#and i didn't even talk about this in the discord so like. yeah

[ayyy-pee]

Discord 18+ - Bluesky

Pairing: Ex-Outlaw Toji Fushiguro x Outlaw Reader

WC: 8.7k

Summary: Shit luck. That's the unfortunate reputation branded to ex-outlaw Toji Fushiguro. That is, until tonight, when a reunion with an "old friend" turns his luck on its head.

Story Warning: Bar Fight, Gambling, Cheating (at gambling lmao), Violence and Blood and Broken Bones, Implied Rough Sex, Rough Oral Sex (M. Receiving), Implied Ass play, Misogyny, Protective Toji, Marking, Profanity, Smut obviously, Outlaw pt.1 references, No Y/N usage here

Art by: shesdeny on X

A/N: I had Backroads by Tanner Adell on repeat the entire time I wrote this ON REPEAT. I didn't proofread i'm so tired yall

Word on the prairie is there’s been one hell of a train heist.

It’s the talk of the town right now, and Toji’s soaking up every word of it as he sits at the parlor poker table. 

One man places a card down on the table, taking a drag of his cigar. “I heard they cleaned the locomode right out. Not even a silver spoon left at the scene.”

‘Thorough,’ Toji thinks. 

Another slides his chips into the center, where the dealer takes them. “Yup, heard that, too. An’ I heard it was a broad that did it.”

This piques Toji’s interest. He slides more chips forward, taps the table to check, letting them know he’s not adding any more money to this pot. Not that he has anymore to offer. He’s really hoping the shit luck he’s been having lately turns tonight.

“A broad?” The cigar smoker asks, thick smoke falling from his lips. “Can’t imagine a woman bein’ able to pull that off.”

At this, Toji snorts under his breath. These men don’t know what a determined and smart woman is capable of. But he does.

Another man laughs hard, tapping his fists on the table. “Thought so, too, but they caught a outlaw at the scene, too.” He tries to catch his breath, chuckling when he describes the scene. Apparently, the poor sucker was picked up from the train car with his hair knotted around the seat bar and his dick out for everyone to see. This makes Toji shake his head, amused, because he has a strong feeling he knows exactly who could have pulled something like that off.

A clean sweep? Leaving the other party humiliated just because they can? Toji’s fairly certain about who the culprit is for this one.

“But they say the outlaw escaped on the way to hoosegow,” notes the man. “Ain’t been able to find him. Probably gonna kill the broad when he finds her.”

Toji shakes his head, the slightest smirk sitting on his lips. That tracks. Leaving the scene with enemies left behind in embarrassing situations? Yeah, he knows exactly who pulled this heist off.

The men go on and on about the heist and the rumors circulating around the town. To everyone else, it all seems impractical. How could some woman possibly have the wits and the courage to be able to face off with one notorious outlaw and come out on top both literally and figuratively? 

Toji only knows one woman capable of achieving such a feat — you.

You’re the one who got—

“You in or you out, Fushiguro?” The dealer calls impatiently. “Hurry up.”

Toji checks the spread across the table, what’s laid out to determine if he’s going to stay in the game or not. And as his eyes flit across the cards, he kisses his teeth.

He lost, as usual.

”I’m out,” he grunts, standing from his seat. “Gonna take a piss.”

-

The streets are alive with activity. Brothel girls stand on the porches of their building, batting their lashes and waving their handkerchiefs in an attempt to lure each and every man inside. They call out to Toji, blow him kisses and offer him the “night of his life” while waving their fingers flirtily in his direction. Toji ignores their advances, not in the mood after taking yet another hit to his already dwindling funds.

This streak of bad luck has been following him all his life. Small inconveniences, minor problems that have built up and taken a toll on him over time. It seemed as if being an outlaw was the only thing he was good at, though he wouldn’t call himself one now. He’s not sure why he ever thought hanging up his hat as an outlaw and taking up gambling would change his luck. He’s never won, not once. But he can’t seem to stop himself from putting it all on the line in hopes that he’ll hit big, just one time. So far, no luck.

Toji strolls into the back alley of the parlor, nose wrinkling at the rancid smell of sweat and piss that fills the area. He finds what he thinks might be a cleaner spot than the rest of the alley and pulls his pants to his knees, grabbing hold of himself just before he begins to relieve himself.

The sharp sounds emanating from the piano keys throughout the many saloons can be heard and Toji finds himself tilting his head back and staring up at the night sky, letting a little tune fall from his lips in a whistle. It’s when he’s shaking the remnants of his bathroom break off that he feels the cold press of metal against the back of his head, effectively cutting his whistling short.

Shit.

Just his luck. Of course he’d go out to relieve himself and end up with a damn gun to his skull.

“Ya know what they say ‘bout whistlin’ at night, don’t ya?” A familiar sweet voice sings behind him. “Brings bad luck.”

Toji chuckles, shaking his head - and the extra piss - off. “That’s a cowboy’s belief,” he remarks. He pulls his pants back up, securing them around his waist. “And I ain’t one.”

The stranger hums, the pressure of the gun easing just slightly, but it’s enough for Toji and he takes this moment to spin around swiftly. His large hand catches the weapon in his palm and he yanks forward, pulling its wielder with it. He holds the barrel of the gun against the center of his forehead, a sick grin sitting on his lips.

“Just kill me if you’re gonna do it. But just know…I ain’t got shit for ya to take.” In the dim lighting of the alleyway, Toji can just make out the way this person stares up at him through hooded eyes, teeth digging into their bottom lip as they have this short standoff with him. Then they sigh, unceremoniously lifting their skirt and holstering their weapon between their thighs. 

“I see shit ain’t changed since the last time I saw ya, Toji.”

Toji only shrugs, a lopsided grin on his face. “Creature of habit, I guess.”

And there’s that laugh he hasn’t heard in some time. One that he won’t admit he’s missed because it reminds him of a different time in his life. One that he also won’t admit that he’s missed.

Standing before him is the earlier topic of discussion amongst the men inside. You’ve got your hands on your hips, dressed in the pretty little get up you usually wear when you’re up to no good, and Toji knows you’re about to have one hell of a night. And he has a feeling that you’re going to be dragging him into whatever plot you’ve cooked up. 

He takes in your appearance, the fancy new gun you tucked away and a very nice hat that probably sells for a hefty price.

Toji motions to your new possessions. “Keepsakes from your last job? Heard it was a damn good ride.”

You lift a hand, running your fingers along the brim of your hat, giggling as you play dumb. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

He knows better than to pry, at least not in the open where just anybody can hear. So instead he tells you, “You look pretty tonight,” and basks in the smile you give him. Soft and genuine, but only for a second before you’ve shifted into the little facade you put on.

“D’ya wanna show me ���round here?” You ask sweetly, looping your arm through Toji’s and tugging him along. 

Toji slips his hands into his pockets. Truth be told, he hasn’t been in this town long, just arrived a couple days ago when he heard there was easy money to make at the parlors. But he hasn’t found that to be true. He was actually planning on heading out soon anyway. “Not much goin’ on in this town ‘round this time of night. Same ol’ gamblin’, drinkin’, fuckin’ and fightin’ that happens in all the others.”

“Hmm,” you nod, peering up at Toji with the false innocence he’s familiar with. “And what about you?” You’ve switched on your proper speech as well, Toji notes, but he doesn’t miss the suggestive tone behind your words when you ask, “Which one are you gettin’ into tonight?” 

He wants to tell you that he’ll be in whatever shitshow you start, just how he always is when you two run into each other in whatever middle of nowhere town you end up in. But instead he just smirks as he leans down to your ear where he whispers, “Let's see how the night goes.”

-

You’re careful to make sure there are no watchful eyes when you both emerge from the alley arm in arm. Toji leads you back towards the parlor, not missing the salacious looks you’re getting from the other men and cowboys while he holds onto you. And you, ever the actress, offer a demure smile and nod to each and every one of them that has them melting beneath your gaze.

And it’s a ridiculous thing, really, how Toji also finds himself melting for you. Although it’s for different reasons. You can offer all the innocent and pretty smiles you want. It may fool the average man, but it’s never fooled Toji. You two are cut from the same cloth, and that’s what brought you two together in the first place all those years ago.

You’re a beautiful woman, of course. A perfect face with a perfect body to match, filling that outfit of yours just the way Toji has always liked. But it’s your mind that draws Toji to you. Your ability to easily cook up a scheme that you rarely fail to pull off. The way you can slip on a manipulative mask like the one you’re wearing now and wrap anyone around your finger. How you can lure people into your traps and get anything you want. Any time he’s in your presence, Toji’s convinced that he’s sick in the head, because he can’t fucking get enough of watching you conspire against whatever poor person you’ve deemed your target.

It brings him back to his outlaw days, when he’d met you mid-scheme and almost threw a wrench in your plans. But somehow, it ended with you two teaming up to pull off one hell of a heist. And the aftermath? Well, let's just say you left Toji more than satisfied with the outcome.

When you two enter the parlor, it seems the gambling table has changed as well as the dealer, Toji notices. You both observe the dealer, placing three cards face down on the table. He shows one card - the 4 of diamonds - to the players around the table before setting it down and wildly shuffling them. When he’s finished and all three cards lie in a line on the table, one of the men selects a card, and they all erupt in a string of curses when it’s wrong.

Beside Toji, you scoff. “This’ll be a easy night, looks like.” You glance up at him, a teasing smirk on your lips. “Please don’t tell me ya lost all your money gamblin’ on goddamn Three-Card Monte,” you murmur just loud enough for Toji to hear. “All ya gotta do is find the damn card.”

“Can’t lose what I ain’t got,” Toji chuckles. “Come on.”

Of course you’d enjoy this game, he thinks. Three-Card Monte, or Find the Lady. It’s a card game in which the marks, or the players, are tricked into thinking they can find the “money card” among three face-down cards. It seems so simple, but if the dealer is anyone worth his salt, it’s easy to fuck the players over. Make them think they have a chance, so they just keep betting until they’ve got nothing left to lose. 

But of course, you’re a step ahead. This dealer thinks he’ll be playing you, when it’s really the other way around.

“Ya ready?” You question. “Let's make it quick.”

Sounds like Toji doesn’t have a choice. Looks like he’s pulling off a heist tonight. His ex-outlaw heart sings.

He approaches the table with you on his arm just as two men free up seats for you when they opt out of playing any further. You take a seat beside Toji, carefully adjusting your skirt, removing your hat and setting it in your lap. The dealer eyes you, he eyes your bosom unabashedly, grinning when you tilt your head and fix him with a curious look.

“Good evening, sir,” you speak softly and Toji watches you work your magic. “What are we playing tonight?”

The dealer chuckles, shuffling his cards in his hands. “We are playin’ Three-Card Monte, pretty darlin’.” He leans forward, the thick and nasty stench of his cigar breath making Toji’s nostrils burn. “I’d explain how to play it to ya, but I don’t know if you’ll be able to keep up with the rules. This fine gentleman here, however,” he turns his attention to Toji. “Would you like to buy in, sir?”

Toji’s gaze cuts to you. If the dealer’s statements bother you, it doesn’t show. Your smile doesn’t falter in the least. “You’re so considerate.” Your voice is soft and sweet, but Toji hears the bitterness behind your words. “I’m so fortunate my darlin’ husband here…” you reach over and caress Toji’s arm, nails dragging along his skin in a way you know will leave goosebumps in their wake. “...He took pity on poor lil’ me and taught me to play. Right, dear?”

You beam up at Toji, all soft and loving, and he wants to laugh to cover up the way his heart races – one, because you’ve referred to him as your husband which he’s embarrassed to admit doesn’t sound too bad. Two, because you involving him in your little game tonight excites him in more ways than one. He hasn’t felt the thrill of pulling off a heist in some time, his luck almost never panning out the way he wants. But now that he’s run into you, he’s sure it’s going to take a turn for him.

“Yep,” he affirms. “And I’ll teach ya whatever else your lil’ heart wants, angel.” Toji grins, enjoying the way your brows rise just barely at the pet name, some emotion he can’t place behind your eyes. He can’t dwell too long because he’s eyeing the dealer, whose gaze is glued to your breasts again. Toji roughly clears his throat, grabbing the man’s attention. “She’ll buy in.”

“If ya say so.” Of course the dealer isn’t going to argue. You’re what he thinks is the easiest mark of his night.

The first game goes exactly how Toji imagined you’d have it play out. The dealer tells you he’ll be generous and do a practice round for you so that you can “wrap your pretty head around the rules”, and you agree. You of course don’t find the card, or so the dealer is made to believe. But you enthusiastically agree to an actual game.

The first real game, you bet low, telling the dealer that you’re just too nervous to bet too much money, and you’re not sure if your dear husband would approve.

“Put down as much as ya like, angel,” Toji pushes eagerly, earning him a quick scowl from you, covered by a sweet giggle.

“Do you want me to lose all of our money, dear?” You ask, the real question hardly concealed beneath your words.

It’s not your money to bet, so shut the fuck up.

Your foot connects with Toji’s leg beneath the table, just to drive the message home. Toji grunts, covering the pain with a clearing of his throat.

The dealer places the cards face down on the table, then picks the one on your left up. He shows it to you – the Queen of Hearts. 

Fitting, Toji thinks, what with the way the dealer winks at you before he shuffles the cards around quickly then settles them into position. A cocky smile spreads across the dealer's face. He knows where the card is. And knowing you, you probably do, too.

So Toji sits back and lets you play cards while playing dumb in the dealer's face. 

You lose this round, and he can tell it’s on purpose this time, pouting cutely and making the dealer blush a deep red as he shakes his head. “Chin up, darlin’. Why don’t ya place another bet. See if your luck changes.”

“I think I will,” you declare, nodding. 

You place the same small bet and let the dealer do his job. When the cards are settled, you tap your index finger on your chin, pretending to think really hard about it. Then, in feigned hesitation, you select a card. Toji watches proudly, relishing the way the dealer’s eyes widen when he lifts the card and turns it in your direction.

“Oh! I won!” You grab hold of Toji’s arm, your mouth slightly agape as you motion for him to look.

“Look at you,” he purrs, taking hold of your hand. He lifts it to his lips, turning it slightly to press a kiss to your wrist, right where your pulse lies, grinning when you inhale sharply. “Knew ya could do it, angel.”

Your teeth press into your lip, a shy look on your face now. Only for a moment, then you’re shaking it off as you turn back to the dealer. “I’d like to bet more, please.”

He deals you in again, a slight look of displeasure on his face when you somehow end up winning once more. And then you win again, and again. The dealer’s fingers drum rhythmically against the table in annoyance, eyeing you suspiciously.

Now, Toji gambles, but he doesn’t gamble the way you do. His days as an outlaw involved doing anything that involved brute force. He was good at that. Need someone manhandled? You pay the right price and he’ll take the job. Got a bounty out on someone’s head? Dangle a bag of money in Toji’s face and he’ll do it. But when he left his outlaw days behind, and fell into a habit of placing bets he couldn’t make good on, he quickly figured out that all the sneaky counting cards and sleight of hand shit was beyond him. He did, however, pick up on a few things.

Like now, when he notices two random men have joined either side of you and Toji to play the game. They’re obviously shills, there to try and assist the dealer in trying to cheat you out of your winnings. The shill beside Toji places his bet, the dealer shuffling the cards quickly to confuse him. He loses, pretending to be upset when the dealer moves onto you.

You place your bet - a large sum, larger than any you’ve put in tonight and Toji’s brows rise.

“You sure about that, sweetheart?”

It’s your money, sure, but you must feel pretty confident in your ability to win if you’re willing to put so much on the line. 

You nod, lips curling in a smile while you watch the dealer shuffle. “Yes, dear. I think this will be my best round yet. I just know I’ll have fun with this one!”

There’s something about that sentence that puts Toji on edge. Especially when the other man on your side leans over, engaging you in conversation while the dealer shows you the target card – the King of Diamonds. It’s a ploy to distract you, even Toji knows that. They want you to take your gaze off of the cards so that you can’t keep track of where the target is. But you stay focused even as you entertain the man, nodding along to the conversation as you pay attention to the way the cards are moved around.

It feels like forever before the dealer stops and sets the cards down. He waves his hand over them, waiting for you to pick.

You think hard, seriously this time. Toji watches the way the dealer eyes you, sweat beading along his forehead. Likely from nerves, because you’ve been sweeping the floor with him for the last few rounds and he’s sure he doesn’t want to lose more money. If you lost this large bet, you could walk away clean and go on with your night. Toji doubts it’d put a dent in your pocket. With all the heists you’ve pulled off, especially your most recent, he’s pretty sure you’re set for quite a while.

But your eyes meet the dealers, your hand floating back and forth above the cards before coming down to point to a card and the dealer makes a noise that sounds something like a mixture of a scoff and chuckle. There’s certainty in his expression as his fingers flip the card over, shaking his head.

“Sorry, Miss. Looks like you’ll have to –” he swallows his words when he sees the King of Diamonds sitting beneath his fingertips. “H-how?!”

You bat your lashes innocently. “How what, sir?”

The dealer's hand slams down hard on the table, shaking the winning bets and silencing the parlor. The pianist freezes on the keys, the bartenders stop making their drinks, the guests stop speaking, all heads turning to the table where you and Toji sit. The shills now stand, and Toji’s eyes track their movements. One directly behind you, the other to the side of him.

The dealer grits his teeth, face red with rage as he now screams. “You’re cheatin’!”

You gasp, hand coming to your chest to clutch your imaginary pearls. “I beg your pardon, sir!”

“Oh, shut your fuckin’ mouth! I know you’re cheatin’!” 

“I-I’m just playin’ the game, sir.” You turn to Toji, mock concern on your face. “Right, dear? Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

And Toji nods, keeping the ruse going. “Of course, angel.” He sees the anger continue to rise for the dealer the more this drags on, his hands flexing into fists repeatedly. Does he plan to try and hit you? He hopes not, for his own sake. “That’s a serious accusation,” Toji tells the dealer. “You’d better have good proof of my wife cheatin’. You know cheatin’ at cards means hangin’ in the town square.”

“Ya want proof? Look!” The dealer flips all three cards laid out on the table, and there lies the evidence with only one Three of Clovers lying there, and two Kings of Diamonds in the spread. “See?! I knew somethin’ wasn’t right with this broad! Ain’t nobody ever won Three-Card Monte this many times when I’m dealin’ the cards! You’re slippin’ cards onto the table!”

So he’s a cheat, too. Toji should’ve called that. There’s hardly a noble and honest person working in these establishments. Even still, it boils his blood for some reason. 

It may be the fact that Toji has lost most of his savings in this very building tonight, or it may be the way this slimeball has been eyeing you up and down all night trying to see how many times, how many ways and probably in how many positions he could take advantage of you, or the fact that he’s now speaking to you like tar stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Regardless, he’s getting pissed.

Toji’s gaze catches yours briefly, and you purse your lips together. He can see the wheels turning, trying to think of an excuse as to how this could happen. Everyone in the building is holding their breath, and more staff have gathered around to see what the commotion is. Toji counts about three more men around you that he believes may be with the dealer. Jaw tight, he waits for your next move.

You giggle, shaking your head as you sit your hat back atop your head, and Toji watches your mask slip off in real time. “Can’t believe this shit,” you sigh. “This damn shill,” you gesture to the man standing behind you. “He’s good.” The dealer sees your change, too, finger jutting out to point straight at you.

“I-I know you! You’re that outlaw bitch! The one that’s wanted all over for cheatin’ at cards, murder, breakin’ out of jail, and–”

“Aww, the train robbery ain’t at the top of the list yet?” You interrupt, leaning back in your seat with a pout. “Feel like that’s my best work.” You grab hold of the dealer’s finger - swift and easy, bending it back roughly, the man screaming out in pain and doubling over onto the table. “Ya got me,” you whisper teasingly in his ear. “Gimme my earnin’s and I’ll just be on my merry way. No need to cause a ruckus.”

“You fuckin’ whore, I’ll-” The man winces, crying out when you bend his finger further. 

“I’d think real careful ‘bout your next words if you don’t wanna lose a finger.”

“Okay! O-okay!” The dealer concedes. “Just take it ‘nd get the fuck out of here!”

Toji can’t help but watch in awe…and arousal…witnessing you in your natural element again. You’re wild, impulsive, insane. So much so, you’ve got everyone else in this parlor frozen in shock as you pocket your winnings. They can’t seem to wrap their heads around a woman being so outwardly bold to commit a crime out in the open, and proudly, the way you are. It’s admirable; it reminds Toji of when he was at his best as an outlaw, maybe better. 

You glance at Toji, tilting your head towards the money and he snaps out of his reverie and begins to move, pocketing what he can, too.

“Keep whatever ya grab,” you offer, and Toji grins. His adrenaline is pumping, heart pounding behind his ribcage as he grabs all he’s able to. This is a feeling he hasn’t experienced in so long. The feeling of winning. He doesn’t ever want to come down from this high.

When your pockets are full, tied tightly and secured, you finally release the dealer who whimpers as he holds his finger to his chest. He looks about ready to rip your head off, but his eyes dart to Toji who looms over him, daring him to say something and the dealer thinks better of it.

Now all that’s left to do is leave this place quickly and quietly. Maybe grab something to eat and find some place to sleep.

You tip your hat, and just as you turn to leave, the dealer reaches over the table and grabs hold of your dress sleeve. He yanks you forward harshly, dragging you across the table.

“I’ll kill ya, bitch!” He raises his fist and you laugh, covering your face with your arms, anticipating the hit.

You wait for him to make contact, but the hit never comes. You only hear the sickening crack of bone meeting bone, and then you’re falling hard onto the floorboards a second later. Women gasp and race out of the establishment along with some men, but the remaining people step back to take in the scene. Peeking through your arms, you see Toji’s large body standing over the unconscious and bleeding dealer. 

You scramble to your feet and dart over to Toji. His eyes are hard, jaw clenched as he stares down at the man. “Toji,” you whisper, shocked yourself at what he’s done.

“He should watch his fuckin’ mouth when he speaks to ya,” he grunts, and you can’t help but erupt into laughter. And you laugh hard, until you’re doubled over and holding your stomach.

You lean against Toji’s arm, grinning as you nudge him. “You soft for me or somethin’?”

The question doesn’t even register to Toji, because in that moment, one of the shills finally finds his courage again, rushing towards you and Toji with a beer bottle in hand. “You son of a bitch!” He shouts, charging at Toji, but you’re quick to grab hold of a chair, using all your strength and swinging the piece of furniture at the man. You miss, but it buys Toji enough time to grab a chair of his own and launch it across the parlor, slamming into the back of another man at the bar.

He spins around, face contorted in rage, barking out, “who the fuck threw that?!”

You point to the shill, who points to Toji, who points to himself.

The stranger looks confused, but still furious. And he rushes towards you all, elbowing his way through the crowd as he barrels forward. He shoves several men around, all of whom are too drunk off their asses to realize what’s going on. They only know it’s getting rough here and they need to defend themselves. It only takes one drunk bastard to throw the first punch, and then it’s all out chaos. Arms are being thrown, furniture is flying, the floors are slippery with the mixture of alcohol and blood. 

Toji ducks, avoiding a stray punch aimed at him, only to receive a shove in the back. He spins around, catching a man by his collar and easily tossing him aside and knocking the lights out of another man who lunges at him. It’s complete insanity here, so loud and chaotic and in the midst of it all…he finds himself having a good fucking time. This is fun for him. His fist meets the stomach of one man and his heart soars. A knee to the face of another man and his lips spread in a wide grin. His palm comes down to slam someone’s head against the table, rendering them unconscious and Toji chuckles.

Even with the cacophony of punching and screaming and cursing, Toji can hear your wild laughter floating throughout the space.

You’re going toe to toe with grown men, using whatever weapon you can get your hands on and it’s not even about defending yourself anymore. You’re simply enjoying the frenzy. You don’t care if the sheriffs show up, if they put cuffs on you and throw you in the slammer. You’re used to that. You don’t care if your involvement here means a death sentence. Why would you when you’ve been sentenced to death in multiple towns across the prairie and have managed to escape every attempt to put you down?

Toji admires that about you, admires that you don’t give two shits. You’re only interested in doing what you love and if lying and cheating and violence is what you love, then hell, he loves it, too. So Toji lets himself have fun with you.

He throws another punch, relishing the disgusting sound of a nose bone being crushed beneath his fist.

He erupts with laughter when he wraps one of his large arms around a man’s neck and he squeezes until Toji feels him fall limp to the floor.

He lifts a leg, smirking when his foot connects dead center in the chest of a man wielding a blade and sends him flying across the room.

Then in the chaos, his back connects with yours and you both swing around, ready to take out the next person. But it’s just you. You, and your jagged whiskey bottle that you’ve busted over someone’s head and hold out defensively in front of you. The poor victim of the impact lays unconscious at your feet. 

Toji takes these few seconds to drink you in, the way the shy and innocent mask you had on upon entry to the parlor is long gone, leaving behind the wild outlaw he’s come to know over the years. He takes in the way your chest heaves, breasts barely contained within the confines of your corset. How you’re covered in blood and grime that he’s certain isn’t yours.

The violence and commotion behind you makes for quite the backdrop to this image he’s committing to his memory. He’s never seen a woman so beautiful.

Your lips part just slightly and Toji’s eyes dart down to the movement. You drop the liquor bottle, not caring that it knocks against the unconscious man on the floor’s head and shatters next to him. Your feet move, carrying you over to Toji until he’s just within arms reach. You’re giving him that same look you had in the alley just earlier, chewing your lip and looking like you want to eat him alive.

And he’ll let you.

Because the feeling is definitely mutual, evidence of his desire only growing in his pants. He shouldn’t be surprised that this is where the night is heading, as it’s led to this many times. But something about tonight has Toji particularly excited. So, he reaches a hand forward, hooking his fingers in the front of your corset and yanks you forward. You throw your arms around his neck, and your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, full of tongue and teeth and groans. His hands palm your ass, lifting you easily and you wrap your legs around his waist. Toji presses your core against him, at the same time he feels your holstered gun press into his side and it only makes him harder. He moves your body, dragging your center along his hardening length.

“Where’re ya stayin’?” You gasp into the kiss, and Toji steps to the side just in time for a bottle to whizz past your heads.

“Brothel up the street,” Toji groans when you dip your head low to drag your lips along his neck. You break away to stare down at him, only smirking in response.

Yes, this night is headed exactly where he thought it would.

-

Your back hits the wall hard, knocking the wind out of you and sending a painting that hangs on the wall to its demise as it falls to the floor and shatters to pieces. You barely have time to catch your breath after Toji has broken away from your nipples, courtesy of him freeing them from your corset halfway up the stairs to his room.

“Fuck, ya always feel so good,” Toji lets out of a garbled moan, his lips finding your neck as you grip his hair.

“Thinkin’ about me a lot, huh? So, ya are soft for me?” You ask, a giggle falling from your lips, only to be cut off when Toji presses his thick length to your core. “Ah– fuck, Toji,” you cry out. You moan when he sucks hard. 

He’ll surely leave a mark, and some part of Toji finds that he likes the idea of you strolling around with the brand he’d left on you on display for all to see. He wants men to see you, see you’ve been marked up by someone else and wonder who you go home to at night. Even if it’s not Toji, at least it was him who made it crystal clear that you laid with someone who wasn’t them the night before.

He loves the idea that he gets to have you, because you choose to let him have you. It’s not a part of some scheme you’ve come up with, you don’t have some ulterior motive. You don’t want anything but to get your fill for the night, and you want to get your fill from him. You want him to have you, and the thought has him grinding his clothed erection against you in a desperate attempt to gain some friction between the two of you.

You tug at Toji’s strands, moaning at the way he ruts against you, how his tongue slides smoothly across your pulse. “Shitttt, don’t hold back,” you gasp, and Toji can’t help but chuckle.

“When have I ever, angel?”

The pet name has you looking at Toji the way you had earlier. A flash of something unfamiliar behind your gaze, gone as quickly as it appeared and your hands crash down on Toji’s chest, shoving him back. He sets you down and you shake your head, wasting no time in falling to your knees without him having to say so. He watches you lift your skirt, unholstering your gun and carelessly tossing it aside. Then you undo his pants, pull the fabric down until his clothing sits in a pool at his ankles.

Your hands wrap around his cock, thick and veiny and pump him slowly. Toji grunts, placing his palms against the wall as he enjoys the view of you kissing the underside of his dick.

“Like that, angel,” he sighs when you run your tongue over the fat vein that runs all the way from his balls to his tip. “Fuuuck…”

Your tongue reaches his head, where a bead of precum sits and you lap it up greedily, grinning when Toji’s legs tremble just slightly. “Like this?” You ask, swirling your tongue around him slowly just before you take his entire length to the base.

Toji hisses, hips bucking forward on instinct. He grits his teeth, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you swallow around him. Your throat squeezes him deliciously and he can’t stop the pathetic groans falling from his lips. You bob around him, hollowing your cheeks as you suck and take all of him with every bob of your head.

When Toji’s cock nudges your throat and you gag around him, Toji hisses. “Yes, yes, stay there,” he grits out. You hum around him, eyes alight with mischief and Toji’s back stiffens. The vibration shoots straight through to his cock and Toji leans his forehead against the wall to keep from losing his balance at the sensation. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.” 

Toji’s mouth parts slightly, a rough groan leaving his lips. You’re toying with him, the way you toy with everyone. You love this shit, love having whoever you set your sights on going crazy over you. You’ve got those cute lips of yours wrapped perfectly around his cock, working him closer to his release and you’re enjoying every second of bringing him to the edge. It doesn’t help when you hold eye contact with Toji while you take him in your mouth, all the way down until your nose is buried in his soft pubic hair while you lift your skirt and slip your hands into your undergarments.

Your brows knit together, moans muffled by Toji’s dick in your throat while you touch yourself. The image is so arousing, your lips stretched around him while your mouth is full. He can’t help but buck forward – once, twice, and then he’s fucking your mouth all on his own.

“Yessss, play with that pretty pussy for me,” Toji groans. He’s fucking your face at a frantic pace, and you’re taking every stroke he gives. “Ah, fuuuuck –” Toji pants, a hand coming down to hold the back of your head. He pushes your head down, forcing your throat open to take his entire swollen length down your throat, occasionally holding you there for a moment, loving the sound of you choking on his dick and your saliva more than any sound he’s ever heard you make. The mixture of your fluids drips messily down your chin, and still, Toji keeps fucking your face until you’re gagging and squeezing around him.

He pulls out, holding the base of his cock tightly. Because he’s watching you - mouth agape as you gasp for you, chin glistening and lips swollen with her hand in your pants. The sight is so sexy, so arousing, he thinks he could paint your face right this second.

You inhale sharply, swallowing as much air as you can. Your fingers tease at your clit, dipping inside your walls just briefly before your breath hitches and you whimper a pathetic challenge. “Don’t tell me you’re done already.”

And Toji grins, easily shoving himself back into your mouth. He’s even rougher with you if possible, and you seem to love it that way, keening around him as your fingers rub tight circles on your clit. He pulls away from you once, brows pulled together as he tries to catch his breath while he makes you take him down to the hilt over and over again. “Fuckin’ hell, angel. Takin’ my dick so good for me. Your throat feels so fuckin’ good. Don’t move–”

Toji scrambles forward, grunting and pressing his length all the way down your throat, so far, so desperate to feel you squeeze around him again that he’s got your head up against the wall. There’s nowhere for you to go as his hips buck forward. 

“Fuckin’ take it, swallow my cock, fuck–” 

Your hand finds his thigh, squeezing tight while the other works you closer and closer to your release. It feels way too good, better than any woman, any mouth Toji’s ever been in. His balls are tight, slapping loud and wet against your chin as he slams into your face.

He hears you, hears your moans as the rise in pitch, getting higher and higher with every thrust of his hips, every press of your fingers against yourself.

“Gonna cum, angel?”

You whimper in response, unable to nod or speak, while Toji’s got his dick stuffed into your throat.

“Cum for me, then. Make a mess on your fingers while I fuck your mouth,” he grunts, hips snapping forward.

Your eyes roll back, nostrils flaring as you dip your fingers into your core and feel your walls fluttering around them. Your release washes over you with such intensity, your legs begin to shake, tears begin forming at the corners of your eyes, drool falls in thick strings from your lips. And all the while, Toji is still fucking into your mouth. 

The sight is one he wants to burn into his memory. You - the woman who just a few hours ago knocked men on their asses, cheated and won and still somehow escaped without punishment - now getting off on getting him off. 

He’ll be sure to remember you on your knees for him, bringing yourself to ecstasy while your mouth is stuffed with his cock, tits bouncing with every thrust and –

Oh, he’s gonna cum.

Toji tells you as much, then moves to pull out, but you press your hands to the backs of his thighs and pull him back into your mouth, staring up at him as if begging for his cum.

And when you look at him like that, how could he ever say no?

He presses forward, mouth falling open with a loud and guttural moan as he finally reaches his peak. Toji’s body tenses, cock stiffening and thighs trembling as he twitches in your mouth. You hollow your cheeks, sucking him deeper if that’s even possible, and Toji’s moans only grow in volume. His cum shoots from his swollen tip, straight into your throat and you gag on the sheer amount of it.

“Fuckin’ swallow,” Toji growls, watching the way you struggle to handle all he’s giving you. “Don’t waste a fuckin’ drop. Swallow it for me, angel.”

And you do as you’re told, gulping down every thick rope of cum that paints your esophagus. When you finally release your hold on Toji, his cock softening between your lips, you gasp for air, coughing and sputtering while you wipe away the remnants of you and Toji’s deed.

“Almost killed me,” you jokingly complain, voice rough from the abuse your throat just took.

Toji chuckles, stepping back and taking your hands to help you stand. “Guess we’re even, then. I mean, ya almost got me killed tonight.”

You giggle and shake your head, pressing your palm to his chest, pushing Toji backwards until his knees hit the end of the bed and he falls back with a loud oof. You lift your skirt, climbing atop Toji and straddling his hips, and Toji would be lying if he said he wasn’t hard all over again.

“Hope ya ain’t got all that gettin’ even feelin’ out just yet, because I can think of plenty of times ya almost got me killed.” You lean forward, a hand on each side of Toji’s head and his hands find your breasts, still free from your corset. He cups both soft mounds, idly running his thumbs over your nipples and drinking in the expression you make when you moan without your mouth being stuffed full.

Toji grins, eyes honed in on the way your breasts feel in his hands. “Like the horse stealin’. That rancher almost blew your top off.”

Your lips spread with a smirk. “Well, if ya hadn’t been so fuckin’ loud when we were in the barn, he would’ve never woke up!”

Toji scoffs, “Well, ya snuck a finger in my ass! I ain’t ever had that happen! How the hell was I supposed to know it’d feel like that?!”

You both burst into a fit of laughter, reminiscing on all the crazy shit you two have gotten into over the years. You make Toji miss his outlaw days, almost make him want to go back to it. But that life’s not for him anymore. Though, it is fun to dabble in it from time to time, only with you.

Your lips find Toji’s, tender and sweet. Until - like all things you do - it’s not. It quickly turns heated, your hands dipping into Toji’s dark tresses while your lips lock in a searing kiss. You both make quick work of ridding each other of any clothing, hands roaming each other’s bodies once you’re bare.

It’s a fight for dominance in this bed. Who can kiss harder, who can leave more marks, who can pull the most moans from the other? The bed rocks with every movement, the headboard banging against the wall as Toji flips you over, pinning you to the bed with his body weight.

You hum, your hand ghosting across Toji’s muscular ass. “This looks familiar.” You take a finger along the seam of his behind and Toji inhales sharply. “Ah…by that ya meant…it felt good. Should I do it again?”

Toji’s head dips down, the tip of his nose touching yours as he breathes, “let's see where the night goes.” He slips inside of you, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths.

You move together, losing yourself in the passion of the night, disregarding the way the bed shakes.

And the way the photos and paintings fall from the walls.

And the way the headboard beats dents into the paint.

And the way the head mistress bangs on the door.

And - 

-

The morning sun blazes high in the sky, shining through the thin curtains of Toji’s room. He stretches his noticeably sore body, yawning as he lets himself slowly wake up. 

What a night - and morning. He knows he needs to hightail it out of town soon to keep from being identified as your accomplice at the parlor last night. He can’t sit around dawdling all day.

Toji sits up in his bed, already knowing it’s pointless to glance at the other side and wonder where you went. Of course, true to form, you’d made a smooth and quick exit. You’re probably long gone by now, wreaking havoc in another town. He tries not to take it personally that you likely didn’t even bother to say goodbye.

He slides off the bed, wincing when he feels a sharp sting of pain in his foot. He lifts his leg, pieces of wood falling to the floor where remnants of what appears to be a broken side table lie. His eyes scan the room, and the absolute mess all over. It looks like a damn tornado ripped through here.

Chairs thrown aside, a shattered mirror and pieces of glass all across the floor, broken art all over. He doesn’t remember you two being that rough with each other last night. 

His stomach grumbles angrily, not allowing him to dwell on the mess he’s already planning on leaving behind. He searches his room for his discarded clothes, slipping on the items before he finds his bag. He’ll make a quick exit and slip out, hop on his horse and get the hell out of this town.

Toji’s not sure what he was expecting when he went to find his belongings. Maybe that you’d have taken them with you, just because it would have made you laugh to know you had your way with him then took all he owns. He certainly wasn’t expecting to find the fancy cowboy hat you wore last night sitting beside his bag, or to find a pouch of silver in his bag with a note inside. Toji unrolls the piece of paper, green eyes skimming the words.

“for the luck you keep sayin’ you ain’t got. hope that changes”

He shakes his head, a goofy smile on his face as he counts the money left for him. And it’s enough for him to get by for a while, enough for him to enjoy a bit of gambling, too.

Toji will have to thank you the next time he sees you. If you survive that long. But he doesn’t doubt that you will.

He slings his bag over his shoulder, exiting his room. He’s sure to close the door, hiding the horrendous disorder he’s leaving behind. Toji’s feet carry him down the stairs to the main floor of the brothel where it’s already bustling inside, people sitting down to enjoy breakfast. He’d have a seat, too, but he can’t risk sticking around in case someone recognizes him from the parlor. Or sees that damn room. As hungry as he is, he needs to go.

Toji maneuvers around those who stand around the room, idly chatting with each other. He’s about halfway across the room when someone calls out to him - a man’s voice. He could keep walking, ignore the man, but that would only make him look suspicious. It’s important for him to not draw attention. So Toji stops, spinning on his heel and coming face to face with the man calling out to him.

“Pardon me, sir. I’ve asked everybody in here, but no one knows a thing,” he explains as he approaches. He stops in his tracks, gaze locked on the top of Toji’s head. “Nice hat…” The man points towards the new item Toji wears.

“Thanks.”

The man stares for a few more seconds before he inhales sharply and continues. “I got word of a bar fight here last night…started by a woman.” The man reaches into his pocket, pulling out a sheet of paper and unfolding it. He holds the paper out to Toji, who just glares at it. 

It’s you. Your face on a WANTED poster, beaming happily in your mugshot with the largest bounty he’s ever seen on your head.

Toji eyes the younger man - long, black hair, violet eyes and strangely stretched ears. He wonders why he’s asking about you. To collect the bounty? No, he doesn’t look the type.

“What about her?” Toji asks.

The man runs his fingers through his hair, sighing. “I’m lookin’ for her. Ran into her once and…” He sighs again, like it pains him to think about his run in with you. And Toji is sure it does. That’s typically how you leave men (and women) in your wake. Spiraling and chasing any trail you may leave behind. “I just need to find her.”

Toji adjusts the weight of his bag on his shoulder. “Ain’t seen her in my life,” he answers simply. He doesn’t wait for a response from the man. He turns, making his way out of the brothel before the stranger has a chance to follow.

The man stands there, unblinking as he watches Toji’s form retreat from the brothel. His violet eyes narrow, the rage he feels bubbling in his chest. He could act now, because he’s fairly certain that what he feels is correct. 

Whatever happened last night, it involved you.

Whoever that scar lipped man is, he knows you.

He has his hat, the one you stole from him the last time he’d seen you.

But acting on his hunch would only bring unwanted attention. So he takes a deep breath, exhaling any anger he feels. After all, he’s positive that he’s one step closer to finding you again.

[iholli]

bro Superman: Man of Tomorrow was pretty good but (spoilers)

can I get a "does the dog die" for J'onn because I was not ready for that scene and I was sitting on my front porch sobbing even though I KNEW he was going to come back bc it's a superhero movie and nobody actually fucking dies right

THAT STILL FUCKING HURT. DC WHY.

(at least he got to come back all cool and dramatic and then deliver his "so I could save your ass" line to try to be cool but just ended up being kinda awkward and adorable okay. 10/10 let Lobo teach him more swears)

[monstrsball]

listen to me. iwaoisugayaku polycule. oikawa and yaku are not dating but they're also not... not dating. it's complicated.

yaku thinks oikawa tooru is one of the most annoying men on earth (the competition is fierce) but puts up with him anyway because his boyfriends love him. they make out sometimes.

[vv-ispy]

(Old mond game talk) I think it would be really interesting if the game were to be designed in mind for the target audience knowing barely anything about old mondstadt beforehand. That being said, the idea of deca being a god shouldn’t immediately be introduced. The player starts off the game thinking the story is just about overthrowing a corrupt government leader, until some offhanded comment is made somewhere about his tyrannical rule lasting “thousands of years”, and the few physical descriptors/appearances of him prior to the final bossfight start off with him looking fairly human but as you get further along he looks less and less normal (glowing hair/eyes, appearance warping and shifting, etc etc)

Oooo that's an interesting idea. My initial concepting + rambling to my gf was rather joke-y actually — I described nb as someone who 'woke up and decided he was gonna kill a god' to avoid subjecting her to an hour of genshin lore before I can get on with describing the game idea :P

Which is to say, it didn't even occur to me the possibility of introducing Deca as anything other than a god? That's an interesting idea. On one hand, you play as nb and nb knows that Deca is a god. On the other hand, we don't necessarily need the audience to know everything nb knows. It may be fun to talk about Deca in such a way that any description of him could also apply to a corrupt government to further draw parallels between the two, and have the audience slowly come to the conclusion of 'oh this is a god'. On the third hand, I wonder if Deca being the God that oversees Mondstadt is such a big part of nb's life and motivation that it's one of the first things you learn about nb and his world, and having the audience figure it out ends up giving an impression of 'this god is no different from a corrupt government'. On the fourth hand, Deca is the government. And a corrupt one at that. And many imperial rules that lasted hundreds of years were legitimized with 'This Person Was Chosen By God'

I suppose it will also depend a bit on the themes the story ends up exploring, but tbh I haven't given that much thought yet, my current focus is the mechanics and the programming.

Saying that I do love the idea of a three phase Deca boss fight with him getting increasingly unhinged in appearence, as it hits you that while he may wear the skin of a human sometimes, he is a god. This is a god you're fighting. Good luck

[lycorisicecream]

A friend gifted me Nitro and now my Discord profile is perfect

[elytrafemme]

it’s so strange how many people think i am like an open book about my life? because i feel like that mostly comes from me telling people extremely mild (imo) information and them taking it as a large confession. and like yes i have vaguely alluded to some heavier stuff but it’s like. i don’t know i wish people didn’t go around thinking oh mare doesn’t shut up about her trauma when it’s like the vast majority of events in my life i have never been able to fully tell anyone who wasn’t my therapist and likely never will be able to do that again.

[thatnewweeb]

Collab | Kozume Kenma

Summary | Fans of you and Kenma wanted a collab, but didn't realise you've been together for a year

Content | Fluff, I guess kinda hidden relationship

Word Count | 0.5k

A/N | I like the idea of this, I might rewrite this to be longer at some point

Fans of both you and Kenma have been begging for a collab between you two for a long time. People had started to realise that you followed each other on Twitter and would regularly reply to each other.

When someone asked about the possibility of a collab between the two of you, you confirmed that you'd like to, and that you've known Kenma since high school.

Many collabs later, you're sat in your gaming chair playing League of Legends on stream with Kodzuken.

"Kodzu, you're pretty cute, you know," you say into your microphone, smiling. He immediately starts stumbling over his words, blushing slightly.

You giggle, glancing at his stream on your third monitor, watching him struggle with his words, face dusted with pink. Switching your attention to your chat, you smile at the chat messages flying in.

"Come on, don't do that to me," he mutters, getting his focus back on the game.

Smiling, you shake your head slightly, muting yourself briefly to talk to your chat, laughing at how many people are enthusiastically agreeing or questioning you. You don't respond to any of the questions, just smiling at them.

A while later, you glance at your chat and a certain question jumps out at you. "Hey, Kodzu."

He hums in response to you, taking a sip of either water or some other drink in a G-Fuel cup.

"Are we ever gonna meet up in person?" you ask, repeating the question asked to you in your chat.

He chokes a little on his drink but manages not to spit it everywhere, placing the cup back down. He stumbles over his words for a moment before his response comes. "I'd like to."

You giggle, looking at the chat messages coming in calling you guys cute, saying they ship you guys, or expressing jealousy of either one of you.

"Yeah? I'd like that a lot, Kodzuken," you whisper in a jokingly flirty voice. The look on his face makes you laugh.

Not long later, you both say goodbye to your chats and end your streams. You and Kenma stay on the Discord call once the streams are finished.

"So," you smirk, leaning forward with your head resting on your hand "When are we meeting in person?" you ask teasingly.

He rolls his eyes at you. "You're such an asshole sometimes," he says before ending the call.

With a smile, you lean back in your gaming chair. Only a moment later, the door swings open, your boyfriend walking in.

"You know what calling me cute and stuff on stream does to me," he complains, pouting slightly.

Laughing, you hold your arms out to him. "I know, I know, but I just can't resist! You're way too cute!"

He shakes his head but walks over to let you hug him anyway, even though he doesn't hug you back. "If you keep acting like that, they're gonna figure out we've been dating for ages," he says, hiding his soft smile in your hair.

[hoseoksluna]

LADY BEETLE | knj

pairing: non-idol!namjoon x oc

genre: situationship au ; sex playhouse ; glory hole  / smut, fluff

word count: 10.4k

summary: when you came to seoul's hidden sex playhouse to forget about namjoon, you didn't think the anonymous mr. kim would actually be namjoon.  

pin: lady beetle / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: sex club setting, oc struggles with her feelings towards namjoon, glory hole but with hoseoksluna twist, engaging in sexual practices with a person you don't know, commitment issues, heated conversations, dirty talk, patience game, counting down (for my neva play girlies), oral sex (f. & m. receiving), deepthroat, face fucking, nipple play, unprotected and rough sex, teacher namjoon, spanking, praise kink, size kink, choking on fingers, rough treatment in general, aftercare, oc and namjoonie smoke together.

note: i daresay this is my best work. :D fuck my life, guys. i need this namjoon like i need air to breathe. if i see any of you wearing panties... TAKE EM OFF NOW. sldjflskdjfsl jk, jk. THE SUPRISE IS REVEALED. GLORY FAWKING HOLE. my babies, enjoy this filth. stream neva play. imagine that deep voice of his.... yeah. yeah....... faaawwkwkjsdlfjsdlfjsdfjslfjsls. ENJOYYYYY. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. MY ASK BOX IS OPEENNNNNNN.

The building looked ordinary from the outside view. Like any other building in this part of the city. Long and tall, coalescing with the evening heavens and with its freckles of stars—very much like those upon your skin. McDonald’s was just down the road, a to-go coffee stand perfumed the whole street with its coffee beans, and a bookstore stood right next to this peculiar piece of urban architecture, unaware of all the sins that lurked behind its walls. 

It may pretend to be pure, with its grand hall, its sophisticated reception and even graceful employees—dressed in the finest of fabrics that glinted beneath the opulent chandelier—but it was just that. 

An act. 

They smiled at you, but in their heart they knew what you were here for. 

In this seemingly normal, ordinary building all your sexual fantasies flare out. In the simplest of words, you come here to get fucked out of the norm that is considered vanilla. You fill out an online application, set the date, the time—and depending on your desire, you even get to see who your dream fulfiller is. 

In your case, you were going into this blind. 

And so was he, your dream fulfiller. 

While you opted to stay anonymous, the only detail you knew about the man was that he was from the cursed Kim clan. Another male that bore the last name like the one who wrecked your nerves to the point that you had to bite the bullet and try this out as nothing else was working. It was a newfound obsession of your best friend, who gifted you a voucher to this place on your birthday. And you weren’t sure if Kim Namjoon had the sixth sense and somehow knew about this, although you’d believe he was very much capable of possessing one, just to piss you off even more. 

You have been crushing on this man since the day you met him at your mom’s small ramyeon restaurant you are working in for her. Since the moment, in fact, you glimpsed at his vintage black Cartier watch with a matching singular bracelet adorning his wrist that he kept calmly on the table while he was on a work call, growling and snapping into the phone. Your mom curled her lips, swatted her eyelashes as she grew hot in the cheeks, chopping green onions for him from her cooking station while you were watching over the noodles. It was her who noticed him at first—and it was her who told you to do your best and seduce him. 

And when you lifted your eyes, saw that thick mane of his cloudy hair, the cleft of his cheek as he gritted his jaw and then that picturesque hand of his, you sensed that unfamiliar, magnetic pull towards him that made you blush. And you never looked more like her than in that moment. 

For some reason you knew better than to not listen to her and do as she says. You felt it was the right decision, the right move and so you fixed your hair, swiped your flower clip through a half of it while your face-framing wisps fell naturally in front of your pink face. Your mom tossed you her lip gloss from the pocket of her apron and you brought him the ramyon she cooked for him. 

Smiled at him. Batted your eyelashes at him like your mother taught you throughout your girlhood and it worked. 

Namjoon told you were a breath of fresh air when you sashayed towards him after such an important, yet aggravating phone call, apologized for the inconvenience, bowed slightly. Balanced, most delightfully, respect and flirting. Leaned more towards the latter when he would steal glances at you and smile at you at every opportunity that your gaze would connect to his. 

Your heart hammered once he came to you to pay for his meal. Your mother stopped whatever it was that she was doing just to beam at him and he personally gave her a huge tip in cash—right into her right hand that he held. Turned to you and asked you if you’d like to have dinner with him sometime. 

And you agreed—without knowing he would get on your nerves in the long run. 

Namjoon was not a serious man, not as he appeared to be. Although he showed you the side of Seoul you would otherwise never have the option to see and feel with your entire being by taking you to luxurious dinners, cafés, art exhibitions and work events—the things he would say and the things he would do did not reflect those settings by any chance. 

He took you from rags to riches and you paid for it by being a victim of his odd form of cute aggression. 

The man would get you tangled up in your sentences because he simply enjoyed the view of you getting flustered. He found pleasure in revving you up enough for you to curse at him and growl at him, be it by bugging you with tickles, pokes or be it by making fun of you until you yourself laughed. 

There was nothing sexual about your relationship, if you could call it that. He didn’t hold your hand, he didn’t regard you hungrily as so many men do in his place, but he did look at you with the rawest form of purity. At your freckles—ones that made him give you the adorable nickname Lady Beetle—at your butterfly tattoo on your ankle that your dress would always expose from its natural criss-crossed position. The things he would say did not contain any hints of this leading into the bed. And he never kissed you, even though there were many occasions, where he looked like he was about to do it. 

He always held back. And while it, and everything else, made you pristinely fall for him, it also angered you so much that there was nothing else you wanted to do but to grab his head and kiss him madly. 

And the other day, you did. 

Leaned in after the heft of your shared tension grew too big for you to hide it in your hands—only for him to turn his head, slightly, and let you merely kiss his cheek. 

That was the final straw. And so you stopped agreeing to his “date” invitations until you stopped replying to his messages altogether. You thought he wasn’t going to have any part of you if he wasn’t willing to properly date you. 

And in your anger, you dwelled in the hole he left behind. The hole that was asking for his fatherly attention that caused you so much extraordinary joy. Your mother must’ve sensed it with her motherly instincts that he would occupy that place in your life, which your father didn’t. Your body missed laughing with him until your tummy hurt—and you missed him. And the more you did, the more your anger blazed. 

You couldn’t get rid of it. 

You tried exercising. You tried running around the block, only to never do it again because you couldn’t catch your breath and you thought you had almost died that day. You smoked a pack after pack, and that didn’t help either. 

Neither did abusing your cunt until you couldn’t go on anymore. Your anger burned down your bedroom and once you groaned and whined, punched the pillows and kicked your legs, your eyes fell upon the voucher you had pinned on your corkboard  

Your remedy was in front of you, and in the worst of your anger—you gave it a go. 

You filled out that application in the middle of the night, one that made you even hornier. And because you didn’t want to see any other man but Namjoon while you were getting your brain fucked out of your head, you chose the only option there was for that case. 

Glory hole. 

And the idea of it made your anger falter ever so slightly. You could imagine it was him pounding you through the barrier. The wall would only help your imagination.

Friday. Seven PM. You had to come two hours early because it was a necessity for you to shower at the place after you signed the contract. You also had to quickly think of a safe word, it was the only thing you foolishly forgot to fill out that day, as lost as you were within your flight of fancy. And because the employee standing in front of you made you anxious, you wrote down the first thing you thought of. 

Beetle. 

Your heart pounded, and when you let go of the pen, the gravity of the moment hit you. You truly were about to swim in a pool of sin only because the man you desperately wanted didn’t want you back. At least not in the way you wanted him to. 

The employee led you into the room, where your own personal sin would uncoil. A grandiose, large space, plucked out of a French chateau, with dark antique furniture, an easel with a painting you were quick to skip to in order to ogle at it. Your kitten heels clicked on the old, parquet floors that creaked, scuffed against the carpet that cost more than your yearly salary. It was a room that Namjoon would like—and it was a room that took your breath away. 

And the painting paused your blood flow. 

The Unequal Marriage by Vasili Pukirev.  

A painting of you, essentially, because you can’t have the man you yearn for. 

Your heart shrinks, painful pinpricks digging deeply into the flesh. You lift a finger and trace the despondent face of the bride, acknowledge yourself with that secret, yet vivid piece of your agony eternalized within the thickness of the brushstrokes. Her silver flower crown, the gossamer fabric of her veil, and finally her delicate hand. And in your soul, you hold it. 

You peek at the elderly groom and disgust seizes you. Because of the poor girl’s fate, because of your own. It feels as though you’re about to sin with that very man and you regret ever coming here. 

An emotion that you hurriedly shake off because your best friend paid a huge amount of money for you to experience a good time. Like she did. 

Your hand slaps back to your side. Your emotions, too. You will them to hide their starlight just for this one night. Hide their love for the man they can’t have. 

You turn around and glimpse upon a table with bottles of both champagne and wine. Think you need one at this moment; think your dream fulfiller would appreciate it if you poured him one, too. But having one sip of that dark liquid, you say fuck it and finish his glass as well. 

Undress. Take a shower. Weep under the stream. 

And the same employee waits for you when you emerge out of the bathroom in your robe. With manicured hands folded over her stomach, her eyes have softened a little bit, and abruptly, you realize how glad you are that a woman is accompanying you on this strange journey. If a man stood in her place, you would’ve already walked out and wasted your best friend’s money. 

“Mr. Kim wishes for you to be naked,” she says, her voice light, but firm. Your skin prickles with goosebumps—you bought a lacy red lingerie for the occasion, to help your imagination do its job to the fullest. A certain wisp of sadness clutches you that you won’t be able to wear it. 

Or… 

“What happens if I disobey?” you ask, gripping the thick lining of your bathrobe at your chest for mental support. The seriousness of the situation inches nearer and nearer and your stomach knots. 

She inhales, straightening up, as if she was about to leave this room. “Mr. Kim is not a regular, so I don’t know anything about this temper, but I would suggest respecting his wishes.” 

And she does, making space for your thoughts to whirl, and your eyes trace the flowers on the red Persian rug underneath your slipper-shod feet. 

He’s not a regular, so that means he’s not anything like the disgusting groom in the painting. He may be an ordinary person just like you, trying your luck in an unusual setting. Perhaps young, perhaps older—but normal. Not a lecher about to feast on your purity. 

Your stomach relaxes as do your muscles and you walk over to the bed to grab your make-up bag. Set yourself into the doll version of you that enjoys a male company with your eyeliner and glitter. Finish the process with a red tendril of lipstick over your mouth—just to leave behind a pleasant trace if the man ever decides to up the fun a little bit. 

Will it be fun? Or will you regret every second? 

An unanswerable question for your doll brain. You shake it off. Sit down at the edge of the bed and wait. 

Wait for him to fuck not just your anger, but your feelings out of your body. 

The woman emerges out of the bright light of the hall as if she was a housekeeper coming in to clean the hotel room. To a naked eye, it is not far from reality. This time, her softness has deepened so much that she bears a smile on her face. One, that you’re unsure of what it means. And one that relaxes your system to its finality. 

She raises a hand towards the double doors, in the direction of the easel with the painting, and nods, her smile unwavering. 

“You may proceed, miss, through this door. You can take off your robe now and get on the bed through the back of the cubicle. Mr. Kim will join you in five minutes.” 

Your breath shivers as you exhale. You thank her and she clicks the door shut behind her. Scurrying onto your feet, you gather as much bravery as you can. Your bathrobe plops down onto the bed. You give one last look to the unhappy bride in the painting before you open the door. 

You sense her encouraging you to go on—to live a life full of emancipation that she never got to grasp with her fist. And that, you find, is your bravery. 

The dimmed room, in size, mirrors the one you just walked out of. And it stares at you head-on. 

The cubicle the employee spoke of faces you to the right. A black-painted wooden little structure  with a hole in the middle, covered in leather that is cut into long fringes. The lower half of your body will stick out of it and you reckon it depends on Mr. Kim himself what he does with your legs—whether he pins them up using the restrains on the wood or if he holds them. 

The unknown lengthens and for the first time during this night, a small ribbon of excitement begins to swathe your chest. 

Next to the cubicle, in the far corner of the room, is a dresser. You believe the drawers are filled with toys, but the top is lined with dark bottles of alcohol that you recognize. European—Jack Daniel’s, Jim Beam. Suits the play house’s style, you guess. 

And on the left, a monumental bed that takes up the rest of the room. And it’s hung up from the ceiling.

You don’t have time to ogle it as time ticks, but while you run to the back of the cubicle like you were advised, you do notice that there are no paintings embellishing the walls. No person from the old age of time to witness the unfolding of your so-called dream. Sinful, sinful dream. 

Maybe that was done on purpose. Maybe you’re supposed to live this dream with the anonymous Mr. Kim in some way. 

The mattress inside the cubicle is made out of leather, but it is the strong scent of fresh wood that hits your nostrils. It is decorated with twinkle lights all around, giving it a comforting feel. One pair of restraints is installed into the walls as well, but you think it’s more for leverage than for the wishes of the dream fulfiller. Milky and silken, they stand out from the dark tones of it all, and you gaze at them for some kind of comfort as you strengthen your legs through the hole, the cold tassels drifting along your bare body sending sparks of strange delight up your stomach. You bite your lip at the sensation, scooching up to an awkward, almost sitting position so your legs don’t dangle out, but the backs of your knees press against the edge of the mat. 

You cross your ankles. 

And you wait, all over again. 

Wonder if you should touch yourself or if you should give the honors to Mr. Kim to make you ready for him, but the tassels, the sight of your hip bone tattoo that says angel… your nipples perk up on their own and maybe you’ve come to like the act of waiting for him. Or maybe you like the view of your nakedness at a peculiar place such as this. Of your angelic form bare and about to be taken back to heaven. 

Your stomach swarms with anxious morsels at that thought and you take a deep breath. At your exhale, you hear the door creak open and close with a certain tenderness that you immediately know it was used in order not to startle you. 

One point up for Mr. Kim. 

Maybe the Kim clan has good manners and thoughtfulness engraved in their DNA, but they’re men and disappointment always awaits you eventually—

His footsteps lead towards you, carrying that same tenderness. The sound of the muted thuds grow more and more distinct, no ounce of hurriedness lodged in them. A small fire begins to burn in you due to his evident patience, awakening your body, and you’re so, so surprised to detect such gentle arousal just from the energy he’s brought in. 

That, alone, causes you to curl in your coyness, but when you hear him huff out a gentle laughter, you instinctively squeeze your thighs first before you bury your face in your hands, your cheeks hot to the touch. 

Why is he laughing—

He places a large, warm palm on your knee. You flinch and his touch becomes heavier as if he was telling you not to be scared, its warmth begins to descend down your shin—and then lips. His breath wafts over your skin and he presses his lips against it as a way of greeting. 

It is the rule of this sexual practice—no speaking between the partners. And now that it’s unfolding in action, you find yourself absolutely enthralled by it.

You flutter all over, the apex of your inner thighs slick with the liquid expression of your arousal. Your heart pounds, touched by that unusual but kind gesture, and you’re curious for more. 

He rubs the place he kissed with his thumb and then… coldness. He must have withdrawn, straightened his posture, and a great oddity begins to take form in you. 

Your knees tremble, sensitive from his benevolence. 

And you wonder if he’s watching his creation, taking his time as he is for the next move. You long for it, timid, unsure of what to do with your hands. You flex them and unflex them on the leather, your lower limbs gaining momentum, and you feel your wetness trickling down onto the mat. You do well to stifle the mewls gathering in your throat and you yearn for those considerate hands of his to touch you everywhere—

He yanks you forward and, remarkably, the yelp that is flung out of you is hushed, not heard by his ears. At least you hope so—you don’t want to get in trouble, turn that kindness of his around. You’d regret that, and you’d regret that very much. 

Mr. Kim spreads your legs apart, but your femininity is concealed by those suspended tassels that tease your core, your clit, and your hip bones, the most sensitive and vulnerable parts of you. A great dose of pleasure surges through you from it and from the way those fingers of his glide upon the inner of your thigh. He reaches as far as where your shiny stain is. A low, deep breath is exuded from his chest when he feels it and he smears it along your pelvic bone and a little bit on one of your folds. 

He heightens your tremor by doing that. 

You feel bad for reacting like that, but you can’t help it—neither can you stop it. You try to keep your body still and through the opening you can see him propping his hand on your thigh, watching you do so, as if he won’t continue until he knows you’ve regained your composure. And something about that, in its own way, helps you, and it helps you tremendously. 

With his palm flat, he caresses your flesh in a circular motion to praise you for it, lifting his hand upwards and beyond your sight. Your stomach undulates and it is now that you notice the navy blue of his dress pants, the growing tent that takes shape in the middle, and owing to the calmness and the sense of safety he’s installed within you, you do the boldest thing you’ve ever done, save for leaning in to kiss Namjoon nearly two weeks ago. 

Turned on from the sight of his arousal, you grab a hold of the tassel and you begin to provoke him, deciding that you want his manhood to grow. Because of the way he treats you, you deem he deserves it. 

You move, smooth, the leather strip along your cunt, collecting your slick. You shift your hips in circles, the fabric cool and sensual in a way you never thought it would be. Your breaths come out whiny the longer you do it and when you change the direction and move up and down, you can hear his breaths, too. And maybe the blackness of the walls are messing with your mind, but you could’ve sworn, his secret noises have become whiny just the same once you pressed the tassel against your swollen clit. 

And it isn’t until you naturally feel the back of his leg with the ball of your foot that he lets you see how much your little show advanced his arousal. The print of is cock is prominent, thick in the tightness of his pants, and you want it. 

You no longer want Namjoon’s. You want his. 

The plan worked. 

And with a smile of a winner gracing your features, to celebrate you start to make yourself feel delightful. You rub your clit, still with the strip, biting your lips in order to suppress your moans, the pleasure more vivacious this time around. He’s not palming himself, he’s not doing anything at all but watching you, his hands by his sides, and perhaps to reward him—you let go of the tassel. 

You let him see your pussy. 

Shiny, swollen and needy, asking for a man you haven’t seen and won’t even see. 

How sinful, how titillating. You can’t wait to have a cigarette after this. 

His cock twitches and it beguiles you, the way your hand, without your conscious knowing, extends out and reaches for it through the hole. Your femininity, your sexuality—brazen and alive, unafraid and illimitably splendid. 

And in this situation, it is a thing of absolute sublimity, the act of him inching forward and letting you touch him, feel your own creation the way he felt his. You want his number, you want to make him come. You want him to take you out and you want to show it off on your Instagram story, hiding everyone else from seeing it except for Namjoon. A devilish laughter pricks at your throat, desperate to be heard. You sense how heavy his cock must be, how strong, how hard. It’s impossible for you to suck it as he’s not allowed to see your face, but you know the idea of it will haunt your daydreams—

He grasps a hold of your wrist, silencing your thoughts, and you hold your breath. He slides his grip down to your hand and he makes you squeeze him, his length, his balls. Your hole clenches, even your features scrunch up in need, and with your other hand you begin to help yourself, but he stops you. 

Pins your hands down on the leather. Maneuvers to firmly grapple both of your wrists on top of your tummy and uses his free hand to push you forward a little bit. Your legs dangle out, uncomfortably, and he’s so attuned to you that he notices. Leads your leg to wrap around him, the other one two, and if it weren’t for the mattress jutting out, you and him would be flush to each other. 

Body to body. 

He sucks in a breath at the first contact of his thumb and your clit. He must feel how swollen it is and he dips down to your hole, circling it there, gathering your arousal before he returns to that needy flesh, continuing his circles there. Slow, slow circles that make you writhe on the mat, the leather creaking. You lament that he can’t attach his mouth to it, regret that you chose this option because of your foolish feelings, and despite the fact you thought your plan worked and Mr. Kim alleviated your anger, the emotion bursts within you. 

Your muscles tense, your lips flatten in a tight line, your fists in his hold clench, and you’re angry. Angry, angry, angry. Hateful of your life, hateful of your body, of your heart. And in the middle of the explosion, you make a mistake. 

You growl. 

He stops his circles. 

Time beats two times before you’re yanked out of the hole, your feet landing on the parquet floors with that familiar gentleness the man bears. 

And the man… 

The man is no other but Kim Namjoon himself. The source, the epitome of your anger. 

And you feel nothing. Your shock evens out through every fraction of your nerve endings, paralyzing you. Time ceases its beats here—while you stare up at him and he stares down at you. Namjoon isn’t seized by the shock like you are, though. He begins to laugh, darkly, hushedly, humorlessly. Slides his hands into the pockets of his pants and takes a step back. 

Embeds life into time. 

“I fucking knew it was you,” he rasps, that laughter melting into nothingness until the gravity of this situation spreads across this sinful room. Heavy, heavy energy. You should feel ashamed at this very moment, you should cover yourself up, but you don’t. You don’t do anything. “I read your safe word. I thought it was a coincidence, life making fun of me. And then, I saw your butterfly tattoo, but tattoos can lie to me and it was too good to be true. But that growl… that growl of yours can’t lie to me. I know it like I know myself.”

Your growl was your response to his never-dying teasing. If he tickled you, nudged you, bugged you, the only way you would make it stop was by letting out that vexed noise of yours—and it would work. He’d laugh to himself and withdraw his hands. 

You part your mouth, but you can’t say anything. Your shock rises in you like a tidal wave that submerges in you and you drown. 

Then, a perplexing song of a mockingbird breezing through the wind outside sounds out within the room, saying things your body is unable to. 

Namjoon blinks, taken aback by your lack of retort. No words, no growls. Merely the song crooning along the spaciousness of the atmosphere. He licks his lips. 

“Why did you stop replying to my messages?” he asks, and you find it obscene that he’s inquiring about this when you’re all bare, trembling, and with your arousal dripping down your inner thighs. If anything, he should be asking you what you’re doing here, but it’s like the fact isn’t news to him. 

And what you don’t know is that he pours life into you with his bizarreness. 

Your first reaction is to scoff. Your second is to bash your fists against his chest, pushing him a step back. And Namjoon… he smirks. As if he succeeded in his plan—pulling you out of your state of shock into a blooming garden of your emotions, where you can run, where you can scream and where you can inflict violence. 

Where you can speak. 

“Why did I stop replying to your messages?” you throw it back at him, your voice rising in volume, and Namjoon straightens, delightfully watches you be full of life. “You think you can share your life with me, take me on dates, pay for me and leave it at that? Turn your head when I try to kiss you? Do you think I’m some kind of lady companion—”

“No,” he interrupts, tilting his chin up, his dominance on full display with the deepness of his voice, the width of his shoulders and his powerful stance. You drip for him, but you’re as powerful as he is. You’re equal—equally tangled up in the same sin. “You’re my Lady Beetle, aren’t you?” 

Your breath hitches, your nipples hardening, and your wetness is so, so uncomfortable, trickling down your flesh. And he provokes the pressure of your arousal in your core by that nickname, even more so when he lifts a finger and traces the freckles upon your right shoulder, the meaning behind that term of endearment, from his distance. Even more so when he sinks his fingers into the hair on the nape of your neck, uttering his following words. 

“Get back inside the cubicle.” 

But you’re not obeying. You don’t know his temper either, but you are getting yourself into trouble. And you’re not getting fucked until you know that he reciprocates your feelings. 

And you know what to do. 

“Kiss me,” you murmur, crossing the distance, inching towards his face. Namjoon tilts his head down, his lips nearly brushing against yours, and that’s all he does, nudging your anger. “Kiss me, Namjoon, or I’m walking out of this room.” 

He lets the tension simmer, unblinking, consuming your eyes from this close proximity. And when he opens his mouth, you think he’s about to kiss you, but you’re mistaken. Deadly, deadly mistaken. 

“Did you come here to forget about me?” he whispers, inching even closer until your nipples graze against the soft material of his sweater, hums in question when you don’t answer. Lifts your chin to make you look at him when your eyes stray away, your anger bubbling in you. He perceives the real you, always has, and you don’t have to say a word. Only a person intertwined with your soul could be able to do this; why won’t he act on it? 

“Did you come here to look for me?” you whisper back, pressing your torso against him until your breasts squish against his hard chest. His still hard manhood pokes you in your tummy, harder than it was when you touched him earlier, and wrap your arms around him, your hands traveling all across the width of his back until they wander down his loins, even lower to his buttocks. 

He pants, but his voice is not affected by the whirlwind of his emotions. Delicious, delicious whirlwind.

“Yes,” he says, firmly, flattening his lips and growling when you squeeze his butt. You enjoy those selfish touches so much that your grin illuminates the room, a ball of light amidst all this darkness. Your anger watches on, stunned. “What do you think? If I wanted to move on, I wouldn’t have chosen a fucking glory hole out of all the options. I’m not like you. I don’t give up. I’m patient.” 

“Patient…” You taste those words on your tongue, dwelling on them. They’re bittersweet, and you stand in the middle of your decision whether you like them or not. “What are you waiting for?” 

He sighs, lifting his hands and digging his fingertips into your ribs, holding you to him. You mirror his movements, and you let out that strained breath of yours when he bends his head and places a singular, wet kiss onto the side of your neck. 

You had asked him to kiss you, even though you didn’t specify where, but you didn’t expect your body to tingle this much and grow boneless in his unfailing hold. You cling to him with all your might—there’s nothing left for you to do. 

You’re his. Have been his since the moment you saw his watch. 

And you can’t believe you haven’t noticed that Cartier adornment when you were ogling his manhood. 

He brushes away a wispy strand of your hand before returning it back to its rightful place. “You deserve the world and I’m not there yet to give it to you. And you’re not gonna look for it elsewhere, I’m not letting that happen. I’m gonna give it to you.” 

Honesty is here at last, the explanation to his distance. You hide the fluttering joy that opens in your chest, but you do let him see the smile that begins to curve your lips. He likes you; you can live at peace now. No more anger, no more daydreams. 

“Kim Namjoon,” you breathe out, moving your hands to his sides. “Is that a promise I hear?” 

He nods, tilting his head to the side as his pupils grow large. “Yes, that’s a promise. The last relationship I was in fucked me up, but I’m gonna get right, and I want you to hold onto that promise.” 

You hum. “What does that mean for us right now?” 

He smirks, that cheek cleft enchanting you all over again. “If you want kisses, then kisses is what you’re gonna get.” 

Your smile lengthens until your cheeks hurt, heated. “I want kisses. Lots of kisses. On different places of my body, too.” 

Namjoon retreats back to your neck, peppering kisses along that column. You whimper, hands hurrying to undo the button of his pants, desperate and arbitrary. But with a disapproving noise, Namjoon stops your hasty movements. Pins your hands behind your back.

“Patience,” he whispers, gliding his lips across the kisses he left behind. Your skin prickles with goosebumps against him, your nipples so stiffened that they ache, and, most unfortunately, you moan softly in impatience. “You’re gonna learn what true patience is, little beetle.” 

Color heats your cheeks and as you grin, you bite your bottom lip. “Be my teacher, Namjoon.” 

He chokes out a groan, dizzied by the idea, one that fades into your yelp when he unexpectedly turns you around and pushes your back against his chest, your arms long and criss-crossed behind you, hands flat against his cock. 

Something tells you this lesson will be one of great difficulty for you. And of great pleasure. 

Namjoon cups your jaw, swivels your head to face him a little. “Where do you want those kisses?” 

Your quivering breath fans out across his big hand. “On my nipples.” 

At your quick answer, he makes a sound of approval and with a feathery-light touch he sails his knuckles down the right side of your chest, from your collarbone down to the beginning of your supple breast, where he stops his voyage to study your reaction. As much as you’d die for his fingers to go a little lower, you keep your tremors in tact. Even your fingers remain obedient, relaxed in their position and not tempting his temper. You close your eyes, try your bestest to hold it while you wait it out, and your slick by now creates a pool between your feet. Namjoon’s cock twitches at your goodness and he sighs a little praise into your ear, just for you to hear. It roots deeply in your gut, where it stirs the butterflies that are painted in the color of his eyes. 

His knuckles descend lower and lower, stop at the apex of your nipple, and the nearness is enough for you to stoop in your desperation. 

Something you shouldn’t have done.

Namjoon slaps that pointy flesh, coaxing such a filthy moan out of you that it reverberates through the room. The harshness, intertwined with the swift stimulation of your nipples spreads a buzzing sensation down your body, settling in your aching clit, and the loud noise you let out echoes in small whimpers, wordless pleas for more. He becomes harder in your hands, as if he could translate them, and the temptation croons at you again, telling you to squeeze him. This time, you can’t really hold back. This time, you want him to do it again.

On the other breast. 

You squeeze him, the weight of his cock an inexplicable experience that drives you to a point of carnal madness. You slide your palms along that thick length and the way he’s quiet, unspeaking, unbreathing, puzzles you and alarms you simultaneously. 

You look behind you. Catch his features screwed up in such pleasure that you whimper again, announcing that you’ve seen him in his weakest. And Namjoon is brought back into his teacher mode. He allowed himself that fraction of time for his own pleasure, perhaps for yours, too, and you’ve never discovered something so imposing. 

Your sexuality and his, interwoven, a thing of glory more magnificent than this playhouse itself. 

“Little beetle, you’re just so naughty, aren’t you?” he rasps into your ear, pressing you against him with both of his arms wrapped around your chest, nuzzling his face into your neck. He kneads your breasts hard before he slaps them, both at the same time, and you make such a mess. “So impatient, so desperate to touch and be touched. What am I gonna do with you? Can you even learn, hm?” 

Knead. Slap. Namjoon tweaks your nipples, circles them with his fingers, filling your body with such pleasure that your knees nearly give out on you. And he holds you to him by your neck, a firm grip that conveys to you that from now on, he won’t be very nice. 

And you don’t really mind. 

“Get back inside the cubicle so I can deal with you accordingly,” he mutters his order, tracing the shell of your ear with his puffy lips before he latches onto your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth briefly, making you cry out. “Do you know what happens to girls who can’t be helped?” 

Your voice is strained, impossible to use. “No.” 

“They get spanked and fucked so hard that they forget who they are,” he reveals, sailing his hands back down your body, flicking your nipples on the way, before his palms anchor at the V-shape of your private parts. He plays with your folds, stimulating your clit in that way without touching it. You grind your hips into his movements, seeking more, but he slaps your pussy for it, halting you. “That’s the only way they get salvaged.” 

And then he lets go of you. And the look he gives you is so lecherous, so dirty that your legs are jelly as you scurry to the end of the glory hole cubicle, thinking that this entire moment is speckled with glory that will haunt you for the rest of your days. 

You get back into position, your legs dangling out, and Namjoon repeats his voyage. Sails, sails down your tummy before anchoring at the mound of your cunt, but this time he doesn’t gratify you with any delight. He continues down your wet thighs and, abruptly, he turns you over, pushing you forward so your bum shows fully, your tippy toes touching the floor.

The tassels are warm and saturated with the dew of your arousal, tickling the small of your back. 

“Now listen to me,” he says, his fingers wandering all around your flesh, but not where you want him the most. “I’m not Namjoon at this moment. I’m not your teacher. In your mind, you’re gonna go back to who you thought I was before I showed myself to you. Mr. Kim. And you’re gonna address me as so, do you understand?” 

Your brows furrow and you curve your body to the side in question, not understanding this sudden change of the play. You may have wanted this fictional Mr. Kim more than you wanted Namjoon but that was before you found out that he felt the same way as you. 

“Why?” 

He massages the round, graceful cheeks of your bum, propelling you to rest your torso flat on the mat, comfortably. “Because you deserve it. Because your Namjoon isn’t where he’s supposed to be yet. So I’m not fucking you as Namjoon, I’m fucking you as Mr. Kim. This is the only time you’re getting fucked before I get right, so I suggest you enjoy every second.”

You gasp at his words, but your hole reacts first before you do, opening and closing all for his eyes to see—and they do. And he likes the view so much that he takes his thumb and perseverates the brief motion, your center coating his digit in sopping wetness. Your hips follow him and this time, he lets you. He gives you a moment to comprehend your future full of pure possibilities and kisses and you detect in your soul no disapproval. Because you’re rewarded with his heart in the end, it’s worth it. 

His heart is one of gold, one that won’t perish. 

You’ve seen it in the way he treated your mother, in the way he would stop his teasing when you had enough. In the respect he has towards you because he isn’t ready for a relationship. In the promise he gave you, even though that gold is scratched. 

You love him, and because of that you shall play his game. 

“Yes, Mr. Kim.” 

He kisses the fleshiest part of your bum, wetly, humming into your skin—another reward. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, nibbling the place he gave love to. “Try staying one.” 

You mewl, grinding into his face, desirous for a release. “Yes, sir.” 

He draws back and chuckles. “Look at you, so good all of a sudden when you’re all spread for me. You’re still getting spanked, little girl.” 

You whine, pretending that you don’t like what awaits you, when in reality you can’t wait. “Can I get another kisses after?” 

His laughter roars through the room. “Where do you want them?” 

“On my pussy, Mr. Kim.” 

He growls, swearing, his hands nowhere to be found on your body. “You’ll get lots of kisses on your pussy if you take these spanks well. Can you count them down for me?” 

You nod, but you quickly realize that he can’t see you. Your dusky world pirouettes and you’ve tumbled into a state of haziness, needing his firm hand, his dependable stability. “Yeah, I can.” 

Namjoon coos, his palm back on your bum, fondling it. “Good. Do you remember your safe word? You’re still getting those kisses if you use it, darling.” 

You dissolve into the leather, your body limp, but you do remember the magic word of utmost adoration. “Beetle.” 

A kiss on your flesh. “That’s it. Perfect. Does someone you know call you by that nickname?” he asks and you giggle, the comfort and the safety of the moment almost lulling you to sleep. “From ten, little beetle.” 

And he rouses you from your sleepiness by landing a sharp spank on the cheek that he made so tender. The pain is so acute, so good that you almost forget to utter out the number, swimming in the sensation as you are, but Mr. Kim isn’t upset by it. No, he helps you. 

“What number was that?” 

“Ten.” 

“Ten, that’s right. You’re doing so good.” 

Mr. Kim’s kindness enters you all over again, liquifies between your legs, and you moan out. The following sting of his palm is greater than the previous one and your chest arches off the leather, but you like it. Even though he doesn’t alleviate the spank, lets only the air make it better, you still like it—so much that you don’t make a mistake and count it down. 

“Nine.” 

And he repeats it after you, spanking you again and again until the skin of your left cheek is inflamed, burning red, and the perception of the pricks is too much for you to handle. But taking after him, you don’t give up. Grit your jaw, flex your fists, scream out the numbers until you reach one and that side of your bum feels numb. 

And Mr. Kim praises you for it so lasciviously that you can only whine in response, your little noises muffled by the leather. 

“Good girl. You took your punishment so well. Your ass is so prettily red, oh my God. You’re gonna get those kisses now. So, so many of them until you come all over my tongue. Spread your legs even more for me.”

You do as he says, mind blank, and you hear the thud of his knees hitting the floor. That alone makes you drool, the sound of his submission, let alone his satisfied groan when he attaches his mouth to your pussy lips.

And you can’t voice out the surplus of your emotions, the unrestrained joy that you feel because you’re being eaten out by a man that you love, but because of their boisterous nature, they come out nonetheless. Out of your tear ducts, out of the corner of your mouth in the form of drool and little muted noises that are impossible for anyone to hear but you. And you fail him. You can’t imagine a fictional person sucking on your clit like that, that feels as though your soul is being yanked out of you like you were so many times upon this night. No, only Namjoon can do this to you—and so, privately, you bask in it. In Namjoon’s tongue swirling circles on your clit; in Namjoon’s lips sucking them so hard that you lose track of time, surroundings and your own being. In Namjoon’s hands shaking your bum in his face; in his fingers rubbing rapid side-to-side motions on your wet clit from the front when he fucks you with his tongue from the back. 

You’re transported to a place that is neither heaven nor paradise. A place he, himself, must have brought into existence by the energy of his utter devotion for you. And you make it real when you come—sprinkle him with the fountain of your essence that contains the molecules of the universe he created for you. And you float, you float, you float. And he seizes the gravity by praising you for squirting for him, for coming so well and making the best of your so-deserved kisses. 

And then his pants flop to the floor, his sweater—until the only things he’s wearing are his watch, his bracelet and his affection for you. You turn your body halfway so you can see him, the wholeness of his manliness that is aching for you, dripping for you like you’re dripping for him, and his cock is so hard that it points up to his abdomen. You’ve never seen anything like this before and you grow so savagely hungry for it that you begin to suck on your index finger.

Purposefully loudly, smacking your mouth. 

Namjoon chuckles, darkly, and the warmth of that expression of his pulsates in you. “Oh, you’ll be sucking on this cock, too, don’t you worry, my beetle. I just need to feel your pussy around me.” 

Oh, the slip-up. He feels this on the same wavelength as you—no Mr. Kim, no anonymity. Only Namjoon and you. If you were unsure of his feelings before, you can’t be unsure now. The universe he created palpitates around you and you’re so drunk on all of this new knowledge that when he buries himself inside your heat, you can’t let him in. Your walls are compressing so tightly with your still-yet growing arousal that you clamp down on him, but at the sound of his torturous moans, you suck him in. 

And he doesn’t go easy on you. 

With his hard, hard, and long shaft he begins to fuck you, violently. He rams into you without any mercy, lifting your leg onto the mat and entering you more deeply, curling his hips to kiss and kiss your cervix again and again. His strokes are reverberated throughout your whole body—your nipples rub against the leather, your head rocks against it in a way that turns you feral, you gag on your finger, your clit is teased with those relentless pounds. You’re helpless, but also boundless, being fucked like that, and you realize, with your dumb, blank and empty brain, that you’re extensively getting your best friend’s money’s worth. 

And Namjoon elevates your experience. 

He reaches through the hole and roughly captures your hair in his fist, popping your finger out of your mouth. Decides it’s not enough, decides you’ve had enough of the hole time and he pulls you out, all while still being inside of you. Straightens you against him, grasps your jaw while his other hand slips down to your clit. 

And the side-to-side motions are brutal. Mean. So dominant in the way he keeps the contact light, barely stimulating you, but stimulating you, regardless. 

“You think you can gag on your little finger and that it does nothing to me?” he scolds, pinching your clit, and your growl is scratchy, raspy, so fucked out. He’s reprimanding you, but his words don’t reflect his actions. Namjoon kisses you everywhere he can reach. Ear, cheek, jaw, neck. So frantically, so impatiently. “Have you learned nothing?” 

You pant, your orgasm so awfully close from being bound but unbound at the same time, fucked slowly and torturously as Namjoon begins to move, grinding against you. But he has to stop—because if he doesn’t, you’re gonna come all over his cock, right in the center of this room. He’s teasing your build-up, just like you imagined he would, letting it rise and letting it fall in short intervals. 

But he has pity on you, stemming from his affection. A cold, cold pity that you need for the heat rippling through you. 

“Get on the bed. On your knees.” 

He pulls himself out of you and urges you forward—towards the hanging bed. And you don’t care to ponder if it will move under your weight. All you can think about is his dick as you crawl onto that bed that does not wobble at all, but remains perfectly offset. You sit back on your folded legs and wait for him—watch him take those leisurely, effortless steps like he did at the start of this evening. Only this time, you get to see it with your eyes. His tall height, his swaying shoulders, flat abdomen and that hard cock, glistening with your slick. Carmine, aching. 

You lick your lips. Prop yourself on your knuckles in front of you, back arched. Realize he kissed you everywhere, but on your mouth. And so you pout—and you make puppy eyes at him. 

He smooths down a flyaway on your sweaty hairline, endeared. “What’s wrong?” 

“You haven’t kissed me on the lips.” 

Namjoon smiles down at you, dejectedly. Curls your hair behind your ear, grabs you by the back of your neck, calls to attention all the butterflies in your tummy. “I’m sorry.” 

And he captures your mouth. As Namjoon, as a golden-hearted man that longs to give you the world, and you can vividly feel it. Mr. Kim doesn’t exist anymore and Namjoon seals that fact in when he prods his tongue inside, toying with yours before retreating back, moaning into the kiss. 

A kiss that was more than a kiss. 

And you have to kiss him again when he takes a moment to breathe. You have to devour him, clasp your hand around his wet cock as you do so—and Namjoon has to push your head down, fucking your mouth until your tears freely escape from all directions. He grips your hair tight, holds you to him from the side, plunging in and out of your throat however he pleases, your gagging noises encouraging him to possess every inch of you. Your mascara zigzags down your face in clumps—and once Namjoon’s pity flickers in him all over again, he lifts you and kisses you so nastily that you fade into nothingness. 

Then, you’re on your back and he pounds that nothingness. Uses your thighs as leverage as you’re just laying there, a hole and nothing else. Perhaps the cubicle changed your life to such an extent that you’ve become it. You shall never forget it—even now it is scattered all across your vision as you’re fucked into oblivion, the skin-slapping sounds and your pussy squelching around him accompanying your memory of the dark wood, the fairy lights, the restraints you never used.

The sex was too personal, too intimate for you to do so. Even before you discovered that Mr. Kim was Namjoon. Your body recognized his, your mind too blind, too preoccupied with your anger that is now healed. 

As if Namjoon could read your thoughts, he pumps into you with a hard thrust, eternalizing it. 

“Focus on me,” he growls and you squeak, hiccuping into every movement. It feels as though he’s blocking your throat with how deeply he’s ravaging you and you can only nod. 

You can only moan his name. 

“Namjoon. Yes, yes, yes—oh, Namjoon.” 

He laughs, that articulation of his joy abating in your mouth as he bends to kiss you, fully buried in you. And then he pulls out, presses his heavy cock on your cunt, lifts your head by grabbing your hair, consuming your mouth as if you were everything he ever lacked in his life. 

“Grind your pussy on it, it’s yours, my little beetle.” 

You whine, pucker your mouth against his, spinning your hips in circles, his cock so wet and so sticky from your happy juices. 

“Joonie, Joonie bug.” 

He closes his eyes, moaning all in your face, the principle of you softening and connecting his persona to yours absolutely ruining him. He tightens his grip on your hair, sinks himself inside you with his other hand and then sticks those soaked fingers inside your mouth. All four of them, gagging you. 

“Little beetle and big Joonie bug, hm. How do we taste?” His tone is so low that it penetrates your skin, paralyzing your senses until only one remains. Until all you know is the bitter-sweetness of his precum and the tanginess of your slick. And he doesn’t draw his fingers back, he continues to control your gags until he paints your face in another set of pretty black tears. “Tell me. How do we taste?” 

You growl around him, the sound he knows, and he pounds you for it, a thrust that hurts but feels good at the same time. You suck on his fingers, a trail of your drool trickling down from your connection, and Namjoon grunts. Slides his fingers out of your mouth and places them right on your clit. 

Rapid, rapid rubs. And equally rapid strokes. 

“Come,” he orders, and it’s like he flicked his fingers and made your body come. You didn’t have to do a thing. “Good. Finally. It feels so good, doesn’t it? Coming around my cock after all this time. Joonie bug is right there with you. Just a little bit more.” 

He’s given life to your orgasm by his words. A storm erupts, clearing out everything negative that was ever seeped throughout your soul. Your body quakes, submitted to him through and through, at his disposal to make himself come—until your orgasm is so milky that you can’t see. Your vision is dotted with white, with tiny glazing stars that must be hung up in the sky just like this bed. And Namjoon brings you to him, lips to lips, needing you as he fucks you through your mutual release, and those stars splotch him with their dust. 

You squirt all over him, for the second time around. And you don’t stop, the twitching of his cock, the warmth of his cum as he keeps stuffing you full of it, the unfaltering hardness of his thick shaft roll in your tiny orgasms, those little fountains of boundless pleasure that drench him, give him the likeness of those stars. He’s turned on your squirting ability and there’s no way back. No, no way back. 

Namjoon is exhausted as he pulls out—and you already feel so empty, so lonely. His cum streams out of you, staining the bed, and it saddens you so much that you reach into your heat to collect it, plunging your fingers into your mouth, eating him. And you moan, at his male taste, for the last time. 

“Fuck, don’t do that. I can’t go again.” He wipes down his face, a gleaming man that has your entire identity woven into his veins that run all across his arms, and you love him. You love him so drastically that you can’t get on your feet on your own, can’t make a decision of your own, can’t live without him. 

He fucked you so well that he attached you to himself. 

A wave of strange emotions engulf you. 

“Namjoon,” you whimper, tears burning each corner of your eyes, and you don’t know what to do, you don’t know what is happening. He lifts his head, round eyes blinking, and he’s so quick to cradle you into his arms, letting you cling to him, letting you wrap your legs around his torso like a baby. And that’s precisely how you feel—like a baby. 

“Talk to me,” he encourages, caressing your back in circles, and you moor your face in his neck, inhaling his individual bodily scent. So masculine, so heady, so intoxicating. You sob, running your fingers through his misty, blond-streaked hair, needing to be even closer to him than is physically possible. 

Namjoon shushes you, kissing your shoulder, giving you the strength to speak, giving you the identification of what you’re feeling. 

“This was so intense,” you croak out and Namjoon hums, halting his touch to focus on you wholly. “Emotionally. I feel much closer to you. Too close.” 

And he’s not running out of things to give you. He gives you kisses on your neck that bear no sexual context—romantic, reassuring kisses that ease up your muscles, that part the raging thunder of your emotions. And he gives you such comfort that you feel as though you’re floating upon an open body of water, as free as a human being can be. 

“What we did was intense but it was right. What you’re feeling is normal. I’m feeling it, too. We’ve been hiding our feelings for so long and we let them out just now, so it’s overwhelming. It’s okay. You’re good. Such a good girl, my good little lady beetle, tiniest girl beetle in the whole universe. I will protect you from the other bugs. Let’s get this make-up off, hm?” 

You nod, sob and laugh softly at that solace. Namjoon carries you into the shower. Lets the cold water streak down on you while you shield yourself from it, nearly slipping off his grasp. Namjoon chuckles, hoisting you higher, taking a step back to wash you completely clean. You scream and his chuckle deepens, getting you away from the iciness by pressing you against the tiles. 

He truly won’t stop teasing you. 

The water turns warm by the time he fetches the make-up remover. Pouring some on a large cotton pad, he cleanses the remnant of your sex tears, the physical memory of how good he fucked you and how he bound your soul to his. He’s careful around your eyes, focusing so intently that his lip is caged between his teeth. Once he’s finished, he kisses you—with Mr. Kim’s gentleness. 

Washes you clean, especially thoroughly between your legs. Embraces you in the shower and lets you feel—creates a safe space for your feelings. 

And then he’s dressing you in the clothes you came here in. A dark green dress that ends at your ankles. He makes sure to kiss your butterfly tattoo as he smooths down the skirt and you think you’re ready to marry him. 

You want to meet his mother. Not now, not after what you’ve done together. But someday soon. And you want your mother to meet his. 

“I need a cigarette,” you comment as he’s scrunching your hair with a towel. He himself has changed into a pair of clean black dress pants and a plain white shirt, almost oversized. An outfit that made your mouth water. “Like right now. And at least two.” 

He huffs out a laugh. “You can smoke on the balcony. I’ll have one with you. Do you want a drink?” 

Your eyes light up. Your whole body, too. 

Placing a bathrobe around your shoulder, he gently slaps your butt and guides you forward to the balcony. He grabs that bottle of red wine you had opened and joins you.

Two chairs, one small round table in the middle. The view of the entire Seoul city and a fucking statue in the corner of the balcony. 

A beautiful girl, half dressed. The fabric of her forever garment falls off her chest and you’ve never seen a more spectacular sculpture in your life. You enkindle your cigarette and touch her cool face, feel yourself immersed in her seductive beauty. One day you shall be just like her—once Namjoon comes to collect you. Not a doll, but a girl. 

“Take a picture of me,” you say, getting into position, only to realize that Namjoon has been snapping pictures of you while you were acknowledging yourself with the statue. With a cigarette hanging limply in the corner of his mouth. 

You can’t love him any deeper. 

You pose with her. Mirror her body language, even shake off your bathrobe and let your straps fall off your body like her. Private pictures just for him and for you—a reminder for what awaits you. 

A future full of pure possibilities. And sex, lots of and lots of sex. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild , @jjk7k , @parkinglot-nights , @bethvar , @Sexytholland , @yoongibaybee , @crystaleah ,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan , @euphoricmyth , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk .

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[soobinsonly1bf]

soobin + cockwarming while on discord with his friends

warnings: nsfw, gn!reader, reader's genitals are also not specified, softdom!soobin, sub!reader, cockwarming, in the end they fuck, kinda exhibitionism??, a little bit of humiliation, everything is consensual tho, unprotected sex, use of pull out method (guys, remember to always use protection!!!), they're so in love fr

!!nsfw under the cut, minors dni!!

it was always like this, soobin playing video games and talking with his friends on discord, while you were bored to death. but you still agreed to visit him every time he asked, knowing damn well he's not even gonna pay attention to you.

well, this time was different tho... a little bit too different, but both of you didn't mind it at all.

"be quiet." he shushed you. his hands on your hips, holding you in place and making it impossible for you to move. his dick deep inside you, making your eyes full of tears. his big cock inside of you were able to make you sob, even without moving at all.

"soobin- please..." you kept on pleading, as quiet as you could. you couldn't take it anymore. how can he be inside, but don't move? pure torture. his headphones were still on his head and the microphone was catching every little sound. goddamn his new headphones, why couldn't he keep his old ones?

"you want them to hear or what?" he asked, not even lowering his tone, with an innocent smile. it made you clench around him, you really couldn't help it... and he couldn't help the groan leaving his mouth for all of the voice chat to hear.

you could hear the questions from his friends, screaming loud enough for you to hear from his headphones. you knew his friends and did it made you even more turned on? of course it did, no matter how embarrassing it was.

your boyfriend was balls deep inside of you while on voice chat with his friends. friends that you met countless times. friends that thought of you as a smart, kinda nerdy, just like soobin, and innocent person.

but what will it be now? will they think you're a slut? just a pathetic slut that can't even leave their boyfriend alone for half an hour and just has to sit on his cock? even when he's talking with his friends? are you seriously that much of a whore that you just can't help, but need him inside of you?

"fuck, baby... calm down. don't tell me you're getting off to this?" now it was just straight up humiliating, but you knew he wasn't wrong at all. but did he seriously needed to tell his friends how much you're clenching around him now? "you like it? that my friends are gonna know how slutty you really are?" he continued, smirking down at you.

it was too much, you couldn't stand it anymore. little did you know it's not the end of his teasing, if you can still call it teasing. he took off the headphones from his head and put it on you. you froze as you heard his friends' comments.

"don't tell me soobin's seriously...", "i'm sorry, but why is it hot as hell", "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON", "at this point you can just turn on the camera too" you recognized their voices, you knew who they were and they knew you too. humiliating.

"stop..." you whined, your face now burried in the crook of his neck, the headphones dropped on the floor.

he suddenly looked worried. he took your cheeks in his hands. "shit, wait, did you meant it seriously? was it too much? god, i'm so sorry, i-" he was in panic now and you couldn't help, but giggle.

it was nice to see his usual self getting back once he thinks you're uncomfortable. because, of course, you two talked about it before starting. he would never do anything like that without your consent and it made your heart melt every time you remembered how soft he truly is.

"soobin, hey, it's alright... i just- yeah, let's end it now, okay?" you said reassuringly and he immidiately hung up from the call.

"i'm so, so sorry, baby... have i done too much? do you want to-"

"soobin, respectfully, shut the fuck up and fuck me already." you interrupted him and moved your hips, making him groan.

"shit, so you seriously liked all of this?" he asked with a soft chuckle.

soon you were both laying on his bed, him on top of you, his cock already inside. your chest pressed into the mattress and your back arched, a little bit painfully. you didn't minded it, because you felt soobin going in and out of you, leaving you with your mouth wide open.

"yeah, just like that, you're doing so good for me... and earlier you took it all so well... you really liked being heard, didn't you? fuck, i love you so much..." he continued whispering sweet nothings into your ear, getting you closer and closer to the edge.

you didn't left him in silence, also mumbling a lot of "i love you"'s every few seconds. your legs felt so weird, you were sure that if soobin stopped holding you, you would fall completely to the mattress.

soon the wave of pleasure finally hit you, making your legs shake more than they already were. you let out a loud moan, probably too loud, but both of you felt too good to care. soobin continued thrusting into you, still chasing his release.

"so pretty..." he whispered before he pulled out and started stroking himself, soon cumming on your lower back and laying right next to you.

you took his hand in yours and smiled softly at him. you felt tired, but not too tired to annoy him a little bit. "i love you... but i'm not cockwarming you ever again."

———————————

a/n: I'M SORRY, BUT I JUST NEEDED TO WRITE THIS, IT WAS IN MY MIND FOR TOO LONG... but yeah, here's my debut on tumblr lmaoo

[ram-bles]

a crumb of nsfw daisuke?

daisuke x reader | headcanons

requests/inbox: open

[ 🔞 minors dni ]

woah. from sweet to spicy. ill give this a try!

wrote this on mobile, sorry for the fuckass formatting.

gender neutral reader. sillies. lots of sillies. weed mention (like once).

🌺 sillies, even when it comes to sex!

🌺 c'mon, he somehow sneaked in some of his secret stash'a magazines. he's still a guy after all.

"Dai?"

"Yeah?" He's busy on his Gameboy, but he acknowledges you, tilting his body to show his face but his eyes were glued to the screen.

"Did you steal these porn mags from Jimmy or someth—"

A pink blur suddenly pushes you away, using his feet to kick it back under his bed.

"DUDE. PRIVACY. C'MON NOW."

🌺 You've probably caught him once or twice even before you two were a thing. It wasn't hard to, after all, you both shared a room.

Too lost in the sauce to even notice you, so you had to clear your throat. You've never seen someone so shocked to the point he doesn't know whether to shove his dick back in his pants, hide under the blankets, or try to do both at the same time but completely failing. He's stuttering your name out along with strings of apologies. Don't get your dick caught in your zipper now, Daisuke.

"I didn't know you were there! Shitshitshit- I'm so so sorry- Aghhhh." He felt pathetic, whining in embarrassment. Daisuke ends up just pulling the blanket over the entirety of him.

"You could've just asked me for help, y'know." He stares at you, scandalized as if he wasn't rubbing one off just moments ago.

"How the fuck was I s'posed to know?!"

You shrug, amused. "Dunno."

"Man, fuck youuuu."

"Happily."

"Get over here already, please!"

🌺 Outside internship though? Weed before sex seems like something he'd do. I can't explain why.

🌺 Feeling his rings on you... in many ways.

🌺 Pretty sure we all agree that he's into praising. Both giving and receiving.

🌺 You know he's having lots of fun when the pitch of his voice goes high. Squeaking, voice cracking, whining.

🌺 Speaking of how vocal he is, he's probably loud too. But, since you're in the ship now, he'll try his best to keep it down, either on the pillow or you. He'll also be rambling about random things just so he doesn't finish early.

🌺 Dirty talking? ❌ He'll be cringing like there's no tomorrow. He'll make a discord (or whatever equivalent) kitten joke about it if he does.

🌺 Unintentional dirty talking though... That's another story. Or should I rephrase, more-so leaning towards cussing.

"Fuck— you're sosososo pretty..." His hands were pressing the back of your knees, folding and spreading your legs for him. He whines your name out, resting his length on your abdomen while he impatiently waits for your permission. "C'mon, pretty. I'll be this deep inside you."

-

"Feels good. Feels so good." He's panting and rutting into you like a dog. "You should- nh- loosen up a little- shit- if you get any tighter I think I'll cum..."

🌺 Quickies galore. Sure, it's less risky, but with his libido? Anyways, he's pretty easy to please anyways. A round or two would probably be enough for him.

🌺 Wearing his clothes while at it? Mega turn on for him.

🌺 Well, yes his libido is high, but you still need to be straightforward with him. He can't take hints...

"Want head?"

"?!? Who's head?!"

"YOUR DICK."

"YOU'RE CUTTING IT OFF?"

"WHAT? NO, I MEANT SUCKING YOUR—"

"Good morning to you both too."

"CAPTAIN?"

🌺 He loves giving and receiving hickeys. You would have to remind him everytime not to mark too high on your neck.

🌺 His aftercare involves lots of cuddling and lots of smooching.

🌺 Ending with a silly note. The first time you've done it with him, he ended up saying thank you since he didn't know what to do.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗪𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗜𝗡? - part one max verstappen x reader (fluff) “. . . when he wants to be normal, he can count on you, stranger.”

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests ) ( next )

One of the things Max Verstappen despises about being Max Verstappen is being Max Verstappen. Three time world champion, youngest race winner, mad max, f1 dominator, all the fame and media and people following him around. It's very hard to get a moment of peace or be treated normally. When people hear his name they either put on big smiles or ugly frowns. He hates the special treatment.

He misses when he could have a conversation without people recording or judging him. Without people whispering about him, or fake being his friend for whatever fame. When people would just spend time with him for the sake of spending time, or having a conversation for the sake of friendly socialization and conversation. Luckily though for the Dutch, in this day and age, Max could just enter a spare email in Discord and make a second lowkey account.

The pfp was a random photo of Max, a meme. Lowkey enough, Max decided after staring at the profile long enough before opening DiscoBoard. After scrolling and searching, he was dawned upon with a relatively small server with only 280 people online, surrounding sim racing. After he followed instructions on the welcome page like verifying he's not a robot and picking roles, he got his first ping. 

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Max met you in August of 2022. The way you talked and messed around with him got him constantly checking his phone for notifications over the next months. The way you befriended him and were relaxed around him once the two of you got to know each other, it kept him sane. And although Max didn't really reveal a lot about himself except that his work required a lot of traveling and effort, you trusted him enough to share about your own life up in France, ranting about your weird encounters as an employee at Cisco.

The blonde’s favorite part about getting home was plopping in his gaming chair and switching his Discord accounts. Pulling his headphones on and navigating through the server, he joined the active voice chat. It was as if he was switching lives, turning off Max Verstappen to be an irrelevant 26 year old.

“A millioooon.” you sang like you always did, a nickname you’d given him since amilian sounded like a million. 

“Laaaaa.” Max sang back with a chuckle before greeting the other acquaintances present on the call. 

“How was your weekend?” You hummed. 

“Same as always. Maybe a bit shittier this time.” He sighed, seeing you were on Gran Turismo from your shared screen. 

“I’d love to beat up someone for you.” You always offer when he’s down. The blonde would laugh and shake his head even though you can’t see. You never cease to bring him a smile with your tone and jokes and hearty aura, despite being kilometers up north. "We're waiting for Josh to take a few rounds around spa, you wanna join?" 

"Oh, yes please." friendly racing with no consequences, points or championship? just friends messing around and enjoying themselves? Yes please.

★ �� ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You see the new verstappen photos that just dropped, Mr. Max Verstappen nerd?" Max looked up from his phone, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at your dm chat where the two of you decided to move the call once everyone else put down the steering wheel for the night.

"This one is from Bahrain I think . . . you know, I'm starting to take a liking to him." Max rolled his eyes playfully at your words. "To be honest, I was kind of disappointed this weekend." Max rubbed his eyes, looking up at your profile picture. 

"Why what happened?" He asked even though he probably knew all too well the events of the Australian grand prix.

"Max DNFed on the third or fifth lap." You sighed. 

"Oh yeah?" Max hummed, pursing his lips, not wanting to recall the memories. "What's so bad about that? I thought you were a die hard Charles fan?" he asked. 

"Excuse you, I'm a die hard Fernando fan." You joked in a sassy tone which pulled a chuckle from him.

"What is it about Max DNFing that is bothering you then?" Max himself asked, putting his phone down to concentrate on your voice. 

"I just don't—" you sighed deeply. On your end of the call you rolled back in your chair, getting up and flopping on your bed with your phone in hand.

When you did answer his question, all Max heard was mumbles because your voice was muffled by your pillow. "Can't hear you, La. Aren't you happy about the Carlando podium? You were so happy about it last year." 

"I am happy, I am. But Max . . . well Max . . . i don't know." you grumbled frustrated. "He's such a good driver, and deserves a lot— he works really really hard."

Max never thought he'd hear you talking about him like that. He'd usually hear other people on the server dissing him and cursing him. And although you were always mostly neutral with the drivers, the way you spoke about Max tonight melted his heart. It also felt very wrong.

While you turned and laid on your back, staring up at the ceiling of your room, venting your feelings about a driver who you thought didn't know you existed, said driver folded his arms on his desk and leaned forward, resting his chin on his arms listening to you vent about how much you were amazed and proud even though you don't know him personally or him not being your favorite driver.

Max glanced up at his monitor as you sighed to gather your thoughts. "Sometimes when i look at him, he reminds me of myself. I never really got to go past karting, but for some reason I see a little bit of y/n in him." 

"—Y/n?" He sat up hearing the name. 

"I—" You face palmed upon the realization.

 "Is that your name?" Max asked. You nodded briefly with a sigh but he couldn't see.

"Unfortunately." You sighed. "Weird name, I know—" 

"I like it." He reassured. "It's not like Amilian is any better." he tried to lighten the mood, working slightly. 

"A million." you giggled making him chuckle back. 

"A million, " he repeated quieter, a small smile on his face as he leaned his chin back down on his arm.

Such a foolish thing to do, taking a liking to a woman you've never met.

Voice notes . . . ( my brain is like a zoo rn, starting projects and not being able to track anything while working on everything at the same time ) Word count - ( 1, 165 ) credits for proofreading -> @classiclitfreak (check out their blog!!)

[brandwhorestarscream]

Megatronus talking to Megatron fic please?

Hell yeah lets go. Mostly just transcribed from my rambling in discord, but nyeh

Consider: the cogs they've been given influence their host a bit. Like how, donated organs sometimes have "memories" from their old bodies that they had before. Giving the host physical sensations and habits they didn't have before (it's a real thing, look it up)

We know that Liege Maximo wasn't responsible for orchestrating Solus's death in this universe, but it's still very possible he's still got a very dark and twisted streak inside him. What if D-16's sudden, violent resolve to kill Sentinel came from Liege Maximo? He 100000% wants Sentinel dead because he's a traitor and doesn't deserve to live, and his influence still on his cog combined with D-16's righteous anger came together into the drive to rip that mech apart, with his bare hands.

What I'm getting at is, the cogs have "memory" and influence, to a point. Optimus got Prima's cog, so naturally he stepped into a more rigid leadership position that was staunchly against purposefully extinguishing sparks. So, when D-16 takes Megatronus Prime's cog from Sentinel's chest, he gets hit with a blast of Presence from the God of War himself, and already riled up and angry he kinda. Spirals out of control.

The Spirit of War drives him to fight, protect, destroy. Raze that evil mech's influence to the ground so not a single shred of him remains. Unless his presence is completely annihilated, there's a chance it could seep into the cracks and take up root again, and slowly sink it's insidious fingers into their people once more. He cannot allow that!

Fast forward to that night and newly christened Megatron is still angry, angry, angry… until he falls asleep and his processor can get a much-needed rest and defrag. He dreams about- about Orion, about… the surface, about Sentinel, about everything. He sees Sentinel taking Orion away, sees Orion bloodied and lifeless falling into a pit of despair. He sees himself, out of his body, trying to save him but he can't. He sees his best friend looking at him in sadness and disgust and, finally, feels the sadness and misery he'd been stubbornly choking down suddenly force it's way into his throat.

...Is he awake? Is he asleep? It hits him so intensely he can't tell, and just. Plops down on the ground, arms wrapping around himself and beginning to sob with all the force of his broken spark. It's not fair. Everything… everything has changed, he's lost everything and everyone and- and he's still angry! Why does he feel like this? How does he make it stop? He doesn't want to be angry anymore, he doesn't want… whatever this is that he can feel slowly creeping toward him. This isn't over. Something bad is coming. He doesn't want this, he doesn't want this, he doesn't want this-!

He about jumps out of his plating when someone suddenly touches his helm, and nearly falls over when he looks up and finds a hulking, huge mech had settled down next to him. Thrice his size, at least, and before, that wouldn't have been strange. Expected, even. But now he has his cog, his alt mode, he's much bigger now. Even so, he feels puny in this mech's shadow, but his size alone isn't the surprising part.

Painted purple and black with a face that Megatron knows extremely well. He rubs his optics and shakes his helm, but he's still there. His vocalizer squeaks when he utters the name, "M- Muh-! Megatronus Prime?!"

He's definitely still dreaming. He has to be. But- But everything feels so grounded and lucid and real- but-

Megatronus Prime chuckles softly. "Sorry to frighten you, little one," he lats the ground next to him. "Sit with me?"

"I- um," he blinks. "Y-Yes sir?"

Megatron has no idea what to say. He sits a respectful distance away, hugging his knees and just o.o staring at him shellshocked the whole time. It- It has to be a dream but it feels real. Is… Is Megatronus actually here with him? Surely he can't be, but…

The Prime waves his servo out in front of them, and warm, gently burning orange fire materializes from nowhere. It floats in a ball before them, lighting the dark, shadowy night. Megatron can feel the heat on his cheeks, and the sensation is too real to be anything but.

"You… y-you're really here-!" He gasps and wipes clumsily at his still-wet face. "Oh- Oh my Primes, you're really-" Promptly slaps a servo over his mouth, optics wide. "I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to swear, I know we shouldn't use the Primes names in vain I just- y-you're here and- and-"

Megatronus laughs and shakes his helm fondly, reaching over to gently pat his helm. "Peace, youngling, peace. I take no offense." Prima, on the other hand… ooh, how he hated hearing their children swear. It amused the god of war, more than anything. He gave the little silver mech a thoughtful once over. "You have my cog." It's not a question.

Megatron flinches and brings both servos to to his chest. "I- I'm sorry!" He means it too, hanging his helm and looking ashamed. "I- I was just- he took it, he killed you and he took and I- I couldn't just let him keep it," it was impulsive, he would admit, swapping it for the cog already in his own chassis. His voice lowers to a shameful whisper. "D'you… w-want it back?" He doesn't want to go back to being cogless, but…

Luckily, Megatronus shakes his helm. "No, no, keep it. I've no use for it anymore. Heh," a humorless sound that could almost pass as a sarcastic laugh. "Though, I should ask. Wouldn't you rather have yours?"

"What do you mean?"

He holds out one huge servo, palm flat, and an image flickers to life, misty and glowing blue similar to the visions Alpha Trion had shown them. It's simple this time, just a standard transformation cog. But… Megatron chokes. "You mean-?! Th-This one is-?"

"Yours," the Prime nods. "We keep track. We've kept track of every cog he stole, and whom it belongs to. If you want yours, I'll grant it to you."

He's stunned silent, mouth hanging open and entranced by the vision. He… he could have it back? He'd come to accept that his cog was gone, that that monster had molested his newborn body and plucked it right from his chassis, that a part of him had been stolen and desecrated before he even opened his optics for the first time. A hurt that could never heal… a wound he'd carry til the day he died.

But now, Megatronus Prime, his greatest hero and idol, is talking to him and offering it back. All he can do is sit there with his jaw slack.

The god of war seems amused, laughing for real this time and reclining back against the solid metal behind him. He reaches out and wraps one arm around the youngling, who squeaks in surprise, and pulls him close against his side. "You don't have to decide now," he promises. "You can keep mine, if you like the way it feels. And if you change your mind someday, that's fine too."

He's not at all expecting the sudden sob that bubbles up from his side, and looks down in surprise. Little namesake suddenly curls against him, shaken by the first positive physical contact he's had in multiple days, beginning to weep with earnest against his hero's side.

"Wh-"

"I'm sorry!" The words burst out of him in a rasping voice heavily laden with sorrow and wet sobs. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so so sorry! I- I didn't mean to, it wasn't supposed to happen like that, I didn't wanna hurt him, I- I didn't mean to I was just so mad-"

This… really isn't Megatronus's forte. He doesn't know what to say, so opts not to say much at all, instead gently draping his arm around the young, miserable bot and just letting him huddle beneath him, weeping brokenly.

"I know, little one… I know. It's alright-"

"It's NOT alright!" He wails. "Nothing is alright! I wanna go home but I don't have a home anymore, and- and Orion hates me and everyone probably hates me and- and I killed my best friend and I took your cog without asking and," he takes a great, heaving, wheezing invent. "And I'm just like Sentinel!"

Megatronus goes from awkward to actively panicking in about 2 seconds. Ok, tears he can deal with. Let them cry it out and release all the stress and they'll be fine afterwards. That's how it goes. But… super deep seated self doubt and worry you've turned into the monster you just defeated? That's- That's really not something he knows how to deal with. Megatronus Prime does not know how to deal with kids.

"...wait, no-" he gives the little one a gentle shake. "No, no, that isn't true-" he continued to wail and cry like the world is ending, like his spark really has shattered into pieces. "You're not- you didn't intend to hurt your friend and wouldn't have if it was up to you, and--forgive me, Mother--Sentinel needed to be dealt with. "You've nothing in common with that mech aside from the cog you both hosted in your chest-"

That just seems to make him cry harder, and Megatronus flounders. What to do, what to do?! Um, uh-

"Oh!" He reaches up with both hands, undoing clasps and deactivating invisible magnets. "Here! Do you want to try on my mask?"

That gets him. Megatron raises his helm suddenly, still hiccupping, tears still streaming down his cheeks. His mouth is still trembling, but he's no longer wailing.

"Wh-" he whimpers softly. "What….?"

Megatronus undoes the last clasp and removes his giant purple mask, lowering it slowly and giving the little silver mech a somewhat sheepish look, red optics peering over the rim. "Do you… want to try it on?"

Megatron blinks twice, then thrice. "That's a mask?"

The god of war nods, lowering it further. He has an unexpectedly pretty, almost delicate face. "My Solus made it for me," he admits, sounding almost shy. "To tell the truth, I… ahem, I get… rather anxious when people see my face. Solus made this for me, quite a long time ago." it's huge when he reaches to offer it to Megatron, nearly the size and width of a small table.

Megatron's hands are still shaking as it's laid across his lap, pinning him to the ground end eliciting an "oof!" of surprise. It's heavy! It weighs more than the miners did when they were cogless! Probably still weighs more than some of them! He runs his hands over the smooth, tempered metal, awed by its quality and sheer size.

"You wear this all the time?" He asks, starstruck.

"Indeed. I never take it off, in fact." this was a special occasion, though.

"I… we thought this was your face," Megatron admits, nearly sheepish. He reaches up to touch his chassis, where the likeness of the god's mask is still etched painfully into the metal there, thanks to Sentinel. He steals a glance up at Megatronus, unable to quite believe what he's seeing. "Everything in the datafiles and history stuff, you're always wearing it. We- We thought you didn't have a mouth!"

Megatronus smiles at him, amused, and for the first time in days Megatron manages to smile, too.

"…can I really, uh…?"

The god of war snaps his fingers and the mask shrinks obediently, til it's just the right size. "Go ahead, youngling."

He exhales nervously and slips it on, fumbling unsurely with the clasps. It smells like sulfur and high quality energon, and something about it makes his whole body prickle.

After he's got it on, he looks up at Megatronus shyly, fidgeting. The world looks different from in here: his peripheral vision is cut off, and everything is framed with the shape of the optical slits. "Well…?" He wrings his servos nervously. "How do I look…?"

"…heh," Megatronus lays one servo on his helm, jostling him gently. "Like a little champion of war." He may be called Megatron now but he's still a child at spark, right now. He's painfully young, and Megatronus Prime is worried for him.

When Megatron wishes he had a mirror so he could see what he looks like with the mask on, and Megatronus is all too glad to grant that wish. It's good to see him less emotionally devastated, but soon after the little silver mechling settles back against his side. "I don't… wanna go to war," he admits forlornly, hugging his knees. "I… I wanna go home. I don't want a war."

"That means you're smart," Megatronus tells him seriously, which earns him a confused look. "I preside over war and reap power from it, but only a fool hopes for war. War incurs heavy loss no matter who you are, and those who actively seek it seek their own destruction in turn. Tis my duty to govern that domain and stand as a guardian over those who must do battle." The Patron Deity of Warriors, Megatron recalls easily. The Guardian Prime of all who take up arms.

If the god of war himself encourages not to seek his domain, it's probably best to listen, no? He sags helplessly against the divine mech's side, feeling helpless.

"You said you want to go home?" Megatronus asks, and Megatron nods wordlessly. "Then… perhaps you should."

"I can't! Orion said- he's a Prime now, and he doesn't want me there, and- and I said I'd never trust another leader again-"

"You trust me, don't you?"

It's plain to see how much the kid idolizes him, and trusts him enough to, at the very least, cry his spark out and air his grievances. That certainly speaks of trust.

"Well- yes but, that's different!" Megatronus Prime isn't just some leader, he's one of the 13! One of the gods! Trusting him is different than trusting some uppity mortal that thinks they're better than everyone else and is willing to suck their lives away for their own benefit! Megatronus Prime isn't like that-

"Do you think your friend Orion is like that?"

"No!" The reflexive leap to defend his friend comes before he can really process it. "No of course not, he's-"

Megatron covers his mouth. Oh. Slag.

"Perhaps," the Prime reaches down and gently removes his mask from Megatron's face, gently lifting his chin with one finger. "A better vow would be to no longer place blind trust in those who lead. Don't deny yourself faith or hope, little one. Both are important in order for you or anyone to have a future."

A future. Right. He sighs, shoulders falling to their lowest point and averting his optics. What future? He's stranded on the treacherous surface with a bunch of bloodthirsty strangers, and if he shows even an ounce of weakness that screechy seeker is going to be jumping for his throat. If not him, then one of the others, surely. He couldn't have any sort of comfortable or trustworthy future with people like that surrounding him. Every friend he's ever had, all of his batchmates, his siblings, his family, they're all back in Iacon. The mecha in the high guard hold no love for him, nor do the ones he's left behind. None of them ever will again. Even Orion, his... his everything, even he surely hates him now.

"Do you truly believe that, little one?"

"Yes! Wouldn't you?! I- I killed him!" Accidentally, and because Orion threw himself in front of his weapon, but still. "Sentinel Prime killed you, don't you hate him?" internally, Dee hates himself for hurting Orion. Surely Orion must hate him as much as he hates him, right?

"Sentinel," Megatronus spits the name in a vengeful rasp. "Murdered me in cold blood, as he did several of my siblings. We're still deciding what to do with him. Orion Pax threw himself in front of your weapon and was caught in the crossfire. You did not seek to murder him, nor did you seek to harm him. Twas an accident, nothing more, and not deserving of hatred. Not the hatred you hold for yourself, nor the hatred you presume he holds for you."

"But..." Megatron shrinks in his shadow, tears beading along the bottom lid of his optics. "But..."

"Hush," the Prime's command is firm but still very gentle. "You want to go home. You don't wish for war. Then I ask you, little one: what must you do to achieve those goals?"

[ghostofhyuck]

NCT Dream when they ignore you because they're too busy playing online games. 

Mark Lee

You decided to visit your boyfriend Mark to spend time with him. But it seems like everything is not going according to your plan, when he was spending his time in his pc. He seems to be focused about it because when you entered his place, he's already in front of the pc. Not even bothering standing up to greet you. You spend your time in his bed, trying to entertain yourself with your phone, but deep inside you were annoyed because Mark is completely ignoring you. It was almost nighttime when Mark finished playing, and when he tried to talk to you, you completely shut him off. 

Huang Renjun

Your boyfriend promised you that you two will be watching a new movie on Netflix. But you were surprised that he made plans to play games with his friends. That's why you sat there, his laptop on your lap while he's in front of his pc, focused on his game. You couldn't even watch it properly because Renjun was too noisy. In the end, you closed the laptop, grabbed your stuff, and left the place without saying goodbye. As you exit out of his apartment, you couldn't believe that Renjun didn't even noticed that you left. 

Lee Jeno

You're used to Jeno's gaming habits. Sometimes it's okay, especially when you're also busy with other stuff like reading books, or watching series. But this were the times that you need Jeno, you need his comfort after a hectic day, but he only gave you a quick kiss and hug before going back to his game. You sat at the edge of his bed, staring at him and took him a while to notice it. "Are you okay?" he asked, and you wanted to test him, "Yeah, I'm okay." you told him. Jeno nods, then proceeds to continue playing. You were surprised by his actions, so you decided to just sleep your tiredness instead. 

Lee Donghyuck

You wanted to be clingy today! You are yearning for your boyfriend's affection but Haechan's too busy with his games. At first, you tried to distract him and would complain that you need him. But he was too focused with his game. "Babe stop, you're being clingy." He said in a serious tone, and while you do admit that you're being clingy, you were offended of his tone. "Is it bad that I need my boyfriend today!?" you shouted, and before Haechan could even answer, you walked out of his apartment. 

Na Jaemin

You knew that his words aren't serious. "Just one game," Jaemin smiles, even pouting at you, and you being you, agreed. You let out a sigh as you watch Jaemin goes back to his pc setup, shouting about the fact that you let him play another game when he's been telling you that numerous times just today. And of course, you're stupid if you said, "No" to him. That's why you let him be, even if it means ignoring you for the rest of the day. 

Zhong Chenle

You were supposed to go buy something at the mall with your boyfriend. It's one in the afternoon, and you're all dressed-up but the problem is, Chenle's not picking up the phone. You tried to message him numerous times, even calling him. You let out a sigh, opening your discord and discovering that he's online playing another games. You only stared at it, convincing yourself that it's useless to go out today when your boyfriend's too busy with his games. That's why you set your phone on 'dnd' mode, wanting to give your boyfriend the same treatment. 

Park Jisung

You're not expecting anything when you crashed to your boyfriend's place. But for him to completely ignored you because he's too busy playing games was something else. You tried to distract him, sitting beside him and watching his game, trying to entertain yourself but you just really don't get computer games. "Fine Ji," you mumbled, grabbing your things. "I'm leaving bye!" you shouted. Closing the door of his place. Jisung panicked when you shouted those words, he wasn't able to save his game, throwing his headphones away just so he can chase you back. 

[doubleddenden]

So the stories leaked from gen 4 development are certainly interesting, eh? I'm sure everyone has their own feelings about it- some of you are apparently ECSTATIC about fucking your Machokes. Good for you, my guy. Some are horrified, thinking something's been defiled (it is fiction and most importantly non canon, you're fine, get a grip).

Me? I think the lady (yes, it was a lady) that wrote all of these is REALLY PASSIONATE about her craft, and was also referencing real world mythos and how they portray similar instances- I think we all know that Zeus has probably done worse on all giving and receiving ends of these stories, as well as Poseidon, Loki, and probably some other myths from Europe, China, and definitely JAPAN- key word there. In fact, the Typhlosion story is probably a reference to a similar story about a badger yokai that can alter its face to appear human, and the Octillery story is definitely a reference to- well, tentacle porn is a thing for a reason that goes pretty far back as a way to get around censorship in hand painted porn. The contents of the story aren't really much different or more terrifying than mythos we'd see in the real world (or if you're in the bible belt like me, probably EXPOSED to with morning bible studies before class growing up), and it's mainly just shocking to see it in the context of Pokemon.

And I think that's kind of the point. Sinnoh is already a pretty dark region in terms of lore and myth, and has surprisingly religious undertones considering the family friendly nature of Pokemon and its general target audience. Obviously none of the horse, badger, sloth monkey, octopus, god, or... Lapras fucking made it to the final cut, although in Japan they still reference People and Pokemon being so equal at some point that they could marry- that's even kind of referenced in Legends Arceus with I think a diary written by a man kidnapped by a Froslass? its been a minute, but you probably know what I'm referencing.

I think an interesting question would be "How did we get to these terrifying stories?" Especially Typhlosion and Slakoth.

Its important to remember this: None of this was meant to see the light of day outside that office circa 2003 to 2004ish. Yeah, surprisingly you weren't supposed to see the story of a man fucking an Octillery BEFORE throwing it back out to sea in a rated E for everyone game, and you didn't! You saw it via twitter, reddit, 4chan, tumblr, discord, or your local weed guy who all spread it from someone who got it from confidential office logs we wouldn't see unless someone took that info from Game Freak's darkest depths of other secrets they'd prefer to keep hidden. Every game and media company has this, good and bad, to various degrees of sfw and not. Did you know Disney has an entire vault of actual PORN that animators would make of their own anthropomorphized characters? Locked nice and safely, too... with uh, some exceptions breaking containment, I think?

So with that being said, we understand this is meant to be privileged info only a handful of people were supposed to see. That means they can use words and stuff you normally wouldn't see- Adventure time for instance had Finn and Jake saying "fuck" in story boarding, kinda funny- because its meant to be workshopped and tinkered with, refined until you get something desirable.

In fact, creators will often propose darker ideas than what they actually want so that they can more easily talk censors into an outcome they ACTUALLY desire. Alex Hirsch did this a few times in Gravity Falls' production, and you know Disney was a bitch to deal with (although he probably didn't propose stuff like this, but you get the idea). So this being said- Obviously nobody wants a story about a Typhlosion engaging in a non-con relationship with a minor it kidnaps. Nobody wants to read a story about humans MUTILATING Slakoths for fun and then getting revenge impregnated by a Slaking, only to give birth to a Slakoth and have it killed and thus kill yourself out of grief for your lost child (people reading this without context- ho boy you guys have missed out on some crazy shit that's popped up). So what is okay from here?

Maybe a little Pokemon death after going a while without it and accruing a reputation of being safe for kids? Mention of Pokemon bones being picked clean of meat and put back into a river so it can come back reborn? Some darker undertones of Pokemon being tormented by Team Galactic? How about a story of a boy slaying Pokemon with a sword, but less detail of mutilation of Ursaring and Slakoth? All of this made it into Diamond and Pearl, didn't it? Add in a little Human and Pokemon "Marriage" that is easily scrubbed out and replaced with "eating at the same table" for the more sensitive Western audience, and you have some pretty believable, dark, somewhat uncomfortable but child friendly lore for Pokemon.

Not to mention, a lot of this was probably pitched just to get a feel of the vibe they were going for in the game. If you read back through the stories, bits and pieces end up being used in other, non Poke-fucking stories, or recontextualized. See the above.

While its certainly a relief that they're non canon, it is a rather interesting look at the development of gen 4 lore and actually makes it feel more... realistic, in a way- again, comparing it to real world mythos and religious tales. That, and honestly? The religious backstory is actually, unironically amazing- HEAVILY based on real world religion, but plenty of real world religions steal from other religions and mythos anyway (coughchristianitycough).

Its actually a bit sad, because in any other JRPG, Arceus becoming a wounded woman that an ordinary man cares for, Arceus falling in love with this man because he treated her so tenderly, bearing human twins, the twins becoming Dialga and Palkia to fight some Titan that would become Mt Coronet, and Arceus loving this man so much that she took his soul to create Azelf, Uxie, and Mesprit to spread love and joy throughout the world? That would literally be INSANELY GOOD world building. Plus! Arceus was a human woman when she did this! It was also consensual! Can you imagine what the world would have been like if we had gotten not only FEMALE Arceus- god of all Pokemon universes- but also a HUMAN INCARNATION of her? And this was BEFORE Giratina came into the picture, apparently. If anything, we got robbed a bit of some deep lore and potential story telling from this being cut, imo.

But one more thing to consider is this: All the stories, even if they did make it to the final cut, would still be stories within a story. Fictional folktales within a fictional setting. If we judge the above by how relevant the ACTUAL content that made it into the games were to the actual overarching plot... It'd be overall kinda useless beyond some flavor text. That's kind of the sad fact of it. Pokemon Players especially, grown adults too, are not exactly known to be well read and some play the game by rapidly A pressing every ounce of dialog they come across, even in brand new playthroughs. I'm sure some remember that one idiot on twitter that thought he made the discovery of the century when he found Snowpoint Temple in Legends Arceus, right? So understandably, especially when you're working on a clock, on limited space, on new and unfamiliar hardware, and trying to be as broad and reachable to audiences as you can- things get cut. Even... Some of the coolest lore building of all time SERIOUSLY A FUCKING PANTHEON WHAT THE HELL.

And I lied, there is one more thing to consider, especially for anyone actually morally offended by some of the content mentioned- Keep in mind that this is in 2003 to 2005ish Japan, with Game Freak (who we know are pretty out of touch in some regards, even by today's standards), before twitter, before tumblr, during a more edgy time for... well, everyone alive at the time, and especially adults. That's 20 years ago. Some of you may not have been alive at that point (did you finish your snacks and juice, lil guy?), some of you probably had a lot of your formative education influenced by the more puritanical side of tumblr or twitter, but it was simply a different time and place. That's it. The people involved in this have moved on and have probably grown into better people, and probably haven't made more fics like this. Maybe. Who knows. It's fiction anyway, and nobody real got hurt from it, and that's what's most important at the end of the day.

So that's my thoughts on it. I think I'm more annoyed by the fact that one of my favorites got a worse Vaporeon treatment than anything, and there's possibly the risk of Nintendo/TPC/Game Freak overreacting and gatekeeping Typhlosion out of the games for a bit. Sigh. My first pokemon, man. Well, anyway, try not to take it too seriously if you see the jokes and memes about it. It'll pass.

But hey, sexy Latina Skyla is canon! Shadow the Hedgehog wins!

[miskamix]

Hii!! Can I req Chuuya x SH reader? Can be both angst and fluff, you don't have to tho if you don't wanna <3

𝓒𝓱𝓾𝓾𝔂𝓪 𝔁 𝓖𝓝! 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

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This is another thing i didn't expect people to request, and it brings me so much comfort when i find sh comfort fanfics:(

If you are struggling with sh please know i'm always open to talk if you want:) and i'll try to comfort you to the best of my ability! (i'm usually not on here during the day so you can ask me for my discord in dms)

I'M SO SRRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO MAKE I REALLY NEEDED A BREAK SINCE I WAS SO STRESSED FROM SCHOOL 😭

Also, English isn't my first language so please dont mind any spelling errors!!

TW: SH, gore? Talk about fresh SH cuts, Might be ooc😓 please tell me if i missed anything!

Words: 1,3k

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sometimes in life things don't go the rigth way, is what people say, they say "sometimes in life things don't go the way we want, but thats just how it is"

But right now it felt like absolutely nothing was going the right way, you felt like the whole world was against you, like you were some useless peace of garbage that could be thrown out at anytime, like there was no one in this damn world that would sit down and listen to your pityfull problems. you were at your abselut worst.

And the only thing that could help the with it was the razor in your hand, which is cutting your thigh. you move almost like a robot, you don't even feel the pain of the razor anymore. everything seems like a dream, all the blood coming out of your cuts and dripping and mixing in with the water of the bathtub, your vision being slightly blury.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you bring your razor to your Radial vein. you shake slightly as you look down at your wrist debating if you should cut it or not.

As you start breathing faster you look at the suicide note you left on the chair next to the bathtub. you wondered how long it would take for chuuya to find you, would he even care if you died?

you feel tears start to run down your face and you start to sniffle uncontrollably.

As you're about to cut the vein you hear a loud knock on the door, "[name]? baby are you in there..?" your boyfriend chuuya asks in a quiet voice.

You quickly wipe your tears and panic a bit as you didn't lock the door since you weren't expectinc chuuya to come home this early, "Y-yeah.." you say trying to not sound sad, but knowing chuuya he most likely heard the saddnes in your voice.

"Darling.. is something wrong..?" He asks in a conserned voice, "i'm just.. washing my hair" you try to come up with an exuse while your whole body is shaking. "Darling, you washed your hair yestarday tho? are you really okay in there..?"

'Damn i forgot about that' you think while trying to find a place to hide the razor. While you panic you some how bump into the soaps and knock them down making a loud noise. "Baby are you okay? i'm coming in" he says and opens the door, "NO WAIT!" but before you can stop him, he has already opened the door and seen your cuts.

.....

.....

After a few moments of silence and staring at each other, chuuya finally makes a move closer to you.

"...Chuuya.. please i'm sorr-.." You try to explain but your voice starts to shake and you feel a lump in your throat. "...shh.." He quitelly walks closer to you and wipes the small tears that have started to for in your eyes.

"...I'm so sorry.. i k-know i said i'd.. try to stay clean for you.. i tried my best.. i swear.. i'm sorry.. please.. p-please don't get mad.." You sob as more and more tears start falling from your eyes. Your vision is starting to blur from all the tears, so much so that you can't even see chuuya anymore.

"....shh... darling.. i would never be mad at you.. what could ever make you think that..? i understand how hard it is to recover from something like this.." He whispers into your ear while holding you close, not even caring about the blood staining his clothes.

All you can do is cry and cry, you cant even manage to answer his question, all that came out if your mouth were pityfull sobs and 'i'm so sorry'. Chuuyas shoulder was becoming wet form all the tears but he didn't mind, he would do anything just so that you could feel better.

After some time of Chuuya trying to comfort you and trying to get you to tell what happened, did you finally calm down slightly, just enough for you to able to answer his questions.

....

Chuuya starts washing your cuts gently, you both sit there in silence with the only sound beinf your small sniffles and some small choked sobs.

After a few seconds chuuya decides to break the slience, "..Darling, please.. what happened that made you relapce..?" he asks with a gentle tone while holding your shaking hands in his. For a moment you stay slient, wiping your tears. "...i... i-i've...", you say in a shaky voice trying to break out into a crying mess again. Right at this moment you didn't know what to say, you really didn't know how to say what made you do it.

"...take your time..", Chuuya's soft voice snaps you out of your trance, you feel his thumbs rubbing on top of your hands in a comforting way.

"...its hard to say.... i-i don't know how to put it into words..", you whisper, hoping chuuya wouldn't be mad. You're scared he'll be mad at your answer, scared he'll force you to talk, force you like your mother would always do. You remember the first time you relapsed she got mad and forced you to talk, even when you were crying.

"..thats fine.. its not always easy to put something like this into words.." Chuuya caressed your back in a comforting way, making you want to just cry, cry so hard and let everything out, everything that has been bothering you, all your worries and troubles. You felt so comfortable in his arms, like you were safe. "would writing it help?", he asks and runs his fingers through your hair.

You burry your face in his neck and nod, feeling him pick you up and carry you over to your bedroom. He gently puts you on the bed and you slightly whine from the stinging pain that came from your cuts, holding back your tears. '..i'm sucha an idiot..' you think while watching chuuya leave the room to go get paper.

....

Chuuya comes back after some time with a piece of paper and a pen. He gives you the stuff and sits down next to you while waiting for you to write on the paper.

You sit there for a second before starting to write about how you've been feeling really insecure about yourself and thinking that you arent enough for him and that he should be with someone else. Once you're done writing you hesitate to give the paper back to chuuya for a bit, but you decide to just do it.

Once its in Chuuyas hands, you look away embaressed about the thngs you wrote, hoping he wouldn't judge you for it.

After a bit of silence, chuuya finally says something, "Darling.. why didn't you tell me..? i could've helped you feel better.." He says quietly and you just look down ashamed feeling like everything is your fult. You knew you should have told him, maybe then you wouldn't be in so much pain at the moment.

You felt like you were about to cry again, you felt weak. You just wanted to lay down and forget about the world around you.

"...i was scared.. i'i was so scared you'd be mad at me..." Your voice breaks as you try to explain everything to him. Chuuya sit there with you in his arms listening to you with a worried look on his face.

"...darling i would never hate you.. you're the most important person in my life, i would never be mad at you for relapcing.." He says while stroking your hair and rocking back and forth slowly. you hug him tight, like your scared he'll be gonne once you let go of him.

For the rest of the night chuuya keeps you in his arms while he comforts you and tells you how much he loves you.

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Grr the end was rushed 😓😓

Anyways, pleae give me some feedback, it really helps me when people tell me what i should try to be better at.

Do not repost this on any other website without asking me first and giving me credit!!

Requests: Closed for now

[sourellie]

streamer!ellie

been seein this everywhere n i wanna partake!! ( º﹃º ) the usual bad grammar. not proofread. scared as shit to post this ENJOY!!!

streamer!ellie who met you over a game of fortnite. bear with me i haven't played fortnite in years. she ended up playing teams with you, hearing you talk shit made her and her stream love you!!! you two played quite a few rounds that day...From Then On....god if i got any of that right

streamer!ellie meeting you for the first time was a whole ordeal. she streamed the whole thing??? sweating buckets. spewing nonsense to her chat. this girl was NERVOUS. "Chat. Chat. I'm Scared. Chat Please."

streamer!ellie i can't decide if she's always shown her face or if she Was faceless at one point. but let's just say for shits n giggles the first time she showed her face Was the meeting u stream. "Big Things Are Comin'...Gunna Make Money Moves."

streamer!ellie she was so damn nervous for the face reveal. it was so awkward on her part. someone asked her what she was wearing and said "u know just a calm luh fit."

streamer!ellie let me talk about this real quick. you n ellie started dating Way before chat ever found out. obviously they had hints. aka the entire meeting u stream. she revealed it on accident when she called u babe and the whole chat basically said SAY WHAT!!!! so she had to confess....come clean if u will...

streamer!ellie starts all of her streams with "Hello All."

streamer!ellie OKOK THIS IS JUST PROJECTION ON MY PART BUT this girl cannot let go of "i i i be poppin bottles" she thinks it's so funny to play it at random points in her streams

streamer!ellie as for the games she plays i think she just likes to play whatever her stream tells her to. but she rage quits a lot...so. anyways i think if she had to pick her favorites it'd probably be dbd or any of the resident evil games. maybe even silent hill. but with you she loves to play minecraft!!! n you two even have a server with all your friends!!! she loves to see you interacting with her chat it's so special to her T . T

streamer!ellie when she walks away from her stream, you like to play pranks on her with chat. one time you told chat to ask what was behind her when she came back. she screamed in fear when she seen 'What's that behind you?' "WHAT IS WHAT?! WHAT IS WHAT?!?" she didn't turn around that whole stream.

streamer!ellie when she does just chatting streams all she talks about is you. "well my girlfriend-" "yeah my girlfriend-". she just loves u she wants to mention u as much as she can!!!! the amount of edits chat has made of you two...ellie had a stream where all she did was go through her discord and watch edits.

streamer!ellie chat loves you possibly more than they love ellie. 9 times outta 10 if ur with her, ur gunna get ur picture taken. borderline ur fans. they add u in group chats n stuff n sometimes u pop in to say hey!! and they never let it go.

streamer!ellie when she released merch she had u model :((((

streamer!ellie when u stay with her and she ends up playing something, she has a little place just for you to lay!!! it's like one of them big bean bags. it's right by her set up n sometimes stream catches her jus lookin at u :333

her username is elwilli cuz it's funny anyways enjoy these pics that are streamer!ellie coded

maybe one day i'll write more. anyways. bye