#and it also makes me want to choke you out

[nochepsicodelica]

NSFW

"Don't forget how badly you said you wanted this when it gets to be too much, 'kay, mama?"

A warning that you paid no mind to and instead giggled at, because Toji kissed your knuckles and your forehead when he finished binding your wrists together. You thought he wouldn't be too hard on you, and even if he was, you have a trick up your sleeve. You know that if you beg hard enough with shimmering eyes, he becomes a little more lenient. He eases up on you and gentleness starts to seep into his actions.

Well, that didn't work. Not this time. This time, he wanted to give you everything you asked for and more.

"Fuck..." Toji groans. "Look at that, ma." He displays his cum soaked, glistening fingers and shows you an update on the juices that have made their way down his wrist. "Come on, open your eyes and look," he says, patting your thigh.

Your bottom lip quivers and your eyes flutter open, your dim, weary gaze darting to the face of the man inflicting all these varying sensations your body is feeling.

"Not at my mug. Look at my hand and my forearm," Toji instructs, trying hard not to smirk at how utterly debauched you look. You look like you're going to cry, again. "Messy girl, you did that."

You mumble something quiet and unintelligible, and like a shark, Toji devours your pathetic attempt to speak. "Louder. I know you can be louder, or do you need some encouragement?" He asks, ghosting the knuckle of his index finger along your slit, resulting in your body full on jolting.

"Sorry!" You cry out, loud enough to have Toji laughing at your frantic repetition. "I said-- said i'm sorry," you stutter out, your voice unsteady.

You're ruined, yet somehow, this is a sight that has Toji's heart racing, like he's falling in love with you for the millionth time. It puts him through a conflict. It makes him want to be nice to you, it also makes him want to add on to your ruin, but more than anything, it sadistically makes him want to see you cry, again.

"Don't be sorry. This is what you wanted, right?" Toji groans, quietly, as he lies back down on his stomach, eyes focusing on your glistening cunt, again. "Wanted me to make you cry from the intensity of it all? Said you could handle being overstimulated, didn't you, ma?" His thumb drags up your slit, slow enough to have your inner thighs trembling as he makes his way up towards your overly sensitive clit. "Stay there," he commands, when you squirm the slightest bit away from him. He goes again, this time, dragging the pads of his index and middle fingers through your slicked folds.

"T-Toji," you whimper, your abdomen clenching and quivering with every one of his touches. "Toji, I--" you gasp, feeling the warmth of his tongue dragging through your folds and when you feel his fingers grazing your entrance, you can't help but whimper in anticipation for what's to come.

"Why are you shaking?" Toji asks, looking up at you, condescendingly. You can't scramble quickly enough to respond, before he's feeding his fingers into your drooling cunt. "Wanna cum?" He asks, taking in the sight of your returning tears with a menacing smirk. You don't know what to say, because on one hand, you get another orgasm, but on the other hand, you know you are going to be pushed past pleasure. "Yeahhh, you do. Look at that pretty face. Gonna make you cum so hard," he purrs, curling his fingers inside of you.

You don't know if you'll make it out of this one. You feel like you're being launched into heaven every time he makes you cum with his fingers and his mouth, but it's an immediate, full speed plummet to hell when he keeps going—keeps rubbing your clit while you spasm and practically choke on your breaths.

"Right there?" Toji asks, noticing a shift in the sounds of your moans. They're higher in pitch, quicker, and constantly interrupted by your sharp gasps. "Oh fuck," he growls. "That's it, huh?"

"I-I'm--" you whimper, "--fuck, fuck." Your chest heaves, your back slightly arching off the bed. "Toji," you call, frenzied by the overwhelming sensations. "I'm gonna die..." you blurt. "G-Gonna die," you cry out, tears spilling down the corners of your eyes and treading down your cheeks.

Toji watches, amusedly, as you struggle to figure out what to do while he keeps building you up. The mobility of your hands is limited due to your wrists being bound together, but your palms are dented by your nails to all hell. You barely have control of your legs, because even though they aren't restrained, Toji handles them however he needs to in order to give you what you asked for without you trying to stop him.

"You're fine. You can take it," he says, over the lewd, squelching sound of his fingers pumping in and out of you. "Last one, and you're giving me ten seconds."

"N-No!"

"Yes," he insists. "It's the last one, gotta make it a-"

It's unexpected, the wet mess you make all over Toji's hand, your thighs, and the sheets. You feel like your whole body is buzzing and your toes are curled so tightly that your feet are starting to hurt from the strain.

The countdown starts the second you start squirming and pressing your hips into the mattress. Toji's arms are hooked around your thighs, holding them open and still so he can use his mouth on you for all ten of those seconds and make a mess out of your overstimulated cunt. His lips are latched around your clit, one of his fingers pumping in and out of you, while you shake and pathetically sob from the borderline painful amount of stimulation. The skin of your palms must be broken by now from how hard you've been digging into them.

"Toj--" you barely manage, before your chest is heaving and racking out another sob.

The ten seconds are up, and Toji immediately eases off of you, releasing your visibly trembling legs so that you can move as you please. He crawls up the bed and sits beside you, quickly undoing the binding of your wrists and tossing the strip away.

"I know... I know, doll," Toji coos, wiping at your tear streaked cheeks. He doesn't instantly scoop you up into his arms, because you not wanting to be touched is definitely a possibility. He just sits there, by your side, and attempts to verbally soothe you while you work to compose yourself. "Just breathe, mama. It's all done. You're gonna be okay."

Once your breathing is more calm and you're not so rattled, he works his way up to touching you, starting with your shaky hands and the crescent shapes that litter your palms. He carefully runs his thumbs over the little marks, monitoring your reaction to make sure he isn't hurting you. He brings your hands up to his lips and kisses your knuckles, moving along each of your fingers and ending where his focus is needed most—your palms.

"You good, ma?" Toji asks, lying down on his side, facing you. He's still not pulling you into his arms, but one of his legs is pressed against yours, just to have some sort of physical contact with you.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you say, offering a soft smile. "It was just..." you hum, thinking.

"Intense?" Toji cuts in, to which you nod. "But I didn't hurt you too bad? You're alright?"

"Yes, baby," you assure. "I would've used my safe word if it was too much for me to handle. We touched on that before we started this, remember?" Your hand goes to cup his cheek, but he intercepts it by grabbing your wrist and bringing your hand up to his lips, again.

"Don't be scared to use that word, ma. Don't ever push your boundaries for me, alright? I don't give a fuck if i'm about to bust. If you're not feeling it, we're gonna stop, okay? The last thing I wanna do is to traumatize you."

"Jesus fuck, you're so sexy," you murmur, curling up into him. Your hand splays over his abdomen and rubs slowly, a simple gesture that makes his cock start throbbing and twitching in his sweats, the longer you do it. "Yes, Toji. I won't ever hesitate," you assure, your words promised, physically, through a kiss. The feeling of your lips against his, only further fuels his arousal. You can feel the way he impatiently kisses you back, like he's trying to inhale you. The way he grips your hip and pulls you so that your body is pressed against him, further communicates his need for more of you.

"I'll be so gentle with you, doll," he mumbles, into your neck, pressing kisses to it, afterwards. "Please? Let me treat you right, this time."

You giggle as he continues murmuring quiet little pleas into your neck, through kisses.

"I wanted you to do it, baby, but alright, treat me your way. The right way."

[menagerofmischief]

pretty and pierced -> ln4

this came to me in a dream, 18+ also, written in all lowercase, sorry

piercer!lando who you meet on a night out with friends. you're in a crowded club, dancing with your friends when one of them tugs on your arm.

"girl!" gerry, your best friend, screams at you over the loud music. "hottie alert! and he's been looking at you like he wants to eat you!" she giggles, pointing her finger and you follow it, your eyes landing on lando.

he's standing near the bar, talking with a few friends, but his eyes are glued on you. the second he notices you looking at him, he smirks, raising his hands to wave his fingers at you before beckoning you over.

gerry practically screams into your ear, already a bit drunk from all the shots she had, and grips your arm. "you have to go!" she tells you, shaking your shoulders before her arms slip down to your top, pulling it a bit lower to expose more of your cleavage.

she gives you a sultry look before pushing you into the crowd and towards the bar. "have fun!" she calls out before you're too far away to hear her from the music.

you laugh to yourself as you make you way over to the bar, where lando's standing and watching you approach with hungry eyes.

'hi!' he smiles, speaking when you're finally near enough to be able to even remotely hear him over the loud songs blaring from the speakers. "I'm lando."

you smile back at him, "y/n."

"y/n," he repeats, your name rolling off his tongue, sounding sweeter than honey. "pretty name for a pretty girl," he says, a laugh slipping past his lips when you blush. "let me buy you a drink."

you're a few drinks deep, giggling at his cheesy jokes when a half rational thought crosses your mind. "so, what do you do, lando?"

he grins, running a hand trough his curls. "I own a small tattoo and piercing studio," he says and you squeal with delight.

"really?!" you ask, grabbing onto his arm, your fruity cocktail pushed to the side. "I always wanted to get a piercing!"

"really?" lando echoes, his tone slightly teasing. "what kind?"

your cheeks burn, eyes dropping a bit lower as you suddenly get shy, and he can't help but be amused. his fingers sneak under your chin, lifting it up so you meet his eyes. "come on now, princess, don't go all shy on me. what piercing do you want?"

you don't know if it's possible to blush anymore but you certainly do. "I always wanted to get my nipples pierced," you murmur, but lando catches it, his eyes gleaming. "even got an appointment once, but I chickened out last minute."

a smirk spreads on his lips, and there's a look you can't quiet place in his eyes. "how about I do them for you?" he offers, and you nearly choke on your own saliva. "on the house."

"oh - I couldn't possibly -" you begin to protest, but he cuts you off.

"why not, princess?" he asks, "I'm offering, aren't I?" his eyes follow the curve of your body, greedily staring at your chest. "and don't you worry, I'll be gentle."

you have to bite your lip to force yourself not to whimper, paddling deeper into an unknown territory with him.

"so what do you say?" he asks and your eyes widen when you catch the implication.

"you mean now?"

"why the hell not?"

after a second of overthinking you grab your glass, downing the rest of the fruity drink in one go before looking back at him, nodding your head. "you know what? why the hell not!"

and that's the story of how you ended up in lando's tattoo studio that night. the place was closed, and a bit cold if you were being honest. you awkward sat on the tattoo bed as lando gathered all the necessary stuff.

"you change your mind yet princess?" he teased, making sure all the needles were sterilized.

you laughed, pressing your palms down on the leather of the bed. "I might if you keep being so slow!" you teased back and he laughed.

"well all done now," he said, approaching you with a metal tray. "you might wanna ..." he gestured to your top, "I still haven't mastered piercing over clothes."

you giggled, still feeling a bit tipsy from all the previous drinks, your nerves easing up a little. you reaches for the hem of your top, grabbing it with both hands and pulling it over your head. after a second of hesitation you unclasped your bra, putting it next to your shirt.

lando groaned, taking in the sight of your naked chest, nipples pebbled and erect from the chilly air in the studio. he reached out for you, hands cupping your tits, groping them greedily. "you ready?"

"yes" you said, a sigh falling past your lips as his hands groped you.

lando lifted up the needle and you tensed, awaiting the pain. instead he leaned forward, lips closing around one of your nipples and sucking, making you whine at the sensation.

"what are you -" you couldn't finish, whining when his teeth nipped at your nipple, as the same time you felt a short painful sensation in your other nipple, head snapping to look and your eyes zeroed in on the needle piercing your nipple.

you exhaled a breath and lando pulled away, grinning up at you wickedly. "didn't even feel it, did you princess?"

you shook your head, feeling your cheeks burn. lando laughed, inserting the piercing and adjusting it so it wasn't too tight. he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to your nipple, making your body twitch.

"looks good," he said, preparing for the other nipple.

one of his hands cupped your other breast, squeezing once before he let his fingers trace around your pebbled nipple. you held you breath as his fingers pinched the nipple, distracting you enough to not notice the needle, just like the last time, until he was already done.

"holy shit," you breathed out as he adjusted the second piercing, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the freshly pierced nipple.

he pulled away, his hungry eyes focused on your tits. "they suit you well, princess." he purred, his hands cupping your tits.

suddenly he pulled away completely, taking off his gloves and approaching the counter, searching around for a bit before pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. he scribbled something quickly before returning to your side.

"don't put the bra on," he said when you reached for the undergarment. "let it breathe a bit, wear only the top." he grabbed the bra away, a mischievous look on his face. "and I'll keep this."

you obeyed, putting on your top. lando handed you the piece of paper and you looked at the number written on it. he must have seen the confusion on your face because he quickly clarified.

"that's my personal number," he purred, smiling at you. "the healing takes about 6 to 8 weeks, you should send me updates, picture updates, so I can make sure everything is healing well."

"oh, is that so?" you teased back, finally finding your voice again.

"oh yes!" he nodded, "I take very serious care, have to make sure everything is alright, and I gotta be able to see it to confirm it."

he walked you over to the door, lingering a bit as his eyes slid over your body. with a last surge of confidence he leaned forward and pressed a short teasing kiss to your lips, pulling away to leave you wanting more.

"and if you want any more piercing, you know where I am."

please give this one some love (likes and reblogs) it's my crazy baby also I'm thinking reader gets a clit piercing next but idk!!

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: How to Ruin a Plot || Jade Leech

When you end up as the villainess in a story that's hellbent on making her suffer for no reason, you decide to make the main characters suffer just for catharsis. Good thing that your fiancé, Jade Leech seems to like chaos as much as you.

Series Masterlist

Dinner wasn’t much to write home about—a plate of lukewarm spaghetti that could generously be described as "functional," paired with a salad so sad it could star in its own soap opera. But you had something better: entertainment.

And by entertainment, you meant the literary dumpster fire currently sitting in your hands.

This book. This book.

The plot was so catastrophically terrible that it looped around to being hilarious. You chewed your subpar spaghetti and flipped a page, trying not to laugh too hard at the sheer absurdity of what you were reading.

The villainess, a talented duchess and renowned potion maker, was saddled with some of the worst clients in existence. The saintess—of course, she was a saintess, because originality was clearly out of the question—was engaged to the Duke of the North. Why? Who knows. It wasn’t like they seemed to like each other. In fact, she was also having a very public affair with the prince.

And not just any prince. A balding prince.

Because nothing screams “romantic rival” like the slow and tragic retreat of one’s hairline.

They were both the worst. The kind of people who would demand a 12-step skincare routine from their servants but would balk at paying them a living wage. When the villainess refused to make them more potions for ridiculous requests like “immunity to insults” (seriously?), they decided to frame her for crimes and have her executed.

The sheer audacity.

But it didn’t stop there. Oh no. The villainess had a fiancé—Jade Leech, poor guy—who tried his best to help her escape. And what did she do? Sacrificed herself so he wouldn’t get dragged into her mess. Noble, sure, but also infuriating because she died for them.

And then Jade, now heartbroken and understandably bitter, became the main antagonist. Only to be defeated by the same cartoonishly bland protagonists who caused the entire mess.

It was like someone handed a six-year-old a book contract and said, “Go wild, kid. Just make sure it has betrayal and love triangles, and throw in some magic potions or something.”

You forked another sad tangle of spaghetti into your mouth and tried not to choke from laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all. The characters had all the depth of a kiddie pool, the plot holes were big enough to drive a carriage through, and the pacing? What pacing? This story had clearly decided pacing was for cowards.

You flipped to another page, nearly snorting when the saintess justified her affair by saying, “It’s what the goddess would want."

Sure, Jan.

And just as you were about to take another bite of dinner, it happened.

A mushroom. A mushroom.

You didn’t even realize it had slipped into your spaghetti until it was already lodged in your throat. Panic set in as you clawed at your neck, gasping for air while your brain helpfully supplied one last thought:

Can’t believe a mushroom took me out. Goddammit.

And then everything went dark.

The first thing you notice is the carpet: thick, plush, and entirely too luxurious for someone who had been laughing themselves to death over garbage-tier literature just moments ago. The second thing you notice is that you’re alive, which is great. Except you’re no longer in your cozy little living room.

No, you’re in a gothic mansion straight out of an interior decorator's fever dream. Dark wood, brooding paintings, and vials of suspicious liquids lined up neatly on shelves. For a second, you think you’ve wandered into a Dracula fan convention, but then it hits you.

The novel. The Poisoned Duchess and the Frozen Heart of the North.

You scramble to your feet, heart pounding. “No. No, no, no, no,” you mutter, sprinting to the nearest mirror. A familiar (and obnoxiously beautiful) face stares back at you. Elegant curls, piercing eyes, and an expression that could curdle milk. Yep. You’re the Duchess—the villainess who gets executed for daring to have standards.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you groan, gripping the edge of the vanity. “I was just making fun of this! How did I end up here? Is this karma? Did the mushroom do this?!”

You spend a good ten minutes pacing the room, muttering to yourself like a squirrel with a caffeine problem. “Okay, okay, think. The Saintess and the Prince are nuts, and they’re gonna come here demanding potions for their ridiculous nonsense like ‘immunity to sarcasm’ or whatever. Solution? Close the shop. Sell it. Let some other poor soul deal with their unhinged requests. Genius! But what next? What about the fiancé—oh god, Jade!”

Jade Leech. The fiancé you had casually dismissed in your tirade against the novel. The one who was supposed to be self-sacrificing, and eventually doomed. But now he’s your fiancé, and you’re not about to let him become collateral damage in this flaming dumpster fire of a plot.

“We’ll run away!” you declare, pointing dramatically at an imaginary horizon. “We’ll elope, move to some peaceful countryside, grow tomatoes, and live a happy, Saintess-free life. Screw the plot. Screw the Duke. Screw the Saintess and her balding fiancé—”

You’re mid-sentence when the sound of a door opening interrupts your theatrical monologue. You spin around and freeze.

Standing in the doorway is Jade Leech himself. And oh boy, the novel did not do him justice. His sharp features, soft teal hair, and piercing eyes make your brain short-circuit. The man looks like he walked out of an ethereal fairy tale and promptly decided to make everyone else look like peasants.

He leans casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, and raises a brow. “Well, this is quite the scene to walk into.”

You blink. And then you blink again, because your brain is still stuck on handsome fiancé alert. “Uh…”

Jade smirks, clearly amused. “Is this a private performance, or can anyone join? Because I’m not sure who you’re planning to screw, but it sounds… ambitious.”

You want to die all over again. “I—uh, would you… like to join my plans?”

His eyes gleam with mischief. “Plans, you say? That depends. Do these plans involve anything more exciting than managing a potion shop?”

“Yes! So much more exciting!” you blurt out. “We close the shop, sell it, cause some chaos, run away, and live happily ever after far away from this stupid place! No Saintess. No Duke. Just… us. Tomatoes. Maybe a goat.”

Jade chuckles, the sound warm and entirely too pleasant for your frazzled state of mind. “You’ve certainly caught my interest. All right, I’m in. A little chaos sounds much better than… whatever normalcy is supposed to look like.”

He steps closer, and you swear your brain bluescreens again because wow, personal space doesn’t exist here, huh? Jade offers his hand, his smile sharp but oddly sincere. “So, where do we start, my prodigal Duchess?”

You take his hand, still half-dazed. “Step one: Screw the Saintess.”

He laughs again. “Now that’s the kind of plan I can get behind.”

Meeting Jade's brother was like getting hit by a rogue wave of chaos. You'd thought Jade was the wild card of the family, but then Floyd Leech burst into the room like a hurricane wearing a grin.

He looked at you with an intensity that made you feel like you were being appraised for your entertainment value, then immediately announced, "You wanna screw with the Saintess and the Duke? Oh, I’m in.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then at Jade, who gave you an apologetic shrug, clearly used to Floyd’s… energy. You decided, then and there, that you were extremely lucky to have been paired with the Leech brother who at least pretended to respect social norms.

Floyd, however, was a force of nature and, admittedly, a useful one. He seemed far too enthusiastic about the chaos you were planning, but hey, when life gives you a human typhoon, you use it to wreak havoc.

Then there was Azul Ashengrotto. Meeting him felt less like talking to a person and more like negotiating with an overly polite shark. “I can provide you protection,” he said smoothly, pushing a contract toward you with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You glanced at the contract, then back at him. “And what does this… "protection" demand in return?”

“Oh, nothing too demanding,” Azul said, waving his hand as if it was all very casual. “Just a few favors in return. Small things, really.”

You stared at the fine print and felt your soul start to sweat. This wasn’t just protection—it was a fast track to selling your soul to the fish mafia.

“Tell you what,” you said, shoving the contract back toward him. “I’ll sell the potion shop to you for cheap if you help me with whatever plans I come up with.”

Azul tilted his head, intrigued. “And what’s in it for me?”

“You get to own the best potion shop in the kingdom without dealing with the Saintess and her entourage of entitlement.”

His eyes gleamed. “Done. But if you get arrested, you won’t mention my name.”

“Deal,” you said, shaking his hand. Internally, you made a note to burn the shop down if things went south. Better a pile of ash than Azul owning it and your dignity.

The next day, you decided to drop by a boutique to prepare for the Saintess’s tea party. Not because you cared about the event, but because you cared very deeply about ruining her day.

You knew exactly what she was planning to wear—some pastel monstrosity—and you were determined to outshine her. You’d wear an upgraded version of her outfit, but classier, sharper, and absolutely dripping with pettiness.

The boutique owner was taking your measurements when you told them to send the bill to your butler. That was when Jade, who had been quietly browsing nearby, strolled over. He casually slid his arm around your waist, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and said, “Send the bill to me.”

You whipped around, scandalized. “Excuse me?!”

He leaned in, his mismatched eyes sparkling with mischief. “I just want everyone to know you’re my fiancée,” he murmured, his voice low and entirely too close to your ear.

Your brain promptly blue-screened. He was too close, his scent too distracting, and his hand on your waist was doing things to your equilibrium. The boutique owner pretended not to notice your obvious malfunction, but Jade? Jade looked like he was having the time of his life.

“Fine,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible as you tried to collect the scattered pieces of your dignity.

“Good,” Jade said, his smirk widening.

He didn’t let go of you after that. Oh no, he kept his hand firmly on the small of your back as you left the boutique. Every step was an exercise in not collapsing from the sheer audacity of his touch.

Meanwhile, Jade looked perfectly at ease, as if his sole purpose in life was to see how long it would take you to spontaneously combust.

By the time you got back to the mansion, you were sure of one thing: Jade Leech was going to be the death of you, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

The tea party was shaping up to be the highlight of your career as a petty agent of chaos. You arrived late, naturally—nothing screams “I’m better than you” quite like waltzing in when everyone’s already seated.

The moment you stepped into the pavilion, a collective gasp swept through the crowd. Your dress—custom-tailored, one-of-a-kind, and effortlessly overshadowing every other outfit there—practically glowed in the sunlight.

The Saintess, perched at the head of the table, turned to greet you, her expression instantly souring when she caught sight of your gown. Oh, you could practically hear the cogs in her head screeching to a halt as she realized you’d completely outdone her.

“Oh my,” you said, offering a demure smile as you made your way to your seat. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” she replied, her voice as sweet as arsenic. “What a… bold choice of dress.”

“Oh, this?” You gestured casually, as though you weren’t wearing something that could stop traffic. “My fiancé picked it out for me. He has such excellent taste, don’t you think?”

You didn’t need to look directly at her to see the way her jaw clenched. You could feel her rage simmering from across the table. After all, her own fiancé, or even the Balding Prince, hadn’t bothered to buy her a dress, let alone one that could compete with yours. You almost felt bad for her. Almost.

From there, the afternoon devolved into a series of increasingly petty power plays.

When the Saintess poured herself a cup of tea, you made a point to remark on how “rustic” her teapot was.

When she complimented the garden’s flowers, you chimed in with, “Oh, are these the same ones you tried to grow last year? I remember hearing how they all died!”

Every little comment was a carefully aimed dart, and she was too polite—or perhaps too afraid of snapping in public—to retaliate. The guests, of course, were eating it up.

The pièce de résistance came when the Balding Prince himself approached you during the party.

“I need a potion,” he said, puffing himself up like a rooster trying to assert dominance. “For my, uh, hair.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. Of all the scenarios you’d envisioned, this was not one of them.

“Your hair?” you echoed, doing your best to keep a straight face. “What kind of potion are we talking about here? Growth? Volume? Shine?”

The Prince’s eye twitched. “That’s… none of your business,” he snapped.

Before you could respond, Jade—bless him—“accidentally” bumped into the Prince from behind, sending his ridiculous feathered hat tumbling to the ground.

The gasp that followed was deafening.

There it was, in all its glory: the shiny, blinding expanse of the Prince’s balding crown, gleaming like a beacon of despair in the afternoon sun.

For a moment, the pavilion was silent. Then someone coughed. Then someone else giggled. And before long, the entire tea party was a symphony of poorly stifled laughter.

“It’s, uh, a royal tradition!” the Prince stammered, clutching his hat and jamming it back onto his head. “A sign of wisdom and… and…”

He trailed off, clearly out of excuses, and fled the scene faster than you’d ever seen anyone run in formalwear.

The Saintess looked like she was about to implode. Unfortunately for her, the Third Male Lead (Yes, there were 3 of them) chose that exact moment to swoop in, all charm and wit as he began lavishing her with attention. You leaned back in your chair, sipping your tea and basking in the chaos like a cat who’d just knocked over an entire shelf of priceless antiques.

“Nice work,” you murmured to Jade, holding up your hand for a discreet high five.

Instead of obliging, he grabbed your hand and laced his fingers through yours, the smirk on his face practically criminal.

“You’re far more fun than I expected,” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You stared at him, your brain immediately short-circuiting. Your default response to most situations was sarcasm or snark, but this? This was uncharted territory.

“Uh… thanks?” you managed, your voice coming out embarrassingly squeaky.

Jade chuckled, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand as if to emphasize just how flustered you were.

“Come on,” he said, his tone far too casual for someone who’d just ruined you in front of an audience. “Let’s go cause more trouble.”

He kept his hand on the small of your back as you walked away from the pavilion, and you were pretty sure your soul left your body every time he leaned in to whisper some biting comment about the Saintess or her rapidly expanding collection of admirers.

One thing was certain: you were having the time of your life, and this was only the beginning.

The day begins innocently enough, which should have been your first warning.

You’re peacefully reading in the library, enjoying the silence, when Floyd barrels in like a hurricane. “Oi, c’mon, you gotta help me!” he hisses, grabbing your wrist before you can protest.

“Help you with what?” you manage to ask as you’re dragged down the corridor, nearly tripping over your own feet.

“It’s Jade,” Floyd says ominously. “He’s made mushrooms again.”

Ah, that explains it. You’ve heard rumors about Jade’s culinary experiments, but you’d yet to experience them firsthand.

“And what does that have to do with me?”

Floyd grins, the kind of grin that promises nothing good. “Well, I told him you love mushrooms.”

You stop dead in your tracks. “You what?”

Before you can bolt, Floyd shoves you through the greenhouse door and slams it shut behind you.

Inside, the room is warm and humid, filled with the earthy scent of soil and plants. At the far end, Jade is bent over a terrarium, meticulously arranging its contents with tweezers.

He looks up when he hears you enter, his expression brightening. “Ah, you’re here!”

Your heart sinks.

Floyd’s words echo in your mind—you love mushrooms. If only he knew. Mushrooms were the reason you got isekai’d in the first place, and the trauma of choking on one is still fresh in your memory. But now, faced with Jade’s expectant gaze and a plate of what looks like sautéed mushrooms on the table, you realize you’re trapped.

“Floyd said you were eager to try these,” Jade says, his tone polite but unmistakably pleased.

You glance at the mushrooms, then back at Jade. He looks so hopeful, like someone who’s spent hours perfecting a recipe and is finally sharing it with someone who’ll appreciate it. You swallow hard.

“Of course!” you say, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. “I love mushrooms.”

You sit down at the table, and Jade places the plate in front of you. The mushrooms actually smell... good. Earthy and buttery, with a hint of garlic and herbs.

“Bon appétit,” he says, watching you intently.

You pick up a fork, your hands trembling slightly, and stab a piece. You can do this, you tell yourself. It’s not the mushroom’s fault you died. It’s just food.

With one final breath, you pop the piece into your mouth.

...It’s delicious.

The flavor is rich and savory, perfectly balanced, and the texture is tender without being mushy. You blink in surprise, then take another bite.

“Good?” Jade asks, and there’s a slight smugness in his tone.

“It’s amazing,” you admit, unable to stop yourself from eating more.

Jade’s smile widens, and something in his expression softens.

After finishing the plate, you linger in the greenhouse as Jade continues tending to his terrariums. You watch him work, his hands deft and precise as he rearranges moss, misting the plants with care.

“Need help with anything?” you ask, feeling unexpectedly at ease.

He glances at you, then gestures to a nearby shelf. “If you don’t mind organizing the vials, that would be helpful.”

You nod and get to work, sorting the various bottles of nutrients and spores while Jade hums softly under his breath. The atmosphere is peaceful, the kind of quiet that feels alive rather than stifling.

Once the terrariums are in perfect order, Jade brews a pot of tea, and you both sit at a small table nestled among the plants. The tea is fragrant, its warmth soothing as you take a sip.

Jade sits across from you, one hand resting lightly on the table. Absentmindedly, you reach out and place your hand over his.

He freezes for a moment, his eyes flicking to your joined hands. His usual calm demeanor falters, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “You’re quite bold,” he murmurs, though there’s a hint of nervousness in his voice.

You suppress a grin, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before turning your attention back to your tea. “And you’re holding my hand,” you point out casually.

“I suppose I am,” he says, his voice steady again, though his ears are noticeably red.

The two of you sit there for a while longer, sipping tea and enjoying the greenhouse’s serenity. Jade, ever the polite menace, pretends to be unfazed, but you catch him glancing at your joined hands more than once.

You smile into your cup, the taste of mushrooms and tea lingering on your tongue.

You wake up to the sound of maniacal laughter, the kind that belongs to either an evil overlord or someone who just discovered how to unlock infinite in-game currency. For one groggy moment, you wonder if the devil himself has come to collect you for your sins. But as your eyes flutter open, reality (and dread) sets in.

It’s not the devil. It’s Floyd.

“Why?” you croak, sitting up in your chair and rubbing your eyes. “Why are you like this?”

Jade, ever the epitome of composed chaos, is sitting calmly across from you, sipping tea and looking highly amused. “Ah, you’re awake,” he says with a smile that suggests nothing good is about to happen.

“I had the best idea!” Floyd exclaims, still cackling. “It’s gonna be hilarious!”

Jade gives you a knowing look, the kind that says, This is going to be a disaster, but I want to watch it unfold.

You should probably shut this down. You should. But instead, you wave a hand and mumble, “Sure, go wild.”

It turns out “wild” was underselling it.

Floyd’s “brilliant” idea? Convince the Saintess to organize a grand sword-fighting competition under the premise that the Balding Prince would absolutely win. To no one’s surprise (except maybe the Saintess), she fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

“She’s been gushing about how he’s ‘a natural-born warrior,’” Floyd reports gleefully during the planning phase. “She’s even betting on him!”

You glance at Jade, who is practically glowing with smug anticipation. That should have been your first clue to intervene. Instead, you shrug and think, Eh, it’ll be fine.

It was, in fact, not fine.

When the announcement of the tournament goes public, the Balding Prince—bless his fragile ego—realizes he has a slight problem. Namely, the fact that he’s never held a sword in his life, let alone used one. Naturally, he comes crawling to you.

“I need a potion,” he demands, his tone somewhere between entitled and desperate. “To, uh, enhance my… swordsmanship.”

You lean back in your chair, trying to look unimpressed. “Oh, I don’t sell potions anymore,” you say airily.

The Prince glares at you, his bald spot gleaming under the room’s chandelier. “I’ll pay you.”

“You can’t afford me.”

“How about enough gold to fund your entire territory for the next twenty years?”

You sit up straight. “You drive a hard bargain, Your Highness.”

The potion you make for him is top-notch—for two hours. After that, well, let’s just say it’s going to be a long day for the Balding Prince.

The tournament goes about as chaotically as you expect. Jade, a genuinely skilled swordsman, carves his way through every round with ease. The Prince, meanwhile, is barely holding on, relying entirely on the potion to scrape by. Somehow, by sheer luck and Floyd’s endless meddling, the Prince manages to make it to the final round.

By this point, the Saintess is practically glowing with excitement, convinced her fiancé is about to cement his status as a legendary warrior. “He’s going to win for sure!” she squeals, clapping her hands.

You sip your tea, barely suppressing your smirk. Oh, sweet summer child.

The final round begins with Jade and the Prince stepping into the arena. The crowd roars with anticipation. The Saintess is preening in the stands, while the Empress looks vaguely mortified, as though she knows what’s about to happen but can’t stop it.

And then, right on cue, the potion wears off.

The Prince’s stance falters immediately, his grip on the sword going from “warrior” to “child holding a bat for the first time.” Jade doesn’t even have to try. One expertly placed strike sends the Prince’s weapon flying across the arena, and the match ends with the Prince sprawled on the ground, dazed and defeated.

The crowd erupts into laughter, and you’re pretty sure you see the Emperor facepalm.

To add insult to injury, the Emperor himself has to present the winner’s diadem to Jade. But instead of wearing it himself, Jade turns to you with a wicked grin.

“For you, my dear,” he says, placing the diadem on your head with a flourish.

The crowd loses it.

The Empress looks like she’s contemplating disowning her son on the spot. The Saintess bursts into tears and flees the arena, with the Prince stumbling after her, trying to explain his humiliating defeat.

You, meanwhile, stand in the center of the chaos, smiling peacefully.

“This,” you murmur, “is the best day of my life.”

The market was lively, the kind of lively that felt one loose cart wheel away from utter chaos. You’d gone there to buy something mundane—perhaps herbs, maybe a decorative pot, who even remembered anymore? What you did remember was spotting Azul, impeccably dressed as usual, standing at a stall that sold ornamental quills.

“Azul!” you called out, dragging Jade with you as you made your way over.

Azul turned, one brow arching as he spotted the two of you. “Ah, the duchess and her ever-present shadow. What brings you here?”

“Just window shopping,” you said vaguely, though Jade’s sudden fascination with terrarium accessories suggested otherwise.

One thing led to another, and before you knew it, the three of you were headed to a charming little café. It had the kind of ambiance that said, I’m wildly overpriced, but look at our aesthetic! Jade held the door open for you, and you stepped inside, marveling at the array of desserts in the display case.

You barely had time to settle into your seat when the atmosphere shifted.

There she was.

The Saintess.

You tried to ignore her, truly, but her obnoxious aura was as subtle as a bull in a porcelain shop. She was seated nearby, flanked by her entourage of lackeys. They whispered, they giggled, and they kept looking at you. You rolled your eyes and leaned closer to Jade and Azul, focusing on your conversation.

But peace, as usual, was not in the cards.

One of the lackeys—a girl who had the smug look of someone who thought her two brain cells were revolutionary—approached your table. In her hands was a steaming cup of tea, and the moment you saw it, a sense of foreboding settled over you.

And then, with all the subtlety of a villain in a children’s cartoon, she “tripped.”

The tea flew through the air in slow motion, a graceful arc of impending disaster. You braced for impact, but Jade moved faster. He stepped in front of you, shielding you from the scalding liquid. Most of it missed him, but a splash landed on his hand.

“Jade!” you exclaimed, grabbing his arm to inspect the burn.

Meanwhile, the lackey straightened herself up, not even bothering to fake remorse. “Oops,” she said, her tone so insincere it could’ve curdled milk. “It was an accident.”

“An accident?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You carried a boiling cup of tea across the room, aimed it at our table, and ‘accidentally’ threw it at us?”

She shrugged, her smirk widening. “My dad will pay for any damages. And you’re overreacting. It’s just tea.”

Overreacting? Oh, you were about to react, all right.

Azul, meanwhile, was unusually quiet. His tie had been stained in the splash zone, and his tight-lipped smile was beginning to look like it could crack glass.

The lackey continued, oblivious to the metaphorical storm clouds gathering over Azul. “Anyway, if you keep making a scene, it’ll just look bad for you. My dad’s pretty important, you know.”

“Oh?” Azul said suddenly, his voice as smooth as silk but with an edge sharp enough to cut steel. “And who might your father be?”

The lackey puffed up with pride. “He’s the finance manager for the duchess’s estate!”

There was a beat of silence. You exchanged a glance with Azul, and then your lips curled into a predatory smile.

“Azul,” you said sweetly, “guess whose daddy is about to lose his job?”

The ride back to your estate was tense—for you, at least. Jade sat calmly beside you, his hand resting on his knee, but you couldn’t stop fussing over his burn.

“Stop squirming,” you said, dabbing at his hand with a damp cloth.

“I’m fine,” Jade insisted, though his amused tone suggested he was enjoying your concern far too much.

“You’re not fine,” you retorted. “What if it scars? What if it gets infected?”

“Then I’ll have a mark to remember your attention by,” he said, his lips twitching into a half-smile.

You glared at him, but your fussing didn’t stop. By the time you reached the estate, you were practically vibrating with righteous fury.

The finance manager stood in your office, visibly confused.

“You’re fired,” you said bluntly.

His jaw dropped. “What? Why?”

You crossed your arms, your smile as sharp as a blade. “Ask your daughter.”

“What does she have to do with this?” he demanded, his face turning red.

“Everything,” you replied. “Guards, escort him out.”

He sputtered and protested, but you didn’t care. Justice had been served.

Later, after the physician had checked Jade’s hand and declared him fine, you collapsed onto the nearest couch, your exhaustion finally catching up to you. Without thinking, you ended up sprawled across Jade’s lap.

He stiffened, his hands hovering awkwardly before he cautiously placed one on your back to keep you from sliding off.

“Comfortable?” he asked dryly, though the faint pink on his cheeks betrayed him.

You hummed in response, already half-asleep. Within moments, your breathing evened out, and you nodded off.

Jade, for his part, was thoroughly smitten. His usual composure cracked as he replayed the day’s events—your fiery anger on his behalf, the way you’d fretted over his injury, and now, the way you looked so peaceful resting against him.

His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, and he allowed himself a rare, genuine smile.

“Quite the enigma,” he murmured to himself, already planning how to keep you close.

The ballroom was a spectacle of opulence. Chandeliers glittered overhead, casting soft golden light on the polished floors and the parade of nobles in their finest silks and velvets.

This was supposed to be a night of grand announcements, of declarations of love, and of the start of some “epic romance” that would undoubtedly be inscribed into the annals of history—or, at least, that's what the original novel promised.

But as you stood to the side with Jade and Floyd, it was evident that this version of events was hurtling off the rails.

Enter: the Duke of the North.

The poor man barely stepped into the ballroom before his eyes landed on the prince and the saintess. You could physically see the will to live drain out of him as his shoulders slumped, his gaze unfocused like he was calculating the fastest way to fake his own death and disappear into the wilderness.

It was almost pitiful. Almost.

The prince, meanwhile, had puffed up his chest and was grinning like he hadn’t recently been humiliated in front of half the kingdom. And the saintess—oh, she was trying, bless her delusional heart.

Smiling demurely, batting her lashes, and putting on a performance that might have worked if her reputation hadn’t already been stomped into the dirt by your carefully orchestrated chaos.

You leaned toward Jade and whispered, “I think the Duke’s trying to plot his own escape.”

Jade’s lips twitched in amusement, but he kept his usual calm demeanor. Floyd, however, cackled loudly enough to draw a few stares.

Then, the moment arrived: the prince stepped forward, his cape swishing dramatically as he raised his goblet. “Tonight, I announce my bride-to-be, the one chosen by the heavens themselves—the saintess!”

There was a smattering of applause, mostly out of obligation, but you were too busy watching the Duke. The man visibly sagged with relief, his shoulders dropping like he’d just been unshackled from a lifetime of servitude. You could practically hear the mental thank the gods echoing in his head.

And then, as if shedding the weight of the world, he turned on his heel and made a beeline—toward you.

You blinked, momentarily stunned as the Duke of the North, the supposed male lead, bowed deeply and extended a hand toward you. “Would you honor me with the first dance, my lady?”

You opened your mouth to decline, because this wasn’t in any script you remembered, but before you could utter a word, Jade smoothly stepped in.

“Apologies, Duke,” he said with his signature polite menace, “but she already promised this dance to me.”

Without waiting for a response, Jade’s hand found the small of your back, and he gently yet firmly guided you to the dance floor. The Duke was left standing there, his hand still outstretched, looking mildly bewildered.

“Don’t worry!” Floyd piped up, appearing out of nowhere. “I’ll dance with you!”

Before the Duke could protest, Floyd latched onto his arm and practically dragged him into a lively—and utterly chaotic—dance that looked like a mix of a waltz and a sparring match. The Duke’s expression alternated between horror and resignation, while Floyd grinned like he was having the time of his life.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably as you watched the scene.

Jade glanced down at you, his expression softening as he took in your laughter. His usual cool demeanor melted for just a moment, replaced by something so tender it made your heart stutter.

The realization hit you like a lightning bolt.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

You were in love with him.

And not the “oh, he’s handsome and I tolerate his presence” kind of love. This was the “I want to spend my life laughing and dancing and plotting petty revenge schemes with you” kind of love.

The thought was overwhelming, and before you could stop yourself, you buried your face in Jade’s chest.

He stilled for a moment, surprised, but then his arms encircled you, holding you close as he continued to sway to the rhythm of the music.

He didn’t question it, didn’t tease you, didn’t even comment. Instead, he rested his chin lightly on top of your head, his voice low as he murmured, “Are you all right?”

You nodded into his chest, your cheeks burning as you clung to him like a lifeline.

As the music swelled around you, you felt his hand tighten slightly on your waist. When you finally peeked up at him, his gaze met yours, and there it was again—that look of unguarded adoration that made your knees weak.

It was, without a doubt, the best dance of your life.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the ballroom, the Duke of the North was being spun around like a rag doll by Floyd, who was cackling loud enough to echo off the walls.

You caught sight of the saintess in the corner, her smile strained and her fingers clutching her goblet so tightly it looked like it might shatter.

All was well in the world.

The ballroom was buzzing with conversation, the glittering chandeliers casting light on a gathering of nobles too caught up in their own intrigues to notice the storm brewing in one corner. That is, until a sharp, shrill voice cut through the air.

“You think you can just ruin my family and get away with it?” It was the girl whose arrogance had gotten her father fired. Her finger pointed straight at you, her expression a mix of fury and desperation.

The ballroom stilled as the girl pointed her trembling finger at you, her voice shrill enough to shatter glass. "You think you can destroy my family and just walk away? You're nothing but a tyrant with too much power and zero empathy!"

Her father, standing nearby, was frantically gesturing for her to stop. “D-Dear, perhaps we should—”

“Shut it, Father! I’m handling this!” she snapped, tossing her poorly styled curls over her shoulder. She turned back to you, eyes blazing. “Everyone should know what kind of monster you are. Workplace harassment! That’s right—I said it!”

Before you could even process the absolute absurdity of the accusation, the Duke of the North stepped forward like some knight in an overwrought romance novel.

“You will not speak of her in such a way,” he declared, his voice booming with righteous indignation. “The duchess is a paragon of nobility and grace!”

The crowd collectively oohed, but before you could roll your eyes hard enough to dislocate something, the Saintess shot to her feet, looking utterly scandalized.

“This man,” she hissed, gesturing wildly at the Duke, “didn’t even fight for me, his divinely chosen match, but now he defends her? A woman who flaunts her defiance of heaven’s will? Blasphemy!”

“Blasphemy?” you muttered under your breath. “Blasphe-you, lady…”

Unfortunately, the Balding Prince chose this moment to stumble into the fray. “Uh… Are we…arguing?” He puffed up his chest, desperately trying to seem relevant. “As prince, I demand order!”

You took one look at him, with his shiny scalp gleaming under the chandeliers, and decided he wasn’t even worth the effort.

Meanwhile, Jade, ever the picture of composed menace, sidled up to your side. His eyes locked onto the Duke’s hand, which was still resting on yours. With a polite but firm gesture, Jade brushed the Duke’s hand away as though it carried the plague.

The Duke looked affronted. Jade just smiled. But it wasn’t a nice smile. It was the kind of smile that promised future inconvenience.

You, however, had officially hit your limit. You stepped forward, raising your voice over the din. “Enough!”

The room froze. All eyes turned to you as you launched into your tirade, starting with the Saintess.

“You!” You pointed directly at her, ignoring the way her cheeks flushed with outrage. “Do you honestly think the universe revolves around you just because you’ve got a shiny necklace and a tragic backstory? Newsflash: It doesn’t. The only divine will I’ve seen is everyone’s will to avoid your self-righteous sermons. Go back to your prayer circle and spare us your dramatics.”

Her mouth opened in shock, but you were already turning to the Balding Prince.

“And you! Stop sending letters to my estate asking for potions to grow hair or stretch your bones. I’m a duchess, not a miracle worker, and no amount of magic can make you interesting. Get a personality—or at least a hat.”

The prince turned beet red, his hands twitching as though debating whether to flee or argue. You didn’t care.

You swung your gaze to the girl whose father you’d fired. “And as for you, congratulations. You’ve just confirmed that stupidity really is hereditary. Your dad didn’t lose his job because of me. He lost it because he was stealing more money than the royal treasury had left after your little shopping sprees. You’re lucky I didn’t throw both of you in jail.”

Her father, now sweating through his cravat, looked like he might faint on the spot.

Finally, you turned to the Duke. “And you. I appreciate the effort, really. It’s sweet that you think I need defending. But I’m not a damsel in distress. I don’t need saving. And, oh—” You reached out, grabbing Jade by the arm. “I happen to have a fiancé whom I adore. So maybe put your chivalry elsewhere.”

Jade, for his part, looked smug as he allowed himself to be pulled along, his composure completely unshaken.

The ballroom fell into stunned silence as you swept toward the exit. Then—

Floyd’s laughter broke through like a cannon blast. He doubled over, clutching his stomach as tears streamed down his face. “Oh my god—that was amazing—! Balding prince—hat—”

Azul smirked, hiding his amusement behind a gloved hand. “Well, that was certainly… enlightening.”

You didn’t even look back as you pushed open the grand doors. “Idiots, the lot of them,” you muttered.

As you exited the ballroom, you couldn’t help but glance up at Jade. He looked unusually pleased, his lips curling into a faint, satisfied smile.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing,” he said smoothly, though the twinkle in his eye said otherwise. “I simply find your methods... inspiring.”

The two of you made it past the grand doors before the realization hit you like a carriage with no brakes.

You had just declared, in front of everyone, that you loved Jade.

And he knew it. Oh, did he know it.

He walked beside you, his usual calm and collected demeanor now infused with an insufferable smugness. His smile was the kind that could sell snake oil to a herpetologist.

“Darling,” he said, his voice laced with honeyed amusement, “you’re unusually quiet. Cat got your tongue? Or perhaps you’re shy after your… heartfelt proclamation?”

You refused to meet his gaze. “Shut up,” you muttered, staring resolutely at the carpeted hallway like it held the secrets to the universe.

“Now, now,” he crooned, leaning closer. “Why won’t you look at me? Surely you wouldn’t deny me the honor of basking in the gaze of my beloved?”

Your face burned hotter than the ballroom chandeliers. You covered it with your hands. “Leave me here,” you said dramatically. “Leave me here to rot in peace.”

Jade chuckled, and it was the kind of sound that sent shivers down your spine—warm, teasing, and entirely too pleased. “Why on earth would I do that?” he asked, his tone deceptively innocent. “Especially when my beloved looks so… endearing in their embarrassment.”

You peeked through your fingers, ready to deliver some biting retort, but the words died in your throat.

Jade’s expression had shifted. He wasn’t just amused anymore—he was smitten. The way his mismatched eyes softened as they looked at you, the faint smile that carried more affection than smugness, the subtle tilt of his head like you were the most fascinating thing in the world—it was all too much.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you grumbled, your voice weak.

“Like what?” he asked, feigning ignorance as he gently reached for your hands.

You tried to resist, but he was insistent, pulling them away from your face with a tenderness that made your heart ache. Before you could think to stop him, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t just a teasing peck to rile you up—it was slow, deliberate, and completely disarming. You melted against him, any thoughts of resistance dissolving as you instinctively pulled him closer.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and slightly dazed, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this book wasn’t the irredeemable mess you’d always thought it was.

After all, it had given you him.

The decision to expedite the wedding wasn’t exactly born of romance. It was born of the Duke’s increasingly deranged letters, the last of which included a poem so long and melodramatic it might as well have been a novel in verse.

Jade, to his credit, only raised a single brow at your muttered curses as you ripped the latest letter into confetti. “Darling,” he said mildly, “perhaps this is a sign to finalize our own arrangements before our dear Duke decides to recite his poetry at your doorstep.”

You had agreed, of course, which led to your current predicament: drowning in swatches, floral arrangements, and pamphlets for curtains—curtains, of all things.

“This one feels too garish,” you muttered, holding up a deep crimson drape. “But this one’s too boring,” you added, pointing at a pale beige option. You groaned and flopped back in your chair, glaring at the wedding planner. “Why is there no middle ground? What am I paying you for?”

The poor planner looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and never come out. Before you could unleash more frustration, Jade plucked the pamphlets from your hands with infuriating ease.

“Enough,” he said, his tone firm but fond. “You’ll give yourself gray hairs fretting over curtains. We can always elope, you know.”

You gaped at him. “Elope?”

His smile turned mischievous. “Yes. A quiet ceremony in the woods, perhaps, with only the birds as witnesses. Far from meddling Dukes and curtain debates.”

For a moment, you almost entertained the idea. But then you shook your head, laughing softly. “I suppose I’m being a bit dramatic.”

“A bit,” Jade echoed, though his teasing lilt softened as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “You don’t have to do this alone, my love. Delegate.”

The wedding planner, who had been cowering behind a stack of color charts, practically lit up. “Oh, yes! Delegate! Please, delegate!”

You sighed, leaning into Jade’s touch. “Fine. You’re in charge now.”

The planner looked as though he might fall to his knees and kiss Jade’s shoes in gratitude. Jade, ever the picture of elegance, merely chuckled.

“Excellent choice,” he said smoothly, guiding you away from the table of chaos. “Now, let’s find something far more enjoyable to argue about—like the wedding cake flavors.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but marvel at how easily Jade managed to turn your stress into something almost enjoyable. Perhaps rushing the wedding wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

The room was an over-the-top vision of wealth: chandeliers the size of small planets, flowers flown in from who-knows-where, and a cake so tall you were half-convinced Floyd could climb it and look smug doing it. Every noble in the kingdom was here, decked out in silks and sequins, pretending they weren’t secretly gossiping about you and your eel fiancé.

You barely noticed. Jade was standing in front of you, looking so unfairly ethereal you wondered if the universe had been playing favorites. His mismatched eyes were locked on yours, and his smile was small but so genuine you almost forgot your carefully planned vows.

Then, of course, chaos. Because how could anything in your life go smoothly?

From the back of the ballroom came a loud, wet, obnoxious wail.

“Oh, for the love of God,” you muttered under your breath, and Jade’s lips quirked in amusement.

“I LOVED HER FIRST!” the Duke sobbed dramatically, his voice shaking with the intensity of his grief.

“Shut your mouth before I shut it permanently,” Floyd snapped, his voice cutting through the crowd like a knife.

And if that wasn’t enough, you could faintly hear Azul’s oily, persuasive tone somewhere off to the side. “Yes, Lord Evermore, just a tiny signature on this insignificant little contract. You’re not using your soul for much, anyway, are you?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, biting back a laugh. This wasn’t just a wedding—it was your wedding. Of course it was going to be chaotic.

But when you looked up, there was Jade, his gaze steady and full of a quiet devotion that made the rest of the madness blur into the background. His vows were perfect, as expected, and when it came your turn, you stumbled over the words a little, because how were you supposed to focus when he was looking at you like that?

Then came the kiss.

Jade dipped you in one smooth motion, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that sent the room spinning. Applause erupted, and you swore you heard someone sniffling behind you.

“Is the Duke crying again?” you murmured against Jade’s lips.

“I believe Floyd threatened him,” Jade replied, far too amused.

“And Azul’s... oh no, is he signing contracts?”

Jade only smirked, kissing you again. “Should I be worried that you’re more interested in their antics than your new husband?”

“I’m not—wait, husband?” You blinked at him, the word sinking in, and for the first time in ages, you felt completely, blissfully happy.

As you stood there with your chaotic, ridiculous found family around you, you couldn’t help but smile. Sure, your life had taken a turn for the absurd, but if it brought you to this moment, maybe that cursed mushroom wasn’t so bad after all.

“Remind me to thank that mushroom,” you said with a grin.

Jade’s laughter was soft, warm, and entirely yours. “If it brought us together, I might build it a shrine.”

You laughed, pulling him closer. You’d faced chaos and conspiracies, chaos and hilarity, but in this moment, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Trash Novel Masterlist

All Masterlists

[lordprettyflackotara]

Can you do a Jeff the killer public type thing just an idea 🤷‍♀️

die for me || jeff the killer

‘good God she’s on the floor rolling her eyes at me, once i get inside she’ll wanna die with me’

sum: after a long mission, Jeff can’t help but admire your dedication to him. the longer the drive back to the mansion goes on, Jeff decides he can’t wait any longer, that needs you now.

tw:smut, minors dni, 18+. public sex, filthy gas station sex, jeff’s a cocky bastard (duh), threats of violence but in a horny way, choking, etc

a/n: first fic inna minute let’s gooo, also friendly reminder i only write for afab/fem readers, that is the only thing i am comfortable writing. my rules are in my pinned post :)

Jeff couldn’t take it anymore.

He always knew he was terrible at controlling impulses. From killing, to insults, to fighting. When Jeff wanted something, nothing was going to get in his way.

This time however, that just so happened to be you.

You were sitting beside him in a beat up toyota, your feet hanging out of the window as you mindlessly played on the nintendo switch Ben had lent you. The orange street lamps briefly illuminated your face every few seconds as Jeff drove past them. Your furrowed eyebrows and softer expression captivated him.

Before this mission Jeff had never thought twice about you, if he was being honest. He never paid attention to anyone at the mansion, especially not newer residents. Typically the newer ones left before he even gave them a second look. But contrary to his dismay, The Operator deemed the two of you to be a compatible duo for the task he had in mind. Jeff was not happy about this, not fearful to hide his anger when he found out the news. Jeff was aware living in the mansion required completing some task every now and then. It was apart of the unspoken contract. Usually The Operator knew better then to send someone with Jeff, given how impulsive and unhinged the killer could be.

To Jeff’s surprise, you kept up with him. You matched every move he made, your face discreetly lighting up with excitement when he made an absurd impulsive decision. You never complained or got annoyed when Jeff mindlessly made a move. You never worried about the consequences. You trusted Jeff’s judgment. That kind of respect was never given to him by any of the others, despite the fact that he was one of the oldest creeps in the mansion. He couldn’t help but continue to glance at you, soaking in your features. He cursed the Earth for making it nighttime, your mesmerizing facial features hidden every few seconds.

Endless words were on the tip of the pale killers tongue, Jeff desperate to have a conversation with you. He hardly even knew your name, shit, he wasn’t even sure he had the correct name in mind. What would you two talk about? How breath taking you looked with fresh blood splattered across your cheeks? How his heart thumped every-time you giggled at one of his shitty one liners? Or how you admired every time he wrote ‘go to sleep’ on the walls after his killing spree? Jeff gripped the steering wheel harshly, gritting his teeth.

Why was this so difficult? He’d never had a problem with this before. Talking to people was the least of his worries, given his appearance. That was another thing he liked about you. You never stared at him like he was some wild zoo animal. You looked at him like he was just another person. Most people, including new residents, always gawked at him like he was a fucked up science experiment. But you? Delightfully the opposite. He tried to keep his eyes on the road, shoving off his thoughts. He spread his legs just a little wider, ignoring the way his body felt ignited. He pressed against the gas pedal, pushing the ancient car to its limits. This caught your attention, causing you to put down the gaming device. You gave him a wicked grin as you rearranged your position, taking off your seatbelt.

This alarmed Jeff, his obsidian hardened gaze meeting yours.

“What the-, what are you doing?” He questioned, his voice sounding more concerned than he would’ve liked. You giggled as you propped yourself to lean out of the car window, your hair brushing past you in the wind. He could hear your cheers of excitement, your head spinning as you felt like you were soaring. Jeff was mesmerized watching you, so much so his eyes were barely on the road anymore. It wasn’t enough that you were so reckless, so effortlessly addicted to any possible danger. But what was sending him over the edge, were your legs. Bare and exposed, your skirt riding up your soft thighs. He swallowed as you parted your knees, revealing just enough of your black lacey panties.

Jeff had to stop himself from slamming on the brakes, his cock growing harder in his jeans. Were you doing this on purpose? Jeff couldn’t tell, your laughter flooding his ears as you leaned further out of the car. If Jeff could’ve had it his way, he would’ve bent you over the hood of the car on the side of the road and fucked you until you begged for him to stop. But he knew if anyone saw someone like him, police would immediately be involved. And if there’s one thing Jeff hated anything more than Jane, it was the police. So instead he abruptly turned the wheel to the left, grinning in satisfaction as he located a small gas station.

Driving through the middle of no where had its perks, meaning if anyone saw him, he definitely had a chance of just killing them all and leaving. But it also meant there would only be a few people to keep you quiet from. “You hungry or something?” You asked, your hair messy and tangled as you popped back into the car. Your cheeks were flushed red, your eyes forming with excitement at the mere idea of a proposition to do something unhinged. “Yeah i’m hungry alright, c’mon,” Jeff grunted, shoving his hood over his head before climbing out of the car. You followed him, the pale killer keeping his head down as he trudged into the store. You followed behind him closely, unsure of what his next move would be. That was another thing Jeff liked about you, your dedication to following his lead.

He could hear the satisfying clicking of your boots as you trailed behind him, the pale killer noting your eyes hovering over a bag of spicy doritos. “We’ll get those inna second, cmere,” Jeff beckoned, motioning for you to follow. You rejoined him, his slender fingers grabbing your wrist. You let out a gasp of surprise as he yanked you into the gas station restroom, locking the door behind you. His large hand covered your mouth, his other pushing you against the rough wall. His obsidian eyes bored into yours as he stared down at you, noting the way your gaze flickered back and forth. As if you were searching his eyes for an explanation. “I don’t know how you did it doll, but you’ve got my attention. Shit, you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger,” He growled. Jeff didn’t like vulnerable confessions, but he didn’t fail to notice the way your eyebrows were raised in confusion.

“Now tell me, did you wear those little black panties for me? Did you hope you’d get my attention with them? That i’d take them off of you?” Jeff huffed. He could feel your face growing warm under his touch, his pale hand slowly lifting off of your face. You were visibly flustered, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he nudged his knee in between your legs. “Answer me before I cut out your tongue,” He threatened, knowing it held no weight. You licked your dry lips before speaking, breathless as he brought his knee to your core. “Y-Yes, you have no idea how badly i’ve wanted y-you,” You sputtered, clearly embarrassed by the forced confession. Jeff tsked, grabbing your chin forcefully. You should’ve known better than to expect a fairytale kiss, Jeff was always known to do what he wants. No guidelines needed.

“Well you sure do know how to flatter a man. Think you can keep up with me doll?” He smirked, feeling himself growing harder in his jeans. With a shaky hand you boldly brought your hand to his bulge, palming at it through the fabric. Jeff’s painted grin grew wider, his eyes ignited with a feral flame. “Naughty naughty girl. You’ll get what you want, just keep quiet for me,” He purred. Without warning he threw himself down onto his knees, lifting up your skirt. “If you want me to keep going you gotta be quiet. Wouldn’t want anyone hearing you, would we?” Jeff asked, relishing in satisfaction as you nodded like a bobble head. He brought his hot mouth to your core, licking a stripe up your clothed cunt. He watched as you squirmed, biting your lower lip to remain silent. He nudged your thighs open wider, pulling your panties to the side.

Jeff stared at your wet cunt, your body practically begging for him to take you. Teasingly he hovered over your cunt for a moment, before diving in like a starved man. You let out a small gasp, before covering your mouth with your own hand. Your other found its way to his hair, your knees threatening to buckle as his tongue flickered across your sensitive clit. Jeff enjoyed using his large hands to pry your thighs open, his fingers harshly digging into the skin. You tilted your head back, your eyes fluttering shut as his tongue teased your entrance. He enjoyed feeling your body beg for more, squeezing around nothing as he enjoyed the nectar your pussy provided.

You were a slave to the way he pleased you, the feeling more erotic to you than you could’ve dreamed of. You had wanted Jeff from the moment you had entered the mansion. The pale killer was tall, dark, and mean. He was fearless, not fearing anyone, anything, or any possible repercussions that could come his way. You admired him for that, your first nights spent with your fingers deep in your cunt as you imagined him destroying your body for his own fun. Now he was on his knees in front of you, lapping at your drenched folds. You tasted divine, Jeff grinning in sick satisfaction as he knew all of his arousal was for him and him alone. You could feel your core begin to tighten, your legs shaking as you approached your first orgasm.

Jeff could feel this too, his lips attached to your clit and sucking harshly. He wanted to rip your first wave of euphoria right out of you. He demanded it. He needed it. He looked up, admiring your desperation to keep quiet as you came in his mouth. The pale killer only lapped at your folds harder, determined to clean you up as best as he could with his tongue. He smirked, chin and lips coated in your juices as he emerged from between your thighs. He rose to his feet, towering over you. You looked dazed, your heart pounding as his strong hands kept you upright. Swallowing, you stared up at him with lust filled eyes. He removed your hand from your mouth, listening to you pant quietly. “Don’t tell me you’re worn out already doll, we’re just getting started,” Jeff snickered, beaming with pride as he tucked some stray hairs behind your ear.

In a swift motion he dragged you over to the sink, bending you over and grabbing a handful of your hair. Your eyes landed on him in the filthy mirror, Jeff’s eyes darkening as he unzipped his pants. “You’re gonna watch me fuck you, understand? You’re gonna watch me ruin this little cunt for anyone else but me. If you look away I won’t hesitate to bash your head in, understood?” Jeff snarled, adjusting himself to your entrance. You verbalized agreement, your body on cloud nine as he began to shove himself inside of you. Your hands gripped the sides of the sink, your knuckles turning white as he abruptly bottomed out inside of you. The pale killer was not a gentle man, especially not when it came to abusing your cunt for his own pleasure. He released your hair, several strands messily falling into your face. His large hand wrapped itself around your neck, his slender fingers dedicated to forming bruises on your tender skin.

His dark obsidian eyes stared at you in the mirror, watching your face scrunch up in pleasure as your walls adjusted around him. “You’re a sick fuck, wanting someone like me to take you like this,” Jeff huffed, slowly moving his hips. Your whimper was muffled by his hand squeezing around your throat, restricting your airway. “In a filthy gas station bathroom too? Such a sick whore,” He seethed, watching your lips part and form into the shape of an O. He had to hold back his own sinful noises as he began to fuck you properly, his cock abusing your g spot with his each thrust. He could feel how tightly you squeezing him, how much your body craved his filthy words. “You like this? Hmm? Being used like a fuckin slut in public?” He grumbled in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. Your eyes threatened to roll back into your head, Jeff squeezing your throat harder.

“Eyes on us slut, don’t make me ruin that pretty face of yours,” He threatened, your fucked out eyes returning to the unholy sight in the mirror. He grinned sadistically as he nibbled at your earlobe, feeling your body grind against his as he did so. Your body felt like it was on fire, your legs trembling as you approached your next high. You had never felt so euphoric before, your body addicted to the pleasure you had only dreamed of. “Such a good fuck doll for me, fuck,” Jeff groaned, fucking into you harshly. You could feel your body growing closer to the edge of your final orgasm, your knuckles turning white from gripping the sink so hard. Jeff could sense this as well, shooting you a sadistic glance in the mirror. “C’mon pretty girl, cum on my cock. Make a mess for me,” He purred, licking your ear lobe. It felt so sickeningly pleasurable you came on his command, your eyes rolling back as euphoria washed over you.

The high of your orgasm didn’t last long, your vision hazy as Jeff forced you onto your knees. Your knees hit the gross sticky tile below, his cock covered in your juices and his precum as he stood before you.

“We aren’t done slut. Open up your mouth and suck.”

[yuwuta]

YOU AND I TOGETHER, WON’T YOU HOLD ON TO ME — YUUTA OKKOTSU

cw mentions of children, pregnancy. so much of yuuta being happy and sappy :(( sorry i haven’t shutup about my little depressed lovesick boy making it out and living a full life. probably won’t anytime soon actually. satoru is alive and well in all my renditions of happily ever after and that won’t change either i fear  

Yuuta talks about the future often. A future with you, and him, and your friends, and a family where you’re all together forever and he gets to love you until the end of time. 

Sometimes, you think he doesn’t realize what he’s doing—dreaming about forever with you; but you can never find it in your heart to break his illusion. The boy who used to dread his next waking moment is dreaming and dreaming and dreaming, and making all of yours come true. 

It’s quiet in this part of the Gojo compound. The gentle sounds of a stream running through the garden, and chirping of birds are the only noises that disrupt your daydreams. 

Or, perhaps, fuel them. 

“I hope our kids aren’t afraid of birds,” Yuuta muses, wide eyes looking past your face up to the tall trees, full of happily singing bluebirds, “There’s so many of them here.” 

You’re gentle when you stroke his hair, taking advantage of his head in your lap to pull the longer pieces out of his eyes. 

Your smile is giddy, unfiltered. “Kids? Plural?” 

Yuuta hums with smile. His eyes remain on the sky, chasing a pair of birds that flitter between long branches. 

“Yeah. At least two, so they don’t get lonely,” he says, “They’ll have us, and their cousins, and sensei, and our friends, but they’re going to need each other at home.”

Yuuta lets his eyes fall to you at the end of his sentence, a sparkling smile on his scarred lips. 

“I see,” you smile, “At least two so they can be friends.” 

“Best friends,” he revises your statement, “So they can train together, too, if they want to be sorcerers. Or not. It’s fine, either way.” He blinks, eyes warm, “I hear that four is the happy medium for a family, but I think three is going to be easier inheritance wise, if sensei is serious about making me clan head someday.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Yeah, but if a fourth comes along, I’m sure we’ll figure it out.” 

“I’m sure sensei will have made more than enough money for them by then.” 

Yuuta giggles, earnestly in your arms at that. “Of course he will.” 

You pause for a moment, committing his laugh to memory. His features flush slightly under your gaze, and you lean down to kiss his scarred forehead. You let your hands resume petting his hair, following in his gaze to look up at the birds. 

“Tell me more about them.” 

Yuuta doesn’t waste a moment, closing his eyes; letting you paint the picture in the sky for yourself as he talks. 

“The gap between the oldest and youngest is six or seven years. I think five might be enough, though. So, that means our middle one is about three when our littlest comes along.” 

“Unless a fourth happens.” 

Yuuta hums in agreement. “Unless a fourth happens. But we’ll have time.” 

You’ll have time, you nod. You have time now, you and him; all the time in the world. 

“A three year old and newborn sounds like a lot of work.” 

“Maybe. But we’ll also have a seven year old. He’s going to want to help with the baby, so we’ll have an extra hand,” Yuuta says, “And that’s not even counting sensei and the rest.” 

“He?”

“I think he’ll be a boy, the oldest. He might look like me, but he’ll act like you, so he’s going to be Kugisaki’s favorite.”

You find yourself choking out a genuine cackle at that. When you look down, Yuuta’s got a smile wider than yours. 

“He sounds wonderful. Like his father,” you confess, “But the idea of pregnancy thrice in a seven year span sounds exhausting.” 

“We can use surrogates. Or adopt. Or whatever,” Yuuta tells you, “Gojo-sensei will help us figure it out if we need help.” 

You have no doubt about that. And now, when you look back up to the sky, you can see vignettes of Gojo-sensei with your your seven year old on his shoulders, your middle child on his hip, and the baby gnawing at his legs. 

And then Yuuji is skipping into the scene, cooing at the youngest, picking him up and consoling him effortlessly. He carries the baby over to a crib with another crying newborn that looks eerily like Megumi, whose green eyes go wide at the stranger, then smile gummy as both babies reach for each other. 

Maki is there too, tapping your eldest on the shoulder with her staff and pretending not to have done it. Nobara holds up a shirt to the middle child, brassy in questioning Gojo why she told her that the baby would fit in this size that’s obviously too big, meanwhile the toddler ignores them both, fascinated with the marks on Toge’s cheeks as he plays peek-a-boo. 

It’s not hard to imagine. The scenes in your head aren’t wild fantasies or unattainable dreams—not anymore. 

“You want a big family.” 

Yuuta nods, reaching for your hand and pulling it away from his hair, and to his lips. “We have the resources for it now. Not just financially—we have time, and lots of friends, and lots of love.” 

Yuuta presses a kiss to the back of your hand, and you smile. He’s right, there’s more than enough love to go around. 

[monstersflashlight]

Advent calendar: Day 20. Misfortunes and Sexullus Phallicus

A/N: This one is about Miss Santa, and let’s say she’s a holiday witch, to make it easier. Also this is very ridiculous and I love it, if it makes you cringe… I’m sorry (but not really). Enjoy! And happy Christmas Eve to those who celebrate!

Miss Santa x fem!reader || magic, sex pollen, dub-con, pegging, sex toys, dirty talk (kinda)

When you started dating Miss Santa, you weren’t expecting to be as many problems as there were. You expected it to be hard, because not everyday you started dating a magical being that could teleport and conjure shit out of thin air, but dang if it wasn’t even worse than you expected.

First week dating, you accidentally activated a magic spell that made all elves lose the holiday spirit for a whole day. Which didn’t seem too bad, but then you had to watch how mad they were when they had to work extra hard to recover that lost day of work. You apologized so many times the word lost its meaning.

When you were dating for a bit over a month, you accidentally sent the big dude (aka Klaus himself) a picture of you wearing only a red hat and two pom-poms… (Yeah, strategically placed.) You had to apologize to him, too, much to his amusement and your girlfriend’s dismay.

But the misfortunes didn’t end there.

You were visiting her in the office, looking around as she finished the paperwork for the day, when you saw a weird looking plant. “What kind of plant is this?” You asked, leaning in and inhaling deeply.

She looked up instantly. “Don’t smell tha-” She warned, but it was too late. “You smelled it.” She sighed, face palming as she stared at you. “What am I going to do with you?” She asked rhetorically.

“What?” You looked at her, confused and blinking slowly. Your brain felt a bit fuzzy. “What did I do now?”

“You inhaled the pollen of the Sexullus Phallicus,” she said as if that explained everything. You looked at her puzzled, expecting more information. “Sex pollen, my love, you inhaled sex pollen,” she said, sighing again and looking completely done with you. But the tiny smile at the corner of her lips reassured you a little.

“What’s going to happen to me now?” You asked, a bit confused, but most of all, a bit scared.

“You are going to get incredibly horny, and you’d be insatiable for a few days.” That didn’t sound too bad. Don’t look at me like that. It is bad. You are going to be needing to be filled constantly.” You smirked, liking the sound of that. “Sometimes I don’t know why I put up with you,” she added, all dramatic.

“Because you love me,” you sing-song-ed at her, smiling big. She tried to hide a mirroring smile, but she failed.

“We are in so much trouble,” she lamented a second later, picking up all the papers she was working on and stacking them in a neat pile. “We need to prepare, we need to move. We might not have enough time to get home…” She was panicking.

“Relaaaax, I’m all fine,” you told her, your hands fanning your suddenly too hot face. And then the pain started. “FUCK.”

She looked up instantly, staring at you and teleporting to your side in less than a blink. “What? What happened?”

“It hurts. It hurts,” you repeated over and over, falling to the ground and adopting a fetal position.

She looked anxious, her face turning a light shade of green. “What hurts, my love? Tell me so I can help.” She kept fussing over you, her hands hovering over your body because she wasn’t sure where to touch you.

“My pussy. I need you to touch my pussy,” you said between pants, your thighs rubbing together but providing no relief at all.

She choked on a breath, and you caught her almost laughing, but the frown on her beautiful face never left. “I gotcha, I gotcha… Don’t worry my love, we’ll get thru this. I’ll fuck you until you are so drained you can’t even blink without thinking about my cock.” Her words made you whimper. You want that. You want her cock.

“Please, Santa, please… I need your cock,” you begged, squirming on the floor, reaching for her and pulling her head down until you could kiss her lips softly.

The moment she snapped her fingers, she was naked and had a harness appeared around her narrow hips. Your heart was beating a thousand miles per minute. “Now, now… Who has been a naughty girl this year?” She asked, teasingly. You almost wanted to laugh at the silly pun, but your pussy was so wet and your clit so needy, that you could only whimper. “Sorry, sorry, my love. You know I joke when I’m nervous,” she apologized. “Are you ready?” She questioned either way, always worried about you.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” you chanted. She snapped her fingers again and your clothes disappeared. You sighed in relief as she moved over you and positioned her purple dick over your clenching pussy. “Please, Santaaa…” You begged again.

“Whatever you desire, my love,” she whispered. She leaned down to kiss you deeply as her hips thrust forward until she was buried as deep as possible.

“Is not enough, not enough, not enough…” You shook your head from side to side, your body tensing under hers.

“Shit, okay. Okay.” She snapped her fingers again, and you felt your pussy filled to the brim, making you scream her name as you tried to wriggle your hips to get it deeper. “This size better?” You nodded vehemently, grabbing her by the hair and pulling strongly until she whined and started to fuck you with intent.

“More, more, more… Santa, more!” You kept telling her, as she puffed and huffed as she tried to go as deep and fast as possible. She was thrusting so hard your body was moving across the floor of her office, your hands scratching her back until you smelled blood.

It was glorious.

Your first orgasm was earth shattering, and you screamed her name so loud you were sure the big man heard you all across the north pole. But you didn’t care. All the world could be listening and you’d be chanting your love and adoration for her cock for them to hear.

But she didn’t stop. And you didn’t ask her to. You needed more. You needed all. So she kept pounding into you until you came, and came, and came again.

Her strength was starting to flatter after your fifth orgasm, but you still hadn’t had enough. So you flipped her over and started riding her with desperation. She was flushed and sweaty, her hair stuck to her face and her eyes glassy after such an effort. She’d never looked so hot.

At some point, she teleported you to your house, her dick never leaving your hungry pussy. It lasted three days, and she had to make you eat and drink as she kept you full of cock, using special enchanted dildos that kept fucking you even when she left for the bathroom.

By the time it ended, you’d never felt so well fucked in your life. She would never know that you did it on purpose, and you were the one who sent the plant to her…

A/N: Thank y’all for joining me for this Advent Calendar, it’s been so fun to write: I explored some kinks, wrote weird monsters, and overall I think it was a very fun experience, let me know what y’all thought.

[starboye]

pairing: loser!simon riley x male reader

request: You up for loser!Simon Riley who's supposed to be studying for something stupid but he wants you BAD, so reader make him rattle things off that he's supposed to be studying for while reader ride him, moans and whines and grunts in between almost every syllable he says, and every time he gets a question wrong reader stops. It eventually gets so hard for him to focus reader gets off of him and make him jerk himself off. Also reader calling Simon "Simey", which he absolutely fucking hates.

warnings: smut, cursing, random math questions, praising, edging, jerking off, unprotected sex

oh he was so down bad right now, simon was supposed to be studying for his upcoming test he had but instead he wanted to study every inch of your body and more, and as much as you wanted to leave him alone to study you couldn't resist that nervous face.

"y-y/n" he whines as you bounce up and down on his lap, cock plunging deeper and deeper into you with every drop down onto him "mhm si" you said as if you weren't doing what you were doing right now "can we just fuck normally" he pleads but you sgut that down.

"nuh uh since you wanted this hole so badly you need to earn it also, now what's the square root of 64" you question him taking a glance the his notebook just to make sure he gets it right "is it e-eight" he stammers out almost unable to even think at this point.

"correct, good boy see i told you you could get it you just have to put your mind to it" you cheer and simons mind was anything but getting it right now, he just knew the question so easily, but right now he was close to falling of the edge as he brain was turning to mush by the second.

and you just sat there looking all pretty while splitting your ass on his thick cock and calling him a good boy was almost the cherry on top to him abandoning the whole studying shit "simon" you yell at him "yeah baby" he answers snapping back to the present "are you even paying attention" you ask him.

"yeah obviously" he lies "so then what did i say" you stump him right there, he feels to good to make up any kind of lie right now "i don't know y/n can you just ride me without the studying" he begs, his hands riding up your sides to try and convince you but you know he needs this more than you do so you have to make him work for it.

"mm mm if you want to get any of this you have to work for it" you say getting off him making si whimper in defiance to your sudden change "no please m'so close, i'll do anything i'll study i promise just ride me more" he begs you put you still get off him.

"if you can answer five of these study question while jerking off i'll consider it" you say to him and he's quick to have his hand wrapped around his slick dick, ready to do anything to have you wrapped around him again.

"whats the derivative of 79" you ask him and watch as he racketeers his brain trying to find the answer "i- is it z-zero" he moans trying to focus on you bu focusing on you makes him want to cum even more "good job simey" you knew he fucking hated the name but it's not like he can do anything right now so why not play with him.

"next what is the first 10 numbers of pie" you say "3.14...1-5926535" he chokes out unable to think straight anymore but you push him over the edge when you lean down so close to his ear whispering a low but seductive "good boy simey"

he may have hated the name but when you said it like that he was feral, unable to hold back anymore he just cums, load shooting all over his face and shirt "who knew match was such a turn on to you" you joke but he obviously wasn't amused "but seeing as you did fail there's a punishment" you say climbing back onto his lap and sliding his sensitive cock back into you "you wont be able to think by the end of the night" you tell him.

taglist:@mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @znerac

[mingi-s-dimples]

Save the best for last - OT8 ATEEZ

KINKTOBER DAY 30, REQ. BY anon (last day!!!)

~"domot8 x freader where atz is mafia/ceo! reader is in a relationship with san but they are both okay in letting the other members join in the fun..;) however san likes to talk dirty in a way with hints of possessiveness to remind reader even though the other 7 fucks her, she’s still his hehe he also loves watching the members wreck the reader btw…. pls make it as filthy and kinky as possible! really go crazy with it! some ideas(if it helps-i hope it’s no burden): dirty talk, hair pulling, spit, multiple creampies, dp, squirting, exhibitionism, voyeur, choking, big dick!, bulge kink, mirror sex(?) and so on….. 😅" - I hope it's crazy enough for you anon.. for me it sure was 😂🤍

pairing: bf mafia ceo!san x gf fem!reader x ot7 (the other members) subordinates of San

genre: 18+, pure filth, gang bang

summary: San's men want to have your way with you and ask for permission and.. when San also sees you'd be eager to do it, he saves himself for last only to remind you who you had always belonged to.

wc: 8.4k (I am so sorry I went fucking overboard 🧍‍♀️)

warnings: okay prepare, mafia!au, gang bang, foursome, 5some, double penetration, multiple creampies, dirty talk/degradation (only from San), she sucks two at the same time, she takes two&two at the same time (hence the 5some), spitting, hair pulling, mirror sex, exhibitionism, dacryphilia. voyeurism, possesiveness at its finest, choking, big dick!san, bulge kink, squirting, lots of cummm, unprotected, for sure forgot something (it's 4:40 am at the time I post this), completely consensual, will definitely edit later.

Author's Note: Oh my fucking god holy fuck this was a damn ride. It was INTENSE. I went damn overboard with some of the details upsi, I had to. Gave everyone at least some attention 🤗 no one was left out (poor reader fr). This is my first ot8 fic. I hope you enjoy this, love u anon and I'm so sorry I am 2 months late 💀💀💀 life was erratic. Oh and.. Merry Christmas, everyone! Fluff fic coming right after this menace. From one extreme to another I guess 💀

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and doesn't represent the reality of the members in any way.

The soft hum of the city buzzed faintly outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of San’s office. Late evening sunlight poured into the room, bathing everything in golden hues as you perched on the edge of his sleek, black desk. Your legs swung idly, the sound of your heels lightly tapping against the wooden surface filling the otherwise quiet room.

San sat behind his desk, engrossed in the papers spread before him. His sharp black suit hugged his frame perfectly, exuding authority as he worked in focused silence. You let your gaze drift over him, taking in the way his jaw tightened every so often when he read something he didn’t like. Even when he was deep in work, San had a presence that could dominate a room without him uttering a single word.

But today, you weren’t in the mood to let him bury himself in paperwork.

“San,” you called, dragging out his name in a playful lilt.

His dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, a flicker of amusement flashing in them before he resumed scanning the document in his hands. “Yes, darling?” he asked, his voice low and velvety, though there was a clear undertone of distraction.

You leaned forward, resting your palms on the cool surface of his desk, your tone turning teasing. “You’ve been working all day. Don’t you think you deserve a break?”

San’s lips curved into a small smirk as he set the papers down and leaned back in his chair, his arms folding across his chest. “Is that so? And what exactly do you suggest I do on this ‘break,’ hmm?”

You feigned a thoughtful expression, tapping your chin dramatically. “Well… I could think of a few things.”

Before he could respond, the door to his office suddenly swung open, breaking the charged atmosphere between you. The sound made you jump slightly, and you instinctively straightened up, your gaze snapping to the intruders.

The other seven members of the group filed in one by one, their casual but confident demeanor filling the room with a new kind of energy.

“Interrupting something?” Jongho’s voice was the first to break the silence, his eyebrow raised as his eyes darted between you and San.

San’s expression didn’t falter, though the slight twitch of his jaw gave away his irritation. “Nothing you need to worry about,” he replied coolly, leaning back further in his chair.

Wooyoung, ever the bold one, grinned as he sauntered over to the desk, his sharp gaze flicking over you with clear amusement. “Doesn’t look like ‘nothing,’ though,” he teased, leaning casually against the edge of the desk beside you.

“Wooyoung,” San said, his tone holding a warning, though his posture remained relaxed.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at Wooyoung’s antics. “Do you ever know when to stop?” you asked, though your tone was more amused than annoyed.

“Not really,” Wooyoung admitted with a wink, his grin widening.

The rest of the members settled into the room, each finding a spot to sit or lean as the tension in the air shifted. You could feel their eyes on you, curiosity and mischief glinting in their gazes. It was impossible to ignore the magnetic energy they all carried; it was part of what made them so formidable as a group.

“Do we have business to discuss, or did you all just come to disrupt my evening?” San asked, his tone laced with dry humor as he gestured for them to get on with whatever they came for.

Hongjoong stepped forward, ever the leader, his expression calm but knowing. “We wrapped up the last deal earlier than expected, so we thought we’d drop by,” he said smoothly, though the subtle smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his intentions.

“And by ‘drop by,’ you mean make yourselves comfortable in my office?” San quipped, his gaze flicking between them.

Yeosang, who had been silent until now, let out a soft chuckle. “You can’t blame us, though. You’re the one who keeps all the interesting things hidden in here.”

His words carried a double meaning that wasn’t lost on anyone in the room. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you glanced at San, who still looked completely unbothered, though his hand had started to drum lightly against the desk.

Seonghwa, ever the smooth talker, decided to chime in. “You know, San,” he began, his tone light but calculated, “for someone who’s so protective, you seem awfully relaxed about leaving her alone with us.”

San’s smirk returned, his dark eyes locking onto Seonghwa’s. “Relaxed? Who said I was relaxed?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

“Then again,” Wooyoung piped up, his grin downright mischievous now, “maybe you’re not as possessive as we thought.”

The words hung in the air, the challenge in them clear. You glanced at San, curious to see how he would respond. To your surprise, he leaned back in his chair again, his expression calm but dangerous.

“Possessive?” he echoed, his tone laced with amusement. “Oh, I am. Make no mistake about that.”

His gaze shifted to you, his eyes softening slightly. “But I also trust her. And I trust all of you… to a degree.”

The unspoken invitation in his words made your breath catch. The room was silent for a moment, the weight of his statement sinking in before the playful tension returned.

“Well,” Hongjoong said, breaking the silence, “that’s quite the declaration.”

San’s smirk widened, his confidence unshakable. “It’s not a declaration. It’s a fact.”

The others exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from amusement to intrigue.

“Does that mean we can—” Wooyoung began, but San cut him off with a raised hand.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said, though his tone was more teasing than serious. His eyes met yours again, and you could see the glint of amusement in them. “After all, it’s not entirely up to me, is it?”

The attention in the room shifted to you, and you suddenly felt the weight of their gazes. San’s question was clear—this was your choice as much as it was his.

Your mind raced, the charged atmosphere making it difficult to think clearly. But as you looked at San, his calm confidence grounding you, you realized that you trusted him completely.

“Well,” you began, your voice steady despite the nervous energy coursing through you, “I think… it could be interesting.”

Your words hung in the air for a moment before the room erupted in a mixture of laughter and teasing remarks. San’s smirk turned into a full grin as he reached out to take your hand, pulling you closer to him.

“Interesting, huh?” he said, his voice low and teasing.

You nodded, your heart racing as you met his gaze. “As long as you’re okay with it,” you added, your voice soft but sincere.

San’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he nodded. “I’m more than okay with it,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

The room buzzed with excitement as the others began to discuss the details, their playful banter filling the space. But your focus remained on San, his steady presence anchoring you as you stepped into uncharted territory together.

The tension in the room grew thicker as San gave the subtlest nod, his eyes never leaving yours. His hand cupped your cheek tenderly, grounding you amidst the teasing grins and playful energy that radiated from the others. The question in his gaze was quiet but clear: *Do you trust me?*

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but laced with certainty.

San’s lips curled into a soft, almost mischievous smile. “Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Then let us take care of you.”

Yunho was the first to move, his large hands brushing over your shoulders as he leaned down to meet your gaze, his warmth both reassuring and electrifying. “You really are something special, you know that?” he said, his voice honeyed with praise. “We’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, but only if you’re ready.” His thumbs rubbed gentle circles into your skin, his touch comforting yet deliberate.

Mingi crouched next to you, his height even now making him an imposing figure. His grin was boyish, yet his tone carried a teasing edge. “San really is lucky, isn’t he? But I think tonight, you’re luckier.” His fingers brushed against your hand, holding it loosely as if offering silent reassurance. “We’re going to treat you like the queen you are.”

Their words made heat rise to your cheeks, and you felt San’s hand slide from your cheek to your waist, steadying you. His presence was a calming anchor even as the others moved around you with measured anticipation. “Remember,” San murmured into your ear, his tone a mix of possessiveness and care, “you can stop this anytime. But if you trust me, just let go.”

Your heartbeat quickened, but you nodded, the warmth in his voice giving you courage.

Hongjoong’s voice cut through the moment, calm and composed but carrying an edge of excitement. “We’ll take it slow,” he said, his sharp gaze locking with yours. “Just follow our lead.”

Together, they began to guide you, their movements deliberate yet unhurried. San was the one to lift your chin, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. He murmured, his voice steady, “Let them see the side of you only I’ve had the pleasure of knowing.”

Your shirt was the first to go, the fabric slipping from your shoulders under Mingi’s deft touch. He let out a low whistle, his eyes twinkling with admiration but never crossing into disrespect. “You’re stunning,” he said, his voice reverent. Yunho, standing behind you now, pressed a hand to your lower back, his touch firm yet gentle.

Yeosang’s quiet presence was next to catch your attention. He knelt beside you, his fingers brushing over your wrist as if asking permission before helping with the next piece of clothing.

The air buzzed with anticipation, but no one rushed you. Each movement, each touch, was careful and deliberate, designed to put you at ease. San stayed close, his hand a constant presence on your waist or shoulder, his protective nature evident even now. “You’re doing so well,” he praised, his voice rich with affection.

Mingi’s teasing came back as he tilted his head, his eyes raking over you with playful admiration. “You’ve been hiding all this from us?” he joked, though his tone carried genuine awe. “Not fair.”

“She’s breathtaking,” Yunho agreed, his voice warm as his hand brushed against your arm. “San’s been keeping the best things to himself.”

San smirked, his possessiveness flickering through despite the shared moment. “Don’t forget,” he said, his tone low and dangerous, though his eyes softened as they met yours. “She’s still mine.”

Wooyoung laughed, breaking the tension with his lighthearted energy. “We know, we know,” he said, throwing his hands up dramatically. “We’re just borrowing her for tonight.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his antics, the sound breaking through your initial nervousness.

As they continued to undress you piece by piece, the warmth of their attention made your skin tingle. Every movement was accompanied by a murmur of praise, a gentle touch, or a soft reassurance. They were in no rush, savoring every moment and ensuring you felt cherished and adored.

San knelt beside you as the last piece of fabric was removed, his hand cupping your face as he pressed his forehead to yours. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with so much love it made your heart ache. “And you’re safe.”

The others watched the intimate moment, their respect for San’s bond with you evident in their quiet stillness. When he finally pulled back, his smirk returned, his possessive streak shining through. “But don’t forget who you belong to,” he added, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip once more.

As you settled back against the desk, the warmth of their gazes enveloped you, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush of heat flow through you.

San’s voice was the last thing you heard before they began. “Let us show you just how much you mean to us.”

The living room was bathed in warm golden light, the soft hum of conversation filling the air. As the group carried you from the office to the shared space, their laughter and teasing remarks created a sense of playful camaraderie. The room, spacious yet intimate, had an air of familiarity that contrasted with the charged tension lingering among them.

They gently set you down on the large sectional couch, its plush cushions yielding to your weight. Wooyoung leaned over from one side, his mischievous grin ever-present as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. "Look at her," he mused, his voice a touch lower than usual, "so perfect and so pretty like this."

Mingi, who stood behind you, chuckled softly. "She’s even more stunning up close," he said, his large hands resting lightly on the back of the couch. His eyes glimmered with mischief, though there was a noticeable gentleness to his movements. From the corner of your eye, you could see Hongjoong to your right, already rolling up his sleeves, his sharp gaze focused entirely on you.

San remained standing near the edge of the room, his arms crossed but his expression unreadable. The corners of his lips twitched upward slightly as the three members began to close in. "Remember who’s in charge," he said smoothly, his deep voice cutting through the quiet murmurs. "You can admire her, but don’t forget that she’s mine."

Wooyoung smirked, exchanging a glance with Mingi and Hongjoong. "Of course, hyung. But you wouldn’t mind if we… made her feel special, right?" he teased, his voice playful yet testing boundaries.

San’s dark eyes flicked toward you, searching your expression. "Do you trust me?" he asked softly, his tone steady and grounding amidst the lighthearted chaos. His gaze held yours firmly, waiting for your answer.

You nodded without hesitation, your voice barely a whisper. "I trust you, San."

A satisfied hum left his lips. "Good." He gestured with a slight nod, granting the others permission to proceed. "Don’t forget—she’s precious. Treat her that way."

Wooyoung, ever the bold one, began by brushing his lips lightly along your temple, his fingers trailing down your arm in feather-light strokes. "Precious is an understatement," he murmured, his voice sending a shiver through you.

Mingi leaned in from behind, his hands settling on your shoulders. His touch was firm but reassuring, a contrast to Wooyoung’s teasing.

Hongjoong’s approach was quieter but no less impactful. He crouched beside you, his sharp eyes scanning your face for any signs of discomfort. His hand found yours, his fingers curling around yours in a silent gesture of reassurance.

As the three surrounded you, their touches and presence seemed to envelop you entirely. Wooyoung tilted your chin upward, his lips ghosting along your jawline before trailing to your collarbone. Mingi’s hands, broad and warm, began to massage your shoulders, easing any lingering tension. Meanwhile, Hongjoong traced idle patterns on the back of your hand, his quiet attention grounding you amidst the overwhelming sensations.

The other four—Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang, and Jongho—watched from the nearby armchairs, their expressions varying from amusement to curiosity. Yunho leaned back casually, his long legs stretched out as he exchanged knowing smirks with Seonghwa. "They’re starting strong," Yunho remarked, his deep voice laced with humor.

"Can you blame them?" Seonghwa replied, his tone lighter than usual. His sharp features softened as his gaze flitted toward you, a hint of fondness in his otherwise composed demeanor. "She has that effect."

Yeosang tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "San’s holding back more than I expected," he mused, his words eliciting a chuckle from Jongho, who simply nodded in agreement.

San, still standing apart from the group, exuded a quiet authority. Despite the teasing commentary from the others, his eyes never left you. "Remember your place," he reminded the group lightly, though there was no malice in his tone. "She’s mine to love and protect."

"And tease," Wooyoung quipped, pulling back briefly to glance at San. "You said it yourself, hyung. She’s precious. We’re just appreciating her beauty."

San raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting back to you. "Just don’t forget who she belongs to," he said finally, his voice calm but firm.

As if to emphasize his words, Wooyoung leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Even with all of us here, you’re still his, aren’t you?" he murmured, his voice dripping with playful reverence.

The room was growing warmer, the air thick with an electric charge that seemed to pulse between everyone present. The soft rustling of fabric caught your attention, and your eyes flicked over to the four members who had been watching from the sidelines. Slowly, one by one, they began to shed their shirts, their toned torsos coming into view. Each movement was deliberate, as though they wanted to savor every second of this shared moment.

Yunho, the tallest of the group, was the first to approach, his steps unhurried and confident. His broad shoulders and defined chest were illuminated by the soft light of the living room. His gaze flicked down to you, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile. "I think it’s our turn now," he said, his deep voice sending a shiver through you.

Seonghwa followed closely behind, his elegant movements almost hypnotic. His sharp features softened slightly as he looked down at you, a gentle fondness in his expression. "Don’t worry," he murmured, his voice smooth and calming. "We’ll take good care of you."

Behind them, Yeosang and Jongho exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between them. Yeosang, with his quiet intensity, began to unbuckle his belt, his fingers moving with a casual ease. Jongho, ever the composed one, ran a hand through his dark hair before stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

The three members who had been close to you—Wooyoung, Mingi, and Hongjoong—reluctantly backed off, their hands lingering on your skin for a moment longer before they stepped away. They moved to the side, their breathing still heavy as they watched the scene unfold. Each of them began to undress, their movements slower than necessary as if they wanted you to notice every detail.

Wooyoung leaned casually against the armrest of the couch, his bare torso gleaming under the soft light. "We’ll let them have their fun," he said, his voice teasing. "But don’t forget—we’re next."

Mingi crossed his arms over his chest, his sharp jawline set as he watched intently. "Take your time," he added, though the hunger in his gaze betrayed his impatience.

San remained standing apart from the group, his suit still perfectly in place. The contrast between his composed exterior and the evident strain in his pants was almost too much to bear. His dark eyes drank in every detail of the scene, from the way you sat on the couch, your hands trembling slightly, to the way the members circled you like predators waiting for their moment to strike.

You glanced up at San. His lips curved into a small, approving smile. "Enjoy yourself," he said softly, his voice steady despite the clear tension in his posture. "But remember who you belong to."

The four of them seemed to come to a silent agreement, their eyes flicking between each other as they decided how to proceed. Finally, Yunho spoke up, his deep voice cutting through the quiet tension. "Let’s start simple," he suggested, his gaze dropping to your hands.

"Two and two," Jongho added, his voice steady. His dark eyes softened slightly as he looked at you. "If that’s okay with you."

You nodded, your heart racing as they took their places. Yunho and Yeosang each took each of your hands, their fingers brushing against yours as they guided your movements. Their touches were firm but gentle, their eyes never leaving yours as they made sure you were comfortable. They took off their pants completely, followed by their briefs. Their cocks sprung out and your hands instinctively went for their lengths. You looked up at them, then down at the position you were in. Legs slightly spread out, your cunt dripping with arousal on the blanket that was on the couch, the two men in front of you and their cocks in your hands. You took a deep breath and started to move your hands, stroking their lengths slowly, at first. Yunho's cock was already dripping with pre cum, making the perfect lube for his hand. For Yeosang, you spit in your hand and started lubing it up. He quietly groaned at the sensation, satisfied with your way of lubing him.

“Yes… that's it, sweetheart..” Yunho whispered, his head slowly falling back as your hand started to move more rapidly, your thumb rubbing over the tip, putting pressure on it.

Yeosang was already out of it, his breath heavy as he was hardly holding back from pushing your hand further on his cock. He waited and waited until he couldn't anymore.

“Fuck it..” his hand hand hovered over your head, hesitating for a moment. He looked at you and tried to back up, but Yunho interrupted his move.

“That's such.. a great idea, Yeosang..” he said, his eyes gazing over you. “But only if y/n and San are good with it, of course…” he said and all 3 of you looked at San. He suddenly had his pants unbuckled, his hard cock straining against his briefs. He nodded, his hand now lazily rubbing it through the cloth. He was turned the fuck on with this situation, the fact that he was observing you so patiently, waiting for his men to have their fun with you and use you as they pleased, as their fuck toy.

“Boss is okay with it.. but are you, y/n?” Yeosang said, his hand hovering softly over your cheek, making you look up at him.

“Y-yes..” you whispered and he didn't hesitate any further, his hand guiding your mouth to his cock. You instinctively started sucking on the dripping tip, kissing and licking circles all around, from the tip to the base of his cock then all along his shaft. As you sucked him off up and down slurping and putting pressure with your tongue and lips on the tip, his hand slowly started pushing your head on his cock. He let you get used to his size, your lips stretching slightly as he pushed further.

“Ah fuck, Yunho.. her mouth feels so good.. you gotta-you gotta try this” Yeosang said breathless, catching the other men's attention. Yunho smirked and waited for his turn.

Aa you bobbed your head up and down on Yeosang’s cock and stroked your hand on Yunho's on your left, you started to focus on making Yeosang cum first so you could suck Yunho off, too. Within a few more licks of your tongue and hard sucking on the tip he came down your throat, making you slightly choke on his huge load. Yunho chuckled, satisfied at the view of you choking and couldn't content his excitement at being sucked off by you, that he slowly moved Yeosang from your face - who was panting still - and harshly tilted your chin up so that you could take his cock in your mouth.

“Can I join in, too?” Jongho said, his cock already heavy and dripping in his hand.

You nodded briefly while sucking on Yunho's cock and he joined in… but he didn't joke when he said he'd *join in*. He made his way right in front of you and switched places with Yunho for a moment until he was satisfied, then after you sucked him off for a moment he exchanged glances with Yunho and they came to a silent agreement. Yunho, *slowly* made the tip of his cock fit at the same time with Jongho's and you started to suck both simultaneously.

Yunho’s hand tangled in your hair, barely resisting from mouth fucking you. He softly pulled you towards his pelvis, both cocks filling up your mouth good. Jongho whined at the sensation, his head lolling back in pleasure.

“Yeah.. that’s it, darling..” Jongho said, his ragged breath giving away the fact that he was damn close. Yunho was too, his hand pulling your hair softly backwards only to thrust powerfully in your mouth. Each of them fucked your mouth prettily until they came down your throat, filling your mouth with their cum. Tears pricked in the corner of your eyes, the feeling of being stretched by their cocks only amplifying the pleasure and arousal growing in your belly.. and between your legs.

You had just finished with Jongho and Yunho, your hands still trembling slightly as they stepped back, their satisfied expressions lingering as they caught their breath. The room was filled with a heavy scent. As they backed away, the other four men—Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Mingi, and Wooyoung—moved forward, their eyes locked on you, filled with a mix of hunger and anticipation. The air grew heavier, the tension palpable as they closed in on you, ready to claim their turn.

But before they could make their move, a voice that brooked no argument cut through the silence.

San stepped in front of you, his presence commanding, and with one smooth motion, he cupped your face in his hands, his touch tender yet possessive. His gaze softened as he looked down at you, but his words were sharp, like a warning.

"The next man to make a move without her permission will regret it," San's voice was calm but held an undeniable authority. He leaned in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours as he asked, "Tell me, who do you want?"

You felt your heart race, the pressure mounting as the room fell deathly quiet. The other men—Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Mingi, and Wooyoung—shifted uncomfortably behind San, their whispers of complaint barely audible. "This is taking too long," Hongjoong muttered softly. He's gonna make us wait?" Seonghwa sighed in frustration, his voice barely above a whisper. "This isn't fair." Even Mingi and Wooyoung exchanged glances, their impatience palpable, but they dared not protest further. They knew better than to challenge San’s authority.

A bead of sweat trickled down your temple as you stared at San, unsure of what to say. The choice was overwhelming, and the silence seemed to stretch on forever. You opened your mouth, but the words caught in your throat. "I... I..." Your voice wavered, and your hands shook as you glanced at each man in turn.

Finally, with a stutter, you managed to say, "M-Mingi."

San’s lips curled into a small, approving smile. "Good choice," he murmured, backing away just enough to allow Mingi to step forward. His praise made your chest tighten in both relief and anticipation.

Then San turned to the others, his gaze cold and decisive. "Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Wooyoung," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Back off. Stay with Yunho, Jongho, and Yeosang until she's done. She'll decide what to do next."

Reluctantly, the remaining three men complied, their disappointment clear, but they knew better than to defy San’s orders.

The room quieted once more as Mingi stepped closer, and the weight of your decision settled in. He positioned himself to your mouth and let you take the lead for a moment.

Mingi stepped forward, his eyes dark with desire as he knelt before you, his towering frame somehow softening with a nervous yet eager energy. His hand trembled slightly as he guided his cock to your mouth, the warmth of your breath against him drawing a shuddering moan from his lips. He wasn’t shy about making sounds; each gasp and whimper escaping him felt raw, his pleasure uninhibited. “God… you’re so good,” he murmured breathlessly, his voice catching as you dragged your tongue along his length in a slow, deliberate motion. The way you swirled your tongue and teased him at the tip had him bucking his hips slightly, his hands gripping your shoulders for balance as his knees threatened to give out. Every lick, every motion from your mouth sent Mingi spiraling closer to the edge, his moans turning into desperate whines that filled the room. Every sound that escaped his throat gave you energy to suck him more, deeper, faster, sloppier, even if his huge, girthy cock was making you choke on it with every deeper thrust. “Y-you’re… gonna make me—” he stammered, and before he could finish his sentence, his climax overtook him. His body tensed as he came, the sound of his loud, unrestrained moan echoing through the room.

Panting heavily, Mingi stepped back, his legs shaky as he tried to steady himself. You wiped your lips, your own breath coming in short, heavy pants as the intensity of the moment settled between you. For a brief moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the shared experience thick in the air.

Mingi finally broke the silence, offering you a sheepish smile. “That was… incredible,” he admitted, his voice still husky. “But what do we do now?”

Before you could answer, San’s familiar voice cut in, smooth and commanding as ever. “I’ve got an idea,” he said, stepping forward with his trademark confidence. His gaze flicked between you and Mingi before landing on you, a small smirk playing at his lips.

“How about this,” San began, his tone low and almost teasing. “You take Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Wooyoung, and Yeosang next. All at once. Then, when they’re done…” He glanced over at Yunho, Mingi, and Jongho, his smirk widening. “You’ll handle them. Together.”

His words sent a ripple through the room, the other men exchanging glances, their expressions a mixture of excitement and anticipation. San’s smirk deepened as his gaze returned to you, his voice dropping even lower.

“And when that’s over,” he said, stepping closer, his eyes locking onto yours, “it’ll finally be my turn.”

San’s tone held a sense of finality, his dominance undeniable as he stood tall before you. “The best things,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “are always saved for last.”

The tension in the room was palpable, every man’s gaze now fixed on you, waiting to see how you’d respond. San’s command lingered in the air, his natural authority unmistakable as you tried to steady your racing heart and prepare for what lay ahead.

Your lips trembled, the weight of anticipation heavy as you stood surrounded by three of them—Seonghwa, Yeosang, and Hongjoong—each waiting, their eyes fixed on you. Finally, you stammered, “Y-yes,” the word escaping in a breathy whisper.

San’s gaze softened, pride shining in his dark eyes as he stepped closer to you. Gently, he cupped your face, his thumb tracing slow circles against your cheek. “That’s my good girl…” he murmured, “or should I say… good slut?” his voice low and rich.. His lips quirked into a smirk as his gaze flicked briefly to the men nearby. The sudden word he said made your eyes widen, surprised he hasn’t used those type of words yet.. as he always uses them when there is just the two of you.

“If you want the chance to be with me tonight,” he continued, his voice smooth and commanding, “you’ll be a good girl for them first. Take care of them. Do you understand?”

You nodded, your breath catching under the weight of his intense stare. “Good,” he said, stepping back and motioning toward Seonghwa, Yeosang, and Hongjoong. “Go on, show them what my good, little slut is capable of.”

San moved aside and as soon as Seonghwa approached you first, his movements slow and confident, San stopped and turned around. “Ah… I almost forgot. Listen carefully," he growled, his voice low and laced with a deadly calm that sent a chill through the air. "She’s mine. The only one who has the right to speak to her like that is me—and even then, it’s only because she allows it. If I catch so much as a whisper of disrespect from any of you, there won’t be warnings, there won’t be second chances. I will make you disappear, and you all know pretty damn well how I take care of people that cross my words.”

“Got it, boss!” all of them said in unison, clearly spooked by his words, but with a good reason.

Seonghwa stepped in front of you. His strong arms slid around you, pulling you firmly against him with your back pressing to his chest. “You’re stunning,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. Yeosang stepped in next, his hand grazing along your thigh before resting on your hip. His fingers trailed up, featherlight, before settling in place. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your temple.

Hongjoong followed, stepping to your side with a teasing smirk. His fingers traced the line of your jaw, tilting your head gently toward him. “You’re safe with us,” he murmured, his voice low and steady before capturing your lips in a kiss that was as consuming as it was gentle.

Their touches surrounded you, each of them focused on you as the last layers of fabric were shed from their bodies, leaving only warmth and closeness between you. The atmosphere was charged, the air electric as anticipation built around you.

Seonghwa adjusted his hold, his arms sliding beneath your knees to lift your legs effortlessly, pressing them against your chest in a mating press. His chest was firm against your back, his grip steady and sure as he leaned down to plant a soft kiss on the side of your neck. The new closeness made your breath hitch, heat flooding your senses as you leaned back into him.

Yeosang and Hongjoong steadied you on either side, their hands gliding along your thighs and hips, their touches reverent yet deliberate. Yeosang’s lips brushed against your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin, while Hongjoong whispered your name softly, his voice sending sparks through you.

As Seonghwa positioned himself right under you and began to move, his breath caught, a low groan escaping him as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His cock thrusted deep in your ass, his movements deliberate and controlled, each shift of his body sending a wave of warmth coursing through you. Hongjoong soon joined, his body aligning with yours as he ligned his cock to your folds, rubbing it up and down for a couple of times before sliding right in, his quiet gasps mixing with Seonghwa’s.

Yeosang’s steadying hands roamed your sides, offering a grounding presence amid the growing intensity. His kisses traced a path along your shoulder, and his voice was a soothing counterpoint to the fervent rhythm the others set.

The synchronized motion between Seonghwa and Hongjoong was overwhelming, each of their movements filled with purpose, their breaths shallow and mingling with your own. Seonghwa’s grip on you never faltered, his strength keeping you secure as he murmured against your ear, “You’re perfect..”

Their closeness was intoxicating, and the connection shared between the four of you was more than physical—it was a deeply intimate expression of trust, affection, and unspoken understanding. Each kiss, each whisper of praise, and every deliberate movement spoke volumes, leaving you surrounded by warmth and devotion.

Yeosang shifted with purpose, his hands smoothing over your sides with deliberate care before he moved to position himself beneath you. His movements were careful yet assertive, his hands guiding your hips as he thrusted himself in your cunt, his body perfectly aligned to support you. His chest rising briefly as he murmured, “Let me take care of you, too,” his voice low but filled with steady confidence. The feeling of being filled by both Yeosang’s and Hongjoong’s cocks was damn overwhelming and pleasurable, tears falling down your cheeks as you were held up by the 3 boys. But.. one was missing.

The room pulsed with heat, your body trembling from the overwhelming sensations of Yeosang’s deliberate rhythm beneath you and Hongjoong’s teasing precision. Every sound, every touch, had you teetering on the edge, your breaths hitching as you tried to keep up with the intensity.

“Forgot about me for a second, huh?” Wooyoung’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and playful, though the hunger in his eyes betrayed just how impatient he had been. He stood near you and the boys, watching you.

Your eyes flicked to him, and the moment they met his, he was already moving. Whatever remained of his clothes was gone in an instant, hitting the floor without hesitation. “You look so good like this,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as, his hands ghosting over your trembling thighs.

Yeosang let out a low chuckle, his grip on your waist tightening as he adjusted his angle. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

“You have no idea,” Wooyoung replied, his hands sliding up to your hips, brushing against Yeosang’s as he steadied you. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck.

Hongjoong smirked, his fingers caressing your thigh as he watched Wooyoung with quiet amusement. “Don’t overwhelm her right away. She still needs to be in shape for whatever boss wants to do with her later.”

But Wooyoung was unrelenting, his lips trailing down your neck to your shoulder, his kisses growing more insistent. He looked at Seonghwa as he guided his cock into you. The stretch was overwhelming, the new sensation pulling a sharp gasp from your lips as your body adjusted to the addition… in your ass, right where Seonghwa had been fucking you for a while. Wooyoung let out a low groan, his forehead pressing briefly against your shoulder as he steadied himself. “You feel… unreal,” he whispered, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

Seonghwa, who had been quietly observing, started to thrust in sync with Wooyoung, filling you up. “Relax,” he murmured, his voice soft and commanding as his lips brushed your ear.

Wooyoung’s movements were slow at first, his hands steadying you as he found his rhythm.

The room was thick with heat, your body trembling as Yeosang and Hongjoong moved in sync, their rhythm pushing you closer to the edge. Their hands gripped you firmly, Yeosang’s nails digging into your waist while Hongjoong’s fingers tightened on your thighs. The pressure inside you was almost unbearable, but it only heightened the pleasure coursing through your body.

“Just like that,” Hongjoong groaned, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep, his release spilling into you in hot waves. A cry ripped from your lips as Yeosang followed, his grip steadying you as he filled you to the brim, the sensation overwhelming.

Behind you, Wooyoung let out a low growl, his chest pressed against your back as Seonghwa whispered praises into your ear. Their movements were relentless, each thrust drawing out another moan from your trembling body.

“You’re perfect,” Seonghwa murmured, his voice strained as he sank deep inside you, his warmth joining Wooyoung’s as their releases filled you in unison. The sensation of both of them spilling into you left you breathless, your body tightening as your climax crashed over you in a wave of blinding pleasure.

A broken sob escaped your lips as you felt everything—every stretch, every pulse of warmth as they stayed inside you, their hands soothing you as you shuddered in their arms.

“S-so full,” you whimpered, your voice shaky as tears slipped down your cheeks, your body utterly spent yet tingling from the overwhelming sensation of being completely filled.

Their warmth surrounded you, grounding you as you came down from the high, your body still trembling but utterly sated.

The weight of San’s gaze lingered on you, dark and full of unspoken hunger. He stepped closer, his lips curling into a teasing smirk. “So needy,” he murmured, his voice low and full of heat. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his piercing stare. “One more round, sweetie. That’s it. Then you’re all mine.” His thumb brushed over your trembling lips as his tone dropped further. “But don’t think I’ll go easy on you after watching this, you little slut.”

Before you could respond, San stepped back, and Mingi’s hands slid to your waist. He pulled you closer, his large palms steady and grounding as his lips found your neck. The soft press of his mouth left a warm trail, and the quiet groan he let out sent a shiver through you.

Behind you, Jongho’s touch was firmer, his hands gripping your hips as his breath fanned against your shoulder. He didn’t speak, but the heat of his presence and the deliberate press of his lips to your skin left you breathless.

“Just like that,” Yunho murmured, his deep voice a soothing contrast to the desperate need in his eyes. His fingers grazed along your jawline, tilting your face toward him.

You gasped softly, overwhelmed by the intensity of their touches and the way they surrounded you. San’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding yet dripping with a dark fondness. “Good girl,” he said, his tone rough as he leaned in to press a fleeting kiss to your temple. “Now let them have their moment, because after this…” His words trailed off, his smirk growing wider. “You’re mine.”

As the 3 boys started fucking you relentlessly, breaths mingling together and whines escaping your chest, they stopped suddenly. You didn't realise why until your sweet boyfriend stood right in front of you. San’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding. “Stop.” The single word carried enough weight to make Mingi and Jongho halt mid-thrust, their movements freezing as their eyes turned to him. Yunho’s grip on your waist loosened slightly, though he stayed close, his breath still hot against your neck.

“You don’t get to finish yet,” San growled, stepping closer, his intense gaze boring into yours. His tone softened just slightly, but it was no less firm as he tilted your chin upward to meet his piercing eyes. “Not before them, and certainly not before me.”

You gasped softly, your breath hitching as his fingers traced your jawline, his possessive smirk returning. “You think I’m letting you come so easily?” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a husky murmur. “No, darling. You’re gonna wait until I’m the one who pushes you over. I want you crying out my name, trembling and completely undone because of me. I want you so damn overstimulated you can’t even think of anyone else.”

San turned his sharp gaze to the others, his tone cool and deliberate. “You heard me. Keep her waiting.”

Mingi’s hands tightened on your hips, his grip grounding as his pace resumed, slow but deliberate. The low groans rumbling from his chest mingled with Yunho’s deep, steady breaths behind you. Jongho pressed closer, his lips brushing along your shoulder, his quiet growls sending shivers down your spine.

Their rhythm built together, their bodies perfectly in sync as your moans and cries filled the room. Mingi leaned down, his breath hot against your ear.

Yunho’s hands slid up your sides, steady and warm as his lips found the nape of your neck. The way his whines wrapped around you, combined with the desperate, broken groans from Jongho, sent waves of heat coursing through you.

Your cries grew louder as their movements became more erratic, each of them chasing their orgams with a fevered intensity. Mingi’s deep groan echoed through the room as he held you tighter, his body trembling against yours as he finally came. Jongho followed moments later, his grip on your hips firm as his own breathing hitched. Yunho’s orgasm was quieter but no less intense, his face buried in your neck as his chest heaved against your back.

You trembled in their arms, overwhelmed and breathless, when a familiar voice pierced through the haze.

San stepped forward, his movements purposeful, his shirt now entirely gone. “That’s enough,” he said, his voice low and commanding, drawing all attention to him. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, thoroughly undone and trembling from the intensity. “I told you she wasn’t finished yet.”

He scooped you into his arms effortlessly, his strength both steadying and overwhelming.

He stopped in front of the tall, ornate mirror that stood near the dining table, his reflection capturing his sharp gaze as he set you down gently on the edge of the table. “Look at yourself,” he commanded, his tone rough but laced with a dark sort of tenderness.

You blinked up at him, dazed, your reflection showing your flushed cheeks and trembling frame. San smirked, his hand tilting your chin so you wouldn’t look away. “You see that? That’s what I do to you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with possessive pride.

Before you could respond, he gently pushed you forward, your palms meeting the cool surface of the table as he pressed your body into it. His hand slid down your back, firm but reverent, as his other hand came to rest on your shoulder. “Keep watching,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “I want you to see exactly how I make you mine.”

The intensity of his words, the way he held you so effortlessly yet with complete control, sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. San’s reflection in the mirror was just as commanding as his presence behind you, his gaze locked onto yours as he slowly began to thrust into your dripping cunt.

Mingi, still catching his breath from nearby, let out a low chuckle. “San, you really don’t hold back, do you?”

San glanced over his shoulder briefly, his smirk growing darker. “Of course not. She doesn’t deserve anything less.” His attention returned to you, his voice dropping as he added, “And she wouldn’t want it any other way, would you, sweetheart?”

The only response you could manage was a breathless whimper, your reflection showing every ounce of the anticipation coursing through your body as San’s grip tightened, grounding you once more in his complete control.

San’s gaze darkened as his hand choked your face and neck down on the table, his strength grounding you even as your legs trembled under the weight of his presence. “Watch me,” he commanded, his voice low and rough, a blend of control and desire. His eyes flicked toward the others as he smirked. “Watch how my little slut lets me take everything from her, how much she trusts me to push her to her limits.”

His fingers trailed deliberately down your back, firm but reverent, sending a shiver coursing through you. The cool surface of the table pressed against your skin, contrasting with the heat radiating from his body as he leaned over you. “You’re mine,” he whispered into your ear, his tone soft yet charged with unrelenting intensity. “And you’ll show them exactly how good you are for me.”

The table creaked under the pressure as San started pounding into you, a silent promise of what was to come. His hand slid to your shoulder, steadying you, his thumb brushing soothing circles into your skin as his other hand started to slowly tangle in your messed up hair.

Your breath caught as he bent down, his lips brushing just below your ear. “Don’t you dare look away,” he murmured, his voice sending a rush of anticipation through you. “I want you to see everything. Every moment. Every second of what I do to you.”

Your reflection in the mirror revealed the truth—the flushed heat of your cheeks, the dazed look in your eyes as you nodded, overwhelmed by his intensity. San’s smirk deepened, his possessiveness evident in every movement as he fucked you, ensuring you felt every ounce of his unwavering focus.

The tension in the room was palpable, each sound amplified as the others watched, their breaths mingling with yours. San’s hold on you remained steady, his thrusts getting sloppier, deeper, more purposeful.

“S-San..!” you cried out, tears pricking at your eyes as he hit your cervix, the roughness of it all sending you over the edge. His hand hovered underneath you, feeling up your belly. As he bottomed down as deep as he was able, stretching you the fuck out, he could feel his cock softly bulging in your lower belly. He let out a satisfied sigh, smiling in the mirror as he saw your eyes teary.

“Yes.. that's it, slut. Scream my damn name.” San said as his pace grew faster and deeper, table creaking under his force. “I thought you'd be all loosened up from the boys fucking you at the same time but damn… their cocks ain't competing with mine. Is that right, darling?” he smirked, looking in your eyes in the mirror as he heard the boys complain in the background.

“Y'all better shut your mouths if you don't want me to give you a reason to complain.” he said between thrusts and they nodded, defeat visible in their eyes.

“Tell me, slut. You're close, is that right?” The way your breath hitches… and the way you desperately arch your back against the hardwood.. “

“San..S-San.. please. P-please.. -ah!” you moaned out as he jerked your head upwards by your hair. His thrusts grew erratic, your head dizzy from his power. He pounded in you a few times before filling you up with his huge load of cum, your walls clenching around his huge cock. Right after him you cry out in pleasure as your orgasm washes over you, tears streaming down your cheeks and on the table. You squirted all over the table under you as he slowed down and then pulled out, lifting you up in his embrace and watched you come undone.

“Damn.. I didn't know Boss is this fucking rough with her.” Yunho said, surprised at the power he fucked you with.

“Yeah but.. the princess seems to enjoy it, too.” Yeosang added, the other boys nodding in agreement.

“Everyone had their way, right? Now, all, get out and get washed. Y'all know we have a busy schedule tomorrow. I'll take care of my girl.” San ordered and watched the boys leave his home before bringing you to the shower, talking you through it.

He asked you all sorts of questions. How was it, if you liked it… how did it feel. If you were scared for even a moment or if you doubted him. All these questions made you grow fonder of him, but you were too spent to answer everything in detail. He washed you and himself up and went to bed with you, cuddling and stroking your hair until you fell asleep.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @atiny1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive

[akicine]

Won’t you say goodbye? (Sunday x Reader)

Was your love all a joke to him? You’ll never know the answer. He already left .

A sigh escaped your lips as you gently swirl the liquid inside the glass in your hand .You look upon the horizon , watching penacony from the dreams edge . Your eyes well up with tears as you attempt to recall if you did anything wrong .

When you find nothing , you set down your glass on the edge of the wall and let the tears fall .

It all started when you realized that Sunday was hiding some crucial from you , now , being the head of the Oak Family required keeping secrets because , well , it’s confidential information.

But it wasn’t that , it was something that endangered everybody and could force everyone in an eternal slumber that nobody wanted .

He became an enemy of the astral express , a fugitive from Penacony , and disappeared to who knows where .

You closed your eyes , rested your forehead in the palm of your hands , and choked on a sob just thinking of him and how much you love him .

You spent weeks trying to find him, you went to the reverie , the golden hour , dreams edge , anywhere and everywhere.

And still , all your efforts were wasted .

Was he avoiding you? Did he hate you? Did he want to avoid your wrath? What did he want?

All you want is to see him again.

To hold him , to make him laugh , to see his face and admire all of him , to be there with him, lay down on the bed and sleep with him , kiss him . You just want him back . That’s all you ask.

Then you feel a cold metal hand on your shoulder , drawing you out of your thoughts.

“ Excuse me , are you feeling alright miss?” A soft voice asks you , though it sounds warped .

You turn around , and your eyes widen as you see Sunday , but when you blink , it’s just an intellitron . But you blink again .

It’s Sunday . Your lover.

You were about to tackle him , but then realized.

He’s hiding from you.

Your eyes dull , and you plaster a fake smile on your face as you respond to him ,” I’m … not doing the best or the worst . Just sort of numb .” Who wouldn’t be when they found out their lover was hiding from them?

You watch his eyebrows furrow, worry in his eyes, but also watch the intellitron’s face remain the same.

Their voices overlap each other as they say ,” I see , I do hope your day will get better ,if you don’t mind me asking, why are you so somber?”

You give a sad smile as you look away from him and stare into the horizon , “ I was looking for someone , someone so very dear to me , I looked for them for the past few weeks , giving my all . Only to realize they don’t want to be found by me or anyone else .”

You turn your head and see his eyes widen , and you also see the intellitron’s face remain indifferent . The person you’re looking for is right here . But you know he doesn’t want to be found .

The intellitron gives a curt nod , while Sunday’s eyes show a hint of guilt as they say ,” Truly ? I hope that you’ll find them soon . I’ll be taking my leave now , it’s seems that you need some time .”

A sigh escapes from your lips , your heart wrenching as you watch him slowly slip away from you , leaving you alone . Tears start dripping down your cheeks faster and faster , your vision blurring as you gaze longingly at his retreating form .

“I want to be with you again…” you whisper .

And likewise , he says “ May we reunite somewhere amongst the stars”

You clench your fists as you look down at your feet , sobbing as you let the love of your life leave your sight and board the astral express . Making you wait even longer to be with him.

( You feel like a fool , waiting for him )

[activesplooger]

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ | ᴠᴏx x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴀᴜ | ʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ ʜᴏᴛᴇʟ

ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: (MDNI) FUCKING FINALLY THIS SHITS DONE I CAN REST. also there's a scene in this directed towards false healings performed and idk if it seems cringe believe me i know but that shit actually goes on so I thought i should include it

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You're a woman in the 1950s who's aspiring to be a journalist. However, it's hard to enter the workforce as a woman. Your boss presents you with the opportunity of a lifetime to do an undercover expose on a cult in your area! However, as you dive deeper into the church you get more than you bargained for.

ᴄᴡ: religious themes, cults, sexism, manipulation, false "healings", mental breakdown, drugging, dubious consent, penetration, nsfw, and barf

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 10,256 (sorry)

ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1/2

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀᴘᴏꜱᴛ!

So the situation's this, it's 1955, and you're trying to make a name for yourself in the journalism industry. You currently work for the New York Times... as a secretary. Though you offer the same— if not better— credentials as the men who write "hard-hitting pieces", you were overlooked, as many women are in the workforce.

Why have you working when you can be a pretty face for everyone to see? It's bullshit, really. However, you were in no position to complain about where your income comes from, so you took the job. Something's gotta pay the rent, even if it killed you to watch everyone doing your dream job. That's supposed to be you working at your passion, not the under-qualified men who make more effort in hitting on you than on their writing.

You're currently perched on your chair, chin in hand, as you stare blankly at the rotary phone, waiting for it to ring. Your bored expression seemed to say "Come over and condescend me!", or at least that's what one douche seemed to think.

A cocky co-worker strides over to your desk, clad in a tacky blue suit and a coffee-stained tie. He stands in front of your desk and chuckles, "What's wrong, sweetheart? Chip a nail?". Taking a deep breath, you restrain yourself from kicking him in the balls (if he even had any), "Just waiting for the phone to ring.". The man rests his elbows on your desk, "C'mon, where's that smile? You'd be so much prettier with one.". You bite the inside of your cheek, restraining your instinct of telling this guy off. Instead, you plaster on a strained smile. "There she is!" he chuckles, walking off to his desk.

As soon as he's out of sight, your smile drops instantly. "Stupid piece of fucking shit... hope he chokes on a fucking cock," you mutter to yourself, letting your anger simmer as you bounce your leg agitatedly.

The whole situation mulls over in your head, how could you allow your life to come to this? Reduced to your gender, working at a job where you're nothing but a pretty face... You wish things were different, but what could you do? Your eyes flicker to the head editor's office door that's practically calling your name.

You know that you're destined for more. What's the worst that could happen if you just ask? So what if they fire you? There are plenty of other secretary positions open anyway. Hesitantly, you get up from your chair and march over to the editor's office, knocking on the door with a shaky hand, "Mr. Anderson, sir?". "Come in," the familiar raspy voice responds.

Straightening out your skirt, you push the door open and smile. "Kitten," he exclaims, "what brings a pretty face like you in here? Dont'cha have phones to attend to?". You shake your head, "No, the line's empty as of now, I actually wanted to talk to you about-". "Talk talk talk, that's all you women do," he states, "that and drain men's wallets!". Mr. Anderson cackles, leaning back in his chair as he laughs himself to tears. "Hah... yeah... funny," you say flatly. "Oh, c'mon, it's just a joke, you women are so sensitive," his laughter dies down, "now, what'd you need to talk about?".

Taking a deep breath, you steal yourself for the moment ahead, this was your chance. Don't blow it. "Well," you begin, "remember when I interviewed here? I originally wanted to work here as a journalist.". The old man nods, leaning forward on his desk and giving you an intimidating look as he stares you dead in the eyes. You swallow nervously, "Y-Yes, well, I wanted to follow up on that.". "On what?". "On my position here at the company as a journalist, not a secretary," you state firmly, standing up straighter as you try not to let his intimidating stare get to you. Mr. Anderson sighs and leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, "I don't understand, you're a fine secretary.". "I know," you defend, "but I wanna be more, I know I can be more than this! I went to college and was one the only woman to get accepted into the journalism program!".

Sighing softly, you plead with him, hoping he'll show a shred of humanity, "I can do this, I just need the opportunity.". He groans, "You're a pain in my ass sometimes.". "But," he reaches into a filing cabinet and hands you a file labeled "THE SIGNAL DOMINION", "you're very persistent, and annoyin', so here.". You grab the file, and your face lights up, "Thank you so much, sir! You won't regret this!". "I better not," he says while lighting a cigar. "I want you to write an exposé on a cult run by a man named Vincent Oren Xavier, are you familiar with him?". You shake your head no. "Doesn't matter," he dismisses. "Everything you need to know is in that file. Now I'll need you to go undercover for this, pretend your some type of damsel in distress that's looking for a new church or some crap, I dunno," he huffs out a puff of smoke, causing you to cough and waft the air in front of you.

"Don't be gettin' all high and mighty because I gave ya this piece though," he states while waving his cigar, "I've only given ya this to shut yer trap, got it?". "Yes, sir" you nod, "thank you.". Walking out, you close the door softly behind you and skip happily to your desk. You set the file on your lap, squealing happily as you read the contents.

The gist was that some guy got people to join his cult by luring them in with charms and keeping them there through manipulation. Their leader, Vincent, managed to escape the crimes for his obvious exploitation through some dumb loopholes in the law; what a great country we live in.

After work, you head home and plop onto your bed with a pen and paper, jotting down your plan for the exposé. Your cover would be that of a widow who had just recently lost her husband who's looking to a higher power after such a great loss. You figured you could still be a secretary; just don't mention that it's for the New York Times, that'd definitely blow your cover. For the entire night, you work on your plan, devising every piece of your fake identity to the T.

The morning light shines through your windows, causing you to stir. You lift your head off the notebook you had been jotting on all night and stretch your arms over your head. A smile stretches across your face, today is the start of your new career. Springing out of bed, you rummage in your drawers for the perfect outfit: a dark navy sheath dress that landed just below your knee and black babydoll heels. You styled your hair into classy victory rolls and smudged your makeup around your eyes just a tad to portray the look that you had been crying. After all, you'd just "lost your husband". Who wouldn't be crying?

__

Following the directions in the file led you to the parking lot of a church. In big, bold letters were the words "The Signal Dominion Church of Christ" plastered on the front of the building. The top of the building held a cross and "Christ" was plastered in the name, so you assumed it was based on Christianity in one form or another. You were never really a religious person. However, you did have some background knowledge about it from being dragged to Sunday mass as a child.

Once you walk in, you seem to have caught the end of the service. The large church was littered with people, every seat was filled with some people having to stand. You observe in the back, the whole thing seems so intimidating and bizarre. The service ended with worship, and various repeated phrases stick out to you like "Trust him", only the "him" didn't seem to talk about a God, but rather Vincent. "Trust Vincent" seemed to be a common theme throughout the sermon.

The whole thing sent a shiver through your spine, a bad feeling settling in your stomach. Once the service ends, a lady with a beaming smile approaches you, "Hi!". "Oh hi," you respond softly. "I don't think I've seen you around. Are you new here?" she asks, her smile never faltering even for a second.

"Oh yes, I just wanted to peak in, sorry," you reply shakily. You really hoped she bought your act. The woman chuckles and waves a dismissive hand, "No problem! What brings you here?". "Well, I recently lost my husband from a car accident," you begin, mustering up a few fake tears that reluctantly roll down your cheek, "and it's just been really taxing on me. I've been perusing local churches to hopefully lift that weight off me, and that's how I stumbled here I guess.". "You poor thing," the woman puts a hand over her heart, "I'm sorry to hear that. My name's Evangeline, I'm an elder here at the church.".

"Nice to meet you," you shake her hand gently, "I'm Y/n.". She takes your other hand in hers and holds them softly, confusion crossing your features as she does so, "Well, Y/N, I want to pray for you.". "Oh! Alright, sure"

She prays over you and your situation, ending it with "Amen" and releasing your hands. She looks you softly in the eyes, "How would you like to come to our service next week? I'll save you a seat myself!". "Really? That's so kind, thank you, I'd be happy to" you smile back at her.

You say your goodbyes and head back to your place, taking in what you had learned. Service starts at 8am sharp, and you knew nothing about Vincent.

When you get home, you kick off your heels and sit on your couch with a sigh. You'd barely learnt anything and you couldn't really go undercover for another week.

__

You arrive at work a few hours later, knocking on the editors office before coming in. "What's the scoop?" he asks in his usual hoarse voice. "Well, I didn't learn too much... Seems to be based on trusting the cult leader, and the people seem nice-" you reveal, hoping that he wouldn't blame your lack of evidence on your gender.

Mr. Anderson sighs, "Look, Kitten, since it's your first time doing something like this I'm not gonna yell at'cha. But listen up, if you wanna go undercover, you've gotta be a little persistent. Do a bit of digging rather than sittin' on yer ass and waiting for the oppurtunity to present itself!". "Im sorry, but-".

"No "buts"," he interrupts, "now get back to your desk and work. "Oh about that, do I have a different desk now or?" you ask. "Kitten, this project stays between you and I. Any writin' gets done on your own time. You're still a secretary after all; However, if you do good on this assignment I'll consider hirin' you full time," he explains. You nod and thank him for his time before exiting, walking back to your secretary's desk disheartened.

You slump in your chair with a sigh, eyes fixed on your lap. The cocky coworker from yesterday strides up to your desk, "Hey! Where's that sm-". Snapping your head up, you interrupt him with a glare, "Ask about my smile one more time I swear to God.". He scoffs at you and walks off muttering, "Sheesh, is it that time of the month?". You drag a hand down your face and sign.

__

The next week slowly rolls by, filled with monotonous work and vague research you found from other news articles and stories. But today, maybe you could finally get somewhere.

You put on your Sunday best, a blue pinstripe dress paired with tan stockings and short white pump heels. With the help of curlers and a ton of gel, you fashion your hair into cute pin up curls that framed your face just right.

Once you finish prettying yourself up, you grab your keys and head out of your apartment.

__

You arrive at church early today, making sure you get a good seat for today's service. As you walk in, you see the room already bustling with people eager to get a seat. In the corner of your eyes, you see Evangeline waving her arms and patting the seat beside her. Upon walking up to her, she greets you with a big hug, eliciting an "oomph" from you at the sudden embrace. "I'm so happy you came!" she squeals excitedly. "Yeah, of course, thanks for saving me a spot," you reply. She lets go and leads you to your seats.

As you sit down, she turns to you with a grin, "Today's supposed to be a great message!". "Oh yeah?" you say, turning to her, "what's it about?". "Letting go of your earthly bonds and submitting to Him!". Your eyebrow raises, "Him?" Who's-". She cuts you off by pointing up towards the sky. "Ah, you meant God, right sorry," you reply with a slight chuckle.

"Oh, I almost forgot to mention, Father Vox won't be preaching today, unfortunately," she mentions with a slight frown. 'Vox?' you think to yourself, you hadn't heard any mention of a Vox before. You thought Vincent was the head honcho here, wouldn't the cult leader usually preach? "Who's Vox?" you ask quietly.

"Oh! He's the best," she gushes, "he's the head preacher around here. He opened my eyes to the lies I was once forced to concede to.". Tilting your head, you furrow your eyebrows and speak in a confused tone, "The lies?". Evangeline nods, "Yup, he taught me the meaning of life. If it weren't for him, I would still be in contact with my oppressors!". "Your... oppressors?". "Mhm," she affirms, "my so-called family and friends all held me back from my true purpose.". A chill went down your spine. Your look of horror is met with Evangeline's placid expression, how could she be so calm? Doesn't she know she's being manipulated? "I'm sorry, what-" you're cut off by Evangeline shushing you. "It's starting!" she says with a wide grin.

Three altar servers walk down the aisle holding large candles, one wafting incense across the pews. Following behind them is a man dressed in white vestments. The sacred white robes feature intricate gold patterns sewn into the stole that loosely drapes over the priest's shoulders.

Once the priest approaches the altar. He lifts his arms up in the air and everyone stands up from their seat. You follow suit and stand up a bit delayed from everyone else. The altar servers set down the candles and sit on a wooden bench behind the altar. Looking up from the large bible on the podium, the mass commences, "The lord be with you.". "And with your spirit," the room responds simultaneously. You try to keep up with all the sayings, constantly falling behind at all the responsorials and prayers. Shit, you really wished you paid attention in mass when you were younger.

After countless prayers and songs, you're finally allowed to sit. The priest smiles and crosses his heart, "Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. Amen.". The members mutter an "amen" in response.

The priest walks in front of the aisle and claps his hands together with a big smile, "How are we doing, everyone? As you can tell, Father Vox couldn't join us today, he's taking a day to be reverent with God. I'll be stepping in his place for today, some of you may know me as John, but today I'll be known as Father John.".

Father John starts off the homily with a routine message, love God and all that crap, it's the end of the sermon that seemed to rub you the wrong way. The priest paces down the pews, each step impassioned as he preaches, "And therefore I ask you, the people of the signal dominion, to follow your shepherd. Let him guide you in a guide-less world full of corruption and sin.".

Once again, the "him" mentioned seemed almost sinister. It didn't feel like they were talking about God, but perhaps Vincent- or maybe that Vox that Evangeline was talking about. As your mind races, the priest starts to shout, "Has he not done enough for us?!". "No!" the congregation calls out, some people clapping and cheering. "So then, why do we run astray? Why do we avoid his divine enlightenment?! Look at all he's done for us, he saved you from suffering!".

You look around at the people in the pews, eyes fixed in admiration at the speaker, not even a hint of skepticism on their expression. How did they not question what was happening to them?! A pit grows in your stomach, almost feeling angry at these people.

Father John stops yelling and makes his way back to the pew. Lifting his arms up, the people stand. "Let us pray," he calmly commands, his tone a stark contrast to his frustrated yell. He leads the church in a penitential prayer, which, again, you didn't know. The people recite, "Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.". Each "fault" is punctuated with a fist banged against one's chest. The practice, though not inherently sinister, leaves you feeling tense and guilty; the pit in your stomach starts to grow.

"I'd now like to call upon the Elders of the church to come forward and offer prayer to those who need it," people emerge from the pews and walk to the front of the church. Evangeline turns to you, "I'll be up there if you need me.".

Without Evangeline, you didn't have an in with the church. You felt out of place, not sure what to do as people pass you by to receive prayer. Taking a breath, you calm down and mutter quietly to yourself, "Be persistent, y/n.".

You walk out of your row and walk up to Evangeline, her ever-present bright smile plastered on her face. She takes your hands in hers, "I'm so glad you're here. What would you like to talk about.". "Well," you begin, racking your mind for what to say when suddenly, an idea pops up, "I was really hoping to be saved- like you were! By that guy you were talking about-". Evangeline tilts her head, "You mean Father Vox?". You nod, eliciting a thoughtful look on her face. "He is taking time to be with God today... but, m-maybe if I told him your testimony he would meet with you!". "You think so?" you ask hopefully, excitement filling the pit in your stomach. This could be your chance.

Evangeline nods frantically and takes both your hands in hers, "Let us pray. Dear God,-".

__

After the sermon, Evangeline led you upstairs to a sector of the church where only church officials and clergy were allowed. She approaches a door labeled "Father Vox" in big gold letters. "Wait here," she gestures towards a chair beside the door. Evangeline knocks on the door. "Come in," a deep voice responds.

The door clicks shut, leaving you alone in the creepy church corridor. You can hear the faint sound of an organ playing a hymn from downstairs, along with the ticking of the grandfather clock beside you. The room is cold, freezing almost- creating a tense atmosphere in the supposedly "welcoming church".

You fixate your gaze on your lap, tapping your feet incessantly on the group as you wait. Time passes slowly as you wait, focusing on fidgeting with your hands to occupy yourself.

Finally, the door swings open and Evangeline walks out. She holds the door open for you with a soft smile, "Father Vox would like to see you.". "O-oh! Great!" you get up from your seat and nod at her while walking in.

__

Seated at the desk is a handsome man with black hair and separate eye colors; one eye color being blue and the other being brown. A white scar streaks down across his blue eye going from his eyebrow to his cheekbone. He's dressed in navy blue vestments with red patterns sewn into the stole, similar to the patterns on Father John's.

You take a seat across from him, a tight-lipped grin stretching across your face to match his charming smile. On his desk are books labeled "T.S.D Bible," along with other religious paraphernalia. Perched front and center in a name placard displaying the words, "Father Vincent Oren Xavier - Head priest".

The pieces start to click together in your head. Vincent Oren Xavier, V,O, X - That must be the Vox Evangeline was talking about! Your snapped out of your thoughts as he speaks.

"Well, you must be the famous y/n I've been hearing about!" he finally says, his voice booming and upbeat. "That's me," you squeak out.

"Elder Evangeline told me all about your story, I'm so sorry to hear that, my dear," though expressing his sympathy, his smile remains unwavering. "It's fine, it led me here so-". "And we're happy to welcome you with open arms!" he exclaims with a chuckle.

You knit your hands together in your lap anxiously, "-Actually, I had a few questions.". "Oh?" he raises an eyebrow, "by all means, go ahead.".

"Well, Father," you begin, "what does this church believe exactly?". "My dear, we here at Signal Dominion are our sector of Christianity. Are you familiar with Christianity?". You nod, "I was raised Catholic.". "And as of lately?" he raises an eyebrow. "Not so much," you admit.

He nods and hums in acknowledgment softly, "No worries, we accept all that are willing to join.". "Good, good... What exactly makes this church different from a Christian church?". His smile seems to grow at your question, his tone full of confidence as he answers, "The Signal Dominion is special, the other denominations have lost their way, been too lax on God's plan for humanity.".

You lean forward in your chair, "And that plan is?". "To be saved, of course!" he grins. "Right, right," you exhale softly, "and how do you get saved?".

"Follow the church, and you'll see," Father Vox extends his hands to you, gesturing for you to hold them. You reach out and take his surprisingly soft and large hands in yours. "We can save you here, my child," he squeezes your hands, "you won't have to feel this dread upon you any longer. Don't go back to your old life, once you join the church, it's the first day of your eternal life, free of sin and grief.".

"Okay," you reply softly, hiding your internal excitement at the prospect of getting more info. Vox prays over you, eyes fixed shut as he asks God to "take away your grief"- as if grieving was an inherently bad thing. Vox commences the prayer with an "amen" and opens his eyes, gazing at you softly, "Come to our Wednesday night mass, I think you'll find it empowering.". "Oh, alright- I'd love to," you reply softly.

His hands linger for a moment before pulling away, "I'll see you Wednesday then.". You smile and nod goodbye before exiting his office.

Shutting the door behind you, you lean against it, breathing heavily as a smile stretches across your face. You did it, you're in.

__

The following days were spent working as a secretary by day and a journalist by night. Lately, your normal job didn't seem as horrible as before. You showed a renewed interest in life; every guy who would be sexist toward you was met with a smile and a nod. All you needed was the comforting notion that one day, they'd work with you. You felt comforted as you imagined the looks of horror on their smug faces as they realized that you're gonna work with them. All that good karma was coming back to you.

Currently, you're getting ready for Wednesday night mass. You fashioned your hair into loose, brushed-out waves that draped elegantly over your shoulders paired with a modest white shirtwaist dress. Once ready, you leave your apartment and head to the church.

When you walk in, you see the church booming with people. The congregation is dancing and singing as people play music on stage, a huge difference from the reverent mass you saw just a few days ago. In the crowd of people, you spot Evangeline singing and clapping in the front row of pews.

You walk up to her and wave, "Good to see you!". She greets you with a big hug, "Father Vox told me everything! Welcome to the signal dominion!". You smile at her enthusiasm, "Thanks for getting me a talk with him, I owe it all to you, honestly.". She shakes her head, "It's not me, it's you. Father Vox chose you specifically, you're special.". You open your mouth to speak but are cut off by everyone cheering as they turn their attention to the center aisle.

Father Vox jogs down the aisle, no altar servers present in front of him. This seemed to be a way more casual sermon than the "usual" Sunday mass. He goes up to the podium and speaks into the mic, "Welcome, my children, take a seat.". The people scatter into the pews excitedly and wait expectantly for Vox to speak.

He crosses his heart, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Peace be with you.". "And with your spirit!" the room calls out cheerfully. "I'd like to start tonight's service by giving a hand to our amazing worship team!" he gestures his arms out wide to the small band exiting the stage. The church erupts in cheering with the whole congregation clapping and shouting praise.

Vox holds his hands up, and suddenly, the room quiets, "Tonight, we have an important sermon –one about taking a leap of faith, and putting your whole being into the Church. Let us pray.". He leads the church in the Nicene Creed, his deep charismatic voice carrying through the whole building.

"Amen."

He takes the microphone stick in hand and carries it with him as he walks down the pews, "You know, I was talking to God yesterday-" some people cheer at that, eliciting a wider smile from Vox. His expression flattens, and he turns more serious, "And he told me how distraught he was.". The people murmur sorrowfully, some looking down at the ground with guilt as if it was their fault.

Walking up, he gets close to the pews and starts to speak in people's faces, "I am trying to lead humanity to salvation, and all I see is neglect and evil in this world... even from some people in this community.". A few people get spiteful looks from other members; it was as if Vox is trying to pit the people against each other. Have others hold each other accountable for their "wrong doings".

Vox walks back to the podium and sets the microphone down, dragging his hands down his face to dramatically express his despondency. The sermon felt like a performance, almost theatrical in the way Vox was acting. He takes his hands off his face and sighs,

"As some of you may know, I didn't preach on Sunday. I was in despair, so much so that I couldn't preach-". The congregation gasps and murmurs. "Then suddenly, God appeared and said, "My son, you will guide these people!" he starts to yell, pointing aggressively at the crowd, "You will lead these sheep to pasture for you are there sheperd!".

The room claps and cheers, increasingly encouraging him to keep ranting, "Don't let yourself be ruled by fear, that's the devil talking! I was lifted up by the Lord! And now you will be too!". He points at an elderly woman in a wheelchair, a woman you hadn't seen before at past sermons, "You there! I command you, with the power of the Lord to STAND UP!".

The lady struggles, insisting she can't do it. "I SAID STAND UP!" he commands, throwing his arms up to motion her out of her chair. You watch in horror as this wheelchair-bound woman is forced out of her chair. After struggling, the lady springs out of her chair and walks around with a celebratory lap around the pews.

The room is filled with shouting praise and cheer, people rising from their seats and crying with joy. You stay sitting, your body frozen as you try to comprehend what the fuck you just saw. Obviously, it was bullshit, but seeing all these people getting roped further into Vox's lies made you want to puke. The once excited feeling of going undercover gets replaced with dread. How could you treat these poor people like a story? Shouldn't you be helping them?!

Your stomach starts to ache at the sight. While people around you rejoice in the "miracle" that happened before their eyes, you sit there, staring blankly ahead of you.

__

The sermon lasted hours. Vox would go on rants about how the church is under attack and we must fight back against them. You found yourself nodding off only to be woken by Vox yelling.

The sermon finally concluded, and people quickly shuffled out of the building. You were a bit delayed in your movements, grabbing your purse drowsily and slowly walking out of the pews. A hand grabs at your shoulder. You turn around and see Evangeline with a tired smile on her face, "Father Vox would like to talk to you in his office.". Great. Sighing softly, you force a polite smile and nod, "Thanks.".

__

The stairs creak as you walk up the spiral staircase to Vox's office, the already tense atmosphere becoming even creepier at night. You're instantly waken up by the freezing temperature. You quickly jog to his office and knock hastily, not wanting to wait a second longer in the corridor.

"Come in, my dear."

You push the door open to reveal the dark office illuminated by candles on Vox's desk. His handsome features still displayed even in the dim light of the room, "Have a seat.". Taking a seat across from him, he gazes at you for a moment, studying your features. Exhaling softly, he speaks, "God was telling me about you.". You raise an eyebrow, "He... He was?".

He smiles softly, "He told me you're special... you're different from everyone else. I think you will do great here.". "I hope so," you smile wearily back at him. You really couldn't even bear to look at him anymore. Part of you wanted to scream in his face cry all at once, but what good would that do? He knows what he's doing is wrong, he doesn't need someone telling him what he already knows.

Vox tilts his head at you, "I hope we didn't scare you off with tonight's service.". Your eyes widen, "No, no-". He chuckles and holds up a hand to cut you off, "It's okay, don't lie. I understand how a healing service can be a bit intimidating for new members.". "It's okay, it was just... unexpected," you admit reluctantly.

Vox chuckles softly, "I bet. I know it all seems confusing and scary right now, but trust the church. Trust me, y/n. I think you can make it very high here in the church, maybe even an elder.". Whooo whoopdy doo you get to be an elder!!! You plaster on a fake smile, "I'd be honored.".

Rising from his seat, Vox walks over to behind your chair and places his hands firmly on your shoulders. He leans down and whispers softly, his voice smooth and charismatic, "I know right now everything seems chaotic, but it will all be over soon. You'll be safe here.". His words send a shiver to your spine, the "reassuring" words almost sounding threatening.

He releases you from his firm hold, and you exchange goodbyes, eager to get home after a long day. Kicking off your heels, you collapse onto your bed. You don't bother with writing tonight, that can wait for another day. For now, you let yourself debrief and rest. It's been a long day.

__

"Better," your boss states flatly, tossing your report back on his desk. "That- That's it?" you ask, frustrated, all that work for "better"? Mr. Anderson shrugs, "Look, it's a fine report. But we're not looking for "fine." Here, let's put it this way... How did you feel when you saw what was happening to these people?". You tilt your head as you respond, "I felt... distraught and devastated and-". Your boss cuts you off. "Exactly!" he exclaims, poking your report as he speaks, "then show that in your writing. When I read this I feel nothing, it's just facts laid out in front of me. Put the reader in your shoes, I want you to make them feel like they're seeing what you're seeing.".

"How do I-" you squeak out before getting interrupted once more

"Sheesh, woman!" he groans, "Do I have to give you everything? Just- Here, go deeper. You said that this "Vox" guy said sum about "climbing ranks"?". You nod affirmatively. "Expand on that," he encourages, "climb the ranks, get the story. Got it?". You held your questions and feebly grab your report, "Yes, sir.".

__

You've really had to step it up. For the past few services, you've attended every single one, from the calm Sunday service to the bizarre Wednesday night ones. But, you hadn't really made any progress with diving deeper into the church as your boss suggested. Outside of sermons, you hadn't personally seen Vox since your eerie chat with him in his office. You thought you had a leg up when he called you "special," though looking back, that's probably what he says to everyone who joins the church.

This morning, you really were gonna step up your ass-kissing game to the church. You arrive an hour early to the Sunday service, dressed all prim and proper in a wine-red sheath dress. For the first time you've ever seen it, the church was completely empty. The once-packed pews are now completely devoid of any life, and yet, you had a strange feeling you weren't alone...

You ignore the strange feeling of eyes on you and approach the altar. Slowly, you kneel before it and get into a prayer position, eyes furrowed shut as you firmly clasp your hands together against your forehead. Just for good measure, you mutter "please God" under your breath every now and again. You felt a bit silly doing this, almost like a child playing pretend.

For about half an hour you knelt there, hoping your faux devotion would catch the eye of the higher ranks. Just as your knees were starting to give out, a large hand gently grabs hold of your shoulder, "Come with me.".

You open your eyes and see Vox standing behind you, a subtle smile across his sharp features. He offers a hand to you and helps you to your feet. Without another word, he swiftly turns and guides you upstairs to his office.

Once upstairs, he opens the door for you and gestures a hand out for you to walk in. The two of you take a seat, Vox smiles softly, "Don't think your actions have gone unnoticed, my dear.". Your heart rate quickens. Were you found out? "I've noticed your devotion, and so have the others.". You exhale softly, relieved that this wasn't some sort of shake-down. Tilting your head, you fake confusion, "My devotion?".

"Yes, the elders and I have noticed your piety towards the church. Out of all the members in the church, your efforts stand out," he chuckles softly and reaches into his desk, "I meant what I said when I called you 'special'.". Vox lifts his hand from the desk, a pretty gold beaded rosary necklace hangs off his index finger. You lean forward to get a better look at the jewelry, "What's that for?". "You," he gestures the necklace toward you, "to show my appreciation, you've become a model member of the church."

Taking the rosary from him, you marvel at the dainty intricacies of the necklace. It was real gold, from what you could tell, and not just plated either. Gold beads were strung along the dainty chain, and the apex held a pendant with the initials "T.S.D", a beaded chain hanging down from it. At the bottom of the chain hung a diamond-encrusted cross, the crystal shining brightly in the dim room. How did Vox have the money for this? Surely being head of a "church" couldn't make that much money, right? Whatever the reason was, you shouldn't accept gifts from a corrupt person paid with money from God knows where.

Your fingers run over the expensive jewelry, "I really can't accept this.". Vox tilts his head to the side, "Why not?". "Because its uhm," your hands clutch the necklace in your hand, you whisper under your breath, "really fucking expensive.". Snapping your head up to look at him with wide eyes, "Shit I mean- Wait sorry again- It's just-". Vox raises his eyebrows and chuckles, "No worries, you're forgiven."

Getting up from his desk, Vox strides over to you, gently releasing the necklace from your grasp, "Don't worry, the church paid for it. Besides, this isn't about money, think of it as a "thank-you" gift.". His hands brush your hair to the side and deftly clasp the necklace around your neck from behind. He moves back in front of you and clasps his hands together, "Lovely."

Glancing at the clock, Vox excuses himself to get ready for the sermon and you leave shortly after for the service.

__

A few weeks have passed since your surprise gift, and ever since then, Vox has kept an eye on you. There would be moments when his eyes would meet yours during a sermon, almost as if he was speaking directly to you. Part of you hated how much you liked the attention, Vox was the only man in your life who treated you decent, even if he was using you to further his agenda and grow his cult. The other part of you was terrified by it.

With all the close attention to you, you have to be extra careful to not let your true intentions slip. One mistake, and it's over for you. No career, and hell, Vox would probably kill you to keep that story from coming out.

It's currently Saturday night, you had gone to bed early for the morning service and were sound asleep. The loud trill of your home phone wakes you in a panic. You snap up into a sitting position and exhale softly after realizing that it wasn't some type of alarm.

After stretching, you hop out of bed and walk to the kitchen as the phone blares, "Jesus Christ, shut up...". Grabbing the phone off the wall, you pick up the phone and speak gravelly, "Hello?".

"Good morning!" a familiar voice responds, "I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time.". "Uh, I'm sorry, who is this?" you question, leaning against the wall to support your exhausted body. "This is Vox," he responds. Oh shit! You perk up instantly and hold the phone closer to you, "Oh! Vox! Uh, good morning... h-how'd you get this number?". "Anywho," he ignores with a cheerful tone, "I just wanted to call and let you know about tomorrow's sermon.".

Pushing off the wall, you pace in a small circle around your kitchen, "What about tomorrow's sermon?". "I just wanna make sure you'll be there, I can count on you, right?". "Yeah, of course-" the cord yanks you back softly as it stretches to its max. "ow fuck-" you mutter. "What was that?" the voice asks. "Nothing! Uh, I'll see you tomorrow, bye!" you stammer out, slapping your palm to your forehead in embarrassment.

The phone clicks in its spot on the wall and you cover your face in exhaustion and mortification at your slip-up. You really had to work on your cussing if you were gonna sell this whole "widowed church girl" persona. Whatever that's tomorrow's problem, you're too delirious to function right now.

__

After a pathetic night's rest of tossing and turning, you wake up and head to church. Sitting in the center front pew, you save a spot for Evangeline. You've grown quite fond of her over the past few months, and although she was a little church-crazy, she's been nothing but welcoming to you. Evangeline skips over to you with a wide grin, "Y/N!". "Hey!" you greet her with a hug and chat a bit before the sermon begins.

The lights dim as the mass starts, candles illuminating the walkway as the altar servers walk to the altar. Vox follows behind them, his hands folded in a prayer position. His eyes meet yours, giving you a soft smile. Your lips subconsciously twitch up into a grin as you see him. You snap your head back up to the stage once you realize what you were doing, no time for making eyes at a literal fucking cult leader. Sure, he's attractive, but he's a psychopath! 'get it together, y/n,' you say to yourself.

Vox approaches the podium and goes over the routine responsibilities and creeds. "Good morning," he says into the mic, his voice booming through the large church. "Good morning," the congregation responds. "Today is a special sermon," he begins, "many of you have such courageous testimonies of how you entered the church! And some of you have so graciously offered to share your stories today-". People start exiting the pews and lining up on the stage. Vox smiles and gestures one of them up to the pew. The woman smiles softly as he speaks into the podium's microphone, "I first found out about the church when...".

__

The testimonies droned on for about an hour. Each testimony, though intended to ignite a fire in your faith, made your stomach churn. Hearing about these people who once had great lives, leaving them in a time of darkness, cutting everyone off, all for the hope of having a purpose in the church. A tear trickled down your cheek as you listened to people fall deeper into the cult. If only they knew their "salvation" would be their downfall.

As the last person wrapped up their story, the congregation erupted in applause and cheer. Vox retakes the stage and speaks into the mic, "Thank you, everyone, for those beautiful stories... and I'd like to invite one more person, a new member, to share their story.". He gestures a hand out to you in the crowd, your face turning white. Fuck. Why wouldn't he ask you about this first? You already are mortified by public speaking, it's gonna take everything in you not to accidentally expose yourself.

Shakily, you arise from your seat, eliciting light applause from around you. Once you reach the podium, you clear your throat nervously, "H-Hi everyone.". Evangeline smiles proudly and gives you a thumbs up. You smile back at her and continue, "M-My story started when uhm my husband died. It was a really dark time for me and I just wanted to have hope again.". Fidgeting with your hands, you glance at Vox who gives you a condescending smile.

Standing up straighter, you speak more confidently into the microphone, "And then I found this church, and I was scared... really scared. But with the help of a lot of you here, I really found a purpose again. Thank you for everything, I'm glad I'm here.". You quickly exit the stage and plop in your seat. Evangeline immediately showers you in praise while you stare at the floor in mortification. __

The service goes on for another half hour or so. You're eager to leave, quickly getting up and grabbing your things once Vox ends the sermon. You just wanted to go home, relax, and take a bath- You've pushed yourself hard the past few weeks, maybe it's time to take a break from the story for a little bit.

And just as you're about to leave, a firm hand grasps your shoulder. "My dear, come with me for a moment," the familiar voice rings in your ear. Fuck! You sigh and oblige, not wanting to rouse any suspicion. Who knows what he would do if you denied him.

He leads you down the corridor and into his office, the door shutting behind you with a loud creek. You both sit down, Vox staring at you with his piercing multicolored eyes, "Your testimony was beautiful, dear.". You huff quietly to yourself, "Yeah, it was just- unexpected.". He chuckles, "Ah, I see, not a big public speaker?". You shake your head no. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he says somewhat apologetically.

Noticing your harsh stare as opposed to your usual submissive one, Vox sighs softly. "Here," he grabs a bottle and two glasses out of his desk and pops it open. He poured some of what looked like champagne into your glass and handed it to you. "Is this booze?" you raise an eyebrow. He flips the bottle over to reveal the "Sparkling Cider" Label. "Pft, oh," you chuckle softly and pick up the glass.

You clink your glasses together. "Cheers," he says, his rich voice sounding a bit husky. You take a sip, unaware of Vox's intent gaze on you as you drink the beverage. His gaze drifts to your necklace as you wipe the foam from the drink off your lips, "I see you're still wearing the necklace I gave you. I take it you like it?". "Oh, yeah," your hands move up to fidget with the cross pendant, "It's really nice, thanks again by the way.".

"No need to thank me," he states, laughing softly as his gaze wanders over your features, "It looks beautiful, my dear.". "Oh- Thank you," you try to cover the unwanted blush spreading across your face.

He sets the bottle down and rests his elbows on the desk, "You know, I think I owe you my testimony now that you shared yours.". You tilt your head, "Your testimony?".

He nods, "I didn't come from a good home. My father was- very abusive. And so was my mother. CPS must've investigated my parents a dozen times, but, they never convicted them of anything. Just chalked it up to parental punishment and me being a sensitive kid.".

Your eyebrows furrow in a sympathetic expression, "I had no idea I-". He cuts you off, "No, no, don't be sorry. That isn't the part I want you to focus on.". Vox leans closer over the desk, "Things only got worse as I got older. My parents were broke and only became more abusive over time...".

He gets up from his chair with an excited grin and walks over to you. "But then, God appeared to me and said, "Vincent, my son, I have bigger plans for you than this! Go forth and spread the good news!". And so I did! I took my old man's car and ventured out here, where I started the church.".

As he wraps up his testimony he looks at you excitedly, almost as if he is seeking approval like it was some kind of performance that he did. You flipped your cringe into a surprised grin, "Wow that's- that's incredible!". Taking another sip, you groan internally as he keeps going on about the "Son of God" bullshit.

__

As time goes on, you start to feel funny. Time didn't feel as though it were passing, but as you glance at the clock you realize that hours had passed. Vox’s voice starts to sound like he’s talking underwater, your main focus being the loud ringing in your ear.

You wince and cover your ears. Vox smiles, “Everything okay?”. “Ya its just hot in here,” you speech starts to slur, suddenly feeling a bit more free and loose lipped, “I wan leave but I also don’t… I dunno…”.

He chuckles softly, “Oh is that so?.”. “Yaa… I think imma just take a nappp,” you slump against the chair and close your eyes. The last thing you hear before passing out is a soft “perfect” whispered in your ear.

__

Your eyes flutter open, catching glimpses of the scene before you. Vox was driving you somewhere while you sat limp against the seat. You couldn’t move or talk very well, only being able to function through sight; it almost like being in a state of sleep paralysis. “Voxxx?” you mumble out. He pulls into a driveway and parks the car. “Hey there, doll,” he coos, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Where are we goin’?”. Vox unbuckles his seatbelt and hops out of the car. He opens the door and carries you out of the vehicle, “My house, you passed out. I just wanna keep an eye on you and make sure your okay.”. “mffkayyy,” you lean against his arm as he carries you inside.

The house before you is rather large with beautiful foliage out in the front that was well kept. Modern furniture decorated the lavish house with at least 3 TVs just in the downstairs area. “ ‘S a big house. Hows it so big I thought priests were poor,” you say absentmindedly.

He chuckles softly as he carries you up the grandiose staircase, “The people donate to the church to pay me.”. You scoff, “Pfftt, donate what? Half their fuckkinn’ salary.”.

“Language,” he reminds sternly, “and yes.”. He carries you into a large master bedroom, the same lavish furniture with crosses riddled all over the walls. “You can lay here,” he sets you down on the soft mattress. “Thanks Vox urr nicer than I thought you’d be,” you smile at him.

Stepping out of his shoes, Vox crawls onto the bed with you and sits beside you. His soft large hands reach out to cradle your face. Sleepily you lean into his touch. “Mmmm,” you hum into his palm.

His hands snake down from your face to your waist and hoist you onto his lap. Your neck is eagerly peppered with kisses, hands sliding up your dress and onto your bare thighs. For a moment, you lean into his touch, “Vox… Mmph.“.

While one hand massages your thighs, the other works to unzip your dress. The cold contact of metal onto your skin briefly brings you back to your senses, “Vox, wait, no- We can’t-.”.

“Shh,” he continues undressing you, “don’t worry, let me make you feel good.”. You feel too weak to stop him, eventually just giving into his actions. The dress slips down your shoulders and is slid off your body. He quickly discards his priest garments and other clothing on the floor.

Grabbing a thigh in each hand, Vox spreads your legs and hovers over you. His thick veiny cock presses up against his stomach, pre cum leaking from his tip down his shaft.

He slowly enters your dripping pussy, “Ah… There we go.”. “Mmph~ Oh god-,” you moan out, your vision getting a bit hazy. He stays still for a moment, allowing you to accommodate for his size.

After a minute he rolls his hips into you, establishing a steady rhythm. You stare blankly at the ceiling, only partly focused on the pleasure winding up in your core. Every now and again you’ll moan softly as you watch the room spin. You flicker in and out of consciousness, unaware of how much time has passed or how long Vox has been going.

Grunts escape his throat as he pistons into you, his pace become more erratic as he got closer to orgasm. You were close too, your hips weakly bucking into his. “Thats it,” he says breathlessly, looking you in your glazed over eyes. His hips start to slam into yours, sending waves of pleasure over you as you came.

Your a bit overstimulated as he continues chasing his own relief, drawing out whimpers and moans from you. “Hnnf, Hnnnff~,” His hips start to stutter until he finally fills you up with his seed. Once Vox pulls out you feel the cum dripping out of you.

Releasing his grip on your thighs, he lays down on the bed and pulls you into a spooning position. The last thing you feel before you succumb to sleep is the kiss Vox presses into your hair.

__

The next morning, you wake up around 10 with a pounding headache. Blinking your eyes open, you sit up abruptly. You were at home. “Vox?” you call out. No response. A hand shakily drags down your face, “F-Fuck… What have I done…?”. The weight of the situation sets in, mortification settling in your stomach.

Nausea washes over you and you quickly run out of bed to the bathroom. Leaning over the toilet you throw up. You remembered being sick last night, you remembered everything from last night.

On the floor of your bathroom, you hug your knees and bury your face in your hands. You just had sex with a cult leader… Sobbing softly, you mutter to yourself, “I can’t do this anymore…”.

You wipe your tears and march to your type writer where you hastily finish that god forsaken story. Every last detail was thrown in, well, except for last nights events…

You don’t care if it has a billion spelling mistakes, you just want this to finally be over. Even if some part of you liked Vox, you’d never admit it. You could never be with him.

Throwing on whatever clothes you had out, you grab the freshly typed papers and sprint to your car.

__

The doors of the NYT office building fling open as you burst through them. “Woah,” a coworker comments, “what’s got you so-.”. You cut him off, “Go fuck yourself.”. Fuck that, fuck him. You’re not taking that crap anymore. The worker stands there in embarrassment and shock. He scoffs and mutters something as he retreats to his desk.

You march into Mr. Johnsons office and hold the papers up in the air, “It’s done!”. Mr. Johnson covers the receiver of the rotary phone, “Hold on-“. “Please!” you plead, wanting this to be done and over. He ignores you. No, you demand to be taken seriously for once. You walk closer to his desk and snatch the phone from him and place it down to end the call. “Y/N!” he yells, “you can’t just-!”. “Mr. Johnson just please read it over!” you beg.

He groans, “Fine!”. He snatches the papers out of your hands and reads over the report for a few minutes. Once he’s done, he hands them back to you, “Great, thanks.”. He gets back to work after dismissing you.

“I-Is that all?” you ask, “what about my future here at the company?”. “Listen doll,” he slides the papers he was working on aside for a moment, “you have a future at the company as a secretary.”. “What?! I worked for mo-“. “Frankly I don’t care,” he interrupts coldly, “this was just something to keep you occupied so you’d stop bitching!”.

“Why would you promise me a job then?!” you defend, tears welling up in your eyes. Mr. Johnson sighs, “Jesus- It’s company policy not to hire women anyway! And look at you, you completed one story and you look a mess! Your cryin’, snappin’ at employees, and you look wrecked. Why have that when a man can easily complete a job without all this drama? Now get out!”.

“But I-“

“Out!”

Clutching the papers in your hands, you begrudgingly walk out of the office. You hear the whispering and light laughter of the employees as you walk out. Tears flow down your cheeks, walking faster until you out of sight from the ridicule.

Once your outside you lean against the wall of the building and sob into your hands. You shake as you let everything out. All of that, for nothing. You felt like nothing, a nobody. You look at the papers in your hands, the words angering you and causing you to rip them to shreds. People pass by you, but you ignore the stares at your public breakdown.

You pull a pack of cigarettes out of your purse and light one. You shakily inhale, and exhale the somewhat soothing smoke. “Oh God,” you whisper, burying your face in your hands.

__

You sit in your car for awhile, not sure where to go. Should you go home? No, you don’t want to just sit their and be sad. Your friends wouldn’t understand, you hadn’t even spoken to them since you started this project. You start the car, and as if your hands had a mind of their own, you mindlessly drive to Vox’s estate.

You weren’t exactly sure how you remembered to get their, but suddenly, you were in front of the large estate once again. As you hop out of the car, your legs almost seem to turn to jelly as they wobble and shake. Wobbly approaching the door, you ring the loud doorbell.

The grandiose door swings open, revealing Vox in more casual wear then you’d previously seen, “Y/N? What are you doing here? How’d you know where-“. You cut him off, “I-I remembered from yesterday, somehow…”. His face turns pale at the mention of yesterdays events, “Wait you remember- Nevermind, why are you here?”. You sniffle, tears flowing down your face once more, “I didn’t know where else to go.”.

“Shh shh, hey,” he pulls you into a hug, ”what’s wrong?”.

__

Vox had you settled onto settled against him on the couch. You told him everything that happened. He nods slowly as you finish your story, “I see… Those report papers are shredded right.”. “Yeah,” you sniffle, “I tore them up…I’m sorry.”.

“It’s okay, you’re forgiven,” he coos, “but why’d you come here?”. You shrug, "I didn't have anyone else to go to...". He nods and pulls you closer against him, "It's okay, you're here now. You're safe, trust me.".

"So, what now?" you ask softly, "are you gonna have me actually join the church now?". He chuckles softly, "Doll, you've already been in the church for a long time now. You just need to recommit your faith".

__

You had stayed with Vox for the past few weeks, listening to his guidance on how to live a happy and virtuous life. And it was working, you were happy. At first, you doubted everything. I mean this was surely a cult, right? Vox assured you that it wasn't, saying that "if your boss lied to you about your job as well, then why doubt that he lied to you about this being a "cult"?". He had a good point, and since then, you became a true follower of the church.

Vox had you cut off everyone, telling you that they were holding you back from your true potential. You believed him, they were holding you back.

The next few services had a whole new meaning for you, instead of judging them from an analytical perspective, you really engrossed yourself in the message. Vox was happy with your newfound piety, and planned to make you an elder of the church.

__

Becoming an elder requires a "swearing-in" ceremony in front of everyone. You were incredibly nervous, feeling sick to your stomach. Vox drove you to the church and felt your anxious energy, "Don't worry, my dear, everything will be fine.". You clutch your stomach, the car making you even more nauseous, "Vox I don't feel good...".

"It's just nerves, you'll be just fine," he softly reassures you, "let's pray on it, hm? Dear God,-".

__

You clutch Vox's hand tightly as he guides you onto the stage, the congregation eagerly watching as you become an elder. All 5 of the other elders in the church were on the stage as well. Evangeline smiles proudly as Vox prepares to make you an Elder of the Church, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She mouths, 'I'm so proud' to you as you approach the bible labeled "T.S.D". Vox has you put one hand over the bible and the other in the air. He speaks into the mic, "She will now recite the Elder oath.".

You must've recited it a hundred times before coming here to make sure to nail it, but you were preoccupied with the growing nausea you felt. As you recite the oath, you look awfully sick, your face pale and your body swaying slightly. "I, Y/N L/N, swear to adhere to the Church and fully commit myself to the church and Vox. If I fail to do this then- BLECH". Your nausea suddenly took over, the church watching in horror as you barf all over the fucking bible.

The whole church is silent, in shock over the situation. Vox's mouth is agape and his eyes are wide, not understanding what the fuck just happened. You didn't really understand either, all you did know was that if you didn't get out of there quick you'd throw up on it for a second time.

You dart to the nearest bathroom and barf into the sink. This definitely wasn't just nerves.

End

__

TAG LIST:

@rlini0914 , @charryflavoredblood , @ithopi0s

@electronicexpertshark , @diffidentphantom ,

@takemetoneverland420 , @kaseykay32 ,

@aupieck

-

its finally done! (tho there will for sure be a part two, but it def won't be as long).

this my Christmas gift to you guys so yayyy

if u enjoyed pls affirm me i worked hard ok bye

this shit is barely edited by the way so bye

[jollyhunter]

24 Kinky Days with Dean x reader - Day 24.

YOU VOTED FOR A WHOLESOME FAMILY CHRISTMAS DINNER ! Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: SFW - None! Enjoy your first Christmas together ♡ (English is not my native language)

Summary: Imagine Dean at your family Christmas dinner. (Spoiler: It's chaos and lots of adorable fluff)

Feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated! And let me know whether you enjoy it so far! <3 A/N: Not me skipping prompts to post in time for Christmas. (I'll post the remaining ones over time). Also, I decided to go for a family dinner at reader's place because I've already seen so many absolutely wholesome bunker-family christmas!

24th Dec. - "Our Baby"

Dean’s genuinely nervous about this entire family dinner business. He’s not used to it and he’s secretly terrified that he’ll screw up (He plays it cool though, masking it with his usual bravado “Honey, I hunt vamps for breakfast, I think I can deal with some rug rats and a bunch of aunties and grannies.”)

You get dragged under the mistletoe at least ten times, just so he can pull you into a deep, passionate kiss

Dean and you make up a fake story about how you met, and try to sell it to your family (he’s playing the mechanic as always)

Every time your hair finally has been combed to a presentable look, Dean swoops in and ruffles it again (‘cuz annoying you is just his way of saying I love you ♡)

Dean, your dad and your uncle try to chop up the massive frozen turkey which won’t fit into the oven, while everyone else watches them swear and work through every knife and meat cleaver the kitchen has to offer (it ends up with Dean using a chainsaw - cutting through the frozen body with uncannily well practise as your dad remarks impressed (and to be honest a bit freaked))

Dean rolls back his sleeves and shoots you a discreet, knowing wink before he starts to hack the poor frozen bird into pieces

Whenever he can, he holds your hand, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb (to secretly calm his nerves)

He gives you a light, teasing push whenever you say something cheeky, meanwhile he likes to poke fun at your annoying cousin and enjoys how he can get them all riled up

Dean sneaks his arm under the tablecloth to place a hand on your thigh during dinner (and you almost choke on the meat one time when he teasingly cups you right between the legs)

He pulls you away from the family and into a quiet corner in the house, where he can press you up against the wall and kiss you senseless

You laugh at Dean as your little niece tries to climb onto his lap and he looks at you helpless (Once she's perched on his knee, he gives you a mock-annoyed side glance and quips, “Damn rug rats. We're never gettin' one of those.” But his proud smile betrays him)

The amount of times your stuck-up aunt yells “language!” across the table at Dean (And Dean savouring every time he manages to drive her up the wall)

You swat Dean’s hand away every time he attempts to steal food off your plate (He snaps at you offended, "C'mon! That meat's gonna grow legs by the time you touch it!" "It's been 5 minutes, Dean.")

You frantically try to keep Dean from starting a drunken fight by stuffing more turkey in his mouth (which just leads to an eating contest - which Dean wins, of course)

Dean and your grandpa suddenly disappear from the dinner table (Dean was getting roped into helping your grandpa with fixing his old car in the garage)

Dean tugs you by the hand to sneak away after dinner, dragging you into the bathroom to make out with you against the sink

He accidentally calls out your mom’s name while you’re in the middle of some frisky business (Dean goes crimson red, but thankfully you burst out laughing)

You try and succeed to get Dean to wear one of those awful Christmas sweaters your grandmother knit (You bribe him with pie. “I want an entire pie. Not a meager slice. Not cake. Pie. Nuthin’ less.” )

At the family photo session Dean feels a bit lost and awkward. He swiftly pulls you in front of him so he can rest his chin on your head and you can discreetly stroke his arms wrapped around your waist

You notice how Dean silently mouths the lyrics of Zep's 'Ramble On' next to you (Because he's not used to singing carols)

Dean and you steal wine in the middle of the night and get drunk on the terrace (You end up in an intense snowball fight and Dean tackling you off the terrace into a heap of snow)

You tipsily try to teach Dean how to dance when you're alone but he trips over his own two feet, which makes you trip over his feet, which leads to you both crashing into the Christmas tree your aunt had spent so much money on (You two spend the next 2 hours desperately trying to fix the damn tree before your family returns from church)

Once everyone opens their presents, Dean gently pulls you onto his lap and tells you to close your eyes. His hand disappears in his jackets pocket and moments later pushes a small object into your hands on your lap. “’Kay you can look now, honey.” he says, unusually nervous, his chin resting on your shoulder. You hold a small, palm-sized, wooden box in your hand, handmade by Dean. You push it open and your eyes widen, “Wait- are those?” You look from the gift up to Dean, mouth hanging open, “Baby’s keys?” “Yep.” He grins, “I figured it was time for you to take her for a spin. Y’know… ” His arms wrap tightly around your stomach as he pulls you further back against his chest to nuzzle his nose against the side of your face, his voice dropping to a half-whisper, “She’s our Baby now.”

Dean and you sneak out to take a drive, Dean taking shotgun while he watches you carefully run your hands along the steering wheel like he entrusted you with his most valuable possession. His face softens and even if he can’t put it in words, he’s come to realize that his most valuable possession will always be you.

Extras:

Your 5 year old nephew beams across the room, "Mummy, uncle Dean gave me a balloon!" You blink at Dean in surprise and confusion, "You gave Tim a balloon?" Dean leans back in his chair and frowns, "What? No? The hell would I-" his eyes widen and his hands move back to frantically pat down his jeans back-pockets, "Shit - Damn rug rat-" He's cut short by your cousin's appalled screams in the background, seconds later you both scramble for cover while a giggling Timmy runs around the living room with an inflated XL condom in his hands.

For some reason your cousin keeps shoving her baby into Dean’s arms, gushing all over him, “Isn’t he the cutest? Hold him, it’s your turn,” she chirps cheerfully. “I-” Dean is taken off guard and awkwardly accepts the kid. He takes on a look of panic as he stares down at it before he shoots you a death glance that says: “help me”

Masterlist of opened windows:

1st Dec. - Sunshine 2nd Dec. - Spell Book 3rd Dec. - Lights Out 4th Dec. - Tickle 5th Dec. - Dirty UNO 6th Dec. - (TBA) 7th Dec. - Candlelight 8th Dec. - Hex Play 9th Dec. - Whip Stroke 10th Dec. - Barbie World 11th Dec. - Temptation ... (check the masterlist for more!)

Tags:

@ariasong11 @deansjacket @literallylexa @lmpala1967 @foxyjwls007 @impala67rollingthroughtown

[onlyrains]

[5:21pm]

genre: comfort, fluff wc: 1.1k ┊not proofread!

you are nothing near from being the greatest singer of the century, to begin with. you're not even a singer at all. but layla, a border collie of your best friend's–jake, might be your first fan ever.

whenever she sees you around in some comfortable circumstances, she's never hesitate to lay down beside you and sometimes even rest her jaw on your thigh. on top of that, one day when jake come to your place to check on you while you lay sick on your bed, she also lies and put her paw on your arm.

she keeps ignoring her nature as one of the most active and energetic breed and you have a soft spot for her also. so of course, you always gladly sing for her. you even made a playlist to sing for her, which full of coldplay's old songs that you found she loves the most.

as an owner, jake found this quite beneficial sometimes when he needs to done his things but very much confused at the same time. what's up with your voice? he's a good singer too. people even recognize him for that. but why's his dog, his best buddy, his love, never react the way she does for you?

"she's my child, jake." you always say.

"stop saying that. i literally clean, do the chores, and work for her?" and he always replies.

today, as he promised yesterday, he came to your place with layla. and no, you're not sick today, it's apparently the opposite. he arrived with a pissed, frustrated face and refuse to talk fifteen minutes ago. he's just walks around your living room with his disheveled white office shirt.

you continue to read your book while playing with layla's hair and humming to coldplay's song. you make sure to open your bedroom door widely to let him know that he can come in when he's ready. it's not the first time you've seen jake in this state and you know the best way to deal with it is just let him do anything he wants. he will talk about it when he's tired.

speaking of which, the tail of your eye catches his movement towards you. well, maybe it is a very serious matter since he has never got tired this quick.

"what's up?" you snap, closing your book on your stomach. layla got up at your sudden movement as she sees her owner walks in your direction. she jumps on the floor and her favorite song is now long gone.

"jake?" he sits on layla's spot earlier and lets out a deep sigh.

"it's work." his eyes looking at the white sheets beneath him and draw an imaginary circle with his index.

"i know. wanna talk about it?"

he drags his body to lay next to you, head burried in your pillow while his arms stretched out to his side and your neck, almost choking you.

"i don't know, girl. i'm just... tired."

"is it that bad?" you ask carefully.

he nods. "there's a problem with the project and this mf blame me for it," he groans. thank god your pillow muffled his voice.

"oh? what a prick."

"can you sing for me?" he raises his head.

you never turn your head so fast.

"what?" you blurt out a laugh.

he lies on his side, perfectly facing you. "oh, c'mon. you always make layla chill out with it."

"but you're not layla?"

"i'm her owner, you know. she's my daughter. like father like dau–"

"okay, stop. you started sound silly,"

"babe, c'mon. i just need to sleep. you know how much effort i put on this project? i barely had a proper sleep,"

as soon as that pet name came out of his mouth you know it's hard to win over him. he will starts pleading as soon as he can, so you let out a heavy sigh and stretch your arm reluctantly.

"c'mere,"

the next thing you know, he already burried his head on your shoulder. well, actually, this is your first time being this close with him in this kind of position despite your nth years of friendship.

so when he’s seemingly already found his spot on the crook of your neck, you can't help but squirm a little, but jake is too quick to catch your waist to prevent you from moving anywhere.

"don't move." he says against your neck.

you bite your inner cheek to hold back a sharp gasp that almost come out of nowhere.

you take a deep breath before placing your hand on his head, brushing his hair lightly. you decide to continue to sing to spark, which was previously forcibly cut off.

"my heart is yours," you start to whisper.

"it's you that i hold on to,

that's what i do,

and i know i was wrong,

but i won't let you down,

mmm, yeah, i will, yeah, i will, yes, i will," your voice get slightly lower.

"i said, oh,

i cry, oh,

yeah, i saw sparks,

yeah, i saw sparks." you massage his scalp lightly.

"sing it out,

la la la la la la,"

you feel his breathing becomes steady while in fact he's just enjoying his action to inhaling your scent that mixed with a soft fragrant from your newly washed sweater. he has never been this relax in a long time.

you keep on with the lyrics in humming as your eyes glued to the plain ceiling of your room. you feel his arm is still lazily attached to your waist then what are you doing, really? is it normal to cuddle your friend from high school? is it okay to comfort your guy friend like this?

you haven't finished think about that but jake already raised his head.

his eyes slightly red from the drowsiness that suddenly hit him but the smile on his mouth is as wide as ever. "y'know, layla actually has a good taste."

a heat suddenly strikes your cheek, causing it to turn to a shade of red.

his head turns to his dog on the floor. "dang, my girl is talented, for real."

you roll your eyes at him. "okay, now move."

he's quick to back on his previous spot, even more suffocating right now as he pulls you impossibly close to his body.

he tilts his head upward to face you. his wet eyes stares at you so innocently, which quite opposite to his actions that practically hugging you so tight while trying to sleep.

"ey, c'mon, don't be so stingy," he snuggles to you, again.

you bite your lip this time. maybe you just as tired as him, but you swear, you saw the sparks.

[saveyourblood]

Pretty Boy - Ch 13 (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: You can feel Buck staring. When your eyes meet his, you realize he’s staring at your hand, which is still on Eddie’s knee. You slowly retreat, which makes Buck turn his attention to your face. You smile softly. He just looks out the window. The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11 | Ch 12

Chapter Summary: It's back to work for you and your boys, but it wouldn't be the 118 if there weren't a few bumps in the road — or prisoners in the ambulance.

Word Count: 3.4k Warnings: violence

You’re good at a lot of things, but keeping secrets isn’t one of them. When the Christmas season rolls around, you can’t buy gifts too far in advance because if you do, all you can think about is telling the person what you got them. If someone asks, “Can we keep this between us?” you start to sweat a little. If someone catches you in a lie, it doesn’t take much for them to get the information out of you.

This is the biggest secret of your life. It involves everyone you care about in at least some way. You really don’t want to fuck it up.

Everyone knows you and Buck are dating. They know you’re living together. What they don’t know is that you’ve spent the last three months living with Eddie. They don’t know that you and Buck are also dating Eddie and that he’s dating both of you.

They don’t care that you and Buck are dating. Would they care that the three of you are dating? You aren’t sure. But the thought of revealing it ties your intestines into knots and makes your heart beat a little faster.

You all decided that, for now, it would be best to act like nothing is going on. Eddie is just getting back to work after the shooting, and the last thing he needs is for the transition back to be even harder.

Eddie Diaz is a secret worth keeping; you just can’t help but wonder if he doesn’t want to be kept. It isn’t exactly fair that you and Buck get to go on like normal, leaving him in the shadows. Eddie’s assured you both many times that he doesn’t feel left out — that he gets it. It doesn’t untie any of the knots in your stomach, though.

And then there’s the Christopher thing.

He’s a smart kid, smart enough to know that something is going on. You and Buck visited at least once a week before the shooting, so it’s not like your recent presence tilted the world on its axis. You definitely never spent this much time, though. And the more comfortable you’re getting in the relationship, the less careful you’re getting.

More than once, Christopher has walked into the living room when your legs are in Eddie’s lap or his arm is around your shoulders. Eddie quickly corrects the positioning, gently moving your legs or lifting his arm. All of his focus shifts to his son in a matter of seconds, like you aren’t even sitting next to him. Chris always spares you a few extra glances, but he doesn’t say anything.

Overall, though, everything and everyone is comfortable. Or, at the bare minimum, you have no reason to believe otherwise.

The four of you are sitting around the kitchen table, silently enjoying dinner. Christopher decides to break the silence.

“Are you going to be my new mom?”

You nearly choke on your drink. You cough a few times, and Buck pats your back in silent reassurance. You can’t look away from Eddie, who’s sitting across from you and next to his son.

His mouth is slack open in surprise, but he recovers quickly. He angles his chair to Christopher, clearing his throat. “What makes you ask that, buddy?”

“You help me get ready like a mom. You make dinner like a mom. You’re here a lot, like a mom.”

It sounds so simple when he lays it out like that, so simple that it’s almost impossible to refute. But… you’re supposed to refute it, right?

“I’m… your dad’s friend,” you eventually say. “I care about you both a lot.”

Chris stares at you, considering this. Eddie does the same.

“Maybe that’s better than having a mom,” Chris says, then continues to eat.

You see the tension in Eddie’s shoulders evaporate. He lets out a breath he probably didn’t even realize he was holding.

Buck isn’t entirely satisfied with that answer, though.

“Chris, why would that be better?” Buck asks. His tone is a little hesitant, but even as a parallel line.

“My mom died, and I miss her,” Chris answers simply. “I don’t want her to die, too. I don’t want to miss anyone else.”

It’s been over a year since Shannon’s accident — a whole year of Christopher’s life without his mother. The worst part about it is it can’t be fixed. Eddie’s told you how Shannon left and how hard it was to let her back into their son’s life. He did, though, because he thought it would be best for everyone. She was gone, but Eddie brought her back. He can’t bring her back again, and it’s probably killing him.

You rub your lips together in contemplation. “You know, Chris, my mom died too.”

Chris looks at you with wide eyes. “Really?”

He sounds so hopeful about having this in common with you. It makes your chest ache.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “She died when I was a baby. I don’t remember her, but I still miss her. And it hurts, missing your mom, but it won’t hurt forever. One day, you’ll be able to think of her, and it won’t hurt. And until then, I’ll be here. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The first call you work as a triad is a fucking doozy.

You’re called to Jamestown State Prison, where a riot is underway. That’s not why the 118 is there, though; the prisoners started some fires, and it’s your job to put them out. Both Buck and Eddie suggested you stay behind, that you probably wouldn’t be needed. You felt your face flush red and were greeted with suspicious looks from Bobby, Chimney, and especially Hen. You brushed them off, said that you can take care of yourself.

Now that you’re actually here, though, you kind of wish you listened to your boyfriends.

The team has to be ushered around the building by four men in total SWAT gear. You’re taken through automated doors and down long hallways, most of which have blood splatters on the wall and random debris scattered throughout. You finally make it to the HVAC corridor, where the primary fire is burning.

“Buck, Eddie, put up a water curtain,” Bobby instructs.

You survey the room and notice that the top of the walls are lined with fans. “Cap, they’re going to keep sucking smoke up into the system.”

He looks at the fans, then back at you. “Find the killswitch, let me know when you got it.”

You nod once and start walking along the wall. You’re up to date on your firefighting certification, but when you actually find yourself decked out in all the gear, it’s as if that part of your brain short-circuits. You never want to find yourself in an important role when it comes to firefighting. Finding a killswitch, though? You could do that in your sleep.

You quickly find a grey box with a red switch on it. With a little force, you pull it down, and you can hear the equipment shut down. “Got it!”

The boys put out the fire a few minutes later, and the team is ready to move out. Three of your four escorts had to take off and help control a different area, leaving you with one guard to walk you all out.

As you make your way back through a random room, you hear a strange sound. It stops you dead in your tracks.

“Did you guys hear that?” You ask, looking around. “Someone’s here.”

“No, this area is secure,” the guard says.

You disregard his response, instead following the sound. You turn the corner and see two men laying on the floor, side by side.

“Over here!” you shout, sliding your medi-bag off your shoulder as you approach the men.

They’re in blue and white clothes, similar to scrubs — prisoners. Due to their injuries, however, they’re hardly a threat. Both of their faces are bloodied and swollen. One has a decent laceration to the abdomen, while the other has a nasty upper airway sound.

“Airway is compromised,” you verbalize, gently palpating his neck. “I think his trachea is crushed.”

“Leave ‘em, they’re scumbags,” the guard retorts.

“We’re not leaving anyone,” Bobby protests. “ Let's get 'em up and out. No time for gurneys.”

Buck and Eddie help carry the airway patient while Bobby and Hen take care of the laceration patient. The guard leads you all out, and you’re hot on his heels. You hate to think what would happen if you got separated from the group.

You make it to the last hallway when Hen starts shouting.

“Stop, stop stop! He’s having a seizure,” she shouts, planting her feet in place.

The final gate opens, and you look back at Bobby, who’s helping lower the prisoner to the ground.

“You three go, we’ll be right behind you.”

You swallow. “Captain-”

“That’s an order!” He cuts you off. “Go!”

You make it to the last door. The guard keeps it propped open as Buck and Eddie walk out. You’re already rushing to the rig to get the gurney out.

“I gotta get back in there,” he explains. “Protocol says you need two guards with you. Don’t leave without an escort, all right?”

“Copy that,” you say as you pull the gurney out.

Moments after the three of you settle the patient, two officers in green jackets are at the back of the rig. You gesture for one to come in, while Buck hops out and leads the other to the front.

A few minutes into the ride, Buck turns off the sirens. You frown, looking towards the cab in confusion. When you turn back around, one of the ‘officers’ is pointing his gun at you.

“I can’t thank you three enough,” he says. “I’ve waited 18 years to get the hell out of that place.”

Buck pulls over, and the three of you are ushered out of the rig at gunpoint.

“Okay, so you broke out… what now?” Eddie asks.

The shorter prisoner says nothing as he rifles through Eddie’s pockets.

“The patient in there,” you continue, tilting your chin to the ambulance, “is that your handiwork?”

He moves on to you, a sick smile on his face as he digs through your pockets. He comes back with your phone and wallet. He walks back to the rig to talk to his co-conspirator.

“What do we do?” Buck asks in a low voice.

“Don’t know yet,” Eddie responds.

“Maybe they just want the ambulance?”

“Then why would they search us?” you counter. “There’s three of us, and two of them.”

“Cute kid,” one of the prisoners interrupts. He holds up a picture of Chris, the one Eddie keeps in his wallet. “Yours? I’m guessing he lives with you at 4995 South Bedford Street?”

Buck steps forward. “Hey, man, don’t even-”

The other prisoner pistol-whips him.

“Okay, so now that we're all on the same page, here's what's gonna happen next.”

With the boys’ help, the prisoners locate the GPS in the rig and remove it, leaving it on the side of the road. The three of you are forced into the back of the ambulance while one of them drives.

You keep staring at the prisoner. It probably isn’t the best idea, considering his gun is aimed at you. You can’t help it, though. He looks… familiar.

“I know you,” you say.

He frowns and scoffs out a laugh. “What?”

“I’ve seen you somewhere,” you continue, still observing his features.

The patient starts to sputter. Eddie turns his head to the side, and you reach for the suction without prompting.

“...Trent, something,” you say as you hand Eddie the suction catheter. You don’t look away from the prisoner. “Am I right?”

He breaks eye contact.

“You’re on death row,” you say, nodding as you get more confident. “Yeah, you were convicted of triple homicide.”

“He can’t protect his airway,” Eddie observes as he moves the suction catheter around. “We need to intubate.”

“Almost there, Mitch,” the man driving chimes in.

Buck looks out the window, his brow furrowing. “Wait, you guys are serious? We’re really going to a hospital?”

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” Mitch mocks. “You’re so concerned about the health of your friend here. Now you can walk him through the front door.”

“Initiating RSI,” you say, ignoring the arguing men around you. “Eddie, start bagging, I’ll get the meds.”

You and Eddie intubate smoothly, like you have countless times. You push the meds, Eddie waits about 45 seconds before moving the BVM and replacing it with a Mac blade. He advances the tube and pulls the guidewire, and as he attaches the bag valve to the tube, you hover your stethoscope over the patient’s lungs. Eddie administers a breath, and you can hear it. You move to the other side and listen before pulling the stethoscope from your ears.

“Breath sounds bilateral,” you say, slinging your stethoscope around your neck. “Nice work.”

“Very nice work,” Mitch agrees, though he doesn’t sound genuine. “Now you two,” he says, gesturing between you and Buck, “get him inside.”

“Hey, man, listen, I don't know what you want, but there is a hospital full of sick people…” Buck protests.

“Just go, or I’ll shoot you,” Mitch states. “Or her. Or him. And then I find his kid, and I shoot him too.”

“Buck,” Eddie says simply. His tone leaves no room for argument.

You lean over to make eye contact with Eddie. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

He looks up and down your face before nodding. “I’ll see you later.”

You and Buck get the patient inside. You’re escorted by Mitch’s co-conspirator, Dom. Once you get into the ER, it’s a ghost town; no one’s at the front desk, and the triage bay is empty of both staff and patients. A sense of dread pools into the base of your stomach. The dread is replaced with realization when you get tackled to the floor.

“I’m a paramedic!” you shout after saying your name. “I’m with the 118. That’s Evan Buckley, he’s a firefighter. Get the hell off of me!”

You hear Athena shout your name, then Buck’s. “Those two are good, let them up.”

The officers turn you around and offer you a hand, helping you to your feet as they apologize.

“Are you two okay?” Athena asks.

You look over Buck. He’s got a good injury to his left temple from where he was pistol-whipped; where the skin isn’t broken, it’s bruising red and purple. His head is probably pounding.

“We’re good,” Buck confirms. “How’d you know we were coming here?”

“We figured out why Mitchell broke out,” Athena explains. “Where is he?”

“Still in the ambulance,” you say, “with Eddie.”

After a while of radio static, you convince Buck to let you check him out. He’s sitting on an ER gurney, and you’re standing beside him, crossing a penlight through his vision.

“All he wants is to donate his heart,” Buck mumbles. “Why won’t they just let him?”

“You heard them, Buck: it’s against the law,” You respond, pocketing your pen. You hold out your index fingers. “Squeeze.”

He does as he’s told, and his strength is equal, just like his pupils. You can rule out a hemorrhage or hematoma of any kind, though you aren’t convinced he doesn’t have a concussion.

“Any nausea? Dizziness?” you ask, folding your arms across your chest.

“No, just a killer headache,” Buck says.

“Not surprising,” you chuckle.

You don some gloves and pick up a swab. You swipe the antiseptic over the cut on Buck’s face. He winces for a second, then goes back to wringing his hands together. You apply a bandaid, then use one hand to tilt his chin up so you can look him in the eye.

“Eddie will be okay,” you promise softly.

“How do you know that?”

“Because he’s always okay.”

You hear a single gunshot.

You find yourself running through the ER and out the front doors, Buck only a few paces behind you. You’re both screaming Eddie’s name, and you don’t stop until you can see him.

He’s at the back of the rig, crouching over Mitch as he does chest compressions.

Eddie makes eye contact with you. “Go get the crash cart.”

“What the hell happened?” You ask, panting.

“He shot himself. The bullet hit his brain. Go tell the hospital they need a crash team out here. They need to prep an OR.”

“Eddie, he’s dead,” Buck says.

“But his heart isn’t, and I need it to stay that way,” Eddie explains. “Go!”

Buck runs back into the hospital, shouting for help. You kneel opposite of Eddie, locking your hands together.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” you tell him.

“198, 199, 200,” Eddie says.

You quickly take over compressions, counting under your breath.

Athena and her boss find a loophole, and Mitch is able to donate his heart to his son, Nolan. They started surgery hours ago, and you wouldn’t be surprised if there were a few more hours to go.

You look over at Eddie, who’s sitting beside you. You nudge your knee against his. He looks up, and you smile.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

Eddie sighs and runs a hand down his face before nodding. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“He told you about his plan,” you say. It isn’t a question. If Eddie hadn’t known, he wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of trying to ‘save’ Mitch.

“Yeah, he did.”

“And you went along with it,” you continue. “Why?”

Eddie frowns. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because he threatened to kill you, and me, and Buck, and your son. I think that’s four good reasons right there.”

Eddie averts his gaze. “After he told me his plan… he stopped being a prisoner. Or, at least, I stopped seeing him as one. He was just a dad trying to save his kid. God knows I would do the same for Chris.”

“Well, I think you’d have some competition,” you say lightheartedly. You lean forward to see Buck in the chair nect to Eddie. His legs are extended and his shoulders scrunched to his neck as he dozes off.

“Yeah, I definitely would,” Eddie agrees with a smile. He rubs his hands over his legs before standing. “I’m getting coffee. Want some?”

“Coffee sounds great,” you say with a smile.

Eddie walks off. Hen quickly takes his seat.

“Hey,” she greets, settling into the chair.

“Hey,” you return. “How did things shake out at Jamestown?”

Hen grins. “I got to perfrom surgery.”

“Shut up.”

“Seriously,” she laughs joyfully. “End-to-end anastomosis of the splenic artery.”

“On the guard you and Cap rescued?”

She nods. “Sounds like he’ll be making a full recovery.”

You raise your hand for a high-five. “Way to go, Dr. Wilson.”

She grins and slaps your hand before holding and squeezing it. You both laugh and grin.

Hen continues holding your hand, running her thumb over the back of it. “Can I ask you something?”

You smile. “Of course.”

“Are you dating Eddie?”

You heart jumps into your throat. “I’m dating Buck.”

“Are you also dating Eddie?”

The way she phrases it makes it sound so… simple. God, you wish it were that simple.

The more that you think about it, though… why isn’t it that simple? All the random details are yours to work through with your partners behind closed doors. When it comes to your work and personal life, why can’t you simply be dating two guys who are also dating each other?

“We aren’t telling people yet,” you whisper. “But… yes. Buck and I are dating Eddie.”

Hen’s eyes widen and her eyebrows raise. “Both of you?”

Your heart goes from your throat up to your head and pounds mercilessly. Maybe she isn’t cool with it like you thought she’d be. The idea of that makes your stomach sick and your limbs numb.

“Well, it’s about damn time.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “You sure you’re okay with it?”

“Are you happy? All three of you?”

You nod.

“I love you all, and if you make each other happy, then why wouldn’t I be okay with it?”

Your eyes well with tears; you didn’t realize how badly you needed to hear someone you love say that. Your secret is out, and it doesn’t matter. You couldn’t be happier.

You pull Hen into a hug. It’s a little awkward since you’re both sitting, but you don’t care, and neither does she.

[lilianalovespink]

CW- reader is asleep whilst most of this happens!!!, Non-con, unprotected p-in v sex, (slight) degradation, defloration, size difference, Simon is drunk

The bird's been bothering Simon all evening.

She's not his type, she's way too pushy and most importantly, she keeps on sending nasty looks to the captains daughter, simply because you had the audacity to smile and wave at Simon, which was enough to make him have to readjust himself in his pants.

"You know what- Simon you're an ass-!"

Well, that's his bird gone. In tears of upset, she leaves him at the bar and not two seconds later, you go out after her. 'God' the man thinks to himself 'if you're that nice to people who glare at you all evening, how nice are you to folks that are nice back?'

After you come back in there's a slight frown on your face as you invite him to sit with you, your father and the rest of the team.

"Don't you think you could apologize to Meredith?She's a nice woman and you made her cry-" Simon sees his captains hand squeeze your thigh, and you shut yourself up, though not without a confused look towards your father.

"But she is right; I'm sure if you we're nicer to your birds, they'd stay longer." This time, it's your father speaking. Simon doesn't believe that.

After all, he's never seen Kyle been more than a little nice to you, and you're still all over him.

He wonders if you and your little unofficial boyfriend have already had sex, or if he has more tact than Simon and will wait until your father's gone out somewhere?

Pretty little captain's daughter, always all dolled up and sweet and caring, he can't help it that his cock chubs up at that. After all, you're even nice to him. Even though he adjusts his cock in front of you and keeps eye contact during that.

What can he say? You're the sweetest girl he knows.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Later when they've all gone to bed in the inn, he gets up to take a piss at night. 'Geez, maybe you should stop drinking so much?' Yeah right, the blonde thinks to himself.

Maybe.

Stumbling back to his room in complete darkness whilst still inebriated is...difficult, but he can manage. Though he doesn't remember his room smelling like vanilla and strawberries, the door was agape and he's left his like that too.

He wants nothing more than to stumble into bed, get one out into his fist to the though of his captain's girl, and go to sweet, sweet nightmare land, but even while drunk, he can tell there's someone already under the covers.

Ah. So that's why it smells so sweet. Didn't he send his bird away? Well, if she snuck into his bed, he'd give her what she was hoping for and send her off once he's turned her brain to mush.

"Pathetic' Slag. Acting all huffy at dinner and then sneaking into my bed?"

She stirred. Was she asleep? Well, that didn't matter. Pressing her head into the pillows and pulling her ass up, he had to choke back a mean laugh at her nightwear.

"The hell you wearing pyjamas for? Trying to hide that you're a whore?"

No matter, these could come off just like a night gown. It seems like she finally woke up when he yanked her pants off, considering the body beneath him started fussing and thrashing slightly.

"Can't put it in 'less you stay still."

He grunted,rubbing his cock along her- fuck where those just regular cotton panties? Shouldn't she be wearing a thong?

"What, didn't feel the need to pretty yourself up for me even a little bit?" He buffs as he slaps her ass and yanks down her underwear just enough to expose her holes.

In the dark, it was kind of difficult to find the right entrance, but when he felt her folds, he also found the proper hole (or at least the one he wouldn't be yelled at for using), nudging his blunt, thick head against it and pushed in.

"Fucking- tight like a goddamm virgin-!" The scarred man grunted, having to force in inch after inch.

"S-STOP-" the voice in the pillow muffled, so he pressed her face down harder. Shouldn't have snuck into his bed expecting anything but this. He'd make sure she'd learn that, despite her thrashing and muffled crying.

Strange though, that that voice sounded sweet like the doll's voice. He smirked when he thought of her; after all, wasn't he doing a great job making it up to his bird?

Heavy as he knew he was, he still put all his weight into the thrusts that made the bed creak as it bounced against the wall, halfway leaned over the soft body beneath him, his chest completely covering the entirety of the back who's muscles flexed and relaxed the entire time.

He buried his face in her neck, allowing him to hear the moaning and the whimpering and the crying so much better. Huh. Strange. His bird was really starting to sound like the sweet girl probably fast asleep in her father's arms.

Maybe that was just the alcohol. Letting him hear what he wanted but couldn't have. Mocking him since a mutt like him couldn't get sweet girls like her. No, the sweet and caring girls were for boys like Kyle who'd at least pretend to be soft and gentle.

Not for Simon. Never ever for Simon.

The speed and power behind his thrusts intensified until he felt himself clench up, placing a hand on her belly as he shot his seed into her.

Fuck the bulge he felt temporarily mis-shaping her warm belly could make him go at least two more rounds.

She was probably on birth control, yeah?

Finally, since he got his peak, he pulled back out to find her leaking with his cum and her arousal, though the latter was awfully thin in texture.

And then the scent hit him. That was blood.

His eyes widened as he let go of her head, already cursing slightly as she sobbed and then-

"H-HELP....!"

In all of 20 seconds the light in the room turned on, making Simon huff until his eyes widened for a second time in two minutes, since the person who had turned the lights on was no other than his captain, and the little thing sobbing into her hands and leaking his spend was no other than-

"GET OFF OF MY DAUGHTER!"

[oopsiedaisiesbaby]

Felon!Gale x Felonitis!John HC’s

I want to turn this into a full fic so bad but my brain is not braining lately so we’re just rolling with rambling bullet points. Brought to you by Austin’s buzzed head 🥰 A million thanks to @avonne-writes for the significantly better quality pics ❤️❤️❤️

Gale’s in prison for homicide. He originally only murdered his abusive ex and could’ve gotten away with it either due to lack of evidence or because it as self-defense. But, people in the community know and start coming to him with their own horror stories and Gale quietly takes care of these POS’ after some vetting. He gets away with it for awhile because he’s taking care of some real low life’s that the police are lowkey grateful they don’t have to deal with anymore until one of his victim’s family’s raises a huge stink and this open secret is busted and Gale ends up convicted with a life sentence.

He ends up with a buzzed head because of a lice outbreak and then it’s so much easier to deal with he just keeps it buzzed.

They get a new guard “call me Bucky” assigned to his unit (not new to the job just the facility) and Gale is immediately amused by this cocky goofball who somehow befriends them all without hesitation and without being a try hard. He insists on calling Gale “Buck” and while Gale hates the name itself, he sees the twinkle in John’s eyes and knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s certifiably insane for flirting with some serving life for multiple homicides, but Gale kind of likes that about him.

The flirting gets to a truly sickening level, the other inmates are disgusted (affectionate) and start playfully calling out favoritism. While they’re joking, it does make John realize that he’s being way too obvious. So he pulls Gale into a closet and tries to set the record straight except Gale’s immediately on him and John suddenly finds himself splayed out on the closet floor, hands sliding over that buzzed head as Gale sucks his soul out through his dick and then eats him out so good he cries. John’s begging for Gale to come all over his face by the end.

Then, it just doesn’t stop. They’re constantly dragging each other into hiding spots so that Gale can fuck John against the wall or ride John in the laundry room floor while choking him a bit. The fact that those hands have choked someone to death just makes it even hotter for John. It’s all unbearably hot and they cannot keep their hands to themselves and they’re both a little cuckoo bananas but that’s part of the appeal.

It’s not all about the sex though. They start talking and genuinely falling for each other. John starts banging on about breaking Gale out. It makes Gale heart soar to know John cares that much but he’s also not about to let John ruin his entire life for him. There’s no way they don’t get caught. So, Gale humors him but keeps shutting it down because it’s too dangerous and John starts getting frustrated because he thinks it means Gale doesn’t want to be with him. Gale’s a little concerned that if he somehow were to ever get out, John wouldn’t want him anymore without the thrill.

They break up for a little bit. The vibes are so rancid, the rest of Gale’s unit are sweating and doing their damnedest to try and get them back together because mom and dad fighting like this is not good for anyone. They all like John being their guard and things run so much smoother when he’s there and they’re anxious he’s gonna transfer (he would never) to another unit. Someone ends up locking them in a closet together and they end up fucking mean and nasty and so loud that the inmates assigned to guard them have second hand embarrassment. They talk and makeup afterward of course and everyone takes a collective sigh of relief.

The public is all still madly in love with Gale and raise enough money to get him a new lawyer and somehow, they get Gale out on a technicality and gets his record scrubbed. They definitely live happily ever after and come up with some whacky role plays to keep the spice alive ❤️

[maumausie]

Fem!Bell AU crumbs

Since I am apparently physically incapable of writing full length stories, here's a little scene from my forced fem!Bell AU. (but I am almost done with the first chapter, thanks to @thehornierdog's threats encouragement. this scene is also kinda out of date because ive been editing it lol

TW: forced feminization, allusions to brainwashing, s/a.

thank you to the lovely cold war truthers discord for feeding my brainworms (esp @fleshqounds for the idea about Adler essentially making Bell a do-over of his failed marriage it has not left my brain since).

“I set out some clothes for you,” Adler gestured to the bed, where a yellow dress was folded neatly. 

It seemed at least somewhat modern–no sleeves and with buttons all down the front. There were two pockets sewn to above both sides of the bodice. She couldn’t tell how long it was, but it didn’t seem terribly short. A thick brown leather belt sat atop it, coiled around the perimeter like a snake.

“Oh,” Bell replied after several minutes of silence. She didn’t move.

“What?”

“It’s just,” she shifted uncomfortably, “don’t you have any pants?”

“Why would you want pants? You’re a woman.”

Some muffled part of her psyche raged at the comment, but Bell just took a breath. “Park wears pants,” she pointed out.

Adler’s expression didn’t change. He explained as if he were talking to a child, “Park is a highly trained operative with years of experience.”

“And I’m not?”

Adler frowned, reaching forward with those warm, scarred hands of his to brush some hair out of her face. She wrangled away the illogical urge to flinch. He seemed to see it anyway. “Are you feeling okay?”

“What?”

“It’s just some fabric, you know. And you’ve never fought so hard about your clothes before.” If she didn’t know better, she’d say that Adler almost looked smug as he dangled the carrot of before in front of her face.

Bell squinted, tugging at haggard strands of memory, but they dissipated the moment she tried to focus on one of them.

 it seemed absurd that she’d not put up a fight about having to wear girl-clothes before. But their memory was blank, and Adler looked so genuine.

Her shoulders dropped, and Adler straightened up, smiling. They both knew he’d won.

“Come on then, I wanna see how it fits.”

“Um…”

“What now, Bell?” He looked annoyed in that fond sort of way. Like all of her protesting was nothing more than some childish tantrum. “Is it because the door’s open?”

Bell cleared her throat. “Isn’t it inappropriate for you to just… watch me change?”

“Oh, don’t be like that. We hardly had the privacy to shit in ‘Nam. Ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before.” Adler rolled his eyes, and made a show of turning around to stare at the wall. “There. Is that better, princess?”

“Yes,” Bell said as the stab of guilt choked up her throat.

“Good. Get to it then.”

She complied, and did not point out the mirror on the very wall that he was staring at as she slipped the dirty fatigues off of her hips and let them fall to the floor.

—

“There,” he straightened her collar, hands lingering on Bell’s neck. She suppressed a shiver. “I have pretty good fashion taste, hm?”

This, at least, was more familiar territory. “I don’t know about good. Passable, more like.”

He tutted, “You’re so mean to me. Not very ladylike of you.” 

A b̴̺̖̘̟̠͓̈́ȩ̷̨̹̻̤̻͓͔̱͆̔͛̕l̴͇̲̥̹͎̃͗͌͒͂̄̇͠ḷ̷̨̢̫̠͚̺̊̒͠ echoed in the distance, and a cold sweat began to cling to her hands. Adler dusted off her dress, and casually slipped a box of cigarettes into one of the breast pockets.

“So I have an excuse to talk to you,” he explained as he winked. 

She thought that she felt him squeeze her chest, too, but it was hard to feel properly through the padding, and he was already stepping away before she could call him on it.

“Let’s get you to work then, Sandy.”

“Bell,” she interrupted. “My name is Bell. You know that.”

Adler hummed absently and continued to guide her out into the main part of the safehouse as if she’d never even spoken. She deflated, but didn't bother to pick a fight about it. She'd come to expect it from him, at this point.