#.... i just really like spreadsheets okay..

[lucabyte]

transfem loop + siffrin... you agree

i does agree.... i does in fact ... write a 7k word essay on the subject..... if you would like to perhaps click that link and read it if you were not already aware...... kisses u on the forehead......... sorry its that long but i had to cover all of my bases you know how it is with textual analysis when you're trying to draw a distinction between "headcanon" and "reading of the text" because those are different things.... to meeeeeeee.......

[tommygotwrittenoff]

buck and eddie would be the most insane PTA moms ever, actually. because eddie loves his son and being a bitch and buck loves bossing people around with a clipboard and being involved.

[joshuamj]

Last post of 2022, ft my top character of the year: Ingo!

Plus some stuff from the data i keep on my art in my silly little art spreadsheet lol

[crossbackpoke-check]

about to be sooo nosy so. my apologies. but. morgan frost? girlfriend? do share (or don’t! again this is so nosy i’m sorry)

for legal purposes i can neither confirm nor deny anything about morgan and his girlfriend but afaik i think he’s single right now? at one point (within the past four years 😭) he did for sure have a girlfriend and that is the extent of my wag knowledge

[fingertipsmp3]

Friendship ended with google sheets, now filofax is my best friend

[seismologically-silly]

I just made the most incomprehensible calendar ever!!! maybe tomorrow or monday i'll make an imovie tutorial (damn you adobe license!) showing how to understand it. assuming i still understand it.

[sillimancer]

trying to deconstruct my mountain of feelings about the dunkie donut interview tomorrow

[queenerdloser]

i already complained about this to a coworker but maybe if i complain about it here i can purge it from my brain

so there's this specific type of data entry our admin team at work has to do for providers where we track how they spend their administrative time in order to make sure they're meeting required coverage given by my job. we had this huge kerfluffle earlier this year where we were told we needed to collect this like two weeks before it was due and there was seriously not enough turn around time and absolutely nothing in place - no procedure for how to get the data, no spreadsheet to put it in, barely any info on what we were supposed to collect, literally nothing.

so. earlier this year i made all of that stuff. and when we were told "oh hey btw this is not a one-time thing, you will have to continually collect this info" i went "okay but can we set down a set of guidelines and a procedure so we know what the expectations are and what exactly we're supposed to be doing?" and my boss went okay and then proceeded to spend three months not bringing the subject up.

and when it WAS we went VERY briefly over expectations (we need to submit it twice a year to my boss!) and that was it. so i went "okay, i'll draft up a procedure based on these loose guidelines and update our VERY sad spreadsheet" and i did that in about a week. and got feedback from another coworker, made my edits, and finished it all in roughly three weeks. i made a meeting so we could all talk about the procedure and the spreadsheet back in fucking july okay. the end of july. and then a few days before the meeting i was like "oh actually it'd be super helpful to get your specific feedback on these two (2!!!!!) items because this process is something we're literally doing for your benefit. we're collecting the data for you to pass on. and also. you are my boss so it does kind of feel like the creation of this kind of department-wide affecting stuff should have your input." and a few days wasn't enough so my boss asked if we could shift the meeting to a few weeks later and i was like okay fine w/e.

i took a vacation and got back in august. the meeting was coming up and i had asked for feedback before that. so i sent her a message, an email, and brought it up in our 1:1 meetings. she never got back to me with feedback, so i rescheduled again because i specifically asked her for her feedback and even specifically said i didn't want to meet until i had it. so another two weeks roll by and guess what? still no fucking feedback. so i reschedule again. i bring it up to her in our meeting again and she tells me oh yeah she's looking at it but if she doesn't get back to me before the next meeting just keep it, we'll talk about it at the meeting.

so we had this meeting today. and within the first ten minutes (in the middle of me explaining why we're meeting!!!!) she has the nerve to ask me "hey what is this meeting even for? what are we trying to figure out here?" as if i didn't send an email explicitly detailing why we were going to meet last week to everyone, as if i haven't brought this up with her several times, as if i didn't explain it in my original email asking for feedback.

and then we spent like half the meeting having to hash out changes that she brought up!!!!! things like oh actually this doesn't need to be formally reported twice a year, it's actually only going to be formally reported once a year with annual faculty reviews. like what the FUCK i based the entire procedure on the twice a year outline you gave. that's why i asked you to look at the procedure so i could make those kinds of changes BEFORE the meeting. i didn't want to spend the meeting trying to fix the procedure, i wanted to present it to our group as a finished thing! because now i have to go in and make these fucking changes she never bothered to tell me about for a month and a fucking half despite me repeatedly asking her specifically for feedback and put this project even FURTHER behind.

and like. she kept interrupting me during the meeting which is super frustrating. and she also just like. didn't answer any of the questions i DID have for her. me: "hey can you clarify if you are actually reporting this twice a year as was previously discussed or is it really only once a year with annual reviews? if so, do we need to have hard deadlines every six months to send this info to you?" her: "well i'd like it to be ready just in case i get asked, because i want to be able to go in there and see the most updated data." okay but that's not the question i asked you!!!!!

me: "so what i have in the procedure i have screen-shared is we should do these updates on a quarterly basis." her, two minutes later: "so you guys will have to decide how often you're planning to update this info." me: "yeah that's why i have it in the procedure we should do it on a quarterly basis." her: "you'll just really need to choose how often it's done."

she does this all the time!!!! like you are supposed to be the leadership in our department so would it kill you just to give me a straight answer and lead??? can you PLEASE just say "well this is due twice a year, so you need to keep it updated every quarter" instead of this wishy-washy stuff? and also when i send you something and ask for your fucking input can you give it to me without me begging you on my hands and knees for it for a month and a half? and also ahead of the meeting so we don't have to waste half of it talking about stuff we could have already figured out if you were actually halfway decent at your job?????

[easeupkid]

does anyone have a budget spreadsheet template they like ?

[castillon02]

Jason and Tim have similar competence standards and end up swapping employees sometimes.

---

"Boss, I'm outta the game with this hip---"

"You're outta the beating-up-traffickers game. I got a guy who can get you into the scaring-the-rich game just fine."

"You mean, like...?" A fist into an open palm, quirked eyebrows.

"Nah, verbal intimidation only unless someone steps up to the plate. Mostly you got good eyes and this Wayne kid values having people around who can observe things that aren't spreadsheets."

"Hey, you said I did pretty good at that Excel thing!"

A pointed look.

"Ohhhh. I'm gonna get to learn spreadsheets and threaten people? Oh, man. Thanks, boss!"

"They've got the same insurance, too, so that'll roll over automatically."

---

Meanwhile, on Tim's end of things:

"I noticed that you tend to get impatient with slow results, that you're happy to yell at people for safety violations, and that your plan to remediate the company's incompetence in these areas involves 'firing every single one of them who can't get their head out of their ass.'" Tim smiled.

His employee smiled back. "I mean, that's why you hired me as safety supervisor, right?"

"Of course; your proactive attitude is one of the reasons we chose you. However, I also noticed that a lot of your frustration stems from employees whose work is being impacted by personal issues, often ones stemming from attacks by prominent local criminals."

"Listen, I'm from Minnesota. I know from cold. And I also know that you can't let a little hypothermia from Mr. Freeze screw up your numbers, especially not when those calculations impact lives." Squared shoulders, hands on the hips---yeah, definitely more of a cultural fit with Jason's organization.

Tim nodded and continued his pitch. "And you're competent with a firearm, correct?"

"Hey, I'm not about to go postal just because---"

"No, no, you misunderstand me. You're a skilled employee. I'm just wondering if you might benefit from transferring to a work environment in which you can shoot some of the people who are actually causing these problems."

"I'm sorry?"

"You have a dartboard with Leeds's face on it because he screwed up so many times after that Ivy incident put his kid in the hospital."

"...Okay, I admit that's not my best look."

"The organization I'm recommending you to has a printer next to the firing range; it's sized specifically for target paper."

"Oh."

"It's also an organization that works specifically to keep kids from needing to be in the hospital."

"Oh. You mean---" There was really only one group it could be.

"They need someone with your eye for logistics. Hood's work isn't 'legit,'" Tim made careful air quotes because the dorkiness tended to put people at ease, "but your insurance would roll over to them automatically. And you can rest assured that they take safety very seriously."

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anothology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist | cw: oral (reader receiving)

Part Ten: Permission

A/N: We're SO back!

You’ve never been so happy to work an extra day.

Johnny gets the shop to himself on Sundays for walk-ins. Usually, he mans the shop by himself but you need to record the cash income from the convention in the ledger. Sure, you could do that during your usual hours the upcoming Wednesday and catch up on sleep, but you have too much nervous energy coursing through you. If you were home you would just be stewing on your couch the hole day and probably spiral into a panic attack. At least here, with a task and Johnny yapping in your ear, you don’t have to think about the fact that you made out with your boss too much.

Fuck. You really did that. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You woke up in a cold sweat, fingers brushing over your lips as you tried to decipher if it was real or dreamed. If you really kissed John, if he really held a hand on your lower back as he walked you home, if he really gave you a second, light peck before saying goodnight. The itch of his beard lingers, as well as the warmth where his hands cupped your face. It felt so good. So fucking good.

Then the context settles in. The fact that you kissed your boss makes you want to throw up - not for any dislike of it, just the fact that your job is now in limbo. Hanging in the balance until you can talk to him on Wednesday. At least you can take the next couple days to collect your thoughts - come up with a good apology that will hopefully let you keep your job and some semblance of dignity. Somehow make sense of the fact that you’ve kissed John and Kyle and surely when they find out they’ll think you’re a floosy. Loose and easy and pathetic and gross. You couldn’t quite meet your own eye in the mirror as you tried to get ready for the day.

The current, formerly “Future You” is not very happy with the now Past You. Frankly, you’d like to deck her for leaving you in this state of a permanent heart attack.

“Och, I’m about tae melt.” Johnny mutters, appearing from his room and stretching. His shirt rides up, exposing a thick happy trail that does not help you in your current spiral.

You just hum, gluing your eyes to the physical spreadsheet in front of you as you go through the sales from the convention. Numbers will clear your head. Yeah, nothing less sexy or more distracting than trying to do math with pen, paper and a TI-84 calculator.

“We should go get some ice cream.” Johnny leans over behind you, causing you to jump. Large hands settle on your shoulders as he rests his chin on the top of your head. At least Johnny is always touchy, you don’t have to read into it. You don’t think you could handle reading into it right now.

“Uh, yeah, okay.” You murmur, letting him lead you out of the office and flipping the out for lunch sign. You’ve been so lost in your head the entire day that you can’t fully pull yourself out of it - the same spiral of fears and self-degradation swirling around in your mind. A Cat 5 tornado of your own making. So stupid.

Johnny intertwines your fingers as you make your way down the street. Your hands swing lightly as you walk. Even with the heat, it doesn’t feel like too much. You’re not sure what it is - of you’re just comfortable or if Johnny just has something about him that makes touch feel perfectly natural - but it’s never overwhelming. Even when he’s hanging off you like a leech, it’s just Johnny. He doesn’t make you talk, doesn’t pry into why you’re so spaced out. He probably just thinks you’re tired. You are tired. So tired.

You don’t realize Johnny is saying something until he gently elbows your side. “Huh?”

“What d’ye want?” Johnny asks with a concerned furrow in his brow.

“Oh, uh, I can get my own-“

”My treat.” He shakes his head, batting away the hand pulling your wallet out of your back pocket. You have no choice but to give in to him - there isn’t any point in arguing with Johnny.

“Thanks for suggesting this.” You murmur, as you sit at one of the wooden, outdoor tables in front of the shop a couple blocks down from the tattoo parlor. The tables are covered in the shade of trees and an awning, luckily, keeping the sun from beating down on you. It doesn’t stop your ice cream from melting nearly faster than you can eat it, but you don’t have the heart to complain after Johnny took you out and bought it for you.

“Aye. Seemed like ye needed some cheerin’ up. Never seen ye so sullen.” Johnny comments, casually stuffing a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. His eyes are sympathetic, though.

“Oh.” You thought you’d been doing alright at hiding it - came into the shop with a jokes and everything this morning. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how much Johnny actually notices between all his volume and energy.

“Gonnae tell me about it?”

“No.”

“Might help.”

You shake your head. “I- I’m- I can’t.”

“Okay.” He smiles gently, giving you a once over. His eyes are so sharp. The others do it too - take your body language in piece by piece. It doesn’t burn like when Johnny does it, though. His gaze is consuming, even when soft.

He seems to let you off the hook, though. It’s impossible to know how much he does or doesn’t know - how much any of them know. It puts you on edge, the inability to ask. After all, to ask is to admit. If you admit to it, you might lose it all. Fuck why did you kiss John? Kyle you can explain away - just a fun little bet. You’re close in age, he’s pretty, you’re together a lot, you get along. Nothing to it - even if it feels like there was. Even if it feels like every time you’re near him you’re going to melt and the air gets too thick and all you want is to pull him to the back room one more time.

John… John you can’t justify like that. He’s your boss. He’s over a decade older than you. Easily. He’s been so good to you but that’s not an excuse - it’s not right. You’re jeopardizing his place in his community. You’re jeopardizing your job. The best job you’ve ever had. The best friends you’ve ever had.

You can feel Johnny glancing at you as you walk, your eyes square on the ground and fists clenched anxiously. The heat outside only makes your head spin faster. Your cheeks feel feverishly hot. The ice cream almost curdles in your gut. Everything is too loud, too hot, too heavy.

You glance up at the clock. The day’s almost over - there probably won’t be more than one or two people that file in at most. You’ve finished with your work, currently just cross hatching on a sticky note in an attempt to calm your frayed nerves. It hasn’t worked. You need a distraction. A real, proper distraction.

“Johnny.” You snap, standing in the door way to his workroom.

“Hm?” He looks up, thick brows raised.

“I want a piercing.”

He cocks his head, taking you in from head to toe. “Aye?”

“If you have time.”

“I’ve always got time fer ye.” He grins.

You almost roll your eyes, but you’re too raw at the edges to really care about his usual flirting. There’s too much weighing on your mind - too much real anxiety knotting itself around your synapses and crushing them in it’s hold. The pain will help. It’ll ground you - sharpen your senses. You can focus on taking care of it for the next couple days between sleeping the days away until Wednesday. Until you can get this shit over with.

The only answer is to quit, right?

That’s your only option.

“What d’ye want?” Johnny asks.

You shrug. “What’d you think?”

He taps his chin, eyes slowly making their way over your body. You wonder if he can see how tense you are - body so locked up your joints ache and your jaw throbs. It’s a wonder your teeth are still there with how much you’ve been grinding them.

“How about a navel?”

“Okay.” You agree too quickly, flopping back on the pairing table. You focus in on a water mark on the ceiling above while Johnny digs through his tool cabinet, laying everything neatly on a small rolling tray.

Johnny stops above you. You don’t even turn your head to look, fists clenching and unclenching.

You’ll have to quit.

That’s your only choice. No reference calls, no contact. Will Simon hate you? Will they all? Will they talk about why you up and left? Will they show up at your apartment to demand an answer? No. You don’t mean that much - only a blip on the timeline of their shop. The corners of your eyes burn.

Johnny’s fingers skate over your soft middle, barely touching as he passes over the button of your jeans. He pauses, glancing down at you. “Bonnie?”

“Yeah?” You reply a little too harshly.

Johnny leans over you, hands on either side of your head, blue eyes burning through your skull. He blocks out the light above. “Yer doin’ this because ye want to, yeah? Not to punish yerself?”

You shrink into the table, hackles raising. It really is so easy to forget that Johnny is an observant bastard. Loud, brash, but he still sees everything. Like how he learned your coffee order by heart without you ever even saying it to him or having it written on the cup. He absorbs things, files it away, keeps it close to his chest and hides it behind his blunt, brash daily manners. You’ll miss him.

“I- yeah, I’m fine.” You wince internally at the shake in your voice.

“Y’know, we all love ye.” Johnny murmurs.

You huff, eyes darting anywhere to get away from his. Laying on the table suddenly feels slightly trapping. You can’t get your gaze fully away from where he stands over you - so close as his thick arms cage you in. “Guess so.”

“An’ there’s nothin’ tae feel guilty or bad about.”

Your eyes snap to his face, wide and worried. Does he know? Was he told? Do you ask? If you ask, you’ll be admitting to it. If you ask, then he will know for sure. If you ask, you might ruin it all. “I don’t-“

“Ye do.” He cuts you off. “An’ ye have permission, even if ye dinnae need it. It’s okay. Ye havennae done anythin’ wrong.”

You stare, mouth opening and closing lamely. Johnny. Straight forward, loud mouth, unsubtle Johnny. Fuck, you love him for it. Doesn’t dance around what he means. Doesn’t avoid what needs to be said - from his end, at least.

“Did- did you talk to-?” You stutter, struggling between needing to know and fear to admit the truth so blatantly. Even if he obviously knows something.

“Not really. Not my business.” Johnny shrugs casually.

Not his business. So they persue separately, you think. That makes sense. Probably. It’s probably wrong to make assumptions about the dynamic, about the implication that they have some sort of free for all. Then again, you don’t really know anything about their interpersonal workings much. They live together, they’re touchy. The dynamic is a mystery to you - only adding to the piles of confusion.

“Yer thinkin’ tae hard about it.” He pokes the furrow between your brows.

Oh. Is that it? You’re overthinking? No, adults talk about these things. You don’t understand the interpersonal workings here at all. Are they together? Do they just do this? Pull girls in and push them around until they get tired? That feels too cruel for them. They’ve taken such good care of you…

“I still… want to talk.” You murmur, cheeks warm.

His face softens, a light smile tugging at his lips. “An’ ye will. Kyle’s been damn near loosin’ it with ye avoiding him.”

“I’m not avoiding him!” You snap far too defensively.

“Sure ye aren’t.” Johnny shrugs, as if to tell you he knows that’s bull. Not his business, though, he said. “Just… donnae be so scared of us, aye? We’ve got yer back.”

Your shoulders drop, sore from being tensed for the entire day. “Okay.”

“Still want tae get peirced?”

You nod, chest far less tight. As though you finally let go of a breath you had been holding the entire day. “Sure, why not.”

Your shoulders slump as Johnny makes his way through the usual song and dance - showing you the freshly cleaned tools and marking the spot for the needle. Somehow the world seems… quieter. As if all the chatter in your mind had been just as deafening to your physical ears. It’s tiring. That same sting behind your eyes that you get after a long night out. Your defenses are down, and your body is finally at rest.

“Ow!” You gasp, lifting your head to meet Johnny’s impish grin with a glare. “A little warning next time!”

“Tha’s what happens when ye donnae listen.” He teases, slipping the jewelry through. “She’s cute.”

You snort. “She better be. Y’know I should tell John on you for improper conduct.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Aye, ye an’ Price know plenty about improper conduct.”

There’s no malice in the comment, or in the grin he settles on you. For once, you don’t freeze up. Don’t send yourself into a panic spiral over what he knows or thinks or feels. Johnny made himself clear. Instead you land a light smack against his arm and huff in embarrassment.

“Stand f’me.” Johnny murmurs after cleaning the piercing, a heat in his eyes that you can’t quite gauge the source of.

You do as you’re told, slipping off the table. You have to hook a finger into the waistband of your jeans to keep them up, cheeks hot as you realize how much is actually exposed with the fully undone fly. You glance up at a far too pleased Johnny. Didn’t even say a word, the mischievous bastard.

He drops to his knees in front of you. Your brows shoot damn near into the sky. Johnny mumbles something about making sure the piercing is sitting right. You roll with it, knowing he’s probably just saying whatever to get you to keep your pants undone a little longer. Your breath quickens as a large, warm hand flattens itself over your soft belly, unabashedly groping. Not that you mind, really, even if it does make your face so hot it might melt.

Your heart almost breaks out of your rib cage when he places a small kiss next to the piercing. His hand lowers, resting beside yours on the waistband of your jeans.

“May I?” Johnny murmurs, big blue eyes blinking up at you.

You have permission.

You don’t need permission.

You have it, though.

“Yeah.” You gasp, shivering at the cold air on your skin as Johnny pulls your pants halfway down your thighs.

“Pretty, pretty lass.” He murmurs, nipping at the softness of your belly and down to your thigh. “Look at ye.”

“Flatterer.” You scoff, attempting to let the tension melt off your shoulders with the usual snide remarks you slide each others way.

“M’just honest…” Johnny mumbles absently, fingers catching in the hems of your underwear. “Ye always walkin’ around in somethin’ this skintie?”

For a moment, your brows knit in confusion. That is until he pulls back and snaps the string of your thong against your hip. Your face somehow gets even hotter and you grumble out a poor excuse of, “S’laundry day…”

Your hips twitch as he traces between your lips through the cloth. So uncharacteristically slow and methodical for Johnny as he feels you, like he’s trying to memorize it. A shamefully harsh jolt runs up your spine as he presses just slightly into your clit.

“Sensitive little thing.” Johnny grins up at you. You swear the devil has a less delinquent grin.

“It’s been a while.” You shrug, aiming once again for casual and missing by a mile.

His grin only grows, eyes bright and hungry. “Let’s get these off.”

You shimmy your hips a bit to help him get both your underwear and jeans completely down. A wave of shyness overtakes you as it settles in that you’re utterly exposed to Johnny, your friend and coworker, in the middle of your workplace just as the sun has begun to edge down close to the horizon. It’s almost too much, and you almost yank your pants back on with a stammered, fake excuse, but Johnny soothes his hands up your thighs, gaze locked onto your pussy like it’s the only thing that exists and yeah… you want that.

You have permission.

“There she is.” He cups you gently, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit just hard enough to make you gasp.

Before you can say or do anything his hand retracts and Johnny settles you with the most serious look you’ve ever seen from him. It looks wrong, almost, on that face that’s supposed to have a permanent ear to ear grin.

“If ye want tae stop, I need ye tae tell me now.”

“No.” The word leaves you before you can even register the thought - desperate and breathy.

It earns a low chuckle. The only warning you get before Johnny licks a long stripe up between your lips, letting his tongue rest on your clit for just a moment before repeating the motion as though he’s not just eating you out but truly trying to truly get a taste for you. To memorize you as he drinks you in.

“Should let me give you a Christina…” He murmurs, pulling back to look at you.

“Ah, wha-“

“Look so pretty on this fat little cunt.” Johnny gives you a light smack for good measure, grinning at the visible jolt that travels up your spine before diving back in. He hooks a leg over his shoulder, leaving you balancing on your tip toes with your hands flat on the table behind you. It’s precarious and with absolutely no room to escape the attention he’s lavishing on you. It’s almost desperate, the way he moves. The way he devours. A man utterly starved.

“Fuck-“ you gasp as his tongue piercing catches your clit. Rough hands knead at the softness of your thighs and hips, urging you to press into him, to take as much as he’s giving.

“Tha’s it, ride m’face…” Your fingers lock into his mohawk and Johnny’s slurred words become the most pornographic moan you think you’ve ever heard. He practically goes limp - body relaxed and pliant while you grind down onto his tongue.

You tilt your head forward, risking looking down only to meet those big blue eyes staring up at you with all the intensity of the sun. A shaky moan passes your lips and his eyes flutter.

“J-Johnny-” The whine of his name only spurs him on - has him pressing his tongue so deep inside you and drinking you in full.

If he has any complaints about the way your heel digs between his shoulder blades as you unconsciously pull him closer, he doesn’t make it known. His nails rake over your ass, biting and stinging in contrast to everything else. It’s so much. Heat continues to pool at the base of your spine - babbling words, please and moans spill messily from your lips.

Your climax catches you off guard as Johnny sucks harshly at your clit; lighting your body aflame with only his mouth. Every muscle inside you tenses and the sounds you let out can only be described as strangled whines.

You have to yank a little at Johnny’s hair to get him to stop when the overstimulation reaches just the wrong side of too much; he’s well and truly lost in the moment. It fuels your ego to dangerous heights - the idea that this gorgeous man became that intoxicated just from your pussy.

There isn’t even time to say anything before Johnny is standing and connecting his lips with yours. You taste yourself on his tongue, his lips - somehow this is the first time you’ve found that pleasant. With heavy breaths you watch him wipe around his mouth his his palm, only to exaggeratedly lick and clean what’s left off his hand. Fucking sinful.

“Nasty man.” You sigh, too blissed out to be truly critical. Johnny winks and you roll your eyes.

“S’about quittin’ time.” He says, tilting his head to look up at you through thick lashes. “Should get ye home.”

You frown, still trying to come back to earth as you glance down. “Don’t- do you want-?”

He looks you over, your mouth goes dry as his hand drops from your hip to adjust himself. The implications of the outline through his thick denim has your head reeling and your breath quickening. Johnny chuckles at you, surely seeing it written plain across your face. You might as well start drooling and panting like a dog.

He buries his nose into the crook of your neck to nip at your skin. “Another time. Want tae savor ye.”

You shiver, unable to stop the smile that quirks up the corners of your lips. You have permission. You don’t need it, but you have it.

A/N: Sorry if this is a little rough, I'm getting back into the swing of things. It's finally time for things to get fun, tho ;)

Also please give some love to this AMAZING fanart from @eurydicescurse

[rubys-domain]

when i feel like making genshin spreadsheets more than actually playing genshin 💀

[gilbertscurls]

Into it ➵ Matt Sturniolo

warnings: dry humping, soft!dom!reader, pet names (sweetheart, honey, my sweet boy)

synopsis: Matt is struggling with a persistent headache from hours of staring at his computer screen. Meanwhile, you find yourself unexpectedly captivated by how different—and attractive—Matt looks with his glasses on.

there's 400 of you already!! love you guys <3

Matt rubbed his temples as the dull ache behind his eyes intensified, the glow of the computer screen doing nothing to help. He’d been staring at it for hours, the spreadsheet blurring before him. Finally, with a sigh, he reached into his backpack and pulled out his blue light glasses.

“Man, I hate these things,” he muttered under his breath, sliding them on.

The glasses framed his face differently, the sleek black design making him look more focused, sharper. He blinked a few times, his headache already starting to ease, and went back to his work, not noticing the way you had suddenly gone very quiet.

You sat across from him, tapping at your laptop with a rhythm that had slowly died the moment Matt had put those glasses on. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard now, completely still, as you stole another glance his way.

He looked… Good. Really good.

You’d never paid much attention to Matt's glasses before, but for some reason, today was different. Maybe it was the way the lenses caught the light, making his blue eyes stand out, or how they seemed to give him this air of intelligence and quiet confidence. Whatever it was, you couldn’t stop staring.

“Baby?” Matt's voice cut through your thoughts, and you blinked, realizing you’d been caught.

“Huh?” you replied, your voice just a bit too high.

“I asked if you could double-check these numbers. You okay?” His brow furrowed in concern, but his gaze was calm behind those lenses.

“Oh! Yeah, totally.” You cleared your throat, tearing your eyes away from him and focusing on the screen. Your cheeks warmed, and you prayed he couldn’t see the blush creeping up your neck.

But as you tried to concentrate, you kept stealing glances, biting your lip as the thought kept circling in your head—How is it possible for someone to look so good in glasses?

“I, um… I think everything checks out,” you said, looking up at him with a small smile.

Matt reached out and took your hand, gently pulling you into his lap. He wanted to feel you close to him, to wrap his arms around you and hold you tight.

He leaned in and nuzzled his face into your neck, inhaling your scent and placing a soft kiss on your skin. His hands continued to rove over your legs and sides, moving in slow, soothing motions. His lips continued to move against your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along your skin as he inhaled your scent. The feeling of you in his lap, your weight on him, was so comforting and satisfying. You felt so light and delicate, and he was overcome with a protective feeling towards you.

Matt could feel you relaxing more and more into him, your body melting into his like you were made to fit together. He moved his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. He could feel your soft curves pressing against him, and he couldn't help but feel a stirring of desire in his core.

He continued to nuzzle his face against your neck, his lips leaving feather-light kisses along your skin. His hands moved up your sides, gently tracing your shape and memorizing every contour of your body.

“How's your head, my sweet boy?” you asked softly.

He smiled at your endearment, feeling warmth spread through his chest. He loved when you called him your sweet boy, it always made him feel cared for and loved.

“My head is doing alright, honey,” he said, his voice soft. “I feel better with you in my arms.”

You giggled. “Glad to hear it.”

He chuckled at your giggle, feeling his heart skip a beat at the sound of your laughter. He pulled back so he could look you in the eyes, his hands still gently holding your sides.

“I don't think any medication could have worked as well as you,” he said, his tone teasing. “I should probably just make you my personal headache cure from now on.”

You looked at him with amusement before reaching up. He smiled as you fixed his glasses, your touch gentle and caring. He loved it when you did little things like that, it made him feel loved and cared for in such a simple way.

“You know, I wasn't sure about wearing these,” he said, gesturing to his glasses. “But seeing how much you seem to like them, I might have to wear them more often.”

“They make me feel… Some type of way,” you admitted sheepishly.

His smile widened as you admitted that his glasses made you feel a certain way. He was intrigued by the idea that something as simple as glasses could have an effect on you.

“Oh, really?” he teased. “And what kind of way do they make you feel, honey? Don't be shy now.”

“The 'I wanna jump you' kind of way.”

He let out a low, surprised moan when you said that, his body reacting in an instant. The thought of you being so turned on by something as simple as his glasses stirred something deep inside him.

“Is that so?” he asked, his voice a bit rougher than before. “And here I was thinking that these glasses made me look stupid.”

You laughed at his statement before shaking your head. “On the contrary,” you said, your eyes raking over him. “You look incredibly smart, and incredibly sexy in those glasses.”

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you continued in a low, sultry voice. “You look like a goddamn sex God sitting there with your legs spread, wearing your glasses and all. It's doing things to me, you have no idea.”

He felt a shiver run down his spine as your lips brushed against his ear and you whispered your words in that sultry tone. He felt a rush of desire and arousal at your words, and he felt himself harden even more in his pants.

“God, honey,” he groaned. “You can't say things like that to me when I'm already this worked up.”

You giggled playfully at his response, clearly enjoying the effect you were having on him. Your tongue poked out to wet your lips as you looked down at his lap, noticing the obvious bulge in his pants.

“Oh, I can tell,” you teased, your tone sultry. “I can see you're already hard. Does it turn you on that I think your glasses are sexy?”

He swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry. He was painfully hard in his pants, and your words were making him even more turned on. The combination of your sultry tone and the way you were looking at him was driving him wild.

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice low and rough. “Yes, it does. The thought of you wanting me like this, just because of a pair of glasses, is making me insane.”

You smirked, clearly pleased with his response. You leaned in closer, your lips right next to his ear.

“You have no idea, my sweet boy,” you murmured. “You have no idea how badly I want you right now, how much your glasses turn me on. I'm practically dripping at the thought of having you, all worked up and wearing your glasses.”

His body trembled at your words, his breath catching in his chest. Your words were like gasoline on an already raging fire, stoking the flames of his desire. The thought of you being so turned on by him, just because of his glasses, was driving him wild.

“Oh God,” he groaned, his voice strained. “Please...don't tease me like that, honey. I can't take much more of this.”

He felt you straddle him, your legs on each side of his hips. He instinctively reached to hold your hips, feeling the heat radiating off of you and the way your body pressed against his. You were sitting on his lap, and the feeling was driving him crazy.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he breathed, his voice tight. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Maybe I am,” you teased, your voice sultry. “Maybe I'm just trying to drive you insane.”

You began to roll your hips against his, grinding against him and feeling his hardness even through the layers of clothing. You smiled as you watched his face contort with pleasure at your movements.

“You feel so good,” you purred, your hands running up and down his chest. “And you look even better with those glasses on.”

He let out a low moan as you rolled your hips against him, the friction of your body rubbing against his sending waves of pleasure through his body. Feeling your wetness through your pants, grinding against him, was driving him crazy.

“God, honey,” he gasped, his voice strained. “You're going to kill me if you keep doing that.”

“And what a way to die,” you teased, your tongue poking out to wet your lips as you continued grinding against him. “You're hard and throbbing under me, and all because I like your glasses. How does it feel, my sweet boy?”

He felt his body responding to your movements, his hips instinctively bucking up to meet your grinding. He was so hard, it was almost painful, and the thought that you were enjoying this so much just because of his glasses was driving him wild.

“It feels amazing,” he groaned. “You have no idea how good you feel against me. I never knew my glasses could have this effect on you.”

“There's something about a smart, hot man wearing glasses that just does it for me,” you admitted, your voice dripping with desire. “You look so intelligent, so focused, and it's such a turn-on. And when you look at me over the rim of your glasses, it makes me want to devour you.”

He let out a guttural moan at your words, his grip on your hips tightening as he felt his desire for your grow even more. He loved seeing you so turned on and wanting him, and the thought that his glasses were part of the reason was incredible.

“You're killing me, honey,” he groaned. “You're so goddamn hot right now, and you know it. I don't know how much more I can take.”

You ground against him even harder, your movements becoming more insistent and desperate. You could feel how hard he was, how much he wanted you, and it only added to your own desire and need for him.

“Maybe I want to drive you over the edge,” you whispered, your voice sultry. “Maybe I want to see how much you can take before you break.”

“God, you're going to make me lose my mind,” he panted, his voice tight with desire. “If you keep talking and moving like that, I'm not going to be able to hold back much longer.”

You smiled, satisfied with his response. You could tell that he was close, that he was struggling to keep his control.

“Is that right?” you teased. “Are you going to give in to me, my sweet boy? Are you going to let go and let me take care of you?”

“God, yes,” he groaned, his voice hoarse with desire. “God, yes, I want you so badly. I need you to take care of me, honey. Just please, for the love of God, don't torture me any longer.”

You giggled at his desperation, loving the power you held over him at this moment. You could tell that he was close to breaking point, and you loved the effect you had on him.

“I love when you're so desperate for me like this,” you whispered, your mouth right next to his ear. “It's so hot to know that I have this much control over you.”

He shivered at your words, his body responding to your voice and your closeness. He felt like he was on the edge, ready to fall over any second. He was completely at your mercy, and he loved it.

“Please, honey,” he panted, his voice strained. “Please, I need you. I need you so badly. Don't make me wait any longer.”

You grinned, relishing in his pleading and desperation. You loved having him like this, so desperate and needy for you.

“Okay, my sweet boy,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry. “I'll give you what you want. Just let go, and let me take care of you.”

His breath caught in his chest as you rocked against him, his grip on your hips tightening even more. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, his body tensing up and his mind going blank from the pleasure.

“Oh God,” he gasped, his voice strained. “Oh God, honey, you're going to make me lose it. I'm so close, so close…”

You loved how desperate and on the edge he was, and you loved that you was the one doing this to him. You kept up your movements, riding him harder and faster, determined to push him over the edge. “Let go, my sweet boy,” you whispered, your mouth right next to his ear again. “Just let go, and give in to me. I want to see you lose control, just for me.”

Your words were the last straw, and he felt himself teetering on the edge.

“Oh God, honey, I'm- I'm-”

He couldn't finish his sentence, but you knew what was about to happen. His body tensed up even more, his breathing ragged and quick as he felt himself starting to let go, to give in to the pleasure that was overwhelming him.

You smiled as you felt his body tense up, knowing that he was about to lose control. You leaned in, your mouth right next to his ear, and whispered:

“That's it, my sweet boy. Let go for me. Let go and give in to me. I've got you, my good boy.”

He felt you press yourself even closer to him, your body moving frantically against his in a desperate search for your own release. He held onto you tighter, his hands gripping your hips as if his life depended on it.

“Oh God, honey,” he groaned. “You're so close, aren't you? You're so close, and it's because of me.”

You nodded, your breath coming out in ragged gasps as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Yes, it's you, my sweet boy,” you panted. “It's all because of you. You're driving me wild, you're making me so hot, and it's all because of you, my smart, sexy man.”

His breathing was ragged and shallow as he felt you press your forehead against his, the frames of his glasses digging into your skin. But he was too far gone in the moment to care.

“You're so beautiful,” he mumbled, his voice strained. “So beautiful, and so hot, and I'm so close to losing it. I'm so close… So close…”

“I know,” you panted. “I can tell, my sweet boy. You're so close, but you're holding back. You're trying to be such a good boy for me, aren't you?”

He let out a low, guttural moan, his body tensing up even more as he felt himself getting even closer to the edge.

“I'm trying,” he groaned, his voice tight. “Oh God, I'm trying so hard. I don't want to lose it yet, I want to make you feel good first.”

You smiled, feeling a rush of affection for him even in this heated moment. You loved how much he was trying to make sure you were feeling good, how much he wanted to be a good boy for you.

“You're doing so good, my sweet boy,” you murmured, your mouth right next to his ear again. “You're doing so good, holding back for me. But it's okay, you can let go, my good boy. I want you to lose control, just for me.”

His body was trembling with the effort of holding back, but your words were starting to break him down.

“Oh God, honey,” he panted. “I don't know how much longer I can hold on. I'm so close, so close… Oh God, you feel so good, you look so hot, and I want to come for you so bad.”

You could tell that he was getting close to breaking point, that he was struggling to hold on any longer. But you loved seeing him like this, so desperate and needy for you.

“Then let go, my sweet boy,” you whispered, your voice low and sultry. “Just let go, and come for me. Let me see how good it feels to you, to lose control for me. You're my good boy, aren't you? My sweet, good boy?”

He let out a low, guttural moan as your words sent shivers down his spine. He was holding on by a thread, but your voice and your body against him were making it almost impossible to hang on any longer.

“Oh God, baby,” he panted, his voice strained. “I'm so close, I'm so close… Oh God, I can't hold on much longer. I want to come for you, I want to lose control for you, my sweet girl. I'm your good boy, I'm your good boy.”

He felt your breaths hitch as you teetered on the edge, and it only made him all the more desperate to make you feel good. He bucked up against you, trying to give you the friction he knew you needed.

“I want you to feel good, baby,” he panted, his voice strained. “I want you to come for me, my sweet girl. I want to see you lose control, just like I'm about to lose control for you. You're so beautiful, so hot, and you're all mine.”

You lost yourself in the sensations as he bucked up against you, and the combination of his body and his words was all you needed to push you over the edge.

“Oh God,” you gasped, your voice shaky. “Oh God, I'm cumming, I'm cumming… Oh God, my sweet boy, my good boy, my love, my everything… I'm coming…”

He felt you go over the edge, your words and your body sending him flying off the edge with you. His body contracted against yours, his grip on your hips tight as he rode out his release with you.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God… Oh God, you're so beautiful, you're so hot, you feel so good…”

You shivered through your release, your body trembling against his as you rode out your orgasm with him. When you finally came down, you collapsed against him, your forehead still pressed against his.

“That was…” you breathed, your voice rough and ragged. “Amazing.”

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close against him as he tried to catch his breath. His body was still shaking from the intensity of his release, and he was having a hard time finding the words to express how amazing it had been.

“Yeah,” he panted, his voice low. “Yeah, it was… It was unlike anything I've ever felt before.”

He felt you giggle softly, and he realized that he could feel the wetness seeping through his pajamas. He felt a mixture of embarrassment and amusement, and he couldn't help but laugh a little as well.

“Yeah, I guess we made a bit of a mess, didn't we?” he said, his voice laced with amusement.

You pulled back a little and looked down between them, seeing the wet spot on his pajamas. You couldn't help but giggle again, a mischievous expression on your face.

“Looks like we did,” you said, your voice teasing. “Sorry about that, my sweet boy.”

He grinned, feeling a mix of amusement and affection at your teasing tone.

“Oh, don't apologize, honey,” he said, his voice playful. “I think I kinda like it, actually.”

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06

[pucksandpower]

A Little Arson as a Treat

Logan Sargeant x protective!Reader

Summary: after news that Williams has dropped Logan mid-way through the season comes out, you decide that revenge is best served hot

Warnings: they literally set James Vowles’ house on fire

“You think they’ll be able to tell it was us?”

Logan’s voice is shaky, his eyes locked on the flickering flames dancing up the side of James Vowles’ house. The orange glow reflects in his wide eyes, making him look like a boy who just realized he’s in way over his head. His hands are buried deep in his jacket pockets, and you can see the nervous twitch of his fingers beneath the fabric.

You snort, not taking your eyes off the fire. “No way. They’ll think it was an electrical fault or something. We were careful.”

“We weren’t that careful,” he murmurs, almost to himself, biting his lip. “This is ... this is insane.”

“Maybe,” you admit, leaning a little closer to him, feeling the coolness of the night brushing against your skin in contrast to the heat radiating from the fire. “But what were we supposed to do? Just sit back and let them throw you out? Nine races left, and they think they can just-”

Logan cuts you off, his voice tight with emotion. “It’s not just the races. It’s everything. It’s like ... they’re saying I’m not good enough, that I never was.”

You turn to face him, your heart squeezing in your chest. He’s not looking at you, his eyes fixed on the fire like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “Logan, that’s bullshit, and you know it. You are good enough. They’re just too blind to see it.”

“Am I, though?” He finally meets your gaze, and you can see the doubt etched into every line of his face. “I mean, if I was, they wouldn’t be dropping me, right?”

You sigh, frustration bubbling up inside you. “This isn’t about your talent. This is about politics, money, and a bunch of old men who can’t see past their spreadsheets. You know that.”

He’s silent for a moment, just watching the flames as they start to consume the upper floor. “So, we burn down his house?”

You shrug, a small, defiant smile playing on your lips. “Sometimes you’ve got to make a statement.”

Logan shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh escaping him. “You’re insane.”

“You love me for it.”

His eyes soften, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. “Yeah. I do.”

You reach out, taking his hand in yours. His fingers are cold, trembling slightly as they curl around yours. “We’re gonna get through this, okay? You’re not done. Not even close.”

“Tell that to the team that just replaced me with a kid from F2,” he mutters, but there’s less bite in his words now, more weariness than anger.

“They’ll regret it,” you say firmly. “They’ll be watching from the back of the grid while you’re out there somewhere proving them wrong.”

“And if I don’t?” His voice is so quiet you almost don’t hear him.

“You will.”

He looks at you like he’s trying to absorb your confidence, to borrow just a little of the fire that keeps you burning so brightly. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know you,” you say simply, squeezing his hand. “And I know that you’re going to fight like hell to get back on the track. And when you do, they’ll all see what they lost.”

Logan takes a deep breath, nodding slowly. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Only because I’m right.”

He laughs again, a real laugh this time, and it warms you more than the fire ever could. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievable enough to commit a little arson as a treat?” You tease, nudging him lightly.

His smile fades a little, and he looks back at the house, the flames now licking at the roof. “You really think we’re going to get away with this?”

You tilt your head, considering. “Even if we don’t, what are they going to do? Kick you off the team you’re already off of? We’ve got nothing to lose.”

“I’ve got you to lose,” he says softly, his grip on your hand tightening.

Your heart skips a beat, and you swallow hard. “You won’t lose me. Ever.”

He turns to you fully now, the fire forgotten, his eyes searching yours. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

For a moment, the world shrinks down to just the two of you, standing together in the night, hands clasped, hearts beating in time. The fire is a distant roar in the background, a symbol of the chaos that’s been following you both for weeks, but it’s nothing compared to the storm inside Logan, the one you’re trying so hard to calm.

“So,” he says, his voice a little lighter, “what’s the plan? We just walk away?”

“Pretty much,” you reply, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

He hesitates, glancing back at the house one last time. “No ... I guess that’s all we can do.”

“Good. Because I’m starving, and I’m thinking burgers.”

Logan blinks, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Burgers? We just committed a felony, and you want to go get burgers?”

“Don’t you?”

He stares at you, then shakes his head with a disbelieving grin. “You’re insane.”

“I’m hungry. Big difference.”

Logan chuckles, the tension in his shoulders finally easing as he lets out a long breath. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, squeezing your hand again. “I really do.”

You smile, pulling him away from the sight of the burning house, guiding him down the street like it’s just any other night and you’re just two people out for a walk. “Come on, there’s a place a few blocks over that makes the best burgers.”

Logan falls into step beside you, the smell of smoke fading as you put more distance between yourselves and the scene of the crime. “I’m still on a diet plan, you know. Think they’ll have something that fits?”

“Probably not,” you admit with a grin. “But I’m sure we can figure it out.”

He laughs again, a sound that makes your heart swell. “You’re seriously insane.”

“Maybe. But you love me for it.”

He shakes his head, his smile softening into something more tender. “Yeah. I do.”

As you walk together, hand in hand, you can feel the weight lifting off Logan’s shoulders. It’s not gone entirely — it won’t be, not for a long time — but for now, in this moment, it’s lighter. And that’s enough.

“So, what do we do after the burgers?” He asks, his voice casual but laced with something deeper, something that says he’s already thinking about the future, about what comes next.

“After the burgers,” you repeat, pretending to think it over. “We find a way to get you back on that track.”

Logan glances at you, surprised. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

“Never,” you say firmly. “This is just the beginning. We’re going to prove them wrong.”

He’s silent for a moment, then nods. “Okay. What’s the plan?”

“First, we get you back in a car. Then, we show them what they’re missing.”

“And how do we do that?”

You smile, squeezing his hand. “One step at a time. We’ll figure it out.”

He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize this moment, to hold onto it for as long as he can. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t be stupid. You deserve everything.”

He smiles, but there’s a hint of sadness in it, like he’s not quite sure he believes you. “I just ... I don’t want to let you down.”

“You won’t,” you say, your voice soft but certain. “You never have.”

Logan doesn’t respond, just pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walk. The night is quiet now, the fire just a faint glow in the distance, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a sense of peace between you.

“Burgers sound good,” he says after a while, his voice warm and content.

“Yeah?” You ask, looking up at him.

“Yeah. And then maybe we can figure out that plan of yours.”

You grin. “Deal.”

As you walk, the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you, together against the odds, against the world. And in that moment, you know that no matter what happens next, you’ll face it together.

The fire is behind you, but the real battle is just beginning. And as long as you have each other, you know you can win.

[nonotnolan]

Trial Period

"Harry, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Blake's voice rang out through the apartment, though I couldn't quite tell why my roommate was currently mad at me. Still, if I didn't talk him down from whatever ledge he was on, he was just going to get more and more pissy. I sighed, and minimized the spreadsheet I was working on.

"Blake, you know I'm working from home today. Whatever you're mad about, you can come in here and talk to me about it. I'm sorry I left some dirty dishes in the sink, or whatever." He must have been mad, whatever I had done-- usually he waited until after he showered to talk to me.

He stomped into the living room so that he could stare down at me. "Oh no. You are in way more trouble than that. I just had the most interesting conversation at the gym today. Some beanpole fairy came up started flirting with me, and when I told him I didn't swing that way, guess what he did?" He paused, clearly waiting for me to confess to something, but I still had no idea why he was upset. "He pulled out his phone, and showed me a whole-ass conversation on Grindr with someone using my photos!"

I couldn't help but laugh, which certainly did not help him calm down. "Okay, and? Look, I'm sorry you got catfished, but I don't know why you're mad at me about it. You're trying to start a modeling career, right? It's one of the unfortunate risks of the job. I'm sorry that one of your Instagram followers has no sense of chill, but I don't see why that makes it my fault."

He shoved his phone into my face. "You see this photo? I downloaded it for a scheduled post, but it's from a gig that hasn't released yet. I'm not allowed to share any of those photos on social media until the magazine spread drops. You're the only other person who could have gotten onto my phone and grabbed it."

Well, that was a complication that I wasn't expecting. I stared at him, trying and failing to think of a loophole that sounded plausible. There was only one thing left to do. "Seth, I know you're in here," I said, loudly projecting my voice. "I know you wanted to try out a few different guys before you committed, but that's not gonna work anymore. The trial period is officially over. You broke it, you bought it. If you don't take Blake, he's going to ruin everything."

Blake scowled at me. "Who the fuck is Seth? Harry, what in the fuck is going on?"

"You're so cute when you're confused," I said, pinching his cheek. He was already pissed at me, I may as well go all out. Besides, I needed to give Seth enough time to prepare. "I'm not actually Harry. I haven't been for the last two weeks, not that you noticed. I'm actually a ghost who decided that this apartment would be a great place to find some new bodies to inhabit. And let's be honest, this whole complex is jam packed with hot, young studs like yourself." I couldn't help but flash an excited grin, and I think I might have let my real eyes flash for a few seconds. Well, whatever. I no longer needed to worry about keeping secrets from Blake.

I had clearly spooked him-- he started creeping backwards toward the door. "Harry, you're scaring me. That's not funny. Don't joke about that sort of thing, Harry. Just… fuck, delete that profile and promise me you won't do it again."

"Like I said, I'm not Harry," I said, grabbing my laptop bag and putting it in arm's length. I pulled out the mason jar that had Harry's soul in it, and placed it on the couch. "This is Harry. Or, what's left of him, anyway." Harry's soul fluttered around in a panic, banging into the glass walls as it tried to escape. Or maybe it was trying to warn Blake about what was about to happen next? It didn't really matter.

Blake had turned to run, but he didn't make it more than a few steps into the kitchen before he fell to the ground, as if something had slammed into his back. Seth hated possessing people using brute force, but his error hadn't left us with many other options. "Sorry for the close call, Phil," he said, adjusting his posture. Where Blake was constantly puffing his chest and arching his back, Seth had more of a forward slouch to his shoulders. It was a posture I was very familiar with-- regardless of the bodies we wore, we had been together long enough to recognize each other's presence.

"At least Blake has a good body," Seth said as he pulled himself up off the ground. "I was probably going to end up choosing this one anyway, to be honest." He started feeling up his chest, giving his nipples a few test pinches and letting out a soft moan. "Oh yeah, he's just as sensitive as I remembered. Do you have any spare jars in your bag? Obviously I didn't have time to put him to sleep before I possessed him, and he's just screaming non-stop in my head right now."

"Sounds like that's what you get for being careless," I said. "You know that helping you expel the soul is my favorite part. I'm not letting you rub one out in the bathroom, we're doing this the right way."

Seth pinched the bridge of his nose. "Come on, babe. You're at work for another five hours. I already said I was sorry, please don't force me to put up with the flesh owner for that long."

I closed my laptop and started unbuttoning my shirt. "Who said anything about waiting for me to get off work? No one tracks my activity as long as I get my work done on time." I leaned back and started groping Seth's hefty bulge. "Besides, we both know that Harry is trapped in a shit job. I bet we can get him something that pays way better."

He leaned over to give me a deep kiss. "You know, one of these days you'll get tired of turning your new hosts into porn stars," he said, as I grabbed one of the empty soul jars.

"Maybe so," I admitted. "But that day is not today. This body is wasted on white collar work. Anyway, you know the drill. Time for lube-- I want you to ride my cock while I sit here." He placed the jar underneath his hardening cock, ready to catch his load.

The first time we fucked in new bodies was always my favorite. Seth came first, coating the inside of the jar with a layer of jizz in addition to Blake's soul. I wasn't too far behind, since Harry's body was new to gay sex and still quite sensitive. I rolled off to the side and basked in the afterglow while Seth sealed the jar and placed it next to Harry's soul.

"Part of me still wants to be mad at you for almost ruining everything with that 'trial period' idea of yours," I said, as he laid down next to me to cuddle. "Next time we need to pick new hosts, we're picking one and done again. None of this trying out multiple bodies rubbish, it's too much risk."

Seth just smiled and ran his fingers through my hair. "Fine, no more shopping around, I promise. But you know you can't stay mad at me." As we laid there, holding each other tight, I had to admit that he was right.

[incorrectbatfam]

Do the batfamily members ever get too into their undercover work? (Undercover in an office and theyre worried about spreadsheets, working in a warehouse and coming home complaining about missing parts)

Bruce: Status updates on your undercover missions. Dick, you first. What have you got down at the docks?

Dick: I haven't confirmed the Killer Croc sightings yet, but more importantly, our catch hasn't been measuring up to last year's. Tuna we're doing okay on, but the salmon population seems to be on the low end. I've contacted the Department of Wildlife and Fisheries but it'll be another 3-5 business days before they can come down and check it out.

Bruce: At least you're doing something to help. Jason?

Jason: Class was okay. I think the kids are warming up to me as their substitute while Mrs. Maloney is out on maternity leave. The average on the last vocabulary quiz was 83.53% so either I'm doing my job right or they need to be challenged. I'm worried about Tristan Lancy, though. He's normally a good student but his grades have been dropping recently and his parents don't seem like safe people to tell. I'll talk to him tomorrow and try to pair him up with a peer tutor if he needs it.

Bruce: Also see if he has any alternate contacts besides his parents. Tim, any updates at the chemical plant?

Tim: If by updates you mean OSHA violations, I could go on all week. We got a batch of new recruits today and they were just thrown into the work—no PPE, no safety training, nothing. This is what happens when you place production over employee well-being. I'm gonna file a complaint after this meeting. Also, I think the union will have something to say about the manager cutting people's lunch breaks short.

Bruce: I see. Damian? Please tell me you found something volunteering at the zoo.

Damian: Depends on how you define "found." While I have not obtained evidence of a mutant larvae black market, I did help some of the animals at the sanctuary make progress with their recovery. Bobo the monkey is healing from his broken arms and we're gradually getting him re-acclimated to climbing higher surfaces. Suzie the black bear was born a little prematurely but seems to be catching up to her peers in terms of growth. Lastly, we got a grant for additional wildcat research and enrichment. As an aside, we are having an educational seminar on European mountain goats this Friday at 3:30 and I expect all of you to be there.

Bruce: I'll put that on our calendars. Steph?

Steph: It's not really undercover work for me, just work. Anyway, yes the newest Batburger location is being used for money laundering. But I really need to vent about the customers for a sec. We don't open until 10 and at 9:30 this morning some moron was banging on our door demanding Jokerized cheese fries. Then right in the middle of the lunch rush, Janie got sick so I had to fill in as the cashier and it was hell. After that, I had to step in between a fight at the drive-thru because the customer claimed we only gave him nine pieces of his ten-piece Robin nuggets and tried to beat up the kid who took his order. And to top it all off, an entire high school hockey team came in five minutes before closing.

Bruce: Cass?

Cass, blowing balloons: Can't talk. Arranging bat mitzvah.

Bruce: Duke, you're my last hope.

Duke: Margie's bringing a peanut butter chocolate cake to the bake sale. I swiped her recipe and we can easily beat her. Her ganache is way too watery and just runs off the top of the cake, which isn't even leveled. She's also trying to do something with a raspberry filling that isn't working at all. It's like she couldn't decide on what to bring. The bake sale committee also asked if we can bring some apple pies because the original baker has to go out of town for a family emergency. I think we'll win if we bring them with some ice cream and a touch of caramel, even though this isn't a contest.

Bruce: Thank you. At least our most critical case has been taken care of.

Barbara: ...I'll save my book launch for later.