#under-display Face ID

[themorningnewsinformer]

Apple's iPhone Redesign Roadmap Revealed: All-Screen iPhone 19 Coming by 2027?

Apple is reportedly planning major iPhone redesigns over the next three years, with each generation bringing key changes that move toward the goal of a completely notch-free, all-screen device by 2027. A new leak from tipster Digital Chat Station offers a detailed timeline, citing sources within Apple’s supply chain. iPhone 17: Horizontal Camera Layout and Refreshed Rear Panel Expected in the…

[ricisidro]

It's better to avoid iPhone 16 and wait until iPhone 17 or 18. Why? iPhone 17 series to have big display upgrades, i.e., the base models to feature 120Hz displays while under-display face ID may debut on Phone 17 Pro. Apple Intelligence to come out next year.

https://www.gsmarena.com/iphone_17_family_to_have_big_display_upgrades-news-64639.php

[goyardgoyangi]

street racer! sukuna flying you out

You’ve never flown this far for a man before. Not for a boyfriend. Not for family. And Sukuna’s neither of those things—not exactly. Not officially.

But when your phone lit up at 2:03 a.m. with his name and a text that read: Tickets in your email. I want you there, you didn’t even hesitate.

You stared at the screen for maybe thirty seconds, heart pounding like a drum in your throat, rereading the words until they didn’t look like real language anymore.

The airport is a blur of escalators, overpriced coffee, and stiff plastic seats. Your fingers wrap tight around the phone in your lap the entire time, like it might vanish if you let go. You keep checking the itinerary like the tickets will disappear, like he might change his mind.

The flight is quiet. Too quiet. You keep looking out the window even though the clouds all start to look the same after a while. You scroll through old texts—most of them short, chaotic, voice notes, a few shirtless selfies he never even commented on after sending. There’s one photo of you he took when you weren’t looking, sun hitting your skin just right.

You wonder if he looks at it too.

The room he booked was ridiculous—plush king bed, balcony overlooking the city, bathroom big enough to echo in. The towels are folded like little swans, and there’s a basket of fruit on the coffee table that you know he didn’t pick, but somehow it still feels like a love language.

You glance at the bed, then toward the empty side of the room. He’s not here.

Your heart dips before you catch yourself. You’re not here for him like that. Not officially. Not yet.

Still, your name is on the reservation. You wonder if he had to spell it out loud—if he got annoyed when they asked for your ID, or if he said it proud like it meant something. You picture him at the front desk, arms crossed, scowling while the poor receptionist stammers through the check-in. The thought makes your stomach flutter.

By the time you make it to the track, the sun is brutal and the crowd feels like it’s vibrating. Everything is loud: the engines revving like wild animals, bass-heavy music pulsing through the speakers, vendors yelling about merch and drinks and souvenir flags. And there it is—his banner. Sukuna’s face smirking down from the overhead display, tattoos sharp beneath the collar of his fireproof suit. He looks like he was born for this, like chaos bends around him.

You try to shrink into your hoodie. You feel like you shouldn’t be here—like you’re intruding on a moment that belongs to him. You’re just a girl in the crowd, aren’t you? A fly-in. Temporary.

But then— “Thought I told you to be in the VIP tent.”

You turn, heart skipping—and there he is.

Hair tied back, suit half unzipped and slung around his waist, black tank clinging to his chest like it was painted on. His tattoos coil around his biceps, disappearing beneath fabric in smooth lines that look almost sacred. He’s squinting against the sunlight, sunglasses dangling from one hand, and he’s looking at you like he’s been scanning the crowd for hours just to find you.

“Hey,” you breathe, surprised by how relieved you feel at the sight of him.

He looks you up and down, then sighs, “Didn’t I tell you to wait where it’s shady?”

You shrug, trying not to smile. “Didn’t want to be in the way.”

He steps closer, tugging on the sleeve of your jacket with two fingers. “You wearing sunscreen?”

“…No?”

He shakes his head, muttering something about stubborn girls under his breath, and pulls a small travel tube from his back pocket like he knew you'd be reckless. He doesn’t even say anything—just squeezes some into his palm and gently smooths it across your cheekbones, the bridge of your nose, your forehead. His fingers are rough but careful, his brow furrowed in concentration like he’s tuning a car, not touching a girl.

You blink up at him, stunned silent.

“There,” he murmurs. “Can’t have you going back sunburned.”

“You always take care of your pit crew like this?”

He snorts. “You think I flew you out here just to keep you hidden?”

You roll your eyes at his sass. “Didn’t fly me first class either.”

“You liked that window seat or not?”

You try not to laugh, but he sees the way your mouth pulls into a smile, the way your eyes soften. He always sees it.

You always do this—pretend it’s casual, pretend he doesn’t mean more than he should. Pretend the butterflies are just nerves, pretend you’re just friends with benefits with frequent flyer miles. But the way he’s looking at you now… the way he touches you like you matter? It makes pretending feel stupid.

He steps in until your toes nearly touch. “Come with me.”

You blink. “Where?”

“To the pit. I want you there when I line up.”

Your brows lift. “Are you sure?”

He leans in, voice low. “I don’t want to look over and not see you.”

Your chest twists. “You’re gonna make me think you actually like me.”

“Maybe I fuckin’ do,” he says easily—like it’s obvious. Like it’s always been true.

You’re still short-circuiting when he laces his fingers with yours and starts pulling you through the crowd. His hand is warm, a little calloused, his grip loose but certain. It’s not just for show. He doesn’t let go, not once. Not when security waves you through. Not when pit crew nod in passing, glancing at you like you’re familiar. Like you belong.

It’s chaos around you, heat and noise and movement, but he stays close—always checking if you’re still beside him. His thumb rubs across the back of your hand once, slow and thoughtless. You wonder if he even realizes he’s doing it.

When you reach the pit, his car glints under the sun like a weapon. Matte black, red striping, the number 20 on the hood. Same number tattooed on his hands. You’re not even into cars, but you have to admit—this one looks mean. Fast. Like it has a heart that beats the same as his.

He lets go of your hand to shrug on his fireproof jacket and zip it up. A crew member hands him his helmet. You catch him sneaking a glance at you when he thinks you’re not looking.

“You nervous?” you ask, voice soft.

He’s quiet for a second, then glances at the track, then at you. “Nah. Not about the race.”

That shouldn’t hit the way it does, but it does.

You cross your arms, chewing the inside of your cheek while he tugs on his gloves. You don’t know what to say. You’re not even sure what you are to him.

But before the crew can herd him toward the lineup, Sukuna turns to you again.

“You stay right here, yeah?” His voice is low, almost drowned out by the rising engines. “Don’t disappear on me.”

“I won’t,” you say quietly.

He steps in close again, helmet tucked under his arm, eyes locked on yours.

Then—just when you think he might lean in to whisper something—

He kisses your forehead.

Not your cheek. Not your lips.

Your forehead.

It’s simple, but it knocks the air out of you.

He pulls back just a little. “Be good.”

You nod, a little dumb. A little dizzy.

And when he turns to walk toward the car, you already know—whether he wins or not, whether this thing between you ever has a name—you’ll remember this moment forever.

[cherrygirlfriend]

reader sending pictures in nerd!rafes bed to him while he's in class 😔

https://x.com/pwiests/status/1929685150608289916?s=19

perv!reader sends nerd!rafe pictures in his bed while he's in class

LINK! i normally prefer to write oneshots rather than blurbs (because i love yapping) but i really wanted to write a little blurb for this!! anyway i’m posting a proper fic later tonight. 18+

one of the downsides to having a brilliant, borderline genius boyfriend was that he actually enjoyed attending class, which then meant that once you were finished with your lectures, your boyfriend would have at least two more. and because you wanted to spend time with your boyfriend, that left you dying of boredom in his bedroom.

maybe you were being a bit dramatic. rafe had told you that you could read any book in his room, he'd given you the password to his computer, telling you that you were welcome to whatever you wished to do on it, even going as far as installing the sims 4 along with a few expansions packs when he'd seen you watching someone play it on youtube.

but you couldn't help it; you were still bored and missing your boyfriend.

within moments, you were clad in nothing but a skin-tight white long-sleeve shirt and somewhat sheer white over-the-knee-high socks, your reflection visible on your phone screen with your camera application open, your lips pouty and your cleavage on display.

the shutter went off about fifty times until you finally felt satisfied, letting out a sigh and sinking yourself into the pillows, going through the pictures, trying to find the pictures you liked the most; once you finally found the four pictures you liked the best, you sent them over to the contact 'my love ♡' with the text 'missing you, thinking about you...' making sure that the background was visible so rafe knew what was waiting in his room.

rafe was deep into listening to his professor's lecture when his phone screen lit up with a notification telling him that you'd sent him multiple messages. his brows furrowed slightly behind his glasses as he picked his phone up, opening it with face ID.

rafe's eyes widened when he saw the pictures you'd sent him, your tits pushed together, your lips glossy in the pictures where they were visible, over-the-knee-high socks just a few inches away from the hem of the shirt... rafe's cock twitched in his jeans involuntarily, the boy letting out a quiet, sharp breath. he couldn't help but wonder what you were wearing under it? what color panties were you wearing? were you wearing any panties?

rafe glanced down at the picture and then back up at the professor; it only took a few seconds for him to quietly leave the lecture hall and start making his way towards his room to find out what was hiding under your shirt.

taglist: @raahosh @nemesyaaa @purpleplumpudding @littlelamy @dollyfiles @esotericcangel @mattyskies @bakugouswaif @nonietosay @my-name-is-baby @tinythebunni @fratbrochrisgf @ariieeesworld @silkylovey @izumis-salty-penis @cameronsbabydoll @love-ella333 @haylorbestie @k4yr14

[krosiefics]

send nudes • bang chan

M D N I 18+

Summary: You accidentally send a nude to Chan and well…he takes it as a chance to act on his hidden feelings

WC: 2.4k

Tags: smut, afab!reader, dom/tease!chan, porn with little plot, piv, unprotected sex (just don't), fingering, oral (f & m receiving), creampie, mutual pinning(?), handjob, chan is a tease, reader calls chan; chris, chan, christopher, channie), use of pet names (baby, sweetheart, good girl, etc), not proofread, im prob forgetting some- sorry (brb gonna touch some grass)

“Shit shit shit!” You quickly pulled your shorts back up as panic spread throughout your body. You quickly look at the open messages to see if the picture has been seen yet. Ugh this is why you don’t send nudes! You screamed at yourself. About twenty minutes ago you were flirting over text with this random guy from tinder when it started escalating into pictures being sent, you took a picture and was going to send it to him but you unknowingly sent it to your best friend.

You hadn’t noticed until about five minutes ago when the tinder guy hadn’t replied yet, you noticed the notification of the image sent was under Chan’s contact and well now you’re trying to figure out how to delete the picture.

You already tried deleting it from your messages but that only deletes it on one end not both.

Suddenly the ringing of your phone fuels the flames of your anxiousness. You dwell on whether you should check the caller ID, peeking at the screen your heart drops, it’s Chan. “Oh fuck.” You snatch your phone, not answering it, before running out of your dorm, down the hall towards Chan’s dorm. His dorm isn’t far from yours so by the time you get there your phone is still ringing. As it’s about to hang up you finally answer it, banging on the front door.

The wood door swings open revealing a confused Chan. God you couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

“Hi,” Chan chuckles, not acting like he’s seen something that he wasn’t supposed to, you sigh in relief, “I was about to text you-”

“Don’t do that!” You cut him off, pushing past him to grab his phone. “Hey?!” He exclaims after you snatch his phone, Chan makes a move to grab but you quickly dodge him, opening his messages app.

“Don’t delete it!” Chan huffs out annoyed. You stop, dead in your tracks, Chan takes the chance to take his phone back, shoving it into his pocket. “What do you mean don’t delete it.” You burst, heat spreading throughout your face like a wildfire. When did he see it?! You thought to yourself as you took out your phone and looked back on your messages, it displayed ‘read 1 minute ago’.

“Chan…” You push, when he doesn’t reply simply wearing a smirk on his face you start getting even more flustered, “Christopher! What do you mean don’t delete it?!” Your face is as red as a tomato at this point, your heart pounding so fast you can feel it in your ear.

Chan lets out a bubbly chuckle, you only ever use his real name when you’re either pissed or are in a teasing mood- you are not in a teasing mood, “I’ve got blackmail. And besides, it's fun seeing you flustered.” The smirk he wore was just straight up menacing. “This kind of situation is weird and makes me flustered- Did you just save it?!” You shriek as you watch him take out his phone and scroll through your texts. Chan smirks at you as he shows his phone’s screen, the save button clearly pressed. “Why would even- Chris!” You cry out his name, he finally puts his phone down on the desk by his bed with a shrug.

“You forget I’m a man.” You stand crossed armed as you stare at your best friend, “Yeah okay, but keeping a nude of your best friend is kinda weird.”

“Would you rather me send you one too?” Chan asks calmly as if it weren’t the most absurd thing he’s ever said. You scoff, eyes blown out by his question, sure Chan’s a flirt and likes teasing you, but it's never actually gone this far between the two of you. Just a simple mistake opened this pandora box.

“Who was that meant for anyways?” The Australian asks, sudden curiosity leading him on. “That’s none of your business-“

“Well you sent me the photo, I should at least get an explanation, no?” Chan raises his brows. “The guy from my date the other day.” You admit embarrassingly, Chan lets out a laugh while shaking his head, “The one that you complained about for the next three hours after your date.”

“I was bored okay!” You throw your arms up in defeat, plopping down on his bed.

A few moments of awkward silence washed over the two of you- well more awkward for you- before your phone interrupted the silence. You checked the notification, rolling your eyes as you opened the message from Chan. Holy shit. The grasp you had on your phone loosened as the electronic tumbles onto your face, smacking you right on the forehead. “You that shocked by the picture?” Chan hums in amusement. You gape at him after massaging your sore forehead, “Well no shit, you just sent me a dick pic!” You shove your phone in his face.

On the screen was a picture of Chan’s crotch area. His gray sweats not hiding the boner he obviously sports, his veiny hands holding onto his intimate area. A sudden realization dawned on you, “Did you just take that?” You stared between him and the same colored sweatpants that he wore. Now it’s his turn to be flustered, sure he had fun teasing you but now thinking about it, it wasn’t exactly appropriate to take a dick pic in front of his best friend even if she wasn’t aware of his actions. Brushing it off, Chan shrugged with a smug face.

“God you’re infuriating sometimes.” You shake your head. “Oh c’mon, you can say it’s hot, your’s was. It’s the reason I’ve got a bone-“

“Chan!” You squeak, your hands covering your face. Chan was too blunt for you sometimes. “You still need help with this?” Chan says, gently guiding your hands down from your face to show you the picture that you had sent him earlier. You pout, thoughts in your head weren’t lining up to how your body was reacting, “Help?” You shake your head in confusion trying to understand what his words meant. Chan hesitantly trailed his hands to your inner thighs, instinctively you spread them apart which he takes as a go-ahead.

“Wait, wait, wait!” You stutter, realizing where this could be going, “We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t wanna.” Chan said, retrieving his hands from your legs. The warmth of his hands still burning your skin despite them not being there anymore. “No, I wanna-” Your mouth moved quicker than you could process, you slapped a hand over it. Chan raised a brow at you in his regular teasing manner, you simply shook your head at him, “Chan…you’re my best friend, I don’t wanna change that.” That was a lie, you did want to change that, you really want to change that, but losing Chan was something that always prevented you from ever telling him how you felt.

“Who says it has to change?” The curly haired boy leans over your body, dipping his bed at the weight. Your hands come up to his shoulders, not knowing whether to push him away or bring him closer. “Chris.” You sigh, eyes closing in thought. “Keep your eyes close, if you want me to stop just tell me…okay?” His words fanned across your cheeks as he spoke softly into your ear. You squirmed at his words but nonetheless kept your eyes shut.

A sudden touch to your thighs made you flinch, the hand hesitantly tapped your knee for your consent, nodding in response. Chan let out a shaky breath as his hands nudged your thighs apart, revealing the wet patch that stained the lining of your shorts. Did you get turned on by the tinder guy? No, it was by Chan and his insufferable teasing, he’s what got your arousal pooling. Chan hums, his breath breezing over your hot skin, sending shivers down your spine. “This okay? D’you trust me?” He asked as his fingered trailed along your throbbing cunt, you bit your lip in pleasure, nodding frantically, yearning for more friction.

Chan begins rubbing his thumb in circles on your clothed clit while his other fingers slip between your slick folds that stick to your panty. Moving your loose shorts to the side, you feel him dip his head down, licking a stripe up your cunt. “Channie.” You whine, hands flying to his curls, entangling them with your fingers. The sudden rush of pleasure has you opening your eyes, the sight of your best friend’s face between your legs, lickking at your most intimate area sends another wave of arousal straight to your core. Your thighs instinctively tense around his face, Chan gaze lifts to you at the action, locking your eyes and you're done. Chan’s eyes stared into you longingly, the smirk that made his way to his face when he sneakily maneuvered your underwear to the side had you writhing under his hold.

Chan continued his assault on your cunt with his mouth, sucking at your clit, swirling iit around your fold. His fingers brought you even closer to the edge as they ever-so-often sunk inside, never past his fingertips as if he was teasing you. That familiar knot formed in your stomach as your thighs began to shake, the movement not going unnoticed by Chan. “S-Stop!” You say closing your legs in an attempt to get him off, he sticks to his previous words and obliges to your command. “You okay?” Chan looks at you, a pang of worry flashing in his eyes, his mouth and chin was wet with what you’d assume is your arousal and his saliva mixed, he subconsciously licks his lips as you stare at them.

You nod in response before climbing onto your knees pushing him back onto the bed, “What are you- Y/N?!” Now it was Chan’s turn to turn pink, his heart pounded in his chest as he watched you pull the waistband of his sweatpants down revealing his hardened cock. “This okay?” You ask innocently, contradicting your actions. “Fuck yeah, this’s okay.” He sighed.

You stared at his dick, the very same one he had sent a few minutes ago, you never thought you’d ever be in this position with Chan. The tip was leaking with precum and the veins on the side evident from the lack of friction, he wasn't too big like the ones you’ve seen in those exaggerated pornos but he’s definitely above average. Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, pumping it a few times, precum coating it making it easier to slide up and down. “Jesus, fuck, you’re so pretty, such a good girl, baby.” Chan rambles as you lean down, placing a small kiss on the tip. Tongue trailing down along the veins before coming back to the tip and taking it into your mouth.

Rolling his head back in pleasure, Chan gently takes a fistful of your hair so that it doesn't get in your way. You hum in appreciation. Chan almost cums, the vibration of your hum going through his shaft towards that knot forming in his abdomen. Hollowing your cheeks, you attempt to take more of him but Chan stops you, pulling you off of him with a pop. “Why’d you- mmph.” The feeling of his soft, plump lips cuts you off. His lips were gentle yet rough against yours, lust and desire making the kiss messier. Without your lips coming apart, Chan guides you to the bed again, laying you down under him. Lips dancing with one another, he adjusts your shorts and underwear to the side again, prompting a gasp from you, he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue alongside yours.

You moan into the kiss as he presses the tip of his cock to your entrance. Your eyes meet once more, he has that same worry in his eyes, asking if he can continue. “Fuck me Channie…please.” Before your words could fully come out he’s already snapped his hips into you, bottoming out and letting you adjust to his size. “You okay, sweetheart?” The pet name draws out an erotic moan from your lips, you nod frantically as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Chan places your knees atop his shoulders, leaning into you as his hips smack against the back of your thighs. The echo of wet noises bouncing off the dorm room’s wall, Chan has never been more grateful that his roommate, Minho, wasn't in town. “S’close, Channie.” You moan into his neck, your nails clawing at his clothed back. It barely occurred to you that you were both technically fully clothed. “God I like you so much, you know that baby?” Chan mumbled as he drilled into your cunt. “Channie, I like you too- oh my fucking God.” You curse as he reaches your g-spot, hitting it dead on. “Actually?”

“Mhm, shit, liked you for a long time.” You say between moans and whimpers, your climax nearing as your legs begin to shake. “Fuck, gonna make you cum. S’fucking pretty.” Chan slurred as his hand made his way to your clit, rubbing circles onto it. Your orgasm hit you like a truck, you don’t think you’ve ever orgasmed like that before.

“Almost there, where d’you want it?” Chan pants over your whines of overstimulation, “Inside, I’m on the- holy fuck- on the pill!” The sensitivity of your cunt begins to be uncomfortable. Your words send Chan over the edge, spilling his hot cum inside of you.

Chan slowly pulls out before plopping onto the mattress next to you. “You really mean it?” He pants, chest heaving. You look at him confused, your mind too hazy for anything at this point. “You like me?”

“Heh, yeah…I do.” Chan leans over and gives you a sweet kiss on the lips. Rolling out of the bed, Chan comes back to you with a towel and some water. “Thanks.” You smile, taking the bottle of water. “Lemme get you some clothes from the closet.” As he makes his way to the closet an idea pops into his head. Chan snatches his phone before walking into his shared walk-in closet.

The ding of your phone grasps your attention, you reach for it and read the most recent message. It’s from Chan.

Send nudes ;)

[artromanthur-lester]

I realised yesterday that Michael’s scarf reminds me of the 4th Doctor and so I couldn’t resist making this stupid joke

[id 1: a coloured fanart of Gerry Keay and Michael the Distortion from The Magnus Archives. Gerry is wearing a top with the Mechanisms’ logo on it, he is a man with shoulder length black hair with some blonde streaks. He has multiple eye tattoos, ear piercings and snakebites and he’s wearing a belt with studs. He is grinning happily and holding Michael by the scarf. Michael is a floating being with yellow wavy long hair, pink skin, aggressively pink cardigan and a purple shirt. He has an incredibly long scarf in stripes, by which he is slightly pulled down by Gerry. He has a surprised look on his face. The speech bubbles above their heads say:

Gerry: how’s it going, Doctor?

Michael: Doctor what?

Gerry: no, you’re supposed to say “doctor who?”

Michael: but I’m not a who, I’m a what, Gerard.

end id 1]

(a version with Michael’s text in black + a doodle under the cut)

[id 2: the same picture as the first one, except michael’s text is in black instead of different colours. end id 2]

[id 3: a black and white doodle of Michael the Distortion in the same long scarf pointing in awe to a tv screen. On the screen the fourth Doctor from Doctor Who is displayed, wearing a very similar long scarf, a hat and a trench-coat, waving joyously at the viewer. The text above Michael’s head in a fancy font says: “he’s just like me fr!”. end id 3]

[zoro-sremedy]

THAT'S WHAT I WANT!

Look, you know it's harder to find in these times But I got nothing but love on my mind (my mind) I need a baby with love in my prime

Synopsis. You tell them they're the prettiest, bestest boys.

Including. Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna, Megumi, Yuji, Shiu, Nobara and Shoko as special guests.

WARNING? fluff, maybe something suggestive, you guys only like smut like c'mon this is cute, some swearing? I don't remember. Sukuna's may or may not be weird, enjoy it anyways lmao

A/N: y'all know the drill, the text thread:

COME SAY IT TO MY FACE, PRETTY

GOJO SATORU—"YOU CAME TO SEE ME?"

You knock once before letting yourself in, and predictably, he's already halfway out of his chair like he's been pacing in anticipation. Gojo Satoru—stronger sorcerer alive, Six Eyes activated, infinity flexed like it's a second skin—looks like he's about to faint from excitement.

"You actually came," he breathes dramatically, hands on his hips like he's witnessing a miracle. "To tell me I'm pretty. In person. I'm honored."

You close the door behind you, lips twitching. "Don't make it weird."

"Oh no," he says, stepping closer, "I'm making it so weird." He's already leaning in, all six feet and whatever of pure cocky chaos towering over you with a twinkle in his eye.

"So? Let me hear it again."

You roll your eyes, stepping into his space anyway, palms flat against his chest. "You're really, really pretty," you murmur. "Like… ruin-me-for-anyone-else level pretty."

Gojo goes stock still for a moment. Then:

"Marry me."

You snort. "You'd propose over a compliment."

"Baby, I'd propose over less. I almost proposed when you brought me coffee that one time."

Before you can respond, he dips down and kisses you—eager, grinning against your lips, like he's been waiting all day for an excuse. His hands frame your face with surprising gentleness, even as he walks you back until your hips hit the desk.

The kiss is slow, deepens, his forehead resting against yours. "You really mean it?" he asks softly, brushing your hair back. "That I'm… y'know. Pretty?"

Your fingers curl in his collar. "You're beautiful, Satoru."

He melts—literally melts—into a puddle of pleased energy, groaning like he's physically pained by the sweetness. Then he's kissing you again, open-mouthed and greedy, mumbling something like, "you have no ides what that does to me," between kisses.

And just like that, the office is full of soft sighs, rustling papers, and Gojo whispering praise right back into your mouth like he's trying to one-up you.

Spoiler: he can't. But he sure as hell tries.

GETO SUGURU—"DISRESPECTFULLY PRETTY"

You don't knock. You never knock anymore.

The door swings open like it's been waiting, warmth spilling out of Geto's apartment along with the earthy, calming scent of tea and whatever incense he lit just to show off. Probably sandalwood. Definitely smug.

And there he is.

Geto Suguru, all soft shadows and dangerous calm, draped in a loose robe and nothing underneath, collarbone on sinful display, hair still damp from a shower. It cascades down one shoulder in thick, dark waves, a few strands clinging to his neck like they missed the towel.

You freeze in the doorway, not even trying to hide your stare.

"See," you murmur under your breath, loud enough for him to hear, "disrespectfully pretty."

His gaze lifts slowly from the book in his lap, mouth quirking up like he knew exactly what effect he'd have on you. Smirk. Smirk.

"I thought you were kidding about coming over just to insult me," he says, voice soft and warm with amusement.

"I said bite," you correct, already shedding your jacket. "Not insult."

"Mmm." He sets his book aside as you close the distance. "Then I suppose I should apologize—"

"You're not sorry."

"No," he admits smoothly. "Not even a little."

Your knees hit the edge of the couch, and he opens his arms in quiet invitation. You don't hesitate. You slide right into his lap, your knees bracketing his thighs, hands sliding into that perfect, soft hair like you've done a hundred times in your head and only a few in real life.

"So what's the verdict?" he hums. "Prettier in person?"

You lean in, close enough your breath touches his lips. "Absolutely disgusting how pretty you are."

And before he can make another smart remark, you bite his bottom lip. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him feel it—just a nip, a warning, something to make him still beneath you.

"Ah," he exhales, the smile never leaving. "Dangerous girl."

"You smirked."

"And you liked it."

He surges forward, mouth claiming yours with slow-burning heat, one hand cupping the back of  your head while the other slips under your shirt at the small of your back. You melt into it, fingers twisting in his hair, legs pulling him closer like instinct. His lips are soft but deep, greedy—but never rough. Just enough pressure to make your pulse stutter.

“I like when you say pretty things,” he murmurs against your temple. “But I like them better in person.”

You turn your head to face him, your knees bracketing his hips, and whisper, “You gonna let me braid your hair later?”

His smile softens. “Only if you stay the night.”

And you kiss him—right then and there, in the quiet, candle-glow room with the softest, most dangerous man you know—because how could you not?

NANAMI KENTO— "SOMETHING SWEET"

Nanami always knocks. Three solid, polite raps before he lets himself in, every time. He does it now, even though you said the door would be open. Even though he's here at your request. Even though you texted "come say thank you in person" like it was nothing, like it didn't send a rare flick of anticipation through his otherwise steady routine.

You meet him at the door, beaming, hoodie-swallowed and barefoot.

"You brought pastries," you note with a grin, pointing at the box.

"You said you liked the ones from the café near the office."

You had said that once. A passing comment, weeks ago.

He set the box down on the kitchen counter while you bounce behind him, peeking over his shoulder.

"You remembered," you murmur, face pressed against his back, smelling the comfort of his smell.

"I remember what's important," he says quiet and honest.

You nuzzle into him from behind, arms slipping around his waist. "That's hot."

He huffs, lips twitching. "You're incorrigible."

"Am I wrong?"

He turns, slowly, placing his hands lightly on your waist. You're still grinning up at him, unashamed.

"No," he admits after a beat, brushing a hand down your back, gentle and firm. "But you do fluster me more than I care to admit."

You press a kiss to his cheek—just shy of the corner of his mouth.

"Good."

And then his hand slides to your jaw. Not rushed. Not forceful. Just decisive. His thumb strokes the skin just beneath your ear as he leans in. His mouth meets yours like he's tasting something rare—like you're another thing he intends to memorize. It's tender, but deeper than the first kiss should be, and your knees almost give at how good it feels to be handled with that kind of control.

When he pulls back, you’re both a little breathless.

“You brought sweets,” you whisper.

“Yes.”

“But you’re the one who tastes good.”

He sighs. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Maybe,” you grin, tugging him by the tie. “But I’ll make it sweet.”

FUSHIGURO TOJI— "THE HAND THAT HOLDS YOU"

You're curled on the couch when Toji arrives, hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands, a half-finished mug of the tea on the table. The front door shuts with a soft thunk, and heavy footstep draw closer—but he doesn't say anything when he sees you.

Just stands there. Looking at you.

"You okay?" you ask softly.

He shrugs out of his jacket and steps into your space like he can't help it, like he's being pulled. "You don't text me like that often."

You smile. "It wasn't meant to be dramatic."

"It wasn't. Just…" he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. "Caught me off guard."

You reach for his hand without asking. It's warm, scarred, large—so big your fingers can't even wrap around his palm completely. You lift it to your lips and kiss his knuckles.

"I meant it," you say, eyes soft. "I love these hands. Not just what they do to me—but what they mean. You always show up for me with them. You always hold me."

Toji looks down at you like he's not sure what to do with that. His usual smirk flickers but doesn't land. Instead, his fingers flex around yours, gripping just a little tighter.

"You're really trying to make me soft tonight, huh," he murmurs.

"You already are," you whisper, tugging him down to sit beside you.

He does. His arm snakes around your shoulders, your legs end up draped across his lap, and he sinks into the couch like it's the first time he's able to breathe all day. For a moment, neither of you speak. You just rest your head against him, and he runs his hand up and down your back—slow, steady, reassuring.

"You make it easy," he finally says.

"What?"

"Being good. Trying to be… I don't know. A better version of me. You make it feel like maybe I deserve that."

You smile against his chest. "You do."

He leans down and kisses your temple.

And then, after a beat, he mutters, "Still wouldn't mind using these hands for other things, though."

You burst out laughing, smacking his chest. "There's the Toji I know."

"Hey," he says, shrugging with a half-smile, "you started it."

SHIU KONG—"SAY IT AGAIN"

Shiu's always been a complicated  man. Cynical. Cold on the outside. Hot as hell in a fight. Impossible to read unless you knew him like you did—like someone who peeled back the armor over time and kissed the bruises underneath.

Which is why when you told him, in the softest voice, "I think you're a good man, Shiu," he blinked like you'd slapped him with a flower.

"You tryna make me throw up?" he muttered. But his hand didn't move from where it curled around yours.

"No," you said, smiling up at him, "I'm trying to say thank you. I see you. You pretend you're not soft but… you kinda are. For the people you care about. For me.

He scoffed, not meeting your eyes. "Soft? Sweetheart, I once broke a man's wrist for using my favorite ashtray."

"And you tucked me in when I was sick last month."

"…That never happened."

"You made me tea."

"That was for me. You just happened to be sick."

You leaned into him, pressing your face to his shoulder. "You keep pretending you don't care. But you do. You care so much."

His breath caught.

You felt it—for just a second—his entire body going still. Like your words landed too deep, in a part of him he'd forgotten how to guard. His hand tightened on your thigh. Then, a muttered, gruff: "You're lucking you're cute."

"I know."

A beat . Then quieter: "You really think that? That I'm good?"

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

He looked at you finally, something vulnerable flickering under the sarcasm. "Say it again."

You cupped his cheek, smiled, and whispered, "you're a good man, Shiu."

He kissed you before you even finish that sentence—slow, heated, grateful, like he didn't know what to do with all that affection except press it into your lips, your skin, the places you always let him in.

And if he ended up pulling you into his lap and refusing to let you go for the rest of the night?

Well. Feelings were a crime, and Shiu Kong was officially guilty as hell.

RYOMEN SUKUNA— "ON HIS THRONE"

The throne room is empty save for him, draped in night and firelight. Ryomen Sukuna sits on his obsidian throne like he was carved into it—legs spread wide, arms resting on the jagged ends like a deity expecting tribute. His crown of marks glows faintly, like embers not yet cooled.

You step in with bare feet and a pounding heart, your breath caught somewhere between fear and awe.

He doesn't move. He waits.

You drop to your knees before him.

"Say it," Sukuna commands. His voice rumble through the walls, low and hungry. "Tell me what I am."

You meet his gaze, eyes soft but unflinching. "You're power. Destruction. Fire. But when you touch me, you're home."

He inhales sharply through his nose—just once—and then leans forward like the beast is barely caged.

"Again."

"You're my king," you whisper. "My ruin, my temple. I worship you with everything I am."

He growls low in his chest, and in one swift motion, grabs your chin—not roughly, but firmly enough that your breath stutter—and guides you to your feet only to pull you onto his lap, sideways across his thighs. The throne creaks beneath the movement, but neither of you care.

Your hands rest against his chest, heartbeat staccato. His hand stays on your chin as his eyes roam your face like he's trying to etch every soft part of you into the stone of his memory.

"I don't understand you," Sukuna murmurs, voice rough, forehead pressing to yours. "You kneel like a devotee and sit on my throne like a queen. You bow to me, but it's you who ruins me."

You smile softly. "Good."

He chuckles darkly, then grabs your waist with one hand, the other cradling the back of your head as he kisses you—open mouthed, almost desperate. There's bloodlust in it, yes, but also devotion. A barbaric kind of worship.

When he pulls away, his thumb brushes your lower lip. "You don't bow to me because you fear me. You bow because you choose to. And that…" His voice drops, teeth grazing your throat, "is the only thing more addictive than power."

You settle against him as he leans back, content—for now—to keep you right there on his throne, wrapped in him, like you were made for no other purpose.

ITADORI YUJI— "HUG TAX"

You find him in the common room, hunched over a takeout container and still visibly pink in the cheeks. His hair's a mess, and he's wearing that oversized hoodie you definitely stope from him once but somehow he stole back.

The moment he sees you, Yuji lights up—then instantly hides his face behind his hands.

"Nope. Nuh-uh. Too cute. I'm not ready."

You laugh, walking over and kneeling next to the couch. "You've had like twenty minutes to process one compliment."

"That's not enough time!" he protest, voice muffled by his palms. "You called me the most huggable person in the universe. That's heavy. There are like… aliens out there, probably."

"You're cuter than aliens," you shrug casually, settling in beside him. "Also, I'm here to collect my hug tax."

He peeks at you through his fingers. "There's a hug tax?"

"There is now."

Yuji drops his hands with a resigned little groan—but it turns into a goofy smile as you climb onto the couch beside him and wrap your arms around his waist, nuzzling into his chest. His arms come around you like instinct, big and warm and just the tiniest bit shaky.

"You're seriously gonna kill me one day with all this affection," he mumbles into your hair.

"Happy to be the cause of death."

He laughs—really laughs—and pulls you closer, squeezing tight.

"God, I love you."

You grin into his hoodie. "You'd better."

He huffs a bashful little chuckle and rests his chin on top your head. "Still can't believe I'm the most huggable in the universe though. That's like…. A lot of responsibility."

"You're doing a perfect job."

And he holds you a little tighter, glowing so hard you're surprised the room doesn't burst into light.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI — "DISASTER BOYFRIEND, SOFT HEART"

You do not listen to him and absolutely show up at his door.

He opens it, hoodie half-zipped, hair pushed back messily like he's run a hand through it a dozen times since your text—and his eyes immediately narrow.

"You're seriously here?"

You just beam. "Told you I wanted to say it to your face."

"I told you to stay put."

He doesn't move, blocking the doorway like the world's least intimidating bouncer—but his ears undeniably pink.

You take a step closer, grin stretching. "What, scared I'll call you beautiful again?"

"You're lucky I like you," he mutters, but he doesn't stop you when you cup his jaw with both hands and gently pull him in for a kiss. It's soft at first, warm and steady.

And then he sighs—like he's finally letting his guard down.

"You're impossible," he mumbles against your lips.

"You like it."

"I tolerate it."

But when you pull back, he's the only one chasing another kiss, one hand sliding around your waist. His voice a low grumble in your ear: "Say that poetic crap again and I swear I'll ruin your night."

"Oh no," you deadpan, eyes twinkling. "Heaven forbid the beautiful man kisses me senseless."

His mouth twitches. "You asked for it."

KUGISAKI NOBARA— "CAN'T TAKE A COMPLIMENT"

You find her on the couch in sweats and a clay mask drying on her face, legs up and an open bottle of nail polish dangerously balanced on a throw pillow.

She doesn't even glance up when you walk in. "Can't moisturize away your charm, babe."

"Gross," she mutters—but she's already trying no to smile.

You lean in and press a kiss to her cheek, ignoring the mask. "Still stunning."

She rolls her eyes so hard you're surprised they don't fall out. "You're such a simp."

"You like it."

"Shut up and kiss me before I throw this nail polish at your forehead."

So you do—long, slow, and with your hand slipping under her hoodie to hold her waist. When you pull back, she's glaring at you like you're the problem, but her cheeks are a telltale shade of pink.

"I hate how good that was," she mutters.

You grin. "Told you. Devastating."

She clicks her tongue. "You really are the worst. But… you're my worst."

SHOKO IEIRI— "CALL IT A HOUSE CALL"

You let yourself into Shoko’s place using the key she insists she only gave you “for emergencies,” and immediately smell cheap incense, red wine, and that citrusy shampoo she never admits to using.

She’s curled up sideways on the couch, long legs tangled in a blanket, wine glass balancing dangerously on her knee. “Took you long enough,” she murmurs without looking up.

“I brought snacks.” You hold up a bag of chips and some chocolate bars like a peace offering.

“Saint.” She finally turns her head and gives you a lazy smile that melts your spine. “Come here and let me kiss the brain damage out of you.”

You toss the snacks on the table, climb onto the couch, and let her pull you in like gravity. Her fingers slip under your shirt just to warm her hands on your skin, and the kiss she gives you is slow, a little tipsy, and entirely intoxicating.

When you pull back, she smirks. “Still hopelessly in love?”

You nod, grinning. “Maybe even worse now.”

She hums, sips her wine, and gestures at your pants. “Good. Prove it.”

[woniwontons]

dead end - CHAPTER THREE

bob reynolds x therapist!reader

summary: after being assigned to monitor bob reynolds’ recovery inside the new avengers tower, you try to keep your fears hidden. but between quiet training sessions and unsettling therapy logs, you start to realize he’s watching you more than he should—and that something inside him never stops whispering.

w.c: 3.7k

warnings: abuse by parent, psychological thriller, inaccurately depicted mental illness, emotional manipulation (by void), nightmares, slow burn, possessive themes, combat violence, unreliable realities, hallucinations, brief mention of suicidal thoughts (not reader's), domestic bob, gore/bloody void, like a lot of blood & violence

chapter nav: one | two | three | four | five | six

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°｡⋆

You weren't supposed to be in Dr. Harding's office.

The door had been left ajar, just slightly. But something more than just curiosity consumed you, filling your impulses with walking inside.

"Dr. Harding?" you said quietly with a soft knock on the door.

No one.

The office was sterile, as always. White walls. Sleek silver fixtures. No personal items. No scent or warmth. Just the sound of the air vent and the soft click of the wall clock.

Then you noticed the screen on her tablet which was left open on the desk.

Still active, as if she had only stepped out for a moment.

It was a biometric scan. Heart rate, neural activity, baseline data.

The subject ID was redacted. But the image attached wasn’t.

It was you.

"What the hell is going on?" Nothing made sense anymore, but the pieces were starting to come together. This new assignment was so much more than it seemed.

Your breath caught as you leaned in slowly, squinting your eyes in disbelief. There were notes below the scan -- coded abbreviations, but none of them you were able to recognize from previous research.

And one highlighted phrase:

Subject displays high tolerance to --

"Dr. Charles! How was your conference?"

Hearing her voice down the hall nearly sent you into cardiac arrest as you scrambled away from the desk. "Shit," you whispered crudely, smoothing out your lab coat before sliding out of the office door. Rushing down the corridor towards your sleeping quarters.

And not a single human eye caught the sight of it.

You couldn't sleep at all that night.

Your stomach felt as though it were doing backflips in your gut, concave from not being able to eat all day.

You rolled over in bed for the fourth time, staring at the wall where your reflection barely showed in the dark glass. The silence was heavy. Not peaceful.

Just full.

Of things unsaid and dreams you refused to have.

You ran your fingers through your hair and sighed, pushing the blanket aside. Sleep was out of reach, but rest felt impossible too. It wasn’t just your body that was tense—it was your mind. Your thoughts. That strange hum behind your ribs you’d started to recognize as something other than your own.

Eventually, you gave in.

You padded barefoot to the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the hot water fill the room with fog. The sound drowned out the silence in your head for a little while.

You stepped in and stood still beneath the stream for a long time, letting it sting your shoulders. When you finally reached for the shampoo, your hands shook slightly.

As water ran down your scalp and face, something that had seeped in under your skin. The scent of your body wash filled the space, eucalyptus and chamomile. It should have been comforting. But the heat on your scalp only made you feel more aware of yourself. Of your body. Of the fact that you didn't feel alone, even when you were.

When you stepped out, towel wrapped tightly around you, the mirror was already fogged.

You wiped your palm across the glass.

And then, just for a moment, you saw it.

A reflection that wasn’t yours.

It flickered at the edge of the mirror—his shape. His shadow. Gold eyes where yours should have been.

You blinked, and it was gone. But your skin was still cold where he’d touched your arm in that attic dream.

You looked down. Nothing there.

No bruises. No marks.

But you felt it.

The presence.

Your hands shakily reached out for the knob of your sink, glancing down as you shut it.

c o m e t o m e

The letter spelled out on the mirror in cast shadows had struck you motionless. You stood frozen, your breath catching sharp in your throat. The room suddenly felt colder, like the air had been pulled out and replaced with something heavier. Thicker. Pressed close to your skin.

You stepped forward slowly, unsure why. Instinct told you to back away. Logic screamed to dismiss it as a stress hallucination.

But part of you didn’t want to.

Part of you was listening.

You reached out and pressed your fingertips to the glass. The words didn’t smear. Didn’t fog.

They just stared back at you.

You blinked. It was gone.

A hard swallow makes its way down your throat. "Leave me alone, let me sleep," you begged, "I can't handle this forever."

You jerked your hand back and turned away from the mirror, suddenly aware of how alone you were. How watched.

You tried to breathe evenly, to quiet the rising panic.

You didn’t look back. After drying your hands and turning off the light, you walked out of the bathroom like you hadn’t just seen a ghost.

Hunger hit you again, plaguing you for your decision to skip dinner that night. A sigh of resignation escaped you as you slid your clothing and slippers on. Any leftover fruits inside the cafeteria kitchens would have to suffice for tonight.

Peaking side to side in the dimly lit hallway outside your door, heart still racing from your recent encounter, you quietly closed your door behind you.

The hallways were still, lit only by the pale emergency lights that hung overhead. You hadn’t planned on leaving your sleeping quarters, but the pangs of hunger wouldn't settle long enough to be able to sleep.

However, you hadn't expected the kitchen lights to be on. You half expected to grab something from the leftover tray and leave unnoticed.

You paused just inside the doorway, head tilting.

Behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration, stood Bob.

A pan sizzled in front of him, and a bag of sliced cheese sat half-opened on the counter. You watched as he meticulously layered a slice of cheddar over the bread already crisping in butter.

It was so disarming to watch him outside of his normal environment of doom and gloom. To see him at such peace all alone.

"I guess we're all trespassing today?” you called softly.

Bob startled, nearly dropping his spatula before turning quickly in your direction. He blinked at you, caught mid-sandwich flip.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied after a beat, voice low and warm. “Late-night for you?”

“Just starving,” you shrugged. “Didn’t know you were an overnight chef.”

He gestured toward the stove. "Well you get really good at making greasy food when you've worked at every fast food chain that'd hire you."

You walked up to the counter and leaned on it. “That smells really good though."

He smiled at you sheepishly, and your heart melted a bit at how sweet it looked when that smile was for you. “I can make another.”

You raised a brow. “You offering?”

He was already reaching for more bread. “Well since you've made the idea so tempting...”

You sat on a stool across from him, arms resting on the counter. “So this is your rebellious streak? Ditching security to make grilled cheeses at midnight?”

Bob glanced at the door, then back at you. “They won’t find me for another five minutes. I timed it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Seriously?”

“I’ve been testing their rounds for weeks. Figured out the weak spot on Thursdays.” He gave you a little shrug. “Sometimes I just want to feel normal. Get hungry. Make something. Sit somewhere that doesn’t beep at me."

Your smile faded at the edges, softened by the truth in his voice.

“You do this often?”

“Only when I can’t sleep.” He finished buttering your sandwich and dropped it into the pan beside his. “Which is most nights.”

You wondered where else he snuck off to at night.

You quietly watched him cook with your chin in your hand, leaned against the counter with your elbow. He took his time despite making something so simple, making sure he buttered both sides. Sprinkled parmesan over the top for an extra crisp. It struck then you how much of his life must have been spent feeling watched. Or worse, restrained.

He slid your sandwich onto a plate and set it in front of you with a proud smile.

“Try it. I dare you to say it’s not the best grilled cheese you've eaten past bedtime.”

You took a bite.

It was the best grilled cheese you've probably ever had.

He waited, eyebrows raised.

“Okay,” you said through a mouthful, “I hate to admit it, but your sneaky midnight grilled cheese is really good."

He grinned and took a bite of his own, mumbling, “At least you know why I go through so much effort to come down here.”

You both ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, the kind that doesn’t need filling. You glanced at him between bites, watching how he smiled after each mouthful, how he seemed so… human right now.

No glowing eyes. No flickering hands. No Void.

Just a guy, maybe a friend sitting across from you. You couldn't imagine how scared you were of him before when you felt so weirdly close to him now.

“What’s it like?” you asked gently. “Being in control one minute… and not the next?”

He raised his eyebrow at you questionably before you realized your mistake.

"Off the record, of course. No clipboard, see?" you explained quickly, holding up your free hand as you took another bite of your sandwich.

Bob set his sandwich down slowly, eyes on the plate.

“Like I’m renting space in my own head,” he said. “Most days, I can push him into the corner. Pretend he’s not there. But he’s always listening. Always waiting. And when people look at me, I can tell they’re waiting for him appear too."

You didn’t respond right away.

“I don’t think that’s what I see anymore,” you said quietly.

Bob looked up at you through his lashes, confused and surprised at once. It made you feel warm and guilty all at once.

"I like the guy in front of me, Bob seems like a really cool person."

His throat bobbed, but he didn’t speak at first. Then, softly, “Thank you.”

You both fell silent again, this time heavier. Not awkward, just full.

He didn’t finish his sandwich.

Just left the last bite on the plate as footsteps echoed in the hallways behind him. When the cafeteria doors hissed open behind you, neither of you moved right away.

Two security agents entered, frowning the moment they spotted him.

“Mr. Reynolds,” one said firmly. “Time to return.”

Bob sighed and stood, brushing the crumbs off his hands. “Knew I was cutting it close.”

He looked at you as he turned to leave. "It was nice talking to you, off the record."

You gave him a smile, even if it wobbled a little. “Make me another grilled cheese sometime.”

His grin was soft, and this time, sad. “I can arrange that. Thank you for coming and joining me."

He left quietly, flanked by his silent escort.

You sat alone at the counter, staring down at the half-eaten sandwich he left behind.

That single, untouched corner.

And something in your chest twisted with guilt and something deeper.

You didn’t know what scared you more:

The Void that became him and haunted your dreams.

Or the good patient you found yourself so attracted to.

You didn't have any dreams that night.

ANONYMOUS POV

Transcript Log | INTERNAL FILE [REDACTED] Access Level: TOP SECRET - NEED TO KNOW Date: [REDACTED] Location: Off-site - Audio Transcript Only

Scientist 1: The subject isn’t reporting ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇.

Scientist 2: ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇. ▇▇▇▇ to display ▇▇▇ signs ▇▇ disobedience as ▇▇ others.

Scientist 1: Then she’s further along than expected. We haven’t even introduced ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇t yet.

Scientist 2: ▇▇ ▇oid’s adapting. Faster than the ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇ model projected.

Scientist 1: That’s not supposed to be possible. It’s not supposed to form preference.

Scientist 2: Then explain the new side effect.

Scientist 2: “Come to me.” We wouldn't be able to see it if it was her hallucination. It was spatially reactive. Infrared resonance picked it up for six seconds before it dissipated.

Scientist 1: …It’s communicating directly in reality?

Scientist 2: Or claiming ▇▇▇▇.

Scientist 1: Then we’re running out of time. If Reynolds becomes aware of the ▇▇▇▇, or worse, ▇▇▇▇ finds out. The whole operation is blown.

Scientist 2: We'll shut it down soon.

Scientist 1: Meaning her?

Scientist 2: ▇▇▇▇ ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇.

Scientist 1: ▇▇ ▇▇ think ▇▇ the ▇▇▇▇?

Scientist 1: ▇▇ her ▇▇▇. But initiate passive ▇▇ testing.

Scientist 2: Copy. We’ll see how far she can get before we inevitably have to find a replacement again.

End of File

Dr. Harding was already waiting for you when you entered the hallway outside the therapy wing.

Her posture was perfectly composed, one hand gripping a tablet, the other loosely tapping a pen against her palm. She smiled when she saw you, but there was no warmth in it. Just courtesy.

“Morning,” she said. “You slept well?”

You nodded automatically, though you weren’t sure if you had. Your dreamless nights felt emptier now, instead of the relief you should feel. Something about your nights had become harder to measure.

Harding didn’t wait for an answer anyway. She clicked something on her screen and walked ahead, expecting you to follow.

But halfway to the session room, she slowed—just a little—and said:

“If you start to feel... weird, I want you to say something.”

You frowned. “Weird?”

Harding glanced at you from over her shoulder, eyes cool. “Cognitively. Emotionally. Things can blur when we’re in long-term exposure to unknown powers, especially with patients like Reynolds.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “You think I’m going to get effected by his presence?"

She stopped, turned. “Not yet.”

“But everyone reaches their threshold eventually.”

She smiled again, as if she hadn’t just implied the strangest thing.

Then she turned and keyed the door open without another word.

Bob was already seated on the mat.

His eyes lifted as you entered, immediately landing on you, not looking in Harding's direction. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t look away either. You followed Harding to the observation chair and sat, clipboard in hand, pen uncapped but still.

Bob’s hands rested on his knees, eyes neutral as Harding began the session with her usual line of sterile questioning.

“Any changes in suicidal ideation?” “Any intrusive thoughts or impulses?”

Bob answered calmly, giving the perfect answer for each one.

You wrote the words down, but they felt less real than the pen in your hand.

When Harding asked a follow-up question about emotional suppression, Bob didn’t respond immediately. He just looked at you again, quietly. Like he wanted to say something else.

And then Harding’s comm buzzed at her hip.

She huffed, checked it, and stood.

“Emergency from the upper psych wing,” she muttered. “I’ll be back shortly.”

And then she was gone.

The door sealed behind her with a sound that echoed.

Bob’s shoulders dropped almost instantly. A breath left him like a valve finally released. “She always make people feel like they're being dissected alive?” he asked.

You gave a faint, knowing smile. “Something like that.”

Bob stretched his legs out slightly, his posture loosening into something more natural. Still guarded, but no longer braced for impact.

“I don’t think she likes when I talk too much,” he added.

You hesitated, then asked: “Has she always been your lead psychologist?”

“Yes and no,” he said, eyes drifting upward to the mirror on the far wall. “I would see her before, but I had a rotation of different psychologist. But after the last assistant left, it's just Harding now.”

That made you pause. “Left?”

Bob glanced at you. “There were a few before you, but they didn’t last long,” he continued. “The last one, she actually started getting sick. Headaches, panic attacks, you name it. Like her brain was shutting itself off."

You didn’t speak. Your fingers twitched against the edge of your clipboard.

“They said it was stress. Too much exposure to the shadows, from before I could control it better.” He tilted his head. “I didn't think she was that afraid of me though. All the assistants before her had similar symptoms, but nothing nearly as bad.”

Your throat felt dry. Images of your face on Harding's tablet flashed in your mind as you started to think paranoid thoughts.

Bob looked at you, eyes darker than before. “You don’t feel sick, do you?”

You shook your head. Slowly.

“That's good,” he said, "the last thing I'd ever want is to hurt someone else again. Especially you."

The stillness inside you was too heavy to push back. "I don't think you're the one causing it," you whispered, so quietly you barely exhausted an entire breath.

Bob leaned forward slightly. “Who else could be causing it?"

You raised your finger to your lips, urging him to be quieter. Glancing at the observation room to ensure it was empty.

Bob’s expression changed, something knowing, something careful.

“You think they’re doing this on purpose?” he whispered.

You couldn’t breathe for a moment, but you nodded your head, pretending to write down notes for the camera. Your pen scratched softly across the page. You weren’t writing words. Just shapes.

Circles.

"I don't know exact what's going on, but I know I'm the subject of some kind of test they're running. I saw it on Harding's tablet," you revealed, wringing your hands together in stress.

Bob's face darkened with confusion and annoyance. "What?"

A short laugh escaped you as you adjusted on your seat, throwing you ankle over the other. "I can't believe I'm even telling you this, but I think you're the only person I trust right now."

"The others have to know something, you should speak to Bucky or Yelena, they'll tell you the truth," he said earnestly, "I just can't believe they didn't tell me if they do know."

You nodded before checking your tablet, faking the responses to the questions you were supposed to ask him.

Shadows flickered on around Bob's seated figure and his fingertips as he sat in contemplation, wondering where everything went wrong. Wishing he had met such a beautiful, kind person in different circumstances than this one.

But in his presence, everything always went wrong.

"Bob?"

He settled, looking up at you. "Yes?"

"Thank you for talking with me, but we should wrap this up before someone notices how much time has passed."

"Anything for a friend."

In Your Nightmares

You were running, but the hallway wouldn’t end.

Steel walls. Fluorescent lights overhead, flickering like dying stars. Every door you passed was marked with your name. Over and over again:

SUBJECT: Y/L/N STATUS: FAILURE IMMINENT

You tried to scream but sound wouldn't escape from your mouth. All you could hear was the thoughts inside your own head crying out for help. You didn't even know what you were running from, only that it wasn’t very far behind.

Each door you had tried was locked, twisting just a centimeter before clicking in resistance as you dragged the skin of your palm around the knob.

The floor shifted then.

You fell—hard—into a room that wasn’t there a moment ago. The tiles turned to concrete. Wet. Dark. Sticky with blood. You scrambled to your feet, but your hand slipped in something warm. A sound echoed through the space—something like wet breathing. Something like chewing.

And then you saw it.

Yourself.

Not a mirror image, a second you in the room. Face slashed with tears, skin gray and twitching. She wore your clothes, but they were soaked in black. Her mouth opened too wide, face sunken in too deeply.

She lunged at you with impossible speed.

You fought back on instinct, elbowing her face, feeling bone crunch beneath your palm. Blood splattered your arms. Her fingers clawed at your face, your throat, her eyes wide and weeping as she screamed in your own voice.

"Please, please," she cried in agony, attempting her best to overpower your resistance.

You slammed her to the ground, but she twisted with monstrous strength, flipping you onto your back. Concrete met your skull with a thunderclap.

CRACK.

Your vision exploded in white.

You tasted blood as your head opened to a splitting ache.

She grabbed your hair at the root, squeezing tightly as she slammed your head down again.

CRACK.

Again.

CRACK.

Again. Again. Again.

Your scream tore free, raw and useless. It was all you could think or hear was to wail in pain. You felt the warmth of it spilling from your nose, your mouth, your ears. Your elbows slipping in the gore pooling beneath you each time you attempted to push back.

And just as your fingers lost their strength, just as the edges of your mind began to slip, he appeared as your second self stopped.

He emerged from the wall behind your double, blacker than anything your eyes could process. As if it was so dark, it could not reflect any light. Gold eyes gleamed like lit oil beneath water, searing into your bones as his presence pulled the air from your lungs.

Your copy stilled, her last look as hollow stare, then crumbled.

Her body peeled away like smoke, revealing you. Just you. Broken. Drenched in blood.

You lay there, staring up at him, ribs heaving. Vision swimming and your lids dipping slowly.

He crouched beside you, head tilted with something like admiration.

“I am the inevitable horrid truth of everything, little one,” he said, voice silk and rot at once. “I am where everything goes to die, I am the end of all lies.”

His fingers brushed your jaw. Gentle. Reverent. “It’s no wonder I scare you so…” His mouth moved closer to your ear, gold eyes never blinking, “little lying goddess mine.”

You whimpered, barely conscious.

Coming to a kneel, his bloodied finger tips continued past your jaw until it touched the side of your neck. His hand pushed lightly onto your throat until the connection between his pointer and thumb hit your esophagus. "Perfect," he whispered, caressing smeared stains of blood down the length of your throat with the gentle pad of his thumb.

You couldn't summon the strength to move or speak.

Blink. Open. Blink. Open.

Then he smiled, "Wake up."

Blink. Closed.

This slow burn train is starting to pick up speed here, huh? This chapter was hard to write for me, but it was necessary for what is about to hit the fan in the next chapter. I hope you all enjoyed how this one ended, a little twisted but sweet.

Also, I must give credit here! The quote said by The Void in this chapter: "I am the inevitable horrid truth of everything, little one. I am where everything goes to die. I am the end of all lies." This quote is one written in the comics for Sentry, and something that really inspired the vision for this chapter's ending! The quote can be found in "Doctor Strange Vol 1 #385" written by Donny Cates.

ALSO: if you are not currently on the taglist, please comment down below if you want to be! if you already commented on chapter 1 or 2, don't worry because i've already added you :)

link to chapter four

[desperate-gay]

christmas request for leah williamson:

"Just because we’re stuck under mistletoe doesn’t mean I have to kiss you.”

“Scared you might enjoy it?"

A Christmas Tease

Leah Williamson x fem!reader

summary: your teammate has quite the reputation and she will do anything to catch your attention

a/n: just a quick blurb i thought id write due to a sleepless night

“There she is!” Katie shouts, arm extended with a beer in hand, announcing your late arrival at the party.

“Yes, here I am. My tires are horrible with the snow and everyone drives like there’s a whole blizzard outside.” You roll your eyes, removing your outdoor gear to throw on the coat rack and embrace the warmth of the house.

You greet everyone with a smile and catch up to all the conversations that have happened within the last 20 minutes you have missed. You’ve gotten extremely close with many of your teammates despite only playing for Arsenal for only a couple of months. Once your USWNT teammate, Emily Fox, was signed, you weren’t too long after.

You had already known a lot of your teammates from international games and previous clubs you had played for, so there weren't too many people to get used to.

Besides one very obnoxious player.

Leah Williamson.

She has a reputation for sleeping around and placing girls in her trophy case. The team jokes that she’s challenging herself to sleep with every girl in London, and, unfortunately, her new target is you.

“Were you too busy answering prayers, angel?” A thick british accent breaks you out of your trance, making you jump in surprise.

“More like digging myself up from hell.” You say, giving her a plastered grin before taking a sip of the champagne that rests in your hand.

“I’ll have you one day, you know.” Leah states confidently, earning herself a sharp glare from you in which she only returns with a cocky smirk.

Not even wanting to argue with the girl, you scoff and walk over to where Lia and Mariona sit and join them in conversation. You’d never admit this to the blonde, not wanting to make her ego swell bigger than it anyway is, you used to have the biggest crush on her before you transferred to Arsenal.

You always found the blonde extremely attractive, especially on the pitch, but when you finally met her and found out about her off-the-pitch affairs, your crush faded away.

“You still there, amiga?” Mariona asks softly, noticing your silence.

“Yes, of course. Sorry, just a bit distracted.” You smile apologetically, twisting the glass in your hand for distraction.

“No need to apologize, but if I may, does this have anything to do with a certain english blonde defender?” Lia smirks teasingly as you roll your eyes and shake your head rapidly.

“Absolutely not. You know my feelings about that, Lia.” The swiss girl allows the conversation to disappear although she doesn’t believe you one bit.

—

“Next question, what is everyone’s favorite christmas song?” Kim asks the team who all are huddled around in the living space, you coincidentally smushed on a loveseat with Leah.

Many shouts are thrown across the room from voices trying to top each other, debating on what christening song is the ultimate song, including your voice.

Noticing the girl next to you zoning out and not participating, you bump your shoulder into hers, asking, “What about you? What’s your favorite christmas song?”

“Rockin’ around the christmas tree.” Leah nods in confidence.

“Why that one?” You immediately regret asking when that familiar cocky grin stretches along the older girl’s face.

“Because I know I can rock your world when you finally let me.” She whispers, leaning closer to you so no one else can hear, and quickly snapping back when you push her in disgust, making the girl chuckle and take a sip of her drink.

Many hours pass by with more questions, movies, karaoke, and so on before people start to trickle out to head back to their destined homes. It was only you and a few people left, cleaning up the snacks that were on display and garbage littered in small areas.

Leaning against the wall of the archway, someone clearing their throat grabs your attention next to you. You quickly see the blonde locks and huff in annoyance before turning back to look at what you were.

She taps your shoulder and points above the two of you, causing you to scoff when you notice the holiday plant hanging down by a string. Leah’s white teeth shimmer at you before puckering her lips and making exaggerated kissy noises.

“Just because we are under a mistletoe does not mean I have to kiss you.” You declare, watching the older girl with squinted eyes.

“Afraid you may enjoy it, darling?” Leah questions, pulling herself off the wall and moving slightly closer to you with a wide grin plastered on her face.

A weird shock runs through your body from hearing her husky tone, but you shake it off as the thought of a cold shiver. You swiftly look around to make sure no one is around before closing the gap between you and Leah, grabbing her arms and placing them on your hips while yours wraps around her neck.

The blonde’s smile fades and instead is replaced with a huge face of shock.

“I know I’ll enjoy it. I have been dreaming of you railing me into the mattress over and over again, having your way with me on every surface of every room, and making my legs shake violently with every orgasm you give me.” You whisper, lips brushing against the girl’s ear as her hands grip your hips together with every word.

“Yeah?” Leah’s voice shakes.

“Oh yeah, but this won’t ever happen except in your daydreams.”

With that, you down the rest of the drink in your hand and strut off to help Kim with the rest of the cleanup, leaving the defender in complete bewilderment and arousal.

Merry christmas indeed.

[brainlicking]

Janus - Avatar of the Spiral & the Web

The fear of madness, that the world you know is wrong, that your mind is lying to you. Fear of deception, lying, deceiving of the mind and senses. The fear of being forced to do things against one's own will, of being manipulated.

Next for the Sides as TMA Fear avatars series, our lovely liar Janus!

I had a lot of fun designing this form for him. The spiral-mouth-eye is my favourite part, he can speak through any part of it, often multiple at once, his voice rippling over itself. Also when Janus is wearing his gloves, they make his hands appear completely normal, and it's when they're taken off that their true elongated forms are shown.

[Roman]

Image ID under the cut

[ID: An illustration of Janus Sanders with a brainlicking.tumblr signature.

Janus is wearing a long dark coat with gold button cuffs, doffing his bowler hat with his left hand - which is gloved - and pressing a finger of his right hand to his lips in a "shh" gesture. The fingers of his fight hand are elongated and sharp like claws.

He is grinning toothily at the viewer with a sinister expression, the left corner of his mouth continues up the side of his face and spirals in of itself where his left eye should be, teeth on display. His shadow behind him is distorted and splayed.

Janus is standing in a corridor with dark grey wood paneling and dark yellow, patterned wallpaper. Behind him is a cracked-open door, with black wood and gold plating with unending, spiraling patterns. Through the door is darkness, with faintly-visible spider webs lying within.

End ID]

[themorningnewsinformer]

iPhone 18 Pro Hole-Punch Selfie & Hidden Face ID Confirmed

Introduction Exciting leaks suggest Apple is finally bringing a radical design overhaul with the iPhone 18 Pro hole-punch selfie camera and under-display Face ID technology. If true, this would mark Apple’s most significant front-facing design change since it introduced the Dynamic Island with the iPhone 14 Pro series. Goodbye Dynamic Island, Hello HIAA Technology According to reliable tipster…

[ricisidro]

The future iPhone. No notch. No dynamic island. Definitely not a pop up camera but it will have an under display FaceID and front facing camera.

Apple is expected to adopt the under-panel camera technology after 2026 which will be developed by Korea's LG Innotek.

#AppleEvent

[highway-143]

number 71- nishimura riki (read part 1)

genre: fluff, smut, desire : unleash engene ver. au, based on this ask

pairing: contestant!riki x fem contestant!reader

taglist: @urlocalmultigroupfan @minkilicious @vrusha01 @shyoko @planetmarlowe @emisluvr (open taglist)

word count: 2.1k

now playing: let the world burn- chris grey

a.n- was totally not expecting ppl to want part 2 but whatever XD hope this satisfies ig (snickers hello?)

tw: kissy kissy, profanity, oral (m.rec), needles, blood

(mostly proofread)

all scenarios are fake and are not meant to represent any idol in the story

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you and riki stuck together after the door unlocked.

he didn't want to leave you, and honestly?

you didn't want to leave him.

sure, his attitude was one to rival donald duck, but the two of you had already been through enough shit together.

because sometimes sex is shit.

but you weren't ready to admit to riki or yourself that it was the best thing to happen to you in the stupid game yet.

he leads the way, walking through a few doors and into what looked like a testing room.

there were tables lining the walls, cupboards littered with pill bottles and vials, ekg monitors beside gurneys, and what looked like saline packets hanging from metal poles.

"what the fuck..." says riki, grabbing a saline bag and examining it. "this is..."

"disgusting." you finish, pointing at blood spattered on the wall.

you were pretty sure it was human.

riki nods, walking around the room.

the only light was the faint green glow of buttons on a safe next to the gurney. you walk over to it, hoping to find something useful.

locked, of course.

he starts opening the cupboards, trying to find something useful, and then-

"y/n, come look at this."

you put fown the pair of pliers that you found on a tray and walk over to him.

"thats-"

"me." he finishes, holding the paper to a green light.

it looked like an id, a mug shot of riki on one side with his birthday, blood type, height, weight, and eye color on the other.

creepy.

"should we keep it?"

riki's answer is slipping it into the pocket of his jumper.

he takes a whack at the combination on the safe, but nothing worked.

you sit down on the gurney, laying down and putting your hands over your eyes.

riki sifts through papers on the counter, scanning them for anything.

surprise surprise, there aren't even so much as four numbers on the page, let alone a combination.

he groans and leans against the side of the gurney, lean forearms holding himself up from the side.

you can't help but stare.

the way his veins were just so prominent, his muscles flexing under his weight, long fingers wrapped around the metal bar.

god, he was hot.

you open your mouth, wanting to say something. you don't really know what it is though.

instead, all that comes out is a choked whine when you watch him throw his head back, displaying the lines of his neck so casually.

he knew what he was doing.

when he hears your sad little noise, he smirks, the corner of his lip twisting upward in a sly grin.

"what was that, baby?" he asks, turning to look down at you.

you sit up faster than 99 was pulled into the room and try to play it off.

"just... my stomach. its hungry i guess."

"mhm, your stomach."

you hit him on the arm.

"not my fault you look like that."

he laughs. "not my fault you like it."

little shit.

he leans closer to you, something in the air feeling more intimate than the bomb incident.

his face is only centimeters from yours, eyes flickering over your features, waiting for you to close the gap.

and you do.

because how could you not?

his mouth still has a faint taste of you on it, the dry and cracked skin of both your lips slowly softening with every movement against the other's.

he brings his hand to your cheek, holding you while he pressed his lips harder onto yours.

you whimper when he squeezes your thigh with his other hand, kneading your skin under the jumper.

you slip off the gurney, standing in front of him now, and his lips trail down the side of your neck, stopping at the metal collar.

he groans when you grind against him, his hips jerking from your touch.

and then your fingers find the zipper of his jumper, pulling it down.

all the way, until it stops at his waist.

his chest is tight, muscles perfectly carved as if they were a greek sculpture.

and when your fingernails softly scratch their way down, his abs twitch.

you let him shrug the sleeves off his shoulders, giving you enough room to pull it further down his legs

until you see the print of his dick through the black boxers.

and holy fuck, he was big.

you knew that already, your cunt was still stretched from the bomb room.

but this? this was insane.

you slide his boxers down, letting his cock spring out and just barely graze your cheek.

"fuck..." he moans, head thrown back again. "didn't get enough last time, did you?"

"i could just stop." you say, teasing him.

"nice try."

you look back at his hard length, the tip red in anticipation and veins adorning his shaft.

you give it a little lick from base to tip, making riki's hands clench around the bars so hard his knuckles turned white

and then you dive all the way in.

riki loses it.

your mouth wraps fully around him, tasting the precum building on his tip in the back of your throat. he thrusts up into your throat, making you gag.

"shit, you feel good... holy fuck."

you bob your head on his cock, taking him so deep that your nose just barely grazes the base.

when you add the soft scrape of your teeth?

he's done for.

he doesn't give you a warning, doesn't try to pull out, just shoots his load into your mouth, forcing you to swallow everything he gave you.

and fuck, he tasted good.

when you pull away from him, he chuckles softly, out of breath with tired eyes.

"damn... gotta do that more often."

you roll your eyes and he pulls his clothes back on, slipping the jumper sleeves over his arms and zipping it back up.

and then you hear something.

it's the sound of footsteps stumbling into the lab, and both you and riki turn to see who it was.

"is anyone here?" asks a small voice.

you see his expression shift in the green haze.

"k-" his voice cracks. "konon?"

"riki?" the girl asks.

he jumps over the gurney and runs to her, pulling her into a tight hug. your heart softens a little when he presses a soft kiss into her hair.

you hear konon sob, breaking down in riki's arms.

he pulls her together though, and she looks over at you.

"who are you?"

"y/n."

riki jumps in. "y/n and i went through a lot already." he gives konon a look as if to say "there's no getting rid of her."

and then she pulls out a flashlight, turning it on and illuminating the room in white.

"where the hell did you get that?!" asks riki, taking a look around the room with new eyes.

konon gives him a puzzled look. "i completed a challenge... haven't you guys had any yet?"

riki's eyes dart to you before answering.

"yeah, but we got out of death by bomb for it."

"a bomb?! oh my god this place sucks."

you nod, walking over to the locked door on the far wall, looking at the pin code.

"anyone have a clue what it could be?"

konon pushes a few numbers- 1892

the lock beeps and a red light flashes.

great.

she resorts to searching the room, shining her flashlight in all the crevices she could find.

and then, she takes a look at the saline bag.

"patient 1009?"

you run to the door, punching in the numbers.

a green light flashes this time.

the three of you sigh in relief. riki puts an arm around konon.

the door swings open with a creak.

your heart pounds when you step through the door.

konon shines her flashlight around the new room.

it looked like a hospital ward, rows of beds lining the walls, all with white sheets and pillows.

riki picks up a paper on one of them.

"sleep well, you're going to need it." he reads

you feel chills run up your spine. konon frowns.

"right, because we're gonna be able to rest in this place."

you laugh. "might as well try, not like it would hurt us."

that's why you find yourself tucked into one of the beds, riki in the one next to you, with konon on his other side.

he rolls over to look at you, and you look at each other for a few seconds before he speaks.

"you know, i think if we get out of this... maybe we could hang out or something."

you giggle. "asking me out already?"

riki rolls his eyes. "not if you're cocky about it." but he grins anyway.

you hear konon mumbling from her bed.

"i knew there was something up between you two."

. ⁺ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ‧₊˚✩彡.𖥔 ݁ ˖๋ ࣭ ⭑

riki woke up to light.

konon was standing over him, shining the flashlight in his eyes.

"ow, what the fuck?!" he says, rubbing his eyelids.

"y/n's gone." she says, pointing at your empty bed.

riki jumps up, looking at the rumpled sheets.

and the trail of blood.

it stained the spot where your chest was, and there were drops making a trail on the floor.

"fuck. shit, shit, shit." he says, following the trail to the locked door.

there was another damn note taped to it.

"you want her back? try this."

and then a list of letters.

t o t t n d h n h h e i e e i a v e n t e s g r

"oh my god, i fucking hate this." says konon, handing him a pen.

"where the hell did this come from?"

"i found it a while ago." she says simply.

riki starts writing on the paper, trying all the possible conbinations his overwhelmed brain could think of.

die is.... no.

in-ears give tone? definitely not.

the one thing that never dies. there. that's it.

konon shivers. weird.

the door clicks open, and konon points the flashlight down the hall.

it's bare. no blood trail, nothing. but riki still walks down it, taking careful steps.

then they see a red light, a flash that illuminates the hallway. and words written on the wall.

not big, but enough so they were noticable.

and deep red. blood.

she's waiting for you

konon's legs shake. riki takes a steady breath, and keeps walking.

there's another room. riki opens the door, surprisingly unlocked, and sees something that makes his heart twist.

you, strapped to a dentist's chair, the sleeves of your jumper rolled up to reveal arms covered in deep slices. the rest of the fabric is ripped too, like it was clawed by a cat.

riki is immediately at your side, shaking your shoulder in a desperate attempt to wake you up.

your eyes are still closed.

konon gently prods his shoulder, holding up a paper.

"fix her."

riki almost lost it.

but he does what it says anyway, cleaning your arms with some tissues in the room, wrapping them in bandages.

and then, after two hours, you finally stirred.

riki is sitting on a table, konon in a chair. both don't notice you when your eyes flutter open.

"r... riki?" you mumble, eyes adjusting to the flickering light above you.

"oh, thank god." he pulls you into a hug, being careful with your weak body. "i thought you were gone."

you feel yourself start to cry, tears soaking into his jumper.

he just holds you.

"what happened?" he asks when he pulls away. konon watches you intently.

"i woke up and someone was dragging me out of my bed... i couldn't make a sound or anything, they had their hand over my mouth... i don't remember anything after that though."

they nod, expressions solemn.

"let's just work on getting out." says konon, standing from her chair and looking around the room. she moves tables around, unstacks books, and checks the inside of trash cans.

and then riki takes a look at the door.

there's no pin pad, no keyboard, just two buttons and a question.

"guys?" he says, turning to look back at you.

konon helps you out of the chair and to the door, your legs practically gelatin.

"do you have desire?"

you look at each other, and konon smiles.

"that's the one thing that never dies."

riki presses yes.

and the door opens.

you're finally out.

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a.n- guys im crashing out i love this concept wtf... also halfway through i was like "huh, this is like i-land: the horror game" lmao

if you enjoyed this fic, please like/comment/reblog and give me your ideas for my next one!

masterlist you might also like: in the dark- n.rk

[fashionteahouse]

out of your league - paul x reader

AN: Thanks so much for the love for the 1st part of this story 💜 Should I make this full blown story? Just lmk! xoxo <<prev >>next

“Mm. I don’t like the word bye. Tell me you’ll see me again.”

You look at him, surprised that he wants to see you again. Clearly, he enjoyed your company.

“Okay. I’ll see you later.” you speak out.

He watched you go up your stairs and go into your house before pulling off. You felt so in a daze, you didn’t know why you felt this way. You replayed the day in your head when you showered.

You replayed it when you were trying to count sheep to go to sleep.

While you were getting ready for school, you had the realization that you were going to see him again. You made your way to the front of your house and opened your front door and Paul’s car startled you. It was so unexpected, you didn’t even have time to pump yourself up.

You walked closer and in front of the passenger side door and you wait for him to roll down the window, which he does.

“Get in.” he says like this like it was a frequent thing that you two do.

You take your time to get in, questions swirl your mind.

“Good morning. Thanks.” you tell him.

He nods in acknowledgment.

“So…you decided to come to school?” you ask, the silence after was deafening but come on, he came to school like it was an occasion.

“Yeah.” he just says and you just shift your backpack that’s between your legs into a more comfortable position. You choose to look outside and watch the trees and street signs fleet pass.

You loved these types of mornings. It was a slight drizzle but it was so relaxing.

“You look nice.” he said with a sentence and you look over, he was actually looking down at your outfit.

“Oh, thank you.” you say, your heart start to race.

You mentally face palm yourself for being so nervous and flattered. “He is only driving you to school.” you kept telling yourself. “He’s only doing a nice gesture.” you said in your head. You didn’t want to get your hopes up and assume things that weren’t like that.

It was ingrained in you to compliment someone back if they compliment you. You look over to see what he has on. Everything was nice. His entire outfit matched with crisp shoes, new shoes that you knew for a fact that recently came out.

“I like your outfit too.” you say and he grins, “Thank you.” He replies in a sultry tone.

You swallow hard. Everything he does is with ease. Cool without even trying.

The school building comes into view. You already take your seatbelt off and say your thanks. Before he could reply you pick up your pace in going into the building. You show your school ID, going in through bag checks, and going straight to your locker.

You get ready for your first class and only bring out what you need before putting your bag and jacket in there. You close your locker door and Paul was there.

“Oh shit!” you say under you breath with a chuckle, he came out of nowhere.

“Before you rolled out, I wanted to know if you did this.” He says to you and an over-folded homework sheet is in display of his hands. “Yeah, I did it. I can teach you, you know so you don’t have to keep copying. What happens when the test comes?” you say.

He glances at it and then back to you. “It’s boring.”

You were about to speak out but your best friend, Kim comes into view, giving you a hug. This makes you smile and chuckle, happy to see her.

You just reach for Paul’s worksheet, knowing he won’t have time to copy it all since the first bell was about to ring. “I’ll just do it.” you tell him and he plainly gives it to you and walks away.

Kim links her arm with hers and once you two start walking, she hounds you. “Why are you doing his homework? Can’t he do it himself?”

“He needed help. There’s no time.” you tell her.

She shakes her head and tells you ,”Be careful. He’s just going to use you just to pass. Who knows if he’s even going to pass this year.”

Your feelings were hurt even though she wasn’t talking about you. It felt like she was though. He wasn’t even all that bad from what you’ve been around. He just wasn’t strong in that particular subject, that was okay, school wasn’t for everyone.

You did complete the worksheet. You wrote it sloppier than your own handwriting, not knowing how he even writes. Plus, the teacher seemed to know everyone’s handwriting.

You two had the same lunch before history. You, Kim, and a couple of other friends put your book bags in the seats you all were claiming before heading to the lunch line. You seen Paul come down a stairwell and you make your way towards him. The paper you hand him was refolded and he stops to look at it.

“I did it. Just changed the answers around a bit.” you remind him. He nods as he remembers and chuck it in his back pocket. You were about to walk away until he says, “You eating lunch?”

You nod and he nods too and follows you. Kim and others were a bit ahead of you in line so you cross your arms and lean against the wall, waiting for your turn to pick out what you want.

Paul’s friends are now behind him, starting up conversation. As the line moves, you feel the fabric of his clothes on you, you pay it no mind.

Once you have your food, pay extra for a snack and juice instead of the milk they offer, you make your way to your table.

“Where you going?” Paul asks.

“To..my table.” you say.

“You don’t want to sit with me?” he asks, it caught you off guard how he was actually perplexed that you weren’t following him and his crew.

You shrug, not knowing what to say, and when you sit down, he slowly sits down at another table just watching you. The look on his face had a look of gloom, not even paying attention to his own conversation.

You try your best to keep your mind on the conversation that your peers were having in front of you. You kept in mind what Kim said. You didn’t want to be used in any way.

You made your way to history and the class dragged on. Paul came in late, lazily puts his homework in the homework bin, sits in his seat in the back of the classroom and goes to sleep. The teacher doesn’t even bother to bring attention to it, they didn’t feel like arguing with him and wanted to get through the lesson.

As the class was filing out, he was still sleep. Nobody wanted to wake him up out of fear. You walk over, shake his warm arm, not too hard to startle him. His bloodshot eyes meet yours. “Class is over.” you tell him.

He looks around, stretch a bit and scrunch his eyes. He gets up and you just make your way to your next class.

When the day was over, you went to retrieve your jacket, the rain from earlier being heavy now. You’re almost down the hallway, “Y/N!” you turn around. Paul dangles his car keys. “You want a ride?”

You definitely did not want to walk in the rain or get on the rowdy bus. You nod and thank him. You two walk in stride and you poke fun of him for sleeping. “I just couldn’t do it. I told you it’s boring.” he simply replies.

Seated in his car, his scent being all over the car, you put your seatbelt on. He yawns and asks, “Do you want to come back over?”

You had no plans on having afterschool plans, the teachers had no mercy and homework was piled up today. “I got homework. I have to tackle it before I feel like I won’t feel like it.” you reply.

“Cool. We can do it together. Plus you said you were going to help me.”

“I said I can help you. Not that I would.”

“Same thing.”

That’s how you two were sprawled on Paul’s bed, that he didn’t bother to make up. He even changed into his house clothes, which wasn’t much since it was loose basketball shorts and no shirt. You tried to not stare too much. Just peeked glances when he would turn away. You were only there to teach him some strategies that helped you understand the hardness of your work.

But it seemed impossible, he kept distracting you. Once you went to explain how to get a certain answer, he would rub his finger softly back and forth on the back of your resting hand. That would give you butterflies and it would make you retract your hand, due to nervousness. He found this amusing. It was as if he knew the effect he had on you.

“I want to take a break.” he decided.

“We barely put a dent in.” you say.

He sighs softly and looks around his room. “Want to play cards?”

“I don’t want to play go fish.” you say with a hint of annoyance.

He nudges you, “Come on i’m not playing that.”

You two shared a game of spades. As the game was still fresh, you two organizing your cards from highest to lowest rank, he makes a deal. “If you win, we can go back to our work.”

“Good.” you say and look at your cards.

“If I win…” he starts to say and waits for you to look up. He had a mischievous look on his face that makes you roll your eyes.

“What? If you win, what?” you ask.

“If I win…you have to…kiss me.” he says with an anticipation effect.

You shake your head and scoff. You knew if you two kissed, things will never be the same. That’s all you would have on your mind. You wouldn’t even look at him the same. Plus, this guy seemed to know the game better than you. He did have to teach you the rules after all.

“I’m not doing that.” you playfully say.

He nods his head to solidify that’s exactly what’s going to happen and hums a response. You zero in on the game you two were playing. You wanted to save yourself the trouble, so you were determined to win. It didn’t seem to matter, everything so far was working in his favor. He won trick after trick. You only won one. After scoring, he did in fact win.

You groan while he laughs in satisfaction. Scooping the cards up and puts them back where they belong. You lamely announce you have to go to the bathroom, standing up and make your way towards his bedroom door.

“Uh uh.” he says to you, clearly seeing through your excuse. “I won. So, where my prize?”

“It wasn’t a fair win. Before this game, I didn’t even know how to play.” you say.

“A deals a deal.” He says.

You stand there for a sec, too stunned, because since he did in fact win, you had to carry out the deal.

“What are you waiting for. Let’s get it over with.” you tell him when he doesn’t move. He gets up and is now very close in front of you, nervousness is seeping through your entire body. You’ve never been this close to him before, especially face to face. He hurt so much to look at him because he just had a face that anybody would go crazy for.

“I said you have to kiss me. So i’m ready when you are.” he says lowly and looks at your lips.

You would’ve never thought in a million years that you would be in Paul Lahore’s room, about to kiss Paul Lahote. You suck in a shaky breath and quickly lean forward and press your lips to his. He’s not satisfied and his face doesn’t hide it.

“That was not a kiss.”

“Yes it was.” you tell him.

“No. I want a real kiss.” he says and there’s no signs of him giving up. He knows you’re stalling, so he curl his finger in a ‘come here’ motion to hurry you up.

You slowly inch and inch and you just lay your lips to his. He then takes the lead because he doesn’t know when’s the next time this will ever happen. He wants to make the most of this. Head titled, he licks your bottom lip to get an entry and caressed his tongue with your own. His hand creeps behind your neck and you had no choice but to move forward close up on him.

The butterflies weren’t in your stomach this time, it was in your womanhood and you felt excited, even though this wasn’t your plan. He lets you go with a sensual snack and you’re breathing heavy. His eyes were low with swollen lips and it made you want to kiss him again.

You don’t even know what to say, so you two look at each other for a minute. You turn to sit down on his bed and look at the floor. You felt the bed dip beside you and glance over and he’s still looking at you, searching your face for something.

He opens his mouth to say something but a door closing catches both of your attention. He goes out to greet his father, who just came home from work. While he’s gone for that duration, you feel your bottom lip with your tongue and realize you can still taste him. You just simply can’t believe that just happened.

You get your school work in order and focus back into the academic mission that was originally supposed to transpire. You don’t even know if you can focus again.

“That was my dad.” he tells you.

You nod your head in acknowledgment.

“Can we…finish up?” you ask timidly.

He sits now and actually lets you take the lead in showing him how to solve the problems. There was a sense of tension but you pushed past it to finish. When you two are finished, it’s nighttime and you know you have to head home soon.

“Alright, hopefully you got the hang of it.” you say as you’re stuffing your belongings back into your backpack.

“I need your number in case I need your help again.” he boldly says. Your hands start to get shaky again. You didn’t know whether or not you wanted this to be a frequent thing. Your thoughts stop when he extends his phone for you to enter your number. You take it hesitantly and enter it and give it back to him.

You two make your way downstairs and Paul’s dad is sitting in his designated chair watching whatever is on the television.

You two greet each other and he just puts an arm around your shoulder to steer you out. You surprisingly like this gesture and you wish it could be like this forever. You two get settled in a car and before silence takes over he speaks.

“I want to take you out.”

“Oh..where?”

He chuckles as if it were an inside joke, “I mean.. How should I say this?” he thinks for a moment. The ticking of the turning signal fills the air. “I want to always do what we did. I like it. And I like you.”

You don’t trust your voice, you don’t even know what to say, so you just nod.

Your house comes into view and he says, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning okay?”

“Okay. Thanks again.” You opened the door and before you lift yourself out of the seat, you turn to him and say, “I think…I like you too.” you say.

He gives you a smile that lets you know he is satisfied with your answer.

As you lie in bed, you were right. That’s all you kept thinking about. It got to the point where the night felt like it was dragging on. All you wanted to do was sleep it off but it seemed impossible. Every time you closed your eyes it seemed like you were reliving it over and over again. Your mind started to travel to different directions, thinking of what would happen if you two kept going and didn’t stop. All of the tossing and turning made your pillow warm and flipped it over to retry sleep.

The next day, you were a bit tired from getting only 4 hours of sleep. You tried not to think too much of your outfit, even though you couldn’t get out of your head of how he told you when you looked nice.

You said goodbye to the remaining people in your household who haven’t left yet and made your way outside. He was there as promised, with the engine running. You get in and tell him good morning.

He greets you back but more importantly he leans over and kisses your cheek softly with so much affection it almost seemed out of place for his hard exterior. Your face feels hot and a small grin creeps your lips.

You two make small talk and then you start to yawn.

“Tired?” he asks.

“Yeah.” you couldn’t wait for the day to already be over so you can jump in your bed and take a nap.

“Up thinking about me?” he asks cockily.

You roll your eyes playfully and don’t say anything. He just snickers at your reaction.

He pulls into the school lot and you already have your seatbelt unbuckled, he places a warm hand above your chest to hold you in place for a second.

“Not so fast.” he teases. You look at him in confusion and he makes it his duty to kiss you again. It was unexpected and it wasn’t a quick peck. He held your chin with his index finger and thumb.

After he pulls away, with you trying to catch your breath, he walks over to your side on the car door and lets you out. You walk in stride with him and he has an arm resting around you, pulling you close. People look of course but with him, it doesn’t feel embarrassing.

He walks you to your locker and patiently waits for you to put your belongings in there. He never brought a backpack. You don’t know how he survived this long doing such thing.

Kim comes into view but slowly decrease her speed in walking when she sees who’s with you.

“Hey Y/N.” she says to you awkwardly.

You say hi to her as if it was the most normal day.

“I’ll meet you in class.” she simply says and makes her way.

Paul walks you to where you needed to go.

Whenever you’re out of class, he’s right there. He holds onto you as if you’re going to run away if he lets go. You’re so absorbed in his company that you don’t even meet up with Kim and your other friends. You get your lunch together. He steers you to his table, not trying to repeat the same thing that happened the previous day.

Kim looks at you with a ‘what are you doing’ expression look on her face. You give her an apologetic look and Paul sit you down super close next to him. His friends sense the new company but they don’t say anything out of line because Paul is giving them all a look that could kill. He keeps one hand placed on the outer side of your thigh.

He softly makes conversation with you. Each vibrational wave of his voice raising hairs on the back of your neck, suddenly paying attention how attractive his voice is.

In history class, he’s sleep as always.

The day is over and he doesn’t even have to tell you that he’s driving you home. As the school is out of view, he’s not driving in the direction of your home.

“I’m tired, I want to take a nap.” you tell him, completely wiped from the school day. Mentally cursing yourself for not getting enough sleep.

“You can sleep with me.” he says.

You’re nervous again. Walking with him through his house and you sit on his bed while he changes out of his school clothes.

When he comes back in the room, he pulls his covers back and it looks enticing, looking like you’ll get the best sleep of your life from it.

“Come on. I thought you were tired.” he says impatiently.

You take off your jacket and place it in the chair that it’s in room and lay on your side. He lays down after you and pulls you to him and kisses you once more. When he’s done, you turn to get some sleep and buries his face in the back of your neck and you two drift happily into slumber.

[90108s]

error_? (id below)

[START I.D. A digital illustration of Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang. They’re both wearing the same clothes from the official “Surprising Click” artwork by INPLICK. Lu Guang is on the floor, his back against a low cabinet and looking down at a photograph in his hand. There are other photographs strewn around him and falling out of the cabinet’s compartments. Behind Lu Guang and above the cabinet is a big screen displaying a slightly distorted image of Cheng Xiaoshi grinning. Surrounding the screen are a few smaller ones that read, “404 NOT FOUND” in distorted text. There are blue, red, and black wires connected to the screens. Blood can be seen on the floor, the low cabinet, the big screen, as well as on Lu Guang’s clothes, face, hand, and under his shoes. END I.D.]

[nymphomatique]

your nerd miguel fics are so good i didnt even know id like dom!reader this much

imagine slutty!reader getting ready for another party and she's barely wearing anything, pretty tits n ass spilling out of her clothes. she's leaning forward over the vanity to do her make up, and miguel cand help but get distracted from (her) homework, and just looks at her plump ass peeking from under her flimsy skirt. he begs her to let him rub himself on her and with hesitant hands he grips her hips and dryhumps her like a dog in heat

well, yes!

cw: slight dom!fem reader, sub!miguel yall know the vibes, me indulging in fashion for a moment, dry humping, miguel cums in his undies, this one’s a lil sweet i fear, awkward ending soz, edited AND proofread y’all 🙏🏾 (can’t guarantee no mistakes however)

wc: 1.6k

❤︎ a/n: i’m a dirty liar and forgot to upload this yesterday but!! she’s here and she was a labour of love! everyone who survived the great barbie drought of winter 2023-2024 gets a pin and goodie bag at the door. nevertheless, enjoy!! 💋

“hey, four eyes, this dress or should i wear a skirt instead?”

brown eyes you’ve come to know so well, more than you’d like to admit, flit up to meet yours momentarily until they look at the two articles of clothing hanging on hangers between your manicured fingers. in one hand, a mesh cut out dress with a deep plunging neckline, and a khaki mini skirt in the other.

“um, skirt. y-you looked pretty in it when you bought it, so um- you should wear it,” miguel mumbles, a pink tint sweeping its way lightly across his face. you’re feeling particularly sweet on him today. it’s been hard to keep your eyes off him as of recent, his chiseled jaw, thick lips, and who could ever forget the resplendent pools of brown that takes form of his eyes. eyes that make your face heat up, setting your body ablaze and feeling feverish under the slightest of glances.

he’s classically handsome, that much you won’t deny, as much as it kills you.

you silently take his suggestion in heed, quietly stripping in front of him to change into the skirt he suggested, and pulling on a black long sleeved crop to to match. you silently lament on the memory of the day you bought the skirt, how you had dragged miguel by his shirt alongside you that day to the mall to sit and watch you buy clothes at any and every store, designer or department, and shuck your bags into his strapping arms. you had wandered into miu miu, miguel trailing not too far behind you with your bags from blumarine, versace, cavalli and more comfortable in his hands. he sat patiently in the waiting chairs as you picked up an array of shirts and skirts and accessories, until you were ready to try them on. miguel sat and watched as you said no and turned your nose up at nearly everything until you tried on a khaki skirt, sitting so low on your hips the straps of your red thing peeking above the waistband.

you turned and twirled in the mirror, admiring the skirt on yourself until you turned to miguel himself, walking up to him as he’s sat to ask him, “you like it?” and like it he does, a hefty hand trailing up from your thigh to your hip, tapping your your hip softly. “you know i do, baby,” and you giggle at his answer, twirling for him before walking back the dressing room to change, not before biting your lip and beckoning miguel to follow at your heels with a pink painted acrylic nail. and follow he does, because he’s such a good boy.

you feel roused at the memory of your dressing room quickie in the same skirt you’re wearing now. and you’re sure miguel feels the same, and you don’t miss the opportunity to provoke him at any moment.

you bend over, slow but curt, fixing up your makeup in your large vanity while your ass sits out in direct display, the short fabric of the skirt lifting as you bend. your black thong is made visible as you bend and wiggle you hips. you steal small glances in the mirror to where miguel is on your bed, sitting in a sea of linear calculus books, and sure enough the methods of linear are long forgotten to focus on your exposed backside. you giggle and turn your head to look at him, and his lips purse when he realizes he’s been caught. before he can sputter anything out, you stand and turn to him and ask him, “see something you like, dontcha?”

a silent swallow and a nod is miguel’s response, his growing erection answer enough for you.

“beg me for what you want.”

and there’s a brief fleeting moment after the words leave your lips. an unspoken fervour in the air, perhaps a mix of what hasn’t been said and all that’s left to say about the two of you. you feel hot, your gaze burning through miguel’s clothes, burning his skin all the way across the room. you want him, you want him, you want him. and he’s looking back at you, a subdued but still present lust in his eyes. you see the submission, his compliance. yes, mistress.

his knees hit the floor, and then his rough palms follow suit and he’s crawling towards you until he’s not, and his sat like a good little boy in front of you painted feet, and he does what you ask, he begs for your touch, your taste, your mercy.

“please let me touch you, i need it, please please please. can i have it? can i touch you, mommy? i don’t even have to be inside you, j-just your touch and i can- i can cum. please? oh god please-“ miguel babbles, his hulking form looking up at you from the floor. you feel like the wind has been knocked out of your chest. he just needs your touch. you card a hand through his thick wavy locks, gripping at the nape and pulling his head up to look at you.

“just need my touch, hmm?” you look at him and he nods. whimpers. so fucking pathetic. “i’ll let you hump me like you want. my subservient little puppy needs it, huh?” you coo mockingly. a string of yes’s and thank you’s leave miguel’s lips and you get up and turn around, bending over to brace yourself on your vanity.

you’re fully presented for miguel, and there’s an empty beat of stillness between you both, you make eye contact with him in the mirror and quip, “gonna keep me waiting?” and he knows better than that. he’s up on his feet, unbuckling his belt and shucking his jeans down and off him, standing in his boxers, swollen and full with his erection. he moves behind you, placing his hands on either sides of your hips.

“no ma’am.”

you can’t help but pulse in anticipation. you look at him in the mirror and find that he’s looking at you already and you feel yourself heat up. please don’t make me wait anymore, you think. like he’s read your mind, miguel’s covered erection is pressed up against the gusset of your panties, perfectly slot between your ass cheeks.

and experimental hump sends you bouncing forward a little, your breasts jiggling a bit, a soft sigh of satisfaction leaving you. finally. another hump, miguel’s strong hands pulling your hips back towards his crotch and you gasp a bit and the pleasure. another thrust of hips, and again, and again until it becomes a steady rhythm of soft sighs and low groans. and it goes on from a thrust to a trust and grind, and oh! the meat of miguel’s dick rubs up against your clit and you can’t help but moan.

your moans are joined by miguel’s whimpers, his hips rocking so intensely it has you burning up inside so much that you think you might cum from the stimulation. “s-so good baby, fuck,” miguel let’s out and you keen at his praise. you’re so good, you’re his baby. you push and grind your hips up in time with his, feeling yourself begin to soak through your panties and maybe onto miguel’s dark boxers. you can’t hold yourself together anymore, feeling yourself come apart so you drop your head onto your vanity’s surface, hoping to salvage some semblance of your pride.

the thick hands on your hips move to find purchase within your skirt, grabbing fistfuls of the short fabric before pulling your hips back with a staggering strength. you feel your knees buckle a bit, and your head shoots back up with an accompanying moan.

miguel pulls you down while pushing himself up into you and it feels so fucking good. your palms feel clammy and you feels as if you’re still sanding by the grace of god. every nudge of your clit feels as if it’s short circuiting your motor functions temporarily and you feel so overwhelmed to the pleasure, you can do nothing but succumb to it, and the man granting you it.

“m’gonna cum miguel. so good, so fucking good. wish you were inside me so i can feel you. wish you could feel me cum around you. f-feels so good please don’t stop! i’m gonna- oh!” you’re mumbling and babbling incessantly, canting hips and soft whimpers that turn into heavy groans only further pushing you past your limit through this titillating pleasure.

“fuck, gonna come with you baby. come with me, please mommy i need it,” miguel moans. his hands release your skirt and dig into your hips once more and you’re sure you’ll find salacious marks there in the morning but you don’t care, not when you’re so close.

a particular hard thrust sends you reeling forward, head almost hitting your mirror and you can’t help but give out within your legs. you feel them shake and almost go numb at the pleasure. you’re left helpless, cumming violently and soaking the fabric separating both you and miguel as miguel continues his assault against your poor pussy. he fucks it- humps it?- raw, overstimulating you to the point of pain when finally he finishes with a final thrust, his nails digging into the meat of your curvature. you feel his cum seep through the material of both of your arguments and you moan as it hits the gusset of your thong.

miguel lets go of your hip and you wobble a bit, using your upper body upon your desk to stabilize you. you’re both panting and heaving, taking in the intense and carnal display of lust between the two of you. you’re quiet before you hear miguel pipe up, breathlessly, pulling you from your daze.

“thank you, mistress.”

smug bastard.