#this might be stretching 3 sentences a bit

[theresthesnitch]

Jily and music store AU?

"You aren't going to buy that garbage ablum, are you?"

Lily scoffed as she put the album back in the crate, turning to the tall man beside her before responding, "Excuse you, I didn't ask for your opinion on my–"

The man plucked the album out of the slot she'd just dropped it into, smirking as he said, "Last one, thanks! Guess you're going to have to come back to my place if you want to listen to it. I'll throw in dinner, too."

Send me a pairing and an AU, and I'll write you a three sentence fic.

[baby-yongbok]

Late - Bang Chan Hard Thought

WC - 472

✧ Masterlist ✧

“Baby, baby.” Chris bites his tongues in a futile attempt to suppress another moan. “We’re gonna be late. Shit, we’re already late.” 

You only spare him a doe eyed glance up from where you’re kneeling between his legs. Your lips are stretched around him, lipstick smeared over the lines and your hair frizzy from where his hands have found purchase to keep himself grounded. “You already - fuck, you already made me cum.” 

His sentences are broken into breathy fragments as you bob your head over him. His head is thrown back with another skilled swirl of your tongue while his fingers dig into the blanket you gifted him today. You pull off of him with a lewd pop, taking his throbbing length in your hand.

“Are you complaining about getting head? On your birthday?” You spit down onto the head of his cock, spreading the slick with your palm to mix with his dribbling precum. “I thought you’d like it.” You fake a pout and he groans, bucking his hips into your hand.

“I’m not, I'm not.” His knuckles are white in the soft fabric, his feet are sore from pressing into the soles of his shoes and his cock is sensitive. So much so that the faintest tickle of your exhale has him whining above you. “We have dinner, the guys are waiting.” 

You nod, sticking your tongue out to tease his tip. He watches, stuttering a bit at the start of his sentence. “We have to go.” Chris sucks in an inhale so sharp it could’ve cut him when you welcome his sex back into the warmth of your mouth. 

He groans, ending it in a breathless whine as you sink him back into the warm wet space inch by perfect inch. You take all of him, sinking down until he hits the back of your throat and you choke around his pulsing tip. “Fucking hell.” His hands are in your hair again, fisting the curly tresses to keep you down to the hilt. 

“Look at me.” His request is choked out but coherent and you follow it immediately. Your teary eyes find his and he nearly loses his bearings. “You’re so pretty with a mouth full of my cock.” 

He speaks as though he’s admiring a reminiscent memory. Like he’s imagining every other time he’s ever had you like this, on your knees in a pretty dress in your disheveled bedroom. “We’re already late.” He pulls you up ever so slightly by your hair only to guide you back down at the same pace. A small sigh floats past his parted lips as he watches with furrowed brows. A single tear escapes your lash line and he wipes it away with his thumb while admiring the pretty glisten of your auburn eyes.

“Might as well make me cum again.”

I haven't been able to write ANY birthday posts since Binnie's birthday week but I couldn't let Chan's day go by without trying to do SOMETHING. - Happy Birthday to my first bias and best leader <3

mdni banner made by @anitalenia

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@krayzieestay, @soulsbbg , @stay-bi , @yzsqu , @gho-ster , @lghtdarling

[propertyofwicked]

CROSS MY HEART - LN

warnings - smut!! MDNI!! soft!lando x restless!reader, sleepy sex, unprotected (stay safe yall), little bit of cockwarming ?

little one shot for a tired reader who just needs a bit of late night lovin <3

based on -> cross my heart by artemas

masterlist

she truly didn’t mean to start anything, y/n was simply trying to get comfortable. she was restless, the clock on the bedside table displaying 3:00 in bright red lighting mocking her. lando laid behind her, his arm laying haphazardly over her waist, holding her close to him, the other stretched above her head.

lando’s heavy breathing faltered for a moment, as she tossed and turned again, his eyes squeezing tight before squinting open to look at her. she was now laid on her back, staring up at the ceiling, lando’s arm still thrown over her as he moved to squeeze at her hip.

“hey,” he whispered, trying not to let his slumber leave him fully.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to wake you,” she apologised, whispering back at him.

“why are you still up?” he asked, ignoring her apology.

“can’t sleep,” she said, turning her head to look at him.

his eyes were still half closed, struggling to open with the weight of his fatigue. his hair was messy, matted down slightly from where he rested his head, a stray curl resting on his forehead.

“come ‘ere,” he mumbled, pressing a gentle kiss to her exposed shoulder before pulling at her hip, guiding her to shuffle back into his embrace. she felt his soft breaths blowing on her hair, trailing down the back of her neck, tingles shooting down her spine as she rolled further into his arms. her body moulded into his as though they were made for each other, each curve of her back fitted perfectly with his chest. her legs bent upwards, resting above his, feeling the dull warmth of his thighs spread to hers.

his hand resting on her hip, fingers drawing circles on her thigh, twisting the fabric of her shorts as he did.

“what’s wrong?” he asked again, sensing there was more to her restlessness.

“nothing,” she said with a sigh, “well, i don’t think there’s anything wrong.”

“the girl who sleeps anywhere anytime can’t fall asleep - never thought i’d see the day,” he joked, laughing lightly, his chest shaking lightly on her back as he did.

“maybe ive slept too much and now im doomed to an eternity of sleepless nights,” she replied, leading lando to laugh lightly again.

“right,” he started, “shut your eyes for me, focus on steady breathing.”

she nodded at him, hoping that lando could feel her response, as his eyes had shut again, his head rolling forwards to rest his forehead on her shoulder.

and so, y/n laid there silently for minutes, eyes closed. she’d just about given up counting sheep, trying to recall a long journey, even focusing on numbing her entire body head to toe - nothing was working. finally, she decided that shuffling backwards, further into her boyfriends embrace might help, maybe the white noise of his heavy breathing, or the warmth of his chest on her back would lull her into the deep sleep she needed.

her hips rolled back first, pushing into lando’s crotch as she did, her back moving to arch into his chest. but before she could get comfortable, the grip on her waist tightened, a small grunt escaping lando’s mouth as he held her impossible close to him.

“if you wanted me that bad, you should’ve just said,” he mumbled in her ear again, his hips jutting forwards slightly.

“i didn’t mean to,” she whined in defence, before considering the situation, “but since you mentioned it, and since i can feel a little problem forming…”

“little?” he gasped jokingly, “you’ve never complained about the size of it before.”

“ill think you’ll find i have,” she replied, her hips absentmindedly grinding down on his growing bulge as she spoke, “do you not remember the jaw pain i had after i suc-”

she was interrupted by his hand landing firmly over her mouth.

“don’t finish that sentence if you don’t want this to escalate,” he warned.

“and what if i want it to?” she teased, “might help to tire me out?”

“well in that case, i guess im obliged to help,” he sighed, jokingly conceding as his fingers tugged at the waistband of her shorts. her hand reached down to grab his, halting his movements slightly, she could feel his face contort in confusion from where it still rested on her skin.

“just pull them to the side,” she told him, “im too tired to take my clothes off.”

he laughed at her honesty, never one to complain about being lazy with his girl, especially when he himself was too exhausted to put his full effort into sex right now.

“yeah?” he asked her, needing reassurance before she nodded, mumbling a quick “please”.

lando’s hands reached around to y/n’s front, pulling her shorts to the side, running his rough fingers through her folds. his head near shot up in shock, pushing himself up slightly to look down at the woman below him, fingers still working through her heat, circling her clit.

“how are you already that wet?” he asked her, chuckling lightly as the moon’s soft glow illuminated the flush rising her cheeks, “all i did was press my cock into your ass and you’re dripping?”

“ok?” she replied, feigning offence, “all i did was push my hips into your cock and you got hard? you know, lan, most men wouldn’t complain when their girlfriends find them attractive,” she joked, exposing his hypocrisy with a giggle.

“this wet, though? all for me?” he asked again, though his voice no longer held it’s playful tone, it became almost possessive, proud of his effect on her.

“all for you,” she choked out, stuttering as his fingers circled her entrance, his thumb moving to continue his assault on her clit. he pushed into her, fingers curling in as he did.

“please lan,” she begged him, panting as he did. any other time, she’d be embarrassed how quickly she was falling apart for him, but right now she couldn’t think about anything but being full with him.

“please, what, angel?” he asked, smirking at her submission, “words, baby.”

“need you now,” she whined, rolling her hips to deepen his fingers, intensifying the pressure of his thumb on her heat.

“patience, angel. gettin’ you ready for me,” he grunted, hips still jutting sporadically into her every time she moaned out for him.

“i’m ready,” she argued, “i can take it.”

“you sure?” he teased, though his hand slipped away from her, pushing her shorts to the side again and tugging his boxers down to free himself. lando tugged at his length a few times, spreading precum down the shaft before lining himself up with her entrance. he felt her lean forwards slightly, moving her leg to raise it over his, opening herself up to him.

he pushed in slowly, feeling her walls stretch around his cock as she moaned out at the intrusion, soon feeling the cotton of her shorts brushing against the skin at the base of his pelvis. her hand reached back, gripping at his arm to stop his movements.

“need a moment,” she whined.

“who’s little now?” he joked, careful to keep himself still inside her, “’i’m ready, i can take it,’“ he mocked.

“shut up or i’m leaving,” she warned, grinding down on him as she grew used to the feeling of being full.

“sure you will,” he gloated, hand moving back down to her clit, pinching at it lightly as his hips began to thrust into her at a gentle pace. she couldn’t argue back if she tried, his warmth engulfing her as he held her close, strings of curses tumbling from her mouth with every thrust.

“love having you so close to me,” he grunted, his teeth nipping at the skin on her shoulder lightly, “so full of me. feel so good, wrapped around my cock like this.”

his pace remained gentle - his thrusts deep inside her, the tip of his cock hitting the spot that had her purring for him. the feeling of lando’s hands on her, gripping at her thigh, holding her open for him to slide in and out of her. his chest pressed up against her back, a light sweat coating his skin.

it was no surprise she reached her climax so quickly, overwhelmed at the feeling of him thrusting deep inside her, his body surrounding her every senses, soft grunts that travelled through her ears and straight to her heat - he was like a drug she could never quit. she came hard and fast, body shaking around his cock as her body grew limp. lando followed soon after, his strong grip holding her body still for him to use however he pleased.

his hips moved to pull back, to slip out of her slowly but her exhausted whines stopped his movements.

“leave it in,” she mumbled, face pressed into the pillow.

“what?” he asked, trying to disguise the mixture of shock and excitement he felt at the prospect of being so close to her.

“you heard me, lan. leave it in. want to feel full,” she replied, a small smile rising on lando’s face at her tired desperation, as she shuffled back into his warm embrace once again. his arms tightened around her again, her laboured breathing lulling them both into a deep sleep.

[ozzgin]

Sorry to bother you, but the bodyguard post you did was just 🤤🥰😍 and I can't stop thinking about it day later

Have you ever seen Oshi no Ko? I'd love to see Bodyguard react to someone trying to do something similar as what happened to Ai.

Fans get wind their beloved idol might have feeling for her staff, so a crazed fan tracks down her private address. He plans to get revenge for "His idol cheating on him" but doesn't know there is a guard dog inside ready to bite any threat to his precious charge.

Sorry to keep ragging on about the topic, I just adore you work enough that it lives in my head rent free.

Happy holidays

-🌟

I sadly haven't seen Oshi no Ko, but your description sounds very interesting. Thank you for the idea! I've combined it with your previous suggestion, I think they work together really well. Happy Holidays to you, too! :)

Yandere!Bodyguard x Idol!Reader (II)

Your new manager has sent you home for the holidays after persistent rumors surrounding you and your bodyguard. And, as luck would have it, the fan responsible for the accusations successfully sneaks his way in. Sadly for him, you’ve never left the watchful gaze of your loyal, mean dog.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

TW: violence, threats, mentions of stalking

(Cover from the manga “A girl and her guard dog”)

"Enjoy your holidays!" 

The driver cheerfully bids you goodbye and speeds away, leaving you behind the imposing gate. You drag your luggage inside and nonchalantly toss it with an annoyed huff.

What now? You're all alone in a hollow mansion. 

Early December you begun receiving worrying letters from a fan, making wild claims about you and your bodyguard. Naturally, you laughed it off. Your bodyguard found them equally amusing. So much, that he'd ask you to read them out loud as you rode him. "I w-won't stand for it. You know we ha-ave something special going on, (Y/N)-chan." You barely managed to form coherent sentences, feverishly clinging to the large man underneath you. "You heard the guy. Better be on your best behavior", he'd add with a chuckle, wiping the drool from your mouth. 

The new manager, however, wasn't as relaxed about it. He couldn't risk tarnishing the reputation of his beloved cash cow, so he suggested you take a break from personal assistants until the rumors tone down. If you remained within your expensively secured house, you wouldn't need any guarding. So, he caringly prescribed a dose of homely isolation for the upcoming holidays. 

"Don't be so dramatic", he said, "Jesus spent 40 days in the desert by himself. And he didn't have your indoor cinema or jacuzzi bathtub."

"Yeah, but he had the Devil to tempt him. Where's my bad guy?" You whined as a retort. 

You let out another groan and throw yourself on the couch, fiddling with the remote. Kind of them to decorate everything for Christmas, you think as you eye the gigantic kitsch of a tree slapped in the middle of the living room. 

Fuck. What an absolute waste of time. All because of one crazy fan. You almost wish he'd show his stupid face so your bodyguard could pummel it to bits and crumbles. You wonder what he's doing by himself. Is he going to be assigned to another idol? Probably not, two weeks is too short of a time for anything. You check your phone.

Suddenly, the screen lights up. A text notification. 

"Bored?"

Heh. It's almost as if he can read your mind. You smile to yourself and type your response, stretching onto the sofa. Your little back and forth messaging goes on until you look up and notice the room has gotten darker. Already evening. You can hear your stomach growl, so you get up and drag your feet towards the kitchen, searching for takeaway fliers. If you're going to be under house arrest, the least you can afford is junk food. 

Once you place your decadent order, you hop onto the counter and idly dangle your legs in anticipation. Your favorite off-duty guard dog has abruptly told you he needs to go and is now offline. "Something came up". What could possibly require his immediate attention? A mistress? You giggle at the idea. In all your time spent together, you haven't seen him glance at a single woman. If he must, he will engage with other people using one-word replies, visibly uninterested. You never considered him much of a talker, but his behavior with anyone else, in comparison, is downright hostile. 

There's a rustling sound and you jolt. Was the food delivered already? It hasn't been that long. You jump off the marble countertop and freeze in place once you see the man standing in the doorway. His face is concealed with a medical mask and he's audibly panting, the hot air fogging up his glasses. You notice the knife in his hand.

"How rude of you to cheat on me so shamelessly, (Y/N) dear."

Huh? Your eyes widen in realization. Was this the crazed fan bombarding you with threatening letters? Your features twist in utter disgust, still transfixed on the weapon within his grip. 

This little shit. Not only does he break into your home, but he decides to intimidate you with a department store kitchen utensil. Is that all you're worth? Is that any way to greet one of the top idols in this country?

You angrily pull the nearby drawer open and grab a long, sharp blade. The man tenses up and steps forward, but you stop him in his tracks, throwing the item at his feet. He stares at you, bewildered. 

"It's a Yoshihiro Sashimi knife. More than your monthly income, most likely." You state as you leer down at him, grimace plastered on your face. "Pick it up like the animal you are."

He cannot move. Is this his beloved (Y/N)? Her pretty, innocent smile and sparkling eyes have been replaced by this hateful scowl. He feels like a cockroach about to be stepped on, a mere vermin invading her personal space. This can't be right. It's him that should be upset, he's the betrayed party. When has she gotten so...Ah. This must be the work of that bodyguard. He's always known. The way he looks at her, with a predatory glint as if marking his territory. He should've noticed earlier. Poor, sweet (Y/N), at the hands of a brute. Tears form in his eyes and he opens his mouth to speak up, but a burning blow assaults his back and everything goes black. 

Your bodyguard casually walks in and lifts the intruder up by the nape of his neck. 

"Are you okay? Did he touch you?"

You blush and wipe your eyelashes dramatically, releasing a gentle sob from your puckered lips.

"Touch? He almost killed me! I was so scared...I thought I was done for."

He frowns at your words.

"I'll take care of it."

You can feel the familiar knot forming in your stomach. As he drags the body out of the kitchen, you follow behind enthusiastically. 

"Do it in the living room!" You almost squeal.

"Are you sure? It will get messy. I'm not letting this one walk out." He warns you with a worried expression. 

"Yes, yes!" you nod, all bubbly. "Right here, next to the Christmas tree."

Once the gory spectacle is over, the bodyguard sprawls onto the sofa, exhausted. He exhales loudly and runs a hand through his hair. You are about to join him, when a thought crosses your mind. 

"Now that I think about it, how did you know I was about to be attacked? That was some really extraordinary timing."

Out of reflex, he palms his pocket to check if his phone is still within his possession. Thankfully he hasn't left it in plain sight. You squint suspiciously. 

"Are you spying on me or something?"

He remains quiet for a few moments and eventually lowers his head apologetically, avoiding eye contact.

"Forgive me, Miss."

When he glances up again, your small figure is looming over him.

"Wow, what a pervert you are." You push his chin up with your dainty fingers. "How will you make it up to me for such nasty habit~?"

"Is there anything you want me to do?"

"Good boy."

[chvoswxtch]

hi my love, my sweetness!! congrats again on 4K you deserve it so much and I love youuu!!

I know the cafe is technically closed but I thought maybe if I flirt a bit with the owner, who’s such an amazing lovely person who writes excellent fics, I thought I might be able to order a drink or two (only if there’s time and of course fine if not<3)

so could I order a macchiato over ice for Frank or Hotch. how would they be/react if they saw you in their clothes? I think both are so territorial and like daddies and if they saw you just in their sweatshirt or jacket or whatnot in a completely innocent situation they’d lose it. Let’s not even get started on at home or bedroom related

love you thank you for sharing your writing with us <333

SWEET BABY D!!!!

oh i've missed you so. thank you so much my sweet. you can order anything you want <3

sjdkshdsjkd do you know how absolutely feral hotch would go if he came home after a shitty week & saw you wearing one of his dress shirts bc i'm going feral just thinking about it so let me paint you a lil picture

as a reminder, over ice means it's spicy ! (minors dni)

headcannon below the cut

aaron hotchner likes you in his clothes

let me set the scene for ya. it's been a long week for our bau daddy, dealing with narcissistic psycho killers & keeping all his kids in line (the rest of the bau), & the frustrations are high when he finally steps off the jet. he doesn't even stay back to handle the mountain of paperwork waiting for him, that's how fed up he is

when he finally makes it home, it's well after midnight, & he's so tired he doesn't even wanna take a nice hot shower like he usually does to unwind. he just wants to fall into bed & let the exhaustion take over

but when he passes by the kitchen, he instantly freezes, bc there you are standing by the counter, having a lil midnight snack (eating ice cream straight out of the tub), wearing nothing but one of his dress shirts. and when I say nothing, I mean hotch can tell you are wearing absolutely nothing underneath

his eyes quickly darken with pure lust & his cock is already half hard when he stalks over towards you with determined steps

the spoon is still in your mouth when you notice him, a smile stretching across your lips around it before you lick off the sweet remnants & slip it out of your mouth

"hey, how was the c-"

you don't even get a chance to finish that sentence bc hotch cuts you off by grabbing the back of your neck to capture your mouth in a heated kiss & he does not hold anything back as he pushes you up against the counter

his kiss is aggressive & needy, & the muffled moan that escapes you tastes delicious on his tongue. his fingers make quick work of unbuttoning the few buttons you'd had done, but he doesn't push it off your shoulders. oh no, he wants you to keep it on

his hands roam over your newly exposed skin, greedily grabbing at your breasts to squeeze them roughly, his thumb & index fingers toying with your sensitive nipples knowing it'll get you all riled up for him, & the sounds you make let him know it's working

he grabs your hand & guides it to his belt, & without hesitation you follow his silent command, your nimble fingers unbuckling it while he sheds his suit jacket & tie

in a flash he swiftly spins you around & bends you over the counter, bunching the bottom of his shirt up around your hips, & he spreads your legs further apart with his foot

he wastes no time pushing forward, burying his cock deep without warning, his hand quickly covering your mouth to contain your sharp moan. his other hand has a bruising grip on your hip as he leans forward & hisses in your ear

"be quiet."

the sensation of your warm, tight walls completely enveloping his cock makes his brain go blank. he can't focus on anything else other than how good you feel. he immediately begins snapping his hips, fucking you hard & fast while grunting in your ear

with every powerful thrust, the stress & tension built up in his body from this week starts to fade, & the pleasure rapidly builds. even though he's chasing a much needed release, he's not selfish, so he slips his hand between your thighs & begins to strum swift circles over your clit with two of his fingers

he lets out a quiet, wrecked groan in your ear when he feels your pussy start to contract around him, the muffled moans against his palm only heightening his arousal. as badly as he wants to hear you fall apart, he doesn't wanna wake up jack

when he feels your body seize up as you come, hotch squeezes his eyes shut & lets out a strangled groan, gripping your waist tightly with both hands as his hips start to stutter

"fuck fuck fuck."

he comes hard, spilling deep within your snug walls, emptying himself completely. the way your cunt continues to contract around his cock milks him of every drop he has to offer, & it makes him let out a shuddering breath

placing both of his palms down on the counter to steady himself, he buries his face into your hair, panting heavily. if he wasn't exhausted before, he sure as hell is now, but he's definitely more calm. a breathless laugh leaves your lips before you speak

"well, hello to you too."

letting out a breathless chuckle of his own, hotch smiles & wraps one of his arms around your waist, pressing a soft kiss to your neck

"sorry, hi."

reaching one of your hands back to caress his face with your hand, you hum softly with a grin

"missed me that much, huh?"

leaning into your gentle touch, hotch's smile turns into a full blown grin

"always. but I have to say, I love your choice in pajamas tonight."

glancing down at yourself, it clicks that seeing you in his shirt is what set hotch off, & a devilish smirk spreads across your lips

"i'll keep that in mind. sir."

in conclusion if you hear screaming from across the world it is me

[popamolly]

CAN WE PLEEEASE PRETTY PLEASE HAVE PLAYING VIDEO GAMES WITH THE VOX, ALASTOR, AND LUCI (AND ANYONE ELSE YOU WANT) AND SITTING ON THEIR LAP AND WHAT GOES DOWN FROM THERE (IM GOING INSANE)

have a nice day, love your writing, drink lotsa water!!!<3

៸៸ ﹟PLAYER NUMBER TWO!

characters. Vox, Alastor, Lucifer and Adam

warning. fem!reader, video game references, smut, 18+ minors dni

author’s note. i’m licking the plate clean at this idea because i just love it so much. thank you for the request anon, you’re so sweet and make sure you take care of yourself too, treat yourself to something nice! i added games to their personality so lmk what y’all think, did i match them correctly? also i have to say thank you sooooo much for 200+ followers??? like what??? i gotta come up with something very juicy for y’all. now enjoy sinners.

ALASTOR

“Ah!” The jumpscare from the scary game had you jolt in Alasto’s lap, making the usually cynical man grin down on your mischievously. You both had wanted to spend some quality time together by playing video games and of course Alastor picked the game, Tormented Souls.

Not only was it scary but it had a jumpscare at every damn left turn. It had gotten so bad to the point that you were sweating like a sinner in church— anticipating it, expecting it, and yet you still would jump. Though your lover Alastor had barely bat an eye to the scary bits as he controlled his character with delicate composure, progressing through the game with expertise.

Alastor wasn’t a saint, he had not only picked this game because it was scary but because he knew you would jump and every time you would squirm in his lap your hips would brush against his cock in the most delicious way. Call it a ploy to get you to grind on him or whatever you wanted to call it but he was too busy reaping the rewards of you in his lap during this gaming session, “Fuck!” You jumped again this time moving in such a way that you felt his hardening dick press against the panties that you wore, teasing you.

“Oh what is this my dear?” Alastor would grin, dropping his controller to grip your hips so he could force you grind on him. One thing led to another and you were moving your hips which such reckless abandon as he clothed cock just rubbed against your clit the right way, making your sopping pussy closer to an orgasm, “What a vixen you are! I barely even touched you and you’re already soaking wet. How entertaining.”

VOX

You were sitting in Vox’s lap, the both of you indulging yourselves in playing video games to take a break from everything at the V tower until you both were freshly rejuvenated for the next day. Though playing Minecraft might not have been a good idea because it caused for more stress than relaxation for some, especially Vox. “Why the fuck are my chickens escaping?” “Did you make a fence?” “It won’t even follow me, the fuck?” “They will follow you if you hold seeds.” “Where the fuck do I get seeds?”

He’d be yelling in your ear but the sound of his voice right on your earlobe and neck made you shiver. Vox noticed this and couldn’t help but smirk, “You enjoying being in my lap, sweetheart?” You turn around in his arms so you could straddle his waist with a suggestive smile. Before you knew it Vox was digging in his fingertips so harshly into your hips as he controlled your movements, impaling you with his cock and enjoying the way your pleading words fell from your soft lips. He bounced you up and down his length not giving a damn if your just came already. “V-Vox! It’s too much! Please…! Ah, fuck!”

Your pussy sucked him in greedily, velvety wall clenching around him as if you didn’t want to let him go. Vox drank in your form like a pure alcoholic. The breathless pants escaping his mouth was barely enough to make coherent sentences as his mind swimmed with bliss. With half lidded eyes, he watched you bounce along his cock, his eyes drifting downwards to watch it stretch you impossibly wide as you sank back down with a loud moan, “Such a naughty girl, enjoying my cock like a little fucking whore. Now tell me while you bounce on my cock,” Vox was in your ear again, groaning loudly but kept his serious tone, “How do I keep my Minecraft chickens?”

LUCIFER

“(Y/N) I finally got Ketchup to complete my duck island, come look! She is soooo adorable!” Lucifer held out his Nintendo switch for you to see the duck villager move onto his island. Your boyfriend— the King of Hell was currently obsessed with having a duck only Animal Crossing island and instead of taking the easy route he had spent weeks in search of Ketchup in the game and thanks to him manifesting it for himself sure enough he found the infamous Ketchup the duck.

You place your own Nintendo switch down to crawl into his lap, full expecting just to be all cute and cuddly but Lucifer had other ideas. How could he focus on creating a duckie empire in his game when your ass rubbed on him in all the right places. The man had been alone for 7 years— surely you knew he lacked physical touch and intimacy for a long time and now? Oh now he was touch starved.

“Her design is to die for! Lucifer now that you finished you could—Lucifer..?” Your eyes widen slightly when you felt Lucifer reposition you two with ease. You were now on all fours with your ass on full display for him, you turned on your cheek to glance back at him with a teasing smile, “What are you doing, Lulu?”

“I think you know my love,” With a snap of his fingers your clothes dissolved into nothing but smoke, leaving you naked and completely at his mercy, “Now don’t be shy, open up for me.” Suddenly your moans were filling the room, bouncing off the walls, leaving you nothing but a drooling mess beneath Lucifer. His grip tightened around your waist, giving you slow and deep thrust that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head. The lewd, squelch! sound coming from your pussy echoing throughout the bedroom, sounding like a sinful melody to the Kings ears. He picks up his pace, his balls slapping against your clit repeatedly as he hit that spot within you that made you arch your back more in desperate need for him to hit it again.

ADAM

“(Y/N) babe, I’m going to need you to stop shooting at the walls and actually shoot another player, please and thank you.” Adam was getting a bit annoyed with you during your gaming session of Call of Duty and it didn’t help that you were on his lap, blocking his own view— and getting himself distracted. Why did you have to sit in his lap again? Something about wanting to feel closer to him or whatever cheesy shit you said he wasn’t really paying attention. He was complaining about it but he just wanted to tease you, in reality he loved it, “Pay attention (Y/N), this is a team effort, can’t have you going down first, danger tits.”

Your back was to Adam’s chest and your boyfriend couldn’t help his cock straining against the fabric of his red apple print pajama shorts at the feeling of your warm cunt pressing against himself you didn’t mean it in the way but he took it that way. With a devious grin, he would bring his long slender fingers to rub your clothed sex teasingly, making you nearly jump slightly from the contact, “Adam—!”

“Focus on the game babe, I’m not doing anything.” Adam was such a liar. He had now snaked his fingers past the waistband of your leggings, groaning softly to himself upon making contact with your slick folds. He rubbed your clit making you completely submit to his ministrations with a soft moan, letting your body relax against him as you clutched the controller in your hand. Your toes curled and legs began to slightly close as Adam added a finger, then two, then three. “Spread your legs wider gorgeous, let me play with that pretty pussy.”

© POPAMOLLY 2024 all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, or repost on any other social media.

[yumiis]

headcannons for getting drunk with tgc?

like how high their tolerance to alcohol is,

what they usually have,

and stuff similar?

ignore my 'ideas' if you dont wanna do them <3

🫧 anon

absolutely!! i love making hcs like this (i also won't be including larry bc he isn't of legal age to drink :P)

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。 drunk ; tgc boys

　 ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

genre/type: fluff/humor, headcanons

read below!

ISAAC;

absolute unbeatable tolerance. insane tolerance. dude can take 6 shots of everclear and still walk a straight line.

you've only seen isaac blackout ONCE, and it was complete accident. you hadn't seen isaac drinking that much, but he was actually borderline drunk. he asked you in a pretty sober sounding voice, "how many drinks have i had? should i stop?" you say, "i've only seen you take like 2 shots. drink some more!"

horrible move. he blacked out and also woke up with the world's worst hangover.

ever since then though, his tolerance, like i said, is rock solid.

he likes the classic drinks, so i'd say he likes a good screwdriver.

super clingy and COCKY when he's drunk.

drowning you in kisses and hugs, and he goes, "babe, i'm soooo hot. i'm soooo hot and sexy.."

"sure you are."

your two options are to kill his ego or boost it, but it kills you too much to deflate his ego.

"how cocky was i last night?"

"yeah."

TANNER;

moderately normal tolerance, maybe a TINY bit lower than the average person in their mid-20's.

like, if we're measuring in shots of vodka again, like 4 1/2 shots he'd be gone. not black out gone, but "i'm gonna talk about every celebrity i could probably pull" gone.

he's such a YAPPER when he's drunk dude.

will probably do the trend of writing fake band names to try and make you laugh

he's dancing around to loud ass music in the kitchen, invites you to dance with him, he immediately starts shoving himself against you

he won't shut up about how much he loves you

he's definitely got his head in your lap and he's making you play with his hair and listen to him talk

however you have to stop him talking at a certain point, because he'll just start having a crisis and making himself sad.

he's never blacked out, but he has terrible hangovers.

favorite drink? he strikes me as a daiquiri kinda guy. he'd love them.

but if it's more casual drinking at home, he's happy with some soju.

NICK;

literally AVERAGE tolerance.

about 2-3 shots of vodka has him tipsy, 4-6 has him drunk, and don't give him more than 8, he might start drunkenly making an album.

he's not a clear liquor guy, he prefers browns like brandy or scotch.

there is almost ALWAYS a bottle of whiskey in the fridge for nick, he never runs out.

he drinks regularly, but he doesn't HEAVILY drink on those nights.

he's super sleepy when he's drunk. he could literally fall asleep anywhere if given the opportunity

he could be laying on the floor to "stretch his back" he's asleep 10 minutes later

you have to carry this dude to bed (and if you can't do it alone, isaac helps you)

like i said he prefers drinking brown liquors, so i think he'd maybe like a tequila sunrise or just straight whiskey

BLAKE;

"i have a ROCK SOLID tolerance!" dead in 3 shots. don't listen to him lie to you

every time you and the guys go out for dinner at like chilis or something, blake orders a margarita and everyone sighs in unison

the margarita gets him on the verge of drunk. just a little past tipsy.

he can HARDLY casually drink with anyone because his tolerance is just THAT bad

you constantly pick at him for it but he's just accepted it at this point

he's so SILLY when he's drunk man

cracking jokes that do NOT land at all and are not funny unless he's talking to a bunch of drunk people

"so the.. uh.. what? yeah.. uh.."

he suddenly forgets english

he can barely formulate a SINGLE sentence and he's basically speaking in mumbles

he's like speaking in fancy or speaking in riddles like a troll under the bridge or some shit

you have to baby him while he's drunk or he won't know what the hell is going on

i think he honestly.. just likes whatever he can get his hands on.

[ticklish-n-stuff]

Stuck in bed

So I've been sick for a bit now and am desperately craving some fluff and I'm also mentally ill for SethosScara. I need more fics of them pronto

Enjoy<3

Also on ao3

___________________________________________

Sethos x Scaramouche/Wanderer (romantic)

Lee: Sethos

Ler: Scaramouche

Warnings: Tickles! Gey

___________________________________________

Rays of sunshine started seeping through the blinds, signaling the start of a new day. The warm glow embraced Scaramouche’s features, causing the indigo male to let out an annoyed grumble. He not so delicately rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, stretching out his limbs until they grew numb.

While ungraciously sitting up with a drowsy pout, he looked over to his side. A tangle of limbs and sheets, also known as Sethos, snored away without a care in the world.

It was quite the sight, some might even call it cute.

The Wanderer reached out, gently tugging down on the blanket to reveal his lover’s face. Letting out a soft chuckle at the bit of drool that dripped out of his mouth.

“Adorable…” the ex-harbinger murmured to himself, further tugging down the covers that encased his lover.

He watched as Sethos shifted in his sleep, goosebumps rising across his skin as the cool air hit bare skin.

Scaramouche couldn’t help drift his gaze towards the expanse that was his bare back. Such soft, supple skin. He couldn’t help but want to touch it. Without thinking much, he started to delicately trace his fingertips across the smooth skin, instantly growing mesmerized by the feel. Like a cat playing with a new, shiny toy.

He really had fallen down the deep end when it came to love. Not in a million years did he think he’d revel in something as simple as skin contact. His thoughts got interrupted as he heard a sound akin to a… giggle? He stopped his movements, glancing over to Sethos’s face, only to still see him out for the count. Though, there was now a cute, little smile stretched across his lips.

Wanderer didn’t think much of it and went back to mapping out his back, as if trying to memorize every curve.

“Hehe…”

Okay, that definitely was a giggle. Scara watched Sethos’s smile grow brighter, earning a smirk from the former.

“Finally awake, little bee?” There was a teasing lilt in hat guy’s voice, his fingers never seizing their movements.

“Yeah- Hehe! What are- what are you doing?”

“Simply admiring your back. Though someone seems a bit too ticklish for that~” His smirk grew more teasing before he leaned his face closer, placing a gentle kiss on the exposed patch of skin.

“EEP?!” Sethos squeaked, his eyes widening in shock at the embarrassing sound that escaped his lips. The blush on his cheeks not trailing too far behind.

“Heh, cute” Scaramouche started using both hands, trailing his fingers softly up and down the sides of his boyfriend’s bare torso.

“Oh c’mon honey, no- Hah! No tickling…!” Sethos whined into the pillow. Despite his protests, he didn't try to get away.

“Tch, don’t act like you’re not loving the attention. You could easily get away if you wanted to, little bee”

“But I’m sleepy- EHEEK?! WAHAHAIT!” The squeal that came out of Sethos probably resounded through all of Sumeru, having reached new heights in pitch when Scara started lightly pressing his fingers between his ribcage. Wiggling against the sensitive bones.

“NAHAHAHA! MOCHI, NOT THEHEHERE!” Sethos squirmed and writhed, his limbs flailing all over the place as he laughed his head off. He could feel his face erupt in warmth from the whole ordeal.

The Wanderer’s teasing expression softened up to a more endearing look, absolutely smitten by the mess of giggles and limbs he had created.

“Not here? Are you sure? It drives you insane with laughter though~” He cooed against the flustered man’s ear, earning another cute squeal.

“PLEASE, IT’S- AHAHAHA! IT'S SO BAD THEHEHERE!”

Scara couldn’t help but laugh along. Watching his boyfriend struggle to form coherent sentences was wildly amusing and adorable.

“Oh fine, I’ll go somewhere else then~”

Sethos missed the playful tone in his boyfriend’s voice as he made the mistake of relaxing once those pesky fingers stopped tormenting his ribs. He slumped down against the mattress, trying to steady his breathing. “Ahahah… thank you- WAIT! THAT’S WOHOHORSE!”

He could’ve sworn his soul almost left his body when he suddenly felt small, blunt nails scratching and wiggling away under his arms.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you over all that laughter~” Scaramouche placed a small kiss on the warm shell of his partner’s ear, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin to draw out every last laugh, squeal and giggle.

“HYAHAHAH! PLEASE, MERCYHIHIHI!” Sethos threw his head back, and that’s when the world seemed to stop for Scaramouche. Time froze, his eyes widened as he saw his boyfriend’s crimson red face. Eyes squeezed shut and nose scrunched up, and that smile. Oh, that smile did things to him. It was so… pure, so bright and full of life. And that sweet sound of laughter that just seemed to scratch his brain in all the right spots. Everything about Sethos is mesmerizing, making Scara feel like a lovestruck fool. He was snapped out of his daydreaming when he heard the shrill pleas of his hysterical partner.

“EEEEHEHEHEHE! NO MOHOHORE!”

“Oops-” Scara slowed his fingers until reaching a full stop, pulling his hands away to allow his lover to recover.

Sethos took greedy breaths, his chest heaving as he looked like he had ascended on cloud 9. He opened his crinkled eyes, only to see Scaramouche staring down at him with a toothy grin. What was more flustering? All that tickling or that look that seemed to make his stomach turn? Perhaps both.

“You okay?” Wanderer’s voice came out oddly soft as he gently ran his fingers through Sethos’s long locks.

“Yeah… though, I think I’m ready for bed again” the latter spoke with a tired chuckle.

Without warning, Scaramouche crashed right on top of him. Earning a squeak as he nestled his face against his lover’s back.

“Good idea, wake me up later” he placed a kiss on his back before dozing off within moments. Sethos couldn’t help but chuckle in amusement.

“Alright, goodnight honey” he rested his head against the pillow once more, feeling his eyes growing heavy and his heart forever warm in the Wanderer’s presence. As he felt himself drift off, he heard a soft “goodnight, little bee”, causing a smile to blossom on his tired face.

___________________________________________

Sethos is so pretty help me

[fanta2y]

Puppy Love

ahh sorry ive been meaning to post this fic for a couple days now but ive been swamped with school, but its here now !! yahoo!

i hope you guys like ittt <3

cw: slightly suggestive? and i mean SLIGHTLY

word count: 2k

Yuuji was never scared to show his affections. Whether that be with his encouraging words, or his physical touches. He knew that his time was limited, especially with his unorthodox life choices, so showing his love to the people he loved was something that had always came easy to him. 

Until you came along. 

Everytime you entered a room his eyes immediately found yours, and just as they met he would rip them away from you. A blush almost instantly appearing on his cheeks as he stood, quickly and quietly excusing himself. 

For Kugisaki and Fushiguro, it was easy to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Having known Yuuji for quite some time now, they knew what his normal behavior was. And this? This was far from it.

But for you, you were new. Having just met these people days before, so you were convinced that you had done something to offend him, or he just simply didn’t like you. Maybe you stunk? 

Little did you know, his thoughts were the exact opposite. He thought you were gorgeous, your laugh was like music to his ears. Your voice was soothing and beautiful, he could listen to you talk for hours. But this sickly sweet feeling that raised his heartbeat and brought heat to his face was something very new to him. Something he hadn’t really experienced before. 

Sure, he had found girls attractive before, even asked a girl out to their middle school dance. But this was different, this was deeper. It coiled around his bones, squeezing his throat. Made him do things and say things he didn’t want. It was infuriating. 

He groaned into his pillow, his mind tormenting him with a replay of his embarrassing moments in front of you today. He wanted the earth to swallow him whole, or better yet just let Sukuna take over and have him kill him instead. Anything would be better than him continuing to fumble about like this any longer. 

Knowing he wasn’t going to get any sleep anytime soon, he figured he might be able to tire himself out enough to simply pass out due to exhaustion. Hoping it would shut his mind up. Yuuji stood from his bed, putting on some old tennis shoes and throwing a hoodie on. He went out of his dorm and headed for the training rooms. 

He clenched and unclenched his fists all the way there, his mind plagued with you. 

You. You. You.

You were all he ever seemed to think about these days. 

He did some quick stretching, wanting nothing more than to just start the mind-numding activity of punching something over and over and over again. Until his brain was too tired to come up with any new scenarios to torture him with. 

But of course, just as he goes to throw his first punch. He hears an all too familiar voice. 

“Itadori? What are you doing awake?” Your voice echoed off the empty gym walls. He froze, his heartbeat immediately picking up. The blush full force on his cheeks. He couldn’t get his brain and his mouth to cooperate so he just stood there, back facing you. His mouth wide open in shock, he almost wanted to laugh at his sheer luck. 

“Is everything okay?” You asked, after the silence pushed on too long. You words were coated in a thick layer of worry. While you were still sure the boy hated you, and you knew you might be pushing your luck. You didn’t just want to stand there and pretend like nothing was wrong. It was nearly 2 in the morning and here he is, training. Any one in their right mind would be a bit worried. 

“I’m fine…” He managed to choke out, He's such an idiot. What is wrong with him. Why can’t he just speak!

“If you need the training room I can go.” He muttered quickly, turning quick on his feet to walk past you. His eyes glued to the floor, walking with a newfound purpose back to his dorms. 

“No wa-..” But before you could even finish your sentence he was already gone, without even a second glance your way. The doors to the gym slammed shut. And all of a sudden it was just you alone.

You sighed, your head falling forward into your hands as you stood there. You felt embarrassed and a bit ticked. You had tried and tried to rack your brain to figure out if you had done something, anything, to make him this upset. But you realized that you hadn’t had the chance to make him upset because after you had introduced yourself to him, he had been avoiding you like the plague. 

You groaned, stretching your hands over your head. Turning on your heels to head back to your room, a new feeling of determination settling in you. You were going to get to the bottom of this even if its the last thing you do. 

The next morning you rolled out of bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The interrupted sleep definitely did you no favors, but upon remembering last night's incident you remembered your goal.

To figure Itadori out. 

You both saw each other in class, usually sitting on opposite ends. But today, you were going to be bold. And after whispering about it to Kugisaki, who nodded fervently at your efforts. A glint in her eyes you couldn’t quite name. She sent you off to the empty desk next to his with a whisper, “Gooo…this class is boring anyways!” 

You heard her giggling behind you as you willed away the nerves. He hadn’t come in yet, he had a notorious habit for sleeping in just a little. Not enough for him to be late, but enough for him to be right on time.

He walked in, panting slightly. His hair was a bit all over the place and he was definitely wearing the hoodie he had on last night. When both of your eyes met, he quickly tore them away. Not even giving himself a chance to realize where you were in the room. The realization didn’t strick him until he had sat down and saw you were much closer than you usually were. 

But before he could move, Gojo had walked in. Declaring the start of the lecture, and the start of Yuujis slow and tortuous day. 

To say you were frustrated was an understatement. At every opportunity you had tried to get him alone to talk to him, even flat out asking him “Can I speak to you?” to which he had the audacity to respond with, “I’m actually a bit busy, maybe later?” Even though he very clearly wasn’t doing anything. 

You had sat next to him for each and every class, you even passed him a note! You had gotten yourself as his sparring partner for training, even finding yourself sitting at his, Fushiguro and Kugisaki’s table for lunch. 

Even though all the time you guys had spent together today, he had barely uttered a word to you. And didn’t even think about letting you talk to him.

You wanted to pull your hair out.

Sitting in your last class, next to him of course. You were staring him down, and he seemed the more interested in the lecture than he had ever been before. You knew he was just trying to avoid accidentally making eye contact with you. And it only boiled your blood more. 

What was this guy's issue?!

As Gojo wrapped up the last lecture of the day, an idea popped into your head. And before you could talk yourself out of it, you were reaching for Itadori's hand. Entangling it tightly within your own and leading him very quickly out of the room. You heard Kugisaki yelling some type of encouragement after you, but you didn’t pay it much mind. 

“I- what are you doing?!” Itadori asked behind you, bewildered by your sudden boldness. You didn’t give him the luxury of a response, especially since you didn’t quite know yourself. All you knew was that if he wasn’t going to talk to you of his own accord, you were going to force it out of him. 

You spotted an empty classroom, and before you could think much about it you shoved him inside. Shutting the door behind you and standing infront of it. 

He stood, shocked. His mind blank as he desperately tried to process the events of what just happened. But the warmth of your hand still on his wrist short-circuited his brain to a point where it was beyond function. On instinct, he ripped his wrist from yours as if the touch had burned him. 

“What is your problem with me?” You wanted to sound angry, you wanted to be angry. You were angry a second ago. But now, standing in front of him. You found yourself to be anything but. Your voice sounded weak, soft, sad. It made you cringe. 

This stopped him, pulled him far enough out of his own head to clear the fog of whatever he felt for you to see the situation for what it was. 

He was such an asshole.

“What do you mean? I dont-” You interrupted him with a scoff. “Oh please, you avoid me like I have some disease, you don’t look at me. You went this entire day without saying more than 2 words to me…I just, I don’t understand and look I’m sorry if I offenunmph.” 

Before you could even finish your sentence, you felt warm lips on yours. Slightly chapped, but nice. It felt nice. You reacted almost instantaneously, melting into the kiss. It was sweet, just your lips moving against eachother. 

He pulled away, panting slightly. Out of instinct you leaned forward to follow his lips, he chuckled at you. Resting his head on your forehead instead. “I’m sorry.” He whispered between the shared breaths. His eyes now seemingly to be unable to leave yours. His gaze was overwhelming, for a split second you almost wished he would go back to avoiding you. You didn’t know how much of this you could take. 

Now it was your turn to avoid his gaze, turning your head to the side. You put your hands on his chest, going to push him away from you. Your cheeks turning bright pink as the realization of what just happened settled into the air. 

You laughed forcefully, “All is forgiven! You can go now.” Speaking all too quickly, your tried again to put some distance between you and him. Cursing past you for standing against the door as you now have no place to back up from. He was so close, his hot breath fanning over your already too warm cheeks. 

Silently, he reached his hand to your chin. It felt like a spell had be broken, the shyness and avoidance you had gotten use to these past weeks disappeared as if it had never existed in the first place. 

He turned your head to face his again, “No really, I’m sorry. I’ve been an asshole.” He sounded so sincere it made you sick, his eyes finding yours again. Holding you hostage under the intense gaze. Without thinking, your eyes flicked down to his lips again, quickly looking back up to his eyes. But not quick enough for it to go unnoticed. The small smile that tugged on his lips was all the warning you got before his lips were on yours again. 

This sudden boldness had taken you by surprised, as you were pressed even further against the door. He crowded around you, hand moving from your chin to cup the back of your neck. Keeping your lips pressed against his as they melded together, lips and tongues intertwining. The kiss quickly turned heated as you forced your head back to rest against the door behind you. 

“Let me make it up to you.” 

authors note: IDK GUYS I KINDA ATE WITH THIS :))))) i really do like the way it turned out and i hope you guys do too!!! make sure your taking care of yourselves, much love <3

[divine-misfortune]

for the smut sentence starters if you’d like, how about “getting close? don't worry, i'll take care of you” for aether/aeon?

<3

Heat raged violently on his poor body. There was no escaping the painful ache of lust and believe him, Phantom was trying. Had been trying, for hours in fact. Having woken up well past midnight feverish and restless, bedding kicked fully off and onto the floor, Phantom had nearly thrashed around enough in his sleep to have freed himself from his boxers. It only took a little more wriggling to get the elastic band low enough the tip of his cock could feel the friction of being trapped between his hips and the mattress. He whined. Desperate and frustrated as the sensation goes from satisfying to barely enough to clear his head.

But it did clear the haze some. Barely. He could identify the tugging at the back of his skull, pulling at the thread drawn painfully taut down to the pit of his gut. It was drawing him. Pulling him from his bed towards familiarity.

Clarity was short lived, it got him as far as tapping on Aether’s door as he continued to stroke himself through the fabric of his boxers. The wet spot had grown from a dot to an almost soaked front. Everything else came in brief waves after he met Aether’s eyes. A sea of violet swirling and churning, Phantom was helpless to fall into them. His body carried him straight back to his mentor, elements alike, it felt like Aether was the only one who could save him from the dreaded hormones ravaging his vessel with a vengeance.

And Aether filled the role well. Filled him well. Two thick digits curled methodically inside of him, precise and determined to pet up against that sweet secret little spot that Phantom still wasn’t entirely familiar with. Every drag of calloused fingers sent him spiraling further and further into the damning throes of greed and pleasure. It killed off any shame he might have had on a normal day, made it so he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of the bigger ghoul lying between his thighs. Saliva pooled in his mouth as Aether looked up form his work, his smile soft and warm as the other hand, wrapped around him, stroked slowly and tightly. Root to tip, milking more and more out of him until pre dribbled over his fist. Genuine and loving in his weakest of moments, even as he picked Phantom apart down past the atoms.

“You’re drooling, love.” Aether chuckled and Phantom pathetically kicked in his grip. He didn’t even bother to lift his hands from the bed to wipe his mouth which was fine with Aether, he liked him sloppy like this. He kissed at the leaking tip, suckling at the very source of a growing mess without the intent of keeping any part of this clean.

“Hah - Oh, oh keep doing it like th-at!” His voice pitched suddenly as a third finger crooked inside of him. There was a bit of stretch but little resistance, slick enough it didn’t matter. So much so that Aether was almost certain he could simply pull his sweats down, give himself a few quick tugs, and bury himself to the hilt in the burning clutch of Phantom’s body with little issue.

“Doing so good,” Aether sighed, hot breath too close to the oversensitive little thing in his hands. The muscles in Phantom’s belly visibly jumped and he wanted to nuzzle his face into the little bit of fat the little quint had put on in his month’s topside. His vessel was finally becoming well loved, and Aether was going to make sure it was thoroughly loved in the moment. “Wish you could see how you look wrapped around my fingers like this, dripping down my wrist. Got your hole all pink and puffy already.”

“It h-urts,” Phantom hiccuped, the start of tears sparkling in his eyes. A pang of sympathy and semi sick arousal punched deep in his gut at the growing misery displayed before him. Made his own cock start to really fatten up with interest. “Need you to make it better, make it cum.”

He hummed gently, quiet agreement to what he needed. Anyone else, Aether would have selfishly prolonged their suffering before ultimately unmaking them but Phantom was still so fresh. Only his first or second heat with them. It would be beyond cruel even for him. He nudged at the bond between them, their shared element tethering them deeper than the others, and waited for Phantom to let him cross the mental threshold. With silent permission Aether allowed his magic to bleed deep into Phantom’s scalding nerves turning broiling sap into thick syrup in his veins. He made a low garbled sound that Aether interpreted as relief, sagging semi boneless into the mound of pillows behind him.

Against his fist he felt Phantom’s balls start to pull tight up against the underside of his hand, body clenching around his fingers. He looked blissed out already, and Aether couldn’t wait to see how far he could drop him into the feeling. They had all night after all, Phantom’s heat wouldn’t break till he was firmly caught and stuck on his knot. Aether could drag that part out for a bit. Not like Phantom really knew that fact, and not like he wasn’t helping as is - it wasn’t entirely unkind. Just a bit selfish.

“Getting close?” Phantom’s fangs dig into his lower lip, brows drawing up in the middle. That was answer enough but he still nodded. Even in this state he remembered Aether didn’t care for unanswered questions. Such a good, obedient boy even at his weakest. “Don’t worry baby, you can let go, I’ll take care of you.”

His mouth fell open, a moan caught in his throat.

“I’ll kiss it all better.”

[defectivevillain]

those who fall

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: “What’s your name?” You ask your companion. “Hannibal,” he responds. The man doesn’t look the slightest bit malnourished, despite your predicament. Either he’s new here, or he’s been able to keep his hunger satiated. “Hannibal,” you repeat, taking note of his vaguely European accent. “That’s a strange name.” Hannibal just blinks. The man looks almost expressionless, but you can see a hint of irritation at the edges of his faux smile.

word count: 3k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical blood and violence, death, suicide, cannibalism, gore, suicidal ideation/self-harm. Emphasis on the cannibalism — both willing and non-consensual cannibalism. Mentions of throwing up/vomiting.

author's notes: Happy spooky pride! (I'm being told it's also called Halloween...? Weird.) Here’s a really fucked up fic. :3

If y’all haven’t watched The Platform, here’s the trailer, which should explain things. I’ve also attempted to write an explanation, but it’s long and bad. Here it is anyways, in case you don’t want to watch the trailer:

There is a vertical prison system that stretches more than 300 levels down. Each floor houses two people, and there’s a large hole in the middle to accommodate a table. Each day, a single table starts at Floor 0 and makes a stop at each floor. The table is loaded with a ton of dishes for a large and extravagant meal. Floor 1 gets the table for a short time before it drops to Floor 2. So on and so forth. People aren’t allowed to take things from the table to save for later, so it’s a scramble to eat enough to keep them nourished until the next day. They’re all eating from the same table, so as the floors get lower, there’s less and less food left. Inhabitants stay on their floor for one month, before they’re exposed to gas and moved to a different floor for another month. Basically, the lower the floor, the less likely you’ll be to get any food. In theory, if each person ate only their own ration, the food might last. But some people are greedy, wasteful, etc... A floor below 100 is virtually a death sentence, because that means 200 people pick at the food before you get to.

heed the warnings listed above before reading!

You wake up, blinking away the traces of a gas-induced sleep. It’s the beginning of the month, which means you’ve been transported to another floor in the facility. Groaning, you blink blearily, only to find someone staring down at you. You flinch and get up, hoping he’ll move away. But he continues looming over you, looking at you with a scrutinizing gaze. 

“You must be my new roommate,” he says emotionlessly. 

“How’d you wake up so fast?” You respond, squinting at the daylight seeping through the room. Typically, the gas is strong enough to leave you knocked out for at least twelve hours. But this man is already awake, and there’s no telling how long he’s been standing before you, watching you. The thought unnerves you. 

He just shrugs in lieu of a response to your question. You take a deep breath and turn towards the far wall, dread coiling in your chest as your eyes find the number of the floor you’re on: 139. Fuck. You’ve never been this low before. You had the 76th floor last month and the 23rd the month before that, then 87, 6, and 53. You had no idea the floors went down past 100; all you knew was that you’d be getting a new roommate this month, in light of your past roommate’s death. 

Floor 139 is practically a death sentence. You’d normally be able to fast thirty days, but you spent all of last month fasting at Floor 76. (You didn’t have much of a choice, as the food never made it down to you in the first place.) You push yourself to your feet and walk near the center of the space, glancing down only to find more floors stretching down as far as the eye can see. There are dozens—maybe hundreds—of people beneath you. You want to throw up. 

“You look frightened,” your new roommate remarks, breaking you out of your spiraling thoughts. You glance at him, unable to hide your irritation. 

“Of course I am,” you snap, beginning to pace around the edge of the hole in the floor. “The food will never make it down this far.” 

“How do you know?” He hums. There’s a knowing smile on his face, as if he wants you to concede and utter the words aloud. 

“The food didn’t even make it down to level 87,” you recall, shaking your head as you try to fight off memories of an aching stomach and a debilitating weakness anchoring you to your bed. “And we’re fifty-two levels beneath that.” 

Silence. You swallow hard and try to maintain your composure. Panicking won’t do you any good.  And you definitely don’t trust this stranger enough to show him any sort of emotional vulnerability. You bite the inside of your cheek and think for several minutes. “What’s your name?” You later ask your companion. 

“Hannibal,” he responds. He takes another step backwards and light falls on his face, revealing a chiseled facial structure, brown-grey hair, and glimmering brown eyes. The man doesn’t look the slightest bit malnourished, despite your predicament. Either he’s new here, or he’s been able to keep his hunger satiated. 

“Hannibal,” you repeat, taking note of his vaguely European accent. “That’s a strange name.” Hannibal just blinks. The man looks almost expressionless, but you can see a hint of irritation at the edges of his faux smile. 

“How’d you lose your roommate?” You continue determinedly, desperate for some information on this guy. Something about him unsettles you. It must be the unbothered way with which he analyzes your surroundings, as if you hadn’t both just been given a finite expiration date.  

Hannibal studies you for a long moment. “You don’t want the answer to that question.” He eventually answers. A shiver rolls down your spine. 

“You killed them,” you realize aloud. 

“And ate them,” he confirms casually. Your heart starts thudding quickly in your chest. You pretend not to be affected by his confession. Internally, you’re scared for your life. To think that you’d survived months of starvation, only to die at the hands of another human? “What happened to your roommate?” Hannibal continues, before you can truly collect your thoughts. 

“They jumped.” You remember to say, the taste of bile climbing up your throat. There’s no need for further explanation. 

“Ah.” A tense quiet descends on the air once more, and the two of you spend the seemingly countless hours before the table’s arrival in silence. 

When you finally hear the telltale whirring of the table above, your stomach growls. You need food rather desperately—especially after not receiving any legitimate nutrition last month. Your hands are shaky; your vision is blurry; and your legs feel as if they’ll cave in at any moment. 

The glassware rattles and the table sinks down to your floor. Hannibal and you both look at the remnants of the meal from above, only to find plates licked clean and glasses entirely empty. As you expected, there is nothing left for you to eat: not even a crumb or bone. 

There is, however, a man crouched on the table. He stares ahead with blank eyes, as if he doesn’t even see either of you. You look at him for a few moments, immediately promising yourself not to get any closer. In this place, vulnerability is weakness. You’ve seen it happen before: someone will extend a helpful hand to another person, only to be stabbed through the back in the same breath. There is no saving anyone here. You are all destined for death, regardless of when it may come. 

Hannibal regards the new arrival for several seconds, before quickly reaching out and grabbing his collar, yanking him off the table and onto the pavement. You watch in disbelief as Hannibal brandishes a knife—when in the hell did he get that?—and stabs him several times. Your roommate’s ferocity ensures the man’s death. Calmly, Hannibal drags the corpse by the ankles until it’s closer to the walls. 

Then, he sinks his knife into the body’s skin. The victim, unsurprisingly, doesn’t so much as flinch. The knife pierces the skin of his chest and Hannibal sinks his hand into the cavity, gripping the entrails and pulling them out with practiced precision. He gets to his feet, holding the liver in his hand. You watch in silent horror as his head turns and his gaze finds you, his eyes trained on you even as he raises the organ to his mouth and begins eating. 

Your stomach turns in disgust and revulsion. You’ve survived months of fasting—you never ate another human, despite the earsplitting screams from above and below indicating that several other inhabitants did. Even though you know you need to eat, the thought of tearing into that corpse is enough to make your appetite disappear. You quickly turn your head and clamp a hand over your mouth, before raising it to cover both your nose and mouth. The scent is enough to make you nearly hurl. You close your eyes and pretend you’re somewhere else—anywhere else, but trapped on this floor with a cannibal. 

Your ears are ringing at the confirmation that Hannibal is a seasoned killer. This was not his first kill, and it likely won’t be his last. There is a very good chance you’ll be his next meal. Fear pulsing through your veins, you manage to pull your knees close to your chest and close your eyes. The cool metal of your lighter grounds you to this horrible moment, this stiff and unfeeling air. 

If you had known just what horrors you would be subjected to, you would’ve chosen a different object to bring. Maybe you would’ve even chosen a weapon to protect yourself or a form of entertainment. But your naive self chose a lighter—not even for smoking, but just to watch the flickering flame. Your finger now twitches to bring the flame to your skin, but you resist the urge. There is enough pain and suffering here without your own self-inflicted torture. 

It is hard to sleep that night. Your thoughts are buzzing too loudly. It takes a while for your eyelids to slip shut, and once the table comes rocketing by, you shudder awake and have to fall asleep once more. When you finally succumb to slumber, your dreams are distorted and cryptic. 

The weird sensation of something in your mouth pulls you from slumber. You open your eyes to find Hannibal standing over you, the crimson light casting shadows across his face. You instinctively want to belch at the foreign material, but Hannibal’s hand is secured firmly over your mouth. You immediately catch on to what he’s doing: he’s feeding you some of the corpse’s meat. 

You try to fight back—attempting to shove him off—but his grip is too strong and you’re weakened by hunger and lack of sleep. You’re forced to chew, unless you want to choke and die. A shudder runs through your entire body as you chew, disgusted with the texture. The taste of iron and copper runs through your mouth; the smell alone is enough to make you gag. After what feels like far too long, you manage to swallow. 

Satisfied, Hannibal steps away—and you immediately fall off your bed and to the floor, stumbling to the sink to drink some water and flush the organ down. “Fuck you,” you spit at him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. It comes back bloody, and you take extra effort to scrub your face clean. Hannibal doesn’t seem to be affected by the insult. Rather, he’s wearing an understanding smile on his face—and you’re growing more and more overtaken with the urge to punch that look off his face. You clench the faucet with an increasingly tight grip, until there are bolts of pain sliding through your fingers. 

“You will thank me soon,” Hannibal remarks, staring at you. You can see his heated gaze in the cracked mirror before you. It’s clear what he’s trying to say: if you don’t eat, you will die.  

“I won’t,” you say numbly, your heart roaring in your ears. “You should’ve left me alone.” Your voice breaks at the end of that sentence; if Hannibal notices, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he only looks at you imploringly. 

“You need proper nourishment.” Hannibal maintains. 

You hiss and walk back to your bed, turning to the side so you don’t have to look at him. You’re not foolish enough to turn your back on him—not when you know just what he can do. You don’t want to indulge his murderous sensibilities. You spend the rest of the day split between seething and suppressing the urge to throw up.

When night falls, Hannibal goes to sleep. You only pretend. When you hear the steady rise and fall of his breathing, you push yourself up quietly and sit on your bed. You will not fall asleep tonight. You don’t want a repeat of last night. 

Despite your quiet movements, it doesn’t take Hannibal long to notice that you’ve shifted. “You’re not sleeping,” he says aloud, admittedly startling you as the uneasy silence across the space is broken. When you comprehend his remark, you can’t stop the wry laugh that falls from your lips. 

“I don’t trust you,” you respond candidly. There’s no point in pretending otherwise.  

Hannibal lets out a strange noise. It takes you a few moments to realize that he’s just laughing. “If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already,” he then says. “You are… the least insufferable of my companions so far.”

You blink in the near darkness. “Thanks.” You say dryly. That statement isn’t reassuring in the slightest. You don’t want to wake up to find him forcing organs down your throat again. The thought sends a renewed wave of nausea through you, and it takes you several moments of measured breathing to fight it off. 

Eventually, you fall asleep. You can only fight off the exhaustion for so long, and if you’re not eating, then you definitely need to be resting to conserve energy. 

You wake the next morning breathing hard, expecting to see Hannibal looming over you. But he’s only sitting on his bed, regarding you with a blandly amused look. It appears he won’t be forcing you to consume human entrails again. 

But little do you know, Hannibal doesn’t have to force you next time. 

It’s been sixteen days since that horrible night. Sixteen days without food. Your body has grown incredibly weak. You can barely push yourself up to get to the faucet across the room. Speaking takes too much energy. Most of the time, you just lie on your bed and stare at some point in the distance, losing yourself in memories long gone. 

You can’t find the energy to waste on getting angry. Instead, you’re just… empty. The movement of the table is the only thing that helps you discern the time. The corpse Hannibal took all those days ago has since become a rotted pile. Neither of you have seen anything resembling food on the table. The people above are merciless. They eat the rations of several people; they spit on everything in reach. 

You don’t bother to look up at the table’s arrival today. There will be nothing for you to eat. And indeed, when you finally drag your eyes over, there is only glassware and silverware… scattered around a person in the center. They sit cross-legged and stare ahead with that similar unseeing expression from the man all those days ago. 

You don’t need to watch to know what happens next: Hannibal drags them onto the pavement, brandishes his knife, and kills them. He dissects them with the mercy of a disinterested scientist, before sparing you a simple look. There’s a single drop of blood carving a path down his lips. Hannibal wipes it away. 

You extend a hand wordlessly. 

Hannibal stares at you, a complex emotion passing over his face as quick as lightning. He places a bloodied chunk in your palm. The crimson stain spreads across your skin. You look down at it and feel… nothing. There’s an echo of disgust and horror, perhaps. But beyond that, you’re an empty shell. This place has changed you. Emotions do not survive here—instinct does. And your instincts tell you that you need food. 

Minutes later, the gnawing pain in your stomach has subsided and there’s the horrifically familiar taste of iron settling on your tongue. You swallow hard and slowly push yourself to your feet, mechanically walking over to the sink and getting some water to wash it all down. Your hands are shaking but you manage to satisfy your thirst. Turning the faucet off with shaking hands, you lean against the wall and sink down into a sitting position. 

There’s dried blood on your hands. It doesn’t matter that you washed it away—you can still see it. It haunts you, even when the night arrives and the floor is drenched in crimson light. You’ve since migrated to your bed, but you can’t get yourself to move from your sitting position and lie down. You can’t give yourself comfort. You don’t deserve it—not after what you’ve done. 

You’re not sure how long you sit silently, watching the darkness settle and fade into a dusky light. There’s a persistent pain in your back and your cuticles are picked open, yet these sensations fade to obscurity when you remember the meal you just willingly consumed. You had no choice seventeen days ago. You can’t say the same for yesterday.

There’s an uncomfortable wetness clinging to your cheeks and eyelashes. You’re crying, you realize. It’s been a while since you’ve cried, even with all the horrors you’ve witnessed here. You shakily wipe at your tears, but they keep falling. Falling prey to the burning in your throat, you bury your head in your bent knees and struggle for breath. 

At some point, there’s a hand on your back. You’re so exhausted that you don’t even flinch, because you can’t seem to muster up the energy. Your body is wracked with chills and phantom shivers as you try to comprehend just who is offering you comfort. The same person who kills others with ease and feasts on their remains… is wrapping an arm around your shoulders and sitting on your bed next to you. 

You don’t have the strength to push Hannibal away. You lack the strength and fortitude to do so. Hannibal is the only human contact you will have, if you continue living. You don’t have a choice—if you want to maintain your sanity, you’re forced to cave into the loneliness screaming behind the confines of your rib cage. That’s what you tell yourself as you reluctantly begin to relax in his hold. You cling to him with increasing desperation. Hannibal’s hand rises to the nape of your neck, cradling your head in what feels like an intimate gesture. 

You can’t stop the sobs crawling out of your throat. 

You want to assign Hannibal the blame. But you know it’s not that simple. He didn’t put you in this prison system; he is nothing more than another participant: one with the courage to keep themself alive, at any cost. Perhaps you should be more like him.

…It’s a chilling thought. 

You have never been so desperate for answers, inside bleak cement walls that give you nothing except more questions. The sparkling silverware; the gleaming glassware; the callous cruelty of those above; the painful plight of those below. There is no solidarity or community amongst the people in these walls: only the concepts of superior and inferior… and the fallen. Those who have been above, have savored without suffering… only fall from grace and stumble into starvation’s relentless grip once more. 

Your tongue recognizes the taste of copper; your hands the crimson stain that becomes a murky brown as time passes. You have fallen. And of one thing, you are certain: you will never rise again.

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[sushiwriterhere]

a little bit of fun

this is my attempt at a drabble (1.8ish-k words), this is for/dedicated to/inspired by @laracrofted and @theharddeck because sometimes a threesome can be and is something so personal and healing <3 i hope you enjoy!! i have nothing else to say for myself lmao - minors DNI! warnings: threesome (mmf, and the boys do kiss hehe), dp (PiV, unprotected) + ass play (oops lol), spanking, dacryphilia a bit, pining if you squint tagging?? @sebsxphia @sometimesanalice @waklman @joaquinwhorres @gretagerwigsmuse @lewmagoo @genius2050 @seresinsweetie

You're midway through taking your first sip of the perfect ice cold beer when a deep voice behind you intones, "We saw you from across the bar, we liked your vibe."

Turning around slowly, you turn a very unimpressed gaze upon Jake and Javy, both of whom are sporting shit eating grins. They're clearly amused with themselves.

"What is this gay lovers bit you guys are doing?" You raise an eyebrow at the pair, nodding your head at where Javy has an arm draped across Jake's shoulders. "And why do you think it's going to work?"

If you're honest, the two of them are a sight to behold. They both somehow glow under the artificial lighting of the Hard Deck, and their uniforms are too form-fitting to not be tailored, despite you knowing they're not. Truly, it's unfair how attractive the both of them are.

"It's worked before, sweetheart," Jake's smile is sharklike, but there's little real bite behind it. It's Javy you've got to keep an eye on.

"Thought we might try again." Javy lets his eyes scan your body lazily, not even bothering to hide the way his gaze fixates on the way your thighs press against the barstool and the way your tits strain against the sundress you'd thrown on.

"Well, you're shit outta luck. Not looking to get disappointed one more time today." You make to turn the barstool around, but then Jake's crowding you against the bar.

He's so fucking warm and solid against you, you almost don't know what to do. But you push weakly against his chest and try to make a help expression at Javy over his shoulder. He just shakes his head.

"Disappointed? Baby, if I remember correctly you were–"

You don't let him finish because you slap a hand over his mouth and exclaim, "Okay! None of that please. I'll get Penny to ring the bell if you finish that sentence."

Behind Jake, Javy just smiles warmly at you and his expression melts into something that sends a lightning bolt of arousal through you, "Just one drink?"

"Fine. One."

-

"Thought you said, uh, you didn't want to do this again," Jake's voice is strained with the way he's holding himself back from thrusting up into you. "Fuck, you're tight."

All you can do is moan in response as you drop your forehead to rest on his shoulder. Every single one of your nerves feels like it's on fire and you think you might be running a fever. Stradling Jake's hips and sandwiched between the two men, with Jake's cock already buried inside of you and Javy steadily sliding into you, your mind is swimming with arousal.

"Nah, our girl loves a little hate fuck." Javy emphasizes his last word with a little thrust, one that jostles both you and Jake up the bed just slightly.

Despite the copious amounts of prep and what feels like a good third of the bottle of lube Jake keeps in his bedside table (which he vehemently denies he bought just for when this keeps happening), you still feel the slight stretch as Javy inches inside you alongside Jake. You're panting and whining; you can't even bring yourself to care about the fact that you're supposed to not want this. The two of them are relentless, Javy behind you, Jake under you.

"Shit, shit, fuck!" You gasp out as Javy finally bottoms out. "Both of you aren't supposed to have huge dicks," You pause to let out a whine as Jake rocks his hips up just slightly, "That's against the laws of nature or something."

"The fact that you're talking so much means we're doing something wrong," Javy laughs lightly and smacks your ass in a way that makes you jolt.

"Shit, Javy, you gotta warn me before you do that." Jake attempts levity but you can hear the way he's fighting the urge to throw caution and coordination to the wind, press his feet into the mattress, and fuck you with abandon.

Javy doesn't respond, instead he makes his point by using one of his huge hands to grab your hip and the other to grab you by the ribs and dragging you back against his hips and down onto both his and Jake's cocks. A surprised groan leaves Jake and you squeal.

You bite Jake's neck to try and muffle the moans that are bursting from your chest at the way Javy's hands feel on you, the way Jake keeps petting your sides but also pinching your nipples. He usually complains the morning after, but never in the moment.

It would surprise most people, you think, the way the two operate in bed. Javy's usually confident in that quiet way that lets you know he's competent, whereas Jake is all ego. Every time you've found yourself in this exact position though, or some form of it, it's Javy who's in charge.

You're digging your nails into Jake's shoulders and trying to breathe through the onslaught of sensations as Javy sets a brutal pace, your forehead buried in Jake's neck. He throws his head back and pushes his hips up just as Javy pulls out and the way the two slide past each other instead of with each other might haunt you for the rest of your life.

When Javy puts a hand on the back of your neck for leverage, you know you can't hold on to your ploy any longer. You lose yourself in the way your bodies move in tandem, the way Jake moans and pants are right by your ear. Javy spanks you again and you feel the tears on your cheeks before you register that you're crying at all.

Then Javy's lips are up against your ear, "Fuck, look at you, taking our cocks so well. You're so fucking perfect, made for this, made to be stretched out and fucked."

Jake groans when Javy's lips brush his over your shoulder and then he's babbling too, "Shit, Javy, I can feel her squeezing us. Baby, I can't believe you pretend you don't love this."

You think you might be trying to defend yourself, might be trying to tell them that it makes it fun when everyone involved knows that this is how you'll end up anyway, but you can't form words. All your attention is on the way the curls at the base of Jake's cock are rubbing on your clit, the way one of Javy's hands has sneaked around to the nipple he's learned is more sensitive than the other. You think you might be drooling as you moan mindlessly.

Then, the moment of light tenderness is over when Javy leans back slightly and chuckles darkly before saying, "Jake, watch this."

His free hand grabs your ass and spreads you open. Then he spits. You moan at the sensation of the coolness against you, til he gently prods at you with his thumb and you choke off the sound. You jerk away from the sensation involuntarily, a little too fucked out to control your body, a little too turned on to do anything but gasp out a desperate please.

"Fuck, Javy, do it again, she loves it." Jake lifts your face away from his neck so he can look into your eyes, so he can see the way they flutter at the sensation of being so goddamn full.

You can only imagine what you look like–sweat plastering your hair to your forehead and neck, eyes slightly red from crying, lips bitten to hell. He keeps eye contact as Javy repeats his actions and your eyes roll back. Your eyes are closed when his hand slides from your face to your neck and just holds you there.

The moan you let out when Javy moves his hand from the back of your neck to trail feather-light down your back is animalistic, it tears itself out of your chest as you feel yourself cry again. Jake tries to keep an even pace with the rhythm of Javy's hips, but you can feel the way they're starting to lose pace, clearly both close.

Then Javy starts talking. It's always the same when you're all so fucked out, the barriers come down.

"Such a good fucking girl, you should see the way you're stretched around us, good god, never going to let you go. Should keep you here so we can do this every day, fuck you full of us, sweet, sweet girl." His voice has lost its hard edge, but he keeps the tip of his finger in your ass, his other hand on your lower back.

"Fuck, you're so good to us. You look so good like this, bent over for me, I bet Jake loves the way your tits feel. You're so fucking incredible."

Jake somehow finds it in himself to speak up too, "Come for us, c'mon baby, let go, wanna feel you come around us so fucking bad. Let go, come for us."

They've never failed to talk you through it. It makes your heart clench in your chest in a way that it shouldn't when you're split open on their cocks, when your eyes are too glazed over to really see the expression on Jake's face where he's now holding your face firmly in one of his hands.

They hold you when you finally fall apart, barely faltering. Jake keeps chanting something about your tight fucking cunt and Javy pets your back and calls you our best girl.

Jake finishes next with a grunt that breaks off into a moan as he shoves his hips up hard into you, and you shudder from oversensitivity. When Javy comes it's sloppy, like it always is, his cum adding to the warmth of Jake already inside you. Everyone's oversensitive but Javy keeps the three of you rocking together til you come to and whine and smack Jake in the chest, til you brace yourself on him so you can reach back and try to hit Javy too.

"There you are..." He murmurs as he pulls out and you almost collapse from the way you know his eyes are hyper focused on the mixture of his and Jake's cum leaking out of you.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," You grind out as you roll off Jake and throw an arm over your eyes, remembering that you're supposed to hate them, but also bone tired.

Jake's arms are still around you and your legs are draped on Javy's thighs, his hands now petting your calves and thighs. It's strangely domestic and soothing despite the way you ache and you know you'll need them to hold you for the next hour. They always do it more than enthusiastically, working as well together to take care of you afterwards as they do a team in the air.

In that moment though, Javy's smile is devilish when you peek at him and you know Jake is wearing a matching expression, "Why? You offering?"

"Oh, fuck you."

"Already did, baby, already did."

read the companion fic - “it’s not rotten work (not if it’s you)”

[ghost9whore]

Lightning's Reign and Thunder's Roar VIII

"You look lonely, I can fix that"

"Oh? I'm sure you could but I'd like to leave with my life"

"Why not? It's not like I'll kill you"

"Yes, but with you, my mind will surely be lost" (Caserys' P.O.V)

Fire That's all there was. My father's war with Daemon against the stepstones was fruitful at first but, 3 years later I'm not so sure. We had begun the assault on the Stepstones with Caraxes raining fire on everything in sight. However, the Crab Feeder had another idea to falter towards the sea caves. That way he is away from the fire and we couldn't dip that far in with no foot soldiers. Although my father told me my presence in this war would be required. I fear I'm nothing more than a backup weapon. Daemon and Caraxes hold the most battle time with Laenor and Seasmoke behind them.

I feel this is my mother's doing. I believe she doesn't trust my ability to hold my own which is a fair assessment I have never seen combat before. The crown provides no reinforcements. In fact, today is King Viserys' son, Aegon's second Nameday. We haven't had a bit of assistance in these 3 years. The most I've done was to clear out any remaining soldiers on the back of Rhaeraxes to which he ate the soldiers or clawed them to death. I do fear his breath of lightning, the sands we battle on are filled with water. If he breathed lightning would he shock the entire beach? Would the lightning stretch to the metal armor?

Speaking of metal armor wearing this armor is all too uncomfortable. The different material draped over my body makes it too hard to move. I'm sacrificing my only advantage in battle. After dismounting Rhaeraxes, Caserys removes the heavy armor set allowing his body to feel the weightlessness that's been denied for so long. Shortly after, Daemon's dragon Caraxes flies over the boy and his dragon

"Crap" Caserys began to quickly reposition his armor back to its correct spot but his efforts were in vain. "You know it could be your death if you don't wear your armor"

"I know Daemon, yet I'm not at the stepstones and haven't been out of it in days"

“No matter the setting, your death could be just around the corner”

“Is there a specific reason you sought me out Daemon?”

“Must I have a method to my madness” his face twists into a smirk

“Hm, Daemon tell me how you intend to burn out this crab feeder”

"All will come in time, little dragon. Speaking of dragons why is it out of everyone you always seem to dismount the quickest?"

"Who is everyone? You, myself, and Laenor? It's because Rhaeraxes does not have a saddle"

"It's because of comfort?"

"It's because there is nothing here for me, the only thing I've been allowed to do is pick off the remainder of the armies after Caraxes and Seasmoke clear them out. Rhaeraxes is bigger than Seasmoke and not too far away from Caraxes yet I remain an afterthought."

"It's not that you are forgotten, it's that they fear your dragon."

"What?" I ask my face reflecting disgust at his statement.

"None truly know if your dragon is born of thunder, because you have barely shown it. Yet, they understand your fleeing control. Rhaeraxes is a powerful creature perhaps one day a second coming of the Black Dread but they know his aggression. Even your father and mother fear your inexperience controlling dragons."

"Oh? And what would you have me do? Make a show of power? Instruct Rhaeraxes to shock the entire beach until it's charred?"

"Remember that day I showed you the dragonpit? The day I taught you that song in Valyrian?"

"Yes, what of it?"

"You showed more confidence facing the Bronze Fury than you do facing your own dragon. You might believe that Rhaeraxes listens to you but, you could have your bond run much deeper if you understood why your dragon..."

"Why my dragon what? Is that the end of your sentence?"

"I can not show you if you're not open. Perhaps it's in your best interest, to learn this yourself. Don't despair I already gave you half the answer."

With that Daemon left, probably to find my father and plan out his next course of attack.

But, I can not help but think of his words. He is correct, just because Rhaeraxes doesn't disobey me doesn't me he truly listens to me.

As Caraxes and Daemon departed again for the stepstones, I must speak to Father myself.

"We have 16, perhaps 18, seaworthy ships. Seven hundred foot, some 60 knights. Our food quickly dwindles, save for what we can fish from the sea. I would say we have a fortnight, mayhaps a bit longer with strict rationing. I've made call for Driftmark to send more ships, but they will be weeks away. We are faltering and the Triarchy knows it. We must press the attack, continue sending the dragons." I hear my father say to my brother and uncle as I climb the steps from Rhaeraxes' drop point to their makeshift war tent.

"It won't work, as long we attack him from above the crab feeder will never come out from his caves. The caves that protect him from dragon fire." I begin bringing all attention to myself as I remove the heavy chest plate throwing it down near their meeting table.

"Caserys what is the meaning of this interruption?"

"Forgive me Father but I feel the need to extend my ability to you. Rhaeraxes' ability to spew lightning would yield very different resul-"

"Oh, you mean the lightning no one has ever seen? Every time your dragon has fought it's been with teeth and claws, not lightning. No one doubts your dragon's strength but, a lightning dragon is absurd. I'll hear no more of this Caserys."

His words shut me up. He was right how could I preach about some great ability no one has ever seen not even me. Rhaeraxes did not respond any time I demanded dragonfire.

With great shame dawning on his face, Caserys went back to his dragon. Once finding the beast he mounted Rhaeraxes and took towards the sky in the direction of the stepstones just as Caraxes and Daemon flew back.

"Come on Rhaeraxes" I say looking down at the sand of the stepstones as I instruct my dragon to rise higher above the island inside the clouds.

From the clouds, I can see a figure rowing to the Stepstones but with anxiety in my voice I still say "Just one shock and this can be done, Dracarys" Yet, it falls on deaf ears. Rhaeraxes makes no effort to spew any lightning and I can feel the humiliation set in. I try to push back such feelings as I watch the figure depart from his rowboat and stride toward the Crab Feeder's den waving a white flag. However, it works the Crab Feeder and his men exit the caves none of them can see Rhaeraxes or I hovering just above the clouds. But, just as I believe the silver-haired figure surrenders he fights back. I can't rush in yet though, I need to wait for Daemon to kill the Crab Feeder, or else Rhaeraxes will scare them back into the caves and what I'm assuming is Laenor's plan will have been for nothing. The army of men still rushing from the caves as Daemon falls to the ground. I can not tell if he's injured or hiding from the plethora of arrows raining down. But, as I see Laenor and Seasmoke dip down towards the sands I understand now it's my time to strike.

"One last idea" "Jelmāzma" I say the Valyrian word for storm hoping deep down the word would resonate with Rhaeraxes.

Caserys speaks, and Rhaeraxes responds. Opening his mouth and unleashing a controlled beam of purple lightning his loud hiss spreads as the beam grows divulging into four different beams from Rhaeraxes's mouth. As Caserys dives down with his dragon upon the sound of crackling thunder. The fury of every failed attempt at control amounts to this moment. Instructing Rhaeraxes, Caserys unleashes a full-on assault on this island. The rage imbued in the lightning strikes continued leaving glass sparks in the sand but the purple shock spreading from the point of contact.

Continuing the assault, something changed inside of me. I don't feel doubt in fact, I don't feel much at all. But, once the army before me is dead. I land and dismount Rhaeraxes, admiring the glass shards I created I hear a sentence. "Finally"

A/N Clock this, I'm trying to go quickly.

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 3: Massage

Swiss's shoulder flares up after his fall. Mountain takes care of him.

Shoutout to @forlorn-crows for putting this all together <3

(pspspspsps @hypnoneghoul i offer swissalps)

Divider by @ghuleh-recs <3

Swiss does his best to hide, keep his smiley front up in front of his pack, but Mountain's always been good at seeing right through him. Has been since Swiss first crawled out of the summoning portal, bruised and beaten to shit, refusing to admit that it was because he had forced himself, a multi-ghoul, through a portal meant for a fire ghoul.

Mountain knows what Swiss looks like when he's in pain, and he looks like it now. His smile is a little too wide, edges just a little too close to a grimace. He's favoring his left arm, wincing as he stretches up with Aeon's hand in his for bows.

He follows the multi-ghoul offstage and tries to subtly corral him to the side. Swiss's entire body is tense, and he turns to look up at Mountain.

"I know what you're gonna say, maple. 'M fine," he says, his glamour slipping, too many teeth in his mouth, each too sharp.

Mountain sighs, shakes his head. "Edelweiss. You can't lie to me."

If it were unglamoured, Mountain knows that Swiss's tail would be lashing back and forth. They stare at each other, locked at a standstill, Swiss's posture tense and radiating pain, Mountain straightening to his full height. Mountain wants to get out of his sweat soaked uniform, wants to help his mate, and if he has to pull pack rank to get Swiss to accept help, then so be it.

He doesn't have to. After a moment of intense eye contact, Swiss's posture buckles and he takes a shaky breath. "Hurts, Mount," he says, almost under his breath, but Mountain can hear it clear as day.

"Do you want me to get Aeon?" he asks, reaching for Swiss's arm.

He shrugs, wincing as he pulls his left shoulder up. "No, don't bring them into this."

Mountain nods reluctantly, resting one of his big hands over Swiss's shoulderblade, feels the heat radiating off of it. "Shit, Swiss," he hums. "You're rooming with me tonight. We'll see if we can't get you feeling better, edelweiss."

Swiss nods, letting his head fall forward until the plastic helmet is pressed to Mountain's shoulder. "Thank you," he breathes.

Mountain kisses the crown of his head, and they filter off to the green room.

It's a bit of a blur from there until they're settled in a hotel room that looks the same as all the other hotel rooms Mountain's ever been in. He sets his and Swiss's bags down (he had refused to let the multi-ghoul carry his own, worried he'd just aggravate his shoulder more) on one of the queen beds and gestures to the ensuite bathroom.

"Take as long a shower as you need," he says, helping Swiss pull his hoodie off over his head. "As hot as you can handle, see if the heat can't get your shoulder to relax a bit."

Swiss hums, swaying on his feet. "Hot shower sounds good. Might just put me to sleep, if my shoulder knocks it off."

"And if you get relaxed enough to sleep, I'll count that as a win." Mountain punctuates his sentence with a kiss to Swiss's temple, the barest brush of lips on still-sweaty skin.

Swiss nods, grabbing a pair of sweats before disappearing into the bathroom. "Will you come if I call you?" he asks, voice muffled by the door.

"It isn't even a question," Mountain says, busying himself with digging through his bag. The shower kicks on, and not long after that, he can see steam spilling out from under the crack in the door, a loud groan of relief as Swiss steps under the spray.

Mountain hums triumphantly as he finds what he's looking for, a little oval tin that he sets on the nightstand between the beds. He pulls the covers back on one of the beds, sits on the edge and waits for Swiss to either call for him or come out of the shower.

It turns out to be the latter, Swiss stepping out of the bathroom, braids tied back, his travel clothes in hand. They're quickly tossed on the spare bed, and his eyes lock on Mountain. "Shower helped some. How'd you want me?"

Mountain scoots back and pats the mattress between his spread thighs. "Have a seat."

"You make it sound so ominous," Swiss laughs half heartedly, sitting between Mountain's legs. Mountain reaches around him for the tin, opening it and taking out the lotion bar. He rubs it between his hands, his body heat melting the oils.

"I won't let anything happen, you know that," Mountain says. "Left side, right?"

Swiss sighs. "Yep. There."

Mountain leans forward, presses a kiss to the back of Swiss's neck. "It's alright. I've got you." He curls his hands gently over both of Swiss's shoulders, gently digging his thumbs in on either side of his spine. The multi-ghoul groans as he rubs little circles, head drooping a little. "There we go."

He moves his hands down after a while, knows that Swiss's shoulder flares up fairly regularly after his spill a few autumns ago. He knows where it hurts. He gently targets the area, rubbing the lotion bar into Swiss's skin, feels the muscles starting to relax under his touch.

"Fuck," Swiss groans, head drooping until his chin touches his chest.

"Yeah, baby?" Mountain asks, laughing warmly. "Feelin' good?"

Swiss nods weakly, long eyelashes pressed against his dark cheeks. "A lot better."

"That's good to hear, edelweiss." He leans forward, still rubbing Swiss's back and shoulders, to press a kiss behind his ear. It flicks, bapping Mountain on the nose.

They sit in silence, Mountain coaxing each muscle in Swiss's shoulders to ease up on the tension, to relax, and Swiss gets more and more boneless with every passing moment.

Mountain reaches around to prop Swiss up and keep him from collapsing forward off of the bed. "Hey, edelweiss, sweetheart, are you feeling good enough to lay down?"

Swiss nods, a little dopey. "Yeah," he yawns, stumbling a little as they both stand. Mountain helps him lay down onto his front, face smooshed into the pillows. "Thank you, maple."

"Anything for you, love. I don't like seeing you hurt."

"I know," he says, voice slurring as all of the post-show exhaustion seems to hit him like a bus. "I don't like you seeing me hurt."

Mountain chuckles, running a hand up and down the slight protrusion of Swiss's spine. "Oh, I know. You haven't since the day I met you."

Swiss laughs, an exhale of breath, eyes half lidded. "You can go shower, if you want. I'm fine like this."

"I know, but I'm not going anywhere, edelweiss. I showered at the venue." He lays down, still moving his hand up and down, up and down.

Swiss turns his head, a golden eye peeking out. "Thank you, Mounty. Love you," he says, but it's barely more than a whisper, sleep starting to take him.

"I love you too." Mountain reaches over him and turns out the light.

[xkaidaxxxx]

Some fluff !

Mention: S*x Pregnancy and birthing

Yuji is a green flag.

Minors don’t interact

Minimal 18+

“Come on babe” he pleaded holding your waist. You sighed. You were very annoyed. For the past 3 days Yuji has been begging to have sex with you. Now some people might think he knows nothing about the female body but he’s very educated on it.

You decided to play with him. “Yuji the more you beg the more I’ll say no.” You said giving him a peck on his cheek after you pull away from him. “Sweetheart is the perfect time.” He sighed sitting down.

Yuji has been wanting to be a father for a long time. You two have been together since your first year of high school. Both of you being VERY impatient decided to get married 6 months after graduation. Crazy right. It’s been awhile now.

“Perfect time?” You wondered and continued setting up the table. The perfect time to get you pregnant. Being the wonderful husband he is, he’s always tracked your period. He has definitely correct. This time in the cycle was perfect.

It’s been 2 days. You were starting to feel very horny. Yuji was out taking care of a special grade curse. Which gave you the opportunity to doll up. You immediately showered making sure you scrubbed perfectly and shaved your entire body. Your hair had to be perfect. You picked out Yuji’s favorite lingerie for you to wear. Apparently you look like a goddess in it and in general. He always boosts your confidence.

“ Princess I’m home!” He called out to you. “Upstairs!” You replied positioning yourself on the bed. He walks into the room eyes widening as he looks at your perfect tits,your hip dips, your stretch marks, your thick thighs. “ Sweet lord I’ve been blessed.” He spoke. You giggled walking over to Yuji. “ Fuck baby girl you’re so beautiful.” You looked at him. “ thank you my love. Now go shower.”

“ I’m ready Yuji.” You said as he started eating your wet pussy. “Mhm?” he replied. You moaned gripping the sheets. “f-for a baby” he immediately got up and kissed you. “ I love you. You’ll be such a good mommy.” You looked at him with watery eyes. “ You’ll be an amazing father.” You replied tears slipping. He aligned himself and pushed in. Your pussy clenched around him. He hissed. “ f-fuck..relax sweetie.” He pecked your forehead. “ I’m sorry” you said still clenching. He started humming. Rubbing his cheek against yours. You did the same. Type of affection you’ve both given each other throughout the day. You relaxed “ don’t apologize. Things like this happen.” He began thrusting at the pace you both loved. Not too gentle and not too rough. “ mhm just l-like that Yu-” said with a shaky breath not being able to finish your sentence. He nodded making sure he hit your gspot constantly.” you scratched his back moaning. “ s-so good. Fuck I’m close.” He groaned after. You gasped arching your back a bit. “ Y-Yuji Yuji Yuji Yuji!” You chanted his name. He thrusted faster and deeper. “ I love you” you both said in unison. Cumming together. He filled you up with his seed and you milked him dry.

He pulled out with a smile on his face. “ are you ready for another round?” He checked the time. 9:45pm. He was tired but he wanted to please you. You obviously knew he needs rest. “ No my love. I’m tired and you’ve worked hard. You need rest as well.” You said. “Yeah you’re right. Today was a bit rough.” He got up grabbing a cloth soaking it with warm water. “ I really hope I’ll get pregnant.” You commented as he cleaned you up. Still sensitive you squirmed. “Sorry princess.” He said softly making sure you’re cleaned up correctly.

An hour passed and you cuddled with Yuji, just talking. “ Our son or daughter will be very beautiful.” He said playing with your hair. “ yeah for sure they have a very handsome dad.” Yawning afterward. “ they have beautiful mother.” He said holding you close. You both drifted off to sleep.

Your pregnancy awaits.

you do get pregnant with a baby girl. She has Yuji’s pink hair and your eyes and nose. Very beautiful baby.

She was a easy baby. Yuji definitely spoiled her. Nobara, Megumi and Gojo added on top of that.

They loved gifting her so many things.

Nobara: clothes and hair accessories

Megumi: shoes, socks and mittens. Oh and in his style of clothing.

Gojo: basic baby things such as bibs, pacifiers, baby swing, bottles.

[staybabblingbaby]

Soulmate Garden AU Ch.1 (Dahlia) a2 d5

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 5,368

Notes: My friend Tiny said this was very Wattpad era of me, so I'm so sorry that I'm cringe, guys. She also said she loved it and I am also p satisfied w it, so. Celebrations! It's also fucking long for me, like damn. Chill. I do have some disclaimers abt this tho. 1) I have never been to a k-pop concert, I am doing my best working off of what videos, vlogs, blogs, and Quora and Reddit answers for this. I'm very sorry if it's horribly inaccurate. Also it's idealized so it'd gonna be inaccurate 2) Covid never happened in this universe! Send-offs for everyone!

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: She/Her Reader, sort of dissociating? ish?

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part

“Yes, Ma, I promise I’m doing just fine,” You grunt into your phone, tucking the device between your cheek and shoulder as you juggle your groceries and try to dig out your keys, “No one has tried to mug me, I’m eating well, and the job is the same as the last time you called.”

You manage to both open your door and kick it shut as your mother replies, “I just worry about you dear. You’re so far away from us now, what if you need help?”

You waddle to your kitchen counter to offload your burdens, stretching your cramping fingers out as you go to properly hold your phone again.

“I know, Ma, but I’m sure I’ll make some friends with time and then they can help me out.” you finally reply with a sigh. You begin the arduous task of actually putting your groceries away, resigned to the fate of a functional adult.

You hear your sister bark out a laugh in the background. It’s possibly about hearing ‘you’ and ‘friends’ in the same sentence (Which, ouch. True, but ouch). You magnanimously ignore her.

“Honey, I love you, but it’s been almost a year. You have yet to tell me about a single friend.” Your Mom retorts. Again, ouch.

“I have Taylor!” You defend, slamming your fridge shut with a pout.

“Your roommate doesn’t count!” Your little sister taunts from the background. You hear your mother shush her but her agreement is implied when she doesn’t correct the little gremlin.

“He so does!” You argue, “We hang out in contexts that are not work or school, we eat meals together, and we’re even going to a concert this weekend! That’s friends! That’s best friends, even.” You sound a bit pathetic even to yourself, but the day your sister wins over you is the day you die.

“That’s a friendly roommate,” Is your sister’s amused response, “I bet you don’t even know what his favorite color is.” Your silence is answer enough, and she cracks up, laughing so hard that you hear a muted thump as she falls off of whatever furniture she’d been occupying.

Guess you’re dying today.

Your mother changes the subject to the goings-on of your hometown while your sister asphyxiates in the background. You’ve only been away for a little under a year now, but as you listen to her talk about which of your littlest cousins are starting school and which of your relatives are causing drama, you realize that it’s already been a little under a year.

You flop onto your couch as your mom babbles away, holding back an existential crisis.

Your fingers begin tracing the long-since memorized lines of your soulmark over your clothes as you ponder the passing of time, fully zoned out of your mother’s gossip. Your sister seems to catch on to your long silence, interrupting you mother to pester you into giving her more material to taunt you over.

“What concert are you going to, anyway?” She questions.

“Oh, it’s a K-Pop group called Stray Kids,” You tell her. You can practically feel her interest shrivel up and die as soon as you say K-Pop, bless her elitist, snobby, little heart. “Taylor likes them a lot, and his boyfriend dumped him last month, so I got some good tickets to cheer him up.”

Your mother coos at you briefly before your sister overtakes the conversation again, “Are they even good?” You can hear the sneer in her voice as she falls into Music Snob (tm) mode, so you roll your eyes when you reply.

“They’re fun to dance to when I’m doing chores, so that’s good enough for me.”

“You can’t even understand them.” She complains.

“I can, actually.” You inform her primly, “My language elective was Korean. I took the whole course.”

“You’re a weirdo.”

“Tell that to my sweet, sweet, degree, kiddo.” It’s finally your turn to taunt.

“Whatever, you’re not even going with a friend, just your roommate. How fun could it be?” She pouts back.

“I told you, we are friends! Best friends, even!”

“You still don’t know his favorite color.” She retorts smugly.

“I know his favorite flower, that’s gotta count for something!” Your mother hums in agreement, and you picture her watching your bickering like a tennis match, assigning points in her head.

“It doesn’t, because you know everyone’s favorite flower! You know the mail guy’s favorite flower! It’s like an obsession.” You picture your sister rolling her eyes at you, exasperation pouring off of her. The image makes you grin as you reply.

“Only if it’s still Jim. I haven’t been around to ask anyone new.” You point out. Reasonably, you think, but for some reason your sister lets out a loud groan of annoyance and you hear her exaggerated stomps ass she removes herself from your presence. Your mother lets out an amused little huff and you imagine you’ve won the tennis match in her head.

No death for you today. Score!

Your mom yaps with you for a little longer, before finally bidding you farewell, telling you that you should call more often (like you don’t chat literally every Friday afternoon like clockwork), tell your dad to come home soon if you happen to call him (you won’t. He won’t either), and tell her all about how the concert goes next week. You promise to do that one easily.

When she hangs up, you’re left with the ringing silence of an empty apartment. Moving to LA has been a quieter experience than you’re used to in general, for many reasons. Sure, the city itself is louder than your little suburb by miles, but life has been... More peaceful, since. Quieter.

It still makes you uneasy, even 10 months later.

You get up from the couch and drift off to your room like a ghost, opening Spotify on your way. The opening notes of Ruth B’s Lost Boy and a something nauseous swirling in your gut is all that follows you.

On concert morning, you’re woken up bright and early by your air-horn of a roommate slamming your door open.

“Concert daaaaaaaaay~” He trills at you from the doorway. You don’t even open your eyes when you roll over and throw a pillow at him in protest. A soft ‘oof’ tells you that you hit your mark for once. Nice.

“Nice shot!” Taylor cheers, “But now I have your ammo, so it’s up time.”

You roll over again, taking the edge of your blanket with you and tossing it over your head. You pull a stuffed animal under with you, and curl tightly around it.

“Nmf gmf.” You grumble at him through a mouthful of fluff.

“Nuh-uh!” Taylor tuts, already fluent in Morning Grumble, “We gotta get up. There’s food to be eaten, outfits to put on, and lines to beat!”

You let out a long, agonized, groan, but obligingly roll over and starfish out with childish protest. Taylor waits until you open your eyes to glare at his annoyingly cheerful blond bedhead before he leaves your doorway with a sunny smile. Smug bastard.

He leaves your door open too, the shit, allowing the sweet smell of french toast and eggs to drift into your room. You sit up with a whiney groan, scrubbing harshly at your face.

You’d forgive him this time. Just for the french toast.

You lean over to grab your phone from your bedside table, just waking the screen to check the time. When the numbers register you lay right the way back down with another long wail of protest.

Four in the morning. That french toast had better be fucking good.

You eventually stumble into the kitchen and are promptly handed a very large and very welcomed cup of coffee. Taylor hands you a plate piled high with french toast and eggs, fruits and toppings already out, before you can even try to start bitching at him.

You take in the spread with a furrowed brow, before slowly lifting your head to pin Taylor with a suspicious stare.

“My dude, it is four in the morning. How?”

Taylor just shrugs at you. “Couldn’t sleep. Too excited.”

You nod slowly at him. “I’ll drive. You’re napping in the car.”

This triggers a round of outraged whining from your sleep-deprived roommate, which you cull by pointing out that headaches and concerts are an awful combo. He subsides but insists he’ll be even more excited in the car, since it’s closer to concert time. You tell him to do it anyway.

“Why are we up so early in the first place?” You complain as you drain the last dregs of your drink. “The concert isn’t for, like, fifteen hours.”

“The concert is only fifteen hours away! Countdowns have already started, mark my words!” Taylor counters, “You got us Soundcheck tickets! VIP! We have to take advantage! I want the entire experience. Freebies, insane merch lines, sponsor booths, everything.” He gets more and more incensed as he goes on, leaning farther over the table, his shirt almost dragging in the puddles of syrup on his plate.

You raise your hands in surrender to his wild-eyed look. “Whatever,” You concede, “You’re the boss, this is your day.”

Taylor nods in satisfaction, leaning back. You notice that he actually does take some syrup with him as he re-seats himself. “As it should be.” Is his prim reply.

You sort of just laugh at him, and your routine of friendly bickering continues as the two of you make quick work of fixing up the kitchen.

You two split off to get ready, Taylor demanding a leave time of 6am sharp. You do your best to appease him, dressing up enough to say you put effort in, but paying mind to comfort over style. You’re putting the last touches on your eye liner when Taylor barges in.

You give him a stink eye for not knocking, which he blissfully ignores as he looks over you top to bottom. He summarily declares you “Good, but not good enough” and stampedes over to raid your closet.

At this point in your cohabitation you’ve learned to just let him do his thing when he gets like this. He doesn’t let you dress yourself when you go clubbing with his friends either, the jerk. Your fashion sense is perfectly acceptable, thank-you-very-much.

He tells you you’re being assigned a bias for today based on your wardrobe as he tosses you a white and navy stripped polo shirt and some navy sweatpants with racer strips on the side. He pulls up a reference photo on your phone and tells you to accessorize while he goes to find an appropriate tie from his stash for you.

Looking at the picture of Han Jisung on your screen, you admit that the outfit is pretty close already. You decide to leave the polo’s buttons undone, grabbing a white camisole to put on under. Your accessories take a bit longer, and you can’t see the shoes to match those, but Taylor seems satisfied enough when he comes back.

He hands you a tie and a handful of pins to complete your look and begins pushing you out the door before you can even put them on properly. When you protest this he insists that the two of you are running late, despite the concert still being more than 13 hours away.

You do, in fact, make him sleep in the car. He does not appreciate this, but early morning traffic can lull even the most dutiful of soldiers to sleep. He’s somehow even more chipper than usual when he wakes up, despite being groggy and bleary-eyed.

The crowd, when the two of you arrive, isn’t as big as you were expecting it to be. With all of Taylor’s rushing, you’d expected to barely be able to see the doors. The merch booth he was so excited about isn’t even open yet, and he settles the two of you into the line to enter the venue instead of camping there.

It’s immediately obvious who the extrovert between the two of you is, Taylor’s bouncy blond head beginning to duck and weave among the small crowd as soon as you claim your spot, laughs and excited exchanges popping up wherever he stopped. You, on the other hand, stay exactly where you’d been left and fiddle around on your phone, Taylor’s clear backpack abandoned in your arms.

You’re pretty sure this is purposeful on his part. You know each other well enough by now that he’s well aware of your tendency to stay planted once you’re settled. You’re definitely being used to stake out your spot. You steal one of his granola bars as payment for your services.

An hour or so drags through, and Taylor has thoroughly befriended most of the people around you. Once he’s decided that it’s about time to line up for some of the merch booths, Taylor leaves you in the tender care of the other fans as he goes to stake out a spot. He gracefully accepts both your wallet and your request of “a t-shirt and something they can sign”

The group of four people behind you, in particular, take his (only semi-joking) request of “take care of my introvert for me” seriously.

“So are you a Han bias?” One asks you as Taylor prances off. Her outfit is majority blue, little Bbokari (You can admit that the little characters charm you. You probably know their names better than the Stray Kids themselves) hair clips and keychains decorating her person.

You look down at yourself and then back up at her, almost having forgotten that you were dressed up as him. “Ah, no. Taylor, my friend, dressed me this morning. We’re here for him today. Though, he did say Han was my assigned bias today.” You laugh nervously, hoping they don’t judge your lack of knowledge.

Thankfully none of them seem discouraged by your response, giggling along with your little joke. In fact one of them, dressed head to toe in merch, seems almost excited by the prospect.

“Are you a baby Stay then?” She asks you with sparkling eyes. You wave your hands in front of yourself a bit defensively.

“Ah, no. I wouldn’t go that far. I like their music when Taylor plays it around the apartment, but I wouldn’t consider myself part of the fandom. This is actually my first k-pop experience in general.” You explain, “When I say we’re here for him, I mean I am here in total ignorance.”

Another girl, dressed in a loud assortment of colors you vaguely recognize from the music video Taylor had on loop in your living room for a week and a half when it dropped, lets out a low whistle. “Throwing you right into the deep end, huh? Hardcore.”

The group of you laugh a bit, the only guy in their group agreeing with, “Well if you’re not a fan now, you will be when you leave. Their performances are amazing, honestly.”

You absorb the gushing with an open heart, truly hoping for that to be the case. You take this opportunity to take the spotlight off of yourself.

“Oh, have you guys been to a Stray Kids concert before? It’s Taylor’s first.”

That question is the key to the floodgates, and you end up spending the next 3 and a half hours waiting for Taylor’s return (with text updates from the man himself, assuring you that he is still where he’s supposed to be) being regaled with tales of concerts, events, and comebacks past. You feel a bit like you’re getting a crash course in all things Stray Kids, phones often popping out to show you clips, fancams, and photos.

It makes you smile, feeling very included and welcomed as you occasionally pepper in a question or two to keep them going. It’s just like dinners at the apartment with Taylor, him unloading his stress through fandom, and you unloading yours through listening to his ramblings.

This is exactly why you came with him today.

Taylor makes his return loaded down with goodies both purchased and gifted by other fans, to which you welcome him by cheering loudly. This triggers your new group to do the same. Somehow, the five of you cheering leads to a large portion of the early crowd, which had grown by the hour, cheering with you.

You feel a bit shy at the power you apparently hold, and laugh about it with your new friends.

Eventually Taylor and Merch Girl (you hadn’t managed to catch any of their names, you realize belatedly. It’d be too awkward to ask now. You resolve to simply Not Address Them) split off to do more rounds among other fans, distributing their own freebies.

You hadn’t even realized Taylor had made freebies. You’re also not sure how he found the time. Love finds a way, you suppose.

The other group’s Token Guy Friend (who will always been Token Guy to you, so sorry Token Guy) passes the conversation back to you. Not appreciated, Token Guy.

You can’t be all that mad though, as he shuffles through his bag to produce a piece of paper and a chisel-tipped sharpie. He passes the items to you with a grin.

“If you’re close to the stage you should have a sign! You might get an interaction that way!” He enthuses. The remaining girls cheer at the idea, sighing over the possibility of you getting an interaction at your very first concert.

You hold back correcting them that it’s just your first k-pop concert. You’re sure that’s what they mean anyways, as the experience so far has been quite different from your usual.

You look at the items in your hand, and then back at him. He offers to let you use his back to write on. You once again stare between his meticulous outfit and the sharpie in your hand. You are so not going to ruin someone’s day with what was supposed to be a kind gesture.

You motion for him to wait a moment and dig around in your own bag for a moment, the seat cushion Taylor had insisted you bring slapping you incessantly from where it hangs as you shuffle both your shoulder bag and Taylor’s backpack around. Eventually you manage to pull out your travel first aid kit, pulling a gauze pad from it.

You unclip the seat cushion from your bag and place it on the ground, motioning for Token Guy to kneel. He does so bemusedly.

“I’m gonna make it fancy,” You inform him, “those random calligraphy classes from high-school aren’t going to fail me today.” He makes a noise of assent and you’re crowding over his bent back, unfurling the gauze pad to make a barrier between the paper and his shirt.

He and the girls make their conversation around you as you sink into concentration. It’s very difficult to make nice, even, lines on an uneven surface like a back, and you have to keep gently slapping Token Guy’s shoulder when he laughs to remind him not to move.

Taylor and Merch Girl have returned by the time you finish your sign, Taylor laughingly cautioning any of them from breaking your concentration for anything less than Token Guy’s health. Unless they wanted to face your Wrath(tm), of course.

His advice seems to have been heeded, because by the time you tune back into the outside world you have a sign with very pretty (and most importantly - legible) calligraphy that reads:

[HAN! You’ve been assigned as my bias today! Make me fall for you?]

You even took the time to add Korean translations in smaller script beneath each line. You also take the time to admire your own foresight for laying out the gauze pad, small black marks littering it’s surface. Token Guy seems equally impressed when he looks at it, before taking the initiative to trash both it and the wrapper for you.

Merch Girl reads your sign when you proudly hold it in front of yourself and cackles.

“So that’s why he really brought you along, huh?” She teases, elbowing Taylor like they’re old friends. He has that effect on people. “She can talk to them for you if the Aussie line isn’t around.” Taylor gives a sheepish laugh and a faux-guilty shrug.

“That, and she bought the tickets. I couldn’t leave her behind if I tried.” He pokes at you as he speaks, mirth dancing in his eyes. Laughter erupts around the group as you shout your offence, making to start roughhousing with him like you do your sister.

The time passes joyously this way until the doors finally open to begin letting people in for sound check.

You’re not gonna lie, you’re already super tired and peopled out. Luckily, Taylor had clocked you flagging before even you had, and sent you to sit in “introvert time out” on your cushion in a shaded spot away from the crowd. So you could make it through sound check and the actual concert. Probably.

You and Taylor pass through security unscathed, having already eaten or trashed any snacks or drinks you’d brought with you, and having not bothered bringing much else. Both of your bags were just full of merch and freebies at this point.

Once you actually enter the venue you take the lead, dragging Taylor by the wrist to your seats. You’re actually super excited to show him the seats you’d gotten, having kept anything beyond ‘soundcheck’ a secret.

Taylor is already vibrating with excitement as you lead him to the floor seats. He’s nearly trembling as you lead him right up the center, past rows and rows of little white chairs erected for the reserved seating tickets. When you finally sit him down right in front of the thrust stage, plopping into the seat beside him with satisfaction, he turns to you with saucer-wide eyes.

“Noo...” He whispers.

“Oh, yes.” You return, blessing him with a grin and little eyebrow wiggle.

Taylor basically tackles you in a hug, almost knocking you into the person next to you, and squeals his thanks so loudly that you’re sure the entire stadium hears. When he’s done thanking you he pulls back, hands on your shoulders, with the most deadly serious eyes you had ever seen on him.

“I would die for you.” He intones lowly. You crack first, the two of you breaking into a giggle fit that was almost concerning with it’s intensity. When the two of you calm down and turn to settle and sit properly, he nudges your shoulder with his.

“Seriously,” He says, eyes soft, “You’re the best ever. You need anything from today on? I’m your guy.”

You chuckle at him, nudging him back, “Do my dishes for the next month, then.” You tease.

He rears back, hands up in joking surrender, “Woah, woah! Let’s not go that far! I meant if you needed to escape from the mob or something, not chores.” He gives an exaggerated shudder before breaking into his usual silly grin.

The two of you spend the next however long indulging in familiar banter, waving at the group of fans you’d made friends with outside when you spotted them not terribly far away, and generally recharging your batteries for the concert. Taylor eventually moves on to talking to the people around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

You close your eyes for just a moment, trying to turn the lights off in your brain for a bit. You really needed the music to start soon, you were going to fall asleep.

Almost as if in answer to your prayers, the group begins trickling on stage for sound check.

To be honest, both soundcheck and the concert pass in a blur for you.

Once things kick off, you’re swept away in a wave of cheers, music, and lights. You hadn’t expected front row seats to be quite as intense as they were, but you made a note to yourself to not book such tickets for yourself in the future.

You couldn’t really handle it.

Still, Taylor seems to have the time of his life, and you manage to immerse yourself in the concert enough to shake your sign at Han when he passes by, earning yourself a wink and a cheek heart. Taylor was nearly euphoric at having caught the interaction with his phone camera.

By the time it’s over, you’re fairly sure you had a good time, but also 100% sure that you were completely overwhelmed. Taylor manages to drag you to the send off that you paid for spots at anyway. Curse his charming, sunny demeanor.

You can’t really process how it happened at this point, but you end up practically pinned to the railing of the barricade at the send-off location, separated from Taylor, and clinging to your façade of an excited fan with a white knuckled grip. You have three things on you to get signed, and a mission from Taylor to get all three scribbled on.

Your sign for Han, a ballcap Taylor had customized, and a Lee Know photocard Taylor had entrusted to you with a gravity you weren’t sure it warranted. He had, like, three of the same one.

You try to drum up the determination to see your mission through, but find it difficult to dredge up any will at all.

Time waits for no man, however, and soon enough the members begin making their way through, delivering high-fives, autographs, and aegyo as they pass through. You end up squished almost violently to the railing, ducking a bit and making yourself as small as possible as hands, phones, and items all get waved around and over you.

You’re not sure you like send-off.

There’s so many noises and sights and smells that you have a really hard time keeping track of which member is where. Plus, you’re still a lot overwhelmed from lining up before dawn and the concert itself. You’re tired, you’re cranky, and you want to go home.

At some point Lee Know must pass by you, and you must have presented the photocard properly, because you have a signed one now. That’s cool. The faster you get the requested autographs, the faster you can leave.

Bangchan spawns in front of you from the aether, from your point of view. You may be a bit more out of it than you’d like to admit. Still, you dutifully hold out your ballcap for him to sign, exchanging post-concert niceties on pure autopilot.

Because you’re not all that present at the moment, or maybe because all you’d had was your breakfast and some granola bars in the last 13 hours, you don’t hold your balance the way you should when someone shoves at you from behind. You catch yourself on the railing, but you dropped the freshly signed cap.

Bangchan kindly stoops to pick it up for you, and you thank him. A couple of things happen very quickly at that point.

1) Unlike the first two exchanges of the cap, because of the awkward and quick nature of Bangchan’s action, it is no longer being handed to you with lots of space between your hand and his.

2) You’re still being jostled around. No matter how much you brace for the impact of the bodies surrounding you, you couldn’t possibly keep totally still.

3) These two things have a consequence. Your hand brushes Chan’s as he hands you the cap.

The world stops for you for a moment, as pins and needles stab into dozens of familiar spots all across your lower abdomen. You freeze, dumb, awkward, overwhelmed smile plastered to your face as Bangchan turns away from you.

The pain isn’t that bad, really, more like a bad period cramp mixed with a sleeping limb waking up. Still, you curl your arm around your stomach, and your body bows with the motion. As if you could protect your reality from shattering and reshaping itself in front of you.

Static fills your ears and your poor, overloaded, brain throbs with the beginnings of a migraine.

Bangchan is your soulmate.

International k-pop sensation Bangchan is one of your eight soulmates.

Bangchan is part of a group with eight members.

Your soulmate is already moving away from you, your minor interaction just a footnote of his day, the tingling pain of your soulmate bond awakening probably blending in with a thousand other minor aches and pains from a very physically intense day for him.

You come back to clarity with the resolve that you’d like it to stay that way.

With a sense of urgency, you look around the crowd you’re part of, noting distinct faces and colors for the first time. You’re not really sure what you’re looking for until you spot it, and suddenly your escape plan is fully formed.

There, just a couple shoves and elbow throws away, is Blue Bbokari Girl from this morning.

You struggle your way over, people falling into the space you’d left at the railing like a pack of hyenas on fresh meat. When you reach her you the gently at her sleeve to get her attention.

She turns to you with confusion first, a bright greeting next, and finally a concerned scrunch of her brow as she takes in your hunched form.

“Hey, I’m feeling kind of sick, can you help me get out of the crowd?” You’re sure you look convincingly pathetic and weak as you plead with her. If only because you really did feel pathetic and weak at the moment.

“Oh, of course, hun! Just a moment.” She begins to crane her neck around to scan the crowd like you’d done moments prior. You feel a bit bad for interrupting her night like this, but as she calls out to someone behind her, you’re more thankful than anything.

Blue Bbokari Girl successfully gets the attention of someone you don’t recognize, and a quick summary of, “She’s sick, help her leave!” shouted over the crowd has you being passed through the crowd unmolested.

You find yourself enveloped in a chain of fans, one passing you to another, pausing, and calling on someone else to pass you to until you’ve finally stumbled free of the send-off mob.

Feeling a bit like you’d just been spat out of the maw of a great creature, you look back at the rustling crowd, now looking like it had never been disturbed at all.

The last lady who had finally freed you, an older woman with a Jiniret picket, eyes you with concern as you put you back to the nearest wall and slide down it.

“Will you be okay, sweetie?” She questions you worriedly, “Do you have anyone to pick you up?”

You smile weakly at her and assure her that you just have to get ahold of your roommate and he’d get you home safe and sound. She tries to insist on waiting with you, but you persuade her to return to the crowd with promises that you’d make your way to a bathroom or security guard once the worst of your vertigo had passed.

You watch her return with morbid fascination, amazed when she just sort of gets absorbed back into the mass of people. Almost like it ate her. You once again marvel at making it out of such a thing unscathed.

Truth be told, your stomach was only sore and tender this point, the sharp, needle-point pains long gone. Still, you take a moment to bring your knees to your chest, just breathing as you press your forehead to them. If anyone were to look at you then, you wonder what they’d think of you curled up on the floor and trembling like your dog had just died.

You hope they’d view you with kindness.

After giving yourself a moment to just feel, though you couldn’t tell anyone what you had felt, you gather yourself enough to totter to your feet and drag yourself to the nearest bathroom. You text Taylor as you go.

[Hey. Felt sick, in bathroom rn. lmk when we can leave pls?]

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