#need to learn how to make a button remote control fast

[min-play]

testing and debating if i should add an expression change on tap feature

10% of the time it randomises

[silverzoomies]

Turkish Delight

peter maximoff x reader smut

chapter 1: sweet talkin'

link to chapter 2: here

warnings: shameless smut, porn without plot, phone sex, mutual masturbation, best friends, dirty talk

word count: 6,368

a/n: hiyaaa !! i'm back with more filth !! peter speaks russian in this one. i've seen people use russian in place of sokovian language before. and since i've been learning russian for a while, i thought i'd give it a shot !! if you're familiar with the language and anything seems off, please let know asap !! as usual, apologies if peter seems ooc, or if my writing isn't up to par !!

tag list (if i forgot you, please remind me !!): @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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Chillaxing on the sofa in his mom’s basement, Peter drew out a sigh. His hooded eyes gaped at the TV screen. As he channel surfed, his thumb tapped lazily on the remote. Peter stopped to check each channel in abrupt intervals. Afternoon cable was boring as hell today. It failed to grasp his short lived attention span.

Seinfeld reruns? He saw just about all of ‘em. Soap Operas? Those were more his mom’s thing. Huge pass. Nature documentaries? Could be cool. Guess it depended on which one, though.

Oh. It was the one about the polar bear’s great journey across the arctic! Nifty enough. Except, Peter saw that one three or four times already now. Скучный (boring). Так скучно (So boring).

‘Kay, soooo…TV was kind of a no-go. Instead, Peter popped on the PS1 and settled for a game of Metal Gear Solid. The game’s opening intro was a little too slow for his liking, but Peter forced himself to focus. It sucked he was so antsy today, so fidgety and impatient. He needed some kind of distraction. Any distraction. And he needed one fast.

Peter bounced a leg, half invested in the game’s dialogue. His fingers absentmindedly flicked the controller buttons. Not even five minutes into playing, he found himself frustrated and bored again. This time around, he figured some company might ease his ennui.

He darted across the arm of the couch to a side table. Over a stack of comic books and empty cans of soda, he snatched the receiver to a Garfield phone. Peter dialed a number in less than a second. Too fast, at first. The phone didn’t even register his request. Rolling his eyes, he dialed the number again. Slower this time.

Peter kept the vibrant hunk of orange plastic between his cheek and shoulder. Buzzy ringing echoed on the other end of the line, as he waited for the recipient to pick up. The time it took for a voice to finally respond felt like fifty billion years. Your voice. One of Peter’s closest comrades. The pal he shared most, if not all, of his free time with.

There were days when you visited, and you laid back on the sofa with him. With your legs stretched over his lap and a magazine in your hands, you relaxed. Peter would always do his usual, playing whatever game he ‘bought’ from the local K-Mart. Every time he cursed himself for making a misstep, you giggled. You knew how frustrating it was for him, if he wasn't a hundred leaps ahead of everything. And just to get back at you - but also to hear you laugh again - he’d reach over and dig his fingers into your belly.

He loved that it took such minimal effort to make you laugh. You always had an easygoing warmth about you. And maybe you were also pretty cute too. Sometimes, the crook of your smile made him blush. Oh, and you didn't mind duking it out in Mario Kart sometimes. That was also kinda cool. What more could a lonesome guy ask for? Просто друзья. Ничего больше (Just friends. Nothing more). Yeah. He could be content with that. No problem.

Ten minutes into conversation with you, Peter breathed a yawn into the receiver.

“You know, I’m surprised you have the patience for talking on the phone.” You joked.

The speakers roared with a soft buzz in his ear. Peter didn’t register your words at first. Blinking lazily, he tapped the PS1 controller buttons at rapid speed. In the game, Snake fought off an onslaught of bad guys. Peter faked his offense with a scoff.

“Seriously? Man, what’s up with that? It’s like everyone thinks I can’t do stuff at normal speed without goin’ berserk.” He said, cursing under his breath as Snake got gunned down again.

A small part of him wished you were there, with your legs over his lap, cracking jokes at his expense. Over the phone, you emitted a gentle laugh.

“Because you have? Multiple times, dude!” You said.

Surely you could hear Peter’s eyes roll in his skull.

“Oh, yeah? Name five.” he pressed.

The fast paced clicking of the buttons echoed like a trill in the basement. He overheard the sound of rustling as you shifted in place. If Peter had to guess, he’d bet his left foot you were still lazing around in bed. It was a Saturday, after all. With the hour tipping on the edge of late afternoon. You always moved at the slowest of speeds on your off days.

“I’m just saying! I totally get it. Even I don’t have the patience for chats on the phone sometimes.” You said, and a squeaky yawn followed.

More rustles scuffed from your end, as if you moved to stretch. Keeping his gaze fixed on the flickering, CRT screen; Peter followed flashes of light from each grunt’s gun. His reaction time proved effortless as always. His methods, not so much.

“Nah, it’s cool.” Peter mumbled after a beat, “Doesn’t bother me much if I’m talkin’ to you.  You’re not boring, first of all. And on the off chance I do get bored, I can just say - hey, babe, I’m gonna hang up. And you won’t get-uhhh…” He lingered on his next thought, distracted with gunning down more masked baddies, “You won’t get, like, butt hurt over it."

“Why would I?” You laughed, “Did someone seriously get offended by that?”

“My aunt did once. She got mad pissed ‘cuz I told her I was ‘kinda bored’ on the phone. She made me pass it to my mom, so she could rat me out. Said I showed a ‘lack of consideration'; ‘er whatever.” Peter paused, brows furrowed. In Metal Gear, Snake perished yet again. Peter rolled his eyes once more, “She’s kinda mental, though. это возмутительно (it’s outrageous).”

Your only response was a quiet hum of acknowledgement. Peter broke the silence that followed.

“Hey, you’re not busy today, are you? Wanna do somethin’ later?” He asked, knowing full well you had jack shit to do.

“I don’t know. I’m feeling soooooo lazy today.” You playfully teased.

The soft pattern of your breathing sent electric tingles down Peter’s neck. Shuddering, he shook off those unexpected chills. Another beat, and Peter groaned, as Snake perished over a low poly landscape. You gotta take it slow and stealthy, man - Peter reminded himself.

“Хорошо (okay)? So? Come be lazy over here then.” He replied, “Tell you what. If you do, I’ll go ‘n snag some of those Turkish delights you like. The same ones my mom gotcha for your birthday. Remember? From Sokovia?”

Your voice perked up instantly, bringing a cheesy smile to his face. Homely fondness simmered in his chest, and Peter felt himself blush. He pulled his lip between his teeth, pausing his game to focus more on conversation. Leaving Snake stranded in the middle of the snow.

“Oh my gosh!! No way?? I haven’t had those in forever! Seriously, the ones from Sokovia?” You chimed.

“Hell yeah! But you gotta get outta bed first, dingus. C’monnnn.” Peter whined, “I’m so bored here, babe. Oh! I totally forgot. I finally got my hands on a Gameboy Color too. Swear on my life I paid for it this time. You could come over ‘n try it ouuuuuut.” He teased in a sing-song voice, wiggling his brows.

“Gameboys and Turkish delights? You’re spoiling me today, Peter! What’s the occasion?” You joked over the line.

He shrugged, forgetting you couldn’t see him, “Bored outta my friggin’ skull. That’s what.” After a beat, he awkwardly added, “And maybe I like hangin’ with you? Do I even need a reason?”

“Well, I gotta admit…you had me at Turkish delights.” You feigned a dreamy tone.

Peter chuckled again. Under his breath, he muttered softly, “ Это все, что тебе нужно, да (That’s all you need, huh)?”

“Huh?” You asked, oblivious to his comment, “What’d you say? I didn’t catch that last part.”

Peter ran a hand through his silver locks, leaving his hair loose and messy. Cradling the phone in his other hand, he knitted his lips to one side.

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it. You want me to come get you? ‘Cuz I can.” He checked his digital watch, decked out in a Star Wars theme, “I can right now, if you-”

“It’s fine. I love going out with you, but I really don’t wanna deal with motion sickness today. I just had lunch too. No offense!” Another yawn rang over the phone, hitching into a squeal at the end. Peter didn’t realize he was smiling so big until his cheeks started to hurt, “I’ll just drive over. Sound good?”

Peter rolled his eyes, sarcastically groaning. He threw his head back into the sofa cushions, playing up his fake frustrations.

“Auuuuuuugh! But that’ll take years.” He dragged a hand down his face, pulling his cheeks under his fingertips, “Is this ‘cuz you blew chunks last time?? You know that doesn’t bother me, right? Everyone does it, babe.”

You made a noise of disgust. Something like an eugh , “Please, don’t remind me. That sucked so much. Yeah, no, I’d rather not. I really need a break from it.” You sighed again. Kind of a bummer, but he could deal.

“It’s whatever you want, I guess. So, when are you gonna head out?” Peter asked, sitting up on the sofa and putting the controller aside.

He bounced a leg at rapid speed, his knee moving in a flesh tone blur of motion. Less from agitation, more due to anticipation.

“I’ll leave soon. Just give me a few minutes. Think you can wait?” You chuckled in that sweet, quirky way again. The melody gave Peter butterflies. Ignoring the fluttering in his belly, he pushed himself off the couch. Grabbing the base of the Garfield phone, Peter cradled the lil guy in an arm. He figured he may as well get dressed, and freshen up before you arrived, “It’s so cold today. I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet! I’m still bundled up in my undies. Got your jacket on too. You left a Game n Watch in the pocket, by the way. I didn’t even know they still made those!”

“Yeah. I totally called that one. Get up already, ya slacker.” Peter joked trapping the phone between his cheek and shoulder again. He scratched his bare chest. His fingertips grazed the sparse covering of white hairs there. Yawning, he nodded, “Okay. Okay. Okay. Sure, just-”

Something about your last statement finally clicked in Peter’s brain. He rapidly blinked, shaking his head fast enough to give himself whiplash. Peter did a quadruple take.

“Подожди (wait)! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, waiiiiiit …hold on a sec.” He narrowed his eyes, “Say that again?”

“Say what again? The part about the Game n Watch?” You asked, and Peter’s brows furrowed.

“N-Nah. The…did you just…have you been lyin’ around in your underwear this whole time?”

“Uh, yeah? Why? Is this revolutionary information?” You chuckled.

“In my jacket? Like, I didn’t hear that wrong? What’d you like…sleep in it ‘er somethin’?” Peter arched a silver brow, pressing the phone handset closer to his cheek. As if doing so might somehow help him hear you more clearly.

It really wasn’t that big of a deal either way. You borrowed his jackets all the time. Peter never thought anything of it before this conversation. Aside from the fact that - when you did return them, he loved the sweet scent you left behind. The smell of your perfume, with the added bonus of your natural pheromones…

Ебать (Fuck)! Why was he even thinking about this? The two of you had such a casual thing goin’ on. But now, Peter thought of you in a different light. Something friskier. Not that he meant to. Maybe killer boredom + cute friend = horny speedster. Or perhaps the planets aligned in some totally off-the-wall way.

Whatever the case, Peter’s mind raced on autopilot. He pictured the way you might look right now. In your room, spread across your bed in nothing but your underwear and - Ебена мать (Holy shit) - his jacket. With your long legs bare, your knees bumping together as you squeezed your thighs shut. Tummy exposed. And your tits-

Woooooooah there! Slow down, casanova! Peter shouldn’t be…nah, he really shouldn’t be wondering what your breasts looked like. Ppfffbbbbt …’kay, so, maybe in the past he thought about it once or twice. But what dude wouldn't contemplate the hidden mystery of a pal's titties sometimes, ah?

“Well, so what if I did? That doesn’t weird you out, does it?” You asked, a careful waver in your voice.

“Uhhhh…nahhh, babe. Just…” Peter shifted in place, rerouting his thoughts, “Just…got one hell of an image in my head. Might’ve pictured you like that for no particular reason at all.”

Lucky for him, you didn’t seem to think anything of his confession.

“Not much to imagine…” You replied. Сомнительно (Doubtful).

“I mean…pffbbbttt…sure, yeah. Maybe not.” Peter awkwardly laughed, scratching the back of his neck. His voice dropped, a little more hushed, “Unless…you’re wearin’ some really cute panties over there.” Again, he laughed, rushing out a quick, “I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m totally messin’. Just bustin’ your balls, babe.”

Except…he sorta wasn’t. Peter found himself oh-so curious. Twisting the phone's orange wire around his finger, he anticipated your reaction. Anxious you might think him weird for pushing things too far. Never had the two of you charted this kind of territory. It was a minefield, with a 95% chance neither one would make it out unscathed.

“I guess? I think they’re kind of cute.” You added, innocent as ever. Awesome. You weren’t peeved at him, at least. Peter brought the phone to his chest, exhaling an anxious breath to calm his racing heart. When he put the phone to his ear again, he figured you’d moved on. But your cadence shifted. To test the boundaries of your friendship, you teased, “They’re pretty small on me, though.”

Ah. Ah. Интересно. Очень интересно (Interesting. Very interesting). What an unexpected but totally wicked development. Peter lowered himself slowly onto the couch, setting the phone's base on the side table. He eased backwards into the cushions, and tightened his twisting of the phone wire. Swallowing hard, Peter found he had difficulty focusing. Especially with his imagination running so goddamn wild.

“Yeah? …How small is pretty small?” He dared to ask.

Long seconds of silence ticked by at the pace of a narcoleptic sloth. If Peter weren’t so eager to hear what you had to say, he may have torn his hair out. Over the line, you laughed.

“Small enough they barely cover my ass? Why are you so curious all of a sudden?” You cooed.

Peter fluttered his inky eyes, nibbling chapped skin on his lip. Fuzzy pink swarmed the rest of his face, as his mind conjured images of you so effortlessly. Clear as day. Heat stirred to life in his groin, and Peter pictured the way your plush cheeks might hold in tight painties. His breath hitched.

“I-uh…” Peter felt the heat in his cheeks creep down his neck, flustered at lightspeed, “Just thinkin’...maybe you should do somethin’ about that?” He gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. What a lame response, “Черт возьми (damn it)!” He huffed under his breath, too quiet for you to hear.

Toying with this newly discovered sexual tension, Peter humorously asked-

“Sooooooo…what color?”

You giggled into the receiver, airy and light. His body registered the noise somewhere , down south of his belly. He wondered if you were as flustered as him. And the visual of your bashful face and shy smile had his heartbeat ramping up to mach 10.

“What? A-Are you for real asking me…oh my god, dude!” Your giggles turned into goofy snorts. Which he found so endearing. Once you composed yourself, you spoke again. Though, your tone came off as more flirtatious, “If you really wanna know so bad…then fine. They’re black. Lacy. With a little bow on the front.”

Дерьмо (Shit)...

His silver brows soared high, disappearing under his bangs. Paying little attention to his instinctive actions, Peter guided his free hand between his thighs. Inwardly, he told himself he was only adjusting his uncomfortable hard-on. ‘Cuz it’d be totally weird if he did anything else…right? Best to ignore the movement of his thumb, as it absentmindedly circled his bulge.

“Huh…that’s so…” Peter blinked, clearing his throat and masking his nerves with a chuckle, “‘Kay, I’ll be up front with you, babe. That sounds cute as hell. Very nice.”

“Really? Oh, please, Peter. They’d be cute on anybody.” You scoffed.

“Uh huh…” He smirked, dropping his tone even lower, “‘Cept, now that I’m really thinkin’ about it? I’m bettin’ they look criminally cute on you.” Peter lazily smirked.

You laughed, breathless like you ran a thousand miles, “Wh-...what are we even doing right now? Seriously, why am I talking to you about my-” The uneasiness in your voice bled through the line.

Your concern was for good reason. Nevertheless, Peter interrupted you mid-sentence.

“Easy there, chuckles. We’re just chatting. Nothin’ too unusual, right? We’ve had some seriously raunchy conversations before. Remember? That time I got laid on a golf course? You told me about that time some dude shot a load in your eye. What’s the difference, anyway?” Peter grimaced, as he recalled your story from eons ago.

You giggled yet again, “Peter, you know damn well what the difference is!” You clarified with a sigh, still playful. The phone wire went slack around his finger, as Peter second guessed himself. He parted his lips, on the cusp of apologizing. Bringing one hand up to the phone, he held it loosely. Your sugary voice chimed again, “I’m kinda wondering, though…what would you think if I told you I’m topless right now?”

His grip compressed around the handset.

“Topless, huh?” Peter cast a quick glance at his hard-on, twitching painfully under his boxers. His mind jumped straight to sinful places again. Peter thought about what your tits probably look like, embraced in his jacket. Nipples hard, grazing the inner-lining. He swallowed, “What’re you tryna tell me? You gonna drive over here in nothin’ but that?” Peter quipped.

A more sultry laugh melted through the receiver. Peter trembled, as your smooth voice coaxed him like a tempting song. His free palm squeezed his bulge, putting pressure to his length over fabric. Peter’s brows turned inward, and he fluttered his eyes shut.

“I guess that wouldn’t be so bad, if it wasn’t so cold outside. It’s freezing today. I don’t know how you can run as fast as you do when the weather’s like this.” Your tone disguised itself with lighthearted innocence again, “It’s not any warmer in my room either. My nipples could cut glass. They’re, like, soooo hard.”

Peter adjusted himself on the sofa, giving the swell of his bulge another teasing squeeze.

“ Ты маленькая соблазнительница (you little temptress)...”  His hot breath fanned the phone.

“I love it when you talk like that…” You replied, “Even if I have no idea what you’re saying. It sounds really hot, to be totally honest.”

“Oh, yeah?” Peter teased his lip with his teeth, speaking in a more flirtatious voice; buttery smooth, “ Я забыл вынести мусор (I forgot to take out the trash)...” For added effect - just to embarrass you more - he tacked on a husky moan.

Peter made himself blush, as the sound came out far more pornagraphic than he intended. The rasp of his voice scraped through the line in a hushed, “ Oh, yeah, baby. ”

The erotic tension you felt from his teasing was palpable, even over the phone. Peter could sense the shift in the way you gasped. So faint, so shy, so cute.

“Oh…oh, wow...uhm…” You tried concealing your bashfulness with more of those candy coated giggles. But Peter could practically hear the blood racing to your cheeks, “What’s that mean? Something good, I hope.”

Peter bit his tongue, lips turning in a cheeky grin.

“It means you’re really turnin’ me on…”

Another hesitant pause fell between the two of you, before you scoffed.

“Oh my god, no it doesn’t! I can hear you laughing!” You griped, snickering along with Peter. A few more tension heavy beats pulsed over the line. You spoke again, “Hey…I’m sorry. Can I put things on pause for a sec? I just wanted to ask…are you okay with this?”

“Are you?” Peter gently asked, giving you ample time to think about it.

“I don’t know…maybe…” You whispered, “Isn’t this, like, super weird for you?”

“I mean…suuuuuuure. It’s totally weird. If you kept goin', I wouldn't be into it...at all...” He bullied you with a playful edge, hoping you could read the flirtatious undertone in his voice.

“Ohhhhh…you wouldn't be?” Judging by the saucy lilt in your voice, you most definitely caught on, “You know what would be even weirder?”

Peter adjusted on the sofa again. Getting comfortable, he laid on his back. His taut legs stretched across the cushions, and Peter propped his head on the couch’s arm.

“Whazzat? Enlighten me, babe. I’m listenin’. You got my full attention.” He teased.

“Your full attention, huh? I must be doing something right.” You snickered, “So…you know how I said I love it when you talk…like that?” Your voice wavered, “What I really meant was-uhm…when you do that on the phone…it makes me kind of horny.”

His brown hues burst open, wider than ever. Peter’s pupils dilated, expanding as far as the universe itself. He swallowed again, his mouth falling open. Your filthy confession set his arousal ablaze, making his dick twitch. As heated desire took over, Peter couldn’t restrain himself. He snuck his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, fingertips gliding over silver hairs. A small piece of him almost felt guilty for doing so.

“It does, huh? Хорошо знать (Good to know).” Peter whispered, tenderly grasping his shaft.

You made a naughty squeak of a noise in response, “Y-Yeah, Peter, I’m serious. You really have to stop doing that.”

“Почему (Why)? Are you soakin’ yourself over it? Gettin’ a lil wet? It’s cool. You can tell me…” Peter heckled, expelling a breath as he gave his dick a single tug.

“Oh, I bet you wanna know all about that, huh? You’re so bad, Quickie...” You teased, clicking your tongue.

Peter’s ears burned, turning pink as he took in the coquettish nature of your voice. Scoffing, he feigned his indignance.

“What?! Hey, nah nah nah! You started this! Это несправедливо, черт возьми (it’s not fair. Dammit)!” Peter laughed, carefree with you as always, “You can’t seriously drop a bombshell like that and expect me not to-”

“Not to come running?” You hummed, sweet tempered, “I’m just messing with you, baby. But since we’re on the topic…I made such a mess of these little panties. Just from listening to your voice.”

Peter couldn’t even pretend he didn’t like the sound of ‘baby’ on your tongue.

“Oh, man…anything but the panties…” He joked, “You should-uh…you should save yourself some trouble. Y’know…take ‘em off, maybe? Might be more comfortable.” Peter hinted, playing nonchalant, “Just tryna be a good friend. Give you some advice. You should for sure take it.”

“But I’m already so cold…” You whimpered, “Your jacket’s so warm. Smells good too. Really good. But it’s not enough to keep me covered.” You spoke with flirtatious innocence, and Peter played along.

“No harm done, принцесса (princess). I’ll warm you up if you need me to.” He reassured, sweet talking you over the phone, “Ты думаешь, что я не позабочусь о тебе? (Do you think I won't take care of you)?" Peter mumbled again. He listened to your sickly sweet laughs, before asking, “So…do you get like this every time we talk on the phone?”

“Mmmm…maybe.” You hummed, “What if I said yes?” You shuffled around again, and Peter’s mind jumped elsewhere. He imagined you shed yourself of damp, black lace. Leaving you wanton and needy in nothing but his jacket, “You know…we’ve been talking about me a lot this whole time. You wanna tell me what you’re wearing? I don’t really have a visual.”

“Oh…me?” Your request caught Peter off guard.

“Yeah, you. Who else, blockhead?” You playfully quipped, smoothing your voice to say, “You don’t have to be shy. I just wanna know, so I can think about taking it off of you.”

Peter didn’t know he could blush this much. Puffing a bashful laugh, he looked down at his body. Mostly nude and toned enough. He had his x-gene to thank for his pecs and hard abs. A fluffy bouquet of silver hairs peeked out from his boxers. Underneath, his dick throbbed, pressing eagerly into fabric.

“Uhm…I’m not wearin’ a lot? Nothin’ special. Just some black, boxer briefs, I guess. Wait, no-” Peter lifted a foot, his lips curling in a goofy smile, “Got my Star Wars socks on too.”

A sensual moan graced his ears, “That’s so hot.” You softly whined, “Star Wars socks? Peter, just take me now.”

Despite the fact you were totally messing with him, that playful comment made his chest tight. 

“Nothing else though?” You pressed.

“Nnnnnnnnnnope.” He drew out the word, popping the P, “Just the-uh…yeah. Boxers ‘n sexy socks. Not much to take off.”

“And you’re pretty fit, aren’t you? You always looked really jacked to me, so-” You said.

Peter cocked a brow, snickering to cover his embarrassment.

“Wooooahhh…you been checkin’ me out, babe?” He asked, darting his dark hues across his athletic bod. Peter flexed an arm, “Sure, I guess I’m in decent shape.” He found he couldn’t dismiss your compliments. Peter looked good, and he knew it. But he preferred hearing it from you, “Hey, you wanna know somethin’, like, way crazy?”

“This? What we’re doing right now is so crazy, right?” You laughed, sounding as bashful as him.

Peter snickered, “True. Truuuue. But, uh…” He shrank in his spot on the couch, pressing the vibrant handset closer into his cheek. Pre-cum seeped through his boxers, as Peter tugged his dick steady and slow. Careful not to stimulate himself too much yet. He dropped his voice to a hushed rasp, “I’m kinda in the same spot you are right now. If you-uh…if you catch my drift.”

The two of you knew each other for a long time. Several years, in fact. But never once did Peter think he’d hear his closest pal say-

“Ohhhh. Are you hard right now, baby?”

Oh. Yeah, this buddy-buddy friendship was in major trouble. Doomed to crash and burn. As soon as the words fell from your lips, spoken in your honeyed voice; Peter’s breath hitched in his throat. He sank his teeth so hard into his lip, he almost broke skin.

“Y-Yeah. Since you-uh…started talkin’ about your panties. I’m sorry, babe. Just been kinda bored and worked up all day.” He sheepishly chuckled.

“You poor baby…” You coddled him over the phone. And while he should’ve been embarrassed, Peter had no problem with you talking like that, “Can I ask how big you are?”

Peter stalled for a moment, before pulling the front of his boxers down. His hardness flopped against his belly, pulsating and ruddy from his teasing. Taking his aching length in his hand, he rubbed the underside with his thumb.

“You mean my dick? It’s-uhhhh…like six, maybe seven inches almost?” He squeezed his cock, milking beads of pre-cum, “But size doesn’t matter, yeah? It’s the motion of the ocean, babe.”

“Noooooo, baby. You’re so perfect. Wish I could see how good you look like that…” You cooed over the phone.

Your kindly words and airy tone made the veins in his dick throb with electric heat. Peter clutched his cock tight, pumping the velvet skin a touch faster. Giving himself just a simple taste of relief. His stomach clenched, hardening his abs.

“Не так идеально, как ты выглядишь (Not as perfect as you look)...” Peter muttered, drawing in a shallow breath, “Babe, I gotta tell ya, I’m really feelin’ this. I’m so into you right now. W-Want you to keep talkin’ like-uh...”

His imagination took his depravity to the next level. Now, Peter thought about joining you in your room. He wondered how soft and smooth your skin would feel. Supple and hot under his fingertips. What might you look like writhing under him, whimpering as he played with you? As he teased you? Man, you were both so screwed.

“Never thought dirty talking with me would turn you on so much…” You giggled.

Peter secured the handset between his cheek and shoulder. With both hands free, he raised his palm to his lips. He drew a long stripe with his tongue, bringing his damp hand to his cock. The slick lubrication pulled a gentle moan from his throat.

“M-Maybe a little bit. Ебать (Fuck), maybe a lot.” Peter groaned, labored in his breathing, “Can you - Ебать (fuck) - you wanna do somethin’ for me? Just a little favor between friends? S’all I’m askin’, baby.”

“Anything you want, Peter.” You mewled.

“Can you- mmmmohgod -” Peter choked up. He almost chickened out, but pushed himself to ask, “Can you touch yourself for me? Please? Пожалуйста, моя маленькая принцесса (Please, my little princess)...” His foreign whispers weaved pretty whimpers from your lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that, if you want me to. But you have to do the same for me too. It’s only fair, right? Equal exchange?” You whispered, acting playful again.

Peter breathed a guilty chuckle, “Uhm…yeahhhhh…about that…”

You softly gasped, “Have you been-”

“Playin’ with my dick this whole time? Maybe.” Peter admitted. His thumb caught another pearl of pre, spreading the slickness over his sensitive head, “But I’m not, like, totally jerkin’ it yet…” He lied, pressing you to encourage him.

“Oh, you’re not, huh? What are you doing then?” You asked, “Are you being a bad boy, Pietro?” The abrupt drop of his given name shocked him into silence.

Peter felt his groin tighten, and an exhilarating rush electrified his nerves. For the thousandth time, you giggled. And for the thousandth time, Peter’s heart leapt. Dumbfounded, he gathered his composure and played along again.

“Y-Yeah. So bad. You gotta help me, babe. I’m just-...I’m so hard. Don’t think I can stop myself if you keep talkin’ like that.”

Through the receiver, Peter’s ears caught wind of a needy mewl. He gripped his cock hard, guiding his fist in firmer strokes. His legs quivered, and the heels of his Star Wars socks slid across the couch.

“Does it feel good when you touch your pretty cock like that, sweetheart?” You cooed.

Peter almost went straight into cardiac arrest. He jolted in place, feeling his cock stiffen in his grasp.

“Святой трах (Holy fuck)..." Peter suffocated on his own groans. For an instant, his words failed him, “Uhmmm…hah…wow-uh…Ебать (fuck). Feels good, yeah. Don’t think it’s enough. I need-...uhm…I want-uh…”

“Yeah? What do you want, baby. It’s okay.” You spoke so sugary sweet again.

“I-...Я просто хочу увидеть тебя (I just want to see you)...” Peter’s veins tingled under his touch, as he tugged his dick with more urgency, “Shit! I-...how come I never knew you could be like this-” And to Peter’s ultimate humiliation, he whimpered your name. Along with another whiny, “ Ебать (Fuck). ”

“Like what?” Your coy voice teased him over the line.

“I dunno…so-uh…so damn nasty.” He joked, and even through the phone; he knew he had you flustered again.

“I guess we all have our secrets, hmm? Tell me more, Pietro. When you touch yourself like that. With those big, strong hands…how’s it feel?” You asked, driving him to keep going.

Peter snorted a laugh, “Strong hands? What??” His endearing playfulness took a backseat, as he grunted into the receiver, “God…feels like my strong hand’s not enough. Мне реально тебе нужно прямо сейчас. Нужна так сильно (I really need you right now. I need you so much).” His voice fell to a whisper. Pumping his slick, crimson cock through his fist, he breathlessly pleaded, “Talk to me, baby. Please. Tell me-ohhh…tell me what you’re doin’ over there.”

You squealed a sultry giggle, further igniting Peter’s pleasured frenzy. He squirmed in his spot on the sofa, forcing himself to stay put. Battling the forces of the universe, it was all Peter could do not to race to your room. Just to spread your legs and hump you like a speedy bunny.

“Mmmm…I’m just doing what you asked me to…I’m being so good for you right now.” You whimpered.

“Oh. Okay…uhm…far out. Uh…wanna gimme the steamy details?” He heckled again, fumbling his words in his nervousness, “Please, don’t hold off on me, baby.”

“I’m…” Your precious voice wavered, teeming with awkwardness as your confidence dwindled, “I’m playing with my little pussy. Just for you. And I’m so wet. I can’t stop thinking about your hands…so big…”

“Боже мой (my god).” Peter muttered. Combating impatience brought upon by his genes, he willed himself to take things slow. His strokes became steady and teasing, as he edged his aching cock, “Holy shit, babe. Yeah? Keep goin’...”

You moaned soft squeals into the receiver, “I want you so bad, Quickie. Please, baby, don’t make me beg. Can you touch this little pussy for me? Please? Your fingers are so big. I don’t think they’d fit all at once. It’s been a while, and I’m so tight.” Your naughty voice pleaded.

“God, I wanna touch you so bad. Я хочу прикоснуться к этой сладкой киске (I want to touch that sweet pussy).” Peter’s impatience got the better of him, and he quickly gave in. He grasped his cock hard, wringing himself fast enough to make his balls bounce. Creasing his brows, he groaned, “Ohhh..What’re you tryna to do to me, babe? Talkin’ about how tight you are…Ебать…”

“But I ammmm.” You whined again, “I’m squeezing my tiny fingers so tight. It’s so soft and hot for you. Bet it’d feel really good if you stretched me. With your fingers, with your cock - fuck, Pietro. I just need you, baby.”

“Please, baby, oh, please? Wanna be inside you. Wanna feel you. I promise I won’t go too fast. Я обещаю (I promise).” Peter whimpered. But as you mewled again, another forceful wave of carnal heat crashed over Peter. In a quieter tone, he choked, “Нет, я могу. Я пойду так быстро (No, I can. I’ll go so fast).”

“Pietro, you can go as fast as you want, baby. I won’t stop you.” You pleaded, your broken voice so kittenish and wanton, “F-Fuck. I’m rubbing my clit. So sensitive. Thinking about you. Thinking about your mouth on me.”

“Ебать!!” Peter moaned through clenched teeth. His self control rapidly abandoned him. Speedily rutting his sore cock through the squeeze of his fist, his body refused to slow down, “Говоря о скорости (Speaking of speed)...” Peter craned his neck back, raising a hand to keep the handset to his ear, “You gotta stop makin’ all those cute noises, baby. Please…I can’t-”

As surges of horny pleasure circulated through his body, Peter thought of you again. He imagined you on your bed, caged under him between his arms. In his daydreams, he kissed you intimately, touching your pretty, naked body. Peter wanted to feel how wet you were for himself. And hell, the danger of pushing your friendship past its limits made you more tempting. Such a lewd, risky thought pushed him closer to the edge of something righteous.

“Baby, I wanna see you. Can I? Can I see you stroke that thick cock? Would you let me? Ohh, fuck, Pietro.” You whimpered. And your noises were so shamelessly lecherous, you could’ve made a pornstar blush, “Can I kiss it, please? Can I kiss your big cock?” You whimpered.

“О боже мой, пожалуйста (Oh my god, please)!” Peter choked, every word hitching in his throat, “Baby…babe, you can’t do this. Ya really can’t be-” He laughed lazily, his dark eyes falling half lidded. His cock throbbed, bright red and turning purple at the tip. He rutted in a speedy blur, “Stop. Stop. Stop. I’m gonna…babe, I’m gonna bust-” He slurred.

You squealed his name as loudly as your hushed voice would allow. And Peter swore he could hear the slick sound of your fingers. As they played with your pretty, little cunt.

“I’m gonna cum, baby. Please cum with me. Please? Pietro, OH~!”

“я кончаю, я кончаю (I’m cumming, I’m cumming)! ‘M Gonna-” Peter’s moans seeped through the receiver, his wet lips parting and mouth hanging open.

His swollen cock erupted in white-hot jets, coating his pecs and belly. With all his muscles tensed, Peter’s legs trembled. He rode out those lusty waves in tandem with you. The pleasure of orgasm sounded leagues more intense on your side. You took longer to cruise through it, whimpering and moaning Peter’s name. As you did, Peter basked in his momentary afterglow. Keeping the phone pressed to his ear, his head resting on the arm of the sofa; he listened to you with a smirk on his lips. At the end of your journey in ecstasy, your moans turned into flustered giggles.

Peter's thoughts reeled him in again. Imagining you, looking so sheepish and fine in his jacket. Now, he desperately wanted the real deal. To see you in all your post-nut glory. Mere seconds later, his sore cock pulsed to life again. As his hardness squirmed on his belly, Peter breathed another sigh.

On his end, you heard nothing but silence. You kept calling his name, your tired voice infused with anxiety.

“Uhm…Peter? Hey…are you there?” You asked.

And he didn't say a single word more.

[spaceorphan18]

Scenes from December (21/24)

Klaine Advent Day Twenty-One : Give

****

December, 2068

Kurt sat comfortably in his big, dark green lounge chair, pushing his glasses up his nose so he could read his magazine better.  It was almost midnight, and he really wanted nothing more than to go to bed, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen for another, oh, twelve minutes.  Blaine was his identical chair, the coffee table splitting them as it had done so for who knows how many years.  He was on his tablet, scrolling through some kind of social media - but Kurt couldn’t make out the reflections dancing along Blaine’s glasses.  In a lot of ways - it was just another night, the same kind of average, quiet night they were used to these days.  

Until it wasn’t.  A loud, sharp buzzing noise sounded making Kurt jump.  He knew what it was -- Apple-Android’s latest Window Technology (A Window Into Your Home) that they had installed a few weeks ago.  But Kurt couldn’t still wasn’t used to the intensity of sound every time someone called them.  As a screen nearly as big as the wall began to descend from the ceiling, Kurt shot an annoyed look over to Blaine.  Why weren’t cell phones enough? Did they really need a ‘window’ into everyone else’s lives?  Maybe he was just too old for all of this. 

The alarm - signaling that someone was trying to call in, continued as both Kurt and Blaine tried to search for the remote control that had come with it.  Somewhere on the mess of the coffee table it had been placed, and now the two of them were scrambling to find it before they went completely deaf. However, they just weren’t as fast as they used to be.  Kurt, thankfully, found the remote under a stack of Blaine’s papers, but looking down at it, it felt like all the symbols were in a foreign language.  He began to push buttons in an attempt to just make it stop.  

“Why is it so loud?” Kurt grumbled as he repeatedly hit the green button.  Why didn’t the green button work? That didn’t make any sense.  

“I think Tracy turned it up because she thought we couldn’t hear it and kept missing our calls.” Blaine tried to grab the remote from him, but Kurt pulled it away.  

“Did it occur to her that maybe I was just ignoring them?” 

“Give me that,” Blaine successfully snatched the remote from his hand, and in a second, he managed to make the alarm stop.  “You know, you’re going to have to learn how to do this sooner or later,” he said, as the screen loaded.  

Kurt grumbled, moving back into his chair.  “Isn’t that why I have you?” 

Blaine had a retort on his tongue - but was cut off by the image of their granddaughter appearing on screen.    

“Hi Grandpa, hi Pop-Pop.”  Emma (age twenty-one) yawned wide as she eagerly but very tiredly said hello.  

“What are you doing calling us?” Blaine asked.  “It has to be four in the morning over there?” The ‘there’ was London - where she was studying history and literature on a study abroad program.  As much as it was a family tradition to call each other on New Year’s Eve - they hadn’t expected her to ring in.  

“Hmmm, five I think,” Emma said, checking her clock.  “Don’t worry - I celebrated and went to bed hours ago.  I just set an alarm so I wouldn’t miss this.” 

Kurt softened.  “Oh, honey, you didn’t have to do that…” 

She smiled at them.  “I know, but I wanted to.”  Before they could chat any longer, another alarm screamed at them - signifying a new caller.  Blaine looked blankly at the remote, not sure which to push.  Emma grinned, amused.  “It’s the orange one, Pop-Pop. I think Mom’s trying to call in.” 

A button push later and Katie appeared on screen, sitting next to her husband on the couch, both with a glass of wine in their hands.  “Happy New Year from Columbus,” they said, waving.  “Oh, hey, I think Tracy’s wanting to get on - hold on.” 

Before Kurt (or Blaine) could even react, Tracy popped on screen - her two boys (Arnold - age thirteen and Demetri - age eleven) in the foreground arguing over some handheld video game thing.  “Boys, BOYS! Stop - we do not do this in front of your grandfathers.”  Kurt chuckled a little as Tracy wrestled the toy out of their hands.  “You can get this back next year.” 

The boys groaned at her bad joke, followed by an obligatory hello to their grandfathers.  

“Okay,” Katie said, looking at her watch, “we’ve got about seven minutes - Trace, did you give dad the number of that guy who will look at his hip?” 

“No - I gave it to Papa, because we all know how much Dad likes being told what to do.” 

Kurt grumbled again.  “You guys can all calm down - I don’t need a hip replacement.” 

“Yes you do,” Katie, Tracy, and Blaine said at the same time.  

“Kurt, you’ve been complaining about your hip for years,” Blaine said.  “Besides - you get it replaced, and I’ll be able to see you do the Single Ladies dance once again before I die.” 

“Oh, my god,” Katie let out in a huff.  Tracy pinched her nose.  

“What’s The Single Ladies Dance?” Arnold asked, confused.  

“Oh, just an old dance done by the singer Beyonce,” Tracy explained.  

“Who’s Beyonce?” Demetri asked.

“Oh, my god I feel old,” Tracy let out a sigh. 

“At least they won’t ever have to experience it,” Katie said - reminiscing.  “Remember the time we walked in on some kind of weird, private Single Ladies dance Dad was giving for Pop?” 

“Talk about something I can never unsee,” Tracy replied. 

“Um, ew,” Emma said.  “Why do I suddenly know things about my grandparents that I didn’t need to know?”

“Believe me - we didn’t want to know either,” Katie retorted.

Kurt shot Blaine a look, but couldn’t help but be amused by the turn in the conversation.  

The phone rang for a fourth, and final time, and this time Blaine knew exactly what to do, pushing the orange button so that Katie’s younger daughter, Abby (age eighteen) popped on screen.  She was, however, outside in a large and rather loud crowd, her arm around another girl.  They both were covered in glitter and confetti, and both were wearing sparkling hats with the year 2069 printed on them in gold.  

“Hi everyone!” she called out.  “You guys remember my girlfriend, Calie, right?” 

Kurt couldn’t remember if he did or not - but his granddaughter looked happy, and who knows what would happen with young love.  It made him smile.  “Where are you guys calling from?” 

“Times Square!” Abby shouted.  “And don’t worry - we’re being safe! We’re also gonna come crash at your place once everyone clears out.” 

“Oh, sweetie, you don’t want to wake your grandfathers,” Katie interjected.  “Don’t you have a friend’s place you could crash at?” 

“They already said yesterday I could,” Abby argued. “Would you rather me end up in some crack house?” 

“Abbs, you can come to my place - it’s fine,” Tracy offered.  “We can go out for breakfast with your grandfathers tomorrow.  And you can help us talk Grandpa into getting the hip replacement he needs.” 

“Trace, keep me in on the loop with that, okay?” Katie added.

“Have you noticed they’ve started talking about us as if we’re not really here?” Kurt asked.  

Blaine grinned. “Hey - at least they’re still talking about us.” 

“Hush, everyone,” Abby said excitedly. “The ball is starting to drop.” 

Abby muted her phone, and the apartment grew quiet.  Everyone watched as the seconds ticked away, the last moments of the old year fading away into something new…

[anthonysstupiddailyblog]

Anthony's Stupid Daily Blog (866): Thu 1st Aug 2024

My last holiday day…SIGH. Yet again I've wasted nearly the whole holiday on the internet rather than reading or watching films or doing even the slightest bit of exercise. It's pathetic but true that these days whenever anyone asks me where I go during my holiday the answer is "YouTube". I decided I should watch at least one film during my time away and I went for the seemingly innocuous but utterly sinister La Femme Infidel. I can't remember how I learned about this film though I suspect that it was through reading about Hitchcock and finding out that director Claude Chabrol was an admirer of his. Despite really liking this movie it remains the only work of Chabrol's that I've ever watched. I should really get round to watching his other stuff because much like Hitchcock Chabrol was a master of suspense and had a keen eye for the macabre. There's not that much of a plot, we basically follow Charles, a man who discovers his wife is having an affair, kills her lover and disposes of her body and that's it really. However Chabrol makes the buildup to the murder seem so harmless, the murder itself so shocking and cerebral and the aftermatch so tense and open to interpretation. The murder scene itself is one of my all time favourites in any movie. Charles goes to the lovers house and is the perfect gentleman, calmly introducing himself and insisting he has no ill will towards the man his wife has been banging behind his back. He even asks for a tour of the house so he can see the bed where the man has been screwing her. He then prepares to leave but then grabs an ornament from the mans table and caves his head in. What follows is a ten minute stretch of Charles cleaning the blood and wiping fingerprints. There's no dialogue or music just pure suspense where you sit and imagine what’s going on in his head. Chabrol said this film wasn’t inspired by Hitchcock at all but fuck off Chabrol! Fuck yourself in your stupid French arse with a biggest stiffest baguette in Paris, this entire stretch is pure Hitchcock. Later on I went on a date with this gorgeous girl I met on Bumble. To break the ice I asked who her favourite Hollyoaks villain was & she said she didn’t watch the show. I pretended I needed a wee then climbed out the toilet window & got the fuck out of there. That's a red flag right there. I got the bus home and watched tonight's Hollyoaks. Oh Christ who cares about this Dave / Lizzie's baby story? Where’s Dilly? This is valuable screen time you could be giving Dilly!!! The show should give its viewers little remote controls with buttons on that they can press whenever a storyline isn't doing anything for them and if a certain percentage decides they don't like one it should just fast forward to the next one. I dare say if you made the threshold for moving on 99% this Dave / Lizzie storyline would still be getting skipped as the 1% not pressing their buttons would be people who'd temporarily misplaced their remotes after throwing them at the TV whenever Dave is on screen. Also if I was a writer on the show every time a scene ended on a really awkward dramatic note there would be a pause then I'd have Disco Benny burst into the room, scream "PARTY TIME MOTHERFUCKERS" & then the other characters say "Not a good time, Benny" then have him leave

[guardianmedical]

How Technology is Revolutionising Medical Centre Operations?

In today's fast-paced world, technological advancements are permeating every aspect of our lives, and medical centres are no exception.

From streamlining administrative tasks to enhancing patient care, technology is reshaping the way medical centres operate. Let's delve into how these innovations are transforming medical centres Avondale Heights operations.

Electronic Health Records (EHR)

Gone are the days of sifting through mountains of paper files to access patient information. With the advent of Electronic Health Records (EHR), medical centres can now securely store and access patient data electronically. This not only saves valuable time but also ensures accuracy and consistency in record-keeping.

Doctors and medical staff can easily retrieve patient histories, lab results, and treatment plans at the click of a button, leading to more efficient and informed decision-making.

Telemedicine and Remote Monitoring

The rise of telemedicine has been a game-changer for medical centres. Patients no longer need to physically visit the medical centre Mont Albert for every consultation. Instead, they can connect with healthcare providers remotely through video conferencing or mobile apps. This not only improves access to care, especially for those in remote areas, but also reduces the burden on medical centre resources.

Additionally, remote monitoring devices allow healthcare professionals to keep track of patients' vital signs and health metrics from afar, enabling proactive intervention and personalised treatment plans.

Artificial Intelligence (AI) in Diagnosis and Treatment

Artificial Intelligence (AI) is revolutionising the way diseases are diagnosed and treated in medical centres. Machine learning algorithms can analyse vast amounts of medical data to identify patterns and predict outcomes with remarkable accuracy. This enables earlier detection of diseases, more precise diagnoses, and tailored treatment plans.

Moreover, AI-powered tools assist doctors in interpreting medical images, such as X-rays and MRIs, leading to faster and more accurate diagnoses.

Robotics in Surgery

Robot-assisted surgery is another groundbreaking technology that is transforming medical centre operations. Surgeons can now perform complex procedures with greater precision and control, thanks to robotic systems that offer enhanced dexterity and visualisation.

This minimally invasive approach results in smaller incisions, reduced pain, and faster recovery times for patients. Additionally, robotics allow for remote surgery, enabling expert surgeons to operate on patients located miles away, expanding access to specialised care.

IoT and Wearable Devices

The Internet of Things (IoT) and wearable devices are increasingly being integrated into medical centre near Avondale Heights to monitor patients' health in real-time. These devices, ranging from smartwatches to implantable sensors, continuously collect data on vital signs, activity levels, and medication adherence. This wealth of information enables healthcare providers to track patients' progress, detect early warning signs, and intervene promptly when necessary.

Moreover, IoT devices can facilitate seamless communication between patients and medical centre staff, fostering greater engagement and empowerment in managing one's health.

Data Analytics for Performance Improvement

Data analytics tools are invaluable assets for medical centres seeking to optimise their operations and improve patient outcomes. By analysing vast datasets generated from EHRs, medical devices, and other sources, medical centres can identify trends, patterns, and areas for improvement.

This insight allows for more informed decision-making regarding resource allocation, workflow optimisation, and quality improvement initiatives. Ultimately, data-driven strategies enable medical centres to deliver higher-quality care more efficiently and cost-effectively.

Conclusion

Technology is driving a profound transformation in any medical centre near Mont Albert, enhancing efficiency, accessibility, and quality of care. From electronic health records to robotic surgery, these innovations are revolutionising the way medical centres deliver healthcare services.

Embracing these technological advancements is essential for medical centres to stay competitive and meet the evolving needs of patients in the digital age.

[kiru-miru]

Pro Tennis: World Court

My favorite sport on wii sports used to be tennis. Placing the same mii on every position and frantically swinging the remote around was a key moment in my childhood. So, when I saw Pro Tennis: World Court on the internet arcade archive I had to try it. I also really liked the aesthetic of the graphics, with the bright colors of the court and character designs.

The controls are fairly simple. You can move up down left and right and use control to swing your racket. In the game you can choose between a selection of human characters and two robots. Some characters are faster than others. This was the main difference that I saw while trying out different characters. There might have been more differences listed on the selection page, but I couldn't read it since it was in Japanese. I couldn't pinpoint if the robots had any special properties different from the human characters. I only noticed that the yellow robot has the tendency to hit the ball really high. There were also three courts to choose from.

My experience playing the game started off pretty rough. I had to get used to positioning my player properly so I could get to the ball in time and figure out when to hit the ball. There is a slight delay between pressing the button and actually hitting the ball since the character has to go into the swinging motion. If you time your hit well you'll be able to hit the ball really fast when it's high. Even serving the ball requires decent timing that I haven't figured out yet. Apparently if you miss a serve two times in tennis you lose the point. You learn something new everyday! I tried a strategy of only looking at the shadow of the ball but that didn't work too well. I lost many matches 40-0 without even a fight. I might as well have not even been there since it would be over after one hit. There were rare instances where I could get a short rally going with the cpu, but it would ultimately end up with me messing up and losing.

By some miracle I eventually figured out that hitting the ball while holding a direction key made the ball move in that direction. This realization allowed me to play much (okay, maybe just a little) better. Combined with choosing a faster character and making the cpu the slower one, I was able to win a match here and there. Even if I lost, I didn’t lose as badly as before which is an improvement. I enjoyed the game more when I wasn’t doing so bad.

I would like to try playing on the original console. According to the archive page, the arcade machine used an 8-way joystick and had two buttons you could press. The 8-way joystick would make moving your character diagonally more intuitive. Sure, you can move diagonally if you press both the up and left button together on the emulator, but that just isn't the same. I just want to experience how the game was originally meant to be played.

World Court also has a single player mode and a two player mode. Having the game be emulated has an advantage since it makes playing as two players slightly easier in my opinion. With emulation you really only need 5 keys to control one player and we have 10 fingers. If you map the keys well enough you should be able to control both players simultaneously, although it would take some practice. Trying to control two joysticks and press two buttons well enough to actually be able to play would be a bit harder. It takes more time to move your hand to hit a button than it is to press a key on the keyboard. I played a few two player matches against cpus. I found it fun and it really reminded me of the old days of wii tennis. 

Overall, I enjoyed my time playing Pro Tennis World Court. If you want to try the game out yourself, check it out on archive.org https://archive.org/details/arcade_wldcourt

[eroslove88]

hey could we get some sub mirko?

Drabble: As an inventor you get weird job requests but this one payed a lot and your girlfriend was more than happy to help you test things out

Paring: Sub!Mirko x Dom!Fem. Reader

Warnings: overstimulation, toys, dub-con (she technically agreed), lying, sadistic, light bondage, orgasm denial, and orgasm control

Notes: I hope this counts. But anyways enjoy anonn. Reader is kind of crazy in this!

You couldn't remember the last time you've had a job pay this much for just some silly toys and machines. Now all you needed was a victim test subject. Looking up from your letter you saw your beautiful hero girlfriend, perfect prey.

"So I just need to try these out before they get released" you finished explaining after cuffing her other hand the posts by the head board.

"Ok but don't go crazy" she jokes spreading her legs so you could tie her ankles.

"No promises" you mumble tying a knot you learned not to long after you met Mirko.

The first toy you wanted to try out was this neat vibrator, "So I was aiming for something fast and controlable" you explain taking out a black egg shaped thing. "It's connected to my phone too" quickly you show her the app which she inky chuckles at how cute you look when you get all geeky about your babies. Once it was nicely taped to her clit you smirked, "Ready?"

"Of course how bad could it- ahhhg" she was cut off with a chocked moan when you turned it on.

"Your overreacting bunny" you teased playing with the vibration waves on your phone, "That was the lowest setting" you say as her eyes brimmed with tears still refusing to give in. "I'll be back!" you say getting up and running to your invention room.

Once your back you have a small red box with a white button on top, "I call this one Pride Swallower" giggling you push the white button and with the censors you installed into it the long thick dildo way into her, "Do you like it?" you asked as the machine made the didlo go in and out.

She was crying and the vibrator wasn't even on and that's when the machine stopped, "F-fuck!" she yells in frustration.

"I see she's working well" you say taking out a remote from your pocket, "You see she's programmed to stop working once your about to calm" the machine then began to go faster and deeper, "Don't get your hopes up" you tease, "I'm one of Japan's most successful inventors it'd take a miracle for it to crash" of course you were right you edged her again and again until she was a sobbing mess.

"Y-yo-you s-said no- agh fuck crazy" she said feeling upset at your white lie.

"Whoops, but you need to beg for this" you said tapping lightly on the remote. "Come on my little bunny beg for me"

"F-fuck" she sighed out, "Please Mommy I'm desperate I need you" she begs eyes red and watery.

"Not good enough but I'll make an exception" pushing the cyan button on the remote it went faster and bottomed out in her. Thats when you turned on the black vibrator on the highest level causing her to moan a scream, "Forgot about her?" you asked waving your phone as she finally reached her climax cumming all over the already damp bed sheets and dildo. "I can watch this all day" you whisper sitting on a spinning chair near by watching her repeatedly cum. All of her orgasms left with a yell of your name and the last one really excited you when she squirted all over your machine. "How adorable" you complimented.

"I'll make sure to sell these" you say getting up and leaving her there.

"W-wait!" she managed out.

"Oh almost forgot!" you exclaimed turning the vibrator back on high, "This is your punishment for your lazy begging"

When you came back she was babbling incoherently with drool dripping from the corners of her mouth. After you showered/cleaned her and change the bed sheets you kissed her goodnight whispering a soft, "You did so good, but I have more things for you to try tomorrow" while stroking her soft ears.

[meltwonu]

| 🎃 𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖍 🎃 |

↪ ✦ heavy ✦

this chapter pairing; snakehybrid!woozi&bunnyhybrid!dino x reader

genre&warnings; Snake Eyes!AU, threesome, dom!jihoon, oral(fem receiving), fingering, creampies, cum eating/cum sharing, breeding kink, dirty talk, but also a bit of crack lbr, jihoon and chan being little shits 😩😭.

notes; you don’t have to have read Snake Eyes to read this! It’s not part of the main plot! 💕🐍 also the--☠️ draft for this was literally from 2013 and I literally ran it through the hot setting on the washing machine and put it in the dryer 3 times to get it to what it is today ☠️ Also!!! the final chapter of Monster Mash!!! omg!!! I can’t believe it’s done AND to end it with a Snake Eyes au chapter!! 😭😩 Enjoy!! Have a great rest of the weekend!!! I love u!! Happy Halloween!! 🎃👻 💕

word count; ~4300

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13

it’s heavy;

heavy how i want you so bad

heavy when it hits me so fast;

heavy and it’s driving me mad

that i’m never gonna give you up!

“OH MY FUCK--GOD!” A shrill voice cuts through the nearly empty living room; three forms huddled together on the sofa as the horror movie continued on the tv screen.

“Are you serious right now, Jihoon? Nothing even happened yet and you screamed!!” You tease.

You’d come to learn that Jihoon quite actually hated horror films.

And apparently so did Chan.

Your eyes scan over Jihoon’s frame squished into your side as his own eyes leave the tv for the 60th time that night; his grip on your waist tightening as he digs his face into your shoulder. “I can’t do it, I’m trying to look at the corner of the screen but I just know something’s going to pop out, I just know it, I--”

“Hyung, she’s right you know, nothing’s even--FUCK WHAT WAS THAT!?” Chan jolts at the screen, his own arms tangling with Jihoon’s around your waist in fear as the demon in the movie re-emerges from a dark closet.

You sigh, wondering why Minghao and the others hadn’t replied to any of your calls and messages; leaving you alone with Jihoon and Chan on this dark and rainy Halloween night. And you loved Jihoon with your whole heart and taking care of cute Chan was always fun but everyone being missing and unreachable seemed a little peculiar. 

Even to you.

“You guys, it’s not even real. Look, c’mon, nobody is going to pop out of the closet later. I’m sure Mingyu would kill whatever came crawling out of the closet Jihoon and Chan, do you even have a closet for demons to come out of?” You tried to lighten the mood and reassure them as you pry their clammy fingers from your midsection.

They simultaneously shoot you a glare, crossing their arms as you separate yourself from their bodies.

“I really don’t get how you two are so easily scared by these horrible movies!”

Chan pouts, “Well hybrids exist so surely demons do too!” You shoot him a dumbfounded look, “That literally has zero correlation.” 

“Whatever, I’m gonna grab more popcorn and I’ll be back.” Jihoon grumbles; eyes avoiding the screen as he scurries off to the kitchen.

The horror movie continues to play, small whimpers and screams coming from both of the boys on either of your sides.

You still don’t understand why they thought watching a horror movie on a rainy night was a good idea but they were determined to finish it by this point. And you, on the other hand, were getting bored. Horror movies weren’t that bad for you and you slept perfectly fine afterwards so you weren’t worried.

Unfortunately for Jihoon and Chan, that was not the case.

Jihoon had cocooned himself into a blanket with only his eyes peeking out and Chan had stolen one of the sofa pillows and had used it to hide behind when a scary scene was taking place. Biting your lip, you turn to each of them, watching as their eyes stay glued to the TV.

“Hey, if you two are so scared, why don’t we just turn the movie off. You’ll regret it if you can’t sleep later… And Minghao might kick my ass if he knows I let this happen to Chan.” You offer. Jihoon clears his throat, agreeing that maybe it was a bad idea to continue while Chan already started to reach for the remote tucked under the mass of snacks nearby.

As soon as he hits the power button, a bolt of lightning flashes outside causing the power to suddenly blow.

“Fuck! The demon’s here, I knew it, it’s because we watched the movie! We’re done, oh god, I haven’t even lived that long and Minghao hasn’t even taken me to a theme park yet and I--”, Chan cries, throwing the remote control haphazardly across the room as he tugs his fluffy ears down in panic. He immediately turns to you, burying his head into the crook of your neck as he continues to ramble incoherently against your skin.

On your other side, Jihoon has gone completely silent as one of his hands searched the dark for one of yours; his eyes completely closed in fear of seeing something in the dark that he didn’t want to see. You attempted to wrap an arm around each of them as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, their forms drawing even closer and molding to your body.

“I’m not gonna lie, I’m shocked that you two are so scared of the dark right now.”

The only real light coming in was from whatever little bit of moonlight was visible through the clouds as you stared at the blobs glued on your sides. “Let’s be fair here. We just watched a horror film where things lurked in the dark, can you cut us some slack!?” Jihoon scream-whispers as Chan nods against your shoulder, “Jihoon-hyung’s right, I’m not normally scared of the dark!”

You pat him on the head, running your fingers through his hair as he leans into your touch.

Jihoon unwraps from your hold a few moments later, his eyes adjusting to the dark against his will as he clears his throat.

“We--Maybe we just need a distraction, that’s all… I’m sure the power will come back on soon, or maybe one of the others will come see if we’re ok. We just… We need to find something to do or else our minds will wander.” He suggests. You nod in the dark, raising an eyebrow, “Like, a game or something?” Jihoon hums back an agreement. The three of you sit in silence trying to think of anything to play but nothing comes to mind.

“I can’t think of anything, Jihoon.”

Chan sighs, raising his head from your shoulder. “We could play that one game, y’know, ‘are you nervous?’ I heard Minghao-hyung talking about it! All we do is touch or do things to each other until someone chickens out! It could be anything!” You could hear a smile in his voice that almost made you smile until you heard Jihoon scoff.

“That sounds like fun until something grabs you and it’s not me or her, Chan.” Jihoon deadpanned.

You can only grimace knowing that comment went straight to Chan’s head. “Why on god’s green earth would you say that, hyung!?” An exasperated noise leaves Chan’s mouth as he lets go of you, arms flailing off of the sofa before he gasps and balls up again. “Oh my god, what if something grabbed me just now, would you have done anything to save me?” You had no idea who that question was directed to but you replied with a simple “yes”.

“Are we going to play or what? The more I sit here, the more I start seeing demons in the kitchen over there, to be honest.” Jihoon was getting restless, his fingers gripping your shirt. “We don’t have anything to do anyway, we need to get our minds off this power outage, and the potential demon. I think Chan especially needs it, he seems to be losing it more than I am.”

You can only nod in agreement; after all, what could go wrong. “Should I start then?”

It’s silent for a beat before Chan speaks up. “I’ll do it!”

Even in the dark, you can see Chan sitting up on his knees as you turn to face him slightly. He pushes your shoulder, causing you to crash into Jihoon; your back to Jihoon’s chest as his legs open wider to accommodate your figure. It’s a little uncomfortable on the sofa, but Jihoon doesn’t seem to mind. “Are you nervous?” You can almost hear the smirk in Chan’s voice and although you were confused with the shift in the atmosphere and maybe a tiny bit concerned at where this was leading, you didn’t voice it.

“Not at all, Channie. Should I go next?”

Jihoon and Chan both make noises of agreement as you considered your options. You really didn’t know what to do, so you simply placed your palm down onto Jihoon’s sweatpant clad thigh and squeezed. A garbled noise leaves his lips and you can hear the stutter in his breath. “Jihoonie, are you nervous?” He’s silent for a little too long before he replies with a slightly breathless ‘no' and asks if it was his turn.

You nod, feeling his arms come around your waist as he rests his head in the crook of your neck; lips lightly trailing up behind your left ear as he whispers a simple “nervous yet?” before kissing the shell of your ear.

You had to admit, this was getting a little too hot too fast and you weren’t sure if this was the nature of the game but you weren’t mad about it.

“Um, n-no…”

Chan takes the lead, lips easing into a wide smile. “I’ll go next!” His fingers rests on your bare thighs, slightly prying your legs open as he makes space for himself between them; careful to avoid grabbing onto Jihoon’s legs.

By nature, you clamp your legs shut, trapping Chan’s hands in between as you yelp. “Hold on, wait, wait, wait, what is going on here!?” Your face burns red in the dark, almost glad the power was out so that they couldn’t see even though you already know Jihoon can feel the way your body warms up.

Neither of them knew how to answer, so you sat in silence; only your steady breaths heard as you sat between Jihoon’s legs with Chan’s hands trapped between your still clamped legs. 

Chan clears his throat as he attempts to pull back his hands from between your legs. “I--um, uh, it--it was Jihoon-hyung’s idea! He told me to tell Minghao-hyung I was sleeping over and to not check in! And then he called Mingyu and told them to not check in either!”

“What!? Me!? Don’t you dare pin this on me, brat! We planned this together!”

Your mouth hangs open in shock, eyes threatening to fall out of your skull as they continue to argue. “I didn’t wanna do it! I told hyung it wouldn’t work! I told him we should’ve done it differently!” Chan cries; tossing his head back dramatically.

“Okay, both of you shut up! Jihoon, what is going on!?”

The snake hybrid groans from behind you, arms still locked tight around your waist. “Listen… I--It wasn’t supposed to go like this, okay? We were gonna finish the movie and then ask you if--if you wanted to, y’know, play with both of us. And don’t try to deny it, I know you think Chan is cute. I just wanted to treat you to something nice.”

Chan wiggles his fingers, still trapped in between your thighs. “But then it got all spooky instead and the power went out...” The bunny hybrid mumbles.

You could feel your body heating up at the thought of being between Jihoon and Chan. And in truth, you’d thought about it maybe once, but it was a fleeting thought that’d left your mind just as quickly as it’d entered.

“I--I mean, uh, I mean, I’m okay with this b-but Jihoon, are you really okay with this? You don’t have to--”

“I’m fine with this, too.” Jihoon cut in, his arms squeezing your waist tighter.

A thankful sigh escapes Chan’s lips as he chuckles, “Thank god. I’m not gonna lie, I’m already a little hard....” You can see his face clearly now that your eyes completely adjusted to the dark.

“We literally haven’t even done anything yet.”

“Shut up, hyung!”

“Ngh… C--Chan…”

Your fingers tangle into his hair, careful of his ears as he dips his tongue into your entrance. Jihoon continues to nuzzle at your neck, appreciating your warmth as the younger hybrid works your body up for the both of them.

“She likes it when you use your fingers, y’know. And if you curl them just right, it makes her feel really, really good.” Jihoon guides. His lips ease into a lazy smirk when Chan listens eagerly and brings his fingers to your folds; using your wetness to coat them before he positions his index and middle fingers at your entrance. “Can she take two at once?” Chan asks, voice almost eerily innocent to which Jihoon chuckles under his breath - the action making you shiver at how easily the two of them seemed to get along so well in this situation.

“Of course, she can. She’s always so good about taking my cock. I bet I could slide right into her tight ‘lil pussy right now. Couldn’t I, baby?”

You nod shakily as your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of Chan’s fingers sinking into you slowly. He curls them almost immediately and you mewl and squirm as Jihoon’s grip on you tightens. “Oh, she’s so tight around my fingers already, hyung~” Chan murmurs. He thrusts his fingers into your hot cunt, tongue on your clit when he finds that you seem to like that best.

“Hmm~ Look at your favorite bunny hybrid trying to please you. Fingers knuckle deep while he teases your clit with his tongue. Are you gonna cum for him?” You let out a choked noise at Jihoon’s words and your fingers lock tighter into Chan’s hair when he taps your g-spot, wiggling his fingers inside of you to stretch you out.

“Oh, g-god, yes!”

Chan sucks your clit between his lips and Jihoon has to hold you down tighter as you try to grind against Chan’s face.

Jihoon’s fingers start to roam and squeeze you through your shirt; delicate fingers pinching your nipples as you mewl at the sensations they were making you feel. It was one thing to have Jihoon’s hands all over you but now that Chan was added to the mix, you found yourself getting addicted to the excitement that flooded your senses.

“A-ah, Chan…” The sound of you softly calling his name has him immediately pulling off of you, lips glistening with your wetness when he peers up at you through the dark.

“Hyung, am I allowed to fuck her?” Chan questions quietly. The snake hybrid bites the inside of his cheek.

His possessive nature screamed no, but the other part of him already felt his cock throbbing at the thought of you getting fucked by someone else and getting filled with so much cum from the both of them that it’d be spilling out of you.

Jihoon’s throat feels dry at the thought alone.

“Yes. Fuck her tight ‘lil cunt and fill her up with cum. We’ll breed her so fuckin’ good she’ll be begging us both for more.” Chan giggles innocently; a complete contrast to the way his eyes burn with unadulterated lust when he leans in close to your face.

“Ah~ Minghao-hyung always complains about me rutting against the pillows. Says my libido is too high, but I just can’t help it~ Finally, I get to fuck your tight cunt and I get to cum inside you and fill you up with my cum instead of just using my hand and making a mess on the sheets!” He grins.

Christ, Chan was really oblivious to the way his words affected you.

“Ngh, please, one of you j-just fuck me already~” You whine.

Jihoon’s fingers tug on your shirt, helping you lift it off of you as you’re finally completely bare to them both. His fingers immediately go back to teasing your chest as Chan sits up proper between your legs, pushing his sweats and underwear down. “Hyung, are you sure this is a one time only thing?”

You mewl as Jihoon pinches your nipples hard; nails digging into his clothed thighs in return. “We’ll talk about it later, Chan.” He replies easily.

Chan wraps a firm hand around his cock, moaning as he spreads the precum all down his shaft. “Mmh, I really need to fuck you now.” He mutters.

“D-do it…” Whimpering, you try to spread your legs a little more given the small space. “Mmh, m-maybe taking it to the bedroom, ah, might’ve been a better i-idea.”You mutter.

 Chan pouts, trying to get comfortable as he rubs the head of his cock through your folds, tapping your clit as you cry out in pleasure. “No, what if something grabbed one of us on the way there?” He retorts.

Jihoon laughs under his breath, eyes focused on the way your chest rises and falls in anticipation.

Chan lets out a shaky moan as he sinks his cock into your tight warmth, brows furrowing when he can already tell that he won’t be able to hold himself back. “Ah, you’re so--so tight…” He whines. His cock was a little shorter than Jihoon’s but just as thick to stretch you out to your liking.

He gives you a second to adjust before he skillfully draws his hips back and slams his cock into you. “Fu---fuck, she feels so good, I--I don’t think I can h-hold back…” His hands are on your thighs keeping your spread; biting into his bottom lip. “Ngh, please--please tell me I can fuck y-you harder!”

Jihoon smiles, snaking a hand down to your clit as he starts to roll the nub between his fingers slowly. It makes your pussy clench down harder onto Chan who lets out a choked whine at the feeling of your walls clamping down onto him in a vice grip. “Well, baby? What do you want? Tell your cute ‘lil bunny.”

Chan’s cock curves into your g-spot perfectly and with Jihoon’s fingertips teasing your clit, your head already starts to feel fuzzy. “Mmh… ah, y-yeah, fuck me h-harder, Chan… I wanna feel y-you...”

He whispers quiet thank you’s into the dark; hips slamming into you as Jihoon keeps you locked in his hold. Soft whines and moans spill from Chan’s lips and for a moment, it makes you wonder if he always sounded like this when he was alone and rutting against his pillow.

And almost as if Jihoon can read your mind, his sultry, lust filled eyes watch Chan’s cock fucking into you as he whispers, “How’s she feel, Chan? Better than rubbing your cock against the sheets? Or how about your hand?” The younger hybrid whines, cock throbbing as he already feels himself close to an orgasm.

“She---She, hah, feels so w-warm and wet… S-Shit, I’m going to think a-about this whenever I, ah, need to g-get off…” He licks his dry lips, committing to memory how your pussy felt around him. “It’s n-not gonna be the s-same when I’m alone…”

“Enjoy it while you can, bunny~” Jihoon teases. He takes his fingers off of your clit, nipping at the shell of your ear. “As for you, don’t cum, baby.” You nod shakily, realizing that at least that much was still only reserved for Jihoon.

Instead, Jihoon continues to provokes Chan, soft giggles on his lips when he sees the bunny hybrid struggling to stave off his orgasm. “Ah, hurry and fill her up with your cum~ I bet it’s been so long since you’ve cum, huh? You probably have a lot ready just to breed her tight little cunt too.”

His own words prove to do damage to himself when he feels his cock throbbing in his sweats; he really needed Chan to hurry up. And Chan doesn’t fare any better himself; airy whines and groans filling the air as he feels his abdomen tightening the more Jihoon continues to speak.

“Fu--fuck, I’m--I’m cumming!” Chan cries, hips pistoning into you at a breakneck speed as he fucks his cum deeper and deeper into you. Your body jerks between them both, choked whines of your own mixing with his as you do your best to not cum either which proves hard when Jihoon starts to coax you too.

“Mm, bet it feels nice and warm, huh, baby? Hot cum filling up your ‘lil cunt, waiting for me to cum inside you too so you’re full of both of us.”

“Jihoon…” You whisper, hips moving against Chan’s as he rides out the remnants of his orgasm. You can already feel the cum sliding out of you from around Chan’s cock and your mind turns to putty at the thought of Jihoon still fucking you and making you cum.

“Alright, bunny, time for you to move.” Chan nods slowly in return, thrusting into you one more time as the two of you share a moan. “Okay, okay, move!” Jihoon grumbles.

He realized it’d take days if not weeks to get Chan’s smell off of you. 

Not that it was a problem. He always had ideas in store to make it easier.

Chan slides his cock from inside of you, watching as the cum drips down onto the sofa in large globs. He licks his lips, already itching to get his hands back onto you as he starts to move back.

Jihoon slowly unwraps his arms from around you and moves to switch places with Chan who tugs his own sweatpants back up. “Can I take a shower after this?” He asks quietly.

The snake hybrid exhales harshly through his nose as he replaces Chan between your legs, pushing his sweats and underwear down in one swift motion. “We’ll all go shower after this, now hold her still.” Chan nods, ears flopping atop his head; satisfied for now.

He wraps his arms around your midsection much like Jihoon had done, chin nuzzled into the crook of your neck as he watches Jihoon running his cock through the mix of your wetness and Chan’s cum. “Mmm, hyung’s gonna make sure our cum stays inside your hot cunt~ ‘Cause you need to be bred, y’know? Ah, Jihoon-hyung’s so lucky~ He gets to breed your pretty pussy whenever he wants~”

Jihoon’s jaw clenches tight, a hand placed firm on your thigh as he uses Chan’s cum as lubrication when he eases his cock into you. “Fuck, you’re so wet!” He growls; already starting a quick pace as he chases his high.

He’d waited long enough.

“Ah, you’re so warm too, you feel so good, baby…” Jihoon pauses, licking his lips as his eyes meet yours in the darkness. “And all mine, right?” He thrusts into you particularly hard for emphasis; almost daring you to say anything different.

“G-god, yes, yes! I’m y-yours, ah!” Chan slithers a hand down your torso, fingertips on your sticky and swollen clit as he starts to pinch and roll the nub between his fingertips. You clench around Jihoon; overwhelmed with the urge to cum as they both stimulate your body.

“Why don’t you cum for Jihoon-hyung, hmm? Cum around his cock and milk him for all he’s got~” You mewl at Chan’s words, toes curling as you and Jihoon both feel each other close to the edge. Jihoon’s cock curves into you perfectly and hits all of the right spots inside of you that have you bucking your hips to match his thrusts.

It only takes a few more thrusts before you feel the tension in your body threatening to snap at any second.

“Jihoon, I---”

“I know, baby. S’okay. Cum with me.” His voice is breathy and raw as he, too, feels his cock throbbing inside your tight heat.

Chan and Jihoon work in tandem as your rushed cries of Jihoon’s name start to roll off of your tongue and his thrusts become erratic; groans on his own lips as the two of you cum at the same time. Jihoon doesn’t stop his quick pace either, instead, doubling it as he fucks his and Chan’s cum further into your pussy.

“Shit, that’s right, hyung. Breed her fuckin’ cunt.” Growling, Chan pinches your clit as you let out a high pitched whine.

“J--Jihoon, please, please, pl--please b-breed me! Get m-me full of your c-cum!” You cry; delirium mildly settling in as his hot cum paints your walls and spills out of you from around his cock.

“Ngh, that’s---that’s right, baby. Beg me to fill you up, hah, just like you like it.” Jihoon starts to slow down his thrusts just as Chan starts to ease his fingers off of your clit and you sob quietly at the bliss that continues to wash over your body.

Your chest rises and falls in deep breaths as the remnants of your orgasm start to ebb off and you immediately slump against Chan’s warm chest as the tiredness starts to overtake you. “Fuh--fuck, ‘m so full o-of cum…” You whine.

The two hybrids can only groan in unison.

Jihoon starts to slide his cock out of you; licking his lips when he sees how much cum spills from your spent pussy. “Ah, such a waste.” He comments.

“Wait, wait!” Chan catches your attention and Jihoon’s when he starts to move from behind you. Jihoon shoots the bunny hybrid a confused look when he ushers for Jihoon to move again. “Just trust me, hyung.”

They switch places one last time as you rest against Jihoon’s clothed chest, eyes focusing on Chan who kneels in between your legs.

“Hey, can I kiss her?”

You blush as Jihoon narrows his eyes at the other male. “Only one time. Make it good.”

Chan smirks as he immediately dives headfirst in between your thighs; lapping up the cum that spills out of you and onto the sofa. You latch your fingers into his hair by reflex, sharp cries on your lips from the oversensitivity as Chan collects the mixed cum on his tongue.

Jihoon has to admit, he’s a little impressed.

Once Chan deems it enough, he holds the cum in his mouth as he pulls away from your cunt and your hands fall from his hair.

You watch through hazy eyes as he stops when he’s face to face with you; smiling at you angelically. He leans in, lips pressed firm against your own as you moan into the kiss. And once your lips part, Chan’s quick to push the cum into your mouth; a little dripping down your chin at the messy way his tongue pushes it in. 

He pulls away once all of the salty substance is out of his mouth; a trail of saliva and cum connecting your lips as Jihoon whistles in amazement.

“Wow, can’t say I saw that one coming.”

Your cheeks flush and Jihoon enjoys the warmth that radiates from you in between their bodies. 

Chan smiles at you innocently again; reverting back to his sweet bunny-like nature.

“Can we find some candles and go shower now, please?”

[miraculousluvbug]

WINGLESS | Ch. 5

***New to Wingless? Start at Chapter 1!

CH. SUMMARY: Plagg panics because Lila's the devil incarnate and Lila learns that Gabriel Agreste is far stupider than he seems.

Adrien fondly flicked through the pages of The Pun-thagorean Theorem (Making Math Funny!) textbook. Plumes of dust wafted up his nostrils, causing his eyes to squint and his mouth to contort into the longest face known to man to avoid a hacking fit, but he smiled afterward nonetheless. The book was withered beyond measure, sure, but within its decaying jacket, it held the fleeting whispers of a previous life. A life before his mother went missing. When she enjoyed teaching him math with puns and pieces of candy while his father clung to the confines of closed doors. When her jokes graced the halls and her smiles left behind a fog of golden joy in her wake.

Adrien’s heart thudded with longing.

But he was determined to push back the feelings he had kept buried deep, deep, deep within his heart. So deep that he often forgot they were even there until they reared their ugly heads like a Hydra from the deepest recesses of the sea. Every time he thought he dealt with it, thought he had cut off its head and could breathe for just a second, two heads sprouted in its stead, determined to grip him by the ankles with their jagged teeth and force him to drown in his debilitating lack of self-worth.

He shook his head violently, as if that could shed him of his intrusive thoughts.

Hopefully, this book would help Lila. And then she’d leave. And then he could skip the anime and just take a fat nap. Keeping the Hydra at bay was exhausting.

Correcting his posture, Adrien approached his classmate, noticing straight away she had moved to his desk chair. Odd. But he was willing to roll with it.

Ha. Get it? Desk chair. Roll with it.

He pursed his lips, trying to hold back his laughter at himself.

Kagami had called him a clown, but Ladybug, as it turned out, appreciated his sense of humor. And if Lady-friggin’-bug--Commander of Wit and Creative Mastermind--thought he was funny, he must have been a damn comedic prodigy.

Plagg recognized that love-struck look on Adrien’s face and had to physically restrain himself from making barf noises.

“Are you ready to start, Lila?” Adrien said. Oblivious to Adrien’s whereabouts, Lila started and spun to greet him. (Was he always that quiet on his feet?)

“Adrien! You found the book.”

“Yep! Why don’t you take a look at it before we start?” Adrien smiled as he passed the book to her.

Lila returned the smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Adrien idly wondered if she had ever meant a smile in her life. She pinched the book between her thumb and forefinger as if it were a moldy sock. “Wow, Adrien, this book is so . . .”

A silence lingered as Lila racked her vocabulary for a word less insulting than crusty.

“Old?” Adrien offered, tilting his head.

Lila tittered unenthusiastically. “Yes, old.” She draped the book onto Adrien’s desk and poked at it. “How long have you, um, had it?”

“It’s been in the family a while.” Adrien hesitated. He didn’t really want to mention his mother to Lila. Lila was poisonous. She spun every piece of information she caught into a sticky web of lies like it was second nature. He didn’t know if he could stomach hearing lies about his mother.

So he bit down on the story of his mom before it could tumble from his lips. Even though he so badly wanted to tell anyone who would listen. His father never afforded him the opportunity to speak about her. His friends at school avoided the topic like the plague.

Come to think of it, Marinette was the only one of his friends who tried to help him see her movie that fateful day the press tried to pass her as his girlfriend. (Which he wouldn’t have minded, honestly, but she always seemed hellbent on them being just friends, so he accepted it.)

Ladybug, the other important person in his life, saw his mother on his desktop during that one akuma attack and commented on her smile. Those two girls (er--women? Which term was more respectful?) were the only people he truly felt safe around. Safe enough to turn his back on the Hydra he always kept a watchful, tired eye on and just enjoy the breeze of the ocean as it caressed his cheeks and messed up his perfect hair.

No, the subject of his mother wouldn’t scare them away. They could handle it.

But Lila was no Ladybug, and she definitely was no Marinette.

Behind them, Plagg was practically pulling his antennae out. It had been at least eight, maybe ten minutes since the akuma alert and his kid was none the wiser. And it really didn’t help that he just saw Ladybug and Rena Rouge pass by Adrien’s gigantic glass wall in a blur of red and orange.

But it was hopeless! He couldn’t get the message to Adrien without being seen!

Or . . .

Or could he?

“‘What’s Pythagoras’ favorite instrument?’” Lila read aloud. Her eyes darted over to the blonde leaning against the desk beside her. He bit his lip and his eyes were doing something weird. She had never seen that emotion on him.

“Go on,” Adrien pushed, his eyes practically sparkling. Huh. Was that emotion . . . eagerness?

She cleared her throat and turned the book upside down to read the answer awaiting her at the bottom of the page.

“‘A triangle.’”

Adrien giggled. What he wanted to do was slap his knee and let the whole world know he found it funny with a booming laughter that rivaled Tom Dupain-Cheng’s, but he knew that was un-gentlemanly.

Lila quirked an eyebrow.

Adrien sobered immediately. “You know,” he tried. “Since a triangle is an instrument and the theorem is about right triangles.”

Lila’s stare was unrelenting.

Adrien coughed. “So the triangle is his . . . favorite instrument.”

Lila stared for a bit longer than necessary before letting out a glaringly obvious fake laugh. Adrien was more offended that she thought that laugh was believable than that she didn’t find the pun funny at all. “Ha. That’s, like, so funny, Adrien. I can tell already that this book is going to be a big help.”

Adrien’s shoulders drooped a little. He hadn’t expected her to fall to the ground in ceaseless mirth, but he hadn’t thought her to be such a brick wall either. “Right. Well, why don’t we start with number one? Do you have your notebook or do you need a spare piece of pap--?”

The sound of the television coming to life cut Adrien’s question short. Lila’s eyes bulged out of her head and the sight would have been comical had it not also meant that Plagg was being a nuisance. Again.

But honestly, when was he not?

Lila burst from her seat and sprinted to the television. “Were you standing on the remote or something?” Lila queried, her voice high-pitched and grating to Adrien’s ears.

Adrien scratched the back of his neck. Think, think, think . . .

“Um, my room is haunted?”

Lila gawked at him wordlessly, gripping the back of his sofa. “You posted something about that on Instagram, but I thought you were, I don’t know? Making it up?”

Because you would be an expert on that, right, Lila?

Adrien plucked the remote from the coffee table and pointed it at the television, his thumb barely brushing the power button when the words from the newscaster reached his ears and sent chills down his spine.

“New akuma . . .”

“Ladybug and Rena Rouge on the scene . . .”

“Chat Noir yet to be spotted . . .”

Adrien’s heart skipped a beat. Furrowing his brow, he ran to his phone and ogled its empty notification list. Why hadn’t he received an akuma alert? Was the Ladyblog acting buggy?

Adrien had to come up with an alibi and fast. Lie like the wind, Bullseye.

He scooped up his cherished pun textbook and shepherded Lila to his bedroom door despite her protests. “I’m so sorry, Lila! I, uh, just remembered I have to practice piano for an extra hour today.” The television droned on about the deadly, unstoppable, mind-controlling, threateningly large, new akuma behind him. The hair on Adrien’s neck stood up with every added adjective.

“You’re not seriously sending me out into the city where the akuma is?” Lila exclaimed.

Oh. The thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“Um, sorry, Lila, but I’m sure you’ll be fine! You’re Ladybug’s best friend, right? She’d never let anything happen to you.” Adrien smirked inwardly at that. Lila was failing miserably at hiding her disgust for his spotted partner when he shut the door--politely--in her face.

Quickly, he propped up his phone on the piano and navigated to his voice memo app.

“I deserve extra cheese,” Plagg drawled, hovering to the side of Adrien.

“For nearly exposing yourself to Lila?” Adrien remarked bitterly.

Plagg narrowed his eyes. “No, for figuring out how to get your attention when Lila was clearly undermining you!”

Adrien stopped dead in his tracks. His finger hovered above his latest piano recording while his mind raced. “What do you mean, Plagg? I didn’t get an akuma alert. That’s not her fault.”

Plagg scoffed. “Uh, you did get an akuma alert. That--that menace got rid of it!” Plagg folded his arms across his chest, clearly much angrier than he would ever admit. “She got rid of the notification so you wouldn’t see. Even when she doesn’t know she’s doing it, she’s sabotaging Ladybug! You can’t let her in your room anymore, Adrien.”

Adrien stiffened. So Lila was far worse than he gave her credit for. He wouldn’t underestimate her again. Harmless snooping, he could live with. Interfering with him protecting his lady? Unforgivable. She did that when he was Chat Noir and he thought he had learned his lesson.

Apparently not.

“We’ll talk about this more later, Plagg,” Adrien finally decided. A moment later, the soft melody of a piano piece danced around the room. His eyes wandered to the whiteboard on his wall that had twelve tally marks souring its otherwise pristine surface. Plagg followed his gaze and looked back at his kid with a frown and drooping brows, tail and antennae betraying his melancholy.

Adrien pointedly ignored Plagg’s Pity™ look. “Ladybug’s already cleansed an akuma twelve times without needing my help. Let’s not let there be a thirteenth. Claws out!”

Meanwhile, from the other side of Adrien’s door, Lila simmered, jaw clenched, mouth dry. She didn’t have an inkling why Adrien had concocted such a ridiculous excuse, but she was ninety percent sure it had something to do with Ladybug.

It always came back to that impudent roach.

Lila dragged her feet all the way to the main staircase with every intention to vacate the Agreste premises, but a quick sweep of the mainroom revealed the bodyguard was nowhere to be seen. And interestingly enough, neither was that dreadfully stoic assistant Adrien was so fond of. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen her when she first entered.

Empty. The room was deliciously empty.

And Lila had never seen the inside of Gabriel’s office.

Smirking, she decided she would have to correct that.

Just in case she got caught, Lila inconspicuously flitted around the room in an attempt to appear like she wasn’t on a mission. She fawned over trinkets and leisurely “admired” the boring paintings accosting the walls before her twitching fingers rested on the door handle.

She waited with an ear pressed against the wood. Silence had never tasted sweeter.

The room was . . . well, it left something to be desired.

Wasn’t Gabriel supposed to be a fashion icon?

His interior design made her want to gouge out her eyes with a plastic spork.

Lila gingerly let the door fall into place behind her, the hinges creaking only slightly (a billionaire or whatever he was could afford to professionally oil his door, she assumed) before her feet carried her to a mustard yellow tapestry. The woman adorning it she recognized was Adrien’s mother. The photos of Adrien to her right were all edited from photoshoots. Perfect. Unblemished.

Lila supposed she could overlook Adrien’s pitiful sense of humor. Adrien was still great eye candy, and his reputation made him an even tastier prize.

The scent of cologne and disinfectant mingled, battling each other for dominance and the result was only a bit nauseating. Orange light seeped in from the windows, the tendrils of luminance touching everything in the room but the wall with the tapestry. It was golden hour apparently.

Unable to help herself, Lila brushed her fingers along the edges of Gabriel’s touchscreen, searching, searching. Ah. There. A ridge. A power button, perhaps? With the tip of her fingernail, she pressed it and . . .

Of course, the thing would be password protected.

Maybe Adrien’s birthday?

Wait. Did she even know Adrien’s birthday?

Lila shrugged and turned on her heel. She was curious, but odds were she would never be able to guess Monsieur Agreste’s password. Unless . . .

Slowly pivoting to face the screen again, she tried typing something crazy and, albeit, a little stupid.

There was just no way. It was a waste of time to even try.

She tapped a green enter button.

The waiting screen consisted of the outline of a butterfly slowly being filled in and then repeating. Interesting. She wouldn’t have pegged Gabriel to be a butterfly guy. But if she thought about it really, reeeeally hard, she could just barely recall a few designs Adrien had modeled that sported a butterfly-like logo.

But whatever. This butterfly waiting screen meant nothing. There was still no way.

There was absolutely no way the password to the great fashion mogul Gabriel Agreste’s personal computer was “password.”

Was there?

She idly tapped her nails on the screen, the clack-clack-clack echoing around her in the frustratingly barren room. The anticipation ate away at her until . . .

Bingo. The screen unlocked, and the light shining on Lila transitioned from the black of the waiting screen to the blue of a schematic.

Lila snorted. “Seriously? I’m no Max but even I know that’s the most brainless password known to man.”

Closer inspection led to a fascinating revelation. The schematic wasn’t actually for a building or even a design. There were photos of her classmates and their . . .

Their hero personas? Interesting. Could he have been planning a Superhero line? How did he even find out their identities?

Wow, there was Nino as Carapace and that one girl Kagami as Ryuko. Max as some horse-looking hero she honestly had never seen in her life. Kim as a monkey. Unsurprising. Some guy with blue highlights who she’d only seen around Marinette. And Alya . . . as Rena Rouge.

Lila clenched her fists. Her nails left indentations in her palms.

She didn’t have time to stew over this infuriating morsel of information, however, before the floor beneath her began to tremble. Wasting no time, she sprinted to the middle of the room and was surprised to find the floor now still. Had she imagined the earth quaking?

What sounded like mechanical whirring had her spinning on her heel to face the painting. Her jaw dropped to the floor at the sight of a hole in the previously-unmarred tile. From the dark pit rose one bonafide, Barney-colored supervillain, his back facing her.

“Nooroo, dark wings fall.”

Instantly, a waterfall of purple and white glitter illuminated the room. The light was so intense, Lila had to lift her arms and shield her retinas. Her heart thudded wildly against her ribcage.

Any sane person would have run away at the sight of a supervillain in their classmate’s mansion.

But not Lila.

Lila quite liked Hawk Moth. She more than shared his distaste for the superhero duo and was overjoyed whenever he graced her with the opportunity to fight them as an akuma.

She was even more overjoyed to find out her boss and Hawk Moth were not just cut from the same cloth . . .

They were the same cloth.

The man otherwise known as Gabriel Agreste stood before her, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

His shoulders were hunched up to his ears as he grumbled, “Blasted children. I’ll get your Miraculous one of these days--”

“Um, Master?” a tiny voice interrupted.

Lila had never seen such a thing. Was that a bug? A fairy?

“What is it, Nooroo?”

Upon Nooroo’s silence, Gabriel turned around and was incapable of hiding the shock on his face when he found Lila Rossi trespassing in his office.

“How much did you see?” he demanded, scowling.

Lila tittered behind her hand. “Even if I hadn’t seen everything, Hawk Moth, I’d still be asking you what on Earth that thing is.” She jabbed a manicured finger at Nooroo.

Upon seeing his computer on and unlocked, Gabriel lifted his chin and sneered at the fifteen year old girl who had evidently outsmarted him.

Understanding, Lila shook her head. “You really are a boomer,” she mused. “‘Password’ is the least intelligent password you could have picked.”

“I thought it was clever, Master,” Nooroo meekly added.

Desperate to get control of the situation, Gabriel folded his hands behind his back and stood until he was at his full height. “So now you know.” He dared not move from higher ground. “I can’t imagine you thought it’d be smart to confront an adult man who’s shown he has nothing to lose.”

Lila raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have, like, a son?”

Gabriel’s gaze was unrelenting.

Lila almost pitied the oblivious blonde boy. “Whatever. I just wanted to snoop around your office. I couldn’t have possibly dreamed a juicier secret. Paris’s beloved and esteemed fashion designer doubling as its masked terrorist?”

Gabriel bristled.

Feigning nonchalance, Lila perched upon one of Gabriel’s long purple benches and crossed one leg over the other before leaning an elbow on her knee and resting her cheek in her palm. Mischief twinkled in her eyes. “Scandalous.”

“I could make your life a living hell, young lady,” Gabriel began, but Lila held up a hand, halting him in his tracks.

“No need to get defensive, Monsieur. You have nothing to fear from me.” Lila stood then and crossed the room to stand on equal footing with Gabriel. While the top of her head was far beneath the man she addressed, her confidence made her a formidable contender. She leaned forward and peered up at him. “In fact, I want to help.”

Gabriel’s fingers twitched. He knew she liked getting akumatized, but this was unexpected. His initial reaction was to shut it down. This should have never happened. He had to ensure her silence but keep her far from involved.

His curiosity, however, got the better of him. He was a businessman at heart, after all.

“Help how?” he pressed.

Lila smiled crookedly.

Hook.

“You’ve akumatized me before and we’ve caused great chaos together.” Lila fiddled with one of her foxtails as she circled Gabriel. “Can you imagine if we actually strategized an akuma?”

“Are you implying my previous akuma were unplanned?”

Line.

“Not at all!” Lila mended, already sensing that Gabriel’s pride was a sore spot. “But you catch your victims when they’re unhinged, laden with their own emotions. How many times has an akuma put their own needs before yours?”

Lila turned her back on Gabriel then and moseyed toward the benches once more. She let her hand trail along the fabric of the cushions, waiting for him to take the bait . . .

“I’m listening.”

Sinker.

“What if your akuma’s goals were aligned with yours? Everything would be calculated. Predisposed. And--” Lila couldn’t prevent the smile from bleeding into her voice “--I’ve never had a sentimonster assist me before.” Lila stopped moving but remained facing the window. The sun was nearly set now.

Heels clacked against the tile. Approaching. Lila steeled herself.

“I don’t suppose you’ll join my assistant and I out in the gardens, Mademoiselle Rossi?”

Lila grinned from ear to ear. Oh, she could just imagine the taste of Ladybug’s fear when she loomed over her, fingers pinching her earrings and just ripping them from her lobes. Would the joy blooming in her heart be overwhelming, like a banana overpowering the flavors in a smoothie? Or would it slide down her throat like her mother’s hot chocolate? Rich, creamy, satisfying, and scalding all at the same time . . . but faintly nipping at her vocal cords from the traces of cinnamon?

Was it unbecoming to hope Ladybug’s ears would bleed?

“I would love to.”

Unbecoming or not, it was her greatest desire, from both the deepest and shallowest crevices of her soul.

-----

I just released Chapter 7 over on AO3, so if you're itching for more, go check it out here and leave me some love in the comments. Comments are jet fuel for my creativity 🥰 Follow me for updates and check out my Instagram where I post art!

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[ashintheairlikesnow]

Lost Their Voice From Screaming: Chris

For the @badthingshappenbingo​ prompt “Lost Their Voice From Screaming” (requested for Chris by Anon) - here you go! Timeline is during Chris time training at the WRU Facility. 

CW: Dehumanization, degrading language/victim blaming, noncon touch, referenced noncon, forced drugging, ableism (may be tough for those who underwent ABA therapy), internalized ableism, institutionalized pet whump, captivity, restrainted, shock collar, whump of a minor (character is 17)

---

Handler Petrus is already in the training room when the boy is escorted there, going over some paperwork at a desk in the corner. He glances up at the trainee, gives him a perfectly normal smile, and beckons him inside with a quick, absent-minded gesture. “Come on, ‘499.”

His friendliness is a trap, and the boy knows it, but there is no way to avoid any traps here. The boy must step into them, again and again, until he learns to love the way it feels as they close around him.

Even if he had a way to escape, he’d never think of it fast enough. His thoughts drift slowly, drugged into a foggy numbness. He feels fear, but only around the edges. In the center of his mind, it’s all just… smoke. 

He glances over his shoulder at the two handlers who escorted him, who give him blank, uncaring faces in return. Once he’s fully inside, they close the door, and the boy swallows at the sickening familiarity of the ssshhhh-click of the lock. 

Alone, now, with his primary handler. Alone, and the only way out of the room is Handler Petrus’s keycard, the ID he wears on a bit of blue stretchy nylon clipped to his belt, right next to his black baton.

“Good morning, ‘499,” Handler Petrus speaks warmly, affectionately.

The boy takes a breath, keeping his expression carefully blank, hands hanging at his sides. He’s wearing the weights again, heavy hexagonal pendants that swing from short chains off the cuffs they put around his wrists. When he moves, they clink together, and he has to work harder. He can’t hide it, if he tries to tap on himself or the walls. 

He managed to get one around to where he could hold it pressed into his palm, fingers curled, and he can settle himself just a little by letting his fingertips just brush along its textured edges. It’s something, to settle the nerves that crackle inside him no matter how much they drug him, how chalky they make his meals taste. The fog can’t quite steal all of him away, but he is not allowed to move.

He must be still.

He must-

Handler Petrus clears his throat and the boy jumps, his heart racing in a sudden panic as he realizes he’s been silent too long. It’s hard to understand, when he has to be quiet and when they want him to speak. He can’t read their faces very well, only the punishments that follow his failures. “Trainee-”

“I-I’m sorry, I’m, I’m sorry, H-Handler Petrus, I, I, I was only, I was-”

“223499.” Petrus’s voice goes cold, and so do his eyes, and the boy’s weights click together as his hands jerk in an aborted attempt to tap on himself to calm down. There is no calming. He has to learn how to calm without touch, without taps, without the things he needs but they tell him he isn’t allowed. “I will give you one more chance. Good morning.”

Silence is better than stammering.

The boy’s breath comes shaky and he hears a faint whine at the edge of his own exhale that makes his cheeks flush in embarrassment. He whines more now, whimpers, makes animal noises because it’s safer than using words. They like those sounds. They hate his words because he uses his words all wrong.

He speaks with careful, plodding slowness. “Good morning… Handler Petrus.”

“Better. Do you know why you’re here, when this was meant to be a rest day?” Handler Petrus sits back in his chair, tapping his pen on his desk idly. The boy’s eyes drift there with a twist of ravenous envy. 

Why does his handler get to tap when he doesn’t? How is Handler Petrus chewing the ends off all his pens different than the boy tapping on the walls? How in his foot tapping, like it is right now, his work boot hitting the cold tile floor that freezes the boy’s bare feet, any different than the boy bouncing on his feet?

He doesn’t understand how one kind is okay and another isn’t. He doesn’t know why he has to be a statue now. He doesn’t know, and no one can explain it, and no one ever even tries.

“Yes… yes, Handler Petrus.” He wants to rock. He wants to rock, and tap, and move his hands. The heavy weights make his shoulders ache just carrying his hands around all day. But they… they help, he tells himself. They keep his hands still.

He has to be still.

Stillness is better than what I do.

“Tell me.” Petrus’s pen stops tapping, the boy’s eyes frozen on it. The end is all chewed to bits. The boys swallows as he feels a rush of saliva in his own mouth. Deep inside, he remembers he used to chew on the ties to his hoods on coats and sweatshirts-

A sharp stab of pain cuts the memory off before it gets any further, and he closes his eyes against it, the overwhelming pain and the weight of the fluorescent lights on his skin. He feels the buzz, tangible and obvious, a pressure he can’t run from. 

“Tell y-you…” He’s trying to buy time, to get his mind back, but his foggy drugged-up brain struggles to lurch in this direction at all. The weights click, clack, together, and he remembers. “Because… b-because H-Handler… Handler Everly… caught me. In my room.”

Petrus starts tapping his pen again. The sound is deafening in the silent room. “Caught you doing what?”

“T-... tapping. With my… my fingers. On… the wall.” It’s so hard to speak like this, and he doesn’t know how other people can do it. He has to let words drop like stones and somehow hold them one at a time when they want to fall out all at once. Somehow, he manages. It’ll only get worse if he can’t use his words right.

“Good. The first step to fixing the problem,” Handler Petrus says easily, amiably, “is acknowledging it exists. I thought we broke you of that nonsense, ‘499.”

“I’m… sorry, sir.” 

Petrus finally stands, dropping the pen on top of a stack of papers. The boy’s eyes drift over there, and there’s a word he almost remembers written across the top in thick black block letters, it starts with D, he remembers the letter D-

More pain. He winces, this time, whines at the stab of it right behind his eyes. He has to close them tightly against the tears that instinctively well. By the time he opens them again, Handler Petrus had closed the gap between them. When the handler’s rough thumb rubs across his lower lip, the boy goes perfectly still.

Statue boy - don’t blink don’t move don’t tap don’t breathe.

He waits.

Handler Petrus drops his hand, with a slight smile on his face. “You really do try to be good for me, don’t you, trainee?”

“Yes… yes, sir.” He feels sick with the handler so close to him, knowing what usually comes with the proximity. His clothes, the thin white t-shirt that’s too big and hangs on him like it belongs to someone else, the shirt black shorts… they feel suddenly too constricting. He wants them off, but not because he wants this. He just wants something more. He wants to be coated in clothing, covered in layers of it, until no one can touch him anymore.

“But you failed today. You waited until you were alone and you broke rules. Do you know what happens when you break the rules, trainee?”

He had a name once.

Didn’t he?

Did he ever have a name?

The boy’s breath hiccups with a sob he wants so badly to let out, and he nods shakily, lowering his eyes down to the floor, to those heavy black boots all the handlers wear. Steel-toed, snapping ribs with a kick at just the right angle. He’s seen it happen to a trainee who threw a punch. He’s seen worse, too.

Everyone sees worse and worse and worse and when they think it’s as bad as it gets, the handlers find something new, something that cuts deeper than they knew a cut could go and still be survived.

“That’s right. Discipline.” Petrus’s smile is thick in his voice. “Discipline in a humane and necessary method of ensuring continued good behavior in a pet, right, trainee?”

The boy only nods again, his heart rabbit-fast inside his chest. He doesn’t look up when Petrus’s hand brushes against his face again, his knuckles just touching the boy’s cheekbone, trailing down to his jaw. 

He feels the collar around his neck shift, the slightest warning before the shock follows a half-second later on its heels, and his head jerks up, tears bubbling too quickly for him to blink them back. “H-Handler-!”

The pain rips through him, races along nerve endings from toes to top of his head, catches air in his lungs and refuses to allow them to exhale it.

“Eyes on mine,” Handler Petrus reminds him softly, taking his thumb off the button to the remote that controls the shock collar of any trainee within his radius. The pain fades, the boy’s muscles trembling as he forces them to lock, meeting the handler’s eyes with difficulty. He hates looking them in the eyes. The handlers all look cold to him, he hates it, he hates it.

“Y-Yes, sir, yes, so… so sorry, I’m, I’m, I’m-I’m-”

“Sssshhhh. Silence-”

“-is better than, than stammering, sir,” The boy finishes quickly, shaking, and he is rewarded with a smile from Handler Petrus, and finally… finally… he can breathe out.

“Discipline is essential,” Petrus reminds him, voice low. “Get on the table.”

Every training room has one. A padded table - like an exam table in a doctor’s office, the boy thinks, before the pain wipes that memory away, too - with restraints that line the sides, the top and bottom. He knows this table too well, has spent whole days strapped down here. The boy shudders in disgust and his body’s memory of worse things, darker things, pulled from him against his will.

But, no, it’s not. 

He signed up for this. They tell him all the time. He wants this, to be strapped down, to be visited when he is trying to sleep, to have handlers tell him things and touch him and worse. They promise him he asked for it, specifically to be this. They tell him he was made for this, or he wouldn’t have signed the contract.

It’s not against his will.

Somehow, all this horror and agony and disgust and the way he never, ever feels clean… somehow, this is what he wants.

They tell him, anyway. They tell him he wants this.

“S-sir? What am, am I… learning today?” He is already moving, following the command obediently. The padding for the table is slightly warm when he climbs up onto it, looking over to Petrus for guidance on how he is meant to position himself. 

“Not to think you have an ounce of fucking privacy, and not to tap on the fucking walls ever again. Now, we’ve been kind.” Handler Petrus moves to him, gently pressing a palm into the center of his chest, until the boy shifts onto his back, swallowing against the nausea that threatens to bring up the chocolate shake he was given for breakfast. 

How can he have wanted to be this, when it always makes him feel so sick, and scared? How can this be what he signed up for, when he is always holding back a scream behind gritted teeth while it happens?

Handler Petrus hums as he takes the weighted cuffs off the boy’s wrists, letting them drop to the floor with a careless clatter. He takes a thin wrist in his hand, rubbing his thumb along the veins on the inside of the boy’s wrist, and looks up at him.

The boy stares right back, right into his eyes. They look like empty cold marbles in the handler’s face, skin like putty twisted into a smirk. 

He hates looking them in the eyes.

Each wrist is shifted fully above his head, buckled into the straps there to hold them fast. Shoulders that have carried pounds of weight at his wrists for days now ache as they are forced into a whole new position, and the boy’s top teeth come down on his lower lip until he feels pain that overwhelms the pain in his arms, if only for a second.

Then the handler moves to his ankles, securing them to the sides of the table. This isn’t… this isn’t a position the boy knows. It’s not a number, but it’s also not a position good for… for…

“S-sir?” His voice trembles.

“Sssshhhh. Just be still.” Handler Petrus pats his stomach, and the boy realizes he’s still clothed. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved - his training usually involves no clothing at all - or even more terrified of the horrible unknown of what could be done that keeps his clothing on. “You broke the rules. Now you receive your discipline.”

He steps away, and the boy’s head twists, trying desperately to follow his movements across the room, but he can’t quite see him. He hears the sound of a drawer being pulled open, then pushed shut again. A click - something opening, maybe? The boy flinches with every noise, because he doesn’t know what they are, and not knowing is worse than whatever it could possibly be.

Or so he thinks.

Until Handler Petrus comes back into his vision with a small square alcohol wipe and a syringe filled with a pale yellow liquid.

The trainee has never received this one before, but he knows what it is. They all know, soon enough. There’s a whimpering sound he only belatedly realizes is his own voice, and yanks hard against the restraints.

Of course they don’t give. He’s exhausted from never sleeping, weak from wearing weights on his wrists, weak from the lack of real food, weak from the drugs. They cheat, he thinks with a sudden wild defiance, as Handler Petrus grips his left arm at the elbow and wipes quickly along the crease. They cheat to break the trainees down, because maybe they couldn’t win without it.

Win what? He signed up to be this, whatever they want him to be. He’s a natural slut, a whore, they told him so, they told him over and over and over again, natural-born slut, made for it, you like this, you want this, you want it you want it you want it-

He cries out as the needle breaks the skin, slides in, finds his vein. It’s an awful feeling, like the drip at the beginning that he can barely recall beyond the eternal press of the needle, the sight of the IV bag slowly emptying and being refilled where the boy hung helpless against the wall. 

The handler’s thumb presses lightly into the boy’s arm as he depresses the plunger on the syringe. “After this, I think you won’t break the rules again, even alone.” Handler Petrus smiles at him, but his eyes are still so, so cold. 

Just like the liquid that moves into his bloodstream. He gasps at the ice of it, and he can’t begin to thrash, only be held still, forced to take it, just like he is forced to take everything here. Because he wants to be forced.

They tell him he wants to be forced.

He can’t remember, but… but he must have, because how else did he get here?

All pets are of legal and consenting age and sign contracts of their own free will fully informed as to the consequences of their decisions-

The cold dissipates, mixes in with his blood, his heart pumping the new drug through his body all too quickly thanks to his rapid, panicked heartbeat. 

“Please, please, I’m, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry-sorry, I’m… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean, didn’t, I just, my body, my body has to, to to to-to-to move, Handler, s-sorry-”

“Your body does what we tell it to do,” Handler Petrus says, pulling the syringe back empty, giving the boy one more smile. “And nothing more. You will understand that now.”

He walks away, leaving the boy to breathe, in the awful anticipation of what he has never experienced before but knows is coming.

He listens to Petrus drop the used syringe in the biohazard disposal box along the wall. He has the symbol memorized, the bright orange lid with black writing he can’t read. He could turn and look and see that if he wanted. But the boy only stares at the ceiling, gasping in breaths.

It starts as heat.

His veins start to burn, like fire pulses through him and not blood. It’s not the warming heat of the purple drug, the one that leaves him panting and desperate, the one that makes them all laugh at him even as they offer to give you what you need. This heat is sharper, stronger. It moves straight from a sense of warming to pain, and the boy catches his breath.

The pain begins in his arm, where the needle went in, but it spreads with each beat of his traitor heart until every inch of him is burning.

At first he whines, and whimpers. He pleads. Apologies tumble from his mouth, catch on his tongue, as Handler Petrus walks back over to his desk and turns his chair around so he can watch. The boy manages to turn to look at him just long enough to realize he is drinking out of a travel mug with a cat on one side. The sharp pain that comes with trying to read is less than the agony in his bones and so he clearly sees the words NO TALK ME ANGY WITHOUT COFFEE written on the side, and lets out a gasping, breathless sound that might be hysterical laughter as he realizes that he’s reading it.

The laughter breaks into sobs as the pain doesn’t stop building. His back arches off the table, wrists and ankles yanking at the straps that restrain them, twisting until they are rubbed raw, until they bleed, until he cannot imagine hurting any worse than he hurts now and still the pain keeps building. 

He can’t hurt worse than this and then somehow he does.

At some point, the sobbing tears turn into screams.

Handler Petrus keeps watching, sipping his coffee from his mug, as the boy screams in helpless perfect agony. 

The sound of his pain bounces off the ceiling and the walls, contained within the heavily soundproofed room. Only Handler Petrus - and whoever might be checking the security cameras right now - gets to enjoy this show. 

The boy is aware of nothing, now - his vision has narrowed to a horrible pinpoint. Everything is white around the edges, the pure cold clear white of the tiny room he sleeps in. The only thing he feels is pain.

Pain, and pain, and pain - because he couldn’t be still, couldn’t be a statue, couldn’t be good when no one was watching just as much as he is when their hands are on him. He wishes their hands were on him now, anything would be better than this, anything-

He is begging, he thinks, but the begging isn’t words, just shrieking screams. 

At some point the screaming stops.

Oh, his throat is still tensed with it, mouth open in a perfect rictus O, his eyes wide and bulging and running endless tears that collect and pool in the shells of his ears before they drip to the waterproof padding on the table beneath him. His breath still exhales with a force that keeps all the muscles of his body tense and shaking.

But the screaming stops, because at some point he has no voice left to scream with.

When that happens, the Handler has finished his coffee and started back on his paperwork. He glances up, briefly, and gives the boy a pleased smile. Then he looks back at his desk.

How long it lasts, the boy will never know.

The pain fades in increments, so carefully and slowly he doesn’t realize it a first. Eventually, though… eventually he understands that it’s less than it was, and then less again. He goes limp against the table, staring up at the fluorescent lights of the ceiling again. He can feel the trickle of blood along his wrists, his ankles. He can feel the sharp glass-shard pain of his throat when he swallows, hear the whistling exhale of his breath.

Eventually, he can even feel the clothes laid over his skin again.

Handler Petrus’s hand in his hair is gentle and soothing, and the boy pushes into it desperately, trying to please him so it won’t happen again. So he won’t be hurt again. 

Handler Petrus chuckles, his voice low and deep, and traces his fingers over the boy’s face, down his neck, rubs a circle just behind one ear. The boy whimpers, but no sound comes out. 

“Will you break the rules in your room again?” Handler Petrus asks.

The boy tries to say no, sir, but no sound escapes from him except a hoarse whistle. His eyes widen in panic as he tries, again and again, and he can’t make a sound. 

“Perfect,” Handler Petrus murmurs, and undoes the straps at his wrists, moves down to free his ankles. He takes the boy’s hands and helps him up to sitting, smiling at his pale face, the pinch of pain when he swallows. “Silence is better than stammering, 223499. And you can’t stammer if you can’t speak, can you?”

The boy’s eyes are wide and, in the nearly colorless room, terribly green. He nods, slowly. His mouth automatically forms the words, yes, handler, although he can’t say them.

“Good. And you won’t break the rules now, will you?”

A shake of the boy’s strawberry-blond hair, soaked with sweat now, sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. No, sir.

“Good. Let’s get you back to your room. No more training today.”

The boy can barely stand as he is helped off the table, leaning heavily against his handler. Petrus’s hand around his back supports him, keeps him moving, and the boy is grateful for the gentleness.

The handler could have chosen to have him train, today. Instead he is taken back through the maze of hallways to the room he stays in, shaky and weak, and deposited on the cold floor. Shivering, the boy drops to his knees.

When the handler’s fingertips press against the underside of his chin, he raises red-rimmed eyes. He hates looking them in the eyes so, so much.

But he’ll do anything not to feel the pain again.

“We see everything you do,” Handler Petrus says, almost gently. “Everything. Do you understand me, trainee?”

The boy swallows, licks at dry lips, and nods. 

“If I catch you tapping again, I’ll give you the full dose next time.” 

That wasn’t the full dose? It can get worse than that?

The boy whimpers, hoarse and barely-there, and then winces at the pain that comes from making any sound at all. He shakes his head, I’ll be good, I’ll be good for you, I’ll be so good, mouthing the words he can no longer speak.

“Damn straight,” The handler replies. He presses his thumb against the boy’s lower lip, and he opens his mouth obediently to let the handler push it inside, press down against his tongue. His thumb tastes like salt and skin and the boy knows that taste as well as he knows the taste of the chocolate shakes. 

He is silent. 

Still.

“That’s it. That’s a good boy.” Handler Petrus pulls his hand back, ruffles the boy’s hair. “That’s my statue boy. Don’t break rules again.”

He leaves, the door sliding shut behind him, and the boy is alone in the white room.

The need builds and builds inside of him, but he doesn’t try to tap on the floor, on the wall, on himself. He curls into a ball on the floor, arms over his head to try and create enough darkness to sleep, and pushes down the need he has to tap, to rock, to do something with his body into a twisted little ball of fear and pain deep inside himself.

He is good. Just like they want him to be.

Just like he wanted.

They tell him he wanted this, to be fixed of his wrong words and his wrong hands. They tell him over and over again, and so it must be true.

In the white room, the boy weeps.

His tears are silent, and his body is still.

Just like they wanted.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp​, @finder-of-rings​, @endless-whump​, @whumpfigure​, @slaintetowhump​, @astrobly​, @newandfiguringitout​, @doveotions​, @pretty-face-breaker​, @boxboysandotherwhump​, @oops-its-whump​

[true-blue-sonic]

Potential spoilers for Sonic 2022/Sonic Rangers and lots of rambles and ideas about how I think the game might work under the cut!

So with the news of Sonic Rangers getting me quite excited indeed, I’ve been mulling over some things, namely: how would an open-world Sonic game actually work? It’s something I’ve seen fans ask for for ages, so it’s great to see that it might get realised! Obligatory side-note: the only true open-world game I have ever played is Breath of the Wild, so all my experience with the genre is based on that game alone.

To get right to the point: from what I know, the main focus of open-world games is being able to explore, explore, explore! Next to beautiful scenery and challenging terrains the world map is littered with sidequests and collectables so you actually have something to travel to, as well. Although Sonic has experience with hub worlds, he’s never had a true open world to play through that wasn’t split up in Zones and Acts. That allows for lots of opportunities, but there are also some things I am very curious about regarding how this will be tackled!

So, the first ‘problem’ of sorts I can come up with is Sonic’s speed. This dude can run at the speed of sound, which for me can cause two potential issues related to his moving speed and world size. We want Sonic to be fast, but we also want a large world, and I can foresee some difficulties there. As such I quickly came up with two scenarios to describe solutions to both: 

In the first scenario, Sonic is… basically Not Fast, in order to be able to keep the world size to more manageable levels. He’ll be kind of like a Lost World!Sonic, where he wasn’t particularly fast either. While it would certainly help the development team with creating the map, since there is less to render and program, I feel like it would be somewhat unsatisfactory to play around in such a limited space with a slow hedgie.

In the second scenario, Sonic can run at Boost-level speeds, but in order for exploring and gameplay to be satisfying the would the world will have to be massive for it to feel like an actual place. If you can run from one edge to the other in minutes at best it’ll likely stifle the sense of immersion and desire to explore that open-world games (should) instil, and just like in the first scenario this wouldn’t feel very rewarding and fun to me either. This scenario will certainly be more of a challenge to realise for the development team, though I do hope they’re taking this route; the more places there are to travel around in, the better!

A second problem I can think of is how Sonic’s speed will influence gameplay. Going by the second scenario where Sonic can run pretty quickly, I fear that it’ll make gameplay, especially the puzzle and platforming sections, quite difficult. No-one likes flinging themselves off a cliff accidentally when trying to go just a bit faster during a puzzle or platforming section, after all! I’d say this is luckily solved easily enough by implementing the controls they had in Lost World (a run button… sorry everyone) combined with the boost mechanics; it would make Sonic able to walk, run at a controllable pace, and boost at high speeds at the same time. Especially with the current consoles it should be possible to give each an individual button, so you don’t go flying off the map when you just want to run slowly instead! And it would make the world more fun too: you can go fast if you so desire, or you can take it more easy and look around if you want while still going at a decent pace.

I was also thinking about what the world itself could look like. One of the problems in ‘06 is its massive hub worlds... with absolutely nothing in them to make them even remotely interesting, nor a way to travel around through them quickly. I do believe this is solved in Rangers by packing the game with puzzles and platforming sections, which would imply that there’s plenty of things to do! That’s assuring, at least for me.

Also, in BotW, one of the main features of exploring is Link’s ability to climb just about anything if the weather is nice. Now, I must say that I really don’t see Sonic as a climber, someone who can realistically scale mountains and high buildings at ease. The leak does say that platforming is involved, though that is not exactly the same as climbing. Maybe we’ll get something parkour-like like we got in Lost World, with Sonic being able to run against walls and thus reaching higher places that wat? It would certainly allow for more opportunities to traverse over the map, while also adding something more original to the genre.  

I have tons of questions too. The main one as of now is if we will be able to play with other characters, e.g. with each having a special power that allows them to explore the world differently? (E.g. Sonic’s faster speed, Tails’ flight, Knuckles’ digging, and Amy’s hammer, to name a few). I’d love that, though I’m not getting my hopes up. Perhaps it is preferable that the development team focuses on Sonic exclusively and give him a solid moveset, instead of needing to program a dozen characters while risking only one or two actually play satisfactory. I’m sure we’ll get more details about that and the alleged human ghost girl soon enough, though! I can’t wait ^-^

This is just my thoughts and what I think might happen in the game! I’m very much looking forward to learning more about it!

[khaotic-kitsunes]

Punishment

I’m pretty sure this was supposed to be a part two, to Interruption but I couldn’t be certain? Either way, enjoy!

Cheeky Kitsune 🦊💋

 “And how’s my little slut doing?”

   Taishiro raised an eyebrow as he stepped into his bedroom, his eyes running over your vulnerable form, happy that the rope held for the entire day; restraining your wrists and ankles to the bed.

 You had made the mistake of pushing him in front of his gang the day before and your punishment was harsh, to make sure there would be no repeat offenses. He had tied you up this morning, blindfolded you, gagged you and then pushed a rather thick toy inside of you that had a handy little remote that came with it; to control the vibration settings at a good distance.

 How he loved playing with it, knowing you had been suffering through it here in his bedroom, helpless without him; it left him hard and aching to be buried inside of your warmth.

   “Ah, right…right, you can’t answer me, can you?”

   He chuckled to himself as he approached the bed, leaning down to remove the gag; stealing a demanding kiss before you could say a thing; or even catch your breath properly.

 “Mm…you’re so cute like this kitten” He remarked, leaning back and sitting on the edge of the bed, large hand ghosting over your still trembling body; likely caused by the still-vibrating toy inside of you.

 “Now. Tell me, did you learn your lesson?” His eyes narrowed as he spoke, fingers hovering over your soaked folds, not quite touching you yet; instead, eagerly awaiting your answer. If it was anything less than what he was expecting, he would have to punish you longer; maybe even for another day or two.

 “Y-Ye..yes” Your voice was soft, barely able to stutter out your answer before his fingers pressed against your clit, teasing you for no longer than a few seconds before your body arched and shook from yet another, all too intense orgasm; his name escaping your lips in the form of a desperate cry.

 “My, my, so sensitive…” Taishiro chuckled, pulling his fingers away from you before moving to release you from your restraints, the large toy inside of you the last thing to be removed, allowing you a moment to catch your breath.

 “If this weren’t a punishment, I might consider letting you rest for the night, but, it is a punishment. Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before challenging what I say” He mused, moving so that he was above you, his hands working his pants until his dick was no longer confined by the uncomfortable material.

 “W-Wait…wait…I can’t…please” You panted heavily, your face flushed as you stared up at him; your body hadn’t had nearly enough time to recover from the punishment you had endured for the day, there was no way you could take him without losing your mind completely.

   “Oh, baby…yes, you can…don’t worry, I promise I’ll spoil you after”

   The smile that tugged at his lips was warm and reassuring, making you gulp and move your arms around his neck slowly, accepting your task; whenever Taishiro promised you something, he would go through with it. For him to spoil you after this, it would be worth all the overstimulation.

 He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling your body flush against his while his other hand pressed into the mattress, keeping him steady as he rocked his hips up slowly; pushing his throbbing cock inside of your warm body, pulling a whimper from your lips.

 Truthfully, Taishiro did feel a little guilty, making you endure this after an entire day of endless orgasms, but his hand just wouldn’t do the job this time.

   “Shh, it’s okay baby…you can take it”

   He whispered words of encouragement to you as his hips began to move, settling into a fast, messy pace; dragging moan after moan from your breathless body.

 Your nails dug into his back through the thin button-up shirt he wore as he trailed kisses and bites along your sensitive neck, you couldn’t help it with what he was doing to you; your body couldn’t take it and yet, at the same time, it could.

 You were taking it, it didn’t matter that each of his thrusts made you cry out and whimper from the pleasure, it felt good having him fuck you like this; so rarely did he hold you close and just pound away into you. It was only because of your punishment that he was being so loving with you in this moment and you cherished it, soft words of need spilling free as you began to lose yourself to his powerful thrusts and addictive kisses.

   “Fuck, that’s it. I knew you could take it”

   He groaned out his praise as his hips moved faster, his thrusts growing erratic as he neared his end, your hot walls already clamping down around him as yet another orgasm rocked through your body; dragging his name from your lips yet again, though this time it was in the form of a shout of overwhelming pleasure.

 Taishiro buried his face in the crook of your neck as he continued to buck his hips up into your body hard, going still only when his hot, thick seed spilled into you; your own name falling free in the deepest groan you had ever heard from him.

 The sound alone was worth the day’s struggle.

  “T-Taishiro…plea…please”

   He panted heavily, trailing tender kisses over your cheek before carefully removing himself from your trembling body, gently lowering you down to the bed so that you could rest for a moment.

 “Yeah, I know baby. You’re tired, aren’t you? You did so well, just let me get out of these clothes and I’ll start a nice hot bath, I promised right? So just relax, let me spoil you” He paused, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, chuckling at the weak slap to his arm; he loved your attitude, even with your exhaustion.

 “I love you too, my beautiful queen.”

[crash-cinematic-universe]

Anyone Who Knows What Love Is Will Understand

pairing: peter maximoff/reader

summary/request: Peter suddenly finds out what the gaping hole in his memory is hiding.

warnings: cheating, angst, language, uh like a teenie tiny mention of sex but like its teenie tiny

notes: which one of you fuckers let me watch Black Mirror, huh? no one asked for this but I feel like shit for not posting yesterday and inspiration struck. also sorry if this is incoherent i didnt edit it and its 2 am

Based off Black Mirror episode 4 season 2, “White Christmas” and the song Anyone Who Knows What Love Is (Will Understand) by Irma Thomas

            Peter was sure he had heard the song before-- the soft, melodic voice of Irma Thomas singing the lyrics to Anyone Who Knows What Love Is. His fingers drummed the beat steadily on his stomach as he waited for you. Peter was laying on the couch, his feet laying on the armrest as he absentmindedly listened to the radio. He smiled as he held a small remote in his hand-- the same remote that controlled the technology behind his eyes. Peter’s thumb flicked the center button, swiping his finger in circles until he accessed his photos. There Peter sat, a dumb, lovestruck smile on his face as he shuffled through photos of you.

            The first photo he studied was from your first date; Peter had taken you to a drive in and you watched Grease. The two of you were humming the tune to Greased Lightning for the next week. Peter could recall the way you lied in the back of Logan’s truck, his jacket wrapped tightly around you to keep you warm. That didn’t stop Peter from using his body heat to warm you too, of course.

            The second photo he stumbled upon was taken at Kurt’s 21st birthday party when you had given Kurt a speech about his accomplishments and how much everyone loved him. The third photo was from the same party, this time being taken by Scott. It was a photo of you and Peter drunkenly making out against a wall. Peter remembered the intoxicated giggles that the pair of you were reduced to after Scott showed you the photo.

            The final photo Peter examined was taken just a few nights ago at a bar you and Peter had visited with Logan and Charles. You were sitting in a dimly lit booth beside Peter, a bright smile on your face. Peter remembers-- actually, Peter can’t remember much from that night. He got drunk fast and the rest of the evening was nothing more than a dark blur, a void of nothingness. He tried shuffling through his memories, but even the tech in his eyes seemed to have failed him. Either that, or he deleted them. Why would he delete them?

            Peter’s thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, the jingle of the doorknob somehow snapping Peter out of his trance. The song from before had apparently repeated, but Peter didn’t mind. The silver-haired man got up from his position to greet you at the door, but you had moved from the doorway to the bedroom quite quickly. By the time he reached the bedroom, you were sitting on the bed facing away from him. The air that hung in the room was tense, and the affection that Peter was prepared to give felt oddly inappropriate. 

            Your face was dark, the light in the room casting shadows across your features. Your eyes were trained on the carpet floor, and Peter couldn’t help but notice the pained vacancy behind your pupils. Steadily, your breath came in short bursts. You didn’t look at Peter when he walked in or when he sat next to you. No, your eyes never left the floor.

            “Y/n? Are you okay?” Peter’s voice was hesitant and concerned. You didn’t answer, instead, you took a deep breath.

            “Do you know that feeling when you learn something about someone you love, and it’s so… so terrible that it hurts to love them? That feeling of guilt and hopelessness when you learn that someone you poured your heart and soul into wasn’t who you thought they were? And-.. and you can never look at them the same again?” The sorrow in your voice felt like a punch to Peter’s chest. The truth is, Peter knew that feeling all too well. He didn’t respond, though, realizing that it was a rhetorical question. Your eyes stayed on the floor. “I woke up this morning and I loved you. The night before I fell asleep and I loved you. The entire day before that night I went to work and I trained and I learned and I taught and through all of that I loved you. I love you and I have for as long as I can remember.” You were getting angrier and angrier with every word, but not violent angry. Hurt angry. “Can you say the same?”

            “O-of course I can, babe, what’s wrong?” For the first time your eyes tore away from the floor and met Peter’s, tears threatening to fall. There was something unfamiliar in your eyes and it made Peter so incredibly afraid.

            “Can you?” Your voice is venomous and pained. “Can you really, Peter? Because I don’t think you can.” The song from before was still playing and looping, but neither of you two really cared. 

            “What do you mean? Where is this coming from?” With that, Peter receives a file from you. He scrambles for the remote in his pocket, quickly lighting up his eyes to see whatever caused you such sorrow. It’s an image of Peter and a girl he can’t recognize in an alleyway. For a second, he doesn’t realize what exactly they’re doing, but then it hits him like a train.

            “That image was sent to everyone. Every single fucking person I’ve ever interacted with knows that my boyfriend is a--” You cut yourself off. Even after all this, you still care for him and you don’t want to hurt him. “Why, Peter? Why?” 

            Peter couldn’t respond. He was still staring blankly at the photo desperately trying to make sense of everything. The gap in his memory-- that must be what this is. Peter was feeling so many things at once, but he mostly felt embarrassed and cowardly. Instead of dealing with whatever this was, he deleted the memory-- seemingly hoping that it would simply disappear. He flicked the remote and the image disappeared, leaving Peter to sit and process the information he was just given. Unfortunately for him, his girlfriend wanted answers as to why he was screwing someone that wasn’t her in an alley.

            “I…” Peter said softly. He didn’t want to admit it, but Peter knew he had to. “I wiped it.”

            “You what?” You were in disbelief. Of course, you understood the logic behind wiping it, but you never thought Peter could be so… so cowardly.

            “I wiped the memory. I can’t-- I don’t know what happened. I must’ve wanted to, uh, let it go.” Peter expected outrage, he expected harsh words or tears or shouting-- all of those things well-deserved, but they never came. You didn’t scream or shout or lash out. You just laughed. You laughed a humorless, dry laugh, and it took Peter a minute to realize your uncontrollable laughter was meshed with an onslaught of sobbing. 

            “You-- you wanted to let it go,” you laughed. Peter started crying, knowing what was coming. “You wanted to let it go.”

            “I know that was stupid and fucking cowardly-- I would take it back if I could and I am so, so sorry, for everything.” Peter pleaded. Your laughter came to a slow stop, leaving the tears in its wake.

            “You wanna know something ironic? I would’ve trusted you more if you kept the memories.” you sniffled. “You wanna know why? Because then I would be sure that you didn’t mean it. That it wasn’t 100% your fault. But I can’t be sure, not now, because you don’t remember. You can’t tell me if you meant it because you don’t know.” You stand up and Peter cries harder as you walk away from him. He’s quick to follow you, reaching out for your warm embrace. Peter is ready to beg, to fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness. 

            “Maybe you were right. Maybe we both need to… to let things go.” You walk over to the man in front of you, pulling him into a tight hug. He clings to you, his tears soaking your shirt-- you’re crying, too. Peter didn’t know you were holding your remote until it was too late. With the flick of your finger, you were reduced to nothing more than a bumbling blur. Your picture-perfect features that Peter loved were gone, leaving nothing in their wake. The comforting sound of your voice that made Peter feel warm and safe were replaced by a deep gurgling gibberish. You-- or, your silhouette, grabbed your jacket and walked out the door. Peter was alone, the only sound breaking the silence other than his heartbroken crying was the melodic sound of Irma Thompson’s voice.

I know to ever let you go

Oh, it’s more than I could ever stand

Oh but,

Anyone who knows what love is will understand

[scaredofchange]

Carpe Diem - Jinyoung x Reader

Pairing: Park Jinyoung (GOT7) x Female!Reader                                            

Summary: Moving to Korea for a job is something, but meeting Park Jinyoung in a totally impossible/ridiculous way? Now we’re talking. Y/N is definitely in for a wild ride.

Warnings: being stuck in an elevator; acrophobia; mild panic attack; swearing; but also fluff and cuteness.

 Wordcount: 4.4k

 A/N: Just an idea at the top of my head like that; also, it’s a first-person perspective. I’m not that into using the second person (“you”). Hope you enjoy it!

 __________________

           I was rushing from desk to desk; juggling between official documents and frivolous memos like my life was depending on it. Having recently joined the Human Resources department of the successful JYP entertainment corporation, I had nothing to lose and everything to prove to my superiors.

Granted, working for HR was not as glamorous as being one of the top hats, but it was gratifying enough for me to move my ass from North America to Korea in an instant. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t running from my old life, I was just trying to find my true vocation.

 HR was definitely not it, but dreams don’t come true without money.

Luckily enough, JYP had half the department working in English, which grandly facilitated my tasks: my Korean wasn’t... let’s say it wasn’t bad but neither was it good.

As I had barely bit down my sad homemade sandwich for lunch, I heard a loud screech coming from behind me. I was tempted to hide under my desk but decided against it.

“Y/N!”

 I turned around to face my evil boss: Ms. Lee.

Before I could even answer, she started babbling about, rummaging through the documents on the surface of my desk and destroying every ounce of my setup whatsoever.

“Can I help with something?” I muttered under my breath, half-wishing she wouldn’t have heard it.

“If you did your job correctly, you wouldn’t have to ask, would you now?” she snapped back like an angry Chihuahua.

I pressed my tongue against my front teeth, holding back any sorts of remarks that I might’ve wanted to yell at her. My new work friend, Mi-ja tried to cover her smile from across the desk facing me but miserably failed.

“Where are the charts from floor twenty?” my boss squeaked, her eyes shooting lasers at me.

“The what?”

She deeply sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose like it wasn’t only my second week in the business. With a voice trembling with anger, she gathered her thoughts.

“I need the GOT7 charts, you hear me? I asked hours ago for you to get them!”

My eyes widened: is that what she was shouting when I entered her office at 8 am with the wrong coffee? My boss kept shaking her head vehemently, deeply disappointed in me. I’d lie if I said it didn’t hurt a small bit, but I learned long ago not to bother with bullies like her.

“I’ll get them right away,” I stated calmly.

“You better!” she shouted again as she turned her back to me and paced down toward her office.

It was my turn to deeply inhale and exhale, letting the pressure of the last few minutes out.

“Ouch,” retorted Mi-ja with a pitiful expression.

“Yeah...”

I mumbled that word while beginning to make my way toward the elevator. With tensed shoulders, I pressed the 20th-floor button and let the doors close by themselves. It took a few stops to get there since my office was located on the 8th floor, but eventually, I stepped out in a luxurious lobby.

Windows were larger than on the HR floor; the light was plunging into the room, making it look much bigger than it actually was.

A cute secretary with platinum hair was sitting at the front desk; she offered me a sweet smile and greeted me in Korean.

“Hi,” I replied in English, “I’m here to get the documents for human resources,” I tried to explain clearly in case she wasn’t fluent.

She nodded at my word and smiled again. She turned around on her wheeling chair and grabbed a thick black folder.

“Here you go,” she let out in a tiny voice.

“Thank you!”

She bowed and I made my way back to the elevator; if only everyone in this building was as nice as her, life would be much easier.

A millisecond after the doors started closing; I heard a loud yelp from the reception hall. I rapidly placed my hand between the sensors, stopping the elevator in its motion. Unfortunately, while doing so, I struggled with the file which was securely locked in the crook on my elbow: a few sheets of paper fell on the floor, provoking a deep sigh from my throat.

I didn’t even look at the person entering the cabin as I crouched to pick up the fallen sheets.

“Mianhada,” apologized the man in Korean.

“It’s okay,” I retorted in English, my eyes focused on the task.

In a hurry, the man crouched down to help me. His hands went directly for the ground, but I had already recuperated my work. It’s at that moment that I crossed his gaze.

His brown irises shined with guilt and sorry, but that’s not what my thoughts were on about. To resume, my mind went like: holy fucking shit that is Park Jinyoung, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! What do I do? How do I look? Oh, he must think I’m an idiot! And so on and on like a twelve-year-old girl meeting her favourite idol.

By his facial expression: my jaw must’ve fallen on the floor. I couldn’t control it fast enough to look at least remotely professional. No, instead, I opted for the shocked face and widened eyes.

He offered me a polite smile, but something in his irises was off; like a glint of annoyance. Perhaps he was tired of being looked at this way.

Slowly, we both went back to standing awkwardly, my mouth shut and his arms crossed on his chest. He cleared his throat, hastily apologized again and pressed the first-floor button.

I analyzed his reflection on the metallic doors: he was wearing a dark long-sleeved shirt, some jeans, a pair of glasses and sneakers. In every way, shape, and form, did he look perfect.

But something was definitely wrong in the way he was holding himself. I shyly eyed him, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Although I had previously thought he was annoyed by my behaviour, perhaps something else was bothering him: he stared deadly into the void, his breathing low as his chest was heaving up and down.

I wanted to ask him if he was all right, but I held the thought in, knowing it wasn’t my place.

After picking up a person on the 18th floor and dropping them on the 16th, I wiggled, ill-a-ease, on my feet. I was ashamed of my initial reaction and somehow wanted to fix the image I had given.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to... insult you,” I let out quietly while fidgeting with the hem of my shirt.

Baffled, Jinyoung’s eyes widened and he looked at me, intrigued. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could even make a sound, a loud thud was heard from the top of the elevator.

With a strident screech, the cabin came to a difficult stop, making the whole world shake around us. I squeaked as I grabbed one of the handles, fear clawing through my whole body.

Jinyoung also held on, but didn’t make a sound; the only thing apparent was the worry on his flawless face. He looked up, then at me, questions marks in his eyes.

“What’s going on?” I inquired even though I knew none of us could even begin to answer that question.

“I don’t know,” he responded with a thick Korean accent.

We waited a few seconds before we both straightened our backs. As I looked around, I pointed out the shining red button with a phone on it. Jinyoung nodded and went directly to press it.

I was trying to control my thoughts and heartbeat, but both of them were getting wild.

A man's voice made itself heard; Jinyoung explained the problem, in Korean, with worry plastered on his face. The man responded, but I couldn’t quite catch what he was saying; still, I took reassurance in Jinyoung’s facial reactions and slight nodding: concern seemed to be washing away from his irises.

When he turned back around to face me, I composed myself and tried to look remotely calm.

“What’s the verdict?” I inquired with an unwanted shaky voice.

“He said at least one hour,” the idol admitted while pointing one finger in the air, “they have to call... huh...” he struggled to find his word, “maintenance?” he finally let out, unsure.

I acquiesced with a nod, but those words did not reassure me; on the contrary, my heart went flying as if it was trying to burst out of my chest. Dizzy, I struggled to stay on my feet.

I remembered a few tricks my therapist had told me, back in my hometown: 1) take deep breaths, 2) ask yourself if it’s really the end of the world, 3) what do you do to relax? Try to do it in that situation.

So, I started breathing in and out, imagining a square filling up with air in front of me, holding my breath for four seconds, and releasing it as the square emptied itself. It was a helpful strategy, but my thoughts were still racing.

Jinyoung stared at me, confused by my sudden behaviour, but I ignored him.

I placed my back against the wall and let my body slide on the floor, my breathing still not regularizing itself. With trembling hands, I put my important folder on the ground and pulled my legs on my chest.

You’re not going to die. The elevator is not going to fall.

I kept repeating these two sentences in my head, over and over again. Perhaps that is why I didn’t notice when Jinyoung kneeled in front of me.

“Are you okay?” he inquired, worried.

I tilted my head to the side, and, without really wanting to, gave him the do-I-look-like-I’m-okay? eyes.

He realized his mistake and softly apologized in a murmur I had barely heard over the pounding in my ears. Jinyoung put his other leg on the ground and, suddenly, placed a hand over my knee; his warmth reaching all the way through my jeans.

My eyes darted toward him, but he didn’t budge. With a comforting half-smile, he locked gaze with me.

“You are gonna be okay,” he simply said, his fingers squeezing me lightly. “Help is on the way.”

I wondered how his English had improved in the last twenty seconds but pushed the strange thought away when he opened his mouth again.

“Repeat,” Jinyoung ordered.

I looked at him with puzzled eyes.

“Repeat,” he said again, determination in his irises.

I gulped; my throat dried from the panic.

“I-I...” I started with difficulty, “I’m gonna be okay... Help... Help is coming.”

Once again, a small simper appeared on his lips.

“Good”

It was the only word he said before switching his position to sitting. Surprisingly, he didn’t move far away like I thought he would’ve; he stayed very close as if he was scared I would have started panicking if he’d move.

With a sigh, he let his head collide on the wall in a soft thud. Desperate, he ran a hand through his hair, making me wonder how I could even contain myself being this close to a man like him.

After a few minutes of total silence, he eyed me. I was fidgeting with my fingers, my head telling me not to move too quickly or the elevator might fall.

“What’s your name?” Jinyoung questioned out of nowhere.

I jerked my head up to meet his curious gaze.

“Y/N,” I responded in a whisper.

“You’re not from here?” he inquired again, his attention peaked.

“No”

He hummed in response as if he finally understood me.

“How long have you worked here?”

Now it was me who was intrigued: why the sudden interest? I stared at him and blinked a few times. When he finally noticed my glare, he returned it.

“Hum...” I let out, intimidated, “a few weeks.”

“You like it?”

“So far, so good”

He kept nodding his head like he was fascinated by the conversation.

“Why are you asking me that?” I finally gathered the courage to ask.

Jinyoung scoffed and lazily put one of his legs under him.

“Just curious,” he finally admitted, his hand reaching for his phone that had just started to ring.

He answered it, said a few words way too quickly and hung up like it was the worst exchange he had ever had.

“Tough day?” I jokingly told him.

“Yeah,” he sighed, letting me surprised that he even answered.

From what I remembered, Park Jinyoung was the kind of person who did not talk a lot; on the contrary, he seemed like a very silent type of guy.

“Me too,” I breathed out, lifting my hands in the air.

He chuckled at my reaction.

“So, what’s up?” I inquired bluntly, “I mean, what’s wrong?”

I blushed when his eyes locked with mine; a glint of disbelief in his brown irises. He slightly squinted his eyelids and looked at me like I was some kind of crazy woman. Although I was sure he was about to flip me off or something, Jinyoung simply sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

“Had an argument with one of the members,” he finally confessed, his expression switching from surprise to anger, but then to sadness.

“I’m sorry; I know it sucks to argue with family,” I offered a genuine reply, knowing that they’re not related, but might as well be.

“And what about you, what’s wrong?” he returned the question after cutely smiling at me.        

“My boss is a bitch,” I blurted out without hesitation.

He raised his eyebrows, surprised by my matter-of-fact response. I awkwardly laughed, realizing it might not have been the best thing to say to a man like Jinyoung. But, instead of looking at me weirdly, he just softly chuckled, his gaze bearing mine.

“Are you always like this?” he scoffed.

“Just when I’m stuck God knows how many feet in the air,” I replied sarcastically, pursing my lips together.

“I thought I was very unlucky today,” the idol stated, his voice deep, “but there are worst places to be right now.”

His eyes searched mine while my lips stretched delicately into a soft smile; had Jinyoung just kind of complimented me?

“You’re not wrong, there are definitely worst people to be stuck in an elevator with,” I added.

A warm and deep laugh emitted from his throat, provoking my smile to grow even more. For a moment, it felt like I wasn’t even battling against my fear of heights, and it released the tension in my shoulders. Looking at Jinyoung laugh had erased all panic from my brain and for the first time in a few minutes, I was able to breathe normally.

“You didn’t ask my name,” he eventually said.

I scoffed.

“It’s because I already know it, Park Jinyoung.”

“I see, you are IGOT7?”

I rolled my eyes at him; there was no way in hell I was about to let him know I used to be their biggest fan.

“I work here, stupid,” I jokingly let out.

He faked being offended and burst out laughing, his hand hiding his mouth.

“So, you don’t like us?”

“Did I say that?” I replied way too hastily.

With an arrogant smile, he tilted his head to the side and stared at me with sparkly eyes.

“What?” I asked.

He smiled to himself and slightly shook his head with a chuckle as if he had just thought about something funny, but the words that came out of his mouth were everything but.

“You’re just really beautiful,” he complimented me, causing my saliva to get stuck in my throat.

I coughed under the surprise and hid my face between my knees which were still glued to my chest. I heard Jinyoung make fun of me, and muffled my very own laugh on my legs. When I finally straightened my head, his eyes were still focused on me.

I profusely blushed before he decided to end my torture and looked away.

Strangely enough, the following moment wasn’t as awkward as I thought it would be; we just stayed there and stupidly smiled for minutes.

A few thoughts crossed my mind as I observed the man in front of me. I admired his dark hair dishevelled after what I assumed might’ve been a dance practice, his nose scrunching from time to time as he was reacting to his own thoughts, the way he kept peculiarly twisting his fingers, but most importantly, how only his presence was soothing me and alleviating my fears.

Out of the blue, I decided to change position. After all, we only have one life to live, don't we? So why spend it hesitating and not grasping the moment? Bluntly, I wiggled my body until I was sitting right next to Jinyoung. I tried to do it as slowly as possible so the cabin wouldn’t move and I supposed that that was the reason he chuckled at me.

He didn’t say a word after that, which I thought was a good sign. His body even loosened up when my arm brushed against his.

What the fuck are you doing, Y/N?

I forcefully pushed my reflections away and stopped moving; my heartbeat kicking up once again but for a very different reason.

Perhaps it was the lack of air in the cabin or the sudden heat washing over me, but my brain stopped working completely. Slowly but surely, I slid my head on Jinyoung’s shoulder. I half-expected him to jerk away or tell me to fuck off, but instead, he smirked. All I could see from where I was looking was his cheeks inflate from his smile.  

“You’re strange,” he murmured.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I muttered back with a chortle.

“It is a compliment.”

I slightly shook my head, still on his shoulder, and exhaled slowly.

We stayed like that for what felt like an hour; not talking, just enjoying each other’s silence. At one point, Jinyoung even placed his hand on mine like it was nothing. My mind was racing, but who was I to refuse to hold hands with Park Jinyoung?

Somehow, the day had started horribly and, when the elevator got stuck, I thought it was the worst time of my life, but with Jinyoung by my side it didn’t feel so bad anymore.

It’s a strange situation to bound over, but somehow, it was perfect.

I had no idea if he felt the same way, but to me, that moment would be worth cherishing for a long time.

We both got extremely startled when we heard a voice on the speaker. In a swift movement, and, not going to lie, some reluctance, we got on our feet and listened to the man’s speech. Jinyoung translated it to a few words: they’re here.

“Really?” I let out unimpressed as I rolled my eyes, “he literally spoke for five minutes and that’s your takeaway?”

With a defeated smile, Jinyoung shrugged his shoulders and, I swear to God, if I had had the time, I would’ve kissed him right there and then.

But it was barely a millisecond later that we heard a loud thud and the elevator moved. Instinctively, I grabbed Jinyoung’s arm and held it close to me. He slid a hand over mine and squeezed it lightly.

We both looked up, surprised when a large man appeared over us. He seemed to be a fireman. I guessed maintenance couldn’t quite fix the problem. He greeted us with a smile and Jinyoung replied in Korean. I laughed at our saviour’s apparently very casual and chill demeanour; he sure as hell knew how to relieve the tension out of a very stressful situation.

“The door is right over us,” explained Jinyoung, translating the fireman’s words to me, “he’s going to help up get there, lift us.”

My eyes widened.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” said the idol, his eyes trying to comfort me.

I nodded when the fireman held one of his hands down. I placed the important folder, the one thing that had started all of this, inside my shirt. Then, I grabbed the man’s hand with strength and pulled at the same time as him. Jinyoung came to my rescue a few seconds later, putting his hands under one of my feet and giving me a powerful trust.

In an instant, I was standing on the top of the elevator, about to throw up. Our saviour offered a hand to Jinyoung, but he refused it. Instead, he jumped and grabbed the edge of the small opening and pulled himself over to us.

I couldn’t help but admire him while he was doing so, hoping I wasn’t sporting a look of pure admiration and desire as I thought I was.

I couldn’t let go of Jinyoung’s arm even when we finally reached stable ground; unfortunately, I had to when a team of first aid workers rushed to him like he was about to die. I was pulled away from him rapidly.

It was a strange view, how they were all over him, checking his vitals and bringing him water. I, on the other hand, was left alone, next to the fireman who was also watching the scene, as speechless as I was. Idols are seen as gods, and, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t one to think differently, but this just hit differently.

I waited a few minutes, thinking I might get some aid too, apart from our saviour who gently brought me a bottle of water, but the aid team was too focused on Jinyoung to even notice me. When my phone rang, I deeply sighed, noticing my boss’s name on the tiny screen.

I answered and, as expected, received a bunch of screams from the other side. I tried to explain the situation, but she wasn’t having it. Anger ran down my spine and, as if the last hour hadn’t happened, the shitty day came back with a fiery blast.

I exhaled and pinched the bridge of my nose, a strong headache hitting me. With one last look toward Jinyoung, who seemed to have been given oxygen to, I redirected myself to the stairs.

I thanked the fireman as well as I could and pushed the door. With trembling legs, I started climbing down, tears forming in my eyes without my consent.

“Wait!”

I turned around after hearing someone shout after me. At first, I thought it might’ve been the first aid team, but was surprised by a concerned Jinyoung running down the stairs as fast as he could. He still had a ripped oxygen mask around his neck.

He tried to pull my arm to go back up, but I refused.

“I gotta go back to work,” I stated with a thick American accent.

“No, you have to get help,” he pushed.

“I’m fine,” I half-lied.

I mean, I was fine physically: the panic had passed, I wasn’t feeling as dizzy anymore, and my heartbeat was back to normal. Mentally, it was another thing, but that wasn’t important right now.

He gave me the don’t-lie-to-me look but I ignored it and shrugged my shoulders.

“Okay then,” he started, ready to compromise, “give me your number so I can check up on you later.”

“W-What?” I stuttered.

“You heard,” he frowned while getting his phone out of his pocket.

I raised an eyebrow at him and didn’t grab his device.

“Do it,” he ordered, getting impatient.

I rolled my eyes until they reached the back on my head and grasped the iPhone. I entered my digits lazily like I was getting scolded by my mom. With a smirk, he took his phone back and called me.

“Why are you calling me?” I replied, ignoring it with a swipe of the thumb.

“So you have my number too and you’ll answer when I call you and ask you on a date.”

I jerked my head up, my gaze crossing his, but I couldn’t bear it for long. His smile had widened and his irises were shining like never before. I anxiously bit my lower lip and shook my head, baffled by his flirting. Before I could even add anything, Jinyoung grabbed my chin and forced me to lock eyes with him.

“Y/N, meeting you was the best part of my day,” he started with a raspy voice, “and right now, all I can think about is spending more time with you.”

I had previously wondered if I had left as much of an impression on him as he had left on me, and I was more than happy to get a response to my inquiry.

My lips stretched into a soft smirk and I could feel the heat crawl up to my heart, clawing through my thick anti-feeling wall like never before. I chuckled when he offered me the cutest smile ever.

“I’d like that too,” I replied delicately, my hand reaching his which was still holding my chin.

He grinned and slightly shook his head.

“I’m glad we met,” Jinyoung added.

“Me too.”

With a simpering smile, he slowly pulled his hand away and bore my gaze. I couldn’t quite decipher the look in his irises, but something was telling me I’d have all the time in the world to size that man up.

“I’ll see you later then, Y/N,” he finally stated, my name rolling on his tongue, as he analyzed my face.

He leaned in and I anxiously stopped breathing. In a very soft manner, Jinyoung brushed his lips over my cheek and kissed it for much longer than necessary; it caused my legs to tremble under me as if I had just gotten out a crazy rollercoaster.

“Yes, you will,” I admitted, my voice playful as he leaned back, desire plastered over his face.

And with those words, he turned around and climbed back the stairs, leaving me completely baffled and shocked, but also filled with excitement and joy.

What a day, I thought to myself, and what a man.

I exhaled deeply, but this time, it felt amazing. I climbed down the stairs much more calmly than minutes before, my head stuck in the clouds and my stomach filled with butterflies.

I had to admit, if I ever had to get stuck in an elevator with someone again, I’d choose Park Jinyoung in a heartbeat.

[spacebarcounternearme]

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[leverage-ot3]

notable moments from The Juror #6 Job

leverage 1.11

it took them three (3) years to get the vargas case on trial ??? that’s so long, the court system is fucked up

- - - - -

Hardison: You are Alice White. It's one of the aliases I made for you, vegetarian, bookkeeper. She had a pretty wild time at her sister's wedding in Phoenix. You should check out her facebook page.

eliot smiling at that rb if u agree

- - - - -

Nate: No. No. Jury duty - A place where you have to follow instructions.

Sophie: Where you have to consider other people's point of view.

Eliot: There's gonna be normal people there, Nate.

eliot emphasizing that there would be NORMAL people there lmfao

- - - - -

the fam sitting together eating pizza we love to see it

- - - - -

Sophie: you know, she's never done that before.

Nate: What, stormed out? Come on.

Sophie: No, asked for our help. (walks out)

(Nate looks toward Parker, then back at Hardison)

Nate: What? Listen, there is a reason we put her in a jury trial.

(Hardison mutes game)

Hardison: You know, man, when I was a, when I was a kid, I was like 8 years old, I had a foster mom who was Jehovah’s witness. She used to dress me up in a suit and a bow tie and take me door-to-door to spread the word. Black neighborhoods, white neighborhoods, didn't matter. I would kick, I’d scream, or whatever, but she would say "Alec, you need to learn how to talk to people." See, everything I learned about people, I learned ringing doorbells and-and-and being in a bow tie. Parker never had that. I mean, jumping from a skyscraper, she's cool. But making small talk? It’s-it's like pure terror. Just cut her some slack.

(Eliot hurries in with a six pack of beer)

Eliot: How about them Cowboys? What'd I miss? (flips his beer)

Nate: Nothing.

(Nate looks at Parker, who is dialing her phone)

like I love learning about their backstories but I can’t believe someone made hardison be a jehovah’s witness

- - - - -

parker is wearing flannel again

- - - - -

Nate: Not if we steal it first. Who plays chess?

Eliot: I play.

Nate: Yeah, of course you do. A chess game has three stages, right? I mean, you got your opening, middle, and end game. In the opening, you want to take control of the board, and you want to line up your attack and you want to protect the king, which, ironically, is the weakest piece you have

nate isn’t even surprised that eliot plays chess. he’s just like yeah, that adds up.

- - - - -

(Eliot is in a dumpster while Hardison is on the ground looking through garbage bags)

Eliot: It's your turn to be in the dumpster.

Hardison: No, man, no. I-I have-I have peanut allergies. What if somebody threw in some extra crunchy Skippy? Then, you know, it's just a (wheezing) all up in my vocal area, man. Do you want to give me mouth-to-mouth? No, none of us want that. Hell no.

(Eliot throws a trash bag at Hardison’s head. Hardison looks up, angry)

Eliot: Heads up (laughs)

they’re idiots

+ ALSO hardison is always in danger of triggering fake allergies,,, this, the rashomon job,,,

- - - - -

Hardison: Quint's on the hook. He went to Mumbai international limited's website to check out Sophie.

Nate: It's a real company?

Hardison: Cover story's better that way. Just, uh, changed this... (hits button on remote, which changes a picture on a website) to this.

- - - - -

Sophie: Okay, today did not go well, but that's all right. You know, we learn when we fail. We're gonna-we're gonna go back to basics, and we're gonna do a little role-playing. Gonna start with-with persuasion techniques. So, Eliot (tosses him an apple) has an apple. Alice (tosses her an orange) has an orange.

Eliot: I love apples. Apples are my favorite fruit.

Parker: Good for you, sparky.

Eliot (to Sophie): I-I don't have to sit here and take this crap.

Sophie: Go on. Just do it for me.

Eliot (to Parker): You have an orange, all right? Now, convince me that I want the orange, not the apple. I'm gonna take a bite. (slowly brings the apple to his mouth and takes a bite)

Parker: I put a razor blade in that apple.

Eliot (spits out the apple): Are you serious?

Parker: Maybe. But do you know what doesn’t have a razor blade in it? This orange. (smells the orange) Don't you want it? (tosses the orange at Eliot and leaves)

Sophie: You fell for that? (exits room)

CHAOTIC OT3

- - - - -

Hardison: O- Okay. Um... you know, I have photos (places a file on the bench) that I would like to introduce from a vacation, the opposing counsel water-skiing. It's all from his website - very public.

Louis: I object.

Hardison: As well you should. You shouldn't be doing that. Seriously? I mean, he doesn't have the body.

r o a s t e d

- - - - -

Parker: Wait! Wait a second. That was a secret. You just told me a secret, right? That's something friends do.

Peggy: Well, I guess so. You're the nicest one here.

Parker: Really? I mean, thanks.

her S M I L E your honor

- - - - -

Earnshaw: Lunch is almost over. Get back to the trial. (opens folder) Joseph Miller, Georgetown pre-Law, Harvard law with honors! This can't be right. This guy's hourly rate has to be more than what our grieving widow makes in a month.

Assistant: Ma'am, it all checks out. Unless Gloria Vargas found some guy who created a CIA Level cover story and fake identity

hardison is just that good and we love to see it

- - - - -

Earnshaw: Wait. Who's that?

Assistant: The guy talking to the Vargas lawyer?

Earnshaw: No. Her. Raid Quint’s computer, his calendar, his e-mails. Pull out the call logs and the GPS records from his phone. I want to know who that is.

- - - - -

Quint: Earnshaw says if we settle, we open ourselves up to other lawsuits.

Sophie: We don't care about more lawsuits. With a billion people in the work force, a few deaths won't raise an eyebrow.

Quint: Government won't crack down?

Sophie: Mr. Quint, it takes five years to get a parking permit

that’s fucked

- - - - -

(Donnie is standing in front of a green screen)

Nate: Good. He's good.

Eliot (turns off camera): What I tell you? (hugs Donnie) Thank you for coming in on such short notice, Donnie.

Donnie: Ah, dinna fash yersel, laddie. What are friends for?

Eliot: Exactly. Beer's on me soon.

Donnie: Oh, you remember tha. (exits)

Nate: He's very good.

Eliot: What I tell you

we love getting more insight on eliot’s past and who his friends are/used to be

- - - - -

hardison, parker and eliot walking to the door and nate and sophie seeing them off like parents (even parker with her packed lunch!!!)

- - - - -

Hardison: Oh, incident. Okay. (referring to file) Would that happen to be the incident on flight 732 out of St. Louis, where you-you fondled a flight attendant's buttocks? Or would that happen to be the incident on flight 1433 out of Chicago, where you drank 17 tiny margaritas, you took your pants off, you stood up on the drink cart, and you sang, quote, "I'm a sexy monkey"?

Patemkin: I have no recollection of that.

Hardison: I'm not surprised, because it was not one, it wasn't two, but it was 22 incidents of drunk and belligerent, grab-assy behavior that landed you on that list.

Judge: Mr. Miller.

Louis: Objection!

Hardison: No, you know what, your honor? The US Government has determined that this man is not qualified to ride on an airplane, like Osama bin Laden. How is this jury supposed to rely on him to render a sound medical opinion

IM SCREAMING

+

parker looks so proud of him

- - - - -

Parker: Oh, sweet mercy, cooked flesh. (takes a bite of burger) Can we have fast food every time we make the bad guys go away

let parker eat as much meat as she wants 2k20

also, eliot is sitting right next to her and finally got to watch his football 😌 we love to see them sitting together

- - - - -

Nate: Did you realize what you just did? What you did? You won a jury trial without cheating.

Hardison: Without chea--I hacked a government no-fly list and used it to humiliate a witness.

Nate: Excessively. "Cheating excessively" is what I meant. But, I mean, think about it, I mean, if you applied yourself, Hardison, you could be anything you want.

Hardison: You know what? I could. I could. You know, next week, I think I’m gonna be an astronaut.

Nate: Well, that's not really what I meant. I meant if you studied, you’d--

Hardison: Yeah, if I--Who needs to study? You know, I’m gonna be a surgeon. A surgeon – ER. Surgeon.

HARDISON IS A GENIUS AND CAN DO ANYTHING HE WANTS SEND TWEET

- - - - -

(Parker gets a text and checks her phone)

Parker: Hey, it's Peggy from the trial! She wants to have coffee next week. Alice made a friend.

Eliot: I'm gonna tell you one more time. You made a friend, not Alice.

Parker: Oh, cool. Well, think she'd want to steal a painting with me?

Sophie: Start small, Parker. Try coffee.

that’s so cute and means so much that she made a friend that even went as far as REACHING OUT to HER !!!

and she doesn’t reject the idea!!!

okay but also if a girl as pretty as parker asked me to steal a painting with her with that smile on her face, bitch you bet I would,,, I am but a simple bisexual with a weakness for pretty ladies