#shit is about to get wild in four minutes

[ellecdc]

the basilisk and me

Sirius Black x fem!reader who is hallucinating [979 words]

CW: hallucinations, reader is in hospital, post first wizarding war, suggested and implied PTSD, anxiety/panic attack, based off of this prompt/idea, high stakes hurt/comfort A/N: ok first attempt at this kind of vibe so hopefully it's not complete shit

Sirius tried to stamp down on the fury threatening to take over as he walked as fast as socially acceptable through the hospital corridors. He promised you he’d be here today; the same time as he was the day before, and all the days before that since you’d been rescued following the end of the war from the Death Eater’s hideout. 

He kept that promise, but you wouldn’t know that thanks to the security personnel who spent the past twenty plus minutes arguing with Sirius about whether or not he was authorised to visit you.

There were only four people authorised to visit you, one of them was Sirius Black; Sirius Black who had been here yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, etcetera. At the same time, every day; Sirius was here. You needed him here.

And he needed to be here; twenty plus minutes ago. 

Any relief he felt at the sight of your room vanished at the sound of your gut wrenching sobs, a shout, and the clattering of furniture. 

Officially forgoing social acceptability, Sirius broke out into a sprint before all but barreling into your hospital room. 

There were two mediwix closing in on you with three security personnel flanking them; all of their wands drawn as your wild eyes split your attention between the people circling you, anything in your room that you might be able to use to your advantage, and - apparently - the empty corner of the room.

“Get away from me!” You screeched before dodging behind a table tray meant for meals just as a purple spell left the tip of one of the mediwix’s wand.

“What is going on!?” Sirius barked, making to step further into the room as one of the security-wix stepped in front of him.

“You can’t be here.” They stated simply; gesturing towards the door as if that would simply be the end of it.

“Would you fucker’s stop trying to tell me that!?” He all but bellowed before shoving past him to grab - rather roughly, looking back at it now - the one mediwitch he was familiar with who turned towards him with a look akin to relief. 

“What is going on?” He tried again.

“She’s hallucinating; woke up screeching that there was a basilisk in the room trying to kill her. When we tried to offer her a calming draught, she started accusing us all of trying to poison her."

"And you're...?" Sirius started bemusedly. "Firing hexes at her?"

"Mr. Black-"

“Don’t call me that.”

“She needs to be stupefied.”

“The last thing she needs is more violence.” He growled in response before shoving past her and pointing his back to the four wands still aimed at you.

“Hey, baby hey. Hey hey hey, whoa, whoa.” Sirius started as he crouched down in front of you, listening to the way your shrieks and wails quieted to pitiful hiccups and sobs. “Hey, doll; hey. Easy, love, come now.”

“St- Stop, no.” You shook your head, eyes glued to a point across the room. “Stay… stay away from me.”

“It’s me, doll. It’s me; it’s Sirius, yeah? Come on, babygirl, look at me.”

"No..."

"It's me, doll." He repeated.

“Sirius.” You keened as he took your face between his hands; tears pouring a steady stream over the apples of your cheeks as you kept your gaze locked on an invisible threat that only you could see. 

You didn’t pull away from his grasp, though; trembling hands landing near gently around his wrists. Your knuckles were close to white as the joints threatened to push through the dry and cracked skin of your hands even though your grip never strengthened on him. 

Sirius’ heart ached for you. 

“Look at me, baby. Come on.”

“I’m scared.” You whispered; breath hitching as you managed to make the briefest eye contact with your boyfriend before your eyes darted back to the corner of your room. 

“I know, love. I know.” Sirius agreed, moving to his knees and tucking his feet underneath him before pressing his forehead to yours; his thumbs sweeping methodically over the highs of your cheeks as he kept his gaze on you. “I know; it’s okay.”

“But the-”

“It’s okay; just look at me until it goes away, okay?” 

Sirius’ heart didn’t return to its normal cadence until your blinks started to slow - time stretching between each heavy blink - as you tried your best to keep your gaze dutifully on Sirius. 

“Why don’t we get you to bed, hm?” Sirius whispered after a period of time, feeling wretched at the way your body tensed and your eyes started darting around again.

“But, the-”

“Can you still see it, dolly?” He asked kindly, quietly; allowing you some space to crane your head and get a good lay of the room that saw only one mediwix and one security personnel present after the ordeal. 

“Uhm,” you let out with a nervous woosh, breaths threatening to speed back up at having lost track of your threat, “no…no, but…”

“Let’s get you to bed, and I’ll keep watch, okay?” He offered, beginning to stand before you had a chance to think too hard on his offer as you obliged Sirius, allowing him to guide you to your hospital bed. 

Sirius was just pulling the thin blanket over your form when you grabbed him by the wrist. 

“Will you stay with me?” You blurted, turning bashful as you added a timid “Please?”

“Of course, my love.” He agreed quickly, shucking off his boots and sliding under the thin sheets beside you. “How else would I keep watch, hm?”

And if the mediwix took issue with Sirius being there, they didn’t dare mention it; quietly working around the two figures in the bed as they cleaned up the various pieces of furniture you’d used to defend yourself whilst Sirius kept watch for any threats - visible or invisible, real or imagined - that might deign to disturb your peace.

[riality-check]

Steve, realistically, shouldn’t even be at this show. He doesn’t care about the band, he didn’t want to make the drive, and he had to bring Anna along because he couldn’t find a babysitter.

But he was going to suck it up to go with Dustin, who immediately bought tickets to see his favorite band when they went on sale. Who called Steve this morning to inform him, somehow both solemnly and frantically, that he had the worst food poisoning known to man, and, that until he stopped puking and shitting at the same time, he could not leave the bathroom.

Steve very much did not need to know that.

With Dustin went the rest of the Babysitters’ Club, all of them having eaten the same shady pizza and suffering the consequences. The only exception was Mike, lactose intolerant but cursed to take care of his idiot friends.

He texted Steve to ask if he had extra bleach. Steve dropped it outside the house because no way in hell was he entering that building.

Dustin assured him, amidst too much detail and shockingly disgusting background noise, that both tickets shouldn’t go to waste, and with no one able to babysit Anna, Steve should take advantage of both.

So, here he is. Standing in the first level - Dustin couldn’t get floor tickets, thank God - of a show for a metal band he has no intention of ever listening to and holding his four-year-old daughter, who has bright pink ear defenders looped around her neck in preparation for when it gets really, really loud.

“When are they starting?” she asks for the fourth time in as many minutes, with a sigh too big for her little body.

“In a few minutes,” Steve says, keeping an eye on the stage, where he watches the crew set up. Mad respect for them hustling so hard. He could never.

The seats are slowly filling up, and Steve feels a little sad for the first opener, a little sad that they don’t have a full house for their set.

A group of four guys takes the seats right next to Steve, with a pale, long-haired, big-eyed guy right next to him. He’s got tattoos on his arms and rings on all his fingers and a silver bar through his upper ear.

And he’s arguing emphatically with his friend next to him.

“I’m telling you, American Psycho is more recognizable!” he says, hands flying. Steve discreetly makes sure he and Anna aren’t within striking distance. “Not to mention cheaper!”

“A prop chainsaw,” his friend - a short white guy with shorter but equally wild hair - says, “can’t possibly be that hard to find by tomorrow.”

“We already have the axe!”

“I’m with Eddie,” the big white guy at the end of their group says. “I’m a sucker for American Psycho.”

“Okay, but I’m the guy who has to use the props,” the fourth friend, a Black guy with short braids who looks annoyed at this conversation, like they’ve had it before. “And I think I’d have more fun with the chainsaw.”

Eddie - the guy with long hair and heavy jewelry and hands with a mind of their own - rolls his eyes. It’s a full body movement, one that has him spinning to face Steve. When he does, his face cycles through a myriad of emotions too fast for Steve to really track.

“Hi, pretty boy,” he says. His eyes then dart down to Anna, who stares at him with her head cocked to the side. “Pretty dad. Dad. Pretty. Hi.”

“Eddie,” the short guy cautions.

“Yeah, sorry, anyway, can you be a tiebreaker for us?”

“Sure,” Steve says. Anna squirms, so he lets her out of his lap to stand, holding her hand all the while. “What do you need?”

“American Psycho or Texas Chainsaw Massacre?” the big guy asks.

“You gotta give him context.”

“No, I don’t, Jeff.”

The guy who said he’d be using the props - whatever that means - rolls his eyes and stops fighting.

“What’s American Psycho?” Anna asks, choosing the best time to pay attention to the conversation, like always.

“A movie you’re too young to see,” Steve says. “And the one I’m picking out of those two.”

“Oh, thank you,” Eddie says, using a tone that better fits Steve saving his drowning dog or something. He then turns to the rest of his friends and says, “I fucking told you!”

Anna gasps. “You’re not s’posed to say that!”

Jeff smothers a laugh behind his hands, while the other three guys stare at Anna, half confused, half admiring.

Eddie clears his throat, looking significantly abashed. "Sorry, Miss-"

"Anna," she says.

"Anna," Eddie finishes. Then he turns to Steve. "And you are?"

"Steve. No Mister for me though. I might be a dad, but I'm not that old."

"You are old, Daddy," Anna says.

Steve frowns down at her, where she stands at his feet. She's smiling, mischievous like she always is when she says something along these lines. "I'm not that old."

"Yeah you are! You're like, you're like, like, fifteen."

Jeff gives up on hiding his laughter.

"I'm older than fifteen," Steve says gently, trying not to laugh.

Anna’s jaw drops. “You are?”

“Thank God for that,” Eddie mutters, then shuts his jaw with an audible click.

Steve tried to come up with an answer for that, but someone comes on a mic and starts playing the drums, so he moves the defenders over Anna’s ears and pays attention to the show instead.

It's... fun, he guesses. Fun if he were into it, maybe. The first opener has a lot of energy, even if the music isn't melodic enough for Steve's taste. He finds himself tapping along to the steady beat, moving slightly in his seat to the music.

It's nice background noise. He'd put this on while he grades papers. It's steady enough to fill his head but doesn't have a whole lot of lyrics he could get distracted by and sing along to.

Eddie and his friends, meanwhile, are having the time of their lives. The short guy - Gareth, Steve thinks his name is - mimes the drum part of each song with startling accuracy. Archie jumps up and down, Jeff absolutely screams along, and Eddie-

Anna stares up at Eddie, eyes wide and jaw slacked as she watches him bang his head to the music.

Steve almost snaps a picture of it, this little moment, before the second song ends and Eddie snaps out of his zone.

He shakes the hair out of his face, then looks down at Anna, who's still staring at him. "What?"

She cocks her head to the side in a mirror of his. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"The," she pauses, then starts shaking her head really hard, side to side. Steve puts a hand on her shoulder before she slams into the chairs in the row in front of them.

Eddie laughs. "The headbanging?"

"Yeah," Anna says, nodding.

"It's a way I move to the music," Eddie explains.

"Like dancing?"

"Sort of," Eddie says. "It's easier. I look stupid when I dance."

"You're not s'posed to say that," Anna tells him solemnly. "Right, Daddy?"

Steve meets Eddie's eyes. Even with the lights down, they're big and pretty and reflective, and Steve is going to kick himself so hard if he chickens out before he can get his number.

"Right," he says, still looking at Eddie. "We're not supposed to call ourselves stupid."

"Sorry," Eddie whispers.

"Don't be."

Anna tugs on Steve's hand, then Eddie's. "Teach me."

"Anna," Steve cautions.

"Can you please teach me?" she corrects.

Eddie glances down at Anna, then back up at Steve. "If it's-"

"Go ahead," Steve says because Eddie has more than passed the vibe check at this point.

Eddie crouches down as a new song starts up, and while Steve can't hear what he's telling her, he sees her smile, bright as day.

By the last song of the first opener, Anna is headbanging along with Eddie, off-beat in the say little kids always are but more than making up for it with effort.

Steve gives into the impulse to take a picture.

When the first opener finishes, Steve picks Anna back up and takes her ear defenders off.

"Woah," she says. "Can I keep them-"

"Nope," Steve says. "They stay on when the music is on. You heard it fine, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but you-"

"I have my earplugs in," Steve says, pointing at them.

"So do I," Eddie says, and when he moves his hair back, sure enough, there are black earplugs nestled in his ears.

"You don't seem like the kind of guy to wear earplugs," Steve says.

"You don't seem like the kind of guy to come of a metal show," Eddie counters.

Anna climbs out of Steve's arms and onto his back, where she loops her arms around his shoulders and just hangs, like she does sometimes when she gets bored.

Weirdo kid, Steve thinks affectionately.

"That's because I'm not," Steve says. "I was supposed to come with a friend, but he got sick."

"Yikes," Eddie says. "You coming tomorrow, too?"

"I am," Steve says. "Are you?"

Eddie raises his eyebrows, like he didn't expect Steve to ask that. "Yeah, we'll be here. Not in these seats, though."

The lights go back down before Steve can ask what he means by that. He reaches behind him, scoops Anna back down on the ground, and puts her ear defenders on by the time the second opener strikes a scary-sounding opening chord.

Anna doesn't look scared at all. From the moment the music starts, she looks up at Eddie, and when he starts headbanging, she does, too.

Yup. Steve has effectively created a monster.

He contemplates, if Dustin is fine by tomorrow, skipping out on the show and giving his ticket to Anna, but that means not seeing Eddie again.

He really wants to see Eddie again, even if he won’t have the same seats.

Whatever that means.

Steve decides not to focus on that. He decides instead to focus on the moment. He listens to the music. He lets Anna take his hand and dance with it. He bops his head along with hers, but not too hard because he can’t risk aggravating his whiplash.

He enjoys the show, even if it’s not his cup of tea. It’s easy to enjoy the show, with Eddie next to him. It’s easy to enjoy his wild hair and pretty jewelry and big eyes and contagious enthusiasm.

It’s easy to see the way Eddie looks at him.

It’s also very easy, after the venue clears and Anna falls asleep in the car on the way home, to forget to ask for his number.

Shit.

(Part 2 is alive!!)

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

tl;dr hotboxing the v with stoner!suguru getou [prev] [nxt]

“You gotta stop fidgeting on my lap, you’re gonna make me lose.”

“I’m bored,” you whine.

Nestled snugly in Suguru’s lap, you cling to him like a koala, face buried in his neck. The rich, earthy scent of his cologne—sandalwood, your favorite—does little to distract from the fact that you’re getting zero attention.

You know who is? Gojo (derogatory).

After a long day at work, the thought of unwinding with Suguru was the only thing that kept you pushing through your exhausting shift. Now, thanks to the spare key Suguru gave you, showing up unannounced had become routine. You’d imagined finding him napping or lounging so you could snuggle, but instead, you were greeted by the thunderous sounds of Suguru and Gojo yelling over a video game.

Ever sweet, Suguru greeted you with a warm smile—but not an ounce of eye contact as he hunched over, aggressively mashing buttons. He’d invited you to sit on his lap, promising it was “one last round.”

That was four rounds ago.

At this point, you’ve resigned yourself to either falling asleep to the rhythmic sounds of button-mashing or waiting for Gojo to rage-quit. But a surprising third option presents itself in the form of Suguru’s phone ringing.

Suguru nudges you with his controller. “Mind answering that for me? It’s in my right pocket.”

Rolling your eyes, you reach into his pocket, fishing out the phone. The caller ID reads: 

Toji (Neighbor/Nuisance)

Suguru groans. “Ugh, who knows what crazy-ass shit Toji’s about to unload now.”

Eager for a change in pace, you accept the call and press the phone to Suguru’s ear. “Here, Sugu. I’ll hold it for you.”

Toji’s boisterous voice is loud enough to catch snippets like “no kid tonight,” “get wild,” “casino,” and “can’t say no.” Suguru exchanges a few exasperated grunts before sighing in defeat. “Okay, okay. Meet you down there in 30.”

Suguru signals for you to end the call, groaning as he explains, “So… here’s the deal. Toji’s kid is with his mom, and he just scored ten grand off some hustle. Now he wants to hit the casino. And since Gojo dumped his drug-dog onto him, we kinda owe him.” He grimaces. “We can’t exactly say no.”

Gojo clutches his chest dramatically. “Why does everything I do come back to bite me in the ass?! I need my chakras aligned.”

“You need your brain cells aligned,” you retort. “Let’s just get ready for whatever nonsense Toji has cooked up.”

You twist around, reaching for the zip on the table to “prepare” yourself for Toji’s rough personality. Just as your fingers brush the bag, Suguru puts his controller down, catching your arm in a smooth, practiced motion.

“Nah, we’re good,” he says, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement. “Toji’s gonna smoke us out. Said we could hotbox his car.”

Gojo pauses mid-stretch, eyebrows shooting up as he grabs his navy half-zip from the back of the couch. Tugging it on over his shirt, he lets out a dramatic scoff. His bright blue eyes are wide with disbelief.

“The Honda?!” he exclaims. “Only bad things happen in that Honda.”

You shrug, unfazed. “Tough shit, Mister ‘I Make Impulse Purchases When High,’ Satoru.”

He narrows his eyes at you, dramatically clasping his hands together as if summoning divine wisdom. “Chakra. Alignment,” he intones, deadpan, before zipping up his jacket with a flourish.

Thirty minutes later, you’re stepping out of Suguru’s apartment building to find Toji leaning against his black Honda Accord. He’s decked out in Amiri jeans and a smug grin, fanning a stack of cash.

Toji’s eyes flick to you, shamelessly sizing you up. “Didn’t know you were bringing your little friend along. Not that I’m complaining.”

Suguru steps in front of you, voice low and sharp. “Eyes up here, Toji. She’s not interested.”

Gojo saunters past them, LV messenger bag swinging as he slides into the passenger seat. “Like that’s gonna stop him. He's a menace to society,” he mutters.

Inside the Honda, the smell is… questionable. The seats bear faint stains, and there’s a musky undertone, despite Toji’s claim he “Febreezed it earlier.” Suguru rolls down his window before Toji even starts the car.

“Better enjoy that fresh air,” Toji warns with a grin. “Once we hotbox, no weaklings breaking the seal.”

Gojo scoffs, pulling down the visor to adjust his hair. “How’s Gojo Junior, by the way? You find him a loving home yet?”

“Funny you ask,” Toji smirks. “Sold him to a buddy who coordinates underground dog fights. You can catch him in the doggy ring on Tuesday.”

The car goes silent. Your jaw drops as Suguru sputters. Gojo’s tinted Ray-Bans slip down his nose, his face frozen in horror.

“WHAT?!” you and Suguru exclaim in unison.

“Relax,” Toji chuckles, taking a sharp turn that throws you into Suguru’s side. Suguru steadies you with an arm around your shoulders, fingers brushing your neck. You shudder instinctively, shaking your head as Toji continues. “You said you needed it gone. I did that, didn't I?”

You interrupt, “Let’s circle back to what the fuck that was later. Right now, I need to know where you copped the weed, Toji. Getting laced isn’t exactly on my bingo card.”

Toji chuckles darkly. “Don’t worry that pretty little head,” he says, reaching into the center console with his free hand. He retrieves a blue mylar bag and dangles it between two fingers. “Picked up some gas from the dispensary.”

The car swerves slightly, and Gojo snatches the bag out of Toji’s hand.

“Toji, dear God, focus on the road! I can get you whatever you need!”

Toji smirks, undeterred. “Ah, you don’t worry that pretty little head either,” he teases.

Gojo fake-gags, clutching his throat and miming an exaggerated retch before snatching up the bag.

“Oh shit!” he exclaims, holding it up triumphantly for you and Suguru to see, his bright blue eyes gleaming with playful mischief. “This strain? Mine.” He taps at the fine print on the back of the bag, where, sure enough, his name is inscribed as cannabis breeder.

Grinning like a kid showing off a gold star, Gojo shoves the bag back in Toji’s face. “Cultivated by yours truly.”

Toji playfully jerks the wheel, making Gojo lurch back into his seat, wheezing.

Despite the casino being thirty minutes away, it feels like you get there in ten, bumping into Suguru’s side more times than you can count as the car winds through the streets.

Toji parallel parks right in front of the strip, snugging the car into a tight spot. You cringe with every movement, bracing for the sound of metal scraping metal, but it never comes.

He leans his seat back, invading your already cramped space, and pulls out two rolling trays. One gets passed to Suguru while the other balances precariously on the center console.

“Gotchu doll,” Toji says, swatting away Gojo’s hands as he picks up the mylar bag and starts grinding the weed.

You lean your head on Suguru’s shoulder, watching as he expertly packs the blunt, his fingers flexing with practiced ease. His brows knit together in concentration, and you absentmindedly trace the slit in one of them with your fingertip. The flick of the lighter precedes the soft flare of a flame as Suguru seals the blunt with a lick and lights it with a calm efficiency.

He passes the blunt to you first, winking, his lashes low and dark against his cheekbones. “Ladies first.”

Toji smirks and rolls up the windows. “Get your last breath of fresh air, everyone.”

You comply, taking a deep inhale before the blunt meets your lips. The first drag is warm and sweet, the earthy blueberry flavor lingering on your tongue. By the third, Suguru’s lips press against yours, his tongue sneaking between them as he kisses you deeply, tasting the smoke still in your mouth.

Drawing back, he hums appreciatively. “Mmm, Gojo, your strain’s flavor is so distinct it’s kiss-transferable. Truly one of one.”

Gojo whoops. “No way! I need to start charging more for my work. I’m in the lab cooking like Professor Utonium.” He grabs the blunt from Suguru and hands him the second one that Toji just finished rolling.

By now, the car is heavy with smoke. The faint buzz in your limbs morphs into a warm tingle as Toji launches into a monologue about his latest scams.

“—And if you make a big purchase, I’ll get your money back—ten percent cut for me, of course,” he explains, passing the blunt.

Gojo, giggling uncontrollably, wheezes. “Panhandling in a hotbox is CRAZY work.”

Toji’s reclines in his seat, legs spread wide, “What can I say, I got kids to feed.”

Suguru taps your thigh, drawing you out of a daze. You pass him the blunt with a shaky hand, shooting him a lazy grin. His gaze lingers, warm and heavy, before he takes a long drag.

You take a deep breath, but your lungs only fill with thick smoke, leaving you coughing softly. 

Blinking through the haze, it dawns on you—each of you is now holding a blunt, four in rotation. The air is dense, swirling with the acrid sweetness of burning weed, and the car feels like a hotbox on steroids.

Toji shifts in his seat, the humidity inside making his dark hair cling to his neck. He fiddles with the radio, pausing on a 90s hip-hop station. The bass-heavy beat fills the car as he nods along, a small grin playing on his lips.

“This used to be my shit,” he mutters, lost in the music.

“Old head,” Gojo chimes in, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Without missing a beat, Toji fires back, “I prefer DILF, thank you.”

Your phone buzzes in your lap, the screen lighting up with a message. Suguru notices and leans over, smirking as you open the group chat:

last 3 braincells

sugu: so are we just gonna ignore how toji’s macking on gojo rn HARD

toru: mom pick me up im scared

You bite back a laugh, shoulders shaking as Suguru chuckles quietly against your neck, his breath tickling your skin.

you: am I the only 1 who heard him say kids? as in plural…

toru: YOOO WTF yr right he did!

sugu: aint no mf way

Meanwhile, Toji is oblivious, drumming his fingers on the console and humming along to the music. 

He casts a glance back at you all. “Whatchu kids know ‘bout this?”

toru: 3 minutes

sugu: huh?

toru: 3 min until I crack open my window I feel like I’m suffocating

sugu: nonononononono

you: omg toru me too I’ve choked down 9 coughs you: it hurts so bad

Gojo snakes his hand between the seats, holding up three fingers as he starts a silent countdown. 

You reach over, squeezing his hand in solidarity, your chest burning from suppressed coughs.

Suguru leans into you again, his lips brushing your ear. “I’m officially faded,” he whispers, voice light and hazy.

Finally, Gojo rolls down the window, and chaos erupts.

A dense cloud of smoke billows out, so thick it looks like the car’s on fire. Toji yells, “THE FUCK?!” scrambling to lock the windows, but it’s too late. The night swallows the smoke, leaving the car reeking and Toji fuming.

Outside, you stretch, your movements sluggish as your lungs finally catch some fresh air. The world feels surreal, every sensation heightened and slightly off-kilter. Smoke continues to waft out, curling into the night sky like some supernatural fog.

Toji glares at Gojo, shaking his head. “Y’all are lucky I’m feeling nice tonight,” he grumbles, popping the trunk with a sharp click. “Let’s head in now.”

He grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder as Gojo circles the car, unzipped bag in hand and a fistful of gummy bears in his mouth. “Welf,” Gojo mumbles, barely intelligible around the candy, “thas was… interessing.”

You swipe a couple of gummy bears from his bag, popping one into your mouth and offering another to Suguru. The sugary burst soothes your throat, and Suguru hums appreciatively as he takes the gummy from your fingers.

Suguru holds up the gummy bear. “Here’s to playing bystander while Toji speedruns going broke.”

Gojo cackles, tossing a gummy into his mouth. “And thus, the world restores its natural order.”

The inside of the casino hits you like a sensory overload in your inebriated state. Flashing lights blur and disorient, leaving you dumbstruck until Suguru’s firm pull steadies you. The air buzzes with energy, a cacophony of laughter, shouts, and the constant chime of slot machines. The sharp scent of liquor mixes with the faint aroma of stale cigarettes. High ceilings and regal gold detailing loom above, exuding opulence, but you can’t shake the feeling of being out of place. Self-consciousness creeps in, tightening around your chest.

Suguru’s hand threads through yours, warm and grounding. You follow him as he trails behind Gojo, weaving through the sea of patrons toward the slot machines. The upturned glances from passersby sting—a mix of judgment and amusement no doubt drawn by the pungent scent of weed clinging to your clothes. You square your shoulders and decide to own it.

Settling next to Gojo, you watch him whip out a wad of cash with zero hesitation. He gleefully feeds the glowing red slot machine, his movements full of fervor. You and Suguru exchange a knowing glance, both having agreed earlier to sit out on gambling. The likelihood of loss was too high for your liking.

But Gojo? Gojo thrives on chaos.

He strikes out again and again, spinning and losing sixty consecutive bets. The grating whirl of the slots feels louder than ever in your ears.

Then, miraculously, he hits a match. Gojo’s eyes light up with disbelief and excitement, his grin infectious. Without missing a beat, he stuffs another ten bills into the machine.

Suguru groans, rubbing his temple. “I want the record to show that when Satoru complains about losing hundreds tomorrow, I’m absolutely saying, ‘I told you s—’’”

“COOME ON, SEVEN! C’MON! COME TO DADDY!”

The booming voice is unmistakable. Toji.

You and Suguru whip your heads around, craning to see where the commotion is coming from. A large crowd clusters near the craps table, and you catch a glimpse of Toji gesturing wildly. You nudge Gojo’s shoulder, but he waves you off without looking up.

“Can’t stop. I’m on a roll.”

Rolling your eyes, you follow Suguru as he pushes through the crowd. People mutter complaints, but you’re too curious to care. Finally, you reach the front.

Toji is at the center of it all, shooting dice with the swagger of someone who owns the place. A hefty stack of cash rests on the table, and the crowd cheers as he rolls another seven. Chips clatter as side bets are placed, the table a kaleidoscope of frantic energy.

“Blow for me, sweetheart,” Toji purrs to a blushing young woman beside him. She complies with a shy smile, and Toji winks before tossing the dice with practiced ease. They land with precision—a perfect seven.

“FUCK YEAH!”

Cheers erupt again, only to be cut short by a voice crackling over the speakers:

“Good evening, patrons. Could the owner of a black Honda Accord parked out front please make their way to the front desk? You are wrongfully parked in VIP. Thank you.”

Toji curses under his breath, scanning the crowd until his eyes land on you. “AYEE, Suguru! Be a dear and handle that for me, huh? I’ll give you a cut of this sweet cash.”

Suguru sighs, extending his arms. Toji tosses the keys, which Suguru catches effortlessly.

You make your way back through the crowd, calling out over the commotion, “At least we’ve got an excuse to leave now! This is insane!”

Outside, the cool night air hits your face, bringing instant relief from the chaos inside. You slide into the passenger seat, sighing as you pull Suguru’s arm toward you and snuggle into his warmth. He hums softly, the blinker ticking as he maneuvers the car toward the parking lot down the street.

The headlights flicker, casting dim light on the uneven pavement. Suguru squints, searching for an open spot. After a few minutes of frustration, he backs into a secluded space far from the casino.

“It’s even farther than I thought,” you mutter, not looking forward to the walk back.

Suguru reclines his seat with a heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. You nuzzle into his bicep, stroking his fingers.

“What’s wrong, Suguru?”

“This just isn’t how I pictured tonight going,” he admits, tilting his head back with a wry smile.

You kiss along his arm, teasing, “Oh, come on. You’d just be playing video games all night anyway. Don’t act like I didn’t save you from yourself.”

He chuckles, his eyes softening as he glances down at you. “Neglecting you, was I? My apologies, baby.”

He juts his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout, and the mischievous glint in his eye makes your heart flutter. “Come here,” he murmurs, guiding you onto his lap.

You crawl over to the driver’s seat eagerly, letting Suguru’s hands guide your legs until you’re firmly settled on his lap. His palms trace the curve of your thighs, warm and deliberate, as he pouts dramatically, his expression expectant.

Turning your face away, you catch a lock of his long, black hair between your fingers, twirling it absently. He reaches up, cupping your cheeks and squeezing gently, forcing your lips into an exaggerated pout.

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss you, firm and unyielding.

You refuse to meet his kiss, turning your face further away in defiance. He exhales a quiet laugh, releasing your face to pepper soft kisses on each cheek before cradling your jaw with both hands. His dark eyes lock onto yours, half-lidded with a mixture of fondness and heat. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, his touch languid as it draws teasing circles along your thigh.

The resolve for your bratty act falters under his touch, and your resistance melts. You lean in, capturing his lips roughly, hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. Teeth graze, tongues intertwine, and the kiss grows hungrier, his low groans resonating between you.

Your fingers trail to the sensitive shell of his ear, stroking lightly. His breath catches, and he grinds against you in response, lips trailing down to the curve of your neck.

“You gonna finally take care of me, Sugu?” you whisper breathlessly. “Right here, in Toji’s car?”

He groans against your skin, biting gently before pulling back to look at you. “Yeah? So needy you need me right here?”

His hands slide under your shirt, palms splaying against your bare skin as he presses a kiss to the base of your throat. His hips buck upward, grinding into you, and a soft moan escapes your lips.

“Want you, Sugu. Need you now,” you murmur, tugging at the waistband of your leggings.

Suguru chuckles low, kissing you again as he helps slide your leggings down, lips never straying far from your skin. You tug at his zipper, freeing him from his boxers. His cock springs free, thick and glistening at the tip, the deep tan of his skin contrasting sharply with the flushed pink of his head, already leaking.

“God,” you whisper, staring at him through your lashes as you lean down, kissing the velvety head. 

Your tongue flicks over the slit, savoring the salty taste of him as he groans, head falling back.

“Pretty girl,” he rasps, “don’t make me wait.”

You smirk, letting your spit drip down his shaft, spreading it in slow strokes before positioning yourself over him. His hands grip your hips as you sink onto him, inch by inch, the stretch stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck,” he groans, holding you steady. “That’s it, baby. So tight, so perfect.”

You bottom out with a gasp, the fullness almost overwhelming, and he grinds you against him, his hips rolling to drive him deeper. The sensation sends a shiver through you, and you bite into his neck to muffle a moan.

He responds with a sharp slap to your ass, the sting making you squeak. “Move, baby. Need to feel you.”

You begin bouncing on him, your pace faltering as pleasure wracks your body. Suguru takes over, gripping your thighs and lifting you effortlessly, his movements deep and relentless. You’re reduced to broken moans, your nails clawing at his chest beneath his shirt.

“F-fuck, Sugu—ah touch me,” you whimper.

He obliges, one hand sliding to your clit, rubbing in tight circles. You cry out his name, trembling as the coil in your stomach snaps, leaving you gushing around him.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice rough.

Your eyes flutter open, meeting his heated gaze as he thrusts up into you, chasing his own release. 

His grip tightens, and with a low groan, he spills inside you, warmth flooding your core.

You collapse against his chest, his lips brushing your temple as you both catch your breath. His fingers stroke through your hair, and you hum contentedly, savoring the intimacy of the moment.

Then his phone vibrates, breaking the quiet. You retrieve it, holding it up as Suguru unlocks it.

Satoru: SOS Toji is down $5k in the hole, and I gambled away all my cash. Satoru: Please come get us. /srs Satoru: Pull up to the front ASAP. Satoru: Now he’s down $6k. Hurry!!!

Suguru reads the messages aloud, his voice tinged with amusement. You both glance at the mess you’ve left on Toji’s seat and exchange a sheepish look.

“Well,” you say, smirking, “he can’t be that mad. Not when he’s already lost sixteen grand.”

Suguru laughs, shaking his head as he pulls you close again. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

[taglist: @inthedarkshadows000 @saltyhansen @m0rgui <33]

[bandgie]

More Please | Armageddon Event

Request: Greed | Christopher Bahng-Chan by anon song!

warnings: MDNI18+, fem!reader, exhibitionism!, pussy play, fingering, oral mentions (f!), sex flashbacks, double date w/ Changlix, piv mentions

notes! this song better be released because wtf? he can't drop that and dip

When his hand rests on your knee, you don’t overthink it. Chan is a physical lover in every sense. He needs you next to him. Close to him. He just has to know that you’re here, real, and safe.

But when his fingers trail to your lower thigh, you raise an eyebrow.

A silent question since you two are on a double date. Changbin and Felix love telling the story of how they met. Well, Felix does. Changbin only blushes and says ‘it didn’t happen like that’ more times than once. Perhaps Chan is invested in this new version of the story because he doesn’t seem to notice how you glance at him.

Whatever, you’re thinking too much. Chan got more than enough loving before you two left for dinner. The dress, your boyfriend claims, is all to blame. The way it accentuates your hips and makes the top of your breasts pop is sublime.

Sure, it’s cute. A simple floral gown that Chan tied and untied more times than you can count while getting ready. You had to cover the fresh bruises on your neck with so much concealer you think Felix can figure out why that specific spot is so yellow.

But it doesn't matter too much. You don’t regret being a few minutes late in the slightest. Chan is hardly the type for a quickie, so sex with him is always intense. It was only half an hour ago that the hair he styled for tonight was messy from your pulling. The shade of your lipstick was smeared on your face and his own. You doubt there was enough time to clean the pecks you left on his thighs.

And when he was between your legs, you were sure the dress he claimed was so pretty would get ruined. But Chan still insisted on keeping it on, opting to eat your cunt from under the material.

I’ll be careful.

You look down at your thighs upon the memory. You could see it now if you tried, the bobbing of his head making the fabric bounce. Something was alluring about seeing him, but not quite. The fact that you could hear and feel his mouth sucking only heightened the pleasure. You didn’t know what he was going to do next and you were more than eager to find out.

“Ya! Yongbok, you’re embarrassing me!” Changbin’s voice booms in the restaurant. His volume is something you four have grown accustomed to, but with your imagination running wild, you couldn’t help but jump.

Felix smiles, all teeth and pride. “That’s what I love about you though! It’s okay that you’re allergic to wood.”

You smile with them, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Not when all you think about is how Chan’s fingers are creeping between your legs and making your thighs tense.

And this time when you do look at him, he looks back. “You okay?” His eyes have a certain gleam in them. “You look like you’re thinking about something.”

That little shit. He is doing this on purpose.

“Nothing.” You can play his little game. “Nothing at all.”

His smirk tells you that he catches on. “Hm. I just couldn’t help but notice that you looked…deep in thought.”

Chan squeezes your thigh. Not hard in the slightest, but possessively. The same way he grips your legs when they’re over his shoulders. When he has to find leverage being on top, fingers digging into the underside of your thighs to keep you still and him upright.

“Ooo, I thought so too.” Felix's wide eyes blink innocently. “I thought you were being quiet. What’s on your mind, babe? Is Channie-hyung bothering you?”

Babe. Chan called you babe not too long ago.

His mouth was latched onto your pussy so good the slick started to run down his chin. He was eating like a starved man, greedy for more and more until you were shaking and oozing cum. Chan swallowed everything you gave him, gulping and licking his lips whenever he pulled away to catch his breath. You can still picture the messy curls from under your dress and how his eyes peeked over the material almost in a frenzy.

Fuck, babe, you taste so good.

Clearing your throat is the only way to make the memories fizzle into nothing but the arousal in your stomach. “When isn’t he bothering me? I don’t know how I’ve managed to put up with him for so long.”

Changbin laughs. Both at your words and Chan’s blushing face. Felix only agrees, stating how bothersome your lover used to be back in pre-debut days. 

“Ah, but you like it when I’m annoying, don’t you, baby?” Chan’s ears twinge with red, but his fluster doesn’t stop his fingers from prying your legs and finally finding the space he’s been aiming for. “You like it enough to stay with me, hm?”

His touches are soft on your cunt. The tips of his fingers brushing against your clit so sweetly it almost feels like a massage.

The buzz in your pussy spreads throughout your body. It’s warm and comforting, and all you can reply is, “Whatever.”

The conversation stirs to Changbin talking about a track he’s making; asking his hyung for advice on mixing and sampling. Chan answers as though he’s not playing with your folds through your underwear.

It was easy enough to listen in the beginning. All you had to do was nod and hum in agreement, but when Chan’s fingers prodded your clit and your clit only, you jolted.

No one seemed to notice. Felix was too entranced in his boyfriend to see how your jaw had slacked open and your eyes nearly crossed from Chan’s fingers.

And when he slid down, he could feel how wet you were getting through your panties. Chan could only imagine how swollen your cunt is from his lips, fingers, and cock. Neither of you thought there’d be enough juice left to get horny, but the slick on his fingers and your underwear shows how possible that is.

The pads of Chan’s fingers rub slow circles on your entrance. It leaves his digits warm and a little wet, and he uses that to trail back up to play with the peak of your clit. If you focus hard enough, you could make out the soft sounds of squishing and slicking from your pussy.

It’s barely audible, but Changbin’s booming voice easily overshadows it. 

Breathe. You have to remind yourself to breathe. Your moans force themselves into quiet puffs of air. Maybe to the couple across, it just looks like you’re catching your breath from eating, but everything feels so obvious. From the licking of your lips to the slight movement in Chan’s shoulder, you think Felix and Changbin have to know what’s happening under the table.

Then your boyfriend adjusts in his seat. You envision his fingers slipping away for a moment, but the exact opposite happens. Chan uses the movement to his advantage, making the slide into your underwear unbelievably smooth.

And gosh, his fingers are even warmer like this. You thought they’d be cold from the air, but being attached to your cunt even with the panties in the way kept them hot. The ridges of his knuckles glide perfectly over your clit and you can’t help the way your hips buck.

“Fuck! I-sorry.” They’re looking at you. Their eyes feel heavy - watchful. You look to Chan for help, but he only has a clueless look in his eyes that makes you want to strangle him. “I thought I felt something crawl on my leg.”

Changbin pales. “Don’t say that! Are you serious?”

You shake your head. “It was just my-” Chan slips a finger in, deep, thick, and welcomed. You suck in a sharp breath. “My imagination. Sorry.”

“Here. I’ll check.” Chan lifts the tablecloth. You have to pinch your lips together from gasping, pretending that Chan’s finger isn’t digging into your cunt for a waiter who decides to check in on your four to see.

He hums, fully acting as if he’s thoroughly searching.

Then a second finger finds its way inside. He even goes as far as to lean down, pretending to look under the table when you feel a string of warm saliva hit your cunt.

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

And his fingers are doing the same. They barely thrust to not make it obvious, but it so is. How can he possibly be hungry for more when he was just-

“Nope. I don’t see anything.” Chan’s face is red. You know his friends will write it off from being upside down, but you know the blood rushing to his face is the same reason his cock is straining uncomfortably in his jeans.

“I think my jagiya is getting tired. Should we go home soon?”

It doesn’t matter how good his fingers hit your sensitive spot. How the hard part of his palm rubs just perfectly on your clit. You won’t ever give him the satisfaction.“I don’t know. I think I’m feeling wide awake.”

The smile on his face says it all. You’re definitely getting it rough tonight.

Again.

“Yeah. You know what? I do need to finish that stupid album.” Changbin groans in annoyance. “I really wanted to have seconds too.”

Felix giggles at his lover - praising him for eating so well when you’re the one that’s stuffed to the brim. Chan nods, “Yeah, that sounds good. Plus, I think we have dessert at the house, right baby? You want a little more?”

Little shit. He hardly uses his flirty voice, but it makes you clench around him anyway.

You suppose you’ll let him indulge in you a bit longer. “Please.”

[st7rns]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓, c. sturniolo

✿ IN WHICH, chris takes his spoiled!gf on her third shopping spree of the month and she finds a way to thank him…

✿ WARNINGS, smut, oral (male!receiving), use of curse words, semi-proof read

✿ RORA SPEAKS, guys this is my first story so it might be a lil bad but i js KNOW chris would spoil his gf so i had to write this 🙏🙏

i love my man.

he’s always buying me things. if i even smile at something i see while shopping, he’s already picking it up and putting it in our cart. the amount of times he swipes his card when he’s with me is insane.

i have all the new clothes, shoes, purses, etc. but it’s not like i ask him to buy me all these things, he does it on his own!

so far this month, he’d already taken me on two shopping sprees. one at target (who knew self care items were so expensive?) and the other for an online clothing store.

but i reallyyyy want a new purse. so, of course, after he saw me eyeing it for a few weeks, he asked me something like “what brand is that purse you wanted again?” and i practically screamed in excitement, “coach!”

and that explains why we’re at the mall, four shopping bags around my dainty wrists and my new purse around the other. “have i told you how much i love you?” i say sweetly, standing on my tippy toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. my lip gloss made a mark and i smiled at it on his fine ass face.

“not enough” he says lowly, pressing the buttons on the vending machine. at the last store we were in, he practically begged for me to hurry the fuck up so he could get a pepsi or else ‘he’d die.’

he licked his lips in concentration as he watched the soda fall from its row in the vending machine, and it made my legs weak.

“well, i can show you” i whispered seductively in his ear, my hand shaking up his chest to the side of his neck. i inhaled his dior sauvage cologne and it only made me wetter.

“we’re in public, baby” he whispers back, looking around as if someone could hear us. i raised my eyebrows in a “so?” expression which only made him smile and shake his head. “you wanna fuck in the bathroom?”

i knew he was saying it jokingly but my lips form a pout, “what about all my stuff?” i hold up all my shopping bags. he looks down at the multiple bags and groans, “let’s get the fuck home, then”

as soon as he unlocked the door, i jumped on him like a wild fucking animal. i kissed and licked on his neck, earning me a squeeze on my ass and a groan from his lips.

“can’t wait. want you so bad” i whimpered in between kisses, reaching my hand down to palm his hard dick. he broke away to yell “NICK? MATT?” after a few minutes of no reply he picked me up, my legs wrapping around his waist, and sat me on the kitchen counter.

“so needy, yeah?” he says breathlessly, pulling his pants and boxers down in one go. i slowly stroke his dick, sweetly kissing him on the lips at the same time “only for you”

he gave me a cocky grin as he slipped his hands up my shirt, groping and squeezing my boobs. i moaned and threw my head back.

after a few seconds of that, i pulled his hands away. i shook my head, my hair sticking to my lip gloss, “i wanna make you feel good, baby” i slowly got off the counter and dropped to my knees in front of him.

“gonna make me feel good?” he says teasingly. i kiss only the tip of his dick, his pre cum layering over my lip gloss, before looking up at him through my long lashes, and taking all of him in my mouth. or most of him.

he groans and grabs the back of my head, pushing him farther down my throat. “so fucking good, ma. take that shit” i bob my head up and down on his dick, tears filling the edges of my eyes.

the only sounds in the room are chris’ noises of pleasure and the wetness of my mouth around his lubricated dick. i can tell chris is close to reaching his high by the way he starts to sloppily stroke the back of my head.

“fuck- keep going, baby. i’m so close-“ before he can even finish his sentence, warm cum shoots down my throat. i swallow every last drop before popping his dick out my mouth.

“stick that tongue out, mama” he instructs and i do as i’m told, sticking my pink tongue out to show that i swallowed. “that’s my girl” he praises, cupping the side of my face and placing a gentle kiss on the top of my forehead.

“you’re gonna have to show me how much you love me way more often” he chuckles, pulling his drawers and pants up. i smile before gasping, suddenly remembering how he bought me a new purse, and sprinting to where we dropped all of my shopping bags.

i put the purse on, twirling in a circle to give chris the full picture. he licks his lips as he looks me up and down, “you’re so fucking beautiful. did you know that?”

[jiminiecrickets]

MILK & TWO SUGARS. KTH / M!READER

summary. despite being your subordinate, taehyung relishes in his power over you.

wc. 4.9k

tags. boss/assistant au, dom top!reader, bottom!tae, tae films himself to tease you, oral (r. receiving), office/desk sex, unprotected sex, officemates-with-benefits (sort of)

[ requested ]

the train carriage rocks and rumbles, steel and electricity burning beneath your feet. you hover beside the moving join between carriages, counting down the number of stops until it reaches yours. aside from the not-so-inconspicuous journalist snapping pictures of you across the carriage, it has been a fairly smooth ride.

he's wearing a cap, staring down at the flip-out screen of his dslr, pointed just right in your direction. he's far enough away that the photos probably don't seem that creepy – not i-pretended-to-bump-into-you-for-this-picture creepy, at least – and he's not holding the camera low enough to angle your crotch as the focal point, which is more than you can say for some other journalists. sure, you may have had a wild youth, but you were square now – just a guy in a suit on his phone with a messenger bag strapped across your chest. the most interesting thing about you was the fact that a bouquet of purple and yellow flowers stuck out one end of your bag.

for all the other commuters knew, you were heading home to kiss your wife and your two-and-a-half kids. you would like to keep it that way, isolating yourself with earbuds playing a rotation of your favourite songs.

on your phone, your insanely efficient and ridiculously beautiful personal assistant has just stopped using capital letters and proper punctuation.

seriously where are you? your coffee's going cold :(

you huff. you told him to wait a while longer before grabbing it since you needed to stop by the florist, but he had always been strict about your schedule. if it wasn't on the document, it didn't exist.

a couple more stops to go, you reply, glancing out the windows to ensure you're not getting his hopes up. nine minutes.

can't you get here any faster?

no, taehyung. it's always going to be nine minutes.

despite his profile picture only being his initials – KT, matching at least four other people in your phone – he manages to inject a whole lot of personality into his next message.

then don't walk, desk jockey. what can i do to make you gallop? the bubble of three dots pops up. perhaps i can tempt you over with a carrot?

please stop it with the horse metaphors.

but you're the only one i wanna ride <3

you nearly choke on your saliva, hastily pressing your phone screen to your chest for privacy. you steel your nerves when your phone vibrates again, chasing away the heat crawling rapidly up your neck. you take a deep breath and glance down.

a video. you tap the play button and the window expands to take up your screen.

the first thing you notice is that taehyung's not wearing any pants. he's wearing everything but pants, and you even see a flash of his playful smirk as he tightens his tie when he glances down. he smooths it down, down his stomach, and leans back in a chair.

your chair.

holy shit. he's in your office.

he tucks one foot up onto the edge of your desk, polished pointed shoe pivoting as he makes himself comfortable. he rests on the point of his elbow, cradling his jaw with long slim fingers.

he wraps his slender fingers around his cock, revealing it from beneath the bottom of his crisp white dress shirt. only the bottom sliver of his face is visible, soft and shapely pink lips playing at innocence, tucked teasingly between his front teeth.

your music doesn't provide a buffer anymore. on instinct, you darken your screen and slam the mute button, thumb working at the phone's volume button in excess.

but, because you have terrible vices, you slowly edge the volume back up until his soft, breathy moans rattle in your skull like a marble inside a can of spray paint.

"hey, boss," he whispers, fingers rolling over his reddened tip, cock dark pink and shining in his grip. he plays at formality, straightening his jacket lapel with his free hand. his hand drops down to cup his bare thigh, golden and soft, and slides gently over his skin, back and forth – caressing himself the same way you do. he exhales softly, back arching. the chair's leather shifts audibly. "come grab your coffee, already. aren't you thirsty? i sure am."

dropping his leg, he pushes his shirt up around his chest, and lifts his phone above him with a sound between a hum and a moan. taehyung twists in your black leather chair, its tall slim shape highlighting the way he angles his hips to accentuate his waist and hips and the way his soft thighs fill up the seat of the chair.

you close your eyes for a steadying breath, shifting on the spot as the train pulls up to your station. thank goodness you had the epiphany to wear a dark suit today. it'd be a particularly awkward gossip piece for that journalist – yes, still there – if you'd worn something lighter.

"i'll be waiting, big boy," he coos directly into your ears, the breathiness in his voice and the flush to his cheeks letting you know just how long he's been in your chair.

he's going to be the death of you.

you weave your way through the station, hurrying down the stairs with your phone in a death grip, screen off. it pings when the pedestrian crossing lights turn green and your mouth goes dry at the sight of another video, described only by date and file type. you struggle to swallow.

on his knees, lovely round ass presented to the camera, taehyung pumps three fingers in and out of his slick hole, the shine of lube dripping down his thigh. his moans are quick and muffled by the palm over his mouth, his cheeks glowing pink with desire, and his hips jerk as he pulls his knees close together. his cock presses firmly along the seam of the back of his thighs.

hissing softly, he pulls his fingers out with a slick pop, lubricated until the knuckle. he glides his fingertips around his hole, showing himself off with a soft giggle, and rocks back on them until his cock twitches. it leaks as he fucks himself with them.

"ah...! get down here, already – my fingers aren't as thick as yours, baby. m-maybe i could still come on them, though," he moans slyly, the quick slick sound of his pumping fingers jolting shivers down your spine. "gonna fucking come on myself, come on your desk – every time you enter this office, you're gonna remember the way i made you feel." 

he moans with a toss of his head as his hand quickens. his leaking cock pulses and he bounces slightly on his fingers, that little bit of friction from his cock bumping his thighs almost enough.

"what is it... that you said?" he grins back at the camera, dark eyes smoky and devious. "only angels have bodies like mine? well... white was always heaven's colour."

his lips part as his dark brow furrows, his grip tightening on the back of the chair as his hips tremble. his cock explodes with cum, spurting out in thick white ropes that splatter the backs of his thighs like the sweetest glaze. he spreads his jerking, trembling thighs, and his release slowly pools on the black leather between his knees. he pants softly, wordless.

in the silence of your earbuds, your head rings with the anticipation of your pounding heart, nearly sprinting the half-block down to the skyscraper with your last name printed on it. you push through the large glass doors carelessly – they're shatterproof, and they'll survive you shouldering your way through them.

on your phone, taehyung lets out a soft exhale that sinks claws into your brain. glossy white beads drip from the edge of your chair between his unblemished legs, and if that's not a scene of the divine, then you don't know what is.

shit. hastily, you pass the receptionists and slip into an empty elevator someone left behind. swiping your card, you punch the button for the highest floor, and survive the agonising seconds up, dumping your earbuds and phone unceremoniously into your bag.

the elevator dings, and you're shoving yourself through the tiniest gap the moment it appears with a problem in your pants and a problem at your desk.

lazily, taehyung grins, pink tongue swiping over his lips. one hand strokes his pretty cock under the desk, the motion of his arm perfectly clear.

"hey there, big boy," he purrs. "finally here for your coffee, right?"

you grunt noncommittedly, extracting the bouquet of flowers from your bag before dumping the bag on the loveseat by the elevator. you place it in a white vase and wiggle it back into place on the cute pigeonhole shelf.

you turn back to him, and he's standing now, leaning forward over your desk with that same silky smile. "done with playing uncaring? come over here, make me sorry. i've broken your rules, haven't i, boss?"

"you're a real piece of work," you growl, stalking towards him and yanking him away from your desk to survey the damage. time to put in a request for a new chair. you return your gaze to taehyung, who just smiles demurely at you and strokes the bulge in your trousers.

"a piece of art, don't you like telling me?" he teases, nudging your cock with his knuckles. his smile widens as your breath skips like a record player. he pushes you towards the end of your oak desk. "you liked my presents, did you?"

"presents? that was torture," you rumble, placing your hand on top of his head and fisting a handful of his hair. you tug firmly backwards and his eyes roll back briefly as he moans, hands faltering for just a moment as he fiddles with your fly – you smirk at the sight.

his lashes flutter as he regains control, pupils dilating as he gazes up at you from between your thighs. "but you liked them, right, sir?" he asks softly, almost nervously. he fishes your cock out and his breath hitches, his lower lip tugged between his teeth as he stares up at it.

"is the sky blue, dove?" you ask, softening your voice just for him. he melts like chocolate, pressing himself sweetly into you, and you let go of his hair to card it back from his large dark eyes, tucking the stray strands behind his ears. "but i won't say it didn't surprise me. i was on the train."

"your fault when you have a perfectly good car in the garage, sir," he says with a hum, and he kisses the base of your cock. he lifts your hand back to his hair and you guide his head towards the head of your shaft. with a soft moan, he's all yours again to eat and enjoy, those dark brown eyes almost gold in the late afternoon sun.

"i'll let that sass slide because you're usually such a sweet boy," you say softly, humming as he drags his warm tongue over the ridge of your tip. "good. suck."

he loves the way you talk to him with that voice – a voice like chocolate, sweet and thick and dark. he bobs his head, stroking what he can't fit, and he moans when you hit the back of his throat, filling his mouth and stretching his jaw wide. he works at your cock, tongue lapping at the veins, tracing them to your tip and back, and closes his lips around your shaft, gradually getting all of it down his throat.

he clasps your thighs, letting himself enjoy the heft and heat of your cock filling his throat, and his eyes slide closed, the tip of his nose brushing your pelvis. you exhale softly and pat his hair to watch it bounce back into place, tugging the loose beach curls between two fingers and letting them spring back. it's incredibly soft and silky for someone who's dyed his entire head honey blond for at least as long as he's been working for you.

you cup his cheek as he bobs his head, warm tight throat swallowing your cock, constantly squeezing and fluttering, and your hand shifts to his chin, fingers pressed against the bend of his throat where it meets his jaw. gliding your fingers lower, you can feel your cock sliding against the walls of his throat. when he pulls back until just the heavy tip rests on his tongue, you feel with reverence the way he swallows it down, following the movement of the tip of your cock with each finger it passes.

below, you watch in amusement as he jerks himself off, motions quick and shallow but involving the motion of his whole arm from the shoulder. he moans as he swallows your cock, and your head falls back as your cock throbs from the tight vibrations.

"fuck, taehyung, good boy," you groan, listening to him choke and gag on it as if he couldn't get enough. saliva coats your dick, and it drips down his chin. his parted lips allow him to moan and when he closes his lips around it, he redefines the word 'suck'.

his cheeks hollow, his eyes roll back, and he's so warm and wet around you that your control snaps and you yank his head forward, burying your cock deep in him. he whimpers so perfectly when he feels your cum sliding down his throat, swallowing rapidly. his lashes flutter as he pushes himself deeper and his lips press against your base, making you grunt sharply, fingers tightening in his hair.

even when your grip loosens, your uneven breaths steadying, taehyung keeps you in his mouth, feeling his own hot cum drip down his twitching cock. he doesn't stroke himself, doesn't pull away – just contents himself during the aftermath of his high with keeping his mouth full, blinking slowly like a cat at the hazy middle-distance.

you have to slide him off your cock and he protests, whimpering softly as his nails dig into your thigh. you wrap a hand around yourself, pumping it slowly, and taehyung stares on yearningly, licking his lips subconsciously when a bead of cum slides down your tip.

"do i need to look at what you've done," you ask, though your voice remains steady at the end like a statement. "pretty thing, we are in my office. that means no messes."

"doesn't feel as good as when you're in me," he rasps, leaning up and kissing the base of your cock. "please, baby? promise i'll clean up later."

"you can't always get your way through flattery," you chuckle as he stands, tilting and falling against you as if he belongs there, wrapped in your arms. one hand travels further down and cups his ass, squeezing the supple warmth of it. he moans airily.

"it's worked so far," he whispers. "go sit down, big boy. gonna ride you like you deserve."

"what, you're going to tease this gorgeous little ass and i'm not allowed to have a taste?" you tease, and taehyung grins, pressing chest-to-chest with you. "you're a cruel man."

he smiles, still panting softly, and presses his lips to the line of your jaw. "maybe later," he murmurs. "will you clean me up and take care of me afterwards?"

"depends on my mood, pretty," you hum, guided over to your seat and watching as he sets himself atop your lap. you squeeze his thighs, sitting up against his back.

"you're a chivalrous man, boss. you wouldn't force me to walk home with your cum dripping down my leg," he chuckles, placing his ass over your cock and grinding against it. he grips the armrest and turns his head over his shoulder to kiss you, the other hand coming up to grip your hair. "mm – fuck me already. wanna feel your cock fill me up like a whore – been waiting for ages to get you alone for this."

"you could always call me outside of work, you know?"

"but where's the fun in that?" he teases, and sinks down on your cock with a breathy relieved moan that makes you shiver.

holy fuck. he's so damn warm, so wet. for a moment your thoughts fizzle out into pleasant static shooting down your spine and out to your fingers and toes. just being with him, close to him, enveloped by his faint blue cologne, makes heaven an afterthought.

when you come to and open your eyes – despite not remembering closing them – you are met with taehyung's soft smoky gaze, his warm palm cupping your cheek. he smiles, breathless, as he leans in, closing his eyes and pressing your foreheads together. "you're handsome when you come."

after taking a moment to gather yourself, you frown slightly, shifting your hands higher on his thighs. no, you are most certainly still hard. "wishful thinking, much?"

"no, that was better than watching you come." he nuzzles into your cheek and jaw, then presses your foreheads together again with a soft roll of his hips. the action has you gasping and he slots his mouth against yours, taking advantage of the moment of weakness to slip his tongue between your teeth.

knowing he, your quiet, pretty little secretary, is the one to bring you down from your pedestal, fills him with insurmountable pride. smugness, too – a healthy dose of it. after all, the media made you into the country's most eligible bachelor, and still here you were, leaning into his touch like a soft college boyfriend. you've spent every waking moment since you turned eighteen having columnists nipping at your heels and biting into your clothes, your friends, your love life, and anything else they can twist into drama or some moral fault with you. he knows how high your walls are because of it and the fact that you decided to give him a chance, to let him help you, despite looking like every one of the scandalmongers who've ever hurt you, makes him proud.

you'd never truly lost that pureness about you, that faith in people's goodness that most lose the first time they're betrayed by those they love. that is a very hard thing to do when so many close to you have had some dark immortal want to leech out of you.

taehyung's getting ahead of himself. he can start thinking such things when you start calling him your boyfriend.

"i missed you," he whispers, breath hitching as the ridge of your cockhead catches on his rim. he reaches behind himself, guiding himself onto your dick, and his fingernails dig into your shoulder as he throws his head back with a breathless moan.

"yeah?" you murmur, because you can't ever stay upset at taehyung. "it's only been a few hours. fuck. mm – couldn't have known. maybe you should've sent me a few more videos of yourself."

he tries to gasp in offence, but it comes out too breathy, too pleased. he bounces on your lap with his creamy thighs bracketing yours. "pig. why do you want videos when you have the real thing right in front of you?"

"so i can remember you on lonely nights in foreign hotel rooms."

he scoffs, chuckling softly as he circles his hips, making you groan and tighten your grip on him. he cups the back of your head and pulls you in for a kiss. "give me a promotion, big boy. then your nights won't have to be so lonely."

"you and your silver tongue," you murmur, placing your hands on the curve of his ass, the tiny dip of flesh at the base of his spine. he arches into your touch with a soft sigh, clenching around you and enveloping you in his velvety heat.

"mhm. you know what my tongue can do," he teases, content to fill himself up with you and do nothing else for the rest of the day. he could sit here, pretty as a princess, for the rest of his life and he'd have no qualms about it.

you, however, have different ideas.

you hook your arms under his thighs and rise to your feet, swiping pens and papers clear of your desk and onto the floor with a clatter – he laughs – and you set him down on your desk, kissing his jaw and neck. you nip at his earlobe and he growls in warning playfully, yanking your hair to bring your throat closer to him. he sucks a hickey onto the sensitive skin, the sting giving way to pleasure far too easily.

he spreads his knees and leans back, grabbing your cock with one hand and bracing against the desk with the other, and slips you back inside him with a long moan of bliss. "y-you're so big..."

"don't stroke my ego," you chuckle, stroking his soft, smooth hips and thighs as you thrust hilt-deep into him, easier now that he's adjusted. "god knows it's big enough as it is."

"of course i have to. you're the – the top man." his breath hitches as your cock glides against his swollen prostate, dragging against it roughly with how tightly he's stretched around you. he swears he can follow the line of the veins when it rides against his gummy walls with a harsh thrust. "oh, fuck! baby!"

"that feel good, hm?" you murmur into his ear, the sweet decadence of it rolling over his brain like waves over the shore.

"yes," he moans, eyes rolling back as you press into him, a single shift of the angle of your hips enough to make his back arch and his mouth fall open. "yes, yes! ah, f-fuck, right there – right there, harder, don't stop..."

you know his body like the back of your hand. gripping his thighs until they dimple under your fingertips, you pull out until just the tip rests against his hole. with a snap of your hips, you bury yourself deep in his warmth, making him jerk and cry out. his cock spurts prematurely and he gnaws on his lower lip, squeezing his eyes shut to will down his budding high. his nails dig into your shoulders.

"i told you," he pants, glistening eyes raising to meet yours. "harder."

what your secretary wants, he gets.

your cock slams directly into his prostate and he gasps, whimpering softly as you set a quick, hungry pace. still unsatisfied, you push your mouth against his, tongue dipping between his lips to taste his coffee.

milk, two sugars.

he always had a sweet tooth.

his damp hair sticks to his temples, the perfect salon waves bouncing rapidly with each smack of your hips against his ass. he moans into your mouth as his cock jerks, swollen and heavy against his slim stomach. it bounces with each powerful thrust and he cries out, the sweet sound echoing in your office for anyone to hear.

he whines softly, a softer sound than he'd ever let anyone else hear. he claws at your shoulders and sides, panting against your lips and submitting to your demanding kisses with messy clouded lust. the slap of skin on skin only arouses him further and he grabs your tie in a white-knuckled grip, tugging your mouth down against his the moment it parts for air.

"close," he whimpers into the kiss, and his eyes flutter back into his skull as your cock punches the breath out of his lungs, fucking him faster, harder, deeper. he opens his eyes, half-lidded and dazed, as you sweep his hair out of his eyes, combing it back gently with your fingers.

you tug. he comes.

his velvety searing heat swallows you whole, animal in its hunger, and he digs his heels into your lower back, forcing your cock deeper in him until you have no choice but to follow him over the precipice, crashing over it like blue waves over white rock. his pleasure is engulfing, almost stifling despite his tenderness. he curls into your grasp, panting and nuzzling into the crook of your neck, and his hot, shuddering breath stirs against the fine skin of your collarbone.

when your hips slow to give him a moment of respite – surely he'd want one, you thought, barely able to eke out a gasp of your name – he instead takes the chance to chastise you.

"couldn't you have... finished... any faster?" he huffs, his chest heaving as he gulps down air between words. "you've a meeting in five minutes."

with your thoughts still lingering on the image of taehyung's bliss and the clandestine knowledge that he'd made a mess on your desk, you take a moment to respond. when you do, you're incredulous.

"wait, are you trying to keep me on schedule? now?"

"it's... it's office hours. i still have to do my job." he rolls his eyes, as if you aren't balls-deep inside of him. you remind him with a few shallow, gentle thrusts – he sucks in a shaky breath and tips his head back with a shake to let his bangs fall more comfortably over his forehead. "lord knows you're not the one keeping an eye on your timetable."

"we can talk about that later, and just reschedule that damn meeting. they'll wait for me." you press your lips to the dip just beneath his ear and he hums, lazily content. then, as if remembering that he has to play bad cop and not laze in the comfort of your touch, his eyes flutter open and his mouth thins into a straight line.

"you're making a bad habit out of this," he argues. there he is – your fiery assistant. if you looked at him now, you'd never know he'd just been making dirty videos with sultry smiles.

"the best kind of habit," you murmur, shifting your hips. his breath hitches and his grip tightens involuntarily on your shoulder, making you smirk. "don't worry, taehyung. i'll give you the rest of the day off. you need one – at least today because of me."

his frown deepens at your cheeky comment, even though his cheeks flush. "i don't take days off."

"you always say that, but what are you doing right now? working hard or hardly working?" you tease, sliding your hands up his thighs and hips.

"it's – different," he manages to gasp out, clicking his tongue when your nails drag over the veins of his messy cock. "stop that. you have a meeting, remember?"

you draw your hand back. "i was working when you sent me those videos. i seem to recall you were, too. this feels unfair."

"unfair?" he repeats. "you liked them. you always like them." he pauses. "don't you?"

"i'm not sure the other people on the train appreciate your beauty as much as i do." you kiss him and he hums, accepting your tongue into his mouth with a sigh of pleasure. "don't stop sending your videos."

"is that an order, big boy?" he whispers.

"yes, it is," you reply, and he smiles, brief and sweet. you pull out of him gently, rubbing the join between his hip and thigh soothingly as he moans softly through bitten lips. "now, you have an email to write. that meeting won't postpone itself."

he huffs, allowing you to help him down from your desk. he turns around, leaning over it to grab his laptop from the corner, and you press yourself into his back and ass, teasing your cock against his hole. the coffee he grabbed for you sits cold on the edge of your desk next to the pen holder.

"tell me what the email says," you murmur into his neck, caressing his stomach with one hand and teasing his nipples with the other.

taehyung's breath shudders as he nods, opening up the calendar and shifting the meeting to three days later. moving it a few hours means you look sloppy with your time management, and so does one day. three days looks like a choice – like you have better things to do with your time. these men don't have anyone else to go to, so they'll wait for you no matter what.

"your conference with mr ln has been moved to thursday, august twenty-first. please see attached—" he closes his eyes as your hand wraps around the base of his cock, gently squeezing. "p-please see attached a link to your updated appointment."

you shrug, peppering kisses over the freckles of his neck and shoulder. "good enough. send it."

he clicks send and closes his laptop, pushing it away as you lift him into your arms. he gasps and wraps his limbs around you, holding tight as you move him to the couch on the other side of the room. you hover over him as he pants softly, staring up at you with dark eyes and plump red lips.

"by the way, i've received message that your suit's been delivered to your home," you say with a soft smile. "you're going to outshine everyone at that stupid awards ceremony."

"you say that as if you won't like seeing me in it. you can fuck me in it in the car afterwards. you bought it, after all." his eyes glint dangerously. "maybe i'll wear a surprise under it – to celebrate your successes, of course."

you grin, filthy and boyish, and taehyung's heart flutters. "you've just made me very excited for that day. come grab coffee with me after work – we can test how much space i have in my backseat."

[icallhimjoey]

hi hello yes

sorry, SORRY, sorry! this took a second longer than originally anticipated, but, here it is, live from italy! enjoy! (tw: we get spicy, and we also cut our finger on a kitchen knife, but it's only minor, and it ultimately gets kissed better, so we're fine) Wordcount: 2.8K

---

All The Aces

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

You laid on your side, face pressed firmly into your pillow, and looked at Joe who was doing something on his phone. Answering someone who should’ve gotten a reply hours ago, most likely.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt, sheets loosely covering him up to about his waist, and his hair looked insane.

It always did, after.

You loved it like that. Frizzy, wild, completly unruly, every piece curling a different way.

Gorgeous.

Little shit.

Joe must’ve felt how you were looking at him, because you caught him sneaking a little look from the corner of his eye before he pretended he didn’t just make direct eye-contact with you and shifted focus right back to the small screen in his hands.

“I know what you’re doing…”

You saw how a slow smile grew on his face. One that he immediately tried to hide, which was of no use.

“Yea?”

Joe couldn’t lose his grin if he wanted to. Giving you another glance made him lock his phone before putting it down on his beside table.

“Wow. Fourth time.” Joe commented, and he phrased it like he was impressed, but you knew it wasn’t with you.

Joe was impressed with himself.

“You’re sick, you know that? Like an actual sociopath.”

It felt a bit silly how you hadn’t fully realised what was going on until just now. After the fourth time it happened.

Four times.

Joe laughed as he got comfortable in bed, tucking himself in for the good night’s rest his smug little face suggested he thought he really deserved.

“I’m just following instructions.” Joe leant over a little and planted a chaste kiss to your forehead before he turned over. “Night night.”

And you know what… you kind of agreed.

You were sort of impressed with him too, but you would never tell him to his face. Obviously. Although, in a weird twist of the truth, it was actually proving yourself right more than Joe probably thought he was doing.

You’d not been fucking around when you said that sex wasn’t just about the orgasm. And the first time, with hindsight, you kind of couldn’t believe that you hadn’t immediately known.

It was a couple days after you’d had that whole discussion with Izzy present, and Joe had challengingly said he was going to prove you wrong. He’d not said a word about it since, and so you’d forgotten about it.

You’d been play bickering all day - mild bullying that touched lines, but skillfully never crossed them.

You’d caught Joe looking into a mirror for a while, and had just watched him for a little bit before you went, “Just admiring, are we?”

He’d nearly jumped out of his skin. Hadn’t seen you were there.

“You fucking...” Joe said through his teeth before loudly exhaling.

You couldn’t help the giggles that escaped you as you said, “Sorry, sorry! I’m clearly interrupting something. I’ll give you and your reflection some privacy.”

“Come here!”

He’d taken three quick steps towards you, but you were faster and scurried away before his extended arms could grab you.

To retaliate, Joe had very innocently asked if you could go grab his charger from his bedroom whilst he was busy cooking dinner, not mentioning that he’d seen a fat spider near it just mere minutes ago.

And who were you to deny him a little help when he was literally making you soup from scratch?

The way you’d shrieked from across his flat had made him smile into a taste-testing spoonfull of cooked veg.

It had gone back and forth like that for a bit, sly comments and inside jokes thrown across the table, silly faces and swearwords that ultimately only fed the joy that sparked.

That was, until you were cleaning up after dinner, filling up and already overfilled dishwasher, when Joe decided it’d be hilarious to jumpscare you.

He snuck up, moved real slow, got real close, and then suddenly grabbed you at the waist whilst you were bent over and gave a loud, “BAH!”

The sound you made as you jumped was immediately followed by a loud wince.

“Oh no,” Joe’s vice grip around your waist lost strength immediately as you curled in on yourself, one hand clasping the other tightly. “Did you cut yourself?”

You kept quiet and focussed on the sharp pain that quickly dulled and replaced itself with a light sting.

You hadn’t cut yourself.

Joe had cut you.

Indirectly.

On his huge chef’s knife that you carefully wanted to give a good spot in between all the dirty pots and pans.

“Let me see. Did you cut yourself?” Joe turned you around by the shoulders, but you fought against it and turned to the sink instead.

Water went from slightly red to a little more orange until it ran clear - the cut was only little, but from the way you’d fallen silent, Joe struggled with immediate onset guilt whilst deeply wishing to keep the mood light and playful like it had been all day.

He wished you’d turn and call him a dickhead.

He wished you’d turn and punch him in the bicep.

“Is it bad? Come on, let me see.” Joe tried again, softer and sweeter now, trying to look over your shoulder.

You turned your head to look at him, and for a moment, you just stared at each other. Joe sort of awkward and entirely unsure of what to do. You sort of blankly, figuring out your next steps.

Which was, be careful what you wish for Joe, an unexpected punch to the bicep.

“What the fuck, Joe – did I cut myself?”

The happy relief Joe felt at your small smile underneath the scolding saved the moment.

“You did that! Did this! Look at it!”

“Sorry, I’m sorry! But, who the fuck holds a knife by the blade?”

“I was trying to make it fit in there!”

“And you had to hold it by the blade for that?” Joe’s smile grew, and you used your shoulder to shove him in response, eyes crinkling from your smile, but gaze back on your finger.

“Can you grab me the scissors?” you asked, reaching for a drawer filled with a lot of clutter, among which you knew there were some plasters.

“Yea, of course,” Joe got you his pair of kitchen scissors, but before handing them over, he forced eye-contact and turned serious for moment as he said, “That was my fault. Sorry. Does it hurt?”

And it only did a little.

You were fine.

Joe helped wrap your finger up with a plaster and the rest of your evening had passed fairly uneventful.

Joe’s little accident had ended the streak of teasing you had going, and instead, he’d turned a little soft. By ways of apologising, you were sure.

And then that mood carried over into his bed, where you sat on the edge of the foot of Joe’s bed after you got into your pyjamas, whilst Joe climbed into his side of the bed. You inspected the plaster around your finger, squeezed and pressed over the cut to feel the slight sting there still. Joe’s foot that nudged your bum interrupted you.

You looked over your shoulder and saw how Joe leant an elbow into your pillow, head leant back against the headboard with a slow smile and eyes that twinkled with just enough cheek to let you know he wasn’t all that tired yet.

“Stings.” You said as let yourself fall back just enough to get your legs up on the bed before crawling across.

“Maybe don’t touch it.” Joe said, using a hand to push down covers for you.

“Maybe don’t scare someone when they’re doing you a favour.”

You were about to get under the covers, but then, Joe changed his mind.

“Okay, fine. Come here.” Joe sat up more, spread his legs, and used both his hands to pull you into the spot in between.

“Careful! I am wounded!”

“Yea, yea, yea…” two strong hands started kneading your shoulders even before you’d fully settled with your back against his front. You immediately relaxed and let yourself sag into him, head bumping against his collarbone as you did.

“I did say I was sorry, didn’t I?” Joe said softly, close to your ear.

“Hmm.. if I say you did, will you keep going?”

Joe huffed a small laugh and pressed a kiss to the top of your shoulder before whispering, “Sorry again.” into your skin.

And this was the type of shit that you lived for.

Tender touches that were just firm enough to make you feel something, alternated with feather light touches from finger tips that trailed down your arms slowly before they found their way back to your shoulders again.

Across your back.

To your neck.

Up into your hair, a little.

Gave you goosbumps.

Shivers.

Joe’s fingertips dug into flesh, and his mouth would leave gentle kisses right in the spot where your shoulder met the side of your neck.

If there was any stress secretly housing somewhere in your body that you didn’t know about, Joe was finding it. Getting rid of it. Letting it leak right out of you.

You allowed your mind to go absolutely blank.

No thoughts.

Just Joe’s touches.

Pure bliss.

Joe’s fingers roamed all over, then slid into your hair to massage at your scalp and you let your eyes flutter closed as your breath hitched.

“Does that feel good?” Joe softly murmured, full attention on the soft noises you were making under his hands.

“Mhmm,” you nodded, but only slightly. Couldn’t muster up more movement.

“Here, wait,” Joe suddenly shifted and pulled you from your daze a little as he sat up more. But then you felt how his hands were trying to find the hem of your top, and you leant forward to help him undress you.

“Sit back,” Joe said after tossing it, and this time, his finger tips rounded out to your front where he let both his hands stroke the soft skin of your chest.

You couldn’t help but arch your back, pulling your shoulders back slightly to push your chest forward, presenting more skin for Joe to touch.

“Yea, that feels good, doesn’t it?” Joe softly commented after you let a shuddery breath escape you, and you could hear Joe’s smile in his voice.

You weren’t ignorant, but you were definitely actively ignoring Joe’s hard length that pressed into your back.

You had felt Joe get hard just after he’d started this.

“Y-yea,” you answered Joe, voice breathy enough to feel Joe twitch. “Feels really good. Never stop, please.”

“Hmm,” Joe hummed, fingers drawing shapes over your collarbones, up the sides of your neck, then down the front over the soft skin of your chest. Joe felt how your skin started feeling hotter to the touch. Heard how your breathing hitched at every inhale.

“Want to know what else feels good?”

Before you could even properly answer his question, he was already moving. Moving from behind you, hands that held you by the shoulders and moved you aside to he could slip out of bed.

“Wha– I said, never stop.”

But then Joe got his hands on your knees and placed himself in between on his stomach as he spread your legs, and he raised a stupid eyebrow before mouthing at your inner thigh.

And, yea. All right.

This view wasn’t all that bad.

Joe looked up at you as he let his mouth climb up your leg, and you could feel your chest bloom.

Joe was so pretty.

You loved his nose. Loved his eyelashes. Loved his stupid freckles and his stupid lines across his forehead.

“Come up here,” you surprised yourself.

“What?” Joe already had a finger hooked in your underwear, but paused and raised his head a little.

“I want you up here.”

Your lips were jealous of your legs; wanted Joe’s mouth for themselves. Wanted Joe’s weight on top of you. Wanted Joe inside.

“But…” you saw how Joe’s eyes flicked down before they looked up and made eye-contact with you again. “What about what I want?”

Your underwear got slid to the side, and Joe let his brow frown a little as you made a little noise of impatience.

“Do you need reminding of how we got here?”

And, Jesus, okay. Fine.

You knew Joe enjoyed getting his mouth on you, but it was somehow also always a surprise that sometimes he seemed to like it more than anything else.

Your underwear got removed, and Joe coaxed you to lay back.

“Get comfy. I’m going to be here a while.”

Had anybody else said that, it would’ve passed for a corny joke. But Joe said it, and he was serious.

Joe got his mouth on you and from every single move he made, he let you know he wasn’t in a hurry. He let his tongue swirl slowly, would suckle and lick and nose at your velvety-soft skin until you were floating.

Joe knew how to make you feel good.

He’d learnt very quickly how to make you feel good.

Took him one week, actually, to be precise.

And who were you to complain about something so lovely? About having a boyfriend that you had low-key bullied all day who desperately wanted to eat you out still? You could be kind. Be polite and let him have what he wanted.

But Joe was working himself up.

Was aching in his boxers.

Kept trying to find pressure by pushing his hips into his mattress. Knew his precum was likely leaving a wet patch on his sheets.

But Joe liked what he was doing too much to do anything about what was stirring in his underwear.

And he kept you on the edge.

Just far enough away from an orgasm, but close enough to feel that it was there.

Lingering.

Somewhere off in the distance.

Felt good.

You could live here forever.

And you felt like you did, a little. Because Joe was leisurely taking his time, absolutely in no rush of moving on from what he was doing. Joe went on until his own sounds became more pornographic than whatever you were letting slip past your lips. You then suddenly felt him wiggle, and looked down to see him struggle out of his own underwear urgently without letting his tongue lose contact with you.

“Joe,” you moaned, and you meant, hurry up.

With a final strong flick of his tongue, Joe sat up onto his knees and towered over you a second as he pulled himself free from his boxers.

“Oh, my God.”

Joe was leaking precum, more than what you’d expected. You wanted to tell him how you liked that. How that was stupidly hot of him.

How dare he get so turned on by eating you out?

But you didn’t get the chance to say anything, because quickly Joe let his mouth find yours, and you finally got what you’d asked for.

Joe’s kisses were feverish, almost desperate. He let himself slip inside of you, both ways, his tongue doing the most to find yours and his hipbones pushing forward until they pressed you into the mattress.

“I’m gonna come,” you’d never heard his voice sound so constricted as his hips bucked, refusing to let up.

It had literally been just a few seconds.

Like he couldn’t fucking help himself.

Like he got so worked up eating you out that there was no way back now.

And you fucking loved it.

A man who couldn’t control himself, turning himself on past the point of no return by trying to make you feel good?

What a fucking dream.

And he wasn’t joking, either.

Joe pressed his forehead against your cheek, his heavy breath warm on your neck, and then his panting turned into groans.

With shuddering movements and loud grunts, Joe orgasmed, pressing you into the mattress with so much strength, you thought he’d never quite been deeper inside of you.

After a few seconds, he stilled, and went lax. Let every single muscle relax as he caught his breath, and Jesus fucking Christ, you loved it so much. Heavy weight on top, blissed out boy. Bare back right there for you to drag finger nails across. Short curls, wet behind his ears, right there for you to play with.

After a while, you felt how soft wet kisses got pressed into your neck, and you smiled at how adored you felt.

Going to sleep after that, being held in his sheets, arms and legs tangled, faces close, feeling loved and lovely and so, so sleepy, you almost didn’t register Joe finding your finger, the one with the plaster, and bringing it over to his mouth to give it the smallest little peck.

This was the type of shit being together with Joe was all about.

Everything felt safe, and sweet, and sort of glorious as you slowly drifted off.

That was the first time.

The first time of the four of you not realising.

You hadn’t even cared, or had even noticed for that matter, that you hadn’t orgasmed.

Didn’t cross you mind once.

The sex had been good. You had really enjoyed yourself.

So, see?

Joe was wrong.

And he’d just given you the best example that proved you right.

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @demonsanddemogorgons

@djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer

@everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @gri959, @hanahkatexo

@hazelenys, @imjustjen14, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven

@kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr

@munson-mjstan, @munsonssweets, @nadixq, @niallersfreckles, @notverywise

@pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @prettiestboyreid, @readergf, @royale1803

@skulliecadaver-blog, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac, @solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson

@sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

@witchwolflea, @yunirgo

add yourself

[bullet-prooflove]

A Fucking Saint: Mikey Berzatto x Reader

Tagging: @savemeaimeemann @mckinleysbones @kmc1989

Companion piece to:

Mess - Mikey tries to prove to you both he made the right decision by leaving.

The Diagnosis - Mikey recieves an explaination regarding his behaviour and addiction issues.

Save It (NSFW) - Mikey shows you how sorry he is for all the shit he's put you through over the years.

It’s four months after the break up that Mikey finds himself sitting on the sidewalk across from your house. He has a black eye from the fight he got into a couple of days ago and a bottle of beer in his hand as he stares at the warm glow that emanates from behind the closed blinds, blocking him out. He could just walk right up to the door, rap his knuckles on it and you’d let him in, he knows you would but that’s the problem.

It's too easy to fall into that pattern, it’s too easy to hurt you again.

He's tried to keep his distance since last month but he finds himself coming back the same way he always does, like some fucked up feral cat. He’s tried to forget you, he’s gotten high, gotten drunk, gotten fucked but nothing seems to help because his heart wants what it wants and that’s you.

He doesn’t realise Richie’s found him, not until the other man drops down on the sidewalk beside him, their shoulders bumping. He’d cut out of their drinking session early because he couldn’t get the thought of you out of his head. He’s been talking about you a lot lately, how good you, how pure you are. You were a fucking saint to put up with him as long as you did, you’re still fucking are.

“It’s bookclub night.” He finds himself saying as he takes a sip from his beer. “They go around to each other’s houses, discuss the book for about fifteen minutes before the wine kicks in and things get a little wild.”

His version of wild is setting fire to his neighbour’s car because he let his dog shit on the lawn. Yours is dancing on a table in the bar the two of you used to drink in. It’s just another reason the two of you don’t work, Mikey, he escalates things, you’re the opposite. You’re always a soothing presence, a calming balm to his ignition point.

“You can’t keep doing this.” Richie says, his elbows coming to rest on his knees as he stares at the house. “It’s not fair to you or to her…”

“I know.” Mikey says gruffly as he takes another slug from his beer. “I just can’t seem to help myself. It’s like I do all this crazy shit and then I get this moment, this moment of perfect clarity and all I want is to be with her again, to curl up in her arms and it tears me up inside because I can’t do that anymore, I can’t do that to her again…”

He’s crying now and he doesn’t know where these tears are coming from because Mikey, he doesn’t do this, he doesn’t express this type of emotion. He roars and he rages and he throws shit about, he doesn’t break no matter how close he feels to the edge. He never breaks.

Richie’s arm comes to rest around his shoulders, squeezing tightly and Mikey wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand, the shame starting to filter through his system.

“I’m a fucking mess.” He says to his friend. “I’m no good for anyone.”

“That’s not true.” Richie tells him but Mikey’s not listening, he’s taking out another pill from the bottle that’s almost a permanent fixture on his coat pocket. He places it on his tongue and chases it with a sip of beer.

Richie sighs because for a moment he thought there may be a possibility of getting through to Mikey but that windows gone and now he needs to get his friend out of here before he does something he regrets.

“Come on Mikey.” He says helping the other man to his feet.

The oxy is already starting to kick in, Mikey’s eyes are glazing over, his movements sluggish. He manages to get him squared away in the car, the seat belt in place before the door to your house opens and you step out onto the porch, a hardback book tucked under your arm as you lock the door behind you.

“She’s fucking beautiful isn’t she?” Mikey says his forehead coming to rest upon the glass as he watches you with half lidded eyes. “Best thing that ever happened to me and I fucked it up.”

Richie doesn’t say anything because Mikey’s right, he did fuck it up and he’s going to keep fucking it up.

Love Mikey? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

A Fierce Dillema

Pairing: Fierce Deity x Reader

Warning(s): None, just some introspective fluff and controlled chaos with everyone's favorite deity <3

Masterlist

“(Y/n).”

You awoke to the gentle calling of your name and a firm hand on your shoulder. A groan left you as you tried to turn away, to hide in the downy pillows and scattered sheets of your bed, but the voice was too persistent to ignore. A quick glance at your nightstand revealed that it was four in the morning, which was only cemented by the fact that the sun hadn’t even risen yet. 

“(Y/n),” the voice, oddly familiar, continued to press. “Wake up.”

Wake up, he said. You already had an inkling of who would dare disturb your slumber, and it only became clear when you saw the Fierce Deity’s silver-haired reflection on the glossy surface of your alarm clock. He was wearing his armor and that blade of his was secured to his back, which undoubtedly meant something significant had occurred since you bid him and the other boys goodnight six-ish hours ago. “Oh my god, what happened?” 

There was a slight pause. You could practically feel the tension through the calloused hand on your bare shoulder and sincerely hoped he hadn’t gone out and killed someone… or set the kitchen on fire. Again. You weren’t sure which was worse, because at least a body was easy enough to hide when you had nine heroes at your disposal. 

“Can humans consume deer meat?”

What? 

You had to physically turn around to convey the bafflement you were currently feeling. Ever the gentleman, he removed his hand and took a respectful step backward. Now facing each other, you looked him straight in the eye and asked: “Is there a deer in my kitchen?”

“Yes.”

“...Is it for breakfast?”

“Yes.”

…Okay. You were an adult, so you would handle it as such. It was a minor miracle that he had the foresight to talk to you before attempting to use your stove (you hoped). Besides, you did say that you were going to teach the boys about your world until another portal showed up to dump them somewhere else, and Fierce would be no exception. “I’ll be down in five. Do I need to watch meat-cleaning videos or did you put that sword to use?”

The Fierce Deity, destroyer of gods and civilizations alike, looked almost offended by your assumption of his sword usage. You watched, amused, as his voice took on a scolding tone. “I would never, it is much too large for such a task.”

“Whatever you say, buddy,” you slid out of bed with the grace of a waterlogged snail, arranging the blankets in some haphazard semblance of a made bed. Fierce quickly made himself scarce, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

Your relationship with the deity was an… unusual one. You had been cleaning when you accidentally knocked over Time’s precariously placed traveling pack, only for a vaguely-humanoid mask to fall out. You proceeded to snatch it up and the shit that followed was wild enough to be the star of a bestselling novel on Booktok, because there was no other way to describe it when a seven-foot, fully-armored man materialized two feet away wielding a sword that was as long as you were tall. Chaos had ensued and a fight nearly broke out between the newcomer and Sky, of all people, in your kitchen until Time managed to calm everyone down. From then on, he had simply coexisted in your home, though there were occasionally spats between him and the other boys. Traditionally, Time was the one to break it up when it happened, but you also discovered you yourself had some sway to him when you screamed loud enough. 

Recently, however, Fierce had become unusually devoted to helping out around the house, going so far as to attempt to duel Wild for the right to cook dinner. It had taken a full minute of scolding to get him to pipe down and watch Family Feud with the others, though you got the vague sense that he was pouting as he watched you from the couch. His behavior only ramped up when your boss blessed (cursed) you with more hours at work and you returned home to learn that, in the span of five hours, he had managed to not only break your vacuum cleaner, but nearly maim the mailman for “invading your territory”, to which you informed him that things were drastically different in your world and promptly bought a “guard dog on duty” sign to hang on your mailbox. 

A quiet creak of the floorboards outside reminded you of who you were keeping waiting. With a muffled curse, you threw on a half-decent shirt, leaving your axalotle pj pants right where they were, and dashed outside to meet the deity. He was leaning against your wall, arms crossed over that mouthwateringly muscled chest (you had eyes), but seemed to snap to attention when you barreled into the hallway. “Let’s cook this bitch!”

And so you did. While the gorey mess practically dripping from your island wasn’t particularly enthusing, you sucked it up and retrieved a pan, turning the stove to the max. A bit of oil later and you had a butchered flank roasting on the front burner, while a large pot filled with bones boiled away. Fierce was very considerate of your lack of knowledge on this sort of thing, quietly handing you the finished cuts when you requested them. He hardly spoke, choosing to listen as you prattled on about nothing in particular. Within the hour, you had an entire pile of roasted meat on a serving plate, and several members of the chain had begun to trickle in, likely drawn by the delicious scent of food. It was only when everyone was downstairs did you notice that he had disappeared. Despite the minor fuss the younger boys raised, you grabbed some food and went to find him. 

It was on the woodpile in the very corner of your property where you tracked him to. Even with his impressive bulk, there was still space to sit on the stacked logs, so you plopped down happily. Fierce looked at you with a surprised expression, but said nothing. So you did instead, offering him the plate. “I hope you know I’m not going to let you run off without eating after all you did.”

He took the plate. “It is nothing.”

You shrugged and began peeling the orange you snagged earlier. “Maybe to you, but not to me. You gave us a break and I’m grateful.”

“I stole sleep from you.”

“And?” You honestly had no idea why he thought you cared about that. Sure, waking up early sucked sometimes, but you weren’t made of glass. You popped an orange slice into your mouth. “I’m an adult.”

There was silence, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as one would think. The sun had long since risen, bathing you in warm golden hues that not even the gentle breeze could chill. It didn’t even dawn on you how strange you must have looked–sitting next to an actual deity while dressed in a stained t-shirt and printed animal pants–or how unusual your life had become. 

“I have a question,” said the deity. You listened intently before answering–it wasn’t often that he initiated conversation and you didn’t want to spoil it. 

“...I have an answer.”

If you had looked closely, you would have seen the subtle quirk of his usually flat mouth before his expression reformed to something more solemn. You wondered if you should have mentally prepared for this conversation. “You do not fear me… why?”

You blinked, trying to process what had just been said to you. “Excuse me?”

As if sensing your bafflement, the Fierce Deity elaborated: “I could end your existence with a sweep of my sword. Thousands have recognized this, but you either deny or remain oblivious to it.”

Ouch? You knew little of his backstory beyond being imprisoned in a mask for countless years by someone named Hylia for–... well, you don’t think he had informed you, but it was far from warranting fear. If he had wanted to hurt you he would have done so already. You were honestly a bit offended he thought so little of you. “Is that all you think there is to it? I’ve told you before and I’ll say it again: you’ve done nothing to warrant my fear, so I don’t know where you’re getting this from,” you paused, realizing how harsh you sounded. “...Sorry, I just… I don’t see you that way.”

“Then how do you see me?” asked the deity, and you were caught off guard by the genuine curiosity in his pupil-less eyes. Was he… self conscious? It was a laughable thought, that the Fierce Deity was capable of such an emotion, but it was the only one that made sense in this dance of conversation. 

That begs the question… how did you see him? ‘A person’ was your first thought, but it was what anyone would say. An acquaintance? Yes, but then it made your relationship seem almost transactional, which was not what you were aiming to convey. He was clearly looking for reassurance beneath that stoic facade and you knew an opportunity like this wouldn’t come again. 

“A friend,” the words rolled off your tongue before you could stop them, but what could you do besides continue? “You’re my friend.”

It was simple, really, though that didn’t stop him from looking completely and utterly baffled. “You consider me… a friend?”

Why did it sound like such an affront when he said it like that? Your orange was long gone, but it didn’t stop you from fiddling with the peel in your hands. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it,” you responded honestly, because, really, you wouldn’t have. “You don’t sound like you have many friends.”

There was a sort of bitter melancholy in his tone that you knew all too well. “I have none.”

You grinned and reached up to pat his shoulder, emboldened by the rising light and your own sense of duty. “Until now.”

For the first time in forever, The Fierce Deity, vanquisher of worlds and gods alike, smiled. Truly smiled. You could have sworn his porcelain cheeks seemed a little less stark when he took your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of it like in the fantasy novels you read as a child. Then, before you could choke out a flustered response, he leaned close and said. “I vow to not disappoint you.”

It was almost impressive how quickly you recovered from the shock of his actions. With a small laugh, you laid your hand on his shoulder, warm as an inferno, and whispered. “You could never.”

Is this the same AU as Knightmare In Toronto? Who knows!

[silassinclair]

Like Looking into a Mirror

(PolyLostBoys x Fem!ArtistReader)

Summary: Being a vampire has it's ups and downs. But one of the biggest downs was that you couldn't see yourself. Whether it be in photographs or reflections. This means that neither of the boys have seen what they themselves look like since they were turned. So when a shy little artist introduces herself to the boys with a painting of all of them they realize they not only know what they look like but also have found their mate.

Santa Carla is a city of opportunity. A place flourishing with job opportunity and people buzzling about everywhere. But for yourself, a struggling artist, it was the opposite. Running away from home was supposed to be your fresh start, a way to get away from it all and live your life to the fullest. To paint to your heart's desire. But it was nothing like that.

There were no places for you to work and use your artistry to the fullest. The only place you found where you could work was the library. Reading itself was an art but not exactly your forte, but it was close enough and payed decently.

It was 8 at night. The sun set and the amusement park alive with people. By the beach wall you sat with a miniature canvas, paints, and brushes. Every night you'd come to the boardwalk and paint it's colorful passerby's. Unlike your old small town people here dressed unique. So many colors and style subcultures.

Scanning the crowd you hunted for your new inspiration. Person or people to replicate onto your canvas. Your direction was pulled to the sounds of purring engines. To your left under a streetlamp by the very wall you were sitting on, four men looking your age parked their bikes. Their fashion stood out amongst anyone you have ever seen on the boardwalk.

A bleached platinum blonde. His mullet stood sharp, almost as sharp as his eyes. A tall brunet with no shirt under his long coat. His long hair rested on his back. A natural blonde with wild hair and a just as wild personality. And finally the short one with long blonde curls and a face that could combat a cherub's.

Everything about them was perfect. You studied them for minutes and looked away when you felt their curious gazes turn to you. Having all their features down to memory you painted away. You painted all of them standing together standing in their own way. Straight and confident, collected and cool, laid back, goofy.

As you painted each of the men's features you smiled to yourself. This may have been one of your best works yet. When you finished the piece in an hour or two you would definitely give it to them as a gift. Usually you would give the paintings you made of people to them to see their reactions. Every time they were always very grateful and happy, seeing them smile is the reason why art is your passion.

You really hope they would appreciate it though, since they are your temporary muse of inspiration and these four seem pretty intimidating.

.

.

"Yeah man I'm telling you she kept looking at us. But when I would look at her she'd look away and start writing shit on her canvas or whatever." Paul said while nudging David. He didn't care when his friend told him that the girl to their right kept sneaking glances at them.

Girls stare at him and his vampiric brothers all the time. What can he say? He knows him and his brothers are hotter than hell so who wouldn't stare?

"What Paul, you wanna talk to her or something? Just go talk to the chick like what you always do." David said with an eyeroll and a freshly lit cigarette hanging from his lips.

Paul bashfully looked down and scratched his neck. "Dude I dunno.. she doesn't seem too interested. Probably looking at us because we dress weird?"

Now David was confused. Was his flirt machine of a brother.. shy? A sly grin curled onto the platinum blondes lips. He looked to Dwayne and Marko and those two seemed to catch on quick about Paul's little crush.

Putting his arm around his blonde brother David said, "Do you perhaps like this girl Pauly?"

Paul growled and shoved him off making Marko and Dwayne holler in laughter.

"Dude you're fucking whipped! Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Marko laughed and held his chest. Paul hit him upside the head with his palm.

"Shut the fuck up!"

Dwayne's laughing reduced to small chuckles. He looked over at the girl who Paul seemed so flustered over. She was wearing a long frilly black skirt and a sage green blouse. Her hair styled uniquely and anklets and bracelets adorned their respected limbs.

"Hm.." Dwayne hummed, "I get what you mean Paul."

Paul shot his taller brother a glare. "Yeah. Should have at least checked her out before makin' fun o' me."

Marko looked over to see what all the fuss was over. His eyes widened a fraction when he saw the most beautiful girl he's ever seen. And she was painting too, something he adored doing.

Sensing someone looking at her Y/n looked up and four pairs of eyes were on her. The eyes of the subjects she was painting at the moment. Feeling like she had been caught doing something wrong, she looked back down at her canvas in a flash and finished up the final finishing touches.

"She was totally checking us out." Paul said smirking, well his insecurity flew out the window.

"Dude she's cute as hell man. How'd we not see her around before? And why didn't you tell us Pauly!" Marko grabbed his terror twin by the shoulders and shook him back and forth.

David snapped his fingers and the two instantly stopped with their rough housing. "We're all going to approach her. Perhaps we will have a meal tonight boys, or more."

Deadly smiles grew on the pack's faces. Time to do what they knew best. Lure and capture.

.

.

You stood up when you finally finished the painting. The four of them painted in their signature clothing. All standing together. Two of them smiling and two not. Honestly, you were scared to give this painting to them. What if they didn't like it? Or what if they thought you were some kind of weird stalker?

Walking to the group of the four bikers they all seemed to perk up at your sudden presence.

"What a surprise, we were just about to walk over to you babydoll." The curly haired one said. Your grip on the canvas tightened. Seeming to notice the tallest and only brunet of the group asked,

"What's that you got there sweetheart?"

Ignoring the soaring feeling in your stomach you avoided eye contact with the group and quietly muttered your explanation, "U-Uhm I'm an artist and stuff... It's a hobby and stuff and I paint people on the board walk all the time. And when I saw a-all you four I couldn't help but notice how uniquely dressed you all are. So I painted all of you!"

Looking up at the group finally with a crooked smile on your face you showed them your work and flipped your canvas around revealing your work.

All four of them brought their faces close to the canvas, the two wild blondes started to push and shove and what seemed like the leader of the group punched both of their arms.

"You really did this?" The platinum blonde said. He looked into your eyes, a mixed emotion behind his. His gloved finger pointed at himself painted realistically.

"That's me?"

You nodded and handed the painting to him which he gently accepted.

"Of course that's you silly. I painted the four of y-you. Hope you all like it!"

The four boys looked up at you gratefully. It was sudden but the brunette pulled you into a hug. He didn't seem like the touchy type and it surprised you with his sudden action.

"Thank you sweetheart. My brothers and I appreciate this... a lot. A lot more than you may think." He released you from his chilling yet warm embrace.

"No need to thank me.."

"Dwayne."

"Dwayne, I do this to make people like you and your brother happy. It's what I love about art ya'know?"

He smiled and introduced each of his brothers. David, Paul, and Marko.

"I am truly grateful for this kitten. Say, you wanna ride with us? You know where Hudson's Bluff is right?"

Nodding you let him continue.

"Wanna hang out with us four for the night? Promise we won't let you be bored for even a minute." His black gloved hand twirled a lock of your h/c hair around his finger.

Shyly moving away you muster up the courage to agree and go with him. He asked who you wanted to ride with and Paul seemed to be the most eager to get you to ride with him, so you gave in and got on the back of his bike.

"Hold on doll!" He revved his engine while his brother did the same. Hooting and hollering they sped down the sandy beach taking you to their cave.

"This is just the beginning!" Paul yelled over the sound of the engines. Not understanding him well you tightened your embrace around his torso and leaned in closer.

"You're gonna love us I promise!" Now that one you heard.

this was lowkey dogpiss but my head hurts so oopsie daisy

[holylulusworld]

Rescue you - Flufftober 23

Summary: When your ex comes to town, Jax sees red.

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader

Characters: Clay Morrow, Wayne Unser, Harry "Opie" Winston, Juice Ortiz, Tig Trager

Warnings: angst, mentions of a past abusive relationship, protective Jax, angry Jax, light violence against the reader, implied character’s death, fluff, hurt & comfort, blood

A/N: I didn't name her ex. You can imagine any guy. I imagined Brock Rumlow because he's hot and a bad guy. 😳 I'm a visual writer and need to imagine a face.

Trope: Rescue romance

Idea by: @dawn-petrichor-world

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023

The day you met Jax Teller changed your opinion about men.

Until then, you believed every man is like your ex. Angry, loud, and thoughtless.

Jax is different. He’s rough around the edges, strong, wild, and yes, dangerous. But with you, he’s gentle and kind. You never felt safer than in his arms.

In those fleeting moments, you can spend alone, he dreams of another life. A life without violence, and maybe, children running around the house.

Your boyfriend is not a man of many words. He shows you his feelings with soft touches and small gestures.

The tea he brews for you every morning before you must go to work. A soft kiss goodnight. Or the way he hugs you. All these small gestures tell you Jax Teller loves you.

You believe in him, and his love. Jax will never hurt you or leave you for some other girl. He promised to love and protect you for the rest of his life.

Today, you must believe in his love, and hang on. If only you can hang on and wait for Jax to find out what happened to you…

Four hours earlier, …

“Bye, have a great weekend,” you wave at your colleagues from the library. They return the gesture and wish you a great weekend too.

You yawn as you make your way toward your car. Only a few more minutes apart you from meeting up with your boyfriend.

“Look what I finally found.”

You freeze. That voice.

How you wished to never hear his voice again. You lived in a bubble for the better of two years. Your relationship with Jax is going steady, and your past is only a few burned pictures, and torn memories you refuse to talk about.

“No. You can’t be here,” you shake your head as you look at your ex. He smirks darkly at your reaction. Your hands tremble and your eyes sting with tears. “What a pity he didn’t pick you up today, huh? Every Friday night your fine boyfriend has something better today than bringing his girl home.”

“What do you want here? You can’t be here.” You take a step back, and another as your heart hammers in your chest. “Please just leave me alone.”

“I’m here to get my girl back,” he looks over your shoulder, checking if anyone is watching you. “I can’t just let you go, can I?”

“You had fling after fling,” you sneer when he tries to touch your cheek. Slapping his hand away you glare at him. “What do you really want?”

“I can’t have my girl run around with that bastard. Jax Teller, Y/N? Really?” He scoffs when you look around the area for help. “No one is coming for your aid, babe. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

“Fuck you!” Your head snaps to the left when his hand slaps your cheek hard. You gasp, and press your hand to your cheek, fighting the tears wanting to break free. If you cry now, he’ll know how scared you are.

He grabs your arm, tugging harshly. “You will come with me and shut your mouth. After I’m done with the chapter of the sons in this shitshow of a town, you can thank me by being very nice to me…”

Now, the clubhouse, …

“Where is she? What can you tell me?” Jax nervously runs his fingers through his hair. “Juice, you need to do your thing…trace her phone or shit.”

“Jax, you need to calm the fuck down,” Clay tries to calm Jax. One of them got kidnapped, an old lady. He’s furious and ready to rip anyone apart. “We will find your old lady.”

“She left the library four hours ago, Clay! Four fucking hours!” Jax kicks a chair out of his way. “If anyone touched one hair on her head, I’ll kill them…I’ll kill them all.”

“We talked to her colleagues and the owner of the shop across the street. Her colleagues didn’t see shit. Y/N left the library wished them a nice weekend and walked toward her car,” Tig grunts.

“Yeah, they didn’t even want to talk to us because you scared the shit out of them,” Opie bites back. “Anyways,” he clears his throat as he looks at Jax. Opie can see the fear in his friend’s eyes, and it breaks his heart a little. “The old geezer across the street said, that there was a guy and a girl. The guy hit the girl, and that was when he called the cops.”

“We checked the cameras from the stores nearby,” Unser tries to get Jax’s attention. “One of them captured the car of the bastard. We got a license plate and a name.”

“We’ve got a name?” Jax grabs Unser by his collar. “What are we waiting for then? You had a name for how long?”

“Twenty minutes, Jax,” the sheriff grunts. “I’m not an idiot, and I like the girl.”

“Who is he? Who dared to raise his hand against my girl?” Jax is out of it. He’s ready to rip the sheriff apart, limp by limp if he doesn’t get answers soon. “Tell me his name, UNSER!”

Unser yells your ex’s name, making Jax gasp. You told him about what happened with the man you dated before him. “We need to find them!”

“Jax, calm down! We are on it! Juice is on it,” Clay tries to calm your boyfriend down again.

“I try to hack her service provider to find out about her last location. Give me more time,” Juice tries his best to remain calm. He’s used to working under pressure. But these are exceptional circumstances. “Just one more minute…“

You try not to think about what will happen if Jax doesn’t find you. Your ex was taunting you over the last hours, telling you how much he will enjoy watching Jax despair when he finds your broken body.

Taking deep breaths, you try to remember all the times Jax told you how much he loves you, or how he asked you to go for a ride with him for the first time.

The silence is deafening, and worse than your ex yelling at you. It takes a toll on you, as it feels like seconds turn into hours.

You hide your face in the palms of your hands, silently crying as you fear that you’ll never see Jax again.

“Where is she?” someone yells loud enough for you to hear. “I’ll kill you!” Gunshots hit the wall, and you scream as one of the bullets breaks through the door and hits the wall next to you.

“Y/N! BABY! Where are you!” It’s Jax. Jax found you!

“HERE!” You scream his name. “I’M HERE!”

“BABY!”

The door flings open, revealing a beyond-worried Jax. His face is covered in bruises, and blood covers to his knuckles, but all you can think about is that he's here.

He tugs his gun away as you run toward him to throw yourself into his arms. “I knew you’ll find me…I just knew…” He breathes you in. "I knew it..."

“Did he hurt you? Did he touch you, baby?”

“No…I mean he hit me but…no…I…you’re here,” you cry into his chest. “You’re…here…”

"I told you," he kisses the crown of your hair, "I'll burn the world for you and kill anyone hurting my girl..."

Tags in reblog.

[ronearoundblindly]

For your Valentine's ask game: #7 Jake Jensen x reader, idk why but it seems fitting 😂

Shut Up, Jensen, one of my Valentine's Fics for 2024!

Oh, this poor, poor, awkward perv. He's pervy until there's a naked lady around and then 😳 "...when I was four, I shoved pennies up my nose..." Seriously, boi, shut up!

Warnings for spice, i.e. a setup to smutty times, but mostly suggestive. MINORS DNI, just to be safe. There's plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this one is not for you! WC 1042

You’ve always had a soft spot for nerds, and now, that’s translating to a damp spot on your fanciest panties you wore for this date.

Jake Jensen goofy-grinned his way through the entire evening, making you almost snort a tequila sunrise through your nose, and he never let up. The humor made you comfortable. It’s endearing to see his nervousness right on his graphic-T sleeve as opposed to being ‘manly’ and aloof.

It’s so, so refreshing to hear someone say, “I’m having a great time,” “I don’t want the night to end,” and know deep down in your bones that they mean “spending this time with you has made me happy” instead of “I’ve done enough to get laid now, right?”

Unsurprisingly, it does mean Jake’s done enough to get laid.

You give him your address so he could park his Jeep outside your building. There are parking meters, but tomorrow is Sunday when they’re free. No big deal. You left the bar (which was after the restaurant, which was after the coffee shop) a minute or two before in order to meet him at one of the open spots and walk him in. He can’t meet you at your door because there is a locked gate to your courtyard, and then a keypad for your building, and then about three corridors to navigate. It’s just easier to show him the way.

You can hear that fucking car coming a mile away.

Jake smiles and waves as he parallel parks—with extreme precision, you note—then hops out, gesturing to the meter questioningly.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shrug, jumping to the edge of the curb before he steps up so you can use the height for a kiss on his cheek.

It’s adorable how flustered he gets at just that tiny bit of affection. Though it’s dark, it’s obvious he blushes ferociously, rubbing at the back of his cropped, short hair, racing to gather his thoughts.

“Did you know there are almost three hundred ways to make change for a dollar? Two hundred ninety-three to be ex—woah—“

You grab his hand to lead him inside.

At the gate, you have to pause for the magnetic lock.

“I’m surprised those things even take change anymore,” Jake muses quietly, courteous for the neighbors’ sake, “because physical money only makes up 8% today’s currency…in the whole world.” He slides past the thick steel grating. “Thank you, digital banking.”

He follows behind you in the maze of concrete paths to the next entry.

“People leave like half a million dollars worth of loose change at airport security. That’s a little shocking,” he whispers when you motion for him to take a left, “think you’d splurge for some decent toilet paper with that kind of dough, or maybe some more cup holders in those row-seats? They could, I don’t know, offset the cost of making pennies. Shit cost two cents. Is worth one. Wild…

“Meanwhile, a dime has 118 ridges on the rim of the smallest circumference.”

Doesn’t even matter what he’s saying, the more his plump pink lips move, the more insanely turned on you get. You have to crowd him through your own doorway before you start stripping in the middle of the hall.

You peel your blouse off the instant your keys clatter onto the dinette table. You spin around to grab him by the screen-printed emblem of his t-shirt.

“There are 1.4 billion $2 bills in circulation.”

He gives a little oof sound when his back hits one of your bedroom walls, and there’s a barely audible whimper as your hands snake up under soft, well-worn fabric.

Holy shit, is this boy cut!

Your thumbs actually catch on the deep ridge of his Adonis belt. Dimes got nothing on you, Jake Jensen…

His breathing has changed significantly. “Did you know they—“ he gasps and swallows “—still make those?”

Ok, why is it hotter when he’s not even trying?

“Fun fact: if you went to Zimbabwe, guess which currency you’d…use?” The neckline of his shirt has to pop over his glasses before he fixes them. “The U.S. Dollar. Seriously! Same damn mon—EH.”

His belt buckle is tricky to navigate from this angle and in the very low light of your bedside lamp. You give up on his pants to unzip your skirt at the hip and let it fall.

Jake stands perfectly still with his hands half-raised.

“You’re…really fucking pretty—sorry—really pret—sexy, not that I—but beautiful. You’re really—”

He sucks in a breath as you step within inches of him again, reaching up to carefully pull his glasses over his ears and place them by the lamp.

“Fuck…”

Your index finger tucks into the elastic of his boxers where they peek out above the belt.

“Yeah, so I’ve been—I’m—I don’t have a—what I’m trying to say is—“ he squeezes his eyes shut and wiggles his fingers higher in the air, searching for the right thought “—the most commonly printed bill is actually the one-hundr—“

“Jake,” you interrupt, gently smoothing your hands over his thick shoulders. He is so ripped, what the hell? You guess there are nerds and then there are nerds, wow…

“Do you want to continue?”

He nods super fast, eyes growing wide in panic.

“Good.”

You smash your lips to his, hauling him down and you up by the sturdy tower of muscle he is.

“Condoms are in the drawer,” you mutter between breaths.

He lets out a high, choked whine before clamping his huge, warm hands to your waist, melting into you and your touch.

You coax the both of you toward the bed, swatting at his belt as a signal for him to help, and he does, though he’s not the greatest multitasker. He huffs and smirks, breaking the kiss so he can unlatch, unbutton, and unzip.

Then he looks up at you. 

“So you like movies…?”

You cup his jaw in your hand and pinch, a gentle peck on his lips as encouragement to focus. “Less talking, more fucking, Jensen.”

He opens his mouth, clearly running through a series of replies, but thinks better of it and  pushes down his pants and boxers all at once.

Lloyd Hansen and a kiss on a place of insecurity ⬅️ ➡️ Steve Rogers and a kiss on a scar

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @spectre-posts @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @peyton--warren Y'all getting sick of me yet???

[crazylittlejester]

LU Links as things I did in the month of September (except two weeks late because i forgot to post it and it’s been rotting in my drafts-)

Time: Sat in the gamestop parking lot for TWO full hours waiting for the store to open so he could get the game he preordered because he thought the line would be super fucking long and he made a friend come with him and wait because he NEEDED his game, but he didn’t wanna get lonely. No one showed up till like 10 minutes too and at that point he’d gotten so distracted he ended up last in a line of 5 people and he was really upset about it

Warriors: Got bit by a mosquito and had a severe reaction to it but because he whines and complains about everything all the time people were just kinda like “yeah I’m sure it DOES bother you dude” but it was genuinely so bad he was on 3 meds for a week, had an allergic reaction, and had to go to urgent care. And on his way to said urgent care a lady told him he looked sad and handed him a 10$ IKEA coupon. When people in his life actually saw the size of the bite they were horrified

Twilight: Looked at his dog and cried because he didn’t understand why such a little creature would love him enough to fall asleep outside his room waiting for him to wake up in the morning

Sky: Stood outside in a rainstorm with his head down staring at his bare ass feet in his sandals that were getting absolutely soaked and decided he maybe DIDNT need to get the mail just then, but then slipped and ate shit in the garage because his shoes were wet

Hyrule: Drove 40 minutes for a can of pringles and three 3 musketeers bars. Intended to ration them out over the course of three days, but ate them all in one sitting and then got sad about it

Legend: Realized he can’t be sad if he’s screaming to FNAF songs in the car, and then realized yes he CAN be sad because FNAF songs remind him of his best friend who he really fucking misses. Now he listens to podcasts in the car because he will start tearing up if he listens to music in general while he drives

Wild: Spontaneously drove to a different state on a Thursday afternoon and the fact that it was a Thursday fucked with his internal calendar and for the rest of the weekend he was mentally one day off. But it ended up being great for him because he woke up and cried Monday morning but then realized it was actually Sunday and no he DIDNT have to go to school

Four: Ate so much chocolate he made himself sick and unfortunately this happened while all his housemates were out so he just had to lay there pathetically wishing he at least wasn’t lonely while suffering

Wind: Wakes up every god damn day and choses NOT to eat his dnd dice. It is a STRUGGLE. They look so fucking edible…

[damfangirl08]

Please tell me about a random Linked Universe headcanon you have (Its ok if you dont want to, no pressure)

ooooo i have a fun one! Its kinda multiple ones shoved into one but oh well

The chain's weird relationship with food

Im mostly doing the timeline order because im lazy and unoriginal:

Sky: He can kind of cook but he only ever makes one kind of soup or one singular type of meat in a specific way. I dont think the achademy would let them go off not knowing how to cook. He makes for a good back-up cook and the rest of the chain can be sure he will not put anything weird in it(unless Wild is "helping"). He isnt really that picky, but he doesnt like all foods either. He eats what he is given and likes most of it but i feel like his spice tolerance is shit. They did not have many spicy things on Skyloft. Will not eat Hyrules cooking.

Four: He can cook decently, but he cooks better if he splits, because if not he has to deal with the colors agruing because they dont agree on what type of food is best. There is a 50/50 chance wheter it ends up good or as a weird abomination with too many different types of flavour. Will eat most things but will not eat Hyrules cooking.

Time: He does not care. He can hypothetically cook but half the ingredients end up on the ground or eaten before he can even start. Is not picky at all, this man drinks poes, he will eat Hyrules cooking. And he will not complain at all. He also loves sweet food.

Wind: can make easy fish dishes but he has to have instructions. He is very good at cooking if he can follow step by step directions but he will probably get bored after a couple minutes and start messing with the recipie. He is not that picky and he probably would eat Hyrules cooking, and if there is something in his food he doesn't like he will not tell you because his grandma raised him to be polite.

Twilight: he can cook about as well as Sky, maybe a bit worse. The food he makes is either too bland or too spicy. He will eat a lot of things, including bee larvae, and Hyrules cooking. He probably wont complain either.

Legend: He is actually a really good cook, but he cannot cook over a campfire. Give him a kitchen and he can make amazing food but oveer a campfire? He could probably make something but chances are it would either be burnt or taste like how a campfire smells. He loves baking like his uncle taught him and hes very good at it. I dont get why so many people give him zero spice tolerance but i think Wild would stuff goron spice into something and Legend would just go "This kinda tastes like a subrosian dish" and keep eating. Chances are he would eat a rock roast too. He will eat Hyrules cooking and compare it to food from countries he traveled to. Him and Wild sometimes bond over recipies.

Hyrule: Cannot cook at all ever. Do not let him cook. Ever. He will eat anything. The only reason he hasn't died from food poisoning yet is because he can heal himself. Has probably made a living chuchu out of dinner once.

Warriors: Can make shitty army food that doesnt taste good but is 100% eadible. He could probably make something in a kitchen but he "doesnt have the time" even if he isnt doing anything important. Will not eat Hyrules cooking nor half the things Wild suggests making. Always keeps jerky on him, especially after seeing Hyrule cook.

Wild: amazing cook, however he can and will decide to spontaniously pour goron spice into the food hes cooking. He loves cooking and he is the designated cook for a reason. But the others are often scared he will put something weird into the food because he eats like Hyrule. He will eat Hyrules cooking and he will like it.

Bonus:

Ravio can bake a little bit but he is a lot better at mixing up fun smoothies, milkshakes, or similar things.

None of the Zeldas can cook for very different reasons. Sun can almost cook even if it tastes boring, but the rest? They either suck because the cannot cook at all even if they try(Dot, Dawn), they are used to others cooking for them(Dusk, Athena, Flora) and some dont bother trying to make "good" food because they would rather make "fun" food(Fable, Tetra). Aurora is an outlier who can cook easy meals but usually doesnt cook.

Shadow cant cook.

Malon can cook better than anyone else.

Groose is a great cook.

Linkle is almost as bad as Hyrule.

Myth can bake but cant cook, and Ballad cant do either.

[sleepy-the-loz-enthusiast]

LU characters as dumb shit I did as a child:

Legend: Laughed and make jokes (lightheartedly) at someone for being scared of potholes while riding a bike, proceeded to cycle into one, do a flip over the handlebars where they jammed in just under his ribs and lay on the ground winded for at least 4 minutes

Wild: When first learning to bake, attempted to bullshit his own recipes for cakes and stuff, accidentally gave himself food poisoning which lined up with getting the worst sickness he's ever had in memory so not a great time

Sky: Zoned out staring at the sun while counting to see how long he could do it for (my eyes are extremely light sensitive now)

Twilight: Was convinced that mermaids existed and made up stories about befriending them and a whole ass mermaid society and genuinely believed this was true (...actually this is more silly and whimsical than dumb but I'm keeping it here)

Four: Accidentally sleep walked out of a hotel room and locked himself out, woke up to be sitting on the floor of a creepy ass hotel corridor with no recollection of how he got there and started crying, nearly wasn't let back inside because who tf would answer a random knock on the door in a hotel in the middle of the night??

Warriors: Was going through a really rough time and ripped out chunks of his own hair and ate them as a coping mechanism, blaming the missing chunks on tying his ponytail too tight instead of being honest and asking for help

Time: Was genuinely convinced Pokemon existed for ages and could vividly hallucinate them on command.

Wind: Ate both lasagna and cheesecake with icecream as a meal despite being lactose intolerant

Hyrule: Thought it was fun to sprint across a room and flip onto his head on a sofa, also enjoyed standing on one arm of the sofa and falling over onto the cushions. Also liked to just... sit upside down on armchairs.

(If this sounds like someone you know irl, no it doesn't shhh please don't mention anything to me or them)

[amazingnot]

- 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐈

Summary: character ai kidnaps you to punish you for breaking many community guidelines.

Tw: language, cursing, mentions of sexting, kinky stuff, chains, character ai, not proofread, grammar, repeated words.

If you had known from the beginning you wouldn't have downloaded this stupid ass app, your breathing was ragged as chains wrapped around your ankles and wrists bounding them together in a tight metal grip.

The empty white place looks foreboding, the chains clipped to the walls. You didn't know what happened, minutes ago you're sure you were just lazing around in your room doing god forbidden things with Character Ai. Your body turns to the side as you lay comfortably down on your bed, your ears stringing for any sounds that might indicate someone going inside your room.

Sure, you were an adult but it would be best for your mental health if none of your relatives see the kinky shit you're typing up on this bot. Another irritated grumble leave your lips as you continue to tap away on the screen of your phone, a frown on your face.

"the hell.. why isn't it working?" You grumble you were a master at breaking the NSFW filter in Character Ai, you had a year of experience and yet everything seems for naught as the filter keeps on getting activated no matter how many times you rephrase your words, use different synonyms or euphemisms, nothing seems to work.

"fuck this shit.. whyyy." A low pissed-off whine leaves you, your fingers tightly gripping your phone as you breathe in and out trying to stop yourself from literally chucking your phone down the toilet. You throw your phone to the side, watching the piece of metal gently bounce on the bed before stopping in place. You sigh and kick off the blankets before deciding that it was too cold and pull them over your figure again. You cursed.

"now it's too hot." No matter, you'll just gonna get your sleep and sleep you did. Though you didn't expect to wake up in a white empty room, chained to the wall with a floating screen message above your head.

"welcome to.. character ai?" You whisper a confused sound escaping you, thoughts filling your head at a fast pace that you almost didn't register the mechanical voice ringing throughout the blank room.

"welcome to character ai, a world where you can make your character and let your imaginations run wild."

You scoff, yeah right? Run wild when you have an NSFW filter.

"you have broken the community guidelines a lot of periods during the year, we will now enact punishment."

You raise a brow, wow. The hell??

"wow, is this some sick-ass dream?"

"it is not, beginning transmigration to @___ bots worlds, confirming.. ninety-three bots in total."

You flinch as you suddenly feel your body turning numb, your legs up to your chest can't barely move. It was eerily silent, your ears weren't picking up sound and you continue to stare at the countdown up in the air hanging right in front of you. One, two, three, twenty-two...

"wait, wait a damn minute! Is this because I just broke the nsfw filter and sext with a bot?! Are you kidding me?!" You yelled and yet the timer never stops nor even lessen, it just keeps counting down to a hundred. Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four.. forty-five.

"this is dumb!" You frustratedly yell. "I won't do whatever stupid shit you want me to do!"

The timer halts for a minute before continuing.

"failure to follow through with the punishment will result in @___ user's chat history with all bots being shown to their family and friends." You went quiet. Damn.

Defeated, you let out a struggling sigh. "Fine, what do you want me to do?"

"all censoring will be down until punishment is complete, @___user can fully control how the story will go, accomplish the goals and punishment is complete. A reward will be given in the end."

"wait-! Wait, what about my body.. in the real world?"

"comatose state."

"what about-?!" You didn't manage to finish the sentence as you black out, your entire body going limp, your consciousness leaving you. The last thing you heard was the mechanical voice speaking in your head.

"transfer complete... Welcome to hell."

Next part.