#goes straight to my favorites folder

[nyxypoo]

kiryx v-day art by @twilightakiishi <3

[nemo-writes]

𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 I chapter three

(dr. jack abbot x nurse!reader)

⤿ chapter summary: a terrifyingly familiar presence breaches your last safe space, and now a simple and heartfelt gesture becomes a violation. in the aftermath, fear finally makes you reach out for help.

⤿ warning(s): stalking, panic attacks & unhealthy coping mechanisms.

⟡ story masterlist ; previous I next

✦ word count: 2.7k

The day begins the same way the last three have: 05:30, kettle on, one level tablespoon of Assam spooned into the infuser. While the water climbs toward a boil you unlock your phone, already braced for what waits. A fresh number—there is always a fresh number—has delivered its dawn bulletin:

Left at 05:01 yesterday.

Early bird. Porch light flickered twice—loose bulb?

Navy coat looks sharp against the fog, pretty girl. 

They never mention the hospital, never a word about ORs or co-worker names. The watcher keeps to the edges of your private life, and somehow that makes the trespass worse. You capture a screenshot, block the number, and delete the thread. The image joins dozens of others in the hidden laptop folder named Archive—date‑stamped, time‑stamped, waiting for the moment you finally believe the police will do more than shrug.

Four‑minutes steep exactly. Mug warmed. First swallow. Routine: a ladder you climb every morning. Eggs scrambled ninety seconds, plate rinsed, shower seven minutes. Before dressing, you check the tiny motion‑sensor camera you mounted inside the apartment entryway two nights ago; its LED blinks a steady red reassurance. The matching camera on the fire‑escape window does the same. No motion alerts overnight. Still, you test the deadbolt twice and angle the hall chair beneath the knob until you return.

The drive is identical to yesterday’s and the day before—same streets, same mirror checks at every light. No car follows twice, but you look anyway. At 06:50 you badge through the employee entrance. Stepping into hospital feels like sliding into armor: fluorescent lights, antiseptic bite, the hum of vents. The messages have never followed you here.

You adjust your usual gray scrubs and square your clipboard. Pre‑op checklist in your left hand, suture cart in your right, you call out “sponge count zero” with the same crisp authority as always. But small hesitations creep in: rereading the cefazolin vial, tapping the clock twice to verify time‑outs. 

Margot’s eyes track each pause. She eventually corners you by the blanket warmer.

“Nightmares?” she asks, voice low.

“Just the usual insomnia,” you answer, pinching your lower lip. A nervous habit. Your smile feels brittle, but it holds.

Fin notices too; his jokes grow louder, as though volume can fill the quiet shadow clinging to you. Jules slips extra Hershey Kisses into your scrub pocket. Even Dr. Garcia joins in by firing off sarcasm like covering fire whenever an intern looks as if they might ask why your phone stays face‑down on the desk, silent yet weighty.

Slowly but surely, the afternoon bleeds into evening. 

You finish vitals, sign the narcotics log, and at 19:04 bypass the stairwell that leads to the roof—no silhouettes against twilight tonight. Instead you head straight for the lot, head down, keys ready.

The cameras in your apartment greet you with their steady red eyes when you arrive. Door locked, sweep performed—closet, shower, under bed—all clear. Only then do you change into a soft purple T‑shirt and loose pants. You have long since stopped parading around in your underwear. 

The phone buzzes the moment the fabric falls over your head. New number:

Purple again. My favorite.

You freeze. Curtains closed, lights low—and still they see. Screenshot. Block. Delete. You drag the dining chair beneath the doorknob and place the kitchen scissors back on the nightstand, steel glinting like a talisman. Then, a mug of valerian tea, strong enough to taste like soil, goes down in three determined gulps.

Lying in bed, you count the protections: two cameras, one chair brace, scissors within reach, every screenshot archived. Routine is armor. Repetition is a prayer. You breathe in for four, out for eight, the same cadence you teach anxious PACU patients, and tell yourself that as long as the messages stay outside the hospital walls, the armor will hold.

Sleep comes in splinters, broken by phantom creaks and imagined footsteps. At 02:47 you wake up, heart sprinting, and check the camera feed: empty hallway, silent fire escape. Dawn is only a few hours away. Soon the kettle will hiss, the tea will steep for exactly four minutes, and another text will arrive—about a porch light or the time you start your car—but never about scalpels, never about sponge counts.

Despite the hour, you’re halfway through wiping down the already‑clean kitchen counter—busywork to quiet the apartment’s hush—when your phone vibrates. For once the screen doesn’t show an unknown number.

It’s Jack.

Haven’t seen you on the roof in a bit. Everything okay?

The text lands like a gentle hand on your chest. You swallow against the sudden tightness in your throat, thumb hovering. Finally you type back:

I’m alright—just busy. See you tomorrow?

Three dots pulse, then: Works for me. Sunrise tea?

He doesn’t mention anything about the hour or how you should be asleep and not messaging back. You’re grateful. 

Sunrise tea, you confirm, and set the phone facedown.

Pacing the kitchen, you notice how full the fridge is: a dozen nearly‑dated eggs, chicken thighs you’d planned to roast, wilting cilantro, limes, onions, and two unopened cans of black beans. You haven’t cooked a proper meal since the messages started; take‑out cartons and tea have been enough to survive. Now the sight of real food sparks something steadier than dread—a need to do, to give.

An apology, you decide, should be edible.

You wash your hands, set the chicken on the board, and fall into the rhythm your muscles remember: trim fat, score skin, rub with salt, cumin, smoked paprika. Onions sizzle in the cast‑iron, releasing a sweetness that chases the apartment’s stale anxiety. Beans simmer with serrano and garlic; rice toasts before absorbing broth. Cilantro stems thunk under the knife; lime zest perfumes the steam fogging the window. 

When everything’s done you portion a generous serving into a sturdy glass container, your favourite one: rice pilaf on one side, glossy black beans on the other, two pieces of golden‑skinned chicken nestled on top. Into a tiny jar goes some honey‑lime dressing. You label the lid in block letters—Jack—and slide the meal into one of your spare tote bags. 

The apartment smells of cumin and toasted garlic, of normal life. The cameras still blink red, the chair still braces the door, the scissors still gleam, but cooking has threaded warmth through every corner. You finish the last dish, the one’s that’s for you, dry your hands, and stand for a moment in the quiet kitchen, breathing in the proof that you can still create comfort instead of just barricades.

Tomorrow at dawn you’ll climb to the roof, hand Jack the container, and share five minutes of sky. Routine will tighten around you again, one careful knot at a time—but tonight you fall back asleep with the scent of lime and cilantro on your pillow, and relief, thin but real, settles in your chest like steam escaping a cooling pot.

. . .

You arrive at the hospital just past sunrise, thermos in one hand, tote slung over your shoulder, and—for once—a real, living sense of calm beneath your ribs. Not the fragile kind you usually glue together with caffeine and a tight jaw, but something gentler, something earned. You even caught a pocket of golden morning light in the parking lot, the kind that made the hospital look almost soft at the edges. 

Dr. Miller catches sight of you just as you pass the nurse’s station. He’s leaning against the counter, coffee in one hand, chatting with a pair of interns, but pauses when he sees you. His eyebrows lift, and he gives a slow, amused smile. “Well, you look dangerously close to content. Should I be worried?”

You huff a laugh, smoothing your coat as you badge in. “Don’t start rumors, Dr. Miller.”

He points at the canvas tote on your shoulder. “Big plans?”

You nod once. “End of shift.”

He doesn’t ask more, just grins, and you take that grin with you like a good omen. The rest of the day moves at a steady clip: vitals to log, meds to verify, a code yellow that resolves without anyone crying. You let yourself coast on the rhythm of it, not in that desperate, overcompensating way you usually do, but in a way that feels like a return to something—like an exhale. 

You slip into the lounge at 18:45, already imagining the click of the container’s lid, the familiar smell of the garlic and cumin, the soft weight of it in your hands as you climb the stairwell to the roof. You open as the lights inside flickers to life, cold and blue, attention on the glass container exactly where you left it, lid on, untouched. 

Except—no. Something’s wrong.

The lid is snapped shut, perfectly aligned. The container looks full. But it isn’t. You can feel it before you even lift it—something in the tilt, the balance. Your stomach lurches as you peel the lid off  and confirm what you already know. The food is gone. Not spilled. Not disturbed. Not even a forkful left to scrape from the edges. Just... empty. Clean. Wiped down.

A rare mix of anger, rare but hot, pulses against your ribcage, but before you can storm out and demand answers, you feel the paper crumpled under the container. Your breath stops. It’s your note—the one you’d carefully taped to the top that morning: NOT FOR GENERAL CONSUMPTION. HANDS OFF GREMLINS, it reads in your blocky caps. But now that line has been crossed out in thick, decisive strokes. And underneath it, slanted and dark and horrifyingly familiar: 

That was great, thanks pretty girl.

The world tilts. Your lungs forget how to work. You’ve seen that name before—only in texts, never spoken, never written. Anonymous. Cryptic. Repetitive. A whisper against your spine on nights when the lights were off and your phone lit up with unknown numbers. But this—this isn’t a text. This is here. This is your space, your name, your cooking, your boundary, and someone has walked right through it with ink-stained hands and a stomach full of what you made with care.

A hot flush crawls up your neck, floods your ears. You stagger back a step and catch yourself on the counter. The container slips from your hand and hits the lounge table with a muted thud. The silence in the room turns sharp. 

Then, you shove the fridge shut. The door clangs and rattles in its frame. The room feels like it’s shrinking, like the air has gone sour, too full of other people��s breath. You snatch the note and crush it in your hand. Your teeth clench so hard your jaw pops. You don’t remember turning, but you’re already out the door, slamming into the corridor.

Fin is halfway down the hall with a tablet in hand. He startles and drops it when you barrel past. “Boss? Are you okay—?”

You don’t hear him. You don’t answer. The world has narrowed to one screaming thought: Find Gloria. Now. You need the Chief Medical Officer, need her badge, her keys, her authority. She can pull the security feeds. She can call the police. She can make this stop.

You’re moving before you think to move, feet pounding the tile, vision blurring at the edges. You don’t realize you’re shaking until your elbow clips the corner of the nurse’s station and jolts you. Jules tries to intercept you, her mouth forming your name in alarm, but you dodge past. Margot reaches out, grabs your arm, and for a second your momentum dies.

“What happened?” she demands, voice low, sharp, anchoring.

You look at her. You try to speak. Nothing. Just breathless silence. Then, rasping through a throat too tight to breathe, you say, “Need Gloria.”

She gets it instantly. Her eyes go cold. She lets you go. Already calling instructions behind you as you sprint toward the elevators.

Your fingers hurt. You look down and realize the note is still balled in your fist, crushed so tightly your nails have dug half-moons into your skin. The static in your head has turned into a roar. You feel cracked open, like your worst fear has been confirmed and now all your secrets are leaking out of you for the world to see. All this time, you thought if you could just hold on—just stay composed, stay ahead, stay vigilant—you could keep this from touching the parts of your life that mattered. But now it has. Now it’s here. The hospital was supposed to be your safe place, your fortress. But someone breached it.

The elevator doors open. Thankfully, nothing but an empty gurney is inside. You step in without hesitation, eyes fixed forward, spine locked. You don't even blink when the doors slide shut.

You get out the seconds the doors open and round the corner toward Administration so fast the world blurs, shoulders locked, chest heaving, pulse hammering in your ears so loud it drowns out thought. You barely register the sound of a door opening until a figure steps out from the consult room ahead—short but solid, dreadlocks brushing her shoulders, clipboard hugged tight to her chest.

You collide before either of you can brake.

Papers scatter like startled birds. A pen skitters across the tile and bounces under the nearest corner.

“Whoa—hey!” Kiara grabs you, steady hands catching your elbows before you fall. 

“Slow down, honey,” she says, trying for lightness. “What—”

Then she sees your face.

Whatever was holding you together unravels in a blink. Your eyes fill, your mouth opens, but nothing coherent makes it past your lips. The crushed note slips from your hand, landing between you. The marker-scrawled name glares up from the paper like a fresh wound.

Kiara’s clipboard hits the floor beside it.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she breathes.

Her arms come around you before you can bolt or speak or even breathe. And the second she does, the sob rips out of you—gut-deep, involuntary, raw. You bury your face against her soft sweater and shake, fists twisted in the soft cotton, the fabric quickly going damp with tears. Your legs threaten to give. Kiara cradles the back of your head like she would a grief-stricken mother in a quiet room, voice low and steady in your ear.

“I’ve got you. You’re okay. Breathe with me. In, two, three…that’s it. Out, two, three.”

You try. You try to follow her rhythm even as your chest jerks, lungs refusing to cooperate, every breath full of glass. The hallway seems to narrow around you, fluorescent lights too sharp, voices too distant, the floor too unsteady beneath your feet. 

You gasp, trying to speak—Gloria, fridge, note—but your tongue won’t work. The words hit the back of your throat and collapse.

Kiara doesn’t push. She doesn’t ask. Not yet. 

She bends, scoops the note up from the floor, her arm never leaving your shoulders. Her eyes flick over the overwritten scrawl. Her expression goes from gentle to granite.

“Okay,” she says, voice gone iron. “We’re taking this to Gloria. Right now.”

It’s almost scary how easily she connects the dots without a single ounce of context. For now, you can only nod, your body still trembling, your mind clawing for control that just isn’t there anymore. But you’re not alone. Kiara keeps an arm firmly around you as she pulls her phone from her pocket, dials with one hand, presses it to her ear.

“Gloria? Yes, it’s Kiara. I have an urgent security issue. Clear your office.”

A pause. Then a quiet “Thanks.” She ends the call, squeezes your arm, and begins steering you gently toward the elevators.

“She’s waiting. Margot’s on her way too,” Kiara tells you as she guides you through the hallway. 

You nod again, unable to speak, but this time it’s not empty. The words aren’t caught in panic—they’re being held for you, steadied. And for the first time since the messages started, since the stalking began, since the fear turned chronic and tight and unseen—something inside you loosens.

Not gone. But held.

Held by hands stronger than your own.

divider credit

[ronnykins-needshelp]

i read an unusual amount of social media fis for 3 am but hey cumplane idea:

Whenever shen yuan goes on his rants either in the comments or in forum post or hey even twitter! Shang Qinghua pulls the imfamous " You want to fuck me so bad bro it makes you look stupid " and when Shen yuan rants personally to him he doesnt respond,

and he responds with the same thing in almost every single one of Cucumbers posts.

the fandom becomes WILD.

speculation over the whole ordeal leads to shippers, which leads the the creation of the ship name " cumplane ", which leads the discord servers and forums specifically for the ship, which leads to RPF, which leads to fujoshis/fudanshis coming in to discuss the whole orodeal aswell, making PIDW even more famous.

Shen yuan unforutently founds out about this fandom a couple months after it blew up, [ entirely his fault, he ignored the shippers and called them trolls.

after he makes publiic posts fuming over this ship

" Guys first of all IM NOT GAY, I'm STRAIGHT. even IF I were gay I ould never GET GAY with the hack author who writes like a 2nd grader!! "

Peerless cucumber anlylists [ which there is a few of them ], dissect the post and called it " being delusion to himself " as his typing patterns were never this informal before.

fanart is starting to pop up and its PISSING cucumber so much. Why is he always pictured like a cat?? and Airplane is either pictured like a hamster or luo binghe/ that's illegal!! [ he has saved the fanart with luo binghe on them and has a special folder for them which he will never admit he has. ].

this goes on for awhile as that fandom becomes more popular and the fanfic community is celebrating 5k fics which is insane because this was founded a year ago.

so what dooes airplane shooting towards the sky think of this?

he thinks that fucking his biggest anti fan is a good idea

though he finds Peerless cucumbers rants quite entertaining, at times -- especially when he's struggling financially -- he wishes to shut his digital mouth up.

hes seen this from the beginning, as he is a fan of the fandom of his book.

he has seen MANY of the fics and has definetly fapped to them imagining that cucumber bro was actually there doing as the words said.

his favorite fics are him he is the top, pounding into him. which happily his fans are into the too.

he loves how the community depicts them both and absolety laughs his ass off at the airplane cucumber memes

he even took the time to buy a cumplane phone charm for his phone.

it all comes to head when the end of a promising arc is just papapa. Shang QInghua was frustrated with having to cut out most of the arc because his apartments rent had went up and by no means can afford it now unless he gets straight into the papapa.

and Shen yuan litterly ruined it for him even more.

with his rant in the comments Airplane did not infact copy-paste the same phrase but instead said,

" ok YOU CAN:BB UP show me you have the balls to actually fight me irl!! "

" Alright bet. "

and he proceeded to get dmed by cucumber the date and location, which wouldn't be a surprise bc Peerless cucumber never backs down on a bet!

the cumplane community is going bat shit crazy of this single interaction, they haven't gotten any material from the official people until now and its a breakthrough.

they did end up in a coffee shop, well at each other like a divorced couple, get kicked out of said coffee shop. shen yuan, embaressed by the fact offered to shang qinghua that they go to his apartment because " cleary, these streets arent built to handle my hate. "

which airplane would burst out luaghing and they would agree some more while driving to his place.

when inside Shen yuan and shang qinghua get into a little tussle and when yuan loses miserably because of his twink sick ass self versus the tale and muscular [ don't ask why shen yuan knows, and he's also confused by this fact ]

Shang qinghua has one arm against him as tto not crack one of his weak bones -- plus he can watch Shen Yuan squirm -- and pulls out his phone. which still have the cumplane charm on it.

when cucumber turns and accedentally see the charm he freezes, airplane wondering why he stopped struggling looks where he's looking and feezes too.

then they hate fuck about it as they tried to assert dominance in which shang qinghua won in, and he also teases him for all the cumplane fanart on his wall [ which was intentionally left there ]. in the morning with a grumpy shen yuan totally fucked out, shang qinghua takes a picture of them both and posts it with the headline;

" Guess the peerless cucumber is not so peerless anymore "

[getouyuri]

r/Marriage: am i (24m) overly obsessed with my wife (24f)? — a satoru gojo fic preview

౨ৎ pairing — oyabun!gojo x secretary!reader

summary — work and no play makes the fearsome oyabun of the gojo-gumi a tremendously dull boy. since you're a saint, you come into his office with no panties and a mission; to let your puppy play.

౨ৎ content & warnings — mdni 18+, mlw, fem! reader, normal modern au, yakuza au, humor, smut, pet names (baby, sweets, sugar, princess, pretty, wifey, hubby), gojo and reader are married, whipped gojo, gojo is actually insane, dark themes, violence, mentions of murder

author's note — this is just a preview of a fic i’m releasing tomorrow :3 if you want to be tagged for the full thing feel free to reply!!

A soft knock at his door pulls him out of his reverie. “I’m busyyy, Kento, Ijichi!” he calls just in case they’re here to hound him, fingers adorned in rings absently adjusting his tie.

It opens to reveal Kento’s unimpressed stare. He glances over Satoru’s unorganized desk, important documents scattered all over and clearly not finished. ‘Organized chaos’ he calls it. You tell him that it’s just shit on a platter. “… cat’s outta the bag, I guess,” Satoru says glumly, his pout unbefitting of an oyabun further deepening.

Apparently, by the little entourage that Kento has with him, his second-in-command isn’t here to scold him, though. Because you, his gorgeous wife, enters his office next with Ijichi shuffling in behind you, who closes the door behind the group of three.

Satoru perks up like a meerkat and leans forward, fingers dropping away from his tie to instead interlace as he regards everyone, you in particular harboring most of his attention, with a cheery grin that’s at odds with his reputation. Though he’s the epitome of lax playfulness, there’s a questioning sharpness to his gaze as he looks them all over. You have a folder tucked beneath one arm and you look bored.

"Well, well, well, look who it is," Satoru drawls, his tone as smooth as silk. "My three favorite people alllll in one room. It’s a little too early to be throwing me a surprise birthday party, isn’t it? My birthday isn’t for another few months,” he jests.

Ijichi not so subtly checks the date on his phone even though he knows damn well it’s April, not December. On the other hand, Kento’s eyes flatten slightly. One of his hands goes to his hip while the other massages at the bridge of his nose as if he’s already getting a headache; as he usually does in the oyabun’s presence. “Now isn’t the time for jokes, Satoru,” Kento inserts, dour as ever.

Your poker face twitches.

A blown raspberry echoes in his office. “You always say that, Kentooo! Would it kill you to pull that stick out of your ass and smell the roses? Experience joy and whimsy?” Satoru dramatically intones. His hand splays across his chest. “You wound me.”

Kento doesn’t even bother to entertain him. Back straight and thumb practically digging into his skin, he rattles off his report; the Gojo-gumi were able to intercept Ryomen’s ploy to undercut the Gojo-gumi’s control over the heroin trade. When he finishes, he promptly turns and makes like Scooby Doo, not wanting to be there a second longer. Ijichi hurriedly scurries at his heels.

The door clicks shut behind them and he puffs out a breath of relief at his wakagashira’s and saiko-kommon’s departure, sitting back in his chair with a gentle creak of the leather beneath him. Satoru kicks his leg up over the other, the side of his calf resting on his knee, and looks you up and down. “And then there were two. Fancy seeing you here, wifey,” he drawls.

“You say that as if we don’t work in the same building,” you snort. Thwacking the folder against the wooden surface before scattering it among the pile, you then round Satoru’s desk and plant yourself in front of him. He inhales unsubtly, catching a whiff of your perfume that makes him go a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, and your lips twitch as you take your throne on the lip of his desk. “Normally I’d only be here to scold you and make you do your work, hubby.”

Everyone here at headquarters is required to follow a certain dress code. Satoru outshines them all, of course, fitted in finely tailored slacks and dress shirts with either a crisp light blue waistcoat thrown atop it or an ironed suit jacket. And as one of the many secretaries flitting around the building keeping the well-oiled Gojo-gumi machine chugging, it’s important for you to look just as professional. Especially since you’re his wife.

Which is why you look like an infuriatingly sexy librarian, decked out in a tight black pencil skirt that hugs your hips, a blouse with the top two buttons undone and the collar pressed open to flaunt the designer necklace he bought you swinging from your neck, sheer black nylon thigh-highs that he’d kill to feel around his head, and stilettos, cute little charms on the buckles giving your outfit a whisper bit of cheer.

(The thought of you making yourself look extra pretty today just for him has Satoru internally busting on the spot, his blood simmering beneath the fine layer of his skin.)

‘The oyabun’s wife’, his men always dreamily sigh when you walk past them— only to whip around and stare at the wall when he slinks by not even a step behind you, his blue eyes cold and caustic when he glares at them in warning. Gorgeous, breath-taking, a prized jewel— and you’re all his.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in my near future,” Satoru muses aloud, raising his eyebrows at you in question.

“No. Just a ‘however’.” Instead of being two dumb bitches telling each other ‘exactlyyy’, they’re two smartasses fashioned in the same factory, complete with warnings labels.

“Yeesh. Can I ever be right with you?” He plasters his hand over his heart yet again and gives you a simpering moue.

You roll your eyes, a wordless ‘duh’. Satoru's lips slant upwards into a Cheshire cat smile as you reach forward and loop his tie around your fingers before giving it a tug, coaxing his chair to roll forward on the sleek hardwood floor. He uncrosses his legs and allows himself to be pulled up and out of it, heeled like a dog, stepping forward to stand between your legs after lightly kicking his chair away with a soft clatter.

Looking down at you through long white lashes that flutter like the first snowfall of winter, his gaze is a mix of playfulness and appreciation in its rawest form. Satoru has to admit, this view is far more pleasant than any spreadsheet that he was pretending to give his attention to before you strode in.

Your perch on his desk gives you an air of sophisticated dominance that makes his cock give a very interested twitch in his trousers that he can’t help. Sue him for being horrendously attracted to his wife.

Though he towers over you by a mere head due to the slight height advantage that his desk gives you, there’s no doubt that he yields completely and utterly to you. His brain conjures up an image of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory. Glorious and championing above the rest of them; victorious.

Woof, he thinks unintelligently.

“However,” you finally continue, beginning to smile. You keep a hold on his tie and tap his nose with the pointer of your free hand, which he wrinkles at you. “I’ve decided that I’ll spare you the lecture for today.”

Satoru's hands come up to rest on your knees, thumbs rubbing slow circles on the sleek nylon covering them. Your inviting warmth bleeds through the thin fabric. He so badly wants to get on the floor, brush them down, and sink his teeth into your plush skin until your skin pinkens. He settles for giving you a gentle squeeze.

“I thank you, oh great and benevolent goddess of the yakuza underworld,” he proclaims, delighting in the fondly exasperated groan that rumbles low in your throat. “I gotta say, I'm grateful for the reprieve, sweets. Though I suspect your mercy is short-lived," he adds with a chuckle. “So give it up already. Spill.”

Fucking hell. There goes a tiny fraction of the element of surprise that you thought you were holding over him like an anvil in a cartoon.

You silently curse his eerie perceptiveness. And his newfound x-ray vision, apparently, since he leans back a fraction to take you in again, his focus lingering on your skirt. But hey, the ball’s still very much in your court, and you’re playing to win.

Not letting it faze you, you heft your legs up, his hands shifting with you, and drape them around Satoru’s waist. His desk creaks beneath you at the distribution of weight. “Yeah, yeah. What I mean to say is that your husbandly duties are calling to you, not your obligations as oyabun.”

Satoru’s blue eyes search yours and he tilts his head, adorably puppy-like in a manner that suggests he’s more innocent than his ruthless reputation paints him to be. Though he’s the epitome of laxness, there’s a questioning sharpness to his expectancy that’d make lesser men quiver and confess to their every sin.

You stare right back at him. “I don’t have any panties on,” you explain simply.

If Satoru was aroused before, he’s now hornier than a pent-up nun. He hardens so fast that it makes him dizzy. “So you’re on that type of timing, got it,” he notes through his suddenly dry mouth as if his brain chemistry isn’t actively warping with this new information.

He wets his lips. His attention darts to the door. “Ijichi locked it,” you confirm before he can ask his question.

Good. Now he can focus on what matters: no panties. No panties. No panties. Fuck.

"Well, as your husband, it's my duty to attend to your every need and desire. And right now, it seems one of those needs is to have me buried deep inside your pretty kitty,” he coos, voice dripping something sinful. “But wowww, I never thought I’d see my stern ‘business over pleasure’ sweet pie pulling this kind of stunt. Seducing me so shamelessly in my own office, where anyone could walk in and catch us in a compromising position... for shame! What would people say if they knew you were on a mission to tempt your poor innocent husband into sin?”

You sigh, long-suffering.

Suddenly curious to see if you’re hiding another surprise elsewhere, one hand leaves your knee and drifts up to the undone buttons of your blouse, popping another one open to expose more of your soft skin. Satoru bites his lip as his eyes snag on the lace of your bra. A shame that you’re not bra-less, but he’s fine with seeing you wear half of the set he commissioned for you from a designer in France that you like. He’s more than okay with this, actually.

You make no move to scold him or cover yourself up— you just amusedly stay fixed on him, your eyes gaining that telltale gleam when you’ve got him all tied up in knots. He’s walked into a honeytrap, hasn’t he?

Despite the clear desire emanating from him, there's a tenderness to his touch, a reverence for your body as the hand on your knee skirts up. He slides it higher up your thigh until the hem of your thigh-high gives way to skin, disappearing beneath your tight skirt to ascertain your bold claim. When Satoru’s knuckles graze your bare folds, which are slowly slickening, he whines as if he’s the one being touched. “Fuck, princess... you're actually not wearing anything at all, huh?” He groans softly, half surprised and half not that you were telling the truth.

“Duh,” you exhale. “I didn’t think I’d have to spell it out for you, though. Did you not see the—“

“The little treat that the panty fairy snuck into my pocket?” Now understanding, Satoru’s grin grows. Reverent… and, well, very perverted. “Sure did. I sniffed them, too.”

Your face contorts as if you don’t know what part to address first before you give up.

“But sometimes thiiis guy.” His eyes pointedly roll upwards in the direction of his forehead, then down at the obvious bulge in his pants. “Likes to take the backseat and let this big guy do all of the thinking. Can you blame me for being a little off my game today?”

“I can, actually. Do better. Even Yuuji gets more work done than you do,” you reply plainly.

Which says a lot. Yuuji’s one of the other secretaries here, though giving him that title feels… a little generous. You and Satoru see him regularly since Choso feels more comfortable going out and doing his job when Yuuji’s safe at headquarters. The teenager comes scampering into the building every day after school and Satoru pays him to do the class work that his teachers send him off with, play on his Nintendo Switch, and sometimes organize the racks of boxed files or make phone calls.

“Heyyy!”

Your cool breaks and you laugh. “You’re just easy to get to. That’s okay, though. It makes things more fun for me,” you tease in a slight singsongy lilt. You turn your head to worry his earlobe between your teeth, nipping then sucking for good measure before releasing it with an audible pop.

Breathing starting to pick up, he drops his face into the crook of your neck and drowns himself in the cocktail of the spritz of that floral perfume you favor and your natural scent. All the while, he blindly traces your slit. Up and down, entrance, clit, entrance, clit.

You cup your husband’s nape as Satoru nuzzles into your neck more urgently, feeling him shiver against you as your palm rasps over the short prickly hairs of his undercut, petting him. Your legs part a bit, skirt inching up as you rut your cunt against Satoru’s exploratory fingers and smear your wetness on him. Still, he doesn’t push in yet.

You’d think he’s teasing you if not for the obvious signs that he’s stalling. Either waiting for your permission or waiting for the best time to ask for it.

How well-trained.

[justcruisingaroundrevived]

Would you make Yandere Pete x yandere reader😔😔😔 I just want to match his freak

Cemetery Lady, My Cemetery Girl

Summary: Yandere! Pete x Yandere! Reader

TW/CW: mutual yandere behavior, mutual obsession, mutual stalking, animals, mutual self harm, taking photos without consent, fluff

A/N: This would honestly be the healthiest relationship Yandere! Pete would be in, anon. God bless you and all of your enemies 🫡

Reblogs are appreciated!

* You were sent down from the heavens for Pete

* From the moment you locked eyes on him renting out horror movies, you were hooked line and seal

* You stayed up all night, imagining a wedding where the corpses of your enemies were all beneath you. Slicing a bloody cake, doing the first dance, OH! It was delicious. You couldn’t stop thinking about it

* You’re taking pictures of him down the hall, keeping them in a secret folder + locker. When you’re feeling down, you simply look at the photos and immediately feel your mood pick back up

* Wouldn’t be surprised if you gotten a plushie and named it after him and snuggle up with him during the night

* Best of all, you probably would also send him unexpected gifts. Maybe even similar ideas (animal bones, teeth, favorite movies of yours, etc.)

* Unbeknownst to you, Pete spotted you during one of your “photo sessions”. He only got a glimpse of you, but he was immediately intrigued by this new figure.

* He secretly followed you to your locker and found…pictures of him? Poster of “Army of Darkness”?! NO WAY, YOU HAVE THE SAME CHUCKY PLUSHIE AS HIM

* He’s secretly giddy for the rest of the day. When he gets back home, he’s checking the yearbook and finding your name

* It goes on like this for a couple of weeks; you two mutually stalking each other, sending each other weird gifts, the whole works.

* You don’t really know who’s sending these, but you take them anyway, gleefully displaying the bones in your dresser, making the teeth into bracelets/necklaces, and even proudly brag about your secret admirer getting you a fetus of an animal or something (worrying glances from them)

* However, you both catch each other in the act of stalking, and you froze!

* Oh god! You’ve been caught! Should be running, except your stupid legs have locked you in this position. What’s worse, the camera’s aiming right at Pete’s face

* However, his tooth eating grin is enough to tell you that he may be into this, possibly more, than you were

* Match made in hell I say!

* Since Pete and you are both obsessed with each other, this ironically be the healthiest outcome for the both of you

* Internally, both of you getting excited to see each other again and secretly hanging out in the student lounge. Probably talking about your favorite movies, shows, what teacher was being annoying today, favorite LiveLeak videos, etc.

* Writing each other love letters and stuffing them into each other’s locker and keeping it in a secret box somewhere

* Fucking hell, you probably did a ceremony where you carved each other’s name into the hip (DIY matching tattoos)

* The club’s weirded out by Pete’s behavior towards you, but it’s more likely the fact he actually has a partner and less about the concerning behavior

* Your friends are worried that Pete’s taking advantage of you, but assure to them that no, you love everything he does for you and wouldn’t want it any other way

* I can see you two marrying straight out of high school and moving far away from the club or anyone you knew really

* Even working at Sick Mofo, you two are on each other’s mind constantly and love hearing about each other’s day

* A weirdly sweet union, I must say

[carolmunson]

the cars that go boom | (daddydom!sadist!eddie)

this fic isn't related to the title song reference at all, it's just stuck in my head. needed to get this out of my drafts so here's some ddlg themed sadist eddie that's been sitting in my draft folder for fucking ever and i'm sick of looking at it. tw: 18+ mdni ddlg dynamics, daddy kink, eddie being all over a cocky shit bag hottie who likes control but it's consensual, use of a vibrating toy. lots of allusions to other sex.

You watch him get out of the bathroom after his shower, tattoos stretched taught over softly cut muscles. You almost drool. He tried something new with you this week, an orgasm ban -- nearly a sex ban -- in fact, he didn't even want you to see his dick. And much like he always does when he finds a new way to torture you; he was feeling really pleased with himself about it.

'That's more than you deserve,' he hissed at you Monday night while you knelt obediently between his legs. He pet your hair while you watched TV and he jerked himself off, you were not allowed to turn around until he was finished. You pouted all night, and when it happened the next day you started pouting all week. But, the week was over, which meant your punishment was done. You'd spent all day getting ready, a long shower, smooth skin, body butter, his favorite perfume, everything you could do to feel perfect for him. You cleaned the trailer and made dinner, you kissed him when he got in the door to which he blushed and smiled.

'Hi beautiful,' he greeted you so gently, 'I missed you today.'

You watch him dress now, hair dripping while he tugs on a pair of grey sweatpants and a ratty cut off Iron Maiden t-shirt. You sulk a little. Those aren't normally the clothes he'd put on if he wanted to take you to bed, but you don't say anything just yet.

He goes to the kitchen table with a composition notebook and a collection of pens and markers, opening the beat up pages to what you can only assume is a new campaign, a new drawing of a map. You walk over while he mulls over it, adding new territory, scribbling in new lore. You let your hands slide over his shoulders.

"Hi baby," you say sweetly.

"Hi," he responds, focused on his notebook. Your hands slide forward, onto his chest, your face leaning down to his, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Whatcha doing?" you ask innocently.

"Workin' on a campaign," he responds, "We're gonna meet up on Wednesday night so I want it to be semi together."

"Okay," you nod, you run your fingers gently over his scalp, giving him a soft scratch. He keens into the touch, shoulders relaxing while he rolls his head back. You press your luck, letting your fingertip trace over the curve of his ear.

"Hey," he warns softly, "I'm tryin' to focus, sweetheart."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you apologize, but he can't see your grin. Your fingers continue to wander, giving him a sweet shoulder massage while he reads over his story. A quiet 'thank you honey', falls from his full lips while you work out the knots. You press your luck again, trailing your finger down the line of his neck that's the most sensitive to your tongue and touch. Eddie's shoulders tense and he sits up straight, turning to you with a sour pull at his full lips.

"Do you need something?" he asks pointedly. You feel heat rush to your cheeks, "Do you need some attention?"

You nod and he grins, pulling the other kitchen chair over, "Come sit next to me then, you can help."

You roll your eyes and sit down next to him, he bites his tongue at the offense, happy to get to spend some time with you like this. He gives you a chaste kiss on your cheek while you watch him work.

You barely 'help', just sitting there while he crosses things out and re-writes them. While he flips back ten pages and then forward twenty, grabbing a red pencil and putting it down for a blue pencil then picking the red back up and so on. You get restless watching him work, so you get up and grab each of you a beer. Another sugar sweet, 'thaaank you baby,' pours from him, this time deep and focused, dark and syrupy. Molasses tongue. It goes right to your thighs.

You press your luck a third time, scooting close to him, letting your hand smooth over his covered thigh and further up, skimming over his cock that was perfectly outlined in his sweats. He let's out a frustrated sigh when he takes your hand away from his crotch, gently putting it on your lap when he looks at you sternly.

"Daddy's busy, baby," his eyes look down at you, his dominance brewing under angry brows, "Why don't you go play by yourself in another room, hm?"

He turns his attention back to the campaign notebook, while you throb from being scolded. The humilation pools through you when he chastises you, eyes lingering on you while you continue to sit there. After a beat, you get up to walk to the bedroom hearing his voice as you do.

"Good girl," he teases, "Are you being a good listener?"

You look back and see his grin while he leans back in the kitchen chair, crossing his arms. His legs are spread wide under the table, cool authority flowing off of him.

"Are you?" he asks again, a smirk cracking his face as if to ask, 'Does this embarrass you?' It does, it's humiliating.

"I'm a very good listener," you respond quietly, heart dropping in your chest.

His brows raise, waiting for you to add more to the sentence. You let out an aggravated huff through your nose, crossing your arms.

"I'm a very good listener, daddy," you repeat.

"There we go," he smiles cruelly, "Go have fun, sweetheart."

'Have fun? HAVE FUN?' you think to yourself while you go to the bedroom and shut the door with a firm click, 'Fine! I'll have fun without you then! See if I care!' It's not fair that you've been quite literally begging to be fucked for seven straight days, but to go straight into teasing you like this? The type of dominance that makes you feel the most -- god -- embarrassed? Degraded? You'd rather gag on fingers and have him wipe your spit on your face. You'd rather him make you lick someone's cum out of his ass, literally anything but this.

With a huff you open Eddie's top dresser drawer and grab the Hitatchi he bought you as an anniversary gift last year. Hastily, you plug it in behind the bedside table before climbing on to bed, shimmying your jeans off and tossing them to the floor.

Your legs spread, bent at the knees, turning the toy on low and slowly lowering it onto your covered core. The hum is quiet, barely a tremble in the head of the wand when it meets the lacy fabric of your panties. A soft gasp escapes you at the feeling, it had felt like years since you'd been touched there. You move the toy up and down slowly, teasing yourself, little puffs of breath escaping you as you do.

With a click, the buzz intensifies, sliding the head upward to settle softly on your clothed clit. You whimper while your hips start to move slowly against the vibrations, the whirr of the toy filling your ears while your eyes shut. You keep yourself like this for a little, enjoying the slow sensation, the mild tease. You feel it start, like the hook looping into the first car of a roller coaster train, the first tug when the attendant hits 'go'.

“Huh!” you gasp out breathy while your hips twitch. Your lower lips start to swell against the gusset of your bottoms, slick building between them. A slow start. You savor it, a small smile pulling at your lips.

“Look so pretty like that, baby,” you hear his voice and gasp, tossing the toy next to you and snapping your legs shut. He smirks, a devilish chuckle bubbles from his chest, “Oh no, don’t let me interrupt. I said you could go play by yourself, and look at you…”

His voice raises in a lilt, while he sits on the bed. He passes you the wand and smiles, “You’re being such a good girl for me.”

“Go on,” he says with a nod, “Show daddy how you were playing.” You lean back on the pillows, opening up your legs again slowly. He glances between them, eyes flitting down to your mound briefly before meeting your eyes again, he subconciously licks his lips. You keep your legs up and bent up against your chest so he has a view, puffing out a soft sigh when you click the toy on again. He looks at you with a hazy gleam in his brown eyes, nodding slowly at you to remind you of his permission. You run it up your thigh before settling it back down on the center of your slit, letting the vibrations pulse over your entire core. "Hm," you hum out softly as your brows pinch together in a tilt. "Aw, yeah?" he coos out, "Does that feel good?"

"Mhm," you whine, lower lip tucked tight between your teeth. Yuo swallow when he reaches his hand out, smoothing over the soft plushness of your inner thigh. He squeezes, grinning when you let out a soft grunt with a twitch of your hips.

"You've been so patient this week," he purrs, "Such a good girl. Isn't that right?"

You nod hurriedly, watching his hand slide up your thigh, his index finger tracing up the hem of your underwear. It's a smooth hand off, watching his rings gleam in the bedside lamp when it wraps around the handle, both of your hands falling flat by your head. Your palms face the ceiling, matching your eyes when he turns up the vibrations. "Isn't that right, baby doll?" he asks, adding a gentle pressure up against you. Your pussy strains against the fabric the more excited you get, back already in a soft arch while you push into the mattress. "Y-yes, sir," you manage to mutter out. "No, no, that's not who I am tonight," he admonishes, still in a soft and steady voice, almost sweet -- like you don't understand anything. He takes the toy away; making you whimper, leaning up on your elbows behind you.

"You know how to address me," he says, a serpentine confidence flashing in his face, "You're a big girl, aren't you? Or do I have to teach you?"

You let out a shrill groan, head leaning back on it's hinge while your legs kick out in frustration in front of you.

"Hmm, of course," he says, getting up off the bed to pull off his shirt and slide off his sweats. His boxer briefs hug him in tight but it's there and it's missed you more than you've missed it this week, "You act like this and you don't think I should treat you like a little girl?"

You look up at him, bitten lower lip jutting out with a sheen of spit.

"So pouty, too," he coos, crawling onto the mattress between your parted thighs. He sits up on his knees, tall over your frame splayed out on the bed. He lifts one of your legs, pressing it flush against his chest so your foot rests by his ear.

"M'not pouty," you say back while his other hand reaches over your cheek with a light back before splaying over your jaw. His thumb brushes your lower lip before pressing on the dip at the center.

"Open," he instructs, you don't even think to stop yourself. You suck his thumb slow, letting your tongue lave over the length all the while. Spit fills your mouth, wet and eager, already inching at the corners of your mouth. You might as well drool. "Very good," he purrs again from the back of his throat, "Someone learned her lesson this week."

You nod, taking his wrist to steady his hand while you take more initiative with his thumb, implying what you really want.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself," he says lowly, taking his thumb from your mouth. He wipes the spit on your cheek before reaching back over to the wand, keeping your legs spread and holding thight to your thigh against his front.

Your hips shimmy when he holds the toy back in place, thumb running over the power button but not pressing down.

"Hey," he says, commanding, "Look up at me."

Your gaze snaps to his in unadulterated obedience, his distaste for even having to ask evident on his face, "You know better."

"I know better," you nod while you say it, confirming his words. "You do not ever stop looking at me," he glowers down.

"I don't ever stop looking at you," you repeat back, needy for whatever he has for you next. Your hips shimmy again, you try to stifle the whine in your throat but it comes out just the same; desperate and childish. "Oh, baby, do you need help asking for what you want?" his voice lilts, "Does daddy have to guess?" "Turn it on, please," you whisper. "Please what, princess?" he asks, voice mocking with a knowing stare, leaning down so your knee hooks over his shoulder. His chest hovers at an angle over you, chain and guitar pick dangling over your lips. "Please what?" he asks again. "Please daddy," you whine, "Please turn the toy on." "Look at those manners," he grins wickedly, "My sweet girl."

He turns it on, speed setting high with the flick of his finger. It rumbles loud, thighs already twitching while runs it back and forth over your sensitive clit. "Fuck," you gasp out, eyes rolling, "Oh my god, right there." "That's not a very nice word, sweetheart," he chastises, "What do you say?"

"S-sorr-Oh! Oh my god! Oh! -- Sorry, d--shitshitshitshit-- sorrysorrysorrysorry," you nearly cry when the cord in your belly snaps, gushing into the fabric against your core. He greedily keeps your thighs apart, watching while you come undone under him. You gulp when he doesn't take the toy away, your sensitive nerves screaming at the buzz of the vibrator. Your hips writhe and jump, trying to pull away from it all the while he's shaking his head no.

"Gotta hear that apology, princess," he murmurs, "Say sorry."

"Sorry daddy, I'm sorry," you babble out, "M'sorry I'll be so good, I'll be good." He let's out a satisfied hum, clicking the wand off and placing it gingerly on the bedside table. His hand lingers for a moment to make sure it doesn't roll off and then finds it's footing back on the mattress.

"You'll be so good?"

"So good," you nod when he settles back between your thighs. He crawls forward like a cat, pressing his hips slowly up against yours. You sigh needily when you feel the drag of his erection against you, whimpering when you see it affect him the same way. "Shit, baby," he smirks, trying not to break character while he grinds against you a second time, "Fuck." "That's not a very nice word," you tease back, looking up at him through heavy lids. "Well I'm not a very nice guy, am I?" he muses, leaning in to kiss you deeply before one hand reaches down to tug at your panties. You giggle, a sound that sends him reeling when he's in this kind of mood. "You're very nice," you whisper against his lips. "Hmm, yeah?" he growls, noses brushing while he lingers above you. He offers another roll of his hips right before he gets to work on pulling your panties down slipping them off of each ankle with ease. Undressed completely below him, he admires you. He hadn't seen you like this all week, finally getting what you've been waiting for. So patient, so willing. He runs his hands from shoulders to hips, greedy fingers digging into you rough and tumble, grabbing and kneading with disregard to comfort. "Daddy," you start, getting his attention in a voice that makes him ready to serve accordingly, "Fuck me."

A smirk splits his face, it's cute when you ask so brazenly when you're busy looking at him with those sad puppy eyes. "Please, fuck me," you reiterate while he readies himself, boxer briefs peeling off to leave him bare. Your soft gasp at the release of his cock is more of an ego trip than he expected to have, never realizing how much you truly need him like this. How you can really only get off to him, how you've submitted in every way you could. "Daddy's gonna fuck you, sweetheart," he says steadily, climbing back ontop of you, pressing your thighs to your chest, "God, m'gonna fuck you real good."

He leans in for another hungry kiss, ownership laced in his lips. When he breaks away you catch his chin in your hand, an action that makes him bristle, jaw clenching at your attempt at control.

"Fuck me like I've been bad," you request in a timbre so low he nearly melts at the sound, "Fuck me how you fuck bad girls."

He's never flipped you over so fast in your life.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

You know I need to ask about Promise Not to Fall in Love with Me. I will take anything you got cuz I'm so excited ;)

Ahh! Thank you for asking me about that one because I am really excited too 😆

That fic has definitely become a favorite! I really love the fake dating trope in general and because I loved the dynamic of the reader and Ben in Promise Not To Fall In Love With Me, I am very excited to turn it into a full blown series!

So far I have maybe 9ish chapters planned out for it, but the way the neurons in my brain are firing at the moment I feel like it could be more!

Promise Not To Fall In Love With Me

Chapter 2: The Rules

Synopsis: After Soldier Boy agrees to help you make Butcher jealous, you want to make sure that Soldier Boy understands the terms of engagement.

Just A Little Something 😉

"So, what were you grandpa talking about?" Butcher asks in his swoon worthy accent. Sweat dripped from his hairline down his cheeks and he raised a hand to wipe away the drops before they could roll down the rough contours of his face and catch in his thick beard.

The small kitchen seems to grow even smaller with his presence and the open window above the sink does little to cool down the wave of heat that travels through you at Butcher's close proximity to you.

"What?" You ask a little bit out of breath and a little squeaky. It was difficult to talk to him when he was standing so close that you could smell the hypnotic musk of his skin from working outside.

The thud of your heartbeat thunders in your ears as you scramble for some lie, anxiety bubbling in your stomach the longer you look at Butcher.

Eye contact is a bad idea. Why is he so damn handsome?

"Well-" Butcher starts again.

Ben's arm comes around your waist so fast you don't have time to wonder how he snuck up on you. He tugs you back easily against his warm chest, still wet from his shower, and presses a kiss directly under your right ear, lingering a little bit too long to be friendly. His beard scrapes against the sensitive skin of your neck while his wet hair falls forward to tickle against your ears with the movement, leaving the spicy scent of his shampoo under your nose.

"Showers free." He smirks at Butcher, before dropping his gaze to you, green eyes locking on yours and his lips pull up in a mischievous smirk. "You ready for bed doll?"

"Um-" You clear your throat, face quickly flushing with your blush, the stutter working it's way back into your voice. "I'm not really tired-"

"Good." Ben murmurs leaning closer to you, his smirk widening as his fingers begin to rub circles into your hip directly where your shirt has pulled up from your jeans. "I'm not either. Figured we could wear each other out first."

Butcher's body goes stock straight and he looks from Ben to you for some kind of explanation….

If anyone else would like to ask me about my current WIPs for WIP Folder Game please feel free! 💗

[ramp-it-up]

Sugar Shack

Sugar High| Sugar is Sweet Masterlist | Sugar, Cubed Masterlist

Summary: Thanks to Tony’s continued manipulations, it’s you and Steve and Bucky in the Maldives. And it is hot. Scientist AU

Word Count: 4.1 K

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes x Reader; Allusion to Tony x Pepper x Rhodey

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Not Beta’d. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Roommate/Co-worker au, ANGST! These three are scientists, y'all! 🤓 Employer manipulation/coercion, (Tony is an ASSHOLE) surveillance. Forced proximity/intimacy, hard talks, apologies, truths, safe word, there's only one bed, Norweigan wood and how you solve it, fingering, manual sex, polyamory, beginnings of a polycule.

A/N: I revisited Sugar and the boys from the Sugar is Sweet séries, and let me tell you. Bucky and Steve sure have grown up from their college days. This is related to the Sugar is Sweet and Sugar, Cubed au, but can be read alone. This comes after Sugar High. Likes are welcome, but I’ve worked really hard on this, so if you enjoyed it, even if you didn’t, please let me know by reblogging and commenting. 🥰

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------

You returned to New York changed.

Not healed, not whole, but hopeful.

And You and Steve walked straight into Stark’s office the Monday you got back from Tokyo, side by side.

Tony didn’t even look up from his tablet.

“We’re done,” Steve said without preamble.

“With you playing god. With the experiments. With us being your favorite fucking variables.”

Tony took a long sip of something violently green and didn’t blink.

“That’s adorable,” he said. “But also irrelevant.”

He tapped something on his tablet and slid a thick folder across the table. The label read

FELLOWS ASSIGNMENT: PHASE TWO

“Three operatives. Two weeks. One island. No oversight.”

You blinked.

“Three?”

Tony glanced up. 

“He’s already there. Got in this morning.”

You didn’t have to ask who. Steve’s jaw clenched. 

“You’re insane.”

“No,” Tony said, “I’m invested. You three were Stark’s most promising recruits. Until you decided to start fucking each other like you were on a goddamn sex carousel.”

You stiffened. Tony leaned back in his chair, all smug calculation.

“I figured, why waste good chemistry?”

“Because we’re not lab rats,” you snapped. “We’re not your experiment.”

“Sugar, everything is an experiment,” Tony said evenly.

“Especially love.”

You stared at him across the glass table. Steve’s body was a wall beside you, arms crossed, jaw clenched.

“This isn’t funny,” you said.

“Didn’t say it was,” Tony replied, not bothering to look contrite.

“But it is real.”

He tapped the tablet again, pulling up a silent video feed: aerial shots of the island, heat signatures already populating the overlay. One of them, alone, glowed steady near the main villa.

Bucky.

Your throat tightened. Steve didn’t look at the screen.

“So what happens if we say no?” Steve asked flatly.

Tony shrugged. 

“You forfeit your contracts, your stipends, and the Stark Fellows program goes down in flames with a PR nightmare I’m not particularly interested in cleaning up.”

“You wouldn’t…” you started.

“Oh, I would,” Tony said, suddenly sharp. 

“You think I don’t know what this is? You three think you’re subtle? I’ve been watching this clusterfuck brew since orientation. You’re brilliant, but you’re human. And humans make messy, complicated choices. This assignment is your last clean one.”

You flinched.

Steve stared at him coldly.

“So this is a test.”

“This is a choice,” Tony said. 

“Why are you doing this?” you asked.

Tony studied you.

“Because I’ve seen what happens when people like me just operate on feelings instead of facts. You can help me prove a point to the world. Me, Rhodey, Pepper… we tried the denial thing. It nearly destroyed us.”

He stood and circled to your side of the table. 

“So, this is the offer.”

He tapped the file.

“You get fourteen days on an island in the Indian Ocean. Doing your job: research for me. You, Blondie, and Mr. Sad Eyes. You wanna make up? Break up? Blow up? That’s your call.”

The room was quiet. Tony leaned forward.

“But let me be very clear. This is your last chance to prove you can handle what you started. Together.”

You looked at Steve. Really looked at him. His brow was furrowed. He didn’t blink. But when your eyes met, something shifted.

He nodded. Barely. Once.

You turned back to Tony. 

“We’ll go.”

Tony blinked like he’d expected it.

“Good,” he said.

“Flight leaves in six hours. Pack light. Hydrate.”

He stood, already moving toward the door.

“And don’t forget the sunscreen,” he called over his shoulder.

“Things are gonna heat up fast.”

The door hissed shut behind him and Steve exhaled slowly beside you. You stared at the silent tablet feed, the glow of Bucky’s heat signature pulsing like a heartbeat.

—--

Twenty-four hours later you and Steve touched down on the island.

The seaplane skimmed turquoise water, the sky above a blistering dome of cloudless blue that made your eyes ache even behind sunglasses.

Steve stared out the window, his clenched jaw at odds with the postcard below. 

Neither of you had spoken much since Stark’s briefing, spending six hours packing, boarding, and flying into a trap labelled research.

The dock stretched impossibly long, ending in sand as fine as sifted sugar. One modern villa rose from the shoreline, all blond wood and glass. Palm fronds rustled in a wind that smelled of salt and mango, but you felt only the stone weight of not ready.

The plane bounced once and slid to a halt. The pilot flashed a thumbs-up that you couldn’t return.

Steve moved first, grabbing both duffels. His motions were automatic, but when he glanced back, a note of apology softened his eyes. You nodded and followed him onto the dock.

Heat swallowed you whole. And there he was.

Bucky Barnes leaned against the rail, one hand around a water bottle, the other braced on wood.

His damp hair was shoved back, and he sported a shadow of stubble, an open white camp-shirt fluttering around lean muscle, and what looked like Stark swim trunks riding low. 

Blue-steel eyes, wary and hopeful, fixed on you the instant you stepped into view. He didn’t wave, and he idn’t move.

He just watched.

A drone dipped overhead, buzzing like a curious gull. Stark’s lens, taking notes. 

Steve clocked Bucky a second later. The shift in the air was small but razor-sharp. 

You kept walking.

Inside, the air was cool. There was sleek tile underfoot one long room, framed in floor-to-ceiling windows, with the ocean simmering just beyond.

A kitchen. Three bedrooms. One shared bathroom with an outdoor shower, mirrored walls, and no privacy to speak of.

A binder sat waiting on the counter, stamped in that insufferable Stark font:

PHASE TWO – INITIAL OBSERVATIONS

You ignored it. Steve didn’t.

He cracked the cover, voice flat:

“Purpose: Environmental stress calibration … Deliverables: daily logs, task-compliance footage … Hydration protocols non-negotiable.”

Page flip. His brows knotted.

"Observe specimens under stress. Test heat endurance in exposed uniform variants. Document hydration patterns. ”

“This isn’t an assignment.”

Steve's tone was sharp. 

“It’s a trap,” Bucky said from the threshold. 

He’d followed but kept to the edge of the room, shirt lifting in the breeze. The late afternoon light lit new ink over the lower sweep of his left ribs: one black glucose ring, six sharp peaks, stamped along the line of his heart.

“Hi,” his voice was quieter this time.

“Hi,” you said back, just as quiet, staring at his tattoo. 

You were frozen. That expanse of skin had been blank the last time you saw it, months and months and a thousand regrets ago.

Bucky saw the moment you noticed. He inhaled, shoulders squaring.

Steve’s gaze moved between you and Bucky. Then, slowly, he stepped forward, closing the space between the three of you. 

“Hey,” he said, voice low and even.

Bucky nodded once, jaw tense. His eyes flicked from you to Steve and back again.

“Picked it up after the lab accident,” he said, voice kept low so it wouldn’t crack.

“Needed a reminder of someone who would always be a part of me, even if a part of me was missing.”

Steve set the binder down, stepping in behind you. His palm rested lightly at your spine. Beneath his T-shirt you knew his own simple-sugar chain lay inked over his heart.

Two molecular diagrams; one research question: you.

You reached out, brushing the linen aside. Bucky’s pulse was quick, but certain.

“Blood sugar…” you whispered, eyes flicking up to his baby blues.

“That’s a statement…” your mouth turned up in a side smile.

His eyes, cautious but hopeful, softened and he smiled back down at you.

“Something I can’t live without.”

Behind you, Steve’s thumb made a silent circle against your spine as if to say: I’m here; this is right. 

The drone outside banked seaward, its buzz fading. Stark would record three elevated heart rates, but not the variable that mattered.

You drew a steady breath.

“Phase Two runs on our protocol.”

Steve nodded.

“Logs and uniforms, fine. But the methodology is peer-led.”

Bucky’s hope sharpened to resolve. 

“And peer-protected.”

The real experiment, trust rebuilt on equations of three, had already begun.

-----

The villa felt too staged to settle in. It was like a set waiting for a scene.

So you wandered. From the kitchen to the deck, the bathroom to the hallway. You brushed your fingertips along the cool teak banister.

You went past the bedrooms (only one made up with linen, the others bare mattresses) and the common room, finding a quiet hallway leading to a spa suite. It had sunken slate floors walls paneled in pale cedar and smelled like yuzu and steam.

A Japanese-style hinoki tub sat beneath an open skylight, long and deep, the wood golden and warm. Beside it was a rinse stool, a polished copper basin, and folded towels stacked neatly. Sliding doors opened to a lush private garden, lanterns flickering at the edge of the foliage.

It was beautiful, still and waiting for use.

You sighed, ignoring the silent camera-drone hovering near like a curious mosquito and avoided your reflection in the massive glass panels as you moved back to the kitchen.

Dinner was a quiet, functional exercise. You and Steve worked the kitchen; Bucky grilled. The fish was perfect, the rice fluffed perfectly.

"So," Steve said, digging into his meal, "how long have you been here?"

Bucky didn’t look up from his plate.

"Couple days."

A beat.

"Alone?" you asked.

"Obviously."

The scrape of metal on ceramic filled the silence. You sipped your wine just to keep your hands busy.

"Must’ve been nice," Steve muttered, not quite biting, but close.

Bucky’s laugh had no humor.

"Yeah. Loved the alone time. Nothing like sweating through drills while a drone drops sunscreen samples and watches you rehydrate."

You winced.

Steve pressed.

"You could’ve left."

"Could’ve," Bucky said. "Didn’t."

That shut down the conversation. You finished eating silently in the open-plan dining room, the floor-to-ceiling windows framing a perfect, burning sky.

Afterward, Bucky disappeared without a word. Steve stayed behind, rinsing dishes with too much intensity, and you grabbed a bottle of water and wandered. You walked the perimeter of the deck, watching the sun sink like an ember into the sea.

Eventually, you came back inside.

You passed Bucky in the hallway, his hair wet, a regulation tight t-shirt clinging to his shoulders, and Stark-issued grey sweatpants.

He paused like he wanted to say something. You opened your mouth to ask where he was sleeping, but he beat you to it.

"Which room did you take?"

"Didn’t," you said. "Two don’t have linens. The third’s half-made."

His brow creased, then smoothed. "Yeah."

"Is that where you slept?" you asked, remembering Bucky was terrible at hospital corners.

"No. I’ve been on the couch."

You blinked, and he shrugged, eyes unreadable.

"Didn’t feel right claiming a bed built for three."

Steve appeared in the hallway, towel slung around his neck, hair damp. He caught the end of Bucky’s sentence and tilted his head.

"Well," Steve said, voice even, "maybe it’s time we stop pretending we’re not all supposed to be here."

He was offering something, but not forcing it. You sighed and rubbed your temple. You were overstimulated and jet lagged.

"I’m exhausted. I’m taking the bed. You two can figure out the couch. Or the mattresses. Or whatever."

You disappeared into the bedroom before either of them could argue.

Inside, the cool air was a welcome shock. You peeled off your clothes and took a five minute shower. When you emerged, you changed into a soft Stark tank and shorts, brushed your teeth, and crawled under the sheets with the lights still on. 

Sleep pulled you under immediately.

—--

Jet lag didn’t forgive.

You woke sometime after midnight, overheated and disoriented, the ceiling fan ticking softly above. Padding barefoot into the common room, the tile cooled your feet. A single lamp cast a cone of gold over the couch.

Steve sat there, elbows on knees, scrolling silently through something on his phone. His profile flickered in and out of the screen’s light, showing the tension in the line of his jaw.

He looked up the moment you neared

“Hey,” he said softly.

You offered a tired smile.

“Jet lag.”

“Same.”

Through the glass doors, the deck shimmered silver under the moonlight. Out there, outlined in pale light, was Bucky. He stood barefoot, hunched over the railing, eyes lost to the ocean.

You opened the door and stepped outside. Bucky didn’t look up. You leaned beside him, watching the white curls of surf kiss the sand.

“My head’s loud,” he said, voice low.

You turned slightly.

“Talk to me.”

He hesitated.

Then, “Sometimes I think I ruin things just by wanting them too much.”

You shook your head. 

“You didn’t ruin anything. We all got scared. We made shitty choices. But we’re still here.”

The door clicked behind you. Steve stepped out with a tray, three mugs of tea steaming gently in the night air. He handed them out wordlessly, then leaned against the rail on your other side.

Bucky looked between the two of you.

“Can we try something different?”

You nodded. He lifted his cup slightly.

“One apology each. One truth. No interruptions.”

Steve blew out a breath.

“You first.”

Bucky’s voice cracked slightly. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t think I was worth loving. That I pushed you away. Pulled Steve in, then turned on both of you. I used distance like a fix. It wasn’t.”

He looked up.

“Truth? I never stopped needing either of you. As friends. As more. You’re home.”

Steve took his time. 

“I’m sorry for managing instead of trusting. For trying to contain what we were instead of facing it.”

He looked at you.

“Truth is, I’m not scared of losing you anymore. I’m scared of not trying again.”

You wrapped both hands around your cup. 

“I’m sorry I tried to love one of you, then the other, like I could separate it. Like I had to choose.”

You looked at them both.

“And the truth is…from the first day in Stark House, I wanted both of you. Still do. Not because I’m confused. Because I finally know what I need.”

Steve cleared his throat. 

“Ground rules recap: Total honesty. One safeword if things spike: ‘Fox,’ from Mount Inari.”

Bucky huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh.

“Fitting.”

You nodded. 

“And no re-litigating old guilt. We apologize once. We live differently after that.”

Bucky lifted his cup.

“Then here’s to living differently.”

Three cups clinked. Small vow, big shift.

You three finished your tea in silence and then went back into the common room. On a bookshelf was a shōgi board.

Steve noticed it first.

“You remember this? We had one in Stark House.”

Bucky went over and ran a finger over the gold general. 

“You called it a bishop and stacked them like Jenga.”

“I was concussed from a game.”

“You were drunk.”

You poured more tea before they could revive the debate, bringing one cup to Bucky, one to Steve, and kept the last for yourself.

“Truth,” Bucky said after a sip. 

“I miss how close we were in Stark House. The affection, the comfort…” 

You looked at him, then Steve.

“Okay. Ground rule Number Four,” you said. 

“No pressure. No expectations. But if we want comfort, or affection, we ask. And we trust the answer.”

Steve nodded. “Agreed.”

Bucky’s voice was quiet. “Of course.”

You reached for their hands. 

“Then come to bed.”

The master bedroom was cool again. You watched as Steve claimed one side, lying back with hands behind his head. 

You paused to let yourself feel the gravity of what you’d just said, of what you were choosing.

Bucky hovered in the doorway.

Waiting.

You reached a hand out.

“Middle’s mine. Always was.”

He smiled softly and stepped forward.

Under the covers, Bucky's thigh brushed yours and you felt the slow drag of Steve’s thumb at your wrist before he pulled away, reminding you of what you once had. But when you found their hands under the covers, you reminded them of what was there now.

Safety.

Honesty.

Hope.

And for the first time in a long time, sleep came easy.

—----

You woke slowly, warm and surrounded.

One leg was tangled with Steve’s, the other bracketed by the heavy weight of Bucky’s thick thighs. Your head rested against Steve’s chest, his steady heartbeat loud in your ear. Bucky’s arm curved loosely around your waist, palm splayed low over your stomach.

You stayed still. Drenched in warmth, in memory and in want.

Steve shifted first, breathing a half-groan into your hair. Bucky followed, hips rolling once, barely, against your ass. You felt both of them, thick with sleep-hard arousal.

There was the slow press of Steve against your belly, mirrored by Bucky’s heat at your spine. Neither of them moved with intent, just the lazy, helpless friction of sleepy bodies molded to yours.

Neither of them moved with intent, just the lazy, helpless friction of sleepy bodies molded to yours.

But then Steve’s hand found your hip. Bucky exhaled into your hair. And you knew.

They were awake.

You lifted your head.

“Hey,” you whispered.

Steve blinked his eyes open, pupils slow to adjust, mouth already parted like he’d been dreaming something filthy.

“Hi,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

Bucky’s voice came next, rough against the nape of your neck.

“Mornin’, Sugar.”

You shifted between them just enough to see both faces.

“I’m awake,” you said softly. “And I’m asking. We all need release.”

Steve’s thumb brushed your hipbone. 

“Are you sure?”

Bucky’s hand flexed at your waist. 

“We don’t have to…”

“I want to take care of us,” you said.

“Like this. Just… like this.”

That quiet paused everything. Then Steve kissed your forehead.

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Tell us what you want. Remember the safe word.”

“I do. Don’t think I’ll be using it.”

You reached for Steve first, sliding your hand beneath the covers and wrapping around him, thick and hot and already pulsing against your palm. He pulled a shuddering breath.

Bucky kissed the back of your shoulder before slipping his hand down your shorts, easing between your thighs.

You gasped.

He murmured into your skin, “Still okay?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Touch me. Please.”

And he did.

Two fingers, soft at first, stroked through slick warmth. His body curved tighter behind you, breath coming fast. You rocked against him instinctively, while your hand on Steve stroked tight and slow.

Steve cupped your jaw and kissed you, open-mouthed and aching. His other hand covered yours where it moved over his cock, guiding you harder.

Bucky groaned into your neck, one hand deep in your pussy, vibranium relentlessly rolling your nipple.

You whimpered as Bucky whispered into your skin.

“Fuck, you feel good.”

You tipped your hips for him, greedy for more. The rhythm he found was unhurried, circling, dipping, curling, until your thighs trembled. Your release crested like a tide, quiet but consuming, your cry swallowed in Steve’s kiss.

“Good girl,” Bucky whispered, still stroking you through it.

Steve’s hips jerked in your hand. 

“You’re incredible,” he gasped, “...I’m not gonna last…”

“Let go,” you told him. “Let me take care of you.”

He did, pulsing hot in your fist, forehead pressed to yours, lips parted around a groan. Then Bucky’s hand moved faster at your core, his hips rutting against the small of your back. You reached for him and found him straining against the waistband of those grey Stark sweats.

“I’ve got you too,” you whispered, and wrapped your hand around him.

He choked on your name as he came, quickly, forehead buried in your shoulder, the word hot against your skin. 

The silence after was thick with breath and the scent of sweat and skin and sex. No one rushed to speak. You were still sandwiched between them, wrecked and warm and not even remotely sorry.

Bucky kissed the crown of your head. 

“You okay?”

You nodded, utterly sincere.

“Oh, Yes.”

Steve curled a hand around your waist as Bucky went and got towels.

“I know that wasn’t slow, but we’ll take this slowly,” you whispered.

Steve chuckled, eyes closed as Bucky slipped back into bed.

“I’d ask to let me lick you clean, but if I put my mouth on you, you wouldn’t leave this bed all day,” said Steve, licking his lips.

You shivered.

“I know,” you smiled. “But we’re going slow, remember?”

“No. My smaller brain is in charge right now,” replied Steve.

You sucked your teeth.

“Okay, Mr. All-But-Dissertation.”

“My dissertation is the only thing not hard right now.”

You giggled. Something soft came from behind you.

“Defended right before the accident.”

You turned to Bucky and looked into his eyes.

“Congratulations, Dr. Barnes.”

Steve grabbed your hips as you arched into him while kissing Bucky.

“Shit, need to get to writing…” panted Steve, eyes watering with want.

You rolled your eyes at the old competitiveness.

“You two are going to ruin me."

"If you let us," came Bucky's soft reply.

You buried your face between them and let yourself be held.

Happy.

No shame. No guilt.

Just three hearts, still beating.

—--

Your workday started with a ping.

Actually, six.

Your Stark tablet lit up in quick succession:

07:12 – TONY STARK @ STARK HQ

➤ Hope you stretched. ➤ Daily sync in Lab 3 at 08:00. Bring your brain. Bonus points if it’s caffeinated. ➤ Don’t blow anything up before I log on. No promises? Thought so. ➤ Also: I need baseline biometrics. Check the drone. Surprise! ➤ Also also: how’s my favorite emotionally repressed trio? Sleep okay?

You blinked at the last message.

The audacity. The accuracy.

Honestly, it was starting to feel like surveillance kink.

There was no use pretending he didn’t know. You could smash your tablet against the wall and it would still beep with his next message before you swept the shards.

You crawled out of bed quietly. Steve was starfished and blissed out on one side. Bucky was curled around a pillow on the other. Both were snoring. 

It was obscene how peaceful they looked after the way they'd wrecked you this morning, Steve’s mouth at your throat, Bucky’s hand between your thighs, both voices in your ear.

“Does Stark sleep?” you muttered, sliding off the mattress and padding barefoot toward the en suite.

“No,” Steve grumbled after you, blinking blearily. Bucky muttered something foul and buried his face in the pillow. 

“He recharges through chaos.”

The villa’s open-plan kitchen was quiet as you sipped water and tapped through Tony’s messages, scrolling past three new data requests, a flagged "URGENT" note about hydration tracking, and an image attachment of what looked like… a flying beetle?

You narrowed your eyes.

“Wait a damn minute…”

Right on cue, the sleek black insectoid drone hovering in the corner of the room emitted a cheerful little chirp. Its LED eye winked red, then green, like it was proud of itself. This was a different, smaller drone from last night.

“Tony,” you said aloud, already dreading the answer.

The tablet pinged again.

➤ Meet B.E.T.S.Y. 3.0! Bio-Energy Telemetry Surveillance Yielder. Isn’t she cute? ➤ She’s been recording vitals and environmental data since Bucky landed. She’s also motion-synced to detect stress patterns. You’re welcome. ➤ Oh, and I blurred the nudity. Mostly. Scout’s honor.

You squinted at the drone, wondering if it had hovered outside the bedroom earlier. Steve came and leaned on the counter beside you.

“Is that what blinked at me in the outdoor shower yesterday?”

Two more pings lit up.

➤ FYI: I need data on hormone shifts across shared poly-cortisol dynamics, so you, Barnes, and Rogers need to wear biometric rings all week. Try not to break them during any… recreational entanglements. ➤ Also, the midnight balcony reconciliation? Very touching. Genuinely. Might enter it in the next Stark Industries leadership retreat video. Keep it up,team.

You poured yourself a glass of water, resisting the urge to chuck the tablet into the surf.

Footsteps approached. Bucky padded in shirtless, his hair damp, sweatpants slung low on his hips, already scowling. 

“Why was that thing watching me stretch?”

Steve didn’t look up from peeling a banana. 

“Tony says she’s tracking muscle fatigue.”

Bucky pointed at the blinking orb. 

“She just tried to follow me into the bathroom.”

You took a long sip of water and smirked. The three of you stood in silence, staring at the drone.

It chirped. Then Steve spoke.

“So… group mission to neutralize B.E.T.S.Y.?”

You picked up the tablet again, swiped over to the diagnostics interface, and smiled. 

“Already halfway there.”

And in New York, Tony Stark sat on his balcony, sipping espresso and smirking as he watched the biometric vitals of his three most chaotic proteges spike in sync.

“God, I love science.”

——

Feedback is life! 😁

[wlntrsldler]

I just got thinking, even though five star gets hate after she and luke go public, she'll probably also gain a few stans. they will search the internet top to bottom to find content. theres def some luke fans who r like "forget luke i want HER" and it would be so funny to see luke have to deal with his own fans simping for his gf LMFAO

“woah, pause,” luke spoke into the mic, squinting to read the sign that a fan was holding up. he turned to his band mates, cracking a smile, “do y’all see that?”

luke walked to the edge of the stage, chuckling into the mic as he wrapped the mic cord around his first. “someone has a sign that says, ‘luke tell y/n that she can hit me with her field hockey stick any day.’ that is wild bro.”

“that’s so fucking funny,” connor snorted, motioning for the crew to toss him luke’s phone. he walked over to luke and handed him his phone and luke was quick to take a picture to send to you later.

“guys,” luke whined playfully. “you’re at a poisoned mercury show! pay attention to me!”

“your girlfriend is hot!” the fan shouted, beaming at the camera that was pointed at her now. “forget luke, i want y/n!”

“you’re hurting my feelings here,” luke placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. his face said something different, though. he was beaming from ear to ear, eyes twinkling in fondness as his fans fawned over you. “i can’t argue with you there. my girlfriend is really hot, but haha, she’s mine. sorry.”

luke stuck his tongue out before returning to his spot on the stage, “speaking of my girlfriend, this next song cupid’s chokehold.”

after the show, he texted you the picture of the fan’s sign, which made you laugh uncontrollably. and when luke’s fyp was bombarded with edits of you after the fan encounter, he wasn’t going to complain.

bonus:

luke’s comments on tiktok edits of five star:

“@ ? plsplspls”

“i think i just fell in love again”

“aaanddd straight to my favorites folder it goes”

“if i said what i wanted to say about her i would be put on an fbi watchlist”

“gah damn”

“🧎🏻‍♂️🧎🏻‍♂️🧎🏻‍♂️”

[trendywaifus]

Hello mako! This is for the weekly request, ZZZ. May I request reader trying to find out Qingyi's favourite tea, please?? With how much she likes teasing and pranks I'm sure she wouldn't say easily. Thaaanks!

hihi amu! i don’t know too much about qingyi since I sadly skipped her for zhu yuan. lemme know if I got things wrong !

“ captain zhu yuan, is this qingyi’s cup, right? “

you asked, walking into the break room, pointing down at the seemingly hot cup of tea. it looked bit darker than usual. well, a little too dark to be straight tea. zhu yuan gives you a confusing look as she puts some of her gear in her locker. “ yes it is, qingyi left for a bit—wh-what are you doing?! “

with nimble fingers, you take it upon yourself to bring the cup of “tea” to your lips and sipped on it.

“ bleh! “ you abruptly spit out the contents of the cup at the sudden bitter taste of black coffee. “ what the fu—excuse my professionalism, but why in the hell would she ever drink black coffee? does she even drink— oh. .wow. “

qingyi probably left this there unattended for someone like you to come along and drink it. like, has she ever left her precious tea sitting alone? why couldn’t she be normal and tell you her favorite tea? that damn geezer.

“ qingyi. “ you sat down besides the android 5 minutes before a special squad meeting. she hums, blowing steam away from her fresh, hot cup of tea.

“ yes? “

“ hurry, tell me what tea you’re drinking right now. “

she sighs, casually taking a long sip of her tea. “ why? do you want a cup? “

“ you—no, i don’t want a cup, i just want to know what kind of tea you’re drinking! “ you nearly whined, pouting.

“ how demanding. if you really want to know, young one, it’s green tea. “

“ but, is it your favorite though? “

zhu yuan walks into the room with a few folders tucked under her arms. your brow twitch with annoyance as qingyi takes her sweet time with answering your question. she hums thoughtfully, taking a another sip from her tea. “ qingyi, stop stalling and tell me—“

“ okay everyone, it’s almost time to start the meeting. “

“ DAMN IT! “ you shouted out of impulse and the room goes quiet, perplexed and amused stares locking onto you. embrassment swells in your belly and you sink into the chair.

“ and she’s not even telling me! she’s constantly ducking and dodging my questions, deliberately leaves her cups of “tea” behind, and then teases me like “ it is best to wait for an answer before demanding it, you youngsters are always so impatient nowadays. what if I can’t recall my favorite brand of tea? i’m quite old you know. “ you imitated her mannerisms to seth and sighed irritably.

“ erm, have you tried sitting down and drink tea with her to find out? “

“. . . “

“ hm, finally changed your approach? “ qingyi asks, a sliver of smugness in her voice as she prepares a pot of tea for you and her. you sighed with defeat, sitting back into the chair. “ yes. i’ve been impatient anyways right? i’ll wait for an answer over a cup of tea with you. “

she chuckles, pouring the pot’s contents into two separate cups and gently slide one towards you. “ pleasant to see you take heed to my advice for once. “

you open your mouth to throw a remark at her before closing it with a grumble. “ whatever. . “ she gently slides the cup to you. with a lingering gaze, you watch as qingyi blow away the steam from her cup and take a small sip. “ hot water cures impurities and is a remedy for many things humans get sick with. “

raising a brow, you avert your gaze down to the steaming cup of. .tea? its contents was clear as can be, making you question about what type of tea she brewed up. you hesitantly grab ahold of the cup and tipped it to your lips. you jump 2 feet into the air from your seat as the scorching water burns your poor tongue.

“ o-ouch! th-this is pure hot water! not tea! “

“ ding ding. “

[soubeomies]

P1HARMONY AND THEIR FAVORITE WAYS TO TAKE PICTURES OF/WITH YOU !

pairing ; p1harmony x gn!reader

genre ; fluff

warning ; none me thinks

a/n ; my last bonedo post flopped so bad let me go cry

최태양 〰 THEO

absolutely LOVES taking pictures with you in the mirror. have you seen the amount of mirror selfies he has posted? his right hand man is literally a mirror at this rate! he would probably have you stand next to him in the mirror while the two of you are ready to go on a romantic dinner date!!! he would def post it on his ig story with something like “dinner date with loser !!” (¬`‸´¬)

윤기호 〰 KEEHO

can and will take 0.5 pictures of you. he always snaps 0.5 pictures of you when you least expect it! you would be in line waiting to get food, or pay for something and he’d just sneak up and snap a 0.5 picture of you. he definitely has a whole entire folder in his photos app just full of your 0.5 pictures hehe >//<

최지웅 〰 JIUNG

he would probably wanna take those “couple” pictures. like a silhouette of you two at night! your relationship would be like private but not secret. he would also post this on his ig story or feed with something like “the stars they dont shine as bright as you” cause in reality hes just deathly inlove with you and wants to document his life with you with these pictures he always wants to take!

황인탁 〰 INTAK

have you all seen that one picture of him and jongseob brushing his teeth? yeah. i feel like he would creep up and snap a picture of either you or the two of you. he also would probably love taking pictures of the two of you together just to show off to the world whats his!! he would take those pictures where you stand infront of a mirror and kiss eachother with the phone covering your faces!!! like lowkey suggestive pics i guess???? hes defo super lovey dovey though ૮₍˶ ╥ ‸ ╥ ⑅₎ა

白翔太 〰 SOUL

would take pictures of you randomly. you could be eating, and you hear him snap a picture of you. in most of these pictures, you would either have your eyes closed or have an ugly expression on your face ( your words not his! ) though he still thinks you’re the most beautiful girl in this world!!! though if you actually felt uncomfortable with these so called “ugly” pictures of you, he would delete them just so you feel better about yourself! he always tries to prioritise your comfort!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

김종섭 〰 JONGSEOB

he would most definitely take the prettiest pictures ever. if he saw a scenery that looked good, he would call you over "hey y/n! you should stand there and pose, i feel like it'd look good!" and snap a pic. hes not as good as keeho when it comes to taking pictures, but hes been learning from him!! so all the pictures he takes goes straight to your ig feed because of how pretty he makes you look with the angles and stuff hehfdkjfakdfs (˶˃⤙˂˶)

[dovahhmonn]

'O how the favorite has fallen.'

‼️TW ; manipulation, physical abuse

Two months post Amelia capture;

Fluorescent light overhead hums like the static that clouded her mind, his office smells the same as it always did—like patchouli and sandalwood oil, old paper and a hint of antiseptic. Kane stands rigid in the doorway. She’s been “Mouse” for so long that the name Kane still feels like a punishment, like an insult wearing a badge.

He’s back. Two months on “medical leave.” No one knew what had happened. Rumors spread through the compound like disease. 

None of it mattered.

He was here now, sitting behind his desk, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He seemed thinner and sharper than before, his eyes were dull and cold.

“Come in,” he says, his voice even. “And close the door.”

Kane steps forward and shuts the door with a gloved hand. Her shoulders are squared. Her boots squeak against the floor. She keeps her chin high. Even now—especially now—she won’t kneel.

“You know why you’re here?”

She doesn’t answer. Her mouth is set in a straight line under the balaclava. Her arms stay stiff at her sides, eyes burning through the side of his head.

He doesn’t look up at first, flipping through reports like he’s trying to find an excuse not to meet her gaze. The silence stretches until it trembles.

Finally, he tosses the report down, hard. “Amelia.” The name is spit like a curse. “Captured...but just barely and might I add…not by you. Dozens of Reagents…No hundreds—gone. Perry—dead.”

Kane doesn’t flinch at the list. But the last name—Perry—grinds against her ribs. She should have been the one to catch Amelia. She should have earned Easterman’s forgiveness, made him look at her again like he used to. 

“I didn’t fail,” she says, low. “I was actively searching for her. I wasn’t—”

“You were supposed to be watching everything,” he snaps. “My eyes. My ears. My knife in the dark.”

“You were gone.”

He stands so fast the chair behind him shrieks across the tile. “And I expected competency in my absence. Not whatever…bond you developed with my secretary.”

Kane flinches at that, and her fists clench. “It was nothing. She’s—”

“Don’t insult me.”

He circles the desk slowly, calmly, like a predator. “You were loyal once. You understood what we were building. The sanctity of order. The role you played. Now?” He stops just in front of her.

“You’ve grown too emotional. Unreliable. Weak.”

Her eyes burn. “I didn’t disobey you.”

“No,” he says, voice dropping. “But you disappointed me again. That’s worse.” Easterman strikes her—a sudden, open-handed slap across the face that knocks her a step sideways. She doesn’t fall, she doesn’t yell, she just breathes harder through her nose, eyes wide.

“I should dismantle you right here,” he mutters, voice cracking at the edges of restraint. “But I don't want to deal with the mess.”

He turns his back to her and walks to a drawer, unlocking it. She watches, chest rising and falling. The folder he dropped on the desk had bold crimson letters stamped onto a tan background; EX-POP.

“You’ll be released into the Experimental Population.”

Her vision goes red as she pulls her balaclava down to expose her face. “No.”

“You will be stripped of your designation. Your weapons. Your status. You’ll run and bleed and beg just like the rest of them.”

“You can’t—”

“You were my chosen. And you spat in my face.”

She lunges forward, a gloved hand grabbing his shirt sleeve. “Please. I can still fix this. Let me prove it—one more chance, I’ll—”

He jerks free, shoving her hard against the wall. “You had your chance. Unfortunately for me, you had multiple chances and you FAILED me at every turn.” 

“Perhaps I was too…tender with you.” The door opens and two guards step in, stone-faced. Kane hears them but her eyes stay locked on Easterman.

“No—” she snarls, twisting in the guards’ grip as they seize her arms. “Don’t do this, please—Hendrick—Doctor—I can still be good, I—”

He says nothing.

Her voice fractures into something hollow, something feral. “Don’t send me down there—they’re nothing—I’m not like them! I did everything for you.”

"You did it for yourself, to stay close to me." He watches her like a stranger, unflinching in the face of her outburst.

“I LOVE YOU!"

Her voice cracks as the guards drag her from the room. Her boots scrape the floor. Her balaclava is askew, one glove tears free from her hand as she claws at the door frame.

“Please!! Doctor!!”

The door slams shut behind them and Dr. Easterman exhales. He adjusts his sleeves, picks up the next report and he never looks back.

[mintwithchoco]

ey minch, as resident yejer fan, would you kindly rate each song on yejer’s solo album and also give reasoning too okay pls n thenk n lob u <3

atey ate sides 🛑

get ready for a yap of a lifetime (also sorry for the delay i got busy)

air - 1000000/10

ABSOLUTE PEAK. at first, i had some doubts over it since i expected her debut to be something similar to crown on my head. but i'm glad i doubted it, because i was blown away by how well the song fits for her. such a unique concept too for a debut, and it really solidifies yeji's character as the JYP's secret weapon, being able to put her versatility into show rather than just sticking with the meta. as for the song, it's got everything that you need: synth dance pop, an addictive chorus, yeji's strong vocals, an angelic bridge, the last chorus that hits you like a fucking truck and sends you straight to heaven AND A FUCKING OUTRO???? yeji be giving us a whole buffet to work with! i fucking love the aesthetic of the mv as well, it's wacky, but at the same time, it's beautiful in a way once you think about it, considering as yeji said, this is inspired by the movie "The Red Shoes" and her passion for dancing, so it makes you appreciate it more. all in all, a worth and perfect track as the title, really pulls you in for the rest of the album and of course, takes your breath away.

invasion - 9/10

if you're already impressed by her vocals in air, then this song will make you ascend. HOOOOOOLY SHIT did she bodied this whole track. them breathy vocals AUGHHHH so good. from the album spoiler alone, i know that i'm gonna love this song so much, and i was goddamn right. the lyrics are so well written too. i think this song shows yeji's character the best, the way she's willing to break boundaries and discover herself to become the powerful idol that she is today. overall, a song that will fill you up in the best way possible. literally.

can't slow me, no - 8.5/10

to describe this song in one word, it would be; itzy. this literally sounds like the producers just took a draft out of the itzy folder and slapped it into this album. not that i'm complaining though, it's a great song, like it's an homage to her team of some sort, very energetic and shows much more of the girl crush side of yeji (that we're used to) and also the rap goes pretty hard. i can imagine how hardcore the choreo for this would be. but yeah, if you like not shy, then this song is for you.

258 - 12/10

hands down, my favorite b-side of the album. it's such a beautiful song, makes you feel warm and comfort, but it's also has such an energetic vibe that you'll just dance it out randomly. more emphasis on her vocals, she sounds sooooo good, especially with line "Put your loving on me night and daAaAAaY 258" that shit got me wet fam like bruh but seriously, this song is the perfect outro to the album, ending it with some sort appreciation for us. it's a love song yeah, but i take it as a song dedicated for her fanbase. if you know yeji enough, she's always so appreciative and thankful, like she never leaves an insta live without a hug LMAO so yeah, as a person who has supported her from the very beginning, this song certainly has a special place in my heart.

thankies for the opportunity to let me yap about my wife sheap! :D

[autobot2001]

The Edge of the Abyss

Author: Autobot2001 Henre: Fanfiction Fandom: NBC's Hannibal Rating: G Warning: None pairing: None Description: Jamie forces herself to stay awake until she collapses. Hannibal discovers she hasn't eaten and helps her.

Day 6; @feveruary: spoon-feeding @febuwhump: forced to stay awake @fluffyfebruary: collapse @fluffbruary: gregarious

Ao3 or under the cut

Jamie is known for working hard on cases. Her boss, Jack Crawford, co-worker, friend Will Graham, and friend Hannibal Lecter worry about her. Jamie has been forcing herself to stay awake for three days straight. The current serial killer has her on edge. This time, the killer is leaving messages around the bodies. This is your fault. More will die, and you'll be the one to blame. Jamie sits at her desk and reads the notes over and over. Although all that's known about these notes is that the killer is leaving them on the bodies, Jamie feels like she knows who the killer is just by the notes. Jamie knows it's not enough to convince Will or Jack. Jamie has been reviewing the case reports and evidence, hoping to find something else to argue that she knows the killer. Will watches from the doorway. He can tell he won't be able to convince Jamie to go home and take care of herself.

By five, Jamie puts everything back in the folder and puts the folder in her bag to go over again. When she gets home, she puts on her black trench coat and carries the bag over her shoulders.

"I don't know what we're going to do with her," Will tells Hannibal as they stand in the lobby. "I swear we're friends with the most stubborn human ever." "That's certainly exaggerating, but she is stubborn." The two watch their smaller friend walk down the hall towards them. They can tell she's exhausted and suspect she hasn't been eating. Their worry turns into horror as she collapses on the floor. "Jamie!" Will yells as the two run towards her.

"She's ok," Hannibal assures his worried friend. "The lack of sleep caught up to her." The two watch Jamie wake up and help her sit up. "What do we do?" Will asks. "I'll take her to my house," Hannibal says. He goes into Jamie's bag and pulls out the folder. "Here, put this back in her desk." Will nods as he takes the folder. "Come on, Jamie, you're coming home with me." "I'm fine." "Of course, you'll say you're fine," Hannibal sighs. He picks the smaller woman up and carries her to the parking lot. He knows how tired Jamie is due to the lack of protest from her.

Hannibal puts Jamie in the passenger seat and buckles her in before getting in the driver's seat. He then pulls out of the parking lot and drives to his house, wondering if Jamie will fall asleep. At red lights, Hannibal looks over at Jamie and sees she's fighting sleep. He sighs, frustrated. He continues to drive home. The drive is quiet.

Once Hannibal pulls into the driveway, he exits the car and carries Jamie into the house.

Hannibal lays Jamie on the couch, seeing how exhausted she is. He sighs and goes into the kitchen. Jamie doesn't move from the couch, but she's unhappy about what her friends did. Laying on the couch is making it difficult for her to stay awake.

While Hannibal is a gregarious man, this is not what he has in mind to get Jamie to his house. He'd rather have told her he had a nice dinner planned. Hannibal leans on the counter, thinking about what to make for dinner. He decides to make soup. While he's preparing the ingredients, Hannibal hopes Jamie fell asleep and will have a little nap before dinner.

An hour later, the chicken noodle soup. Hannibal knows it's one of Jamie's favorites. He gets a bowl for her and brings it to the living room.

Hannibal frowns, seeing Jamie still fighting sleep. He puts the bowl on the coffee table and sits her up. Hannibal is concerned with Jamie's exhaustion, but he wants her to eat before she falls asleep. "I made soup," Hannibal says. Jamie doesn't respond. "You're going to make me feed you, aren't you?" Hannibal was hoping for some reaction. Even if Jamie is trying to trick him into feeding her, she doesn't react. He sits on the couch and spoon-feeds her to her soup. After Jamie finishes the soup, Hannibal carries her to the guest bedroom across from his room and lays her in bed.

"You need to stop staying awake for days," Hannibal scolds. "I don't want that to be why I have to take care of you." Jamie doesn't react. "Now get some sleep." Hannibal leaves the room and calls Will.

"Hello, Hannibal," Will answers. "Hello, Will. I know you worry about our stubborn friend. She's definitely exhausted and hopefully will now sleep." "Good. I hope she stops doing this." "So do I. She was exhausted to the point where I had to get her, and no, she didn't trick me. I'd rather that was her sneaky plan." "She's dedicated to her work, but this case seems to consume her. I don't understand why." "Neither do I. We know she won't talk to us, but something about this case troubles her." The two know they won't get answers, and that bothers them.

[cashandprizes]

This Wretched Heart

Hello friends. Remember how I said I wrote prissy smut checks notes over a year ago for @autisticempathydaemon's birthday? They literally reminded me today that you know, that WIP still exists in my barren drive folder.

Honestly, I wanted to rewrite this when I came up with the headcanon that Christian lost one of his legs during Inversion, but I had already written this and the spark was gone (and I was about to spend two months being cyberstalked and getting a peace order) soooo... it kind of rotted. And then Erik went and gave more Alexis information (like that blasted last name), and really I just forgot about it.

But - we will unearth it tonight. Enjoy four thousand words of some antiquated Alexis/Christian fucking nasty after some kind of charity auction or something.

Credit to @/cafekitsune for the banner

CW: NOT SAFE FOR TUMBLR/MINORS; all of this is built on Lexi's Prissy fics which you can and should be reading on their blog, yes they're mates; light jealousy (in a tasteful, sexy way); body worship; Christian has a tongue piercing thank you @mr-laveau for that one; cunnilingus; Lexi and I take prissy eye contact seriously; overstimulation; squirting; implied d/s dynamics but they're both switches; breeding kink; implied knotting

"Sometimes I can't believe I'm the only one who gets to see you like this," Christian whispers, bending over and brushing his mouth across his girl's knuckles. Alexis shivers under his attention and it goes straight to his head. The infamous Solaire princess, the ice queen, melting from his affections is a heady thing, and Christian plans to be drunk on it by the end of the night.

"You're so beautiful like this." Her pale skin is flushed rosy, her breath is quick little inhale-exhales, her fangs are digging into a full lower lip, and Christian is so terribly starved for her it almost hurts. He drops to his knees from where he'd pressed her against the door and kissed her senseless, and leans in to press a delicate kiss to the silk covering her knee.

Alexis is still dressed to kill, looking effortlessly elegant in six-inch heels and a floor-length sheath dress in the shade of midnight. Formal events have never been her favorite but she would never tarnish the illustrious reputation of the Solaire Clan by looking anything other than her best. Sixty-plus years of polite society have sharpened her manners for boring charity auctions like the one she'd attended tonight with Christian trailing behind her, far out of his element.

He still feels out of his element but in a different sort of way, staring up at the ethereal picture his girlfriend, his mate, makes in their shared space. Her dark, inky hair falls down her back, released from an extravagant style under the wrath of his hands pulling her even closer. Christian longs to wrap his fingers through her hair again, weaving long stands between his finger to pull her in for another heated kiss, but settles himself knowing that he has the rest of the night. 

The night is theirs, now, no longer occupied with useless niceties and whispers, always whispers. Christian is never sure if some vampires are extraordinarily petty or just stupid for turning to each other and prattling on in front of two beings with superhuman senses. Alexis never reacts, the poise of a born socialite schooling her delicate features - but the comments make Christian heat until his skin flushes with anger. First, it had been the jabs and quips about her cold and cruel nature, but now it seems everyone has something to say about her smile and beauty. Christian has always known she was beautiful from the moment he saw her staring blankly at a wall. But now everyone is noticing, commenting on the height of her cheekbones or her unmarred decolletage.

But now, they’re alone and his jealousy turns from churning rage to molten lust. Her eyes meet his and he allows a moment to just drink her in. Alexis Solaire is a damned vision in a floor-length midnight black gown, her pale skin on display from the plunging v-neck and a high slit up to her left hip. Her hands dangle by her sides, long fingers decorated in gold rings that she mindlessly twists ending in glossy nails the color of blood. Christian drags in a heavy breath and swallows as his large, calloused palms part the split in fabric to glide up her bare calf. He cups the back of her knee and gently tugs until he can brush his lips across her shin. Her next exhale is audible, her crimson lips parted as her eyes follow the sensual path his fingers make down her ankle to grasp the back of her foot and tug off the black stiletto. He tosses it over his shoulder with a smirk and bends down to press a kiss to the smooth, unblemished skin of her ankle. 

"Don't just go throwing those around, I like them," she chastises, her admonishing words disrupted by the fondness in her tone. Christian only smirks, meeting her eyes as he presses another kiss to her knee. He drags his thumbs across the bottoms of her foot, digging into the arch as she lets out a surprised moan. Her pleasure is palpable; he knew she wasn't comfortable wearing those death traps; her eyes slide shut and she relaxes against the door with each second of his impromptu massage.

Content with his work, he sets her foot on the ground and pushes her dress aside to reach for the other, sliding off her shoe and massaging away the soreness. His girl, his mate, slides a manicured hand into his hair and drags glossy nails across his scalp and behind his ears in gratitude. He sets down her other foot and can't help the love drunk smile on his face as he remembers just how lucky he is to be the one worshiping ice princess Alexis Solaire tonight.

"Nobody could keep their eyes off you tonight," Christian whispers, jealous and possessive as he trails kisses starting at her knee up her exposed thigh. "And all I could think is that they didn't have a clue. As if you haven't been beautiful this entire time, and only now they bother to notice." His voice grows deeper and Alexis meets the hungry look in his eyes with her own. He drags his nose across her heated skin and nips the inside of her thigh just because he can. "It's alright," he says conversationally, spreading his knees and bracing one hand against the wall behind her body while the other gently gathers the skirt of her dress in his fist.

"I got to you first, petal. They can look, but I'm the only one touching you tonight." And with that, he presses a wet kiss to the center of her delicate lace panties and grins while Alexis trembles.

Every kiss against her skin is like sweet damnation, molten lava burning her into oblivion. Christian is patient in a way he so rarely gets, determined to spend all the time in the world worshiping every inch of her body until he's quite satisfied. Despite being completely naked and spread out on their bed, Christian covers her body in breathy, open-mouthed pressed of his lips and tongue everywhere except where she needs him most. It's almost torturous, the way he says "not yet, petal" and "let me show you how much I need you" while she continues to soak the sheets beneath them.

"Cher, please," she whines, arching as he mouths and nips at her rib cage. 

"Please what, petal?" Christian is most definitely smirking into her skin, but she's too desperate to be upset with him.

"Quit teasing me," Alexis huffs, fisting a hand in his hair and tugging until her eyes meet his. "I've been wound up since you cornered me in the car, and I haven't forgotten your little stunt with the foot massage. Get your ass up here and do something about it."

Christian laughs, low and gruff into her skin and she can't stop herself from smiling back at him like the lovesick fool she is. "I'm pretty sure I'm doing something about it. Maybe you need to be more specific about what you want?" His voice and his eyes are dark, full of lust and want and desire as his hands glide up her thighs and part her legs. "Do you want me… here?" His thumbs ghost across the apex of her thighs and she moans. "Do you want my fingers, petal? Or do you want my mouth?"

"I think I've more than earned both, don't you think," Alexis sasses, guiding his head lower until his heavy breaths hover over her pubic bone.

"Mmmm, yes ma'am," Christian replies, pulling away just to slide off the bed and onto his knees. Before Alexis can complain, he grabs onto her hips and tugs her to the edge of the mattress, staring at where she's slick and leaking for him. He fits himself between her thighs and starts a slow grind of his cock slowly against the bedframe.

Alexis Solaire is glad for the suppression of her Sonal core when she cries out as Christian leans in and licks across her folds; because no one else should hear her shameful, wanton noises and she’d like to keep her boyfriend in top condition. He moans in response, wrapping his arms around her thighs and pulling her closer until his face is entirely buried in her pussy. "Fuck, you always taste so fucking good," Christian groans, dipping his tongue inside and guzzling her like a man starved. She can only bury her hands in his hair and hold on tight as he tucks into her with a feral, voracious appetite that sends her reeling.

The brush of his piercing rubbing against the hood of her clit has her whining and when he sucks her into his mouth and hums she whimpers. Time has given them plenty of opportunities to learn each other's bodies and Christian has always been a dedicated student in the subject of one Alexis Solaire. He knows just when to add a finger and how to crook them to make her arch up into his waiting mouth. He knows that she scratches down his back when he spreads her on his fingers and works his tongue inside her. Christian knows that when she starts getting loud and then gets quiet, to suck her clit and pump his fingers hard to make her come so hard her eyes roll back. And he knows that the only time she enjoys overstimulation is when his head is between her legs throwing her over the edge.

"God, don't stop," Alexis pleads, rocking her hips in shallow motions to ride his face. Christian heaves a deep breath through his mouth and wraps his tongue around her clit, using the small metal piercing to rub the underside just the way she likes until she's squirming. He slides two fingers through her folds, gentle enough to tease, and pushes them in fast with a wet squish that makes him growl. She's so wet, dripping on his fingers and her face, and the knowledge that it's just for him makes him burn. It makes his cock throb hard where it’s leaking against the box spring unattended. He works his fingers with practice, hard thrusts with his fingers curled until she- "Christian, Christian, I'm so close."

"Come on my face, petal," he growls, looking up from his divine feast on her flesh and watching her eyes struggle to stay open. "Show me how good your mate makes you feel." Alexis gasps for air, nails biting into his scalp before she goes silent but her body sings. Her eyes roll back and she clenches in hard, arrhythmic movements around his fingers. It isn't the first time he's made her come like this and it won't be the last, but Christian drinks up her pleasure like a starving concubi, feeling his cock pulse and leak without stimulation. Her pale skin is flushed red and her breath catches in her chest and she looks so divine he is almost blinded. Watching his stoic silver princess fall apart in the safety he provides fills his wretched heart with an emotion stronger than words like love, affection, or adoration could ever evoke.

“You’re the most brilliant star I’ve ever seen, much less been able to touch,” Christian praises, peppering chaste kisses across her hip bone. Alexis makes a noise somewhere between incredulous and amused but softened by the wake of her orgasm. “Every time I look at you, I can’t believe I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.” He scrapes his teeth across her skin, light nips that make the woman beneath him sigh. “That you would trust me with your body,” a kiss to her inner thigh, “with your pleasure,” another kiss at the apex of her thighs, “with your heart.” She whines and throws an arm over her eyes, squirming from the fingers still inside her and the devotion of the man before her.

“Don’t hide from me petal,” Christian demands, sucking a messy, biting kiss into the tender skin of her inner thigh. “Give me all of you. I want everything.” Alexis lifts her arms and peeks at him with wide eyes, blown-out pupils with only a thin ring of silver visible. “That’s it, petal. Watch me devour you just like this.” And he does, rewarding her hazy eye contact with a purposeful, wet slurp around her fingers.

“Christian,” she moans with fluttering eyelids, blood-red nails dragging down his neck and leaving thin red scratches in their wake. He’s growling before he can stop himself, starting deep in his chest and spilling past his lips in a way that only makes her moan again. Listening to her lose herself in the feelings of his mouth goes straight to his head, inflating his ego even further. He can’t help crushing his cock between his stomach and the box spring, humping his hips hard just for some relief. The sensation of Alexis’s ecstasy fills his head with white noise, blocking out conscious thought until he’s all instinct.

He can feel her thighs closing in around his head, squeezing his skull tight and stealing the air from his lungs. Christian gasps hard and loud through his mouth and grabs a fistful of her ass in either hand before diving back down until his tongue is buried inside her. He uses his grip to help her rock against his mouth, spearing herself on his tongue again and again.

“God, Cher-” a whimper with a full-body shudder steals the words and breath from Alexis’s lips, but Christian has spent long enough studying her to know exactly what she wasn’t able to say with his tongue roughly lapping up every drop of nectar with a need that borders on feral. Don’t stop is what she means, I need you is what she would have moaned. He looks up from his feast to meet her eyes with a deliberate and slow slide of his tongue through her folds up to the hood of her clit.

“I love you,” Christian says the words she couldn’t in a gentle breath, feeling her reciprocation in the way her hand smooths up his neck and nails scratch behind his ears. “I love you more than anything, Alexis Solaire.” He releases one hand from her ass and brings it to drag through her folds and gather the wetness there while his mouth is otherwise occupied. Her long eyelashes flutter against the roundness of her cheek as he slides two fingers into her heat. “Look at me, petal,” he demands, hooking his fingers and massaging hard against the front wall of her pussy. 

The feeling of her squeezing his fingers sends his brain into overdrive and his cock shudders, likely almost purple from the lack of release. Christian is consumed with images of pinning her to the bed with her ankles by her ears. He knows how well she takes him, how she blooms like the most precious flower around him. It would be so easy to slide his cock through her folds and fuck into her tight heat, to make them both come until they’re a panting, tangled, weak-limbed heap. But they have all day together and he plans to thoroughly eat his mate until she gushes.

His determination to make her come again rekindled with the knowledge that he’s going to have her every which way until they pass out, he ignores his neglected cock a little longer. “Watch me take you apart.” He fights not to close his eyes and lose himself in the sweet taste and smell of his mate’s delicious pussy, but Christian manages it with the knowledge that nothing makes the ice princess under him writhe like prolonged eye contact.

And writhe she does, bucking her hips hard enough to almost dislodge his fingers. Her pleasure is unrestrained and delectable on his tongue. Every mouthful of her on his tongue lights his nerves on fire and leaves his core singing for her and only her. Alexis swells and drips right into his mouth and Christian is unashamed to say he’s an addict. He is a mere supplicant at the altar of her divine and resplendent presence, happy to worship and consume her until his last breath. The way he suckles at her clit is a sacred ritual, the flicks of his tongue against the underside a salvational act for his soul. 

His fingers drill the tender spot inside her until she’s clawing at the sheets and burying her face into a pillow. “God, cher, it’s-,” she interrupts herself with a muffled yelp, one knee hooking around the back of his neck and holding him tight against her mound. “Christian. Christian, I’m gonna-” her nails cut into his shoulder hard enough to draw blood and each point of contact is electric. “If you don’t- god if you don’t stop I’ll-” she clenches hard around his fingers, growing spasms to signal the impending glory of her orgasm.

“That’s right, princess,” Christian snarls, rubbing cruel, tight little circles around her clit with his thumb. “Show me everything.” His teeth find a tender spot where her thigh joins her hip and leaves a deep imprint sure to bruise. There’s a distinct tearing sound where her fangs have ripped into the pillow covering her mouth, her carefully crafted control thrown out the window.

“Let me hear, petal. Let go.” Christian feels her start to come before she does, her startled shout bouncing off the walls. She fists his hair and arches up like she’s been electrocuted and she’s never been more beautiful. Christian speeds up rather than slowing down, mercilessly suckling and bearing his fingers into her knowing that she’s not done yet, that if he can get her right up to the edge and she can-

“Fuck, fuck!” Christian sticks his tongue out a second too late, but he doesn’t mind when the first gush of her hits his mouth and chin. His face wears it just fine, and he can always drink down every single drop next time. The growl in the back of his throat is primal, pure instinct and satisfaction. Despite his own desperate need to come, he pulls his hips back and focuses on his girl. He’s perfectly content letting his mate make a mess of him, squirting hard and fast across his face, knowing he’ll be insider her later. “Jesus Christ,” Alexis whimpers, gently riding his fingers until she’s a limp, twitching wreck.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful when you squirt all over my face like that, petal,” Christian growls, licking the remnants of her off his face and fingers. “You get me so fucking hard.” He spits into the hand covered in her slick and reaches down to firmly grasp his cock, too wound up to do anything more than just hold himself there.

“Show me, cher,” Alexis trills, voice siren-like in the way she compels him to climb onto the bed, his knees on either side of her thighs. Her eyes are dark and half-lidded and the smile on her face is coy and sultry. He jerks himself slowly, squeezing the head in the tight circle of his fist. “You made me feel so good,” she whispers, trailing sanguine-colored nails up his thigh to tease over his sac.

“I love eating you, petal,” Christian says, his voice so deep it would be foreign if he wasn’t used to Alexis dragging it out of him. “You know I love the taste of you on my tongue.” Alexis nods, rolling his balls in her delicate hands. She pushes up on one arm to place a kiss right over his pounding heart.

“I know.” She trails hot and wet kisses up his chest and over his neck, dragging her fangs over his throat in the way that makes him rumble and fuck his fist harder. “Now I want you inside me, cher, nice and deep.”

“Fuck, you drive me crazy when you say shit like that,” Christian snarls, using his free hand to catch the back of her head and drag her into a filthy kiss. Alexis gives as good as she gets, kissing hard and nipping at his lips while batting his hand off his cock and stroking him herself. “I love it when you tell me exactly like you want.” 

“I want you to fuck me, Christian.” Shivers wrack his body, muscle memory of being inside her reminding him of just how good it would be. But in the same breath he knows he probably wouldn’t get more than a few thrusts in before he came shamefully fast inside her. “So hurry up and fuck me, already.”

Her honest, sultry words against his lips make him break out in goosebumps and groan. “Petal, I’m not going to last. Watching you like that is so…” he trails off and brings their mouths together in a humid kiss that’s mostly teeth knocking together. Alexis pulls back, sensually twisting onto her knees and pulling her hair off of her neck.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’ve trained your refractory period, isn’t it cher?” Christian can’t help the high whine that escapes his throat. “Come,” she demands, patting the bed in front of her and looking entirely too amused when he scrambles into position. She straddles his lap, teasingly brushing the still dripping warmth of her pussy against the head of his cock. 

“Please, petal, please let me-” he cuts himself off with a groan, looking up at her with imploring eyes. He’s so hard and so close his temples are throbbing and his hands ache from being clenched into fists. 

The second she starts to sink onto him, her soaked folds parting until he slips into her warmth, Christian’s hips snap up until he’s buried inside her and hissing out curses between gritted teeth. His hands dig into the flesh around his waist, using the grasp to tug her down as he thrusts deep into her wet heat. “You feel- so fucking good,” Christian grunts, pumping his hips hard and fast and so deep that Alexis can only hold onto his shoulders. “Gonna- gonna come, fuck, just from this, petal.”

Alexis helps herself to the open expanse of his neck, sucking marks into the skin with a breathless smile as Christian reaches his peak and throws himself over it inside her. “Come for me, cher,” she whispers with teeth grazing the skin just under his ear. Christian whines and buries his face in her chest, panting against the skin above her heart as his hips drill one, two, three more times before his cock pulses hard and he comes. “Good boy, that’s my good boy.” He whimpers, hips jerking in little rocking motions to milk his orgasm as long as he can.

Her fingers comb through his mussed hair, pushing his bangs off his forehead. His hips never quite stop, still pumping lazily to keep himself hard as her pussy gently flutters around him. “Gimme- fuck, just give me a second and I can go again. I’ll fuck you right, princess.” Alexis smiles and presses a kiss to the crown of his head.

“I know, cher,” she says with minute rocks of her hips that make him hiss. “We’re not done until you knot me properly, puppy.” Christian snarls at that, using his grip on her hips to flip her onto her back and drag his cock out of the hot cavern of her pussy. Alexis laughs, even as Christian is hitching her leg up until her ankle dangles over his shoulder. 

“I’ll fucking knot you alright,” Christian warns, hovering his face directly over hers with a smile that is all teeth. “I’ll breed you so goddamn full, petal.” And when Alexis bares her teeth, fangs and all, in reciprocation, he slams into her to make good on it.

[overtheimaginationwall]

Favorite boss(es) in No Straight Roads?

Least favorite?

(Sincere apologies. I've been holding this one for more than a year in my box, so I hope you don't mind a really late reply ^^")

(Also Happy 3rd Anniversary, NSR!! 🎉)

I will tell ya honestly - they all are my favourites!

Tho if to be more specific I decided to set them up by TOP.

1. Sayu

Oh Sayu, my beloved <3

The Best Virtual Idol and The Reason I bought this game in the first place!

Her music and style of battle was the most fun and dancy! I still vibe to it to this day-

Sooo many references to Internet Culture and Digital Art fills my heart with warmth and gives me determination just like her song itself as well!

Funny Useless Fact: She is the only boss I've beaten on Rank B on my first blind playthrough!

2. DK West

He's OUR MAN, He's THE BEST!

My second favorite and at the same time the hardest for me to beat.

I personally didn't adore RAP genre at first and never seen anyone preform it as an actual entertaining battle until he showed up...

HOLLY MOLLY DESPITE ME BREAKING MY THUMBS WHILE GOING THROUGH THE PAINFUL DODGE GAME - HIM AND ZUKE RAPPING FELT LIKE I'M WATCHING DISNEY-

LIKE-

I STILL HAVE IDEA IN MY HEAD TO MAKE A SORT OF ANIMATIC WITH "FIRST ENCOUNTER" ALONE!!

Anyway, despite damaged fingers - 10/10, would fight again!

Funny Useless Fact: When I was drawing him for the first time I listened to his theme on loop for 4 days straight in order not to get myself distracted or lose motivation, so I finish the piece.

3. Yinu

Oh, sweet child...

I love Yinu and her theme lots even if I'm not that big of a fan of Classical Music. And her backstory...Gosh! It made me cry a lot.

And I'm still feel ashamed of breaking the piano ;;-;;

Love the pace of how music goes with the fight and it feels even better when you get into actual rhythm. There were issues that gladly wore off thanks to practice and fighting this boss over and over.

Tho those slamming cords haunt me whenever I listen to the song off-battle-

Funny Useless Fact: I didn't like her Mother at first but when I read more about her and relationship with Yinu my opinion completely changed. And this is why I would nominate No Straight Roads for The Best Storytelling and Character Design.

4. EVE

Two-faced, tall woman.

Used to be one of my favorites but due to some circumstances I can't look at her the same way I used to but I still adore her as a boss!

I honestly love her style of the fight and music that changes depending on who you play.

Tho fighting her is literally like eating a lemon but eventually you kinda just accept your fate and roll with weird artistic antics happening around you.

And EVE herself as a character is so fascinating. Like this is the moment where I started to see that these aren't just bosses, they are actually characters that tie this little but complex story together bit by bit. And this is why I would nominate No Straight Roads for The Best Storytelling and Character Design AGAIN!

Funny Useless Fact: EVE was supposed to be a next character to have a complete and detailed art of but due to my forgetfulness, difficulties with her design (and many other things) - it was never finished but I hope to get that dusty sketch out of WIP folder someday.

5. Tatiana

The Bitch. The Boss.

I don't really like her music and rhythm but I can forgive that since it is kind of fitting for conflict between her and the BBJ.

She tries to hide her true image throughout the story and the fight but ultimately crumbles cause escaping from the past isn't the best option to improve.

I love her design and personality and I wish there were more villains like her. Strict, simple, stoic and yet well-written.

Funny Useless Fact: I've never drawn Tatiana until NSR announced their release on Steam with addition of Fanat Graffiti Contest that I certainly didn't want to miss out on. It was difficult but I did it and ngl, I am still proud of the results.

6. DJ Subatomic Supernova & 1010/Neon J

I can't really say anything much about both of them. Sorry, guys...

Their designs and personalities are fun and well-made but due to one of them being the first you fight as "tutorial" and the other appears only at the end of a fight. (1010 band doesn't count as an actual boss to me more like a part of it) They didn't struck me much as the others did...

I will say this thou: their backstories are interesting. One is an academy astrology teacher with a goal of achieving the stars and other is a war veteran who just wanted everyone to live in peace and he himself despite everything never stopped his passion for doll-making and making people happy.

Just simply, beautiful...

Cool Science Fact: Their VAs are GOLD!