but goddamn! why is it so easy to imagine sweet, gentle, responsible remus like that?!

NAVI.

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88 @rosalyn-s

[writingwisterias]

I know requests are closed so there really isn't any rush, please take your time and respond when you are ready. :) But I would love to hear your take on the reader letting Leon use them as a toy, while he looks at porn or scrolls other girls profiles. I just want to be a vessel for his cock and nothing more <3

I sure can omgggg, I mixed this is with an idea that has been stuck in my head all fucking day! I know this is late lmao but it works perfectly. I can't tell if I hate or love it either

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Degradation Kink, Cock warming, Dom!Leon, Intox Kink, Age-Gap, Overstimuation, Dickhead!Leon, Erectile dysfunction (Whiskey Dick), Light Praise kink, Creampie, Unprotected Sex, Reverse Cow-girl, Light Angst, Drinking, Alcoholism, Self-doubt

Vendetta!Leon x AFAB!Fem!Reader

It wasn't normal to have a relationship like this, you knew that. To be with someone so closed off to not only the people they care about but themselves. You knew you weren't going to get anything better with him but he still gave you attention. Still kissed your pretty tears away when he would fuck you. Being used by him at least made you feel like you had a purpose in this life, that someone actually wanted you.

It didn't matter it was just for sex. For Leon that was perfect having no connection to someone meaning he didn't have to spill the horrors that plagued him.

It wasn't unusual for you to saunter into bars, prying on the broken men slumped against the stools for free drinks. Uni was rough, barely having enough money to pay for your food yet alone the drinks you craved. All that work, a diploma under your belt just for you to be wondering here every night dressed to the point where your tits might as well just hang out. Normally as a thanks to the poor souls you would convince to get a drink or two, you'd drag the round back or to the toilets and give them a few pumps of their gross cocks and then leave them in the alleyway drowning in the aftermath of their orgasm.

Not Leon though.

He didn't fall for it. Leon's words never slurred like the others guys did, his shoes didn't drag across the floor in an eager drunken stumble as he followed you with a warning smirk. You weren't used to drunk men being so coherent with you, to actually realize they were paying for your drinks with the promise of a ghost of your touch. The growing pit in your stomach told you that you would have to do more than a few fake moans and whimpers to get him to cum. His looks made it worthwhile, his attitude demanded your attention and effort. Almost like if you didn't cave into this persona he put in place you weren't worth his time.

However, Leon differed to the other men, somehow in a more pathetic way that caused you to suck in you bottom lip to prevent the low chuckle. No despite the darker look in his eyes, the ego you were surprised even fit in the bar entrance. The poor guy could not get his cock to rise. His cheeks flushed pink as he stared at his stubborn dick as it flopped pathetic in front of you. Trust it to ruin his night further.

You thought Whiskey dick was just a rumour, never really experiencing despite all the older men you dragged around like a puppy on a leash...it until now. Maybe that's why you took pity on him and allowed him to drag you back to his home on a risky drunken bike ride.

It was all so dangerous...so thrilling. Being dragged back to the strangers house, the feeling of sipping the alcohol from the glass he held in hand. That night changed everything, not just for him but for you. Perhaps this was you purpose in life. Your true calling was to be this sex doll for a depressed alcoholic so he could finally get some release in his supposed shit life.

It should have insulted you more that the only purpose you to him was to be a glorified doll but then you would have gotten this lavish life. To be able to wander around his penthouse free of rent, money chucked at your feet to keep you quiet as he sauntered off to god knows where. Your soul purpose to him was to sit there and look pretty.

So that's exactly what you did.

Leon's cock was so far inside of you stretching the limits of your poor pussy. It had been hours since he managed to get it to even twitch let alone becoming hard enough for you to sit on it like this. He spent half the time blaming it on the stress from the mission he had just returned from and not the whiskey glass that was sat on the side table. Your throat burned from the neat liquid that he gave you. He had to share...he always shared. You didn't care though not when it took away the burn from his stretch or the ache in your thighs from where they remained spread out across his own.

He didn't pay any attention to you, no, his eyes were glued to the phone that he held out to the both of you. Your job was to squirm and clench him as he watched the porn he pulled up. His fingers absently moved around that needy little clit drawing figures of 8 around the puffy nerve. Smirking at the small gasps that left your lips as his finger pinched it. You couldn't see the video, not with the tipsy glaze that washed over them. Instead you had to rely on the stimulation he was giving you to reach an orgasm.

You moaned loudly as he finally started to move his hips, a shallow grind nothing like the pace the man had on the video he was watching. Leon liked to make it last, after all the days of him getting this hard and thick were far and few between. The sudden change was a lot for your tispy brain, his soft grunts filled your ear as he nipped at your neck. You felt his arm around your waist tightening as he adjusted you. "Shh, just take it" Leon grunted, his lips muting you in a harsh kiss. His lips tasting like the remains of the whiskey from his last sip.

"Good girl" He groaned as his hips grinded inside you, his length barely exiting you.

You cheeks flushed darker with the compliment, your back arching against his chest just for something...any form of simulation. Leon's grip loosened around your waist allowing your hips to circle slightly. You listened as his grunts soon turned into groans as he felt your walls contract around him. You worked yourself to an orgasm, providing him with the warmth as stimulation of your moments not entertainment.

Leon's eyes still remained only on the small screen. Watching the guys cock slide in and out of the girls pussy much like his was doing right now.

He watched your breasts bounce in the corner of his eye as you adjusted yourself to used his knees for leverage to bounce once his arm fell from your waist. Your nails bit into the fabric of his trousers. "Fuck" You muttered as he shfited himself to sink back in the chair, his legs spreading wider. "Shit I needed this...I need you" He groaned. You weren't sure if he was telling the truth most of the time. You could never tell if you were actually something to him instead of a glorified fleshlight.

"Much better than my hand or any toy...my personal little sex doll"

Each word sent tingles down to your pussy, your clit twitching against his balls. "Leon-"

"Dolls don't talk sweetheart, I want to hear my video"

An apology lingered on your lips along with your moans and whimpers silenced by the bite of your lower lip. You were you to do anything above your station for him. It was all becoming too much, his cock was perfect filling you perfectly as the tip brushed against that spongy spot inside. The twitches of it were becoming more violent the closer he got. His grunts and groans finally becoming breathless, all signs that he was almost done. That his tired dick was finally ready to pump the cum it was meant to do after so long of forcing it to rise.

Your moan slipped past your lips as your orgasm finally snapped, your walls sucking him in tightly. No doll could do that, squeeze him like a vice as they whimpered and shivered on his lap. "Fuck sweetheart" He grunted as he buillied his cum into you. His eyes only leaving the phone to pull you back against him to stop the obstruction to the money shot of his cum leaking out from between you falling on the fabric that surrounded his balls. He watched your chest rise and fall you heaved out breaths, your limbs becoming loose on him like a weighted blanket.

It didn't take long as guilt settled whilst he came down from his high. Leon the thought about the way he treated you, the way you just put up with it all with no complaints. As if that was your only worth in this life.

He couldn't bare look in the mirror not when the eyes of his younger self would stare back in shame. Instead his fingers placed the phone on the side table and reached for the whiskey instead. Drowning the thoughts was better whenever it was with your pussy or the amber liquid. He wasn't ready to face the younger version of himself. Or the belongings that he managed to keep buried deep on the top shelf of the closet, where they should stay.

He knew you had your own problems that's why you didn't hesitate as he bought the glass to your lips. You didn't cough as the burn of the amber liquid settled on your chest. Instead you looked at him, eyes begging and craving for something more from him. This was the only intimacy that you got, these post nut clarity where his mind was just slightly clearer. Perhaps this is all you'll ever get from him. The intoxicating whirlpool of Leon Kennedy.

[anlian-aishang]

SNK Men - Masturbation Habits - Levi, Erwin, Eren, Armin, Jean, Reiner, Zeke [nsfw]

Levi

Masturbates in the shower. Levi deems it as a way to save time, to keep his sheets and clothes from getting too dirty. He hates to admit it, but something about sex makes him sweat easily. Even more shameful, he is weak to the flow of scalding water on his skin and the way it melts his reserves, inhibitions down the drain. The echo of tile walls amplifies the smacks of his hand around his cock, making it easier to imagine it's your pussy around him instead. Feigning the priority of cleanliness, he grants himself an excuse to be filthy. Levi sees masturbation as a last resort, something to rely on when he can’t have the real thing. As such, when by himself, he finishes fast. Three minutes of ferocity, white-knuckle holds of the shower bar and his erection. Toes curl tight against slippery tile. Soap trickles down his bangs and into his eyes. Squeezing them shut, he relies on imagined scenes to get him there. Strives to stay silent, but especially when it's been too long, not even Ackerman can prevent the grunts and swears from escaping. At the sound of his own succumbing, his ears, cheeks, chest flush red. On comedown, he deliberately jerks the metal handle to cold with hopes that, by the time he steps out and sees the mirror’s reflection, his fucked-out state will not stare him back.

Erwin

Gets off at his desk. It’s always the end of the quarter that his sex drive surges. Though it’s inconvenient at best and incapacitating at worst, he has come to understand why. A cruel chain reaction: work piles up, his mind multitasks to its bitter end, and at that end is a pure, carnal desire for reprieve. His signature grows illegible with the way his hand is shaking. He is making mistakes and making them in ink. Erwin clenched his fist, nails dug into his palm, but neither his erection nor filthy thoughts will die down. His hand is big, but his cock is bigger. The ratio aids his fantasy, trying to pretend it's your grasp wrapped around him instead. Erwin pumps himself a couple palms full of the lotion that others find so innocuously stored on top of his desk, lays a path of tissues on the pad of his office chair, and shuts his blinds as well as his eyes. Left hand works his member tight from tip to base. Right hand undoes his top button and hooks itself on the loop of his tie, allowing his breaths to deepen, and they do. Erwin growls through it. After this many successive nights of overtime, he deserves these minutes of release from those reins. Squeezing so hard that the veins in his biceps rise. Exhales harsh, fogging the oak of his desk top. Toes curl in his leather shoes. Words fail him as he climaxes to the thought of you barging in on him - loud grunts and moans of your name all the man can muster. 

Eren

Lays back on the sofa. Unspeakable yearnings have brought him to this point. It was not only that he was unable to make it to the privacy of his bedroom. More accurately, Eren was so caught up in his fantasy that he couldn't care less if he were walked-in on. Lying on his back, his right hand slithers beneath the hem of his shirt and hikes it to his teeth. Abdomen exposed to less stifling air. At the same time, his left hand handles his belt, button, zipper before tugging his waistband to rest at his upper thighs.  Eren leans his head back over the armrest, airway straightened, low yet loud vocals fill the room. Running his fingers through his hair, his elastic band snaps and lets his locks flow freely. Even with his eyes closed, his thumb lands right atop the lotion bottle - an old habit - and pumps a couple ounces into his hand. The unexpected cold draws a few hisses and curses, but before long, the fierce friction of his hand has converted it: hot like the rest of him. Even though he is reclined back, Eren is an active masturbator. His left hand has one job, one primary motion, but his right hand plays himself. Palm over his chest, fingertips pinching his jawline. Legs squirm, heels jut - all threatening to rip the leather couch. Instead of damaging the space around him, he takes that tension out on himself: cock sore, nipples bruised, scratches on his abdomen - but nothing that his sweatshirts can’t hide.

Armin

Shuts himself in his closet. An unexpectedly experienced masturbator, yet the shame Armin feels is disproportionately tremendous. Not even his bedroom is private enough, Arlert retreats to his locked closet, barely large enough to fit his clothes, let alone him. The blonde leans back against his wooden, creaky dresser and props his feet on the opposite wall. On the way to grab himself, his arm twitches: do you really need this? He tilts his head back and sighs: yes, you do.  Armin dips his fingers into his mouth and pretends that they’re yours. Sucks them deliberately as he aims to keep quiet. As his tugs grow tighter, fuller, that sucking becomes sloppy, though. Overstimulated cries demand his lips fall from a circle to a helpless part. His breaths are brisk on his skin, covered in his own saliva. Soon enough, his tongue is flopping in frantic indecision: keep quiet or cry your name? That tug-of-war results in a submissive symphony for his reddened ears alone. But at least you can’t hear it. But what if you did? For what he lacks in confidence, he makes up for in imagination. Armin softens his grip to match the way he thought you would hold him. First, your fingers. Then, your presence. Now, your contact. Once his walls have weakened past the point of disbelief, and only once he convinces himself that you’re the one working him can he get himself to his toe-curling, back-breaking climax. 

Jean

It always starts on his bed. Lazily palming himself on his mattress, Jean is rather carefree. Masturbation is not something he plans, but something he indulges in when he feels like it. It’s just one of those things. It is not something he lets himself anticipate all day, nor is it something he approaches with shame. Before he wakes up or before he drifts to sleep, it will cost only a little energy but help him rest. It’s the lie he tells himself, arousal his most gullible state. Less than a minute after he begins, Jean is panting, drooling, burying himself into his pillow. Swears muffled as he envelops his twitching cock in his similarly trembling hand. In working hours, he keeps his thoughts for you under wraps. When the sun is down, though, so is his façade of composure. Oh, the things he wants to do to you. More than that, what fucks him up is the thought of what you would do to him.  Tendons strain and cast shadows on his neck, a desperate attempt to subdue his needy vocals. In this one session, the scenarios he has fantasized over have flashed faster than seconds. In that way, he thinks he must have lasted a while. In reality, everything is skewed. When he goes for days, sometimes weeks, without release, that release is difficult to delay. His pent-up dam demands a break: the uncatchable shot of his warm seed through his fingers and onto his sheets. He always thinks that climax will wind him down, but instead, it gets him up and out of bed, to the laundry machines.

Reiner

Slams himself against the door. Panting hard before he can even unbuckle and unzip himself. He’s ashamed to admit it all: how badly he wants to cum, how badly he needs to. The desperate rasp in his throat and the way it bounces off his bedroom walls turns his blush ablaze. He manages a squint and the sight of his bed, but the stagger in his legs tells him that he won’t make the walk. Reiner leans back against the wooden slate, one hand around his cock, one hand clutching the doorknob for stability. Eyes rolled back into his head. Hair a mess after this many runs of his hand through it. Inhales hiss through his teeth. Exhales shake on their fall past his lips. Looking down at himself, he notices the way his abdomen ripples with blood flow and wonders if you’d like that. He could practically hear you, the way you would dip your fingers into his mouth and pry, beckoning his moans and encouraging their volume. His imagination of what else you would do drives the speed and force of his hand. Pants crumpled at his ankles bind his legs to the perfect spread. His back is soaked with cold sweat, slicking and sticking him to his bedroom door. The flicks of his wrist are automatic now, racing to catch up with the snowball effect in his mind: you you you. With one final, nearly sadistic yank, he brings himself to finish - the sensation just as incoherent as his calls of your name.

Zeke

Tucks himself into bed. To Zeke, masturbation is a ritual, religiously stocked with offerings. From the drawer of his bedside table, he removes fire-and-ice lubrication and a ten-inch fleshlight. Atop the nightstand, a pack of cigarettes and his reflective lighter wait to accompany his comedown. He removes his glasses and sets them aside. By a thumb on his waistband, he peels his briefs down and flings them into the hamper across the room, satisfied with his aim.  Zeke deliberately clashes his teeth together, trying to resist the admission of how good the initial sheathe feels. This is his relaxation time and he intends to savor it. His spank bank is rich with both fond memories and colorful fantasies. Playing them back in his mind, he accompanies the scenes with his own vocalizations, beating himself to the rhythm of your ass as it bounced around his cock, or the way your head bobbed back and forth around him. Most men last only a few minutes. Zeke basks in his average time of one hour. Edging himself on and on, chuckling maniacally each time he - to his own surprise - manages to wean himself off at the last second. His arm does not tire. His images are endless. It is only after the friction reaches an unbearable burn and his wrist begins to cramp that Zeke decides to give in, though he didn’t like to phrase it that way. Tilting his head back, his exhale is deceptively cool as his hot cum soaks his sleeve. It takes a couple flicks of his lighter, and many more involuntary twitches, though, until the pleasure truly ends.

// masterlist //

[toxic3mmy]

Imagine Alex about to fuck you for the first time and you were wearing the ‘lucky you’ jeans.

(they’re jeans that when you unzip them there’s a piece of fabric that says “Lucky you”)

why is this such a cute idea😭 i can’t make my mind up, would alex be super shy when he saw this or would he be cocky and all smirky abt it??? idk hehe

[also im sorry! this is short but it gets right to the point😛]

prompt: your first time, Alex gets lucky

warnings!! smut!

alex had taken you out to a nice dinner date. the entire night, he was such a perfect gentleman to you.

you really loved him. despite the relationship being only a few months in, you knew you loved him. you had never felt the way that alex made you feel.

and on this night, as you admired alex smiling across from you under the dim restaurant light you thought, damn.. i’d really like to give myself to you..

on the car ride home, it’s honestly all you could think about.

“everything okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his eyes on the road as he drove the two of you home

“yeah, just lost in thought. sorry..”

he opened your car door and led you inside. once inside, you decided to ask.

“alex.. can we, you know..?”

alex froze as he was taking off his shoes at the door. he looked at you nervously

“can we what?”

“can you make love to me?” you said quietly, hoping not to make a fool of yourself

“are you sure? i don’t want you to feel rushed or anything y/n” he finally looked at you, taking your hand in his

“im really sure.. i’ve been thinking about this all night, im ready”

he smiled shyly and led you to his bed. he dimmed the light and turned on some soft music.

“i love you.. i hope you know that y/n” he laid you down

“i do and i love you too” you pecked his lips softly as he hovered above you

“please let me know if im hurting you or if you want me to stop, okay?”

you nodded and pulled his face to yours, connecting your lips once again. the kiss was slow. his lips felt so soft and warm against yours. the aroma of his cologne filled your senses and you never realized how intoxicating it was.

your hands were looped around his neck. you felt alex tilt his face a bit more and his tongue softly pressed your bottom lip. you opened your mouth slightly and tasted him entirely.

you let out a low gasp as your boyfriend tangled his tongue with yours. he groaned into your mouth and you felt a heat building in your core.

“you taste so sweet” he whispered and pecked your lips again before kissing lower

he kissed your jaw and began to suck and bite a hickey into your neck. you squirmed and squeezed your legs together as you began to feel needy for him. he continued to kiss your smooth skin.

“can i take this off?” he asked, politely giving your blouse a small tug and you obliged

he helped you slip off your top along with your bra

“so beautiful..” he murmured against your supple breasts

he kissed and licked your nipples while your hands found their way to his back, digging your nails into his skin as he swirled his tongue around your chest.

he went to take off your jeans. as he unzipped them, he stopped and you looked to see him smirking up at you

“what? whats wrong?” you said breathlessly

“lucky me..” he chuckled and your face fell hot

“did you wear these specifically for me? it’s a bit naughty, don’t you think?” his teasing made you feel more embarrassed

“babe stop! just.. just—”

“just what, chiquita?” his smile never faltered

“just fuck me already” and alex practically growled at your filthy words

he took your jeans and panties off and threw them aside. he proceeded to prop your thighs up and kissed down them, leaving purple marks all over your skin. he finally got to your heat and licked up and down you agonizingly slowly.

your whimpering encouraged him to continue. he took two fingers and entered your tight hole. his mouth focused on your clit. he slowly built up a steady speed, pumping his fingers in and out of you while his tongue swirled deliciously around your throbbing clit.

you wanted more and so without a word, you pulled him up to connect your lips once again as your hands helped him undress.

“eager, are we?” he asked with your lips still against his own

“shut up and fuck me, alexis” his pants and boxers were off now and he went to enter you

he slowly pushed himself in as he positioned himself above you again. your face scrunched up in slight pain as his cock stretched you open

“are you okay? tell me when to move, chiquita” he panted

“im okay.. go ahead”

his hips thrusted in and out of you. slowly, the pain subsided and you felt such an immense sensation of pleasure. you needed more

you pulled alex up in a sitting position and you climbed to sit in his lap. you sat down and felt him enter you again

“oh god… you’re so deep alex… you feel so g-good” your hands were on his shoulders now as you took control

you bounced yourself on his hard cock and alex was moaning incredibly loudly, whimpers of your name left his mouth at every thrust

he leaned back on one arm and brought his free hand to your mouth

“open your mouth” he ordered

he used your saliva to coat his fingers and went to play with your clit. you threw your head back as his fingers rubbed against your clit perfectly. you moved closer to him as you began to feel tired out. your arms hugged him to your chest, your lips on his neck as you moaned into it. he took control and fucked into your pussy while still giving attention to your clit.

“i-im cumming” you stuttered out and alex sped up

he hit you at a new angle and it was enough to drive you over the edge. your hips stuttered and your legs trembled as you came down from your high. alex slid himself out of your tired pussy and began to tug at himself

“where do you want it, princesa?” he groaned, and in turn you opened your mouth and looked up at him with your big doe eyes

“look at you, mouth open and ready for my load. you look so pretty..” he said as his hand quickened and you felt his warm juices all over your face and you tasted him on your tongue

he helped you clean your face and the two of you laid together naked underneath his duvet.

“i think i was the lucky one tonight” you giggled

alex kissed your forehead and whispered sweet nothings to you until you fell asleep

[prettynpinkputhy]

Dom bottom character x Sub top male reader

Where the reader is nervous and keeps whispering “what if somebody hears us” (as he fucks the character) while moaning and withering from overstimulation, at the same time the character is pushing himself down on him, smirk present.

I don’t mind who, you can even make an OC if you’d like. Just the character has to be fucked but still have the dom personality, ordering him around degrading/praising him, and the reader has to do the fucking or has to be trying hard to keep his legs open to let the character lower himself onto him. Readers got that sub personality.

Lunch time

Gojosatoruxhusbandmalereader💗

Summary: y/n spends “lunchtime” with gojo

🎀Warning🎀:18+NSFW,rough sex,raw sex,public sex,language,oral sex, dom/sub, absolute filth

Word count: 1.7k

The halls are swarming with tunnel visioned students and teachers hustling to their next period. Your shoulders brush countless passersby searching for class 1-A. You mumble apologies as you are thrown around in the crowd, the homemade bento box you made following a YouTube tutorial, was clutched close to your stomach. There was no way you would lose all that hard work before he could even see it. The bandaids on your fingers proved that point, you spent all afternoon cutting a variety of veggies and fruit into heart shapes. Your heart pounds as you spot the classroom down the hallway, your cheeks heat up at the thought of seeing him. Somehow after all these years he still managed to make you blush like a new lover. Ever since you two walked these very halls of jujutsu high; you never stopped having a crush on Gojo satoru. You take a deep breath, pumping yourself with confidence as you push the classroom door open. At the front of the class sat the white haired pretty boy, grading papers. He doesn’t look up from his paperwork as he speaks.

“I know you guys love me but you gotta go have lunch-“ his waves, marking the paper with red ink.

“I hope I’m not disturbing your work time.” You say shyly. His head shoots up, gleaming ocean eyes steal your gaze. He smiles wide and cheeky.

“What a pleasant surprise.” His head rests on his hand as he stares at you. He was well aware of the effect he had on you, he loved the way you crumbled under his gaze.

“I-I brought you some lunch.” You walk through the aisles of school desks, he smirks looking you up and down. Nervously, you set the neatly wrapped bento box at the edge of his desk. He wastes no time unwrapping the box, peeking inside.

“Wow, you made this? It’s the best lunch I’ve ever received, thank you baby.” He springs up, pulling you into a long warm hug. You relax in his arms, inhaling the delicious scent of his Versace cologne. He had expensive taste despite being a teacher. Somehow he made a way to support his playboy lifestyle on an educator's salary. You worried he wouldn’t like your home made lunch but to your surprise he loved it.

“Here, here, have a seat.” He clears the tower of homework, motioning to his leather desk chair.

“But that's your spot, I’ll just pull up a chair.” You wave him off. He grabs your waist as you turn away, his breath feathers on your neck.

“I said sit down.” He rasps, planting a warm kiss on your throat. Your feet stumble as he pushes you forcefully down into the chair. You stare up at him with big doe eyes, his cock twitches. Your eyes travel up the length of his body, he stood clad in dark leather shoes,black slacks, and a white button down. The first three buttons were undone, exposing the smooth skin of his upper chest. Even wearing the most simple outfit he managed to make it look like a million bucks. His snowy bangs brush over his low crystal eyes as he looks down on you. The crotch of your pants tighten from your growing arousal, you shift nervously in the seat. No way not here, you wouldn’t give into his temptation.

“D-don’t look at me like that.” You stammer, breaking eye contact. His long graceful fingers grip your chin, tilting your face up.

“Like what?” He smirks, focusing his gaze on the thick bulge in your lap. He leans down, closing the space between you. Your breath hitches as his tongue glides over your lower lip. Before you can even think about protesting, his fingers are working the zipper of your denim jeans.

“Wait, does the door lock?!” You whisper/yell in a panic. Your eyes dart back and forth between him and the classroom door anxiously. He slides down to his knees, peering deep into your eyes; completely hypnotizing you. The desk has a pretty large opening underneath, his slender frame is hidden from the view of the door. He nestles in the hiding place, working the waistband of your pants down. After a few seconds, your pants are rolled around your thighs. Gojo’s mouth pools with saliva as he drools at the delectable sight in front of him. He grasps the stiff twitching base of your cock, staring up at you with sinful eyes. He brushes his mouth over your oozing tip, thick warm spit flows from his tongue down the length of your shaft. Your head falls back against the office chair as you hold back your moans. His long slippery tongue swirls around the head of your dick, lapping at the salty pre-cum dribbling out.

“What if someone hears us?” You moan quietly.

“Then you’d better keep your voice down.” His mouth opens wide as he pushes down on your throbbing rod, the aching tip of your cock slams the back of his throat. He lifts up, hollowing out his cheeks, before slamming down and making your dick disappear into his greedy mouth. The hot squishy sensation of his throat clamping down on you is almost too much to handle.

“N-not so much please, feels s’to good ah-“ your nails dig into the arm rest as he moans low in his throat, vibrating your submerged cock. You gasp pulling yourself closer to the edge of the desk as you hear the door knob jingle. Because you pulled yourself closer to the desk, gojo is cramped tightly under with your dick forced so deep in his throat he can barely breath. Tears prick at his eyes as he tries to focus breathing through his nose.

“Mr.Satoru? Mr.satoru are you in here? Oh, hello.” The sweet elderly woman chirps walking up to the front of the class.

“H-hello, can I help you?” You ask shakily.

“Are you subbing for Mr.satoru, I could have sworn I saw him earlier.” She ponders.

Under the desk Gojo has found a comfortable spot in the new position, he pulls his head up, as far as it could go in the limited space, before slowly easing back down. The wet inner walls of his mouth suck you in deep, swallowing the entire length of you. His hands quietly work the button of his pants allowing himself enough room to reach a single hand behind to slide down his pants. Slowly he slips a finger down the back of his pants, rubbing his twitching hole as he sucks you off.

“No he’s um out for lunch, i'm just filling in till he gets b-back.” You lie, biting your lower lip.

“Are you alright? Should I ask the school nurse to stop by?”

“No! No need for that I-im fine.” You stutter.

“Well okay I’ll take your word for it. I’ll just leave these worksheet copies here. He had me print them and never even picked them up.” She complains, setting the papers on the desk.

“I-I’ll let him know, t-thank you.” You wave as she walks towards the door.

“Have a good day…” her eyebrow raises suspiciously before stepping out the door. Gojo’s head bobs steadily swallowing you whole as he fingers his desperate asshole. With an audible sound he pushes you back, rolling the chair into the chalkboard. Your cock shoots from his mouth with a pop, he gasps for much needed air.

“Thank god she’s finally gone, now you can fuck me.” He pants, standing to his feet. His dick is rock solid, thick veins pulse along the length of his shaft. His big hand grips the hilt of his blushed cock, pumping up and down as he stares at you. His tip is glistening, clear pre drips down his hand. You're standing at full attention, your dick twitches against the smooth skin of your stomach.

“W-we can’t…we almost got caught.” You plead, watching him turn around and spread his plush ass cheeks. He hovers over you, rubbing your tip on his puckered entrance. Your hips flick upward begging to be let inside, he smirks pushing down just enough to take in the head. Your tip is surrounded by the pillowy walls of his anus, wrapping you in a warm wet hug.

“Mmm I can feel you twitching inside me. Don’t tell me you’re already gonna cum. So cute and pathetic.” He teases pushing down again, taking in another inch.

“D-don’t tease me.” You whine, squirming beneath him. He pushed down again, harder this time, taking in half of your cock. Your lap is drenched in his saliva. His spit works as a lubricant to guide you easily inside of him.

“Mmm you’re stretching me s’fucking good.” Gojo groans, throwing his ass down with a final slam. Your eyes roll back as you sink into the deepest parts of him, your tip poking his throbbing g spot. He shivers on top of you as your hands rest on his waist pulling him down further. His hands grip your thighs for support as he bounces up and down, gently tugging the skin of your cock with his tight hole.

“Not doing much talking now that your cock is inside me huh? Uhn fuck… you’re gonna fuck me when and where I say. I’m gonna milk you whenever I want.” He pants. His hips whirl stirring your dick inside of him, your nails dig into his skin. Your legs shiver as he Impales himself on you, his hands push your knees, holding your legs open for him.

“Keep them open for me baby, there you go take it, good boy you’re being so obedient for me.” His fist closes around his dick stroking himself as he jumps up and down on your overstimulated rod.

“Gonna c-cum, so close please please please uhn cumming!” Your hips rut upward pushing as deep as his hole allows you. Hot strings of cum spurt from your twitching tip, coating his anal walls with your sticky milk. Gojos tongue lols out as his own orgasm hits him like a truck, his muscles clamp around you as his tip oozes with loads of thick cum. It runs down his hand and drips onto the classroom floor below. Your spent cock trembles inside him, softening in real time. You both jump at the sudden blare of a bell. He smirks sliding up and off your dick, his asshole drips with the mess you made.

“Thanks for the meal.” He leans down kissing your lips.

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Fall Wardrobe Essentials

Staple Tees:

**Purchase in Modal, Pima cotton, or a cotton-cashmere blend**

Fitted crewneck tees (long-sleeves/tees & tanks for layering)

Relaxed fit long-sleeve tees

Turtleneck long-sleeve top (fitted & relaxed fit options)

Contour bodysuits

Blouses/Shirting:

Silk button-down blouse

Cotton button-down blouse

Silk shell top/t-shirts/camis (for layering)

Sculpt knit top(s)

Self-tie wrap blouse

Shirred boatneck, mock neck, or cowlneck silk blouse(s)

Leather button-down

Knitwear:

Thin cashmere/wool crewneck sweater (fitted/relaxed fit)

Thin cashmere/wool turtleneck sweater

Chunky relaxed-fit cable knit sweater

Knit polo-neck sweater

Cashmere sweater vest (crewneck, v-neck, and/or turtleneck)

Mockneck cashmere/wool sweater

Cashmere long-sleeve sweater dress

Cashmere/knit skirt (mini, midi, or maxi - depending on your personal preferences)

Sophisticated coordinating knit set (top/pants or skirt of your choice)

Casual knit set (top/pullover and relaxed fit pants)

Cashmere cardigan

Cable knit cardigan (doubles as a light jacket)

Bottoms:

Black straight-leg jeans

Black bootcut/flared jeans

Black straight/bootcut trousers

Wide-leg trousers (I love a solid black, black pinstripe, and black with lace-up detail selection)

High-waisted leather pants

Split hem trousers

Stretch jersey/cashmere pants (straight-leg or flared)

Quilted leather/tweed mini skirt

Knit/wool mini and/pencil skirt

Leather skirt (mini or midi)

Silk midi skirt

Dresses/Jumpsuits:

Knit/sweater dress

Little black dress (shift dress/A-line cuts are great)

Blazer dress/jumpsuit

Slip dress (for layering)

Minimal black jumpsuit ("LBJ")

Leather and/or denim dress or jumpsuit

Jackets & Outerwear:

Black tailored blazer

Leather blazer

Tweed jacket

Trench coat

Leather moto/cropped/bomber jacket

Black wool coat

Raincoat ( I like Rains for high-quality options on the affordable side that are still built to last for several seasons)

Statement jacket/coat

Footwear:

Sleek flat/low-heel black boots with a pointed-toe or square-toe silhouette (I love Vagabond, Jeffrey Campbell, Vince Camuto, and Sam Edelman for more affordable, high-quality options)

Black loafers/sleek black flats

Black lace-up boots

Black heeled boots

Black pumps

White sneakers

Rain boots (I recommend the Melissa Shoes Welly/Grip/Step boots or a stylish, sustainable, and more affordable option)

Accessories:

White/black ankle & crew socks

Black control top tights

High-waisted shapewear shorts

Chunky/small chain necklaces & bracelets

Simple pendant necklace(s)

Pearl necklace

Simple diamond studs

Crystal drop earrings

Minimalist bangles

Stackable rings

A sleek, minimalist black tote (can fit a laptop for work/travel)

Black shoulder bag

Small black bag (top handle, crossbody, etc.)

Statement bag/evening bag

Cashmere scarf

Silk/decorative scarf

Fingerless/touch-screen friendly, lightweight gloves

Lingerie/Loungewear:

Seamless bra/underwear

Lace bra/underwear

Matching pullover cotton sweatshirt/sweatpants

Knit or jersey cotton top/lounge pants set

Luxurious pajama set (silk, Tencel, cashmere, etc.)

A to-die-for piece of lingerie like a lace slip/silk teddy

Silk or cozy robe

Cozy open-back slippers

[icallhimjoey]

Define Close

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: What good are flatmates even, if they don't comfort you when you need it most? Or when you need it a normal amount? Or, you know, when you don't really need it, but just really want it?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, afab!reader, hurt/comfort i guess? idk we're sad a lot and joe cheers us up a lot, mentions of reader having hair long enough to be played with

Author’s note: are you ready for us to sleep with joe? but, like, actual sleep? the literal kind? bc that's all this chapter is. just, snoozing. enjoy!

Wordcount: 4K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe let the door fall into its lock behind him and stood still for a second, ears perked, listening carefully.

The flat was quiet.

He was alone.

Good. So maybe he could call one of his friends to see if they wanted to join him for a run. Joe had two friends who he went running with, sometimes. You never understood it. When you run, you can’t talk? So why do that together? What was the point?

Competition was the point, was always Joe’s answer.

But if he was honest, he just felt a little less lonely if he had a buddy by his side. Felt a little less like a stupid loser who didn’t have any friends to work out with. Was just nicer if he could run alongside someone else. Share airpods. Listen to the same playlist.

Joe was already scrolling through his contacts when something stopped him in his tracks and made him jump out of his skin. Knocked the air right out of him.

He wasn’t alone.

It was silly how the lump in his bed made him gasp for air, how it shot his heart right up into his throat, the adrenaline immediately pumping.

Just as quick as he’d been to step into his bedroom, he stepped back out of it within a second.

Joe had to catch his breath in the hallway, as much out of earshot as he could be, because what the fuck? Nothing had really scared him like that in a long time.

He knew it was just you in there. There was literally no reason for the sight of you sneaking a nap in his bed to scare him like that.

Joe just hadn’t expected it, is why.

“Why would she–”

He pressed his fingers into an eye as he silently scolded you, and then, himself.

“Idiot.”

Sighing deeply, he closed out of his contact list and tapped the side of his locked phone against his chin as he considered his next move.

He could wake you up and tell you off for scaring him the way you’d done. Then still go for that run.

Or, what he also could do, was crawl into bed with you and have a little cosy nap together.

Taking a small step forward to peek around his doorframe, Joe saw how you peacefully dozed through his short-lived panic. He couldn’t see your face from where he was stood, just a body underneath his duvet and your hair fanned over one of his pillows.

Hmm.

Work out?

Or take a nap?

Sports?

Or sleep?

Be moving outside?

Or be still inside?

Joe almost laughed at how even before his mental dialogue asked him those questions, he’d already decided.

He took his shoes off and tiptoed into his bedroom, trying to be quiet as he undid his belt and slipped out of his jeans.

When he was stood next to his bed, your face was clearly visible. All soft with sleep, lips slightly parted, cheeks and nose noticeably rosy, eyes a little puffy.

Joe thought they were all signs you’d been asleep for quite a while already.

Either that, or perhaps you’d been crying earlier.

The second that thought crossed his mind, something beautifully painful hurt him somewhere deep inside of his chest.

If you’d cried, that made sense. Joe had found you in his bed a couple of times before, and even though you always had a different excuse, it was kind of obvious that you only ever snuck over into his room when you felt extremely sad.

It was awful that you sometimes managed to let your mood slip down so low.

But it was sort of gut-wrechingly heart-warming that being in between Joe’s sheets had become a remedy for it.

In just his socks, underwear and T-shirt, Joe slipped into his bed and sighed contently at the warmth he found there.

You, on the other hand, roused awake a little at the cold Joe brought in.

“Shh, shh,” Joe was shushing you before you’d even made any noise, and grabbed hold of your arm in apology, even though that did the opposite. Only made it worse, his cold fingers almost making you flinch.

“Go back to sleep.”

You’d not even properly woken up, and consciously you didn’t register those words, but you relaxed as Joe cosied up, limbs not intertwining, but Joe moved in close enough to touch, consuming as much of your body heat as he could. Ducking his face down underneath the covers a little more than yours was, even if just to make sure you weren’t nose to nose, because you were asleep, and what if you weren’t on the same page?

You were on the same page, though.

Joe knew you were.

It was just that you usually took the lead in setting the norm, and he liked it that way. It was why Joe never ended up in your bed with you. Why it was always you in Joe’s bed with him.

But the thought of you pulling away from him as you’d wake up to his face too close to yours hurt his feelings more than keeping a little distance there, just in case.

Although, he might just be overthinking things, because, remember the first time he found you in his bed?

Joe remembered.

Vividly at that.

Because before that moment, your nose had never been buried into his neck for so long.

That night he’d gone for drinks with a girl and had bought her enough drinks that she’d agreed to come back with him when he offered to make her a coffee over at his place.

An Italian coffee. He could make her one of those, if she was interested, he’d shrugged all casual.

She had given a knowing smile and asked him, “Yea? You make good coffee?” and Joe said he’d not gotten any complaints before, and it had been so stupidly obvious that they weren’t talking about coffee at all.

Upon entering the flat, and gentlemanly letting her go inside first, he told his date to be a little quiet in case his flatmate was asleep already.

But then he saw that your bedroom door was open, and he said, “Oh, never mind. I don’t think she’s in, actually,” as he went to open the door to his own bedroom.

He’d turned the light on, and then, immediately slapped the switch to turn it back off before quickly but quietly closing the door again.

Hmm.

Now what?

Couldn’t exactly take a girl into a bed that already had a girl in it, could he?

With the door handle still in his hand, he turned to look at his date, who seemed a little confused, but hadn’t seen what Joe had seen.

“Um,” Joe said, shaking his head a little in a bid to get rid of the disappointment of the change in plans. To shake off the awkwardness of what he was about to ask.

“So. Milk and sugar?”

He ended up making her an actual coffee.

Kind of had no other choice.

An Italian one, too.

And then helped her get an Uber right after.

When she’d gone, he’d hunched over his bed and gently woke you up. A little shake of your shoulder and some soft whispers of your name. When you opened your eyes and squinted up at him, he couldn’t help his spreading smile.

“Hey, you’re in the wrong bed I think...”

You’d hummed at him and closed your eyes again as you curled the covers into your chest tightly. It squeezed a soft giggle out of Joe.

“What are you doing in my bed?”

“Hmm, ‘t was cold.”

“Cold?”

You rolled over, turning your back towards him, and Joe knew he was never going to get you out of there. You’d fully settled in for the night hours before he’d even gotten home.

Not that he minded.

It was just new, then.

“Left my window open and forgot.”

“Okay.” Joe easily accepted the excuse, despite not believing it at all.

But he could just sleep next to you.

Not a problem.

You slept on the sofa lots, all close together. This really shouldn’t be any different, should it?

But when Joe climbed into bed after a date night where he fully planned on having sex and then didn’t actually get any, followed by you sleepily nuzzling into his neck and hugging him close, Joe realised cuddling up with you, in his bed, underneath his covers, absolutely was different.

Good different, though.

Good different.

When you’d woken up early the next morning, it took you a second to know where you were. You’d never woken up in this part of your flat before. When you remembered where you were, whose arm was draped across your frame, whose fingers were tangled up in your hair, and the reason you’d given Joe for being there, you felt you probably overstayed your welcome and carefully got up and out. Took heavy footsteps across the hall and then snoozed in your own bed for a bit before you decided you were ready to start the day.

You’d found Joe eating a late breakfast in the kitchen and opened the fridge to find some of your own.

You’d casually asked Joe how his date had gone, and Joe smiled into his bowl of granola before he answered, “Yea, fine. Was good. She was nice.”

He didn’t tell you about the coffee. Didn’t tell you about how you unknowingly cock-blocked him in a way he’d never been cock-blocked before.

And you didn’t talk about how you slept in a bed together for the first time that night.

Just became one of those things that happened, sometimes.

Another unspoken flatmate thing.

One that you didn’t talk about with each other, let alone anyone else.

It didn’t happen often, but it happened enough that Joe had been able to puzzle together some things.

He could count the occasions on his hands though still.

And he thought he could only vividly remember every single detail of just that first time he had you in his bed. But if he took a second, he’d understand that, actually, he could recall all details of all the times you slept with your face pressed into his pillow.

Like that one time when he had woken up in the middle of the night, confused at why he wasn’t able to turn over.

You’d curled up next to him, in the middle of the bed, over the covers, like a dog. Essentially trapping him tightly underneath his own covers.

He wondered how long you’d been there already. If you’d fallen asleep in your own bed first before you’d scurried across the hall to climb onto his. Or if you maybe had been stirring, unable to fall asleep, and had just come over to try your hand at it over there.

Either way, it was no use having you over the covers.

Joe sleepily petted you on the side until you raised your head to look up at him and saw how he was trying to push down the covers next to him.

You’d silently moved into bed with him then and when the rustling of duvet stopped, Joe whispered, “Everything ok?” and you’d softly hummed before you answered, “Weird dream.”

And he’d tried imagining what kind of dream could possibly be bad enough for you to not be able to go back to sleep in your own bed by yourself. He could only conclude that it had probably been something scary.

“You’re safe,” Joe’d reassured and pulled you closer by your waist. “We’re safe.”

But you’d already drifted back off.

It was easy to sleep next to Joe. He was soft and gentle and warm and comfortable and, somehow never awkward or too close.

That is, if there even was a ‘too close’ with the two of you.

There probably wasn’t.

And it wasn’t like you only ever found your way into Joe’s bed when he wasn’t there or awake to witness it.

Joe remembered the time when he’d gotten back from a day of shooting late in the afternoon. Short set day. He’d gone for a shower and then got half-dressed before his eye fell on a large envelope he’d left on his dresser. He was meant to finish reading that script yesterday, but he hadn’t even gotten around to opening the envelope.

Cut to about half an hour later, sat on his bed in just his pants, socks and a T-shirt still, Joe was reading from white pages and doing his best to visualise the scenes in his mind when he heard the door open.

There was a lot of careless movement, sounds of shoes falling to the doormat, a bag being thrown into the corner, a coat missing the hook and dropping to the floor and a lot of annoyed huffing and puffing.

You’d walked past his room first, but then it registered that you caught him in the corner of your eye, and so you went back.

Face planted yourself right onto his bed.

Joe didn’t acknowledge you at first, eyes firm on the page he was reading. But then he heard you inhale deeply and it sounded a little like you were trying to keep yourself from bursting into tears.

He’d moved a hand over. Got one of your calves and squeezed it, then rubbed it and dug in his fingers a little, moving like he was giving a weird massage over your tights. Kept reading, though.

You didn’t tell Joe if anything was wrong. Why you’d come home from work in a sour mood, why you had tears of frustration and fatigue pricking behind your eyes. Just plonked yourself onto his bed and enjoyed his quiet company until you dozed off into a light sleep.

Joe eventually finished whatever he was reading and the sudden sounds of movement in your proximity were enough to pull you from your short nap. He then suggested you’d have dinner together.

“Sure, what do you feel like having?”

“Pizza?” Joe looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in question.

You knew he was asking if pizza was needed tonight. If it was necessary.

But you’d smiled and said, “Maybe not.” reasoning that you’d probably eaten too much pizza over the past month, and Joe was glad, because this meant you felt better, the little snooze having somehow fixed whatever had been wrong when you’d walked in.

Staring at your now, faces close but not directly opposite one another, Joe could see that your eyes really were a little puffy and, yea, he was right, wasn’t he?

You’d been crying and then you got ready for bed and then, to make yourself feel better, had gotten into his bed instead of your own.

Fucking hell.

Joe felt a surge of guilt when he thought about how much he loved that. He shouldn’t love you more when you felt bad. Sad. Down and all miserable.

But how could he not if it made you end up all snuggled up in bed together?

He knew you never talked to each other about these things, but if you did, if you were the type of sensible people to use your words to work things out, rather than physical touch and closeness, he’d whisper all sorts of questions into your skin.

He’d ask if you were all right. If you’d been crying. If there was anyone who he needed to hurt, which he knew would make you laugh, because no way he was going to go out and fight someone. He’d ask if you wanted to talk about it, because he’d listen. If there was anything else he could do to make you feel better.

But you didn’t talk.

You weren’t sensible people who used their words.

So Joe didn’t whisper any questions into anything, but just let his forehead rest against your collarbone as he tried to fall asleep too. It took a little while, but the focus on your breathing ended up grabbing hold of him by the ankles and pulling him under eventually.

Just like it always did when you dozed off on the sofa together.

Just like it did that one time when he was meant to get up early, but, you were there, all toasty warm and silky soft in between his sheets. It was his own fault you were there. He maybe shouldn’t have offered his bed to you if he had been serious about waking up early.

It was just that, the night before, he’d heard you have a long phone conversation in your bedroom. All serious. No laughter. Took ages, and it was sort of late already. When you’d finally gotten off the phone, Joe found you sat on the edge of the bed in your pajamas, face stuck in your phone, and it looked like you were texting someone. He was about to ask if you’d seen the charger to his laptop, but then he heard you sniffle and saw you wipe a cheek with back of your hand.

He had no idea who you’d been speaking to.

Or who you were texting now.

You didn’t acknowledge him when he walked into your room, eyes on your phone screen still, and for a second Joe thought maybe his legs should carry him the other way. Away from you, out of your room to give you some space.

But then before he really knew what he was doing, he was stood next to you, sort of cradling your head in his arms. Hugging your skull. He took care to look away from your phone screen as to not invade your privacy.

When you finally put your phone down, you dipped your chin underneath one of his arms and kissed the bit of skin that was there as a thank you.

“Come on,” he then said, letting go of your head and walking towards the door.

He switched the light off just before stepping out into the hallway.

When you didn’t immediately come after him, he called, “This way!” over his shoulder, and then grinned to himself when he heard you softly mumble, “Yea, just a sec,” followed by something about needing to brush your teeth first.

When you walked into Joe’s bedroom shortly after, he was already in bed, laid down on his stomach on the left side of the bed.

That wasn’t where Joe usually slept.

That was were you slept whenever you were in that bed.

In an attempt to be funny, to lift the mood a little, you ignored the empty spot in Joe’s bed and instead flung the covers back on the left side and climbed right onto him.

You laid down on top of your flatmate, and swung the covers back as best you could.

You felt him shake with silent laughter which made you giggle. You whispered, “Good night.” and waited for Joe to roll over or to shake, to make you slide off of him, but that moment never came.

You fell asleep smiling, because it was hilarious that Joe was going to let you drift off in that position, with your head in the dip of his neck and your hips over his bum.

In the night, your asleep-self managed to find the empty spot and continued your slumber on the mattress, like a normal person.

But the morning brought revenge.

You usually woke up before Joe did, but Joe was meant to wake up early, remember? His alarm woke him up, shooting awake with a jolt, immediately fumbling with his phone to turn it off. It took him a second to even remember why he’d set the alarm in the first place.

He felt you stir right next to him and remembered how he’d fallen asleep the night before.

If you were to ever bring it up, which he knew you’d never do, he’d tell you it was the most uncomfortable sleep he’d ever had.

They’d be lies.

He loved being pressed into the mattress by your weight a little. Loved the feeling of your entire body on top of his like that.

He’d never tell you.

He’d hold on to the fib that you’d been a great inconvenience, and now, it was time for payback.

Joe’s alarm had pulled you out of your dream a little, but then you fully woke up when Joe suddenly rolled right onto your back.

All of him.

Right on top of you.

His face pressed into one of your shoulder blades, and the air audibly escaped from your lungs as you tried to sleepily protest.

“Oh my God,” you groaned, voice all constrained. “My arm, wait, my– ow, Joe,”

Your arm was caught underneath your stomach, sort of weirdly twisted, and just for a second, Joe pressed his elbows into the mattress on each side of you to lift is weight off.

You readjusted, and Joe asked, “Got it?” and you easily accepted your fate, knowing that the moment you confirmed, he would let himself drop again.

And that’s exactly what happened.

You sighed, eyes still close, breathed “Yea,” as you snuck said arm underneath your pillow and felt Joe carelessly crash into you again.

Without your arm hurting you, it wasn’t so bad, and you felt Joe nuzzle against the bare skin of your upper back. You fully relaxed as you felt him swipe some hair aside that he then gently played with for a moment.

It had been the steady rise and fall of your breathing that had Joe snoozing in no time. Admittedly, the mattress right next to you was more comfortable to sleep on, Joe wasn’t going to lie. But sleeping with his face pressed into your warm morning skin brought a different kind of comfort. He knew that the strap of your top was going to end up marking his cheek, but he didn’t care.

This was nice.

It was one of those feelings he rarely ever got to experience not being in a serious relationship with anyone.

He got certain desires met. If he was honest, that had become almost a little too easy. But it would just be that. Just the sex. He never cuddled, never snuggled with any of those girls. He’d be out of his mind to pull a stunt like rolling on top of one of them to snooze until he actually wanted to get out of bed.

He only got to do that with you. And so he did, the early morning plans he had then no longer important enough. Because he had you in his bed, all relaxed, with soft skin and steady breathing that worked like fucking magic.

Just like it was doing now.

And it sort of shouldn’t.

It wasn’t meant to all be so easy.

Joe’d found you in his bed, and he was actually meant to go for a run and then take a quick shower and then have dinner, maybe even see if anyone was up for a drink at the pub.

But he’d done none of those things.

And now here he was.

Falling asleep as he listened to your slow breathing, happy that it wasn’t hitching in your throat. He didn’t like how it sometimes did that when you had been crying.

That run could wait.

The shower after could wait.

Dinner could wait.

For now it was just warmth underneath his covers and your bodies pressed together. Later, you wouldn’t talk about it. And if Joe was lucky, you’d not take so long to be sad again.

Awful thought, he knew.

But he couldn’t help it.

Joe loved it when you felt bad, but only so he could be there to make it better.

---

The Taglisted

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taglist currently full, sorry

[styleandrole]

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[pr1ncesskaekae]

A day in the park with Gojo (no prounouns for [user] used.

A/n- First tumblr post after being inspired by many other artists! Hope you enjoy this short fluff piece!

Word count- 738

warnings- none, just pure fluff

A day in the park with Gojo Satoru-

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the park. It was one of those rare, perfect afternoons when everything seemed to slow down. The usual hum of city life was replaced by the laughter of children, the rustling of leaves, and the soft chirping of birds.

Gojo Satoru, however, was the loudest thing in the park.

“You’re seriously telling me you’re not gonna race me?” He grinned, eyebrows waggling as he pointed dramatically at the swings ahead. “Come on, where’s your competitive spirit?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Gojo, in his signature black sunglasses and ever-present grin, was impossible to ignore. Despite the fact that he could conquer entire armies of cursed spirits with a single thought, here he was, acting like a carefree kid, challenging you to a race to the swings.

Without waiting for a response, he sprinted off, long legs effortlessly eating up the distance. You didn’t even try to catch up — there was no way you were winning this one. But that was part of the charm of being around Gojo. He didn’t just make everything seem effortless, he made everything fun. Life didn’t need to be serious when he was around.

By the time you reached the swings, he was already seated, pushing himself higher into the air, his laughter echoing across the park. His carefree energy was contagious, and you couldn’t help but smile as you sat on the swing beside him, giving your legs a lazy pump.

“Race? What race?” he teased, swinging higher and higher, like a child who had forgotten time existed.

You rolled your eyes but followed suit, letting yourself be carried up into the air, the breeze tugging at your hair. For a moment, the world felt light. No curses. No missions. Just you, Gojo, and the simple joy of swinging like you hadn’t in years.

"Remember when you were a kid and thought the higher you swung, the closer you’d get to flying?" Gojo asked, eyes half-closed as he leaned back, catching the wind in his face.

You nodded, the memory hitting you with a soft rush of nostalgia. “Yeah... I used to try and see how high I could get, just to feel like I was floating.”

He grinned wider, if that was even possible, and launched himself into a full swing, sending him soaring through the air. “I’m pretty sure I’m already flying, actually. But, hey, a little extra height never hurts.”

You laughed, the sound of it mixing with his as the two of you swung in tandem. The world was so quiet around you, even though Gojo’s playful antics filled every inch of the air. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t thinking about anything other than the present moment. And it felt... nice. No expectations, no pressure. Just the freedom of being in the now.

At some point, the swings slowed, and you both found yourselves lying on the grass, staring up at the sky. Gojo had kicked off his shoes and was sprawled out, hands behind his head, looking completely at ease.

“You know,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically calm, “I used to come to parks like this when I was younger. Just to get away from everything. It was... peaceful. I didn’t really know what peace was back then, but I get it now. Maybe.”

You glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “The great Gojo Satoru, enjoying peace?”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’m still the strongest, don’t worry. But there’s something about days like this… no curses, no fighting, just, you know, swinging at a park. Being a sorcerer is a hard job, but every now and then, it’s nice to take a break from all of it.”

You chuckled, feeling the warmth of the moment. There was something so endearing about how Gojo could switch between being the most powerful sorcerer in the world to just a guy enjoying a swing at a park. It was one of the reasons you enjoyed his company — there was never any pretense, just an honest, unfiltered version of himself.

As the sun began to dip behind the trees, you sat up, brushing the grass off your clothes. Gojo stretched lazily beside you, his carefree nature in full display as he yawned and grinned.

"Best day ever, right?" He nudged you with his elbow. "We should do this more often. Maybe next time, I'll actually let you win."

You shot him a playful glare. "You? Let me win? I’ll believe that when I see it."

Gojo just laughed, the sound rich with ease. “Guess we’ll find out next time.”

And as you both walked off into the golden afternoon light, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the simple things — like a carefree day at the park with Gojo Satoru. Even in his world of chaos, he knew how to enjoy the little moments that made life feel magical.

[someonesaidcake]

Episode 7x07 | Little Yellow House | Rated E

The moments before her I love you... and the ones after. [Read on AO3 here]

|| Excerpt below "That Miniskirt" ||

She’d mentioned something in the back of her closet that might work, so he stretched out on her bed, absently dealing a game of solitaire while he waited.

When the bathroom door creaked open, he glanced up, and promptly forgot every card on the blanket.

She stepped out, wearing a black leather miniskirt that clung to her in ways he’d only imagined.

“Do you think this will do?” she asked, turning to inspect herself in the full-length mirror. She twisted slightly, her gaze appraising, entirely oblivious to the effect she’d just unleashed.

“You—you had that skirt in the back of your closet, and this is the first time I’m seeing it?” He slid off the bed, his eyes fixed on her, tongue running dry against the sudden heat pooling at the corners of his mouth.

“Hush. Keep it in your pants,” she said with a pointed glance at the bedroom door.

Her brother might have been down the hall in the guest room, but Patrick doubted even a personal visit from the Pope would’ve extinguished the confessional-worthy flood of thoughts he was currently drowning in.

“I will,” he promised, the words a husky whisper. “But there aren’t tags on it, which means it’s not new.” He couldn’t help but wonder about every journey that tight scrap of fabric had been on, every moment it had clung to her.

“I don’t know. I’ve had it for years,” she shrugged, adding a few finishing touches; earrings, a delicate bangle, and a swipe of peach gloss.

“And I’m just learning this?” he pouted, the insistent ache between his legs rivaling his pulse. “I’ve bought you all those sexy dresses for stings, and you’ve had this just sitting in there, hidden away?”

She laughed, the sound warm and teasing, her lips catching the light as she moved toward him. Her scent wrapped around him as she drew closer; ripe pear followed by the creamy sweetness of vanilla. She smelled like dessert, ready to be eaten.

“You bought those dresses because you wanted to,” she teased, bending toward him to retrieve a shoe box from under the bed.

Her lips hovered near his as she straightened, her proximity silencing any retort he might’ve tried. He could only grin, drowning in the moment, his full attention on the curve of her.

When she sat on the bed to put on the black pumps they’d picked up on the road trip back from Florida—the ones that made her legs look impossibly toned—his restraint frayed further.

“Whatever you do, Lisbon,” he said, his voice low and serious enough to make her look at him, “don’t lose that skirt.”

|| An "after the episode" (mostly) adults only esque series of one shots set around Season 7 ||

[scoundrels-in-love]

I remember when your head caught flame, it kissed your scalp and caressed your brain

Migraine catches Wolfwood by surprise and Meryl is there to make sure he doesn't dissolve in the pain. Somehow, that hurts in a whole different way. | Stryfewood | Hurt & Comfort | Mentions of past abuse | Also on AO3 | Commission me! |

Wolfwood has no one but himself to blame for missing the signs of too-bright-loud-too-too-too world amping up in the last two days; a frustration that is well worn and familiar and does nothing to ease the pain of steel restraint three sizes too small wrapped around his brain, just beneath his skull which feels thin and tender, pulsating in rhythm of blood and pain pumping through him.

He wonders if he could rip his own head off, as simply he has torn other bodies apart. Like Legato had crunched Wolfwood’s form as if it was a discarded paper bag.

“Wolfwood?” Meryl's voice pierces through his fantasy, and he feels his jaw clench - a bad move.

He grunts an acknowledgement.

“Can you sit up? I booked the room, but I can't carry you inside.”

This makes him open eyes. Shortstack is hovering above him, leaning through the gap between front seats and the concern on her face is something he doesn't have capacity to process right now. Probably never.

Wolfwood had been vaguely aware they'd stopped, because the inclination to give up every bit of bile in his stomach had lessened a fraction. But he'd not thought much as to why, fleetingly assuming it was for a charging station.

“Whuh,” he says, eloquently. They're low on funds and the omnipresent, bright heat pressing into the van indicates it's not even close to nighttime yet. He's been trying to hide from it by laying down in the back seat, arm thrown over his face until the weight of it got too much. Plus, the smell of tobacco clinging to his sleeve had suddenly become an aggressor in the last day which, again, should've pointed him towards the signs.

“I can't get you inside on my own, can you walk?” Her voice is softer now, as if she'd caught him wincing at her volume before.

“Sure thing,” Wolfwood replies as he moves to sit up. If you can't walk, you're dead. He isn't yet, not yet not yet not yet.

Despite his insistence that he's fine, just peachy even, she's really making fuss for no reason, it takes more effort than he expects to get out of the car with his stiff, aching joints into the bright midday sun. The light hits like physical force and he hunches beneath it, staggers towards the sling on the back of the van where Punisher waits for him.

The familiar feeling of cloth and belts scorching his hands grounds Wolfwood and he manages to walk in the inn upright and brushing off Meryl who is fluttering around him like newly hatched wormling, restless and useless.

Even indoors, there are sparks in his vision, a blur on the edges, and the way his head spins do no favors to his stomach which has come to rest in his throat ever since he began moving. Meryl guides him to the room with urgency and if he had the capacity to be annoyed, he'd be telling her off. But now he just follows.

The room's curtains are drawn shut meticulously to not let even a strand of sunlight peek through, it looks safe and quiet as much as anything does on this cursed planet. He props Punisher against the wall next to the single bed and crumbles on the edge of the lumpy mattress, beyond drained and frustrated about it. His sunglasses clatter on the side table too loudly, their arms having felt like a pinch for the past hour.

“Take your jacket off,” Meryl tells him, suddenly kneeling in front of him. He must make some kind of noise, because she meets his gaze with a tight smile. 

“When I have a migraine, bending over is like a death sentence,” she explains, tugging off one of his shoes. He lifts his other foot to aid her efforts, wordlessly, because what is there to say? Thank you, you don't have to, you shouldn't , I don't deserve it, I must handle these things on my own or I might get used to idea that– 

“C'mon, off with that jacket, you never sleep in it unless it’s freezing,” Meryl tears apart his thought tangle, having set his shoes aside and standing in front of him with an expectant, outstretched hand. Wolfwood manages to shrug it off with minimal waves of nausea and lays down, closing eyes and listening to the gentle rustle of cloth as she must be placing it neatly on the chair. 

Next, she disappears into the bathroom and all he has left to focus on is each squeeze of metal around his brain, that tender blob of guilt and bad decisions that makes him him or some shit. 

He can't even lay still, with the aches in his hands and knees and hell, every other joint, too. But even a shift, even if he stretches his fingers to curl them slightly in a minute, feels like it resonates up his body, into his skull. It's absurd, but he supposes so is his existence.

The bathroom door creaks open and then is gently shut behind Meryl before her weight dips the very edge of the mattress. It's not a bed for two people which, actually - did they even have money for two rooms? 

“Can you lift your head slightly?” she whispers and Wolfwood cracks his eyes open to see her holding two wet towels. 

“I don't need-”

“That's not what I asked.”

He must preserve energy in case something happens, something where he needs to wield the Punisher and keep her from becoming another ghost haunting him (like Vash, like Livio -), so he capitulates this battle and gingerly lifts head so she can arrange the damp cloths around his head. It's an unpleasant, soggy sensation when he lays back down, but the coolness is almost instantly soothing.

She doesn't leave the bed immediately like Wolfwood expects as he tries to find words that aren't thank you, but would convey sentiment frighteningly similar to that. Instead, she scoots a little lower and gently takes his right hand in hers, smoothing fingers over his painful knuckles like trying to suffocate the ache with her tenderness.

“The vials wouldn't help?” Meryl asks as she repeats the motions and his whole body tenses up as a powerful wave of nausea roils through him at the memory of one time he'd tried. The wounds he'd left on himself trying to rend himself apart to end it had healed immediately without so much as a scar, but he will never forget the excruciating ways every blood vessel in his brain had pulsated with agony.

“Oh. I am sorry,” her voice cuts through the memory and  Wolfwood forces himself to relax again. Her hand feels so small in his - when had he clutched it so tightly, did he leave bruises?

“It's nothin’,” Wolfwood lies as he shakes her hold off, “stop coddling me and go to your room, I got this.”

“Well, tough luck then. I don't have anywhere to go, this was the last room they had.” 

He isn’t entirely surprised and it won’t be the first time they share a room or have pressed close to endure the cold of desert night. But it’s worse because all her attention is on him, his comfort and he feels flayed open by it just as much as the pain.

“We coulda kept moving,” Wolfwood grumbles, trying to regain some control over his thoughts.

“But we didn't. Money is already paid so we aren't moving until tomorrow morning.” There is finality to her voice and the last fight leaves his body. With a heaved sigh he allows his consciousness to loosen its grip.

His sleep is shallow, pain threading through it and pulling him close to wakefulness several times before he sinks back down. Wolfwood feels the cool cloth on his head being changed several times and Meryl smoothing his hair back from his damp forehead, but pretends to sleep through it. It's simpler that way. It's all for practicality, anyway. She needs him in good form and…

When Wolfwood wakes up, the pain has receded to a nuisance at the back of his skull and clamps on his temples. He pulls off the towel covering his forehead and eyes, blinks in the dim light, before setting it to the side and looking around to find Meryl.

She isn't far - curled in on herself and awkwardly propped against the wall and the headboard, one leg stretched out while the other is curled beneath her. Asleep, by the sound of her breath. He thinks about how she used to complain about sleeping in the car, shifting endlessly back and forth before settling down, but after Julai she's learned to sleep wherever and for what little time disasters might afford them. 

Reminiscing does him little good, but it's hard not to, looking at her face, brow scrunched a little even in sleep. It isn't the first time she has kept vigil over him and every time Wolfwood swears it will be the last one. But he and promises have never gotten on very well; several absences in his life are a clear proof of that.

Meryl shifts slightly and her head slides forward. Without thinking, he reaches out and stops her head slipping further, crashing into the headboard's edge. Her cheek is warm in his palm, the skin soft against his calluses so much that it makes him want to rub his thumb over it, but she's awake now, staring at him wide eyed and slightly disoriented.

“Couldn't let that big brain of yours get knocked around,” Wolfwood scoffs as explanation, withdrawing his hand. Something flashes across her face, eerily alike hurt, before she settles for mild annoyance.

“You must feel better if you're back to being an asshole,” she mutters, straightening up and then stretching. 

“Never stopped, sweetheart,” he waves at her, dismissive of her words and aches in his joints both, then sits up a little too carefully.

“That's true, the moment you genuinely do, I will be calling an ambulance.”

He points out that this is such a big city girl thing to say and they bicker back and forth some as he stands up and gets his cigarettes, meanders over to the window. Still barefoot because she'd been right – bending to put on shoes does feel like an execution even now and he's lived through a few.

The late evening sunlight still hits Wolfwood like daggers through his eyes, despite the sunglasses he had fetched from nightstand, but he grits his teeth and leans against windowsill, almost challenging the angled sun rays to chase him back into the shadows. He knows he belongs there. He knows.

“I'll be right back,” Meryl says over her shoulder, already halfway through the door and he mock-salutes her.

When she returns he's through with two cigarettes and her hands are full with a tray of food, pitcher of water with a couple glasses.

“Eat, you can empty your pack after,” Meryl gestures to the plate of empanadas as she places it on the rickety table near the window. He knows she remembers his throwaway comments, notices the things he enjoys, but every reminder still strikes a cracked bell in his heart, its sound too overwhelming.

Wolfwood speaks over it, as he always does: “Gonna spoon feed me while yer at it? I could've gotten something if I was hungry.”

“If I must,” she says, hands on her hips and mutters that sounds a lot like you prickly bastard .

He could argue, but he knows the food will do him good, even if he is still mildly nauseous. And in this year spent together, he's learned that the determination with which she'd broken Vash out of the tank prison is generously applied in many other aspects of her life. 

So, to not delay the inevitable, Wolfwood joins her for the meal. They talk about doing a few jobs around the town tomorrow to replenish the funds, bicker over the last fry which he eats on principle and also enjoy a spell of silence. 

It is good while it lasts and he has no one to blame but himself when it doesn't.

His head still feels tender, tendrils of worse pain slithering on the edge, and his body feels heavy. It's almost as if sleeping through a migraine is not very restful, he snaps at Meryl who comments he looks tired. 

“Then go to bed, Undertaker,” she scoffs, gathering things for a wash up. 

“Stop herding me, woman,” Wolfwood snaps and watches the corners of her mouth drop into an upset scowl.

“Suit yourself, I'm using up all the hot water for that.”

He watches her leave and wishes he had something stronger to wash down the bitterness in his mouth. It's better that way, better to be a nuisance that she won't care for, but sometimes it feels like it's too late, that all he can do is hurt her heart that is already attached. Again and again, from the day he’d led Vash to Julai and countless times after.

But even if that's true, there's no trust and no misplaced affection that he can't break. If not today, then soon she will see him for who he is and the disappointment will curdle into loathing.

They don't talk after that, she hardly looks at him once she comes out of the bathroom and by the time he's clean and ready for bed, Meryl has already made herself comfortable in the bed, facing away from him, arms drawn close to her chest. 

Wolfwood doesn't know if he's committing to being an asshole or just avoiding another argument when he settles on the other side of the bed. Probably the latter because he doesn't wrestle more of the blanket away from her. He is tired , far beyond the physical drain today has taken. Tired of being him, tired of the ghosts in his ribcage, tired of longing for a world where he could be the person Meryl and Vash thought he could be.

All that immaterial exhaustion and still he can't fall asleep.

Their backs are almost touching as he listens to her breath level out while his sleepless minutes twine into an hour. An excellent sense of time is yet another skill Chapel instilled in him by any means necessary. 

But he is losing this sharpness he's been given, his edges are growing dull, Wolfwood knows, can read it in the way he wants to say sorry and thank you, to fix the crack in their fragile peace he himself has carved. 

He can't afford to, not truly, but he can turn around without Chapel beating him for giving into his bodily urge to shift in the bunk beneath his teacher's. He can look at the gentle shape of Meryl's face in the darkness, his eyesight adjusted and changed for thriving in night, and -

Well, he shouldn't let the tender yearning take a breath and expand in his chest until his heart is engulfed in it, but he does anyway.

He will sharpen himself soon, with blood and death and hatred, with anything but her and the gilded memory of Vash, but tonight, tonight Wolfwood shifts to loosely wrap himself around her small form. Listens to her even breathing and presses his lips carefully to the crown of her head, mouths thank you there, inhaling the gentle floral and citrus scent of her shampoo, and lets it lull him into sleep.

[enuniu]

katsuki hates everything (except he does not)

| one

Katsuki hates red. 

He hates the way it burned against his skin, the way it dragged its color and painted him pretty shades of pink and magenta and everything in between; he hates the way it tasted against the tip of his tongue, his buds begging for more of that sickly sweet flavor. 

Out of all the colors on the color wheel, his mind hesitated and hovered over a strip of stained blood and painted nails—of cheap hair dye and tattered clothing and anything that remotely let the damn pigmentation bleed into itself.

Katsuki hates red—

He hates how much he loves it.

| two

Katsuki hates crocs.

Who the fuck wears crocs these days?

Katsuki will never understand the ideal shoe would be having holes across the expanse of it and enjoying the curved, sturdy platform that wouldn’t do no good in a hazy game of soccer or a walk around the park underneath the blazing sun.

They were the embodiment of impulsive decisions and shark teeth and crimson eyes and the smell of axe body spray; they were nothing but the habit of scratching the nape of a neck or averting eyes every time they were directly looked at—they were pretty and beautiful and manly and all things good—

And maybe Katsuki hated it. He didn’t like the way those piercing grins and pushy hands accompanied with a pair of bright red crocs that were so distracting that he himself couldn’t look away without the utter disgust of a frown forming on his mouth. 

Those shoes needed to be burned to a crisp; no love needed by wearing them every chance they got.

But—

They were his and if he loved them and cherished them like a goddamn trophy wife then possibly, Katsuki did too.

| three

Katsuki hates being a tutor.

Katsuki wanted to rip these damn calculations up and explode them into a dust of ashes, hoping to wash away his traveling thoughts of pencil sketches and doodles that littered the borders of the white stationary. 

He had no patience to teach such intricate and complicated equations to someone who won’t even bother to pay attention to his hard-headed lectures. 

Once in awhile Katsuki felt the urge to roll up pages of homework and bang them along stupid red spikes that shot high up and never faltered after every hit. But no sound of resistance came out, no whine of complaints, no smoothing over the points at the top of a head; there was nothing but the outburst of giggles and counters of insults that were directed Katsuki’s way. 

If Katsuki wasn’t in middle school anymore, he would’ve blasted them through the thin walls of their dorm rooms, hoping to leave a human shaped hole after.

But he wasn’t and he wouldn’t admit to himself, but—

Katsuki quite liked the way that laugh echoed against the shells over his ears and the way it sent unexpected shivers up his arms and had his stomach twisted uncomfortably, but in a good way.

Because even if those funny comments didn’t know how to work a single problem in their textbook—he didn’t not like it.

No—Katsuki didn’t mind.

| four

Katsuki hates when he’s not smiling anymore. 

His smile falters. 

His enthusiastic, blinding, beautiful smile—hesitates.

Katsuki has never been so livid in his entire life. He can’t remember exactly why he’s angry or why the sudden feeling of igniting bombs in the palms of his hand was his go-to course of action because, because, because —  

The boy full of cheerful grins and pumped up fists was no longer smiling and Katsuki will be damned if he lets it continue. He no longer held the world in his hands and his red eyes no longer glazed with the small excitement of a child and he no longer spoke those soft words reserved only for Katsuki. 

So, Katsuki brought anything that could comfort him. He brought a heavy amount of sugary snacks, discs of shitty movies, and the worn out sweatshirt of Crimson Riot that he may or may have not stolen from his closet some time ago. 

And when he sees them huddled into Katsuki’s folded arms, he finally smiles.

He smiles small and low, but it’s genuine and it’s there and Katsuki hopes to never fail at bringing it up again.

Because Katsuki hates when he isn’t showing those sharp teeth he likes so much.

| five 

“Bakugou,”

Katsuki grunts.

The other takes it as his cue to continue. “Do you like me?”

Katsuki has to take a full double turn at the question—because what the fuck was that. He tried to form any sentence that could possibly respond to that absurd and stupid inquiry, but seeing those eyes drop low at his silence has him reeling back to reality and forgetting anything else he was thinking about. 

“What kind of fucking question is that?”

Silence.

Katsuki thinks and he thinks and he thinks—

“What do you think Shitty Hair,”

He opens his mouth,

“Yes?”

Katsuki snorts at the confusion. But, he couldn’t leave him in the dark. Not anymore. He spent too long fantasizing about pink cheeks and sharp edges of skin; thought way too hard at the idea that maybe those chapped lips that were constantly tugged and pulled from pointed teeth were actually soft and sweet. 

Maybe he tasted like orange soda he bought at the convenience store he so rightfully argued was the best beverage out there or maybe he tasted like late night snacks of graham crackers he hid underneath the cabinets from the rest of their classmates (stingy, might he add).

Whatever it was—he did. He really did.

So, Katsuki took one more glance at him , a glance of everything red, of everything matching with those damn crocs he liked, of his inability to figure out how exactly a math equation should be solved, of sad tears on sad evenings and—

“Yes,”

Katsuki breathed one last time.

“I do like you,”

One more sigh—

“Eijirou.”

[yuyubeans]

bitcoin

pairing: chicken nuggets? I actually don't know

genre: NSFW (MDNI)

wc: ??

as you slowly gain consciousness in dark room tied to a chair. A tall, muscular man walks in and asks, "you're CaptainCrypto2817 arnt you?" realizing why you were here. about a week ago you were bragging on a Reddit thread that you made about 200k trading cryptocurrency. Was it true? ofc it fucking wasn't, you don't even know how to mine bitcoin. however, yeosang, you're handsome captor, thinking you have insider information about how to win big, opening his computer, pointing at the charts on the screen, looking at you

"either tell me what you know, or you're dead." slightly sweating you mumbled,

"I lied! I'm sorry I swear, I'll never do it again, I swear"

"you lied? to me? hmm... well you're gonna have to do something very special for me then, something very special..."

signalling for you to sit inbetween his thighs, by tapping on the ground with his leather shoes, you slowly crawling between them, keeping your head low,

“so, tell me why you lied?” you deciding not answer, his eyes rolling in response,

“Eyes up here liar”

pulling your face up, with an index finger to your chin. You looked at him with puppy eyes, trying to make him forgive you, but it all it did was make him want to dick you down

"I'm sorry I swear to go-"

“Prove it.” His face dropping “Make use of that tiny mouth of yours, to prove that you're sooooo sorry"

you quickly undid his belt, slid his pants and boxers off, and started to gently pump his cock as he staring down at you, god this was so humiliating, looking up at him as he finally got fully hard

your spit and his pre cum mixing, as you finally took him in your mouth, him taking a handful of your hair making you bob your head up and down.

“yeah, yeah, just like that”

continuing to guide you down his cock, forcing you to deepthroat him every once in a while,

“god... this proves lying little sluts give the best head hmm?” he groaned, looking at your tear stained cheeks, making him twitch in your mouth and buck into your mouth, finally cumming all over your face and into your gasping mouth, you quickly swallowed it as he stood up, pulling his underwear and pants up as he started walking on the room, stopping Infront of the small CCTV camera, tapping on the lens

"I'll definitely gonna watch this act again... see your soon, whore"

a/n: kicking my feet, I hope this was good

© yuyubeans 2024

[g1rlintun3]

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

ׂ╰┈➤ 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘉𝘺 𝘠𝘰𝘶. ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*:──꩜ Kang SaeByeok

Ｄｄａｋｊｉ

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

English/korean

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2375 words

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I was soon pulled out of my dreams by the loud obnoxious noise of my phone's alarm.

"Shut the hell up," I groaned into my pillow, slamming my arm onto my nightstand. I fumbled around, feeling for the familiar shape. I grabbed the phone and pressed a bunch of buttons in a desperate attempt to silence the terrible noise, my face still squished into my pillow.

With a heavy sigh, I pulled the blankets off my bare legs, the cold morning air hitting my skin and giving me goosebumps. Reluctantly, I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled to my closet to change my shorts into sweats. I was mid-change when a loud banging began on my front door.

I immediately froze, side-eyeing my bedroom door. Should I go check, or just ignore it? Choosing the first option, I tiptoed to the front door of my apartment and peeked through the peephole. Two men in suits holding a piece of paper stood there, looking official and impatient.

Fuck. My bills.

They're here because my poor ass never pays my bills on time. I always lied and said I'd pay it next week, and now I guess the lies have caught up to me. Great.

"Yeahhh, no, I'm good," I muttered, giving my door a sassy smile as if they could see me. I returned to my room, hastily changing into grey sweats and a cropped white tank top that ended right at my belly button, paired with a baggy black sweater. At this point, the men were still knocking and had begun to yell for me.

"Sato Hanaka!" one of them called out, his voice stern.

"We know you're in there. Come out here now; we need to speak to you," he continued, clearly getting more irritated.

Him saying that just makes me not want to speak to them even more. I quickly threw on my shoes, grabbed a banana from the kitchen, and peeked through the peephole again. They were still there.

"Shit," I mumbled. I had to get to work, and they were in my way.

I hurried back to my bedroom and grabbed 14,000 won, which is about $10—just in case of an emergency. I threw everything I needed into my purse: makeup, phone, AirPods, money, coins, and a pocket knife;for safety, of course.

Slipping open my bedroom window, I crawled through to avoid facing the men at my front door. Thank god I live on the first floor. Pulling my jacket over my shoulder since it had fallen down, I bolted from the apartment building, hoping to avoid getting caught by the suits.

As I rounded the corner, I heard the men knocking louder and calling my name again. I chuckled to myself, imagining their faces when they realized I had Houdini-ed my way out.

With the adrenaline still pumping, I made my way to the train station. I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Here I was, dodging bill collectors like some kind of action movie star, all before 10am.

While waiting for the train, I bit into my banana, and put in my AirPods, already planning how to navigate my day. I'd hit the coffee shop first (hopefully without spilling it this time), then head to work and try to lay low until the coast was clear.

As I boarded the train, I noticed a couple of people staring. "What? Never seen someone have a rough morning before?" I sassed under my breath, rolling my eyes. They quickly looked away, clearly not wanting to mess with someone who looked like they'd been through a war zone.

Sitting down, I cranked up the volume on my music, letting the beats drown out the chaos of the morning. Today was going to be interesting, to say the least. But hey, I'd survived worse. At least I still had my sense of humor, even if my luck was nowhere to be found.

I soon then arrived at work, slipping in through the back entrance to avoid any more unwanted encounters. My coworkers gave me a few curious glances, but I just flashed them a smile and made a beeline for the bathroom to sit on my phone for a couple minutes. Time to buckle down and get through the day. One disaster at a time.

_______________

After hours of serving ice cream to a never-ending stream of customers, it was finally the end of my shift. The second the clock hit 2:30 PM, I made a beeline for the backrooms to change out of my sticky, ice cream-splattered work clothes and into something that made me feel like a human again.

Once I changed, I checked my phone and saw 50 freaking missed calls from an unknown number.

"What the hell?" I whispered, squinting at the screen in confusion.

"Whatcha doin'?" Lia, one of my coworkers, asked as she walked in. She was one of the first friends I made when I came to Korea. It was nice having another friend who wasn't initially from here.

"Nothing," I sighed, putting my phone down on my lap, not bothering to turn it off. Lia gave me a strange look and glanced at my phone.

"Woah, what the hell?" she gasped, sitting down on the bench next to me.

"Yeah, it's probably bank shit," I shrugged, feeling a pang of anxiety.

"Girl, if you ever need money, seriously just ask me," she said, giving me a comforting rub on my arm.

"It's okay, really," I smiled at her, appreciating the gesture.

"Plus, I'm making some money. Best believe I'm going to be rich," I said as I got up and grabbed my bag.

"Remember, at 8pm we have the movie, okay?" Lia said with a stern look, knowing I tended to forget things.

"I know, I know. I have it written in my notes app," I said, gesturing towards my phone.

"Alright, well, I'll see you in a bit," she said, patting my head before we parted ways.

With a bit of money in my pocket, I decided to stop by a coffee shop on my way home. The door's bell greeted me with a loud 'ding'.

"Hmm," I pondered as I looked at the menu. "Can I get a, uh, chocolate mint latte, please?" I asked, locking my fingers and giving the worker a polite smile.

"Coming right up," the worker said, starting to make my drink.

As they finished my order and handed it to me, I thanked them, paid, and headed towards the bus station. But just as I took my first sip, I tripped over an uneven sidewalk. Thankfully, I managed to save my drink, but my pride took a hit.

As I made it into the train station, I got a call from the unknown number. Feeling brave, I answered.

"Who is this?" I said, not even attempting to speak Korean as my anger began to rise.

"Sato Hanaka," a man said.

"Yeah, the fuck you want? Calling me 50-something times, pft, are you crazy?" I yelled at my phone, not caring if anybody thought I was insane.

"You owe 139,820,000 won."

I gasped, my hand slapped against my mouth.

"Wha-... what?" I whispered into my phone.

"You have a limited time to make this money up. If you continue to refuse to pay this debt, you will be prosecuted," the man said sternly.

"If I continue to refuse?!" I yelled.

"What the he—" I said but was abruptly cut off by the man hanging up on me.

I threw my phone across the bench I was sitting on and buried my head in my hands, beginning to cry. Once again, I ignored the many dirty looks others were giving me.

I then felt a presence sit beside me. Who would sit beside a crazy crying woman?

I squinted through the cracks of my fingers and saw a man in a suit. He looked like a banker. Shit.

"Hello, ma'am," the man greeted me.

I raised my head from my hands and gave him a dirty look.

"Can I talk to you?" he questioned.

"No you may not," I snapped and looked the other way.

"Listen, I want to let you in on a great opportunity to—"

"Piss off!" I cut him off, waving him away with my hand.

"Would you like to play a game with me?" he said seriously.

I laughed in his face. "Either you're a rapist or a crack addict," I scoffed. "Go away."

"Ddakji," he said simply.

"What?" I said, giving him a stupid look.

"You know that game, right?" he questioned.

I sighed. "Yep," I said, fidgeting with my hands. I was starting to get nervous. What did a grown man want from me?

"Play a few rounds of Ddakji with me. And each time you win, I'll pay you 100,000 won."

My back straightened, and my head snapped towards him.

"So if I win... I get..." I questioned him, looking straight into his eyes.

"100,000 won," he continued my sentence for me.

"Well..." I bit my lip, thinking. "Uhh, then sure," I said, acting nonchalant and sniffled, wiping away any leftover tears.

"I look like shit, right?" I whispered to him.

"No, you look beautiful, ma'am," he said with a smile.

Yeah, my little test just proved he's a complete liar.

"Well, let's begin the game then," I said, facing him and shrugging.

"You can also be the first to play."

I gave him a suspicious look. "Alright, where's the twist?"

"Well, if you lose, you pay me 100,000 won."

I scoffed and grabbed my bag, ready to leave. "Just look at me. You think I got that type of money lying around and shit?" I laughed.

As I walked away from him, I couldn't help but realize the full potential amount of money I could win. Plus, how hard could Ddakji really be?

I groaned and threw my head back. "Fine!" I yelled, throwing my hands up and walking back to him.

He smiled at me in response.

Creepy ass...

"I'll kill you and hide your body, and nobody will ever find out it was me if you scam my ass," I smiled at him innocently and batted my eyes while folding my hands in my lap.

"Right," he laughed.

I picked the color blue and began the game, and to my shitty luck, I lost.

My jaw dropped as he flipped over my paper. I avoided his eye contact and scratched my head, looking around.

"Well, uh... this is…awkward," I laughed.

The man extended his hand, almost asking for the nonexistent money. "Well, what's wrong?" the man asked, waiting for his money.

"How about you use your body to pay?" he offered.

"Woah, what the hell!" I yelled, raising my hands to touch the sides of my head in shock. "I knew you were a fucking weirdo. I'm not having sex with you for money!" I screamed, pointing my finger at him.

He then abruptly slapped the Mario coins out of me. I groaned, massaging the side of my face.

"Yah! You just hit a woman!" I yelled at him.

"I'll take 100 grand off per slap." He said normally as if he didn't just assault me.

Now, you probably think I'm so incredibly smart and stopped right then and there. Uhh, I didn't... sorry! I let this crazy ass man slap me multiple times, but guess what your girl got? 500,000 fucking won!

As he handed me the 500 grand, I began to jump up and down, screaming.

"WOOHOO!" I yelled out loud. As the train stopped, hundreds of people began to swarm the station, but I had no worries in the world.

"YESS!" I danced, waving my money in the air, even dancing in people's faces. People laughed at me, thinking I was some drug addict. Some gave me dirty looks, whispered, or even danced along with me.

"Bitch got some moneyyy," I sang out loud.

"There are other games like this where you can make even more," the man said to me as he watched me dance.

"Huh?" I questioned, still goggling at my new hard-earned money.

"Yeah, nah, I'm good with this," I laughed, waving my money around.

"Mrs Sato, earlier, you signed away your physical rights."

My eyes furrowed, my mouth agape.

"Your name is Sato Hanaka. 23 years old," he said while beginning to stand up.

I gasped. How does this bitch know my name and age?

"You moved here three years ago. You originally lived in Sacramento, California, but moved due to personal issues. Leaving your entire family behind, just for your selfishness of what?…Of money," he said, basically ridiculing me.

"But that's not it... is it?" he questioned, getting in my face.

I gave him a mean mug in response.

"You had... a few issues at your school, am I right?" He smiled. "Five different middle schools," he whistled. "And eight different high schools," he continued. "Rough time getting along with everybody, huh? I wonder what your record looked like," he laughed.

"Shut the hell up!" I yelled, beginning to get absolutely terrified of what this man was capable of.

"And... you owe 139,820,000 won," he smiled, finishing.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. Well, thanks, Captain Fucking Obvious.

I slowly stood up and got closer to his face. "The hell do you want?" I whispered.

He then pulled a tan card out of his shirt pocket.

"We don't have many spots left," he said ominously. "Just think about it." He then walked off into the train, which soon left.

I just stood there, like a complete idiot. I mean, an idiot with 500,000 won, right? Let's not forget the fact I basically just got free money.

Obviously, I'm scared shitless, but for now, I'm gonna go blow this money. Pft, you think I was gonna spend it on bills? Hell no. Good financial stability and choices, who's she?

But as I walked away, the weight of his words lingered. What had I just gotten myself into? The ominous feeling settled in my gut, and I couldn't shake the sense that this was only the beginning of something far more sinister.

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