#2757

[albertxylin]

Against Fitbits

Do we need monitors for everything? Do we need diagnostic tools collecting biometric data? Do we need to track every breath, Every step, Package up our existence into bits to be analysed And sold to advertisers? Is the solution to every problem more data? Is there even a problem in the first place, Or is the problem just an opportunity to make a few more dollars? If only we learned to listen, We would find our bodies carrying on a conversation we tuned out years ago.

[tmt-sketch-a-day]

Sketch a Day 2757-Pie in the Sky- 8/22/23

[harveyphotography]

E il sol nel radiante azzurro immenso

fin de gli Abruzzi al biancheggiar lontano

folgora, e con desio d'amor più intenso

ride a' monti de l'Umbria e al verde piano.

(Giosuè Carducci)

[aimalevich]

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[todays-xkcd]

"Hi, what you do is fly over a designated zone and detach the--" "WE'RE SORRY, THE MOBILE CUSTOMER YOU ARE TRYING TO REACH IS OUT OF SERVICE"

Towed Message [Explained]

[dogstomp]

Dogstomp #2757 - July 24th

Patreon / Twitter / Discord Server

[my-world-of-creation]

unkontrollierbare Weihnachten

“...You may notice side effects, like the compulsion to come back” Die Tränen rannten meine Wangen hinunter. Ein salziger Wasserfall strömte aus meinen Augen und ich glaube auch ich schrie. Ich konnte nicht mal mehr richtig atmen. Um ehrlich zu sein verstand ich nicht ganz, wie diese Folge meiner Lieblingsserie jedes Mal aufs Neue, selbst nach dem wortwörtlich 15ten mal anschauen, immer noch so weh tat. Ich saß zusammengekauert auf der Couch in der Wohnung, verzweifelt umarme ich das größte Stofftier, das ich hatte und ich versuchte nicht komplett den Verstand zu verlieren.

Es ist doch nur eine Serie! Die Menschen sind doch nicht einmal echt!! Warum tut es also so verdammt weh Troy beim Gehen zuzusehen?

*DingDong*

Ein leises Klingeln riss mich aus der emotionalen Hölle heraus. Naja, leise war es nicht. Mein Zusammenbruch könnte sogar ganz Silvester übertönen. Nach dem Klingeln folgte ein Klopfe. Hektisch versuchte ich mir die Tränen wegzuwischen und mich aus der Decke zu befreien, welche sich wie eine Boa um mich gewickelt hatte, und drohte mich nie wieder loszulassen. Warum müssen die anderen gerade jetzt weg sein? Normalerweise machten immer meine Mitbewohner die Tür auf, wenn es klingelte.

Wie ein absolutes Wrack, noch immer im Pyjama, obwohl es schon längst nach Mittag war, zerzausten Haaren und roten Augen öffnete ich die Tür.

“Schätzchen, ist alles okay?���

Vor mir stand eine meiner Nachbarinnen, eine alte Frau, ca. ende 80, mit einem besorgten Gesichtsausdruck. Ich konnte mich noch gut daran erinnern, wie wir uns zum ersten Mal begegnet sind. Sie versuchte gerade mit ihren Einkäufen in ihre Wohnung zu gelangen, jedoch ist ihr ihr Schlüssel aus der Hand gefallen und sie konnte sich nicht mehr richtig Bücken, ohne dass ihre Einkäufe einen Köpfler auf den Boden gemacht hätten. Damals sind wir gerade eingezogen. Also wir waren eher mitten dabei. Einer meiner Mitbewohner schleppte gerade Teile einer Couch über die Treppe hinauf und der andere packte bereits drinnen Kartons aus. Auf jeden Fall hatte ich gerade eine Hand frei und half ihr. Ich hob den Schlüssel auf und nahm ihr danach die Einkaufssackerl ab. Ich trug sie hinein und ein paar Stunden später klingelte sie an unserer Wohnungstür und brachte selbstgebackene Kekse vorbei.

“Ja, Entschuldigung für den Lerm. Es ist alles okay”, ich entschuldigte mich schnell bei ihr. Doch Adelind sah nicht überzeugt aus. “Sag schon, Kind. Was ist los? Ich sehe Tränen” Natürlich durchschaute sie mich. Nach 4 Kindern und 8 Enkeln hat mal wohl eine bestimmte Erfahrung. “Es ist wirklich nichts Schlimmes! Troy geht nur grad auf ein Bot mit Levar Bourton-”, schnell ergänzte ich “Also in der Serie, die ich gerade schaue” Ich wurde leicht rot. Ich war 18 und heulte immer noch wegen Serien. Ich neigte meinen Hals etwas zur Seite und hielt meinen Nacken, während ich lächelte, um die Situation weniger komisch zu machen.

“Die Folge ist immer schwer”

Überrascht sah ich sie an. Man trifft nicht häufig Menschen, die die Serie kennen und dann noch dazu gesehen haben. Diese Überraschung war mir anscheinend ins Gesicht geschrieben, denn Adelind führte fort: “Meine jüngste Tochter hat Community geliebt. Dadurch hab ich sie schon mehrere male gesehen” Adelind warf mir ein verständnisvolles Lächeln zu und ich schenkte ihr ein ehrliches Lächeln zurück. Allerdings wusste ich nicht so genau, was ich jetzt noch sagen sollte. Doch irgendwie sah ihr Lächeln desto länger es anhielt, immer trauriger aus. “Wollen Sie vielleicht hereinkommen? Ich kann einen Kaffee oder Tee machen und ich habe auch noch Muffins! Selbstgemachte”, ich gab mir selbst einen Ruck. Normalerweise würde ich sowas nicht tun, aber diesmal fühlte es sich richtig an.

“Ach ich will nicht stören” “Das tun Sie nicht! Ich hab sowieso nichts zu tun” “Kein Community mehr” Ich musste schmunzeln “Nein, ich hätte jetzt sowieso mit der ersten Folge wieder angefangen” “Wenn das so ist, gerne”

Nur ein paar Minuten später saßen wir beide am Küchentisch mit Kaffee und Tiramisu-Muffins und wurden von Stille umhüllt. Eine etwas entrückende Stille. Ich versuchte etwas Small-Talk zu betreiben, jedoch gelang mir das nicht wirklich gut. So verfielen wir immer wieder in diese unangenehme Stille zurück. Als ich gerade in meinen zweiten Muffin beißen wollte, viel mir Adi’s Ehering ins Auge. Ob sie einsam ist?

“Weißt du Kind, früher haben wir oft große Familienabende gemacht. Kaffee und Kuchen und jedes Mal durfte jemand andere sich eine Serie aussuchen, die wir schauen würden.” Ich sah sie an. Die Nostalgie und Trauer spiegelten sich in ihren trüben Augen und in den Falten ihres Lächelns wider. “Meine Jüngste nahm natürlich immer Community” wir beide lachten kurz. “Selbst nach Winfrieds Tod, führten wir diese Tradition fort” Eine funkelnde Träne bildete sich in einem ihrer Augen. Ich wollte irgendetwas tun, aber ich wusste nicht was. Also ließ ich sie weitererzählen. Ich glaubte, dass das genau das war, was sie gerade brauchte, einfach jemanden zum Reden der ihr zuhörte. “Als jedoch auch Phoebe verunglückt ist, da hörte diese Tradition auf. Die Freitage sind seitdem immer sehr düster” Die Träne war nun dem Auge entkommen und rollte langsam über die alte Haut dieser Frau. Sie war einsam. So viel wusste ich jetzt. Ich griff nach ihrer Hand, welche auf dem Tisch neben ihrer Teetasse lag, und drückte leicht zu. Sie lächelte mich and und wischte schnell ihre Träne weg. Ich saß einfach nur da wie ein Idiot, ohne was zu sagen. “Du hast gesagt, dass du wieder neu mit Community anfängst?” Schnell reagierte ich auf den Themenwechsel und nickte. Eine Pause entstand. “Wollen Sie vielleicht mitschauen?” Sie wirkte überrascht, jedoch auf die positive Art. “Wenn es dich nicht stört? Sehr gerne”

Und so saßen wir nur einen Augenblick später auf der Couch und sahen uns Stundenlang Community an, bis schließlich meine Mitbewohner zurückkamen und sich Adelind verabschiedete. Als sie ging, wirkte sie anders. Etwas nostalgisch, doch auch so, als ob ihre Schultern nun etwas leichter wären. “Lass uns das bald wiederholen”, bot ich an, als ich sie zur Tür begleitete. “Ich freu mich schon”, und damit ging sie.

*****

“Ich hoffe ich störe nicht”

Mit Torte und einem weiten Lächeln stand Adelind in der Tür und begrüßte mich. Mir viel auf, dass sie ein Shirt mit dem Greendale-Logo darauf unter ihrer Strickjacke anhatte. Ich lächelte. “Ganz im Gegenteil. Ich hatte gerade Lust Community weiterzuschauen” Tatsächlich hatte ich seit dem Adelind da war nicht mehr weitergeschaut. Sie lächelte erfreut. Schnell machte ich einen Kaffee. Ich kramte extra im Schrank nach zwei ganz bestimmten Tassen. Denn was für ein Fan wäre ich, wenn ich nicht mindestens zwei “Troy und Abed am Morgen” Tassen hätte.

Als ich kurz einen Blick auf mein Handy warf, viel mir der heutige Tag auf. Es war ein Freitag. Ich atmete langsam aus. Als ich aus der Küche mit den Kaffeetassen in meinen Händen zurück ins Wohnzimmer kam, hatte Adi bereits die Tortenstücke auf Tellern angerichtet. “Danke fürs Tiramisu”

Wieder schauten wir Stundenlang. Wir machten Witze, hielten zwischendurch an, um über Referenzen zu reden, oder um darüber zu reden, wie manchen Szenen durch spätere Episoden so viel mehr Gewicht bekommen. Wir lachten gemeinsam über Spontaneinwürfe des jeweils anderen und redeten über unsere Lieblingsfolgen und Lieblingscharaktere.

“Weißt du”, fing Adelind an, “meine Tochter ähnelte immer Britta sehr stark. Selbstständig, stur und mit einem starken Drang zu sozialer Gerechtigkeit, welcher die Menschen um sie herum gern mal zur Weißglut brachte. Aber sie war auch immer nett und sorgte sich mit ganzem Herzen um alle die ihr Wichtig waren.” “Sie hört sich wirklich nach einem tollen Menschen an” So traurig wie sie aussah, ihre Liebe für ihre Tochter war offensichtlich. “Das war sie. Das war sie wirklich” Ich lächelte verständnisvoll zu. “Ihr hättet euch sicher gut verstanden. Ihr zwei seit euch auch ähnlich. Vom Boden eures Herzens aus gute Menschen” Ich wusste nicht, was ich sagen soll. Ich bedankte mich einfach. Als wir die nächste Folge anfingen und wir beide anfingen beim Intro mitzusingen, sah ich zum ersten Mal zu ihr hinüber. Sie sah fröhlich aus, und dennoch konnte ich Tränen in ihren Augen sehen. Ich glaube ich verstand, was genau in ihr Vorging. Zumindest bis zu einem gewissen Punkt.

*****

Das wiederholte sich jeden Freitag. Manchmal waren sogar meine Mitbewohner dabei, jedoch waren es meist nur wir zwei. Wir fingen uns an beim Kuchenmitbringen abzuwechseln und manchmal trafen wir uns sogar am Tag zuvor, um einen gemeinsam zu backen. Dann hörten wir alte Musik und tanzten durch die Wohnung, obwohl wir beide zwei linke Füße hatten und es vermutlich so ausgesehen hat, als ob wir grad an einem Stromschlag sterben würden. Mit der Zeit wurden wir wirklich zu den besten Freunden. Sie erzählte mir über ihre Familie, den Toten aber auch den lebendigen, auch wenn sie kaum noch Kontakt zu ihnen hatte, über ihre Schulzeit und ihre Abenteuer, und ich erzählte ihr über meine. Manchmal gingen wir zusammen einkaufen oder gemeinsam in Museen. Wir sind sogar als kleine Gruppe, also sie, meine Mitbewohner und ich, Kegeln gegangen, als wir ihren 89 Geburtstag gefeiert hatten. All das passierte nur in wenigen Monaten. Und dann war es Dezember. Der 9te Dezember, um genau zu sein. An der Tagesordnung stand, Kekse backen, Geschenke verpacken und natürlich “Abed’s uncontrollable Christmas” schauen. Eine Community Weihnachtsfolge, welche nicht nur am 9ten ausgestrahlt wurde, sondern auch an dem Tag spielte. Wenig überraschend kam für all das Adelind vorbei. Diesmal hörten wir während dem Kekse backen Weihnachtslieder und wir redeten über Weihnachtsanekdoten. Es war wirklich faszinierend, was sie schon alles erlebt hatte, damit sie zu jedem Thema etwas erzählen kann. Als wir endlich mit den Keksen fertig waren, nahmen wir uns ein paar davon mit, schauten die Folge. Eine der besten. Es war ein schöner Tag, jedoch viel mir auf, dass Adi müde wirkte. Am nächsten Tag, dem 10ten Dezember, wiederholten wir das. Diesmal war es die Folge “Comparative Religion”. An dem Tag erzählte Adelind mir, dass sie zwar offiziell katholisch war, jedoch sich immer als Buddhistin gesehen hatte. Sie glaubte an Wiedergeburt und and Karma. Buddhismus brachte sie dazu auch in schweren Zeiten voranzuschauen und ihre beste Version zu sein. “Ich hoffe im nächsten Leben werde ich als Katze wiedergeboren”, sagte sie, halb scherzend.

An dem Tag lud ich sie ein, gemeinsam mit uns allen Weihnachten zu feiern. Sie freute sich und hatte versprochen eine gigantische Keksdose mitzunehmen und uns selbstgestrickte Geschenke zu schenken.

Am Tag vor dem 24ten Dezember jedoch, überraschenderweise schneite es, bemerkte ich Unruhen am Gang. Dann hörte ich Sirenen, welche vor dem Wohngebäude stehenblieben. Ich ging hinaus, um zu sehen, was los war. Da sah ich gerade wie Sanitäter in die Wohnung neben mir, in Adelindes Wohnung, hineinstürmten und kurze Zeit später mit Adi auf einer Trage rauskamen. Noch am selben Tag, wenig später, gerade, als ich ins Krankenhaus fahren wollte, um Adi zu besuchen und zu schauen, ob es ihr besser geht, sah ich 3 Gestalten vor ihrer Wohnung lungern. Ich erkannte sie. Adi hatte mir Bilder von ihnen gezeigt. Es waren ihre Kinder. Ich konnte spüren, wie mein Gesicht bleicher wurde. Vorsichtig fragte ich: “Kann ich Ihnen helfen?” “Ähm ja, Hallo. Das ist, eher war, die Wohnung unserer Mutter. Wir sind hier, um ihre Sachen abzuholen. Sie ist heute verstorben” Für einen kurzen Augenblick hielt die Welt an und ich hörte diese Worte in meinem Kopf widerhallen. Doch dann sprach jemand anderes weiter “Sie wissen nicht reinzufällig, wie man diese Tür aufbekommt, oder” Mit zittrigen Händen und nur halb in der Realität anwesend, ging ich zur Tür, drehte den Schlüssen so weit um, bis es nicht weiter geht, hebe die Tür etwas und drücke dagegen. “Sie ist etwas eigen”, flüsterte ich. “Sie wissen nicht noch reinzufällig, wo die alte Frau ihr Testament versteckt hat, oder?” Schockiert sah ich den Mann an, der da sprach. In einen Anzug gekleidet und mit zurückgegelten Haaren wollte er vermutlich professionell wie wirken, stattdessen wirkte er wie ein Großkotz. “Sind Sie nur dafür hier?” “Hauptsächlich” Ich atmete scharf aus. “Nein, da müsst ihr euch schon selbst Mühe geben” Doch gerade, als ich diesen Satz fertig gesprochen hatte, schrie eine Stimme aus der Wohnung in den Flur heraus. “Habs gefunden, glaube ich” Eine andere Stimme ergänzte “Sie scheint schon damit gerechnet zu haben” Der Mann im Anzug ging in die Wohnung und ich fast automatisch hinterher.

Auf einem Schreibtisch im Wohnzimmer lag ein Brief mit der großen Aufschrift “Testament von Adelind”. Ihre Tochter öffnete den Brief und nahm einen einzigen Zettel heraus. Sie fing an vorzulesen: “Liebe Kinder, wenn ihr das hier lesen müsst, dann bin ich Tod, zurück in den Kreis der Wiedergeburt eingetreten. Jedoch bevor ich euch sage, was jeder von euch erbt, muss ich mich entschuldigen, denn ich war nicht immer die beste Mutter. Vor allem nicht nach ihrem Tod. Ich wäre nicht überrascht, wenn ihr mich hasst und nur hier seid, um euer Geld zu bekommen. Keine Sorge, dass bekommt ihr-” “Komm zum Punkt alte Fr-” ich sah das anzugtragende Scheusal scharf an. Er verstummte. Als ich ihn so ansah, wurde es deutlich, dass er der Jüngste der drei war.

Die Tochter räusperte sich und fuhr fort: “Ich will alles gleichmäßig verteilen. Diese Wohnung gehört euch allen und ihr könnt sie euren Kindern weitergeben, wenn sie sie brauchen, oder auch euren Enkelkindern. Ich besitze nicht viel, doch das, was ich besitze, wird klar durch 3 geteilt. Sucht euch einfach aus was ihr wollt, doch streitend bitte nicht wieder. Um ehrlich zu sein, ist das nicht die erste Version meines Testaments. Bis vor ein paar Monaten hatte ich noch ein anderes. Eines das ich vor langer, langer Zeit geschrieben hatte und in dem alles noch durch 4 geteilt gewesen wäre. Doch auch diesmal bekommt eine 4te Person etwas. Vielleicht habt ihr sie schon getroffen. Meiner Nachbarin vermache ich meine Sammlung and lustigen Tassen so wie meine ganzen Community Fanartikel. Auch die, die sie mir damals geschenkt hatte. Ich wüsste niemanden sonst, der das so wertschätzen kann. Vielleicht treffen sich unsere Seelen noch einmal in einem anderen Leben, Adelind. Ps: Mein rechtlies, ausformuliertes Testament liegt schon bei meinem Anwalt.”

Stille füllte den Raum und ich konnte spüren, wie alle Blicke auf mich gerichtet waren. Ich wollte nur mehr, dass dieser Albtraum aufhörte. Ich wünschte, dass dieser Hoodie, den ich trug, ein Zeit-Hoodie wäre.

Als das Rechtliche geklärt war und ich endlich um fast Mitternacht nach Hause kam, in eine festlich dekorierte Wohnung, hatte ich immer noch nicht ganz den Tag verdaut. Doch als ich die Tür hinter mir schloss, brach ich zusammen. Ich rutschte mit dem Rücken an die Tür gelehnt auf den Boden und konnte das Schluchzten und die Tränen nicht zurückhalten. Ich weinte. Ich weinte und schrie für Stunden. Das war schlimmer, als Troy beim Gehen zuzusehen. Das war die Hölle, mentale Folter. Es fühlte sich an, als ob meine Seele zerrissen werden würde. Selbst die Versuche meiner Mitbewohner mich zu beruhigen brachten nichts. Irgendwann hörte ich jedoch auf zu weinen. Teilweise deswegen, weil ich keine Flüssigkeit in mir hatte, um zu weinen.

Anstatt ins Bett zu gehen, um mich auszuruhen setze ich mich auf die Couch und schaute das Einzige, was ich wusste, würde meine Seele zusammenhalten. Auch wenn es weh tat. Ich schaute Community. Die fünfte Staffel fing an und diesmal, zum ersten Mal, heulte ich nicht bei der 5ten Folge. So sehr ich es auch wollte. Doch gerade als Abed sich von Troy verabschiedete und die “Homing-pigeon DNA” erwähnte, hörte ich ein Kratzen an der Tür.

Als ich diese öffnete, saß da eine Katze mit einem kleinen Kätzchen dahinter. Ich stand überrascht da. Doch als ich etwas tun wollte, nahm plötzlich die Katze ihr Junges und ging damit in meine Wohnung, sprang auf die Couch und kuschelte sich mit ihrem Baby in ein Kissen. Ich schloss die Tür und näherte mich vorsichtig, doch die Katze lief nicht weg. Sie war sehr dünn und wirkte auch sehr erschöpft. Ich ging in die Küche und holte eine Schüssel mit Wasser und stellte diese der Katze hin. Sie trank. Und dann schlief sie auf der Couch ein. Ich wollte los gehen, um Katzenfutter zu kaufen, doch gerade, als ich aus der Tür gehen wollte, hörte ich das Kätzchen miauen. Es sah so hilflos aus. Es konnte noch nicht einmal die Augen öffnen. Ich blieb und schrieb stattdessen einen Mitbewohner, dass er Katzenfutter mitnehmen soll. Dann setzte ich mich auf die Couch, neben die Katzen und drehte die erste Folge von Community auf. Da kuschelten sich die beiden zu mir, auf meinen Schoss. Erneut strömten Tränen über meine Wangen, doch ich blieb ganz ruhig sitzen und flüsterte:

“Frohe Weihnachten, Adi”

~ Seph

[chryzuree]

chryzure and juliett besties is not only SO real (to ME), but also julian has a tiny one-sided competition w azure for having the best pet name for their partner. he thinks he’s going strong w “crimson” for scarlett (at least it’s more romantic than azure’s typical “chryseis” and more original than azure’s “love”), but then he hears azure softly call chrysi his stargirl and he realizes he LOST.

[otiksimr]

Oh. Hello there.

Go. Do a crime.

[ryiju-muunie]

700 Follower Special!

Baby come sit on my face~

college student!fem!reader/professor!Toji Fushiguro/professor!Kento Nanami/professor!Choso Kamo/professor!Suguru Geto Warnings: classroom sex, orgy, semi-public sex, spit roasting, double penetration, blow job, hand job, Choso and Geto lowkey start getting freaky, intense breeding, pussy eating, nipple sucking/play Word count: 2757 DESC: You decide to get extra credit the only way you know how ... being a whore

Ok maybe this is not coherent I AM SICK!! But thank you for 700!! Next up issssssssssss BDSM month!

NOTES: I've been putting this off for so long I'm already passed 700 LMAO. I don't know if this is going to be anything special but hey orgy man

How hard was it to get extra credit? Any normal student would do the simple things, you know, email their teachers professionally and ask for extra coursework. Or perhaps, buy school supplies on their professor's wish lists to boost themselves up in the classroom. For you, it was different. You were a full-time college student, although full-time was a stretch. Over time was a better word for the number of classes you took. Economics, history, math, geography, English- I could go on. But here’s the thing, as much as you tried to be a scholar student, you were falling behind. Your grades were slipping into terrible territory.  

So what else were you to do but ask for extra credit? You had seen enough porn to know how it would go. And you had also not interacted with enough humans to realize the idea was utterly insane. I mean, gathering all four of your professors [trust me it would’ve been more, but they were busy] into a desolate classroom as you stripped? It was insanity! Why the hell would these esteemed professors ever ruin their careers for some fun? Well, knowing them, you made the right choice. Your choice of winky faces and ~ made them all quirk their brows, but they weren’t stupid.  

Professor Kamo, for geography, was the first to arrive. He was a dark-dressed, tall individual. Out of all your professors, he was the absolute cutest. The way his face scrunched into a pout as he waited for answers, or how he beamed when talking about his favorite geological locations. You had to admit, you had fantasized about every teacher, but he was the one you liked the most. You imagined pulling on his hair, or even putting it up to make him such a cute little puppy. He would be a perfect sub, following you around with a subtle collar on his neck. Something to show you were his owner. Oh, you loved it.  

Then both your economics and your math teacher came in, Dr. Nanami and Mr. Fushiguro. Dr. Nanami was older, with blonde hair with salt and pepper starting to sprinkle at his roots. By far, he was the oldest and the sexist, although Mr. Fushiguro was a very close second. They were both tall and muscular from what you could tell, but your dark-haired professor had a sort of delinquent charm you found riveting. He would sit on top of his desk, talk candidly, and openly curse without caring if the students were offended. You wished he’d bend you over that same desk and whisper those stupid equations you never got in your ears.  

Finally, Professor Geto arrived. If you thought Mr. Fushiguro was a delinquent, he was nothing compared to the youngest professor. He had long hair, typically pulled back in a bun. The man insisted he only had a very limited number of tattoos, but you always saw more peak out from his sleeves or the underside of his shirt if he extended his arms. He was absolutely covered, with piercing holes in his face from jewelry you knew he had to take off every morning. His eyes too, God, they were sultry without even trying. The perfect seductive stare, every time he looked at you. It wasn’t purposeful, but you hoped it was. 

Your teachers all gathered at random desks as you were seated on top of a desk before them. Your outfit left little to the imagination, making it a bit hard for any of them to keep their eyes off you. White buttons on your blouse, pulling at your breasts and barely staying together. Your lacy black bra was peeking out, as was your thong. It was cheesy, but your only reference was shitty porn, right? Then a pencil skirt, but nothing office-appropriate. If anything, it was short and tight. It hugged the fat of your thighs perfectly, making them protrude as your legs crossed.  

Mr. Fushiguro was the first to break the silence, crossing his arms with a glare your way, “So is this the emergency?” He raised an eyebrow and motioned to your clothes [or lack thereof], “You don’t seem too … stressed out.” God that tone, the way he sized you up with his eyes. It was utterly seductive and utterly disparaging how you couldn’t run your hands over his muscles.  

“I think she might want extra credit,” Dr. Nanami concluded, taking a hold of his tie. Each day he arrived at class with a new tie, and today he chose your favorite. Just a plain black tie, but it contrasted beautifully against his pale skin tone. His fingers wrapped around the fabric and slowly he pulled it back and forth, off his neck. Oh well, he already got the memo it seemed. Your other two Professors simply watched as the two older men approached you with hunger in their eyes, stalking you like prey. You were going to be theirs tonight- all of theirs.  

Your black-haired professor was the first to take hold of you, placing his large hand on your thigh. It almost made you shiver, how he took your skin like you were nothing more than a mere object. His fingers dug into the plush fat and kneaded it slowly, just to see how you would react. You, obviously, were feeling a bit of arousal at this kind of touch. It was evident in how you bit your bottom lip, grating your teeth to the pleasure building in your lower half. It was kind of pathetic, how just a few simple touches were making your clit throb with anticipation. What didn’t help was another hand grabbing ahold of your jaw, turning your head to face him. Kento’s eyes were cold and grey, something you had grown fond of. It was hot, how he took charge and narrowed his eyes on you. Looking at you as if you were nothing more than his personal toy. Oh, and you were, you were so prepared for all of this. Pathetic.  

He leaned forward, slowly placing his loosened tie around your neck and tightening it. Just enough you could feel it, not enough to restrict your airflow. Although, you wouldn’t have minded if it made you choke- if he made you choke. The blonde pulled on the tie, making you fall forward into his grasp, where your lips finally met. You could hear a groan escape your other professor, but hell, you could’ve cared less. Fingers entangled in your hair as his mouth overtook yours in a sloppy bliss. Over and over did his tongue search your mouth and roll circles against your own. Teeth collided as you throbbed, completely soaking your underwear. You needed him, no you needed all of them.  

You pulled back from the kiss in search of Toji, locking lips with him next. He grabbed a hold of the tie and tightened it to the base of your neck, dominating your mouth in a slow kiss. It was painful, how he made you take your time instead of greedily taking him like you wanted to. Like you so badly wanted to. His large hand found a home on your hips, while more sets of hands spread apart your legs. You couldn’t tell who was pulling down your underwear as it fell to your ankles, warm fingers spreading apart your folds. Tongue against tongue and lips against lips, that’s all you could focus on as you felt lips on your neck, biting away, lips on your breasts, and a pair of hot lips against your clit. God, it was so overstimulating.  

You pulled away again to take in the scene before you, leaning back onto Professor Kamo for support as he bit at your neck. Nanami had undone your blouse … at some point and was beginning to mark your chest with his mouth, sloppily kissing the skin as if you were his last meal. Then Suguru had placed himself between your legs, face pressed against your warmth. It looked like he couldn’t breathe, but he wasn’t coming up for air. The pleasure was building; He wasn’t taking his time either. Although it was a slow build, it was intense. The kind of waves you’d only truly get from one of those rose toys. How the hell did he do that with his mouth? 

Another kiss took hold of you, this time by Choso. It was different from the rest, so sweet and soft. God, you wanted to corrupt this sweet kiss. You wanted to corrupt him most of all, make him beg to cum repeatedly until he was a panting mess. You leaned your head against his, pushing your mouth against his for more friction.  

Slowly your pussy was feeling swollen, as if it was already conceding from just this little amount of abuse. You wanted to cum, God you wanted to cum all over Professor Geto. Just coat him in your hot slick and watch as he had one of the other Professors lick him clean, before they’d get distracted and make out. That thought made you let out a noise, something you hadn’t done up until that point. They didn’t expect you to be so silent, but now it was all coming out. Your back arched to the thought of the men forgetting about you and taking each other instead, fucking until they were all a huge mess of sweat and spit. You moaned to the thought of Toji grabbing ahold of Choso’s face and tongue fucking him with all his strength, and how it would look. How it would sound too. The noises the two men would make, mixing with the sounds of the other men. And your wet pussy, how you’d touch yourself to the sight. It was making you clench at the thought.  

“Pretty girl,” Suguru cooed, pulling back from your cunt with slick trailing from his chin. One of his fingers slowly found its way inside, followed by another one, followed by a third. You gaped at the sensation, wishing you were fuller. Full of their cocks and their cum, pumping load after load into your cervix. You couldn’t speak, instead all you could do was whimper into Choso’s mouth as he grew desperate for your tongue, slowly grinding his erection into your back. It pressed against your curves and made you hungry to taste it, letting it fill your throat.  

“Fuck me,” you finally rasped, pulling away from the kiss and tapping Kento’s head a few times. Toji had been busy licking and sucking on your neck, but once he heard your words, he pushed you back against the desk. It was enough to overpower Choso’s hold on you, sending you falling back onto the hardwood.  

You weren’t sure how it happened, all of it becoming such a blur, but you found yourself straddling Dr. Nanami, with his cock ghosting your cunt, Toji, with his erection pressed against your anus, and your two other Professors standing before you, their dicks waiting to be touched by your greedy hands. You were salivating, reaching out and taking a hold of Choso’s boner before your mouth wrapped around Geto’s. He couldn’t help but grab the base of your neck, forcing you down his length. Then you felt Kento slide you down, and Toji force slicked fingers inside your hole. It was all at once, how you were being fucked and fingered, then sucking and stroking. God, it was becoming too much, how you were used and used like you were nothing more than a toy.  

Your hand stroked Kamo’s cock as your tongue lolled around Suguru’s dick. It tasted so good and felt like bliss as it kissed your throat. Each thrust of his hips sent his tip deeper and deeper until you felt yourself gag. All the while, Nanami was taking you with slow strokes. He wanted to feel you, take his time with you. Savor your plush pussy as he bottomed out. Then he wanted to fuck you, deep and hard, until you could barely take it. But the good slut you were, you’d take it. You’d take all of it like a good girl. God, it was driving him crazy.  

Toji’s fingers were circling your entrance and teasing your asshole, plunging into your hole slowly just to feel you stretch around him. It was first one digit, before the rest followed suit. You gasped around Geto’s length and pulled back, arching to the sensation of your cunt and your hole being penetrated. It was so good, touching spots you didn’t even know existed. But you were neglecting your other professor, who you saw was whimpering into your touch. Just like the pathetic sub he was, he wanted your mouth all around his member. You complied, swallowing Choso whole as your two hands began to satiate your other professors' burning desire.  

“F-fuck,” Kento stuttered, his hands planting themselves on your hips as he thrust into you. You finally tuned into the sounds around you, hearing the squelching and moaning from the men surrounding you. Toji was groaning into your ass as he finger fucked you, the blonde was losing himself in your walls, Choso was whining and gripping your hair, and Suguru was letting out breathy gasps from your hands alone. It was overstimulating. Each hole, each orifice, and each part of your body was being tended to. Who cared about the homework at this point? It had become more than that as you were used and fucked for their pleasure. You were a toy, a fuck thing. You were nothing more than someone who was being used to get all these older men off, and it was getting you closer and closer to the edge.  

You wanted to cum so bad all over Kento and Mr. Fushiguro hadn’t even gotten to fuck your tight asshole yet. You wanted to feel Choso splatter ropes of pure hot and white cum down your throat, bucking his hips and forcing you to choke as he kept going. You wanted to feel Suguru paint your face in his sperm as he thrust into your two hands, since his cock was too big for one. And especially, you wanted Professor Nanami to make you a good little mommy. You wanted him to fuck you repeatedly until you were swollen, until you were bulging with his cock and his spunk. God, the thought of your cervix being kissed by his dick was getting you off. Then you felt your asshole begin to stretch.  

Maybe that’s what sent you over the edge in an orgasm. It took over and within seconds you let out a sob. Your head pulled back from Mr. Kamo’s member as you leaned forward onto the man below you. There was intense bliss that filled your pussy and flowed into your brain, different than anything you’ve ever felt before. It was arousing, causing the yearning fire to come back moments after you had finished. Then Kento finished inside you. Your walls clenching around him was too much, sending him over the edge as the coil in his stomach broke. White and hot spurts of cum were pumped deep into your tight hole, as he fucked his orgasm right back into you.  

All the while, you hadn’t noticed the two men before you decided to get each other off instead of waiting on you. Choso pressed his lips sloppily to Suguru’s, wrapping his arms around the other as his dick rubbed against his length. It was hot to see them get each other off, holding their cocks together and bucking them up and down. His tip was swollen and leaking, brushing against Geto’s in a way you knew felt so good. You wanted to hold them together and press your fingers against their slits in a way that would drive them crazy, but feeling two men fuck into you was starting to get too much.  

Toji fucked into you like he had an agenda, and it was to get his own release. He didn’t care about your pleasure, and it was turning you on again. Kento on the other hand was trying so hard to keep his composure in favor of your pleasure. Yet, you so desperately wanted him to lose control and use you. You were their fuck toy. And you’d let them use you again, and again, and again, if it meant they could get off. You loved it. You relished in being used like a nasty whore. And they got off on that fact, too.  

[promptsforthestrugglingauthor]

Writing Prompt #2757

"I don't think you understand—I hate who I used to be. It's not a coy little embarrassment or simple regrets. I should have never been that person, and I'm doing everything I can to atone for her vices."

[tropes-and-tales]

Fairy Godmother, Part II

(Santiago "Pope" Garcia x F!Reader)

CW:  Slight angst, fluff.

Word Count: 2757

AN:  This was originally requested by an anonymous person, and it is the sequel to this.

Christmas morning comes far later than Santi would have thought.  Sophie sleeps in—exhausted, he guesses, from all the excitement.  He wakes around six, makes his way to the kitchen and starts the coffee machine.

A beat later he hears the quick click of the guest room door, then the creak of floorboards as you make your way towards him.

“Morning,” you say behind him.

“Merry Christmas,” he replies.  He holds out an arm, and you pause for a second before you tuck yourself against him in a side hug.

“Kiddo’s still asleep?  I’m shocked.”

Santi jostles you against him.  “She’s wiped out.  Her favorite person came home yesterday and she was exhausted.”

“I’m hardly her favorite person,” you reply, and he hears the smile in your voice.  “Soph is a daddy’s girl through and through.”

“But I’m the guy who makes her brush her teeth and wear shoes when we go out.  You’re the woman who sends her fun gifts from faraway lands.”

“The faraway lands of airport duty free shops.”

You have a quiet moment in the dawn light.  Santi pours your coffee, pours his own, and just as he’s gearing up to perhaps ask you about Tom and his interference in your lives, there’s a shriek and a thump down the hallway.  A second later, Sophie’s bedroom door flies open, and Christmas morning starts in earnest.

-----

He can’t bring it up until that evening.  The day is a flurry of activity.  Sophie attacks the gifts under the tree like a rabid animal, and breakfast—chocolate chip pancakes courtesy of you—only amps her up further on sugar. 

Frankie and his wife and son stop by for a quick visit on their way to Frankie’s parents’ Christmas get-together, and Santi watches as Frankie gives you a big hug and welcomes you home.

“Thanks, Frankie,” you reply.  “It’s good to be back.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Just through the weekend.  Then I fly back.”

Frankie’s wife shakes her head.  “You can’t stay longer?  It’d be nice to have another women around here.”

You smile and glance between Frankie and Santi.  “They do get obnoxious when they’re all together, don’t they?”

Santi makes a noise of mock-outrage, but he notices that Frankie only smiles a bit, then tilts his head as he studies you.  He’s quiet for a moment before he replies, more seriously, “you know, you��d make a lot of people happy if you moved back here.”

You miss his meaning entirely.  You laugh lightly, wave him off.

“Oh, no,” you tell him.  “Sophie would get bored of me soon enough.”

It’s Frankie’s wife who glances between the two men, the three of them sharing a knowing look that you miss entirely too.  Santi lifts his eyebrows at them, lifts his shoulders faintly, as if to say, “I’ll fill you in later.”

By the time the Morales family leaves, it’s time for lunch.  Santi is no slouch in the kitchen, and with your help, you whip up a feast.  Which is largely lost on Sophie, who is so hyped on sugar and new toys and visitors that she’s unruly, in that space where she can’t focus and hears but doesn’t listen.  And Santi usually has endless patience, but he’s hyped up on things too, nervous and anxious, wanting to talk to you but afraid of how the conversation may turn.  He gets snappish with his daughter, which makes her cry, which makes you intervene, which makes Sophie wail, which makes Santi feel like a monster.

“It’s okay.”  You pull Sophie into your lap and let her cry.  You rub her back and rock her a bit, and you look at Santi.

“It’s okay,” you say softer.  “She’s just tired.”

Santi huffs.  He knows she’s tired.

“Maybe you’re just tired too,” you add.

Maybe.  He hasn’t slept well, pretty much since he knew you were coming to visit.  He worked, took care of Soph, then spent his nights and weekends cleaning, preparing for you.  He laid in bed awake, imagining how the visit may go.  He laid in bed and tossed and turned and remembered every single moment with you:  the long nights when Sophie was a colicky baby, the lazy days when you sat with Santi and took his mind off of Julie.  Every moment large and small, monumental and mundane.

“Why don’t I get her down for a  nap, and you lie down too?  I can clean up from lunch,” you continue.

Santi huff again.  “No way.  You’re a guest—”

“And I know where everything goes.  And you’re exhausted too.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Let me put Soph down.  You lie down too.”  A beat, and you grin at him, add, “unless you need tucked in with a story too.”

He smiles back; it feels just like before, just like before you left.  “Yes, please.”

You stand up with Sophie in your arms and turn towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.  “Go lie down, Santi.  I’ve got this.”

He stands up and follows you down the hallway, but he does as you say.  When you turn left into Sophie’s room, he keeps going until he’s at the end of the hallway in his own room.  He lies down on top of the comforter, and he thinks he’ll only rest his eyes, but as soon as he closes them, he’s almost immediately asleep.

He’s snoring softly twenty minutes later when you creep in the room and look down at him, a bemused smile on your face.  You take a folded blanket from the foot of the bed and shake it out, then place it over him.

“Sweet dreams,” you whisper, and you have no way of knowing it, but he’s dreaming of you, like he does many times when he sleeps.

-----

Santi doesn’t get to really talk to you until evening, then.

He wakes up from his nap grumpy:  too warm, his mouth dry, and with the general discombobulation that comes with sleeping too long off-schedule.

Not unlike how Sophie wakes up—a fact you tell him with glee when he stumbles out of his bedroom and finds you quietly reading on the couch.  Sophie is already awake, coloring just as quietly where she lies on her stomach on the floor.  A cartoon is on the TV, but the volume is low.

“You know, you never need a DNA test,” you tell him.  “Because you and the gremlin both kinda do this thing?”  Here you mime Santi and his daughter, rubbing your eyes messily and grumbling.  “You both do that when you wake up.” 

“Untrue,” he says, his voice husky from his dry throat.

“And your hair both gets messed up in the same way.”  You close your book and stand up, make your way over to him.  You gesture at his head.  “All corkscrewed bed-head.”

“Some women might find that charming.”

You snort.  “Some women might find that it gives you a mad scientist air.”

“How are you not tired?  You literally traveled here from halfway around the world.”

You shrug, then head into the kitchen.  Santi follows, and he watches as you pour him a glass of water and hand it to him.  He nods in thanks and drinks it down.

“It’s not that I’m not tired,” you reply.  You lean against the kitchen counter.  “I guess I’m just used to it.” 

Santi glances in the living room.  Sophie is still there, engrossed in her coloring, so he leans against the counter opposite where you stand.  “You ever think of giving it up?”

“The traveling in general or the job?”

“Both.  Either.”

“Eh.”  You move your eyes past him to look out the window over the sink.  It’s late afternoon, and the sun is lower in the sky.  Long shadows cross the backyard.  “I’ve never really thought of it.  It was fun at first.  I’ve been literally everywhere.”

“But it gets lonely.”  Your eyes slide back to his, and Santi gives you a knowing nod.  “I’ve been there.  Done that, sweetheart.”

“It does,” you concede.

“So why not give it up?  You could work anywhere.  Why not come back here?”

Your eyes move back to the view outside the window.  The lengthening shadows, the setting sun.  Golden hour, it’s called, but you told him once you found late afternoon a sad time of day.  The last gasp of daylight before night.  The time of day when people should be making their way home.

“Maybe for some people, loneliness is less a state of where they are,” you answer him, and your words come out slow, like you’re measuring the weight of them.  “Maybe it’s a part of who they are.”

It surprises Santi to hear you say that.  You never struck him as a lonely person, and he tells you so. 

You slouch a bit against the counter.  Your eyes find his, and he admits that he can see it there.  A loneliness.  A sadness.  You don’t say anything, and the moment stretches to the point where he can’t not bring it up.

“Have you…always felt this way?” he asks, and he says it slowly too, chooses his words with care.  “Or is it because of Tom?  What he said last year?”

The corners of your mouth turn up into a sardonic smile.  “Do you want the truth here?”

“Always.”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“You don’t know that.”

You nod and take a breath.  Your eyes shift to the window again, but now it’s like you’re looking not at the landscape but back into time.  Back to a year ago, and even further than that.

“Tom wasn’t wrong,” you tell him softly.  “I mean, the underlying idea…he wasn’t wrong about that.  He was actually dead-on.  When Julie first took off, I felt so guilty, like I was responsible for her somehow because she was my best friend.  And I felt like I owed it to you and Soph, since I’m her godmother.  That’s kind of the point of a godmother, you know?  To step in when the parents aren’t around.  Julie wasn’t around, so I stepped in, and it was tough because I had, like, no idea how to deal with a baby, but it felt right to be here and help.”

You pause, shake your head faintly.  You take another breath.  “But it didn’t take long for it to start to feel like my life, you know?  Like, at the start, I was just stepping in to help, like a fairy godmother.  Popping in to help out in an emergency with the intention to pop back out once everything was square.  But it start to feel like it was my life, and you got your legs under you and didn’t really need me anymore, but I stuck around anyway.  Because I got used to pretending that Julie never happened, that Sophie was my own daughter and you...."  You trail off and shake your head again, harder.  “Well, you know.”

Santi’s throat is dry again, and he realizes that he’s been holding his breath.  He exhales heavily, says, “you never said anything, sweetheart.”

Your gaze finds him, and he can see the pain there.  “Of course I didn’t.  It was humiliating.  But I thought I was keeping it subtle until Tom pulled me aside.  I figured if that idiot could see it, it was only a matter of time before you saw it.  So I left.”

“I never saw it.  If I had—”

“I didn’t want to hear it from you, Santi.  I didn’t want to hear you let me down.  Because I knew you’d be so nice about it, all apologetic and sweet, and it felt like that would hurt more than you yelling at me and telling me to get out of—”

What can he possibly say to convince you?  How can he explain how he fell for you too, how he never said a word for basically the same reason you never did?  How he was afraid that you’d let him down gently, just as sweet?  How he imagined the pain in your eyes as you explained that you cared for him, as a friend, as only a friend, as your goddaughter’s father?

He can’t think of anything to say in the moment; he can rely on words later.  Now, he only cuts you off by bridging the distance between you, lunging really, and clumsily kissing you because you are talking, and he half-misses your mouth.  He cuts off your words by kissing half of your mouth, and his teeth click against yours, and you cry out in surprise and pain.

All told, it’s a terrible first kiss.

An awful first kiss:  you look at him in shock, and you lift your hand to your mouth.  When you move it away, there’s blood there—just a little, but for fuck’s sake, the first time he kisses you, he makes you bleed, so he moves to the sink and dampens a paper towel, hands it to you.  You press it to the inside of your lip.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you ask.  You keep your voice low for Sophie’s sake, but there’s more than one emotion in your tone.  Bemusement, bewilderment, both.

How can he begin to explain it?  “You got it all wrong,” he tells you.  “And so did I.”

“Which part?” 

“All of it.  Every bit of it, sweetheart.”

You smile at him, rueful.  You remove the paper towel, daub at your mouth again.  It looks like it was a little cut, and it looks like it’s stopped bleeding. 

“You’re insane,” you say.

“Probably.” 

“Oh, most definitely.”  You twist the paper towel in your hand, and your voice goes small on him.  “What are you trying to say, exactly?”

He could rehash the past.  He could talk about Julie, but his ex is so far in his rearview mirror that he rarely thinks of her.  He could call Tom an asshole or an idiot or both, but he can do all of that later.  For now, he goes with the simplest explanation.

“I’m trying to say, I miss you.  I’ve missed you since you left.  I want you to come home because I love you.”  He watches your face as he says it, studies how his words hit you, and it’s like watching the sunrise—the way the light spreads over everything.  He also sees the way you try to school it, how you try to temper what you’re hearing versus that loneliness you feel—

“And this is all independent of Sophie,” he adds.  “She loves you too, but I’m speaking for just me here.  I love you, for you.  Not for what you do for my daughter or how she feels about you.  For you alone.”

“Santi—”

“And I’m sorry I fucked up kissing you.”

You start to smile, start to reply, but there’s a small gasp nearby, and you both turn to see Sophie standing there, staring in dread.

“Daddy said a bad word,” she whispers in horrified awe.

You glance at Santi then turn to Soph.  You hold out your hand and she takes it, her wide eyes fixed on her father’s face like he might be struck down by a vengeful god for saying “fucked.”

“He did, didn’t he?” you ask. 

Sophie nods gravely.

“Think he should be punished?”

Another nod.

“Maybe some time in the time-out chair?”

“Five minutes,” Sophie whispers. 

You nod seriously, then turn to Santi.  “Five minutes in time out,” you tell him.  “So you can think about what you’ve done.”

“Fair,” he replies, just as seriously.

Five minutes is enough time to pull himself together.  To calm his hammering heart, to will his blood to cool a fraction.  Because he’s amped, twitchy with nerves and excitement, and the next time he kisses you, he wants to get it right and not make you bleed.

Five minutes is plenty of time.  When he’s done with his time out, he helps you pull together leftovers for dinner.  The two of you work in tandem in the kitchen, an orchestrated movement of reheating dishes, doling them out, pouring drinks, gathering silverware.  But once Sophie has her plate in front of her, you and Santi both return to the kitchen for your own plates, and that’s when he kisses you the second time, and it goes better.  It goes so much better, because you see him coming this time, and your eyes go soft as you meet him halfway and kiss him back.

[cloud-acee]

[ breakfast bunch ]

office crush to lovers. wotakoi inspired. wc: 2757

the city was bustling with busy as per a usual weekday. heels clacked and leather shoes hurried on the sidewalks, navigating their way to work. that wasn’t the case for you. today was a day off work because of some event in another department that did not concern yours and sunwoo’s, allowing a day of rest.

it was past 9 am and you have just woken up feeling quite a bit mislaid, not knowing what to do. usually around this time you’d be in front of your computer, typing away your work reports while taking bites out of the breakfast sandwich sunwoo always got you.

not having the energy to figure out what to spend today for, you mindlessly scrolled through tiktok curled up in your bed until a message dinged your phone.

nunu: morning

nunu: u up?

two messages sent after the other popped into your screen and you immediately clicked on it, not quite eager, but excited to know whatever sunwoo has planned for the day just so you could join in. hence, you responded and exchanged messages after so.

y/n: yea why

nunu: bfast?

y/n: let usssss

y/n: but where?

nunu: hb that sandwich place where i buy our usual?

y/n: oooh bet i’ve always wanted to try dining there

nunu: aightt, you know my place just message me when ure near so i can wait by the bus stop

y/n: got it 🤝

y/n: i’ll get ready now bye bye

nunu: you be careful, see u !!

acknowledging his last message with a heart reaction, you locked and threw your phone to the bed as you stood up to get ready, your face planted with an unconscious smile. you didn’t really know if you were happy with the idea that you won’t be couch potatoing for the day, or because you get to see sunwoo.

he’s part of your everyday now, not only on work days but even on weekends where you usually meet out to eat and hang, having been alone in each of your apartments. the friendly company of each other brought you both comfort. at work you got to play adults, but outside work you both get to act like teenagers with your endless playful bickering, midnight ice cream runs, and tv marathons whether it's an anime or movies or series. you loved being with sunwoo.

not further delaying your movements, you hopped into the shower preparing for whatever is to come today.

sunwoo, on the other hand, was all dressed already. he opted to message you after he's ready to go out just to avoid the possibility of you arriving in the meeting place earlier than him, not that it was a chance at all, but he wanted to make sure anyway just so he knows you wouldn't be waiting all alone. he meant to ask you to breakfast last night but argued within himself, not wanting to appear too clingy. sunwoo has always been careful about how you might see him. he wanted to be around you, but not always, not too pushy to scare you away. he didn't want to be too obvious, especially not when he's had some feelings he himself is yet to confront.

he saw you as a colleague at first, he respected you as a workmate. sunwoo saw your brilliance and wit, and he found you admirable. he didn't even notice when he started to feel.. things, he thought for sometime he just saw the good things in you, not realizing it's past mere compliments about you that he kept himself. the man was falling, oh he fell quicker than he could keep track of his feelings.

but he would never admit them. not even to himself, perhaps to sunwoo, acknowleding the heart is followed by rejection. and he enjoyed being with you too much to waste the bond, so he settles with your friendship. not that he was complaining, if anything, he was grateful to even be close to you, and much happier that you two were the closest among your workmates. sunwoo was contented but he'd be lying if he says he wouldn't want anything more.

the walk down the bus stop didn't take long enough for the thoughts that preoccupied his head. anyway, sunwoo already got to the meeting place just before you messaged to tell him you were around 5 minutes away.

basking in the morning air, sunwoo was glad the traffic had died down, allowing him to enjoy watching the vehicles that drove by. each one of them dropping and picking up new passengers, until it was you coming out of the bus.

sunwoo stood up with a small smile as soon as he saw you and you shoot him a smile back as you observed his clothing, he was dressed in a hoodie and jeans, just as you expected.

"do you even wash that hoodie? didn't you wear that last week?" you asked teasingly as soon as you were in front of him. the small smile on his face that welcomed you fell into a playful annoyed face, “at least i wash my hair everyday.”

he likes teasing like this, “hey, you’re not supposed to wash your hair everyday because it’s going to keep the natural oil and stuff,” you huffed as you followed him walking. “so you’re supposed to stink?” he joked even more.

“no i do not stink!” you said loudly laughing in between. “you have got to stop believing everything you see on tiktok,” sunwoo exclaimed laughing along with you.

the teasing and the tiktok banter kept going until you were a crossroad away from the small sandwich shop marked with a logo familiar to you.

as soon as you entered the sandwich shop, you heard the old lady stood behind the counter chirp a greeting to the man who held the door before you, “oh sunwoo, good morning!”

sunwoo kept his hand on the door as you took your steps but his eyes immediately went to the old lady, greeting back to her with another “good morning” paired with a gentle smile.

she had went back to cutting the ingredients as you walked towards the counter with sunwoo, checking on the menu. you observed the store and it felt like a subway but homey, maybe because of the seats and tables that are not too fancy but neat and pretty in color. seeing the freshly cut vegetables reminded you of your hunger and the smell of the sizzling meat didn’t help either. you continued scanning the menu when a conversation between the two started.

“are you getting your usual?” asked the lady as she looked at sunwoo. “yes but i’ll be dining here this time, you don’t need to rush preparing it,” sunwoo answered in a chuckle. apparently, sunwoo’s habit was no different to yours, always rushing in the morning.

the lady took note of sunwoo’s additional coffee order before turning her head towards you, “how about your order, dear?” she was sweet. you felt no pressure choosing a sandwich for breakfast but you didn’t feel adventurous today so you went with the order sunwoo always brought you.

“i’ll just have the regular sandwich with mayo, onions, and cheese, but without the pickles and tomato please,” you answered politely as you pulled your wallet out of your bag to prepare payment. just before you looked back up at the lady, you added, “i’ll also have the same coffee sunwoo’s having.”

this time you looked at her and she had this quizzed look on her face, as if solving a math equation stamped on your face. you only looked at her with both your eyebrows raised, mirroring the same look of confusion as you wait for a response.

“oh it’s her!” she exclaimed with her face lit up. you couldn’t understand what she meant but sunwoo seemed to get it when his eyes squinted then grew bigger as soon as the thought registered. “you’re sunwoo’s girlfriend aren’t you!? the one he always buys this breakfast sandwich for!” the lady said excitedly, wrinkling the corners of her eyes.

sunwoo looked as speechless as you did, perhaps you were as red as each other too.

the lady smiled so big you didn’t have it in you to burst her bubble, so you just pulled your lips in a warm smile as you bobbed your head slightly. “he always did get me my breakfast sandwich,” you responded as an agreement to the sandwich part, glossing over the girlfriend bit.

“what a sweetheart you have here, kindness in love goes a long way!” she said with the same level of excitement as she turned to sunwoo and talking once more, “and you have got a girl so pretty! how did a clumsy sunwoo score such a lady!?”

sunwoo only laughed in embarrassment as he scratched the back of his head. the mood was lighter and you laughed with him too. he didn’t look at you but he played along ignoring the statement that made him blush, instead clearing his throat before speaking to you, “you can take a sit now i’ll take care of it.”

not wanting to protest, you only nodded your head and smiled once more at the lady before pulling yourself out of the counter. you chose a table just next to the window and settled your bag on it, with sunwoo following not so long after.

he slipped into the chair opposite to yours quietly but spoke eventually, “i’m sorry about that,” he chuckled awkwardly. “i knew her since i moved here for work and she suspected the extra sandwich i was buying with my usual order was for a girl,” sunwoo laughed at the memory.

rushing through the streets, sunwoo held his leather bag in his left hand before he got to the front of the sandwich shop near the corner of his apartment, pushing the door with his right hand. the old lady recognized him, he’s been a regular since around three months ago— right when he moved to the area.

just as sunwoo approached the counter, the lady beat her to it and asked, “your usual in 5 minutes?”

he laughed lightly answering, “yes, please. but with the regular sandwich too minus the pickles and tomato.” he says as he pulls some cash out of his wallet. this was when the lady noticed it, of the three months sunwoo’s been a regular, the last three weeks of his order included an extra sandwich on some days.

she couldn’t stop her tongue when she asked, “so your girlfriend doesn’t like pickles and tomatoes?” sunwoo was quite shocked, but he liked what he heard.

you were both new to the company but you came a bit later, resulting in the two of you working on some stuff together and sticking together during lunch breaks, having not much friends from the older employees. sunwoo found you so easy to be with. and quite frankly, you could say the same. you talked about a lot of things, especially anime. but besides your similar interests, sunwoo also learned about the absence of breakfast in your daily routine having such a shit sleep schedule that you wake up late and miss the time to prepare or buy anything to eat most days, if not every single day.

so one morning when he was getting his sandwich, he decides to buy two to give you the other one. he ‘accidentally’ ordered two so you got to eat it now because one was enough for him and it would’ve gotten stale if he keeps it for lunch. you do anyway, but you fish out the pickles and tomatoes before doing so. sunwoo mentally took note of the abandoned bits of vegetables and ordered one without them the following day.

you didn’t really think much of it then, just glad sunwoo was generous enough to share his food with you. sunwoo, on the other hand, was relieved. he wouldn’t really know how to explain if you ask him why he gets you breakfast.

claiming the paperbag containing the sandwiches, sunwoo thanked the old lady for always getting them done in 5 minutes. “oh don’t worry there’s not much customers anyway. you go now, you lovebirds have a nice day,” she grinned warmly.

it has become his routine since then, the lady’s too, that he had completely forgotten about the assumption she made months ago.

you intently watched sunwoo as he spoke of the memory so fondly. “i would’ve warned you about it but it slipped my mind, i didn’t really explain anything to her and just let her think of it like that, i’m so sorry,” he finished.

“no, no problem at all, it’s fine!” you answered wavering your hand in quite a panic, not wanting to make sunwoo feel bad.

you really didn’t want to sadden that lady with the information that you two, in fact, were not dating. but admittedly, being called that made your heart flutter. oh, who were you kidding? anything sunwoo did— anything related to sunwoo, made your heart flutter.

the lady was right, he was such a sweetheart. always so mindful when he was teaching you about the work stuff he learned about some months earlier than you, accompanying you to non-work events (who knew sunwoo would join you to a sticker convention), sending you tiktok edits of your favorite movies, looking after sickly you in your apartment, making sure he's got an extra hair tie in case you lose yours— the list could go on but it’s that sandwich that you look forward to most days.

upon having this surge of realization, you felt your cheeks heat up as you spoke shyly, “i mean, it wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

sunwoo only looked at you surprisingly with his eyes looking even bigger than they already do, but he also looked confused as his brows raised and furrowed quickly as if he was figuring a puzzle out. his head jumbled with words to form whatever question was meant to be asked in a situation as such, which he had never been in. did you mean what you said? did it mean you felt the same way he did?

his brain was racked with so much thoughts that before he got to ask what you meant, the old lady had already dinged the bell, calling for sunwoo’s name instead of his order number. blinking away the moment, "hold on," sunwoo said as he quickly stood from his seat quite wobbly before approaching the counter.

you would’ve laughed at his clumsiness but you had to mentally scold yourself first, what did you just say? were you even ready for this? well, you’ll never be ready to face something this big anyway, not something as big as your feelings that caught you in those moments with sunwoo you wished would last a bit— a lot, longer. they crept up the very first time sunwoo bursted out laughing at a joke you made, it was this warmth that spread across your chest that made you realize that besides seeing him happy, you also liked making him happy.

oh this isn’t good. what a waste of friendship would it be if sunwoo found your feelings ridiculous, you would much rather choke to death instead of being rejected and having your friendship ruined.

maybe you’re over reacting, but what’s a girl got to do when she accidentally confesses?

you were so into your own thoughts that you didn’t realize sunwoo was slowing his walking still trying to absrob what you said. did you mean, it wouldn’t be.. so bad.. being his? sunwoo has always been gentle with you when talking about things in a serious light, but he didn’t find this time a good time to be slow, maybe he should just go for it?

you felt like you held your breathe until sunwoo came back, carefully placing your coffee and sandwich in front of you and his meal on his side. sunwoo's sat in front of you again wiping the pair of fork and bread knife with a napkin before handing them to you. you only quietly said "thank you," as you reached for them when he spoke.

"so you liked that, huh?"

looking up with your mouth agape, you were horrified. sunwoo had a smirk and his eyes twinkled with something that tells you this day was going to be about more than a friendly breakfast date, this one was a hole you both have been digging.

[alonglistofbirds]

[2757/11080] Crested finchbill - Spizixos canifrons

Order: Passeriformes Suborder: Passeri Superfamily: Sylvioidea Family: Pycnonotidae (bulbuls)

Photo credit: Natthaphat Chotjuckdikul via Macaulay Library

[feefymo]

The Rorchach Effect - Part 1

Jimmy Darling x fem! reader - NSFW • MDNI word count: 2757 author's notes: it was like a multiple birth but here we are. This is my very first attempt of a fanfiction (and it's not written in my native language) but I worked a lot on it and I hope you enjoy it. I tried to keep It simple. After mulling it over I chose to divide the fic in two parts and yes: the smut is in the second part! It's not proofread because I'm a kamikaze, yes. Little curiosity: I was partly inspired by Saltburn and this soundtrack. What else? I'll leave you to read! Be kind, pleaseee! My hashtag is #ficfymo ! summary: Elsa threw a party for Jimmy's birthday but no one knows where he ended up. Fem! Reader POV. warnings: mention of violence, and blood. I think that's it, for now. https://open.spotify.com/intl-it/track/6Huqy9WdEE3rMazEQgajn2?si=2105621ac0044260

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome.

I'm the one they call the Rorschach Woman; my real name is not important.

Do any of you know what vitiligo is? Vitiligo is a disease but in the maternal arms of Elsa Mars, nothing is bad. None of her adopted children are sick: we all have a gift, don't we, Elsa? I had a boundless love for ballet, I was busily studying psychiatry, I was a "prodigy girl" or, at least, I thought I was. Then, the vitiligo showed up. What I thought was my downfall, according to Elsa, represented the true miracle. I gave up dancing; I gave up on my dream of becoming a researcher. I lost the support of my real parents because my appearance had changed but hey! Now I have my own number in Elsa Mars Freak Show. I'm here to enchant you. To let you read the spots on my face. I'm here to interpret your minds. This is my personal test of Rorschach, offered to you, kind audience. A few dollars and you can study me, myself every night but not every night are like this. Tonight I want to tell you a story 'cause today is my best friend's birthday. The brother I've chosen. Tonight, a big party was thrown for him but there's no trace of him. Where did you go, Jimmy Darling?

Let's take a step back.

I've never seen the camp so packed. Never. If all these people showed up for every show, each of us would be filthy rich. I don't understand how it is possible and yet, Elsa must have performed one of her magics. She says she consider Jimmy her blood, so she claimed to organize everything herself. She chose a party theme: "Normal People". She call it "satire", a mockery towards those who are truly considered normal. Some of us believed her, others adapted to avoid getting into trouble. The truth is that, by disguising ourselves according to the canons, we appear even less credible. Grotesque. Ridicolous. I couldn't resist a subtle provocation, so I made my complexion uniform but with the white of French mimes. Like a pierrot. Totally painted in white, I wander around in a champagne dress. I look like a crazy moth until I find the flame. That flame is Jimmy himself, surrounded by a myriad of strangers who urge him to blow out the candles.

- Happy birthday… uhm… -

- Happy birt… Joseph? -

- Jack? John? -

- I think it's Jimmy. -

- Jimmy? Are you sure? -

- JIMMY! -

The music does not cover the murmurs nor the embarrassment that comes down like a curtain. I try to push and elbow to reach my best friend but I can't. He's standing there, nerves to edge: he looks around, clenching his teeth. He seems lost while he's trying to put an unconvinced smile on his Peter Pan face. Once the candles have been blown out, Jimmy disappears in the general disinterest. Nobody cares, the party continues as if nothing had happened, fueling an atmosphere that has nothing normal about it. It's something like a mesmerizing nightmare in the suffused lights that Elsa had placed everywhere. A luminous design that even turns into a labyrinth in the wild meadow near the main event. It should be a modern fairy tale for the privileged who want to escape from the routine. For us, scum, it's an illusion. A utopia, a warning of what we will never achieve but I don't give a fucking damn. Sincerely. If I'm still here it's not because of Elsa nor because I truly appreciate her Cabinet Of Curiosities. I'm still here for my "acquired family" and for the boy who should be the protagonist of the evening which no one cares about.

Driven by the chaos, I search for familiar faces in the dim light until I come across Ethel; she shaved her chin. She is holding a plate with a slice of cake that she has prepared herself and she's standing in the dancing crowd, with a worried and resigned look. We both knows who the cake is for: Ethel has seen his son, maybe talked to him but she won't chase him. I prefer to not disturb her but I don't give up: retreating into a slit of darkness I collide with someone and jump perhaps exaggeratedly. Paul emerges from the darkness, rubbing his side with a grimace. He wears a hideous, gigantic suit to disguise his condition. It makes it look like a sad parallelepiped. Doctor Frankenstein's Creature.

-Paul, sorry! Did I hurt you?! -

-Nah, no biggies! What about you? You're nervous, what's happening? -

-Well, uh, I'm… have you seen Jimmy? I've been looking for him all night. -

- First I saw him with a brunette, she was dragging him towards El-'s tent… hey, that's the one over there! -

But the brunette is not in Jimmy's company: laughing rudely with her friends, she passes by me in a sweet-smelling cloud of glitters. She carries with her a kind of old oil lantern lit on a gesture that makes my blood run cold: cheeky, she twirls a battered glove on her head and, in one breath of Pink Lady, she's already too far away. Even though I would like to, I'm not going to confront her and complicate things because I prefer to follow her steps backwards. An alarm screams wildly inside me and I have to comply with it by launching myself out of the tent. The humidity of the night sticks to my skin, kneading the white paint that I thought was dry. I'm a mess inside and out but it doesn't matter at all.

- JIMMY! - I call, shout and run. I run, run, run like a fugitive. A voice whispers the worst to me and maybe I'm crazy but I can't help it. - JIMMY! - I keep repeating myself but he doesn't answer. The throat burns, the feet go by themselves, swaying dangerously on the heels. I didn't even realize I had ventured onto the lawn until I felt tickles on my ankles. Fräulain Elsa's illuminations invite me to follow their aura like drunken fireflies and I, disaffected, accept. I'm not afraid that Jimmy is dead but, worse, that he's gone. That he left me alone, leaving suddenly and without me. He promised me that if we ever succeeded, we would leave together and one suitcase would be enough to move to Europe. He always kept his promises, he…

I stop, crystallized in the heaviness of the evening. I hear noises scattered throughout the maze of light bulbs: they come from a specific point but they echo and bounce in the air. It sounds like the clumsy moan of an animal that it would be better not to get close to but I obstinately follow the source to the center of the maze. Once I reach my destination I jump somewhere between horror and relief, putting a hand to my mouth so as not to be discovered immediately. Sitting on the ground is Jimmy Darling. Hunched over, he turns his back to me and fiddles with something I don't understand. He is surrounded by objects, some of which I cannot distinguish. There are a few bottles including one of vermouth still sealed, half a lemon, a shirt reduced to a pile of wrinkles in Granada Green, the other glove specially sewn for the party. Some salt, perhaps? The worst aspect, the most dramatic touch, is a pinata hanging over his skull. A lobster-shaped pinata. As I try to figure out whether or not I'm awake, a low, deep growl forces its way into Jimmy's lungs, flaying them with increasing violence. The growl is quickly turning into the pained cry of an already wounded beast. I won't respect his privacy any longer, so I walk over to him and kneel before him.

- JIMMY! JIM, STOP IT! STOP, DAMMIT! - Jimmy was on the verge of cutting off his left hand with a rusty knife but my arrival ruined his plans. He doesn't recognize me right away and his immediate reaction is to turn against me. He is much, much stronger than me but, even if he vehemently chases me away, I attack again in what turns into a blind scuffle. The moment Jim realizes it's really me, he drops his guard groggily. He is no less upset, nor willing to suddenly change his mind but he grabs me by the elbows and pushes me away roughly so that I don't end up hurting myself. Crawling on the ground, he steps back before pulling himself up and staggering but he isn't drunk. He's been drinking but it's not the alcohol that shakes him like this: I recognize the difference, also because I've never seen him in this state. In his big good eyes there is no freshly roasted coffee but boiling petrolium. His expression, a cracked mask of hatred and at the same time authentic desperation, reduced to its core. He trembles in his sweat-soaked undershirt and makes a gesture that he has never deemed necessary in front of me. He hides his hands, trying in vain to put them in his back pockets, like a child caught red-handed. Does he feel reassured by my presence? Is he bothered by it? He's gasping.

Jimmy what… what are you doing? Why?! - I ask him in tears, advancing slowly on my knees. - NO! - he spits out a scream, trying to freeze me in place. - Please… Y/N, no. Enough. That's enough. - I shake my head, I'm confused and I rub my now soaked cheeks. Gray due to the white mixing with the black of the mascara.

- What are you talking about, pleas st-… -

- SHE SCREAMED, Y/N! SHE SCREAMED IN GENUINE TERROR, I TELL YOU!-

- BUT WHO, JAMES?! FOR GOD'S SAKE, WHO?! -

He hates it when I call him James but that seems strangely to appease him. He stares at me like a madman and, in silence, seems to wonder how it is possible that I don't know the circumstances of his delirium but, gradually, lucidity returns and, at the same time, an atrocious sadness. - That… oh, fuck. She was one of the very few people to smile at me and make me sincere wishes. Did she really want to spend time with me… did I fall for it like an idiot? I do not know. It was her! She chose it, I warned her but… - while Jimmy tries to explain, he forgets to hide from me and gesticulates, so I notice a burn on the hand that he was seriously about to cut off. The living flesh fades from red to the paleness of the bladder. Grains of not completely dissolved salt outline the surface like grotesque lace. He must have poured it in. - She took off my glove, alluding to my skills as a pilot but then a heartbreaking scream and… and… I had to let it go. Instead, I tried to calm her down but she…how the fuck is that possible? How did she not know I'm a fucking freak? It was written all over the damn thing! But she knew it. She knew it very well. My attentions were the perfect excuse to defend herself. She called me a monster, a half-man, an abomination and so on, you know, what's new? But then… she burned me with her fucking lantern. You convince yourself that you have a zest, that you are used to it and yet it's not true. And, as with Meep, the day comes when insults are no longer enough. - he doesn't have the courage to look at me but what he says is intimate. Devastating. Shareable. - The bar of wickedness is raised. Of course! That girl wasn't defending herself. She squirted oil on me once, twice, three times. She was torturing me, only stopped because I raised my arms and… the fear came back. She's gone. -

I'm annihilated. Annihilated by what I see and hear, I undergo the hypnosis of Jimmy's pain which soon becomes mine too. His irises are diluted by a sea of ​​tears; suffering makes him unfairly wonderful. In the meantime I have reached him and, from the bottom of my position, I stare at him without embarrassment. I wrap one arm around his knees while the other grabs his good hand and places it on the back of my neck. He wants to take it away, he puts up a feeble resistance but he hears me sobbing and stops immediately. - Yes, Jimmy: her wish was to hurt you. This isn't a party, it's a visit to the slaughterhouse and we are the pigs. As always. - now I hold him with both arms, rubbing my face between his knees. The fabric of his trousers becomes stained white make-up until my skin is almost clean. I raise my head. My face's a palette used between stains that can be washed away and stains that my skin retains.

- Look at me. Are you looking at me? -

- I am. - he says, with the tone of someone who absolutely has to convince you. He hasn't noticed but he's stroking my hair. His eyebrows furrowed and his mouth turned down. -The kindness with which you caress me has never belonged to anyone among the few who have touched me. Not even my mother. - I'm deadly serious. I look at him with watery eyes but it's his tear that rains down my forehead. - Not even to myself. - because I mistreated myself, inflicted physical pain and consequent signatures but he… - If those are really claws, everyone should have them. Maybe they would learn what kindness is. - if I wasn't the one talking to him, he wouldn't believe me. He would mock me, it would be bitter and biting. Instead he fights with the truth that I offer him and stares at me dazed. Almost angry, hunted. The problem is that he believes me, so he picks me up and it's as if he's looking at me for the very first time. His forehead is damp with sweat, so I free his unruly curls before rummaging through my clutch bag. I make sure he follows my gestures and I take out a box of matches: I choose one and place it under the perfect curve of his nose. He flinches but stays as I light the end and, solemnly, set the piñata on fire. While the papier-mâché lobster is devoured by the flames, little by little, melted sweets and chocolate perish in the meadow. Neither of us needs to introduce what's about to happen: just as I stand on tiptoe, he lowers his disheveled head and the tips of our noses meet. It's the last chance to retract before the soft "m" of his upper lip meets my lower lip, dehydrated from makeup. In the first friction there is the disbelief of all the years in which we have not allowed ourselves and then, surrounded by the smell of burning, the kiss intensifies in an unstoppable crescendo. Jimmy wraps his bare arms around my body with the eagerness of someone who must survive. For my part, I let out a moan and cling to his shoulder blades: I realize what I wanted and how much I needed to be satisfied. Jimmy and I share the thrill of the kiss, so much so that he murmurs something incomprehensible against my teeth before parting them with his tongue and searching for mine. He holds my head as if I were water and he was drinking and he doesn't care about the cosmetic taste I have on; his lips turn pale. He slides down my neck without any self-control and I understand that he would take me here, right now. In the midst of the fire. - Wait. - I try to stop him with a deafening smooch. We are out of breath and the air is irrespirable but he stares at me with an imploring look. - How much longer? - he plead. I feel his blood vibrate under his golden skin, between the vertebrae of his broad back. - You have to trust me: I have an idea. - The smoke screen rises towards the sky and us. We… dissolve in the middle.

taglist: @taintandviolent @silverzoomies @doll3tt33 @wh0re43van @fear-is-truth + PLEASE, If you want to be added or I forgot someone, let me know!