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Anybody want any htbRobotic!AU stuff? I’d be happy to answer any questions or explain how the characters and/or plot changed! :] /gen

Welcome, laddies, lasses, and las, to the first episode of “I’m kind of bad at art but I needed to get this done!” Today’s piece of work?

This solid 6/10 reference of what a mimic in the Hail, True Body Robotic!AU might look like!

(I’m a beginner artist, if you couldn’t tell.)

Keep in mind, this is not what ALL robotic mimics look like. This is just an example. If you want to know more about the mimics, there’s information in the masterpost for this AU. The original series that this is an AU of is Hail, True Body by mustangs-flames. :]

Text, in order from top to bottom:

Hail, True Body

Robotic!AU

Mimics

This is an example of what a robotic mimic might look like.

Feel free to ask questions! :)

Because of your Htb aus mimics being more robotic than eldritch horror what exactly happened to human!cesar? I man in the original dude got broken down completely and turned into nothing so is his body still around somewhere in this version?

Yup! Since robots don’t feel a need to eat, mimic!Cesar just took human!Cesar’s soul and disposed of the corpse before calling Mark.

Hail, True Body mimic!Cesar stimboard! :]

TW: Scopophobia, knife(cutting food), kitty claws, and unsettling imagery.

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“It doesn’t take a killer to murder/It only takes a reason to kill” [Laplace’s Angel(Hurt People? Hurt People!) By Will Wood] https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1PYEf91MOsSL7e96Aq7suJ?si=lYOKODRZQ4Ku2IKIlITZeg&pi=u-wMtnIIJqRviP

This is SO INCREDIBLY COOL! As someone who’s been in a pretty damn large earthquake(rrrrright on the Ring of Fire), this is also a really accurate representation of what it’s like to be in one! :]

This video captures a live emergency alert broadcast from August of 2018. For Texas residents of the eastern permian basin, these kinds of alerts and alarms are somewhat common. Though the tremors and ejecta of these small events are quite minimal when compared to the larger 2007 event, they are still a point of danger and are taken seriously by those who live and work around the permian basin superorganism.  [ Update: A Discord has been created by Mystery Flesh Pit fans and can be accessed (here) ]

when will YA authors realize that the mr. darcy fantasy isn’t “hot rich guy is a huge dick to you” but “hot rich guy fucking respects and listens to you”

MANIAC #1: Chris Bang (Full Story)

«S(INISTER)KZ: MANIACS COLLECTION MASTERLIST»

LEGEND 📓Release status/Rating · 🖤Pairing · 🪐Universe · 🏷️Genre/Trope · 🚨 Warnings

WOLF BY THE TAIL

📜13.5K words | Approx. 60-minute read 📓One-shot, Explicit 🖤Bang Chan x (afab) Reader 🪐Prison AU, Inmate/Gangster!Chan (feat. hardcore simping) 🏷️Angst, Smut, Psychological, Crime 🚨Please see the series masterlist for general warnings: May contain factual inaccuracies (just play along), self-harm, Machiavellianism (severe manipulative tendencies), themes of cheating, themes of revenge, referenced miscarriage, professional ethics going out the window, crime of passion, referenced murder, prison violence, referenced breaking and entering & attempted physical/sexual assault, confrontation, emotional turmoil/severe internal conflict, wound suturing (mention of needles), desacralization (sexual acts taking place in a confessional), masturbation, first time oral sex (f receiving), semi-public sex (in non-residential environments), implied breeding kink, strength kink, oral sex, unprotected sex, creampie, fully charged vibrators will be recommended per usual. 📻Accompanying soundtrack 💭Reblogs & comments are always appreciated and please keep in mind they are the ultimate motivation fuel. 🍮Like my content? Consider supporting my work with a pudding!

The charmer of the Aussies. Jewel of The Crown Street Cartel. Fucking pride of his area code and his pack with a gigantic “Kia Kaha” tattoo on his back. Inmate Christopher Bang.

“Kia kaha!”

“KIA KAHA!”

Stay strong. And the rest will follow.

It wasn’t the sheer thrill of breaking the rules that drove Chris to the convoluted world of crime. He let himself ride the wave of his bad decisions to see where it was gonna eventually take him. Apparently, it would make him crash his surfboard into the shores of opioids, sandy beaches that you could snort by yourself or trade for some moisture. Whether it was the alcohol, bodily fluids, or spit spewing from angry mouths over a deal table, the incessant heat emitted from his lust for life would make it evaporate just to condense in the sky and rain back down again as dollar bills.

Silver rings on those long, dexterous fingers, silver necklace around the neck that held his head way too high, silver tongue in that mouth home to all kinds of sins. Inducing immediate envy in anybody who witnessed how easy he made it look to get rich or die trying, immediate desire in anybody who caught a whiff of his wind as he walked by. Fucking charmer and the pride of his area code if not the entire continent, bound by the extreme loyalty he possessed for the pack he belonged to. The rivals of The Crown Street Cartel could do nothing but seethe in their intense loathing toward him, prompted by the mere fact that Chris just existed. He was the epitome of being devious; so much so that he could literally walk right off anything by just talking his way out of it.

Needless to say, nothing, absolutely nothing satisfied the aforementioned bitter foes more than hearing the word that shit indeed hit the fan for The Crown Street.

“They got Jake.”

Jake. The deranged troublemaker hopped up on adrenaline, aggressively looking up to Chris and way too impatient for his own good. His sworn protégé. The cause of the emergency get-together with the boss man Oliver and their designated lawyer Jun to come up with a strategy dedicated to saving his ass for the umpteenth time.

“What are our options? Give it to us straight,” Oliver demanded.

Jun heaved a deep sigh, “Jake has priors. This doesn’t look good,” he stated bluntly, “If he talks, this time around he’s getting locked up for at least ten years with no chance of parole if not a life sentence.”

Chris held his head between his hands, utterly frustrated and cursing Jake’s ass off inside for not being more careful. For not being more patient. For having this unnecessary desire to prove himself.

“Is there nothing we can do?” Chris appealed emphatically, “I’m not gonna let the kid rot in a hellhole.”

Jun leaned back in his chair and looked dead into Chris’ eyes albeit with a defeated expression.

“Hypothetically speaking, if someone else with no priors on paper owns up to it, I can negotiate a deal for as little as five years.” 

“How the fuck is five years little?!” Oliver yelled while slamming his fist on the circular mahogany table.

“Under these circumstances, it actually is. You’re lucky we’re not trying to dodge a death penalty here,” Jun declared, “All you gotta do is find someone to take the rep. Play nice and he can get out on parole in a year or so.”

Fascinating thing, loyalty. Things that would never even pop up in your wildest dreams, it would make you do without blinking an eye. What was there to even think about when you knew someone’s fate was lying in your hands, especially if that someone meant the world to you?

“I’ll confess to it.”

“Chris, no.”

“What’s the alternative, huh? He’ll get jumped before 3 PM on his first day,” Chris countered immediately, “Jun’s always had our back. If this is the lesser of the two evils, I’ll do it. He says I can be out in a year.”

“But what if you can’t?” Oliver implored him to see reason, “This is jail time we’re talking about, mate, not fucking community service. ”

Chris’ eyes were dripping with determination and Oliver knew what that meant. Once he set his mind to something, it was impossible to talk Chris out of it no matter how obvious the end result was. He was just one of those people who had to experience things firsthand, either to brag an ‘I told you so’ or to finally acknowledge what a horrendous mistake that was.

“You already know I’m well-versed in the art of surviving, brother.”

That very sentence ended up being one Chris had to serve. Luckily for him, it at least had a full stop at the end of it although it ran on for an entire paragraph. But anything to protect one of their own.

Stay strong.

Kia Kaha.

I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.

It was an oath you had taken. Well, you had to because apparently some dude named Hippocrates was extremely triggered by the concept of perjury some centuries ago, so either swear to it and make the unbreakable vow, or fucking rip your diploma in half, which cost you a hell a lot of money, and ironically enough a little bit of your own sanity in the process.

Or, you know, a good deal of it.

It wasn’t the sheer nobility of the profession that drove you to become a doctor. The design of the human body and mind had always fascinated you, so why not make a career out of it while you were getting goddamn intrigued by the total length of an average adult human’s blood vessels? Out of all the places you could have picked, you took a job in a prison as the chief attending physician because, hey, multiple birds with one stone. 

I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.

Nobody told you to take on the challenge of serving the most disturbed crowd that you could possibly come across, but you did it anyway as if this was the only correct way of practicing your craft. At a correctional facility. Since you couldn’t think of a more infirm population than a building full of captive lunatics…

“I’m leaving. Will you be home by dinner?”

“I’ll try.”

Not even a ‘Have a good one on your first day, sweetheart’. Fuck that, not even a curt ‘Good luck’.

The awkward tension between you and your husband wasn’t always this palpable to cut with a knife. Not that anything specific happened to cause that, but somewhere along the way, you did feel something snap causing both of you to grow apart day by day. Maybe it was the unbearable heaviness of the mundane, coloring your entire marriage in the bleakest shade of gray. The affection? Gone. The desire? Gone. You were like two roommates at this point because you didn’t feel like doing anything for him anymore. Why bother when it was one-sided? Why bother getting a gift for someone imagining how happy it was going to make them when they couldn’t even care less? Why get upset when they didn’t react exactly in the way you pictured they would? No one put a gun to your head to get the said gift in the first place, which meant they didn’t owe you shit, did they?

When it was your spouse in question, it felt like they did. For wasting years of your life trapping you in a loveless birdcage if not for anything else. Cue the unsolicited advice from the spectators of your life.

Why do you keep doing this to yourself?

Get a divorce.

You can’t fix him. Just walk away.

How fucking easy was it to tell someone to make a drastic change in their life in a split second? Would you stop drinking coffee just because someone told you to? 

No. Unless you believed it was not doing you any good anymore.

Even then, you would find a substitute first, see how it works. Or you could try to see how well you were adjusting to the complete lack of it, if at all. Everyone’s tolerance to change was different, after all; some welcomed it with open arms, and some avoided it like the plague. In any case, when you felt confident about your eventual decision, when you felt ready, then and only then would you make the change.

Not because somebody told you to because nobody was going to go through the consequences on your behalf if shit went south, nor were they going to take the blame for your prospective unhappiness with the outcome.

I will not be ashamed to say "I know not"...

Your marital bed that was empty most nights was not your place of work. Breaking an oath within the confines of your suffocation was not going to harm anyone.

Other than yourself.

Inmate 8MS3HF92. 

That was what Chris was known as for the past ten months. No name, no surname, nothing that could humanize him. Mere letters and numbers. Another statistic to quote in recidivism reports maybe. The only time he would be reminded of his identity was when he was addressed by his prison family as ‘Bang’, the circle of people showing him the ins and outs of navigating the hell simulator with as little damage and as much profit as possible. To all the guards, to the warden, to everybody else, he was just ‘inmate’.

Not for long, though.

Do not pick fights no matter what and survive.

Survive.

That was exactly what he had been doing.

The plan was quite straightforward on paper: he was going to endure this for two more months, go up against the parole committee, and get the hell outta there for good, quite possibly getting another assault charge within his first hour as a free man by beating the shit out of Jake. If he dared press charges against his role model, that was.

Chris was one sly man that took particular, not to mention excessive, pride in the way he operated. He would never get his hands dirty. He wanted something? He would talk his way into it. He detected a threat? He would orchestrate the subtlest of feuds and have someone else get rid of it on his behalf. Obviously, ‘on his behalf’ did not mean that you would do it in full awareness that this was in Chris’ best interests. He would pitch it to you in such a manner that you would have no choice but to believe the threat was actually posed to you. 

Yeah, he needed to survive, but being in the only place where you could make the most twisted but most lucrative connections, he was not going to waste that opportunity. Prison? More like a gangster's LinkedIn. After successfully outlining the food chain and making several rounds of meet and greets, Chris finally located where the drug ops ran from, and obviously getting himself assigned to any other place would be out of the question. 

“Work detail assignments. Bang, you're working in the kitchen.”

“Oh, am I now? What a pleasant surprise.”

Ever the smooth talker, yes, but Chris still managed to make a few enemies wherever he went. That was both the curse and the blessing of being a charmer: If you didn't annoy the fuck out of somebody along the way, you were doing it wrong. That being said, the closer his parole hearing date approached, the more intolerant people became. He could just breathe in the general direction of someone he never talked to before and still manage to irritate them. That was the tradition of this place. You’d go through the hazing when you were about to graduate, not during orientation.

“Bang. A word.”

He was being called by Andrei, the head honcho of the kitchen, right before lunch. Chris wiped his hands on his apron and followed suit behind him.

“What's up, boss?”

“We were expecting a little delivery from the commissary two days ago. What the fuck happened with that Aussie boy?”

“Yeah, about that,” Chris scratched his nape with a look feigning an apology in his eyes like he was oh so sorry, “We’re experiencing a little hiccup. Should come in no later than Friday, though.”

“That's not what we agreed upon.”

“I know, but I'm also leaning on other people here. I can't exactly go out to personally bring in your heroin now, can I?”

Andrei cornered Chris against a wall and slammed both his hands on either side of him. 

“I don't appreciate being played for a fool, Aussie boy.”

“Chill, mate. What the fuck are you busting my balls for?”

“Because your goddamn smug face gets on my last fucking nerve.”

“Have you looked in a mirror recently?”

The loud sound of a jar crashing alerted the two guards on the floor, prompting them to immediately dash towards the kitchen. 

“Break it off! Break it off now!”

Chris might have managed to dodge getting his throat ripped, but a large piece of glass still made its way to his chest area, cutting a wound open below his left collarbone. A couple of centimeters more to the south and it could have easily been a slasher movie. He was immediately escorted to the infirmary to get patched up, which was hilarious in itself for Chris. He couldn't think of anything more ironic than nursing someone back to health just so they could rot some more. He waited and waited and waited on that gurney for someone to appear, washcloth still pressing on the bleeding wound and annoyed out of his mind.

“Hey doc, can we get this shit over with already? I kinda need to be somewhere right now.”

“Please excuse the tardiness to your schedule, your majesty. We're a little shorthanded around here,” you walked into the room.

Whoa…

Chris briefly wondered whether he in fact died on that floor due to blood loss because there was no other way he could see angels clad in white in broad daylight, not to mention in that dementor den.

“Who the fuck-? I mean…”

“It's fine, I've been called worse,” you responded without taking your eye off the incident report in your hands, “I'm Dr. Y/N Y/LN, the new chief attending physician,” then you met his eyes at long last, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance inmate 8MS3HF92 that got jumped in the kitchen.”

“Pretty name, huh? It’s French,” he grinned, “Chris Bang for short would suffice, doc.”

You knew what you were getting yourself into when you started working in this prison, and your contract with Hippocrates included one thing in its essence: Help the sick and do no harm. In that particular moment, however, you crassly fistbumped him for blessing your eyes by sending in this Olympian contemporary of his for a change. Yes, this might have been an inmate in front of you, but all your suppressed urges could register was a pair of thick forearms adorned with bulging veins all the way down to his hands; long, slender fingers pressing on his wound, and thighs spread wide almost invitingly…

…if you were anywhere else but in a prison at that moment, that is.

“Take it off, please.”

Chris’ mind was also somewhere else, so he wasn’t able to instantly comprehend your request, “Uh- Take what off?”

“Your top,” you pointed your pen at him, “So that I can examine the injury.”

He proceeded to do exactly as you said, but never in your entire professional life did you have to contain something primitive threatening to rear its head inside you. You bitchslapped your lizard brain really hard to remind yourself once again that this was a goddamn patient you had to attend to. Little did you know that you weren’t actually alone in this struggle.

Your smell was making Chris dizzy and he couldn’t control the arousal that forced a mild erection when you ran your hands on his chest, which was actually on his wound, but he couldn’t care less. It didn’t matter whether they were hidden under latex gloves since his goddamn touch starvation was through the roof already. To top it all off, you looking like that? It was a miracle he didn't blow in his pants right then and there. 

You finished stitching his wound in complete silence while he watched you with his lips slightly parted, and only when you informed him you were done was he able to come back to reality.

“Come back next week, okay?”

Once he snapped out of it, Chris immediately wore his other personality on his sleeve as a knee-jerk reaction.

“Why don’t you just say you’re gonna miss me? I can even come back tomorrow,” he smugly grinned. You looked at him with a confused look.

“To get your stitches removed, Bang. The fuck is wrong with you?” you scoffed, “You can go back to your easy bake oven now.”

Not easily charmed, huh? I fucking love that in a woman.

“Thank you for taking care of me, doc. I’ll see you soon.”

Chris left the infirmary that day with a smile glued to his lips, full-on launching the crescent craters adorning his cheeks and secretly hoping you found dimples attractive in a man. 

One borrowed touch was all it took. He caught himself counting down the days to get his stitches removed instead of his parole hearing.

All of a sudden, the walls weren’t closing in on him as much anymore. His breathing was still a little irregular but seemingly for different reasons than the humidity crawling in the stone walls. He had trouble falling asleep no matter how much he forced himself because his mind wouldn’t shut up about you. If only he could fall asleep, maybe he could see you one more time.

One day. Three days. Five days. And finally back to the infirmary again. God, if that didn’t feel longer than the time he had served…

“Hey, doc!”

You looked up at the unusually chirpy voice that most certainly did not belong to the dismal backdrop of this place. It was the stitches dude that looked more like a sculpture with a chip on it.

“Feeling good today, are we?” you commented while wearing your gloves to check the healing status of his scar, “Are you getting out or something?”

Chris actually had a snarky comment ready for you but as soon as your hand brushed against his, he forgot what he was going to say due to the sudden jolt he felt.

“There’s uh- fish tacos… for lunch.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the unexpected answer, “I take it you’re very easy to please, Bang.”

Fucking yes. Let me borrow your lips just once and watch the fireworks go off.

As you got to work with a pair of tweezers to remove his stitches, Chris was watching you completely awestruck as if he was appreciating a piece of fine art, right click saving everything he could observe about you into his mind. Your brows that creased whenever you were focused on something, beautiful lips you licked every now and then, hair that looked like it was made of pure silk, skin that most certainly felt like velvet to the touch…

God, you're like a queen. 

“All done. Don’t run around with scissors, okay?” you smiled and got up from the stool in front of him.

“Thank you.” 

The gratitude was pretty much redundant considering this was your job; you were literally on payroll to take care of people. Nevertheless, you actually appreciated it since the stitches dude was quite literally the first person to thank you for your services.

“I uh- I'll see you around, doc.”

“I hope not. That would mean you injured yourself again or something,” you giggled and gently squeezed his shoulder, “Stay out of trouble, Bang.”

Oh, I don’t think so, my queen.

Chris tossed and turned in his bed for what felt like hours to him that night because his mind wouldn’t shut up about the burn on his shoulder caused by the first ‘unprotected’ touch you shared without a layer of latex between his skin and yours. If only he could fall asleep, maybe he could see you one more time.

Then again, he didn’t actually have to wait for that when you were all that he saw whenever he closed his eyes, so he did. His hand moved inside his bottoms as if it had a mind of its own. 

And there you were. Your attention completely on him, your tongue glazing your lips every now and then. Why were you licking them, though? Was it because you also felt your throat getting dry? Was it because you also wanted to press them against his?

Fuck, I’d kill to feel those lips on me.

Your face. The way the corners of your mouth curled when you smiled at him. The way you slightly squinted your eyes when you were focused. Was that what you looked like when you were turned on?

I want you. Oh god, I want you so bad.

Your poise. The way you carried yourself. Firm steps, determined voice, very obviously not taking shit from anyone. Grace materialized.

I wanna be the floor you walk on, fucking christ.

Just your sheer beauty. The way you oozed sexiness without revealing any piece of skin. The way you moved. The way you knew exactly what you were doing. Did you also know what exactly pleased you? Did you know all the things he was willing to do just to please you?

“Ah, fuck!”

Chris didn’t even care that he made a hefty mess on himself as he arched on that god-awful mattress. The convulsions spreading throughout his body as he came were a different kind of intense. Up until that moment in his life, he had climaxed infinity times either with the assistance of third parties or all by himself; sometimes manifesting as an unimpressive shiver and some other times mind-numbingly hard.

But not once, never once did it feel like surrendering his soul to someone.

If it is given me to save a life, all thanks. But it may also be within my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty. 

Above all, I must not play at God.

Chris wasn’t aware of what the Hippocratic oath contained, nor did he have to take it. Ergo, he was free to ‘play at god’ all he wanted whenever the fuck he saw fit. Much like that day when he overheard the Irish circle indulging in a little locker room talk while Chris was watching TV with his own entourage.

“Have you seen the doctor chick yet? Complete cumdump material if you ask me.”

“You just know she likes it dirty, sassy-ass bitch.”

Every time Chris felt the onset of a rampage coming on, he knew exactly what to do: remove himself from the environment until he could think straight. That being said, the loud sleazy waves of laughter coming from right behind him triggered him so hard that it took everything in his willpower not to crash his chair on this O’Connell lowlife’s face and scatter his brains out right then and there. He clenched his teeth and his fists really hard to control his emotions, and jumped to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Noah asked him.

“The gym, mate. Been slacking off on them weights lately. I’ll catch you later.”

Technically, Chris didn’t lie. He was indeed going to the gym, but not because his body craved that post-workout dopamine release. He knew the one man he needed was always in the gym during those hours.

“Paco! My main man,” he got behind the bench his friend was lifting weights on.

“What's good, Bang?”

“Can't complain. Can't complain.”

Chris helped him with the next set of benchpress as if his sole purpose was just that all along and put the weights back in their place once the set was done.

“You already know you're my brother around here, right?”

“Damn straight, man. Ride or die.”

“Something came to my attention, so I thought I'd let you know.”

“What is it?”

He offered Paco a towel and leaned into him like he was about to reveal top secret information.

“You do remember how O'Connell ratted you out to the guards about the whole cellphone situation, right?”

“Yeah?”

Chris glanced over the gym door and turned his attention back to Paco again, “He told people he turned it in but I heard it on the grapevine that he’s indulging in a little hotline bling action for himself. The fucking audacity of this guy to fuck his girl through something that doesn't belong to him...”

“That MOTHERFUCKER…”

Chris placed his hand on Paco’s shoulder, “Just between you and me, but I think he is out to colonize all your outside resources, mate. I'd put a burner up his ass before he could even plan to do something if I were you,” then he continued after giving his friend a bottle of water, “If you wanna take back what's yours, you know where to go, brother. Find me if you need anything, yeah?”

“I owe you one, Bang. I won’t forget this.”

It was that easy. None of these people knew how to burn that sugar as brain fuel, so nobody ever questioned anything. In Chris’ defense, it took a lot of actual snitching for the ploys to work. Trust needed to be earned first - respect naturally followed. Now he could just sit back, relax, and watch the altercations unfold as the tension between the parties escalated through the roof.

Because he never got his own hands dirty. 

Now he could channel all his attention to the only thing that mattered to him. You.

You would never visit the gen pop wing, so Chris’ only chance of seeing you was coming to you at the infirmary. Of course the guards would never let him leave the wing unless he absolutely needed medical attention, which meant intensive brainstorming sessions on Chris’ end to put on successful performances to convince them he was either sick or injured. If that meant standing in front of the ventilation grates blowing cool air right after taking a freezing-ass shower, so be it. Risking pneumonia was so worth it if it meant seeing you again.

“Does it hurt when I press here?” you gently sank your fingers into his chest after listening to his breathing.

“I can’t tell. Do it again.”

“You do realize we’re not having outercourse, right Bang?”

“Says you,” Chris mischievously smiled, “You’re very much getting to second base with me right now, doc.”

You applied pressure to the area right under his jawline sharper than your scalpels to check for swelling, and grabbed a throat swab for a strep test.

“Open wide.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Bang…”

“Okay, okay. Please don’t be mad.”

You got your sample for a throat culture and went back to the back of the room to properly label it. Chris sat there in silence for some time and spoke with a soft voice.

“I don’t know why the fuck you care this much, but I’m grateful that you do, you know?”

“It’s my job to care,” you responded without looking at him.

“I know, but…” Chris trailed off, “Nobody else bothered to care about me my entire life unless I was useful to them in some capacity. You’re the first person that does it.”

You didn’t want to assume anything but when your eyes met his, you felt like you saw something glinting with a faint shade of pink, terribly reminiscent of adoration. Chris got up to head back to his wing again.

“I owe you my life, doc.”

This was his third time in the infirmary within a span of two weeks. How this man functioned in a cartel while hurting himself this much was appalling, really. Then again, maybe he didn’t and that was what landed his ass in prison in the first place.

“What is it this time, Bang? Tripped on a flat surface?”

His face lit up like a Christmas tree upon your sight, “I thought you'd like to see your favorite inmate.”

You furrowed your brows with a mildly nauseated expression, “Yeah, that's not a thing, and don't say that ever again. What do you have for me today?”

Chris spread his legs for you to show you the cut on his inner thigh, blood oozing from it now dried.

“I wasn’t being careful with the knives during the kitchen duty. We gotta be fast to feed this many people on time, you know.”

You put on your latex gloves, the supply of which was being frequently used for Chris nowadays, and examined the wound, “Looks like a clean cut, but you'll need stitches again.” Then you retorted while preparing the suture, “Just bring a fucking design next time so I can tattoo it on you. At least it'll look pretty. Drop your pants.”

Chris was tremendously grateful you were facing away from him as he gulped really thickly, experiencing a sudden case of cottonmouth. He knew the remedy to that was hidden between your lips of course, but that was neither here nor there, and certainly not to be brought up right that second. Nevertheless, he was still acutely aware of the fact that he was putting himself on display for you in some capacity.

You pulled a stool right in front of him to get to work, your instruments neatly placed on the surface right next to you. When you locked your eyes on your target, you got momentarily furious at yourself for wondering whether his thighs were always this sculpted or he shaped them out during his time here. Heaving a deep sigh, you penetrated his skin with a needle to proceed with stitching his wound, but that wasn’t when he hissed. Chris let out that sharp inhale when you placed your hand on his inner thigh instead.

“Am I hurting you?”

“A little, but it’s fine.”

Of course he was going to lie his ass off. He wasn’t about to tell you how that contact went straight to the synapse connected to his X-rated inner mind theatre and prompted a chain reaction reaching all the way down to his crotch.

Control it.

You broke into a sarcastic smirk, “A little pussy of you to gasp at a little needle when you’re in a fucking prison, don’t you think?”

Chris chortled in slight surprise at your commentary, “You usually swear this much, doc?”

“On the regular,” you replied with a firm voice, your eyes still glued to his thigh, “That’s how you motherfuckers learn to check yourselves around me. As you should.” Then you briefly looked up at him.

“Doesn't seem to be working on you that much, though. You keep showing up here like this is a restaurant.”

“So what?” he responded with a nonchalant smile, “I like how you take care of me. I don’t think that’s grounds for violating my parole chances.”

Like you were the one to talk. You really wished you could help the smile he elicited out of you as if you were two people flirting over drinks in a goddamn restaurant.

Fucking charmer.

“Don't you think we got a little more than a Hippocratic relationship going on here, doc?”

His words landed like a nuclear bomb in your office and Chris noticed that pause in your movements even though it didn't take any longer than two nanoseconds.

“I see how you shudder when you touch me.”

“Bang, stop.”

“You know it's true, though.”

His voice had become deeper all of a sudden like he was trying to get a message across. It didn't matter whether that message was in a glass bottle floating its way into obscurity without a proper address attached to it.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm married.”

Chris' face dropped ever so slightly, barely noticeable to the naked eye, but he knew. He knew that was a formality. He knew you just stated a fact. He knew that wasn't an invitation for him to make himself scarce.

“Doesn't take a genius to conclude it's not a disgustingly happy one if you ask me,” he declared, “Is it because he works so late? Doesn’t cherish you like you should be?”

“It's none of your business.”

He kept examining your face as you kept stitching him up like the answer was written there somewhere.

“Or is it because he's out a little too much? Doesn't come home for dinner anymore?”

You involuntarily flinched at his words.

“Oh, so that's why,” Chris tilted his head and continued, “Why do you fucking put up with that, doc? Knowing he was out, probably calling someone else a slut or whatever... Do you still let him go down on you with that mouth?”

You hysterically laughed in response, “Maybe it worked out for the best that I don't need to worry about anyone going down on me. Hold this,” you handed him the antiseptic trying to brush away the interrogation over your failing marriage.

“What do you mean?”

“You need to know the taste of something to crave it, Bang,” you heaved an annoyed sigh and blew on his wound, “This should heal nicely.”

Chris’ eyes widened upon your words like you just told him he was getting out the following day.

“You… You mean you've never been…”

While you were putting your instruments away, you felt your face getting hot as if you stayed under the sun for five hours straight. You must have been beet red, but you kept your composure nevertheless. Chris, on the other hand, was very much amused.

“No shit, you really don't know what it's like to be eaten out, do you, doc?” he chuckled.

You didn’t answer. Not that there was anything to be replied to. His question was rhetorical after all, but he kept on pressing for a further comment.

“It's phenomenal. Nothing quite like it,” he squinted his eyes and continued, “Especially when you eat pussy with enthusiasm. Takes a woman like you to induce that appetite.”

You returned to the stool to clean around the wound without saying anything since you were almost sure nothing intelligible was going to come out of your mouth. He kept painting you this picture and forced you to look at it. Forced you to witness how tantalizing it was. Your mind was getting infested with the image of Chris between your legs, slowly killing you with curiosity to snap and find out whether it was true, whether it was really that hell of an experience like he was promising.

If you don't have something to retort with, then shut the fuck up.

“But you're not terribly upset with me, are you doc? This doesn't bother you as much as you believe it should.”

You were wondering whether Chris somehow managed to install wires in your mind, narrating your own thoughts back to you shamelessly. He tugged at the stray hairs right in the intersection of your nape and your ear. You shuddered at the sensation.

“Why else would you close your eyes when I touch your hair?”

He placed his hand on your cheek that was warm to the touch, courtesy of his relentless flustering attempts. You found yourself leaning into it, not a shred of courage present in your soul to open your eyes and look at him. You didn't want to burst with anticipation and you were desperately looking for the whereabouts of your sanity but it was nowhere to be found. And then…

You felt his lips on yours, asking for permission to stay a while longer, begging you to not send him away. Soft but wet. Warm but intense. Tender but passionate. And it was gaining speed like a plane was about to take off with his fingers brushing your hair, his tongue clashing with yours, his lips consuming yours, and your hands trying to find their way to his face. If you didn't take the last exit right about now, you were fucking doomed.

“No,” you pulled away from him hurriedly like someone told you to cut it off, trying to catch your breath, “Go. We're done here.”

“Are we, though?” he flashed the faintest but still a knowing smile.

“You don't have to come in every time you sneeze, Bang. Stay out of trouble,” you quickly made your way to your desk to occupy yourself with filling out some patient forms.

Chris exhaled and got up to his feet to make his way back, “I would hold that thought if I were you. This is a fucking prison after all. The only place worse than here would be the third circle of hell.” Then he stopped right behind you and whispered in your ear.

“We'll pick this up where we left off when I come in to get my stitches removed, doc,” he placed the softest of kisses on your earlobe.

Chris was aware that playing doctor with you was not that sustainable in the long run. He had to come up with an idea that would position him around you much more frequently so that he didn’t have to remind you of his existence at regular intervals, and he had to do it without the risk of inflicting permanent damage on himself.

Naturally…

“A proposal, brother,” Chris spoke to Noah in their cell, “Don’t you think it would be a more lucrative move if I was in the infirmary instead? It's literally the chemical stash of this fucking prison. Besides the commissary I mean.”

“Where did that come from all of a sudden?” Noah eyed Chris.

“The current tension between us and the Lurkers. I wouldn't have to watch my ass every five seconds to avoid getting jumped. Consider it protective custody until my parole hearing.”

Chris liked to think that he was smarter than most, if not all people, but apparently there was something about him that he wasn’t quite able to conceal.

“And you’d swear this has nothing to do with the doctor lady?” he asked, briefly stunning Chris in the meantime.

“It’s no-”

“Bang,” Noah immediately stopped him, “Fake it to whoever the fuck else you want. Not to one of your own.”

Chris looked at his cellmate’s face to decide whether there was any chance at all that he could fake it. His fingers inadvertently touched the wolf tattoo on his inner left arm and he heaved a deep sigh that was colored with all the shades of yearning that ever existed.

“She seeped through my skin, mate,” he said with a broken smile, “She lives under my skin like a fucking tattoo.”

Contrary to Chris' expectation, that moment of honest vulnerability actually elicited a comforting pat on the shoulder from Noah.

“Looks like you grabbed the tiger by the tail this time, mate,” Noah broke the news to him and pointed at his tattoo, “Or in your case, a goddamn wolf.”

“Bang? What are you doing here?”

It had been a while since you last saw Chris, so you expected some banter exchange with his usual flirtation frosting over whatever klutzery he dabbled in this time, but not only Chris looked very much healthy, he also responded to you very nonchalantly.

“Shift in work detail. I’ll be working here, doc.”

“Doing what?”

“Helping you?” he shrugged, “Weren’t you the one complaining about being shorthanded? Just dump whatever manual labor and paperwork you have on me. I know how to read.”

Chris had decided to maneuver to be less aggressive in his advances towards you, thinking to himself that just being close to you would be enough for the time being and he could somehow work his way up from there. At least he tried. As much as he could.

He really really tried his utmost best as much as he could, but the more time he spent breathing the same air as you, the more hopelessly he was falling in love, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.

He initially didn’t want to assume anything but could swear he felt it the day he kissed you. You didn’t give an immediate automatic rejection like you would have if you weren’t the slightest bit interested in him. You did kiss him back. For quite a bit. For Chris, that instantly meant your marital status didn’t mean jack shit to you. Why would it when you were so obviously unhappy anyway?

One day. Three days. Five days. Veiled glances. Stolen touches. Catching whiffs of scent in passerby winds. Yearning. Yearning. Yearning.

He tried his best as much as he could.

“Need a hand with that?” Chris made his way in front of your desk as you were labeling documents to archive them properly while standing.

“Felt lonely by the file cabinet?” you smiled at him. Although your intentions were to bounce snark off of each other to end the tiring day on a lighthearted note, you didn’t expect such a response.

“I just wanna be next to you.”

You stopped trying to cram a piece of paper in a sheet protector and looked at him. His eyes were clouded with something akin to sorrow. It didn’t suit him. The only thing fit for that face was crescent eyes and those dimples that chipped away at his dangerousness.

“Bang…”

“I wanna feel you. I wanna kiss you.”

He was talking without looking at you, hands still busy with sorting out documents like he wasn’t saying what he was saying. Even a man of his usual composure had his limits since he was a human being after all. A human being with needs taking over his sanity.

“God, I really wanna taste you,” he dropped the paper on the desk and finally reciprocated your gaze. It held so much meaning that you whimpered inside but it was quite audible to you. He was trying. He was really trying to control his urges but he found himself walking behind you nevertheless.

“We’re alone now. Nobody will know.”

Chris touched the strands of stray hairs on your nape again, knowing damn well what it did to you, and whispered into your ear, his voice slowly changing colors as he kept talking.

“You surely heard about it, didn't you doc? How good it feels when a tongue swipes on your folds?”

You inadvertently closed your eyes and exhaled. His hands found their way to your waist.

“How wet it gets? How warm it is?”

He was brushing your cheeks now. You leaned into the feeling.

"How it glides against your wetness? God, so fucking slippery."

The very same fingers dragged down your neck and cupped your breasts over your lab coat. Your heart was pounding in your chest.

“Having a pair of lips wrapped around your clit? Sucking your soul out of you?”

And he finally guided them right over your core still clothed with your dress and very unnecessary underwear.

“Getting that clit teased until it melts in the mouth?”

Chris turned you around with one harsh movement and trapped you between your desk and his frame, his face way too close to yours.

“I wanna see what you look like cumming, doc. I wanna hear what you sound like moaning.”

He placed a very soft kiss on your forehead as if his intentions were as pure as they could ever get. His whisper in your ear felt like it was blasting from loudspeakers, sending an immediate shockwave to your core.

“I wanna be a slave to my queen.”

You were in complete disbelief over what his mere words were inducing in you, appalled that you would even consider something like this. This beautiful demon with that silver tongue of his… It was next to impossible to resist him. 

That being said, even a woman of your usual poise had her limits since you were a human being after all. A human being with needs that weren’t catered to for what seemed like forever taking over her sanity. Chris was closing the distance between you to mere millimeters and if you didn't take the last exit right about now, you were fucking doomed.

“Let me. Let me, please.”

Please.

You didn’t take the exit and allowed all your defenses against him to collapse instead. Fuck the exit. In fact, you slammed on the gas pedal really hard and drove past it leaving a trail of dust clouds behind you. Finally. You finally leaned into his lips and let him electrocute your entire body. Chris held you in his arms like he was reunited with something he had lost a long time ago, so glad that he found it but terrified to let go for fear of losing it again. His hand reached down your core under your dress and when he slid your underwear to the side to feel your wetness at long goddamn last, he hissed at the sensation.

“Oh, god,” he groaned into your mouth. He brought his fingers to your eye level so that you could see the trail you left on him and watch him taste you as he sucked on them.

“You taste amazing. Fucking amazing.”

As you leaned against your desk, Chris got on his knees for you, eyes never leaving yours for one second. He slid the skirt of your dress up just enough so that you could watch the arson he was about to commit on your body.

And you were absolutely paralyzed.

“Do you have any idea how fucking hot you get me, doc?” he gently spread your legs apart and placed kisses on your thighs, stroking your legs up and down in the meantime, “You just… exist. And I'm fucking gone.”

Oh, this goddamn charmer and that silver tongue of his. That was about to take you on a ride.

“God, you do feel like satin under my touch.”

Chris slid your underwear down your legs while keeping your gaze all the while and contorted his face in utter pleasure when he finally witnessed your exposed wet folds for him.

“Chain me between your legs. I wanna be buried here. Drown me in your ocean.”

And when the warmth of his mouth covered your pussy…

“Oh, fuck, Chris!”

Chris. You called him Chris. He wrapped his arms around your ass in return, indeed burying his face in you.

You had never felt anything like this before in your goddamn life. It was everything Chris told you it was going to feel like and then some. Much more stimulating than having fingers clumsily pressed against your clit, wetter than you could possibly get yourself watching the hottest porn, instant source of buzz traveling your entire body at lightspeed like someone injected desire in your veins in lieu of pure heroin. You knew Chris wasn’t a death row inmate but he was eating you like he was one and you were going to be the last thing imprinted on his palate before leaving this world for good to burn in hell for all eternity.

“I'm not touch starved. I'm you starved, baby. I've been starving my entire fucking life.”

You held onto the edges of your desk and threw your head back, unable to do anything else besides letting out those quiet moans Chris’ delightful ministrations were forcing out of you. You wanted to fucking combust.

“You're just so delicious. A goddamn feast right between your legs.”

Swipe.

Swipe.

Swipe.

“Shit.”

“Found a spot we like, did we?” Chris grinned at you, “Is it this one, baby?”

He latched back at the spot he just discovered and started lapping at it.

“Ah, please!”

“Right there, isn't it baby?” he went on to gently suck on your clit now.

“Chris… Oh, god!”

Chris. You called him Chris. 

“Wanna tease it until you go crazy for me. You're ruining me. Fucking ruining me.”

He wasn’t in any kind of rush as if you were in his actual bedroom, taking his time to make sure you were relishing this sensation. Like he was a plug sneakily handing you a pill to pop because no harm in just once. Like he was trying to get you addicted to his tongue.

“It's rising, isn't it? I feel that tide rising in you, baby.”

“Please, fuck, I'm so close. Don't stop, please. Please!” you tugged at his locks.

“Hold onto me. Pull me closer.”

You pressed his head into your pussy more as his hands traveled upwards and Chris intertwined his fingers with yours. He wasn’t applying too much pressure over your clit so as not to overstimulate you but he made up for it with pace. 

“I'm- Oh, fucking god!”

He talked against your pussy with eyes closed, “Cum in my mouth. Let me get you so damn high,” then he dragged his tongue all the way from your entrance up to your clit again and looked at you with eyes overflowing with sheer want and passion.

“Let me be your first, baby.”

Chris finally moved on to land the coup de grâce, trapping your clit between his plush lips, sucking on it, teasing it with his tongue at a gradually increasing pace. Third gear. Fourth gear. Fifth gear. Fucking NOS mode on overdrive.

“Fuck, cumming. Oh, Chris!”

Chris. You called him Chris while you violently arched into him. He squeezed your hands in return.

That tidal wave absolutely washed over you. You were drenched. Everywhere. Chris looked so beautiful with his eyes closed like that, never unlatching himself from your clit, still moaning into your pussy as he let you roll your hips against his face to ride out your orgasm, resolute to elicit every last drop he could suck out of you. For him. Because of him.

“First. I'm your first now. It will never change.”

That orgasm went straight to your head so hard like a brainfreeze that it took a hot minute for you to come down. Chris chuckled between your legs.

“Came so hard. You were throbbing in my mouth.”

He put your underwear back on as you were still panting, struggling to catch your breath and trying to put the floating pieces of your reasoning back into their place.

“That's what it feels like,” Chris got up to his feet and brushed your hair back, “Wasn't that just phenomenal?”

It indeed was. You had literally never cum like that before. Not by yourself, not with someone else, not through anything. It felt like Chris opened a door to a dimension that you never knew existed. Maybe Atlantis was indeed real and it was located in his mouth.

“Kiss me again. Taste yourself on my lips. See for yourself how sweet you taste."

You were so fucked out that you were having trouble even keeping your eyes open, but you welcomed Chris into your mouth with open arms and let him coat your tongue with yourself.

“Will you let me visit you after dinners? I promise I’ll be good. I'll be fucking exemplary to earn dessert, just say yes.”

It actually looked kinda cute that he was this eager. You tried. You tried really hard to come up with a reasonable response to this, but your sanity was long gone.

“You'll let me do it again right? Fly you out of your body again?” Chris kissed your neck and spoke softly into your ear, “Anytime. Anywhere. Just ask for me and I'll come rushing.”

At that moment, the siren went off signaling headcount. You didn’t know why that was a source of disappointment for you.

“Just know that you got me right where you want me, doc,” Chris stole a kiss from your lips and made his way back, clearly extremely reluctant to do so.

Chris had been losing sleep over you for quite some time already, but this time it was different. This time not much was left to his imagination since he had actual references now. He knew what you smelled like, what you tasted like, what you felt like, what you looked like, what you sounded like, overloading all his senses with just you. You. You. You. You. You. 

Tonight, he was gonna cum to the instant replay of how he ate you out. How you kept calling his name.

‘Oh, fuck, Chris!’

Just like that. Say my name.

What if he mustered his courage a little earlier? What if the siren didn’t go off before knowing what you would feel like around his cock?

Bet you're so tight from being touch starved. Ready to kill. Kill me already.

He soaked his entire palm and squeezed his length, imagining you clenching around him out of sheer neediness. 

‘Chris… Oh, god!’

Oh, your pulse, baby girl. Your heart beats so hard I can feel it in me.

He closed his fist tighter and picked up his pace.

GOD, I wanna die in that pussy. Stretch it all good, mold it for myself.

Faster.

Do you go to bed wishing you would see me in your dreams tasting you? Do you randomly imagine me, too? 

And faster.

Do you want me as bad as I want you? 

And faster.

Nothing sounds as pretty as you. Nothing I’ve ever felt was this true.

‘Fuck, cumming. Oh, Chris!’

Oh god, I love you. I fucking LOVE YOU.

“Baby, fuck!”

Chris had lost count of how many times he came to the thought of you in his bed, in bathroom stalls, in the shower when no one was around. Up until that moment in his life, he had ejaculated in different holes of different people just for the heck of it.

But not once, never once did he experience an immediate jealousy fit afterwards.

Didn’t even sip on you once when you taste like that, fucking waste of oxygen. Doesn't even appreciate you when that's all he should be doing.

Chris closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, throwing his arm over his forehead.

You should be mine, baby girl. Only mine.

Thursdays. Thursdays were your on-call duty days where you spent the night at the prison. And somebody was of course aware of that.

He was also aware that you were preparing a report for the warden for a while now, and you were supposed to hand it in on Friday. It was a Wednesday when Chris hid it six feet under your computer so that you would think you had lost it for good. He just needed an excuse to spend the Thursday with you so that he could whip out your hard work on a Friday and save the day. No harm done, and in fact, two birds with one stone.

Fucking genius.

“Thank you for helping me with this. I can’t believe how I managed to lose it. It was right fucking there just yesterday!”

“No thanks necessary doc,” Chris talked while entering a bunch of data on the screen, “It’s my job to help you.”

You smiled, being reminded of the moment you told him something with the exact gist. The fact that he remembered tickled something inside you.

Nobody was good at remembering stuff about you.

“But I’m still a firm believer of positive reinforcement,” he grinned, eyes still glued to the screen, “If I do a good job, then you’ll let me have dessert.”

“Will you stop?” you landed a light punch on his shoulder.

“No, I won’t,” he mischievously smiled in response, “I’m missing dinner for this, doc. You gotta make it up to me.”

You had already crossed a line with Chris. An inmate. A patient. 

Then why the fuck the prospect of the same thing repeating itself flared something inside you despite your better judgement?

“I can hear you thinking about it. To answer your question, that's the charm of the Aussies.”

You were taken aback by the unexpected comment that spoke directly to your concern.

“Are all of you like that?”

“No. That's a me-exclusive thing,” he stopped typing and looked up at you sitting on your desk. His eyes darted to your lips and Chris slowly scooted the rolling chair closer to you. You knew where this was headed.

“Are you sure you’re not just missing your girlfriend?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend, doc. Nor do I want one.” 

He grabbed your hand and placed the softest kiss on it prompting you to close your eyes on cue.

“Unless it’s you.”

“Please, Bang.”

“Don’t call me that! I want you.” 

Chris got up to his feet to be on eye level with you and cupped your cheeks.

“And only you.” 

It was like a learned reflex at this point. Whenever Chris leaned in, you braced yourself for the impact on your lips. So soft. So wet. So full of need.

“I miss you, baby,” Chris spoke from your neck, “You miss me, too, don’t you? I know you do.”

“Jesus-”

His hands didn’t mind going on a field trip this time around. He dragged his fingers from your neck to your cleavage, witnessing you shudder under his touch fully anticipating his next move. Chris thickly gulped when he fondled your breasts, letting them fill his palms to the brim.

“You do things to me. You do things to my body.”

“Chris…”

“Touch me. Please.”

Zing!

Nobody wanted you this bad before. Nobody lusted after you to the extent of causing earthquakes on your core. Nobody begged for your touch like they were praying for you to declare war.

And obliterate them into tomorrow.

You lost it.

“Fuck me, Chris.”

Did he… did he hear you right? Did you actually say what he thought y-?

You grabbed him by his nape and pulled him in for a hungry kiss. Like you had been Chris starved your whole fucking life. 

“Show me how much you want me.”

Chris' jaw hit the floor. He was really hoping you were able to register what was coming out of your mouth because he was on the brink of snapping himself.

“Are you… Are you su-?”

“I want you.”

Do you want me as bad as I want you? 

He finally got his answer.

“Touch me. Fucking touch me, baby.”

You slithered your hands under his sleeveless shirt and damn was that whole turn-on by itself. Solid pecs under your touch begging you to drag your nails, your lips, your tongue on them. Chris got rid of your underwear with one swift move as you yanked down his bottoms to finally finally see him in the flesh. As he spread your legs apart on that desk he was losing his mind over the amount of gloss coating your pussy while you were going insane over a man looking like Chris being rock-hard for you. Because of you.

“I’m gonna-”

If he could just shut the fuck up for two seconds trying to announce everything he was about to do to you since the consent was already very clearly established by you. You wrapped your legs around his waist to harshly pull him into you so that he would get the message.

As soon as he pushed himself into you with an obscene squelch, Chris snapped.

“Fuck! That stretch. As tight as I’ve always imagined.”

As he’d always imagined. So he had been imagining you.

“Oh god, faster Chris.”

You wanted faster? He’d give you faster and then some. Anything for you. Chris placed a hand over the small of your back as support and started ramming himself into you.

“I’ve only dreamed of fucking you this good. Can’t believe how well you’re taking me, fuck!”

“Ah, please. Please, more!”

“Feel how good I’m fucking you. Feel it, baby. Clench for me.”

Chris angled himself a little upwards so that the curvature of his cock would hit that spot to get you to see the stars and he went harder.

“Goddammit, Chris!”

“It’s a fact, baby girl. You were fucking made for me, my god! Clench harder, come on.”

Oh to lose yourself in someone. To descend into insanity together with them. Nothing but two souls. Nothing but two bodies.

Nothing but the lunacy called love.

“Call me yours. Make me your man. I’ll be your man instead.”

Nobody pleaded to be yours before. Nobody fucked you into forgetting how your heart was sore.

“I promise I’ll give you everything you deserve, baby. Just be mine.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Please, I’m gonna cum!”

“I'm so fucking in love with you, oh god!”

“Chris, FUCK!”

Between these walls, behind the bars, in a stone box where people were punished was the liberation you wanted to feel all along. As you came really hard on his cock, Chris buried his face into your lips. Needy, lustful, passionate. 

He tasted like nothing but freedom.

The next day he magically retrieved your file for you first thing in the morning and went to have a stale breakfast as a changed man. It never tasted this delicious to him before. After he was done eating, he made his way to the library where nobody ever came in, and took out Paco’s cellphone he stole back from O’Connell, which was hidden behind the ventilation grates.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Chris?!”

“I don’t have much time,” Chris checked the door to see if anyone was nearby and lowered his voice, “I need a favor, mate. No questions asked.”

There were two reasons the warden would call someone in. Either regarding disciplinary actions or to break some bad news. In any case, it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Your heart started thumping in your chest as you made your way to his office. You noticed the gen pop manager was also with him in the room.

“I'm afraid we have some bad news, Dr. Y/LN.”

A part of you was relieved this didn’t have anything to do with your little fling with an inmate, which was definitely grounds for a disciplinary hearing if not getting your license revoked, but you no way in hell were you expecting the news of your husband’s passing due to a heart attack induced by excessive drug use in a hotel room.

“We thought you would like to know that the person instigating the event is found to have ties to The Crown Street Cartel and she confessed to the crime. She will be moved to a correctional institution for women tomorrow morning. We’re really sorry for your loss.”

That whole string of information landed like a bomb in that dark room, rendering you completely shocked. You didn’t know what to be upset over first. Your husband gone. Being divorced by death. Apparent adultery involved not that you were pure as the driven snow. And the cherry on top, The Crown Street Cartel.

No.

You passed on the offer to give a eulogy for your husband at the funeral. What were you going to talk about anyway? How you hastily got married over the scare of a pregnancy and how things were never the same after your miscarriage? How he didn’t even make one attempt to maybe reconcile things? How he either spent his nights out or on the couch, forcing you to drown yourself in impossible amounts of work so that you didn’t have to think about it all? How he died right before you actually mustered the courage to tell him that you didn’t wanna live like this anymore?

IS THAT WHAT YOU WERE GOING TO TALK ABOUT???

You didn’t even take time off to properly grieve, since there was no loss to be experienced anyway. It had always been kind of there. However, there was still a confrontation to be had, driving you much antsier the more it approached. It approached. It approached.

And finally arrived at your office door one morning.

“You’re back!” Chris beamed up at the sight of you and attempted a hug.

“SAVE IT!” you yelled at him a lot more loudly than you anticipated while pushing him away and pointed your finger at him with a trembling voice, “I’m gonna ask you point-blank. Do you or do you not have anything to do with my husband’s death?”

“Baby, I-”

“ANSWER THE QUESTION!”

Chris’ silence seemed like the answer you were dreading to hear all along. You scoffed.

“You can guess why I became a doctor, right Bang?”

Bang. You called him Bang.

“Didn’t I save your ass every single time you fell down? Didn't you tell me you owe me your fucking life, huh? That’s what you do for me in return?”

You approached him with slow steps and stopped right in front of his face.

“Is fucking ruining my life what you do for me in return, Bang?!”

He furrowed his brows and his expression was unreadable. It could have very well been interpreted as being upset, angry, sad, or whatever the fuck he claimed to feel.

“But you… You didn’t love him. You love me, baby. We love each other!”

“WHO gave you the right?” you pushed his chest, “What the fuck would you know about love, huh? Do you know what it takes to love someone? What you have to sacrifice for them? Loving someone means you want them to be happy!”

“Do you know what it takes, doc?” Chris countered, “You’ve been trapped in a prison of your own for god knows how long. I set you free so that you could be happy!”

“At least I fucking know it’s not an excuse to play god and take someone’s life away!”

Chris was heavily breathing from his nose, trying so hard to find the right words to sate you, but it felt much like the day your hand brushed against his for the first time.

“Then maybe you’ve never been in love before.”

You looked at him with incredulous eyes as he approached you.

“Please, baby. I lov-”

“Go,” you stopped him and turned away, “We’re done here.”

And that was exactly what Chris did. After watching your back like he was witnessing you evaporate into thin air like smoke, he turned around and left.

After that day, you started paying frequent visits to the prison chapel. Not to pray, it was actually for meditation purposes since it was quiet. Not the kind of deafening silence crawling at your house and driving you absolutely crazy. It could be the pretty stained glass windows, but you felt a piece of peace there. Every day during lunch, you borrowed the key from Father Moreno, locked the door behind you and just sat there, trying to hear yourself think. Just breathe.

After that day, a week passed, but you weren’t grieving as much as you should have. Neither were you turning Chris in. Unfortunately for you, not because you didn’t have anything to pin the crime on him. You literally had a confession directly coming from his mouth.

You painfully realized that it was because you didn’t want to.

I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.

Not only could you not prevent it, but it was also well on its way to metastasizing in your heart.

Chris was losing sleep over you again. Not because of the butterfly riot inside his stomach but due to this crippling restlessness over you not wanting to see him in any capacity. One day. Three days. Five days. Looking at your bobby pin he stole from your desk for hours on end. Yearning. Yearning. Yearning.

“Bang. The doc wants to see you.”

“SHE DOES?!”

He jumped from his seat and dashed to your office like he was trying to break the Olympian record for running. He actually hated hospitals. He hated that antiseptic smell. He hated the color white, but yes. Yes to everything for all eternity if he could be with you again. Your back was turned when he finally made it to that doorframe.

“Finally, baby. Finally you asked for me! Do y-”

“You're way over your head with this shit, Bang. WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING???”

When you turned around to face him Chris didn’t know whether he should have dropped to his knees or go on a fucking rampage. There were bruises on your face. Scratches on your arms. Your lip was busted.

“Baby, wh- What happened to you?”

“Are you really gonna pretend you didn’t unleash some fucking lunatic on me because I didn’t want anything to do with you anymore?!”

“A WHAT?”

Your eyes were crawling with hatred and it was killing Chris inside one step at a time.

“He was one of you, too, wasn’t he? Don’t lie to me, I saw the goddamn boomerang necklace.”

Boomerang necklace.

Noah’s crew.

“I swear I don't have anything to do with this. I'd die before letting anything happen to you!” Chris was on the brink of tears, but you weren’t able to pinpoint the root cause of that. Anger? Sadness? Confusion?

Why would we cry anyway?

Million-dollar question: Why would a man who didn’t even flinch while confessing to orchestrating a murder feel the need to lie about an assault ambush?

Unless he actually didn’t have anything to do with it, that was.

“Please,” Chris enveloped your hands in his, moments away from wrapping you in a tight embrace to shelter you from whatever demons were after you and not giving a fuck if you wanted to curse him to the bottom circle of hell, “Please. Tell me everything. Tell me what happened. I’m begging you.”

Since you informed Chris that you pressed charges against the culprit, he was after his person of interest relentlessly to see which prison he was going to end up in. He should have asked for a million dollars instead because the man came on a silver platter right through the front door. Chris didn’t even need the whole spiel to locate the guy. All he had to do was scan the newcomers that would end up with the Aussies. ‘A family welcome’ was the tradition around here, and he was most certainly going to wear an iron ore boomerang necklace. 

“What are you in for, mate?”

“Nothing that major, brother,” the guy slapped a crooked smile on his face, “I took a little field trip to a house I thought was empty. I should have just left when I emptied the safe, but a hot piece of ass lying in bed like that? That was gonna be a dumb move not to hit that, you know what I mean?”

How dare you talk about my girl like that you fucking cocksucker.

Chris forced a sleazy smile while dying inside, “Did you… Did you get to…?”

“Nah, man, the bitch had an iron bat and damn did she know how to use it,” he cackled, “I was actually fucking turned on by it.”

“Better luck next time, huh?” Chris slapped his shoulder harsher than intended, “Take it easy.”

Fuming out of his nostrils, he made his way to kitchen and slammed his fist into the refrigerator, drawing the attention of Paco to himself.

“I don’t mean to diss your clan, but that asshole gets on my goddamn nerves, Bang. It hasn’t even been 24 hours and the fucker acts like he’s the king running this shit.”

Chris looked at the shelf of jars in front of him and then Paco’s nauseated face, which sparked an idea in his mind.

“We both want the same thing, brother. What if I told you, we can do it?”

Chris wrapped a towal around one of the empty jars to function as a silencer, and slammed it on the metal counter. Paco raised his brows upon the sight.

“You’re legit considering to take out one of your own?”

“He’s not one of my own. One of my own would never disrespect me like that.”

Paco dropped the carrots in his hands and walked towards Chris, still panting out of sheer rage.

“The doc isn’t your girl, brother.”

“She might as well be.”

“The dude didn’t even know who she was, man.”

“Then he should have had a fucking revelation, Paco.”

Chris grabbed a plastic pickle can and started rolling it on the broken glass, almost crushing it into dust. 

“We use a different kind of seasoning in Sydney, you know? Fit for the kings.”

Paco maniacally smiled at Chris’ insinuation.

“You’re one sick motherfucker, you know that right?”

Chris called the gesture and raised it with an even more psychopatic grin.

“That’s some god-tier praise, mate. Appreciate it.”

It took about a week. About a week of pretending to be chummy with the guy Chris couldn’t be bothered to learn the name of so that nobody would suspect anything. About a week of feeding the fucker crushed glass instead of salt, slowly nudging him into his much deserved demise due to an internal hemorrhage. About a week until the body ended up in your office so that you could call the time of death before sending it to the morgue while feeling the most fucked up kind of satisfaction inside.

You plopped down on your chair and noticed an envelope on your desk. It had a hurriedly scribbled note inside along with what looked like crushed pieces of iron.

Anything for you, my queen.

You were in the chapel by yourself again. After locking the door behind you, you opted for going to the confessional this time instead of sitting down one of the benches. You felt like just silently thinking about the gigantic knot inside of you while looking at the pretty colors breaking through the stained glass was not going to cut it. You wanted darkness. You wanted to hide. You wanted your presence to be erased so that you could find peace for once. Weeks of burden piling up on your shoulders finally crushed you under it and you started uncontrollably sobbing. Just letting it out. Only when you said it out loud in between your hiccups did you realize how fucked up beyond repair you were.

“I can’t fucking believe I fell in love with a murderer.”

You eventually ran out of tears to cry and calmed down. You kind of wish you did that sooner because for some reason you felt ten pounds lighter. 

“Anything else you wanna confess?”

That voice…

You felt like you got suckerpunched.

“I know you’ve been coming here a lot, doc.”

No fucking way.

“Were you…? All this time…?”

“Yes.”

The door in front of you opened slowly and you saw him again. You saw one beautiful man fucked up beyond repair looking at you with raised brows, almost scared you were gonna run away, eyes looking like they belonged to a puppy rather than the sick motherfucker you knew him to be. 

“Yes, I have one more thing to confess,” you got up to your feet and extended your hand to him to hold. When he did, you gently pulled him inside.

“Turns out you just cannot love Chris Bang by choice.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would say Chris was welling up a little bit behind that bright smile he broke into. It was obvious how dire his you-starvation was because his kisses shapeshifted. Wetter. More passionate. Even more full of need like that was possible.

“You have my soul on a leash. Anything for you.”

He was trying to take his time with his touches, fighting his craving as much as he can, trying so hard not to give into the urge to take you as hard as he can, and you knew it. Something else you knew, however, was what got him to go full unhinged, filling him with the sole thought of claiming you and you goddamn had enough of your solitary confinement.

“Chris.”

“Fuck, baby, I need you.”

You knew. You could see it in the way he licked his lips every time he caught a glimpse of you. You could smell it in his natural musk getting denser by the second. You could feel it in his touches loaded with the hellfire that scorched your skin after he discarded your underwear. You could hear it in the way he moaned your name with so much need. You could taste it in his lips that you were convinced were made to be kissed by you.

“I think we’ve established that we’re going to hell after this.”

“Isn't this what's called a correctional practice? I’m repenting,” Chris chuckled while lifting you up at one go and pushed you against the wooden wall as you wrapped your legs around his waist. You never felt this close to him before and there was something about the way he moved you around however the fuck he pleased that was just so…

“I’m repenting between these thighs, baby. Everything I need is between these thighs,” he buried his lips on yours again, his body weight pinning you against the wall as he dropped his bottoms with one hand.

“Ah, Chris!”

One push inside of you and he lost all the battles against his urges. Chris was fucking into you hard like he was trying to make up for all the years that passed by without feeling you around him.

“God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You just feel too good, baby. Too good.”

“Faster, Chris.”

“I can't fucking control how much I want you. Fuck, I'm so sorry.”

The way his facial features beautifully shattered with every thrust, your moans melting together, pure desire ruling over that tiny confined space felt like everything you had ever wanted. The strange sense of completeness. The belongingness. The door of your solitary cell getting bombarded with a loud crash every time Chris whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

“Fuck, I missed you. I missed you so fucking much. Give it to me baby, come on.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and dove into his lips headfirst. Whenever he moved his tongue inside, it felt like he was licking your entire body, overloading you with carnality that was beyond this world.

“Do y- Do you wanna cum inside?”

You felt how hard he twitched inside you, and that was almost what got you to cream on him.

“FUCK, you’ll- You’ll really let me?”

“Yes. Fucking yes!”

Chris started fucking into you with an afresh fervor, fully determined to chuck both of your souls in the wildfire he started in that booth.

“Fucking hell, let me claim you like I should, baby. Be mine. Be mine forever.”

Every thrust felt like a soothing touch on your charred soul. Every kiss felt like falling in love with him all over again. Every moan felt like an ode meant to be sung after your beauty.

“Kiss me. Kiss my soul out of me, baby.”

Baby. You called him baby.

“Fuck, I love you. I’m so fucking in love with you, OH GOD!”

You had literally never cum like that before. Not by yourself, not with someone else, not through anything. It felt like Chris opened another door to a dimension that you never knew existed. Maybe Narnia was indeed real and it was located in his kisses. In his moans silenced by the harsh press of your lips against his. 

It happened again. He tasted like nothing but freedom.

That just couldn’t have been a coincidence anymore.

I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.

The time you had served in the prison provided enough baggage for you to last a lifetime. You opted for not spending whatever little sanity you had left there and resigned, deciding that you would be better off taking some time away from all the insanity and open a new chapter in your life. You could lean on your savings for a little while, and although opening a little practice seemed like a feasible option for the time being, who knew what the time was going to bring? You hadn’t planned on getting your heart stolen by some fucking charmer, either, had you?

You got out of the car after spotting a movement in your peripheral vision to your left and hugged him tightly like you hadn’t seen each other in forever. His kisses still tasted like freedom, but for good reason this time around. As he settled down in the passenger seat, you asked him:

“Where do you wanna go on your first day as a free man?”

I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.

You couldn’t prevent it, but so what if you couldn’t? Maybe some cures were hidden in the disease itself and they could actually be good for you. Weren’t antidotes made out of venom anyway? Loving Chris this much may have permanently placed you under the category of the infirm, but who was to say you didn’t have the very same special obligations to the only person that mattered? 

Yourself.

Chris grabbed your hand to kiss it and looked into your eyes dreamily with a smile.

“To heaven, baby. In your bed this time.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE

🍮Like my content? Consider supporting my work with a pudding!

Welcome to the first installment of the insanity marathon! I really appreciate you being here (✿◠‿◠) I figured, what better way than to kick off the event with a BANGer (see what I did there?). Hope I was able to do it justice and serve the Christopher trash community accordingly. If you enjoyed this story, please feel free to yell at me in reblogs, tags, or in my inbox. I tremendously enjoy it! (●'◡'●)

Regarding updates: I had initially announced that I was going to post a story every Monday until Halloween, but considering the current obligations of my life and the volume of the stories, it doesn't seem very likely. There will still be eight stories posted (hopefully) by Halloween, but let's not expect military precision on the updates ^^' Once again, thank you so much for tagging along!

-R. (CB97%)

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now that tsc is out am i allowed to say jean moreau because uh

Bf!Sukuna who sometimes calls you 'girlfriend' — and not in a flamboyant way

"Girlfriend, c'mere."

"What do you want, girlfriend?"

"Sure, girlfriend."

Bf!Sukuna who loves having your lips on his; he'll just randomly come up to you and slot his lips against yours without a word

Bf!Sukuna who walks around the house shirtless, and teases you by saying, "You should try it out," only to get a pillow thrown at his head

Bf!Sukuna who would pause his video game just for you

Bf!Sukuna who is actually super clingy, and cannot function without having you in a foot radius — but will never admit it

"I'm going to go get groceries now."

"I'll come with you," he said, immediately standing up from the couch.

"I thought you hated errands."

Sukuna shrugged, "'m bored."

Bf!Sukuna who spits in your food when you're not looking

Bf!Sukuna who, when he can't sleep, will just stare at you — a few times, you've woken up to his creepy crimson eyes staring back at you, and you socked him in the jaw

Bf!Sukuna who claims to hate your music, but whenever you two are in the car, he'll always let you handle the aux

Bf!Sukuna who purposely forgets to do your laundry so he can see you be forced to wear his clothes instead

Bf!Sukuna who is the king of keeping eye contact

Bf!Sukuna who'll hover around while you do your makeup and just ask random questions

"What does that do?"

"Why the fuck is it shaped like that?"

"It's almost as big as my dick."

Bf!Sukuna who steals your things and raises them above his head where you can't reach just to mess with you

Bf!Sukuna who never gets cold, and while that may seem like a good thing in the winter because you have a personal heat generator, it is the absolute worst during the summer — you have to ban cuddling because Sukuna is just too damn warm

Bf!Sukuna who doesn't help you bring in groceries, even if your hands are full

Bf!Sukuna who ignores you for the rest of the day if you forget to give him a good morning kiss, or good morning text (if you guys are temporarily apart)

Bf!Sukuna who is good at everything he touches

— a/n: kinda irrelevant if you ask me, but I just had to include this

Bf!Sukuna who pretends to forget if you guys have planned a date together

Bf!Sukuna who gets a hard-on when he sees your angry face; he loves having you pull on his ear and drag him away to a secluded area to hear you yell at him — he thinks you sound so sexy and look so hot

Bf!Sukuna who isn't above doing extreme pda when he sees someone staring at your ass

Bf!Sukuna who whines about going to work, claiming it's boring, but in reality: he just doesn't want to leave you — or vice versa: he doesn't want you to leave for work

Bf!Sukuna who swears up and down he doesn't want kids and hates children, but when he sees you taking care of his little brother Yuuji, he finds himself doing a mental 180°

Bf!Sukuna who goes into a trance staring at your ass

Bf!Sukuna who has no purpose for an Instagram account: you forced him to make one — he never posts on there, but when does, it's only pictures of you and occasionally him and you

Bf!Sukuna who has a drum set in your guys' shared apartment, but refuses to play it for anyone but you, and even then, he only plays to annoy you or wake you up from your nap

Bf!Sukuna who permanently quit smoking when he saw you plugging your nose near him

Bf!Sukuna who enjoys chasing you around the apartment, sometimes with a knife in hand just to make you extra scared

Taglist: @starlets-things @sad-darksoul @mochimoee @r0ckst4rjk (pls lmk if u only want to be tagged in my boy nextdoor series or all of my work) @lillycore

the lore for my ocs at this point is beyond any reason. anyways, this was fun to draw ^^ always love to draw housewife hartman <3<3

i feel like i might be improving?? i dunno this piece is just really good, i like it a lot :D

(textless version the under cut)

random doodles I've done.

this is going around twitter rn but im also super curious: please tell me your top four comfort movies that you’re always down to watch bc my friend thinks mine are ridiculous and now we’ve realised everyone’s version of “comfort” is hilariously different

Lego Monkie Kid Rewatch: Season 3

Episode 10, Samadhi Fire Part 1/2

Just a warning, I do talk about season 5 for a moment, but I'll try to keep it labeled and separate so you can easily skip over it without getting spoiled if you want.

Now that I know a bit of the Journey to the West, I have only just realised how impossible it would be for the pilgrims to be here helping baby Red Son.

No way could this rage baby Red Son have thought up clever scheams to catch and eat Tang Sanzang the way JTTW Red Son did. Not to mention at the end JTTW Red Son ended up going to Guanyin's villain reform program.

On the other hand, I don't believe the sealing of Samadhi Fire would have happened before the journey. Wukong is clearly wearing his post-pilgrimage get up and the pilgrims all act like they know each other.

All of this to say, just how many differences are there between the show's journey and the novel's.

Then again, the fact that Iron Fan and Bull King are still in love and married should have been the first tip off for me.

Season 5 Spoiler Talk

I am curious, are all of these differences a result to Nine-Headed Demon's interference? What the heck did the guy have to do to insure Red Son would be born late enough to be baby during Tang Sanzang's life time? Is the Nine-Headed Demon responsible for the Samahdi fire being so out of control in a young Red Son? In JTTW, Red Son still wields it and has great control over it.

"For the Samahdi fire to be split in three, you must harmonise you're energies!"

These three? Harmonise? A hard headed demon king, a sentient rock monkey, and a duty bound celestial ex-mortal? Sanzang was basically asking for failure here.

Wukong: 'Psssh, this is easy.'

Also Wukong:

Ao Lie just took a blow for Sanzang!

The notorious, lets everything go to chaos in a box around him while continues to be horse actually stepped up and took action. Now I know for sure this is post-pilgrimage! Character development!

Reprimands in sarcasm and bonks heads when annoyed.

Brother coded, brother coded, brother coded, brother coded

"Alright, you win."

In the last episode when Tang said this it was more from Macaque's perspective and thus Tang sounded desperate and hopeless. He really seemed like he'd given up.

Now, thanks to these three shots… everything feels different. Same lines, same delivery. But now I believe Tang isn't giving up. He's got a plan!

I have not talked enough about the sound design in this show! I love the sounds they use for magic. I'm pretty sure that each magic user plus each different power their unique chime/gong! Examples:

Tang's has a very clear and simple ring.

Ne Zha's sounds like fairy twinkle lights, all light, airy, and chimey.

Wukong main magic is like a bamboo thunking against a stone, or a a small stone creating ripples in a pond. Wish I knew what made this sound. I have been conditioned to be hyped every time I hear it.

Interestingly, MK's magic sounds the same. I believe this is what further fed into the belief that Wukong had gifted MK his magic instead of it coming from the kid. The shows own little misdirection!

But really, I think the reason for the similarity in their magic, both ability and sound, stems from them both being made by Nuwa as celestial stone monkeys.

The whole reason I thought to bring it up was this transition. We go from a third person perspective to looking through Wukong's eyes. and the first thing to clue us in that this is happening is the sound of Wukong's gold vision activating before suddenly the image blinks gold and we find ourselves zooming out of Wukong's eyes as he watches the scene from far away.

The way they did this was such a cool transition as well as an awesome example of how the golden vision works! Superman, you wish you're eye powers were this cool!

"Let's hope my aim is as good as it used to be."

AKA: "If I skewer you, it's totally because I missed and not because I'm still angry at you and taking petty revenge."

Red, blue, green. Long ago, the three Samadhi Fires were separated and the great destruction was extinguished.

Only when the three colors are found again can they unite and create- PINK FIRE!

Wai- what? That's not how color theory works. How did I never notice before? The full might of the Samadhi Fire is pink.

Love the shattered chains, and the washing away of the blue aura to symbolize LBD's hold over him being broken.

"Someone get some water!"

I'm surprised he didn't throw snow at her. Its right there.

Anyone else think it's really cool that Wukong can just pull Macaque out of his shadows?

Like, no one else has been able to do that!

Ah, so Tang didn't have a plan. He just did it because it felt right. shakes my head Oh Tang, and for a moment I thought you were competent.

Seriously though, I am now forever scarred by the word destiny. I hate it.

"I hate to interrupt, but can someone explain what is going on!"

No please interrupt. We need you MK! You're the only one who could possible salvage this situation. Everybody else just keeps making it worse!

Macaque- ignoring the child in fiery pain to celebrate his freedom.

Wukong- lashing out at the closest person marginally at fault (that isn't him).

Ne Zha- voice of doom declaring the girl and world as a lost cause.

Tang- DESTINY

Like, great job everyone. Way to solve your problems.

Watching Encanto reviews can sometimes be wild

saw a poll on here where one of the categories was “I have over 300 hours in a single video game” and people were picking it and saying “I have way more than 300 hours!!” but they were all talking about games like ffxiv or overwatch where there’s a prolonged play element. that’s just not impressive to me. you’re SUPPOSED to have 300 hours in those games. what game do you have over 300 hours in that you absolutely should not be able to have 300 hours in? mine is the ace attorney trilogy

coworker: do you have a problem with bleach?

me: yeah my problem is i'm not drinking it right now

coworker: ...

me: ...

me: 🥰

*vague emotional screeching in the distance* /pos