#Screen cap study

[ky-landfill]

[casualneonglitterpainterposts]

A little screen cap study I did of Alan in Gouche and watercolours.

I really enjoy the subtle detail I the background, and just his overall expression, He's ready to kick some butt 🚀

[atesomerocks]

favourite homoerotic sexually charged katsudon performance

[bandaidfingers]

Sean Connery Bond doodles

I’ve actually become a huge James Bond fan over the course of this year (thanks to gradually watching every single Bond movie with my friend Roos since February lol) so I think it’s about time that I made some Bond fanart

[daggerbeanart]

[snewok]

[king0fcrows]

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

I think the reader's response to this post is probably going to either be "That's incredibly minor" or "Holy shit YES I'M ALSO PROUD", depending on people's personal experiences with academia, but:

Today I am incredibly proud of one of my students.

In the interests of disguising identities, let's call them Ceri. Ceri is one of my third year undergrads (meaning their final year, for anyone unfamiliar with UK uni systems.) They transferred to us last year, and within two weeks I was giving them the contact info to get to Student Services and get themself screened for ADHD; they have some mental health struggles, but I clocked pretty quickly that they STRUGGLE with procrastination, and punctuality, and attending 9am lectures in particular. Naturally, as is the way of my people, it took them a further four months to remember to go to the screening. Lol. Lmao. Rofl, in fact.

But, they did it eventually! Their screening lit up like a Christmas tree at the ADHD section, and they got a free laptop and optional one week extensions and a study support worker named Claire. This has helped tremendously, and although mental health + until-then-unsupported ADHD meant their academic profile had slid sideways somewhat, with the new tools available and a couple of resits they passed the year and hit this year running.

Until, that is, the last fortnight.

Now, I take them for a Habitat Management module that has two assessments: an academic poster presentation before Christmas, and a site-specific management plan in May. Naturally this means we are at that happy point in the year for the poster presentations. I give out the briefs at the start of the year, so they've had them since October; I've also been periodically checking in with them all for weeks, to make sure they don't have any major burning questions. The poster presentation was to pick a species reintroduction project, pull the habitat feasibility study out of it, and then critique that study; Ceri chose to look at the hen harrier reintroductions proposed for the southern UK. All good.

Which brings us nicely to today! Ceri's presentation is scheduled for 2.30. At 11am-1pm, I am lecturing the first years on Biodiversity, while Ceri is learning about environmental impact assessment with a colleague I shall call Aeron. This means we are separately occupied during those same hours.

Nevertheless, Aeron messages me at about 12.

"I think Ceri needs to see you after your lecture," he writes. "They're panicking, I genuinely think they might cry. I'm worried. Are you free at 1?"

I say I am. At 1, I get lunch and sit in the common area; Ceri comes to see me. To my personal shame, imagine all of the following takes place while I stuff my face with potato.

Now: this part is going to be uncomfortably familiar to anyone who has ever tried higher education with ADHD, especially unmedicated. It certainly was for me. All I can say is, I never had the courage to take the step here that Ceri did.

"I have to confess," they said quietly, and Aeron was right, they were fighting back tears. "My mental health has been so, so bad for the last fortnight. I've left it way, way too late. I don't have anything to present."

"Nothing at all?" I asked.

"I've been researching," they said helplessly. "I found loads on the decline of the hen harrier. But it wasn't until last night that I finally found a habitat feasibility study to critique. Generally... I've been burying my head about it, and it just got later and later. I thought I should come in for Aeron's lecture, and I should at least tell you."

This part is a minor thing, right? But honestly, I remember being in the grip of that particular shame spiral. I never did manage to tell my lecturers to their faces. I just avoided. I honestly can't imagine having the courage it took them to come in and tell me this, rather than just staying home and avoiding me.

"I think..." they said hesitantly, "I know I can submit up to a week late, for a capped mark. I think I need to do that, and apply for extenuating circumstances. But then I'll have both Aeron's assignment and yours due at the same time."

Which meant they would crumble under the pressure and likely struggle to pass both; so me, being as noble and heroic as I unarguably am, stopped eating potato and said, "Let's make that plan B."

(It was good potato. I am a hero.)

So, we made plan A: I moved their timeslot to 4.30, giving them three and a half hours. The shining piece of luck in this whole thing was that this was the crunch time assignment - if it had been Aeron's, they'd have had to try and write a 3000 report in that time. But for me, all they had to write was an academic poster, and those things are light on words by design. We found them a Canva template, and then we quickly sketched out a recommended structure based on the brief: if it's habitat feasibility, look at food availability, nesting site availability, and mortality risks in the target release site. Bullet point each. Bullet point how well the study assessed each. Write a quick intro and conclusion. Take notes as you go, and present the poster itself at 4.30.

"You think I should try?" they asked doubtfully, looking like I'd just asked them to go mano-a-mano with a feral badger.

"If you run out of time, so be it," I said. "But your brain is trying to protect you from a non-existent tiger. That's why you've procrastinated - it's been horrible, and you've been shame spiralling, and your brain is trying to shield you from the negative experience; but it's the wrong type of help for this situation! So while you're sitting there working on it, hating life, every time your brain goes 'This is hopeless, I can't do it', you think right back 'Yes I can, it just sucks.' And you carry on. Good?"

"Good," they said. "I'm going to mainline coffee and hole up in the library. Enjoy your potato."

And then, of course, I had to go and watch the other students' presentations, so that was the end of me being any help at all. I spent all afternoon wondering if they were going to manage it, or if I would be getting a message at 4.25 telling me they'd failed, and would have to submit late and hope for an EC.

And Tumblrs

Tumblrs

Let me FUCKING tell you

They turned up at 4.15, fifteen minutes early, wearing a mask of grim, harrowed determination and fuelled by spite and coffee, and they pulled up that poster and started presenting and yes, okay, I'll admit their actual delivery was dramatically unpolished and yes, they forgot to include the taxanomic name for the hen harrier on the poster and yes, fine, I admit that there were more than a few awkward moments where they lost their place in their hastily scribbled notebook but LET ME FUCKING TELL YOU -

They smashed it. It was well-critiqued, it had a map, it had full citations, it had a section on the hen harrier's specific ecology and role in the ecosystem, it had notes on their specific conservation measures. They described case studies they'd read about elsewhere. They answered the questions we threw at them with competence and depth. There was analysis. All that background research they'd done came right to the fore. They were even within the time limit by 15 seconds.

You would never have known they'd produced it in three hours, from a quivering and terrified mess fighting the bodily urge to dehydrate via tear ducts. After they left, the second marker and I looked at each other and went "So that was a 2:1, right?"

I caught up with Aeron downstairs and he was beaming. Apparently Ceri had seen him on their way out, and had gone over to talk to him. Aeron said the difference between the Ceri of this morning and the Ceri of then was like two different people; in four hours, they'd gone from their voice literally breaking as they admitted the problem, ashamed and broken, to being relaxed and happy and smiling.

"I reckon I've passed," they apparently told Aeron, pleased. "Maybe even a 2:2. There's things I wish I'd had the time to do better, but I'll be happy if I passed."

They won't know until late January what they got, because we're not allowed to release marks until 20 term days after hand-in, and the Christmas holidays are about to hit. But I'm really hoping I can be there when they're released.

But mostly, I'm just... insanely proud of them. I cannot tell you how happy I am. And I know, I know, obviously this is not a practice I would want to see them do regularly, or indeed ever again, and it only worked because they were fucking lucky with the assignment format, but like... when life is just punching you in the face, and you hit a breaking point... isn't it nice? That just this once, you pull off a miracle, and it's fixed? The disaster you thought was about to ruin you is gone? To get that relief?

Anyway. Super super proud today.

[oh-look-car-horns]

Wondering what boop count your 3 letter word corresponds to? I gotchu:

Using a python script I wrote, I booped myself 50,000 times, saving an image of my boop-o-meter every 500 boops. Before we get into the results, there are two important limitations to this study that I should mention:

Firstly, because I only recorded the boop-o-meter every 500 boops, if a message appeared for less than 500 boops it may not have been caught.

Secondly, every now and then my computer would lose a boop or two when a click wouldn't register. This is seen in the 500 and 1000 boop images below, which in reality read 498 and 994 respectively. Because of this, boop values are slightly lower than they appear.

With that out of the way, lets dig in.

0-999:

From boops 0-999, the boop-o-meter displays your boop count, and changes color as you boop

Boop count: 0 Boop count: 500 Boop count: 1000

Boop fact: the colors do not change after 1000

LOL:

Between boops 1000 and 1500, the boop-o-meter changed to display 'LOL'. This likely took place at 1000 boops, but maybe it said 'MAX' or sumn for awhile at first? Idk this is already the misinformation website so not my problem.

Boop count: 1500 (actually more like 1490 ish)

More results below the cut

OMG:

Between 1500 and 2000, the boop-o-meter changed to display 'OMG'. Again, this probably happened at 1500 but who knows. Maybe staff made it 1523 for the bit or something.

Boop count: ~2000

WOW:

The boop-o-meter remained at omg until the 3500 boop readpoint, when it switched to 'WOW', meaning this transition happens somewhere between ~2980 and ~3480.

Boop count: ~3500

Boop fact: 'WOW' is the second longest reigning message

*-*:

Between 5000 and 5500 the boop-o-meter switched to '*-*'. You get the idea at this point so I'll speed it up.

Boop count: ~5500

WHY:

The boop-o-meter changed to 'WHY' between 6000 and 6500 boops. For science. That's why.

Boop count: ~6500

PLZ:

Next was 'PLZ', switching between 7000 and 7500.

Boop count: ~7500

AAA:

I'm not sure what bloody urine has to do with anything, but for some reason staff felt is was important to display, switching between 7500 and 8000.

Boop count: ~8000

;_;:

Huh the colon makes that one look weird. 8000-8500.

Boop count: ~8500

Boop fact: That fucking cat haunts me in my dreams

0_0:

I realized after I set my pyautogui script running that my computer wouldn't turn off its screen because of the clicking, so there was a strobing blue light in my room all night. This encapsulated my expression while trying to sleep (8500-9000).

Boop count: ~9000

MAX:

After 9000 it displayed 'MAX'. This was cap. (9000-9500 switch).

Boop count: OVER 9000 (9500)

<33:

I miss my wife. 9500-10,000.

Boop count ~10,000

TUM BLR:

THE HOLY GRAIL. The boop-o-meter switched to displaying 'TUM BLR' between 10,000 and 10,500 boops. Because my actual boop count was slightly behind my theoretical, I'd guess that this change happened at 10,000 boops.

Boop count: ~10,500 (likely switched at 10,000)

Summary:

When charted the boop curve looks as follows:

Boop curve: 0 - 10,000 boops

My script continued to run until 53,000 boops, but no further changes were observed. Again, there were quite possibly more messages at lower boop values, but my ass is not checking. Maybe I should have scaled my sampling accordingly, but it is what it is. Thank you for joining me on this journey, and if you have any corrections or more information, please add it to this post.

Boop fact: Terfs DNI

[painfully-unoriginal]

PUSS IN BOOTS!!!!

i did an illustration, some screen cap studies and a fun lil dtiys type thing i found on twitter :^)

[vizcerial]

Have some maxley screen cap sketches bcs tiktok is making these two rot my brain when I have to study for a physics test. Also holy shit drawing in the disney art style is so hard for me, it makes me appreciate disney animators so much, rip. Ok gonna go study now

[ky-landfill]

[frogstappen]

𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧, 𝐮𝐬

best friend!max verstappen x reader / 2.4k

max keeps up your friendly tradition at the us grand prix.

⚠️: friends with a little something more on the horizon. one teeny mention of throwing up in a sleeping bag. cutesy, fluffy, best pal max.

ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ

The world is alive with a kick only found in Austin.

Cowboy hats and cowgirl boots; star-spangled everything and a roaring reception fit for rock ‘n roll stars. Bloodthirst donned in a bolo tie and winning smile.

You swipe through your camera roll, pinching each photo to read the gimmicky banners and count the bullhorn gestures. Giggling when you spot a grown man with a sign addressed to Lewis: I called in sick to watch you race.

Max glances over his shoulder. “What’s so funny?”

You turn your phone.

He squints at the screen, huffing a laugh, then scrolls through some more. “They love and hate with the same passion. It’s actually kind of scary.”

“I love it here.”

You push off the couch and wander over to the window.

The sky is a brilliant blue, dazzling even through the tinted glass. Striking Southern sunlight bounces off each motorhome in the paddock. The lot busies away, polos scurrying from building to building, VIP lanyards shielding their eyes from the sun to take it all in.

Max taps your shoulder with your phone and nods to the door. “C’mon. Time.”

He leads you outside, loosening his elbow to let you slip your arm through his. He turns heads and raises whispers – though none of it seems to bother him. It’s like he doesn’t even notice.

He’s already turning inward, already picturing the starting line behind his eyes. He’s thinking tactics and thinking strategies, making mental notes about turns twelve through fifteen; tire degradation and DRS and not saying fuck or shit or driving too close to the car marked 4.

His eyes lift only for a second. He frowns at some photographers up ahead and positions himself in front as you walk. His head ducks again, giving them little more than a winning shot of his Red Bull cap – and he takes your hand.

“Here,” he says, “We can dodge them.”

He cuts between ferns and life-size driver banners, speeding past crowded bistro sets. By the time they clock him – Was that Max Verstap–? – he’s already thin air.

Through one of the backdoors to the garages, Max pulls you down a darkened hallway.

You giggle, trying not to trip over his heels. Cooler, though not by much, you breathe a sigh of relief and rub the starry sunshine from your vision. When you pull your knuckles away from your eyes, you gasp.

Max halts.

“What?” he asks, twisting around. His hand stays locked in yours. “You okay?”

Your nose bumps against his shoulder as you crane to see properly through the sliver of an ajar door.

Behind a throng of serious faces in white shirts and headsets – a table. Three trophies, tall and slender, polished to perfection. Obnoxious, maybe a little – but glamorous and gleaming all the same.

And right in front of them –

“Are those the podium caps?”

Max studies your face for a moment. A smile threatens the corner of his lips, but he fights it down. He follows your eye to the three hats.

He nods. “Looks like it.”

“Denim, Max. That’s so cool.”

“Well, y’know,” he sniffs, giving your hand a light tug, “It is Austin.”

“I don’t have a denim one. Yet.”

He shoots you a look more steel than blue. You don’t have to speak Max Verstappen to know exactly what it means.

You’ve been collecting his race caps – the rare designs, anyway – for as long as he’s been in Formula One. At home, there’s a whole corner of your closet dedicated strictly to Pirelli.

His very first winners’ cap sits proudly on the tallest hook, all the way to the Canadian maple leaf design that made you squeal when he presented it to you.

He knows the ones you’d like, the second he sees them. Eight years’ worth of victories, turned into something even more meaningful.

Granted, there have been a little fewer than normal lately – but sometimes, you like to pretend he’s in that cockpit aiming for first at least in part to see the smile on your face when he fits the cap on your head.

Still. He stares you down.

“I wouldn’t get too excited,” he says, walking on. “The car is shit, lately.”

“Language,” you hiss, grinning.

Max shakes his head. “I can still send you home, you know. The race hasn’t started yet.”

He’s only jesting – but annoying him is too much fun.

“Oh, you wouldn’t do that. I’m here for sympathy reasons, remember?”

He grunts in response.

Austin wasn’t meant to be on your list this year. It’s one of your favorite grands prix, that’s for sure, but you had planned to miss it this time around on account of the new guy you’d been seeing.

That is – until you called it quits last month.

It had only been a few months – three, if that – but the longer it went on, the more you noticed incompatibilities. Little things, like the way your schedules clashed, or the kinds of places you each liked to hang out.

He was a great guy, and he took it like a champ – which made the bruise sting a little…sharper.

Max let you wallow for three days. He spent a decent chunk of the month’s break after Singapore at your place; ordering you takeout and then refusing to let you pay, waking you up each morning to work out with him. You’d never admit it, but after a while, it got kinda fun.

Then, when it was time to get back to work, he invited you to Austin. You know being there will cheer you up, he said. And besides, I need my lucky charm.

So far – what with the denim Pirelli caps and the front-row qualifying result – he’s fast turning out to be right.

He pauses at the turn into the garage. “How are you, anyway? Feeling distracted?”

You smile, slumping against the wall opposite him. “Very. I forgot how hard this place goes.”

He nods, sipping from his bottle. He glances down the hall towards the echoes of photographers. “Sorry about the…” he waves a dismissive hand, “…Ever since Singapore, they…”

“You don’t think I’m used to it by now, three-time-world-champion?”

He curves his hand around the back of his neck, lips curling. “You wanna watch from the garage again, or upstairs?”

“Upstairs, please. I don’t need another 4D experience of you crashing.”

“Wasn’t exactly fun to me, either,” he says, nudging your arm. He lists directions, reminding you to stay behind the shrubbery to evade the cameras. He makes you swear you’ll text him once you’re seated.

“Do you want my pinkie, or is a blood oath more acceptable?”

“It’s a lot of different tracks, alright? Sometimes even I get lost.”

Your eyes narrow. Liar.

He smirks. “Okay, I don’t. But I also don’t stop to fucking stare at denim hats, so.”

“Go do your job, potty mouth. And drive safe.”

“Mhm.”

“I mean it, Max. Just – aim to finish in one piece.”

He pulls you in for a hug, pressing his lips to your temple.

“I’m aiming for a cap,” he says, and swings into the garage.

It’s Ferrari’s race from the opening lap. No other team gets a look-in.

Charles steals the lead from under Lando’s feet, propelling ahead with Carlos in tow to secure an easy one-two for the Prancing Horse. They hold fast the entire race and – though they are, in theory, two of your best friend’s current enemies – they nail it.

You know that, when you find each other later, Max will tell you the same. He’s never a sore loser when simply lovely racing is involved.

Fifty-six laps and five and a half kilometers later, you’re watching him on the podium.

Well. You’re watching your next collector’s item – on his head – on the podium.

Third place isn’t too shabby for a man perpetually fighting his machine – and even he looks relieved just to be up there. He glances down as the Monégasque national anthem plays, and tilts his head purposefully.

You grin up at him, eyebrows raised. I see it, you send telepathically. I’ve chosen its hook already.

Max is careful not to let it become too soaked during the champagne spraying. He ducks out of Charles’s path, aims his own at Carlos’s back. He’s the first to tip the bottle against his lips and drink, and the others quickly follow suit.

There’s probably a grilling waiting for him in the press tent. Was Norris’s five-second penalty just? How did the car feel during that battle? Do you see the rear-end of a McLaren when you close your eyes at night?

You take the opportunity while the paddock is still quiet to sneak back to his motorhome, falling back onto the double bed. There’s a flatscreen on the wall opposite you; a crystal vase of roses on the marble counter beneath.

Some days you have to remind yourself that, behind all the titles and trophies and treasure – he’s still the same kid who ate so much candy at your eighth birthday party that he threw up in his sleeping bag.

Behind all of it, he’s still Max. Your Max.

Says you can have a go at his racing simulator, then laughs while you fight with the controls. Says he’ll pick you up after a night out, then takes voice recordings of your drunken babbling to play back to your hungover self.

Says, He was a nice guy, but you’re going to be okay – and invites you to Austin to take your mind off it.

You’re watching some real estate show under eyes heavy with sleep when the motorhome door clicks open.

His shadow sways down the narrow trailer, and he materializes at the foot of the bed.

“Hello.”

You lift your head. “Hello, yourself.”

He takes your wrists and pulls you upright, scooping you in a strong hug. He’s soaked in sweat and champagne, race suit hanging from his hips, but you wrap your arms around his shoulders anyway.

His hair is damp, cheeks flushed and heated. His stubble scrapes your skin. He buries his nose in the crook of your neck and sighs.

“Thinking of moving to Mexico?” he murmurs into your shoulder, turning to look at the screen.

“The remote was on the other side of the room. I’m tired.”

“Me, too,” he says. He pulls back.

You take his jaw in your hands. “You did so good,” you whisper, thumbs smoothing the lines his balaclava has left behind. “That battle with Lando – I thought – maybe –”

He scoffs, lazy smirk pulling across his face. “Nah. Light work.”

It warrants the knock you deal his bicep.

Max laughs. “Oh,” he says, and reaches behind his back. From the waistband of his suit, he pulls a slightly dented, very drenched third-place cap. He straightens out the material. “Took it off as soon as we got backstage. Didn’t want my hair to make it all sweaty.”

You take it from his hands delicately, grinning from ear to ear as you tilt it in the light. “It’s so fucking cool, Max.”

He hums. “Here.”

He handles it with the same care you did, for the sole reason that it means this much to you – and Max knows it. With a gentle smile, eyes flitting from yours to your lips, he places the cap over your head and straightens it into place.

“There,” he steps back, “You just won third place at Circuit of the Americas.”

You giggle, turning to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. “Oh my God, I look so goofy.”

“No you don’t,” Max replies, standing behind your reflection. “You suit it better than I do.”

There’s a beat – a moment, stood against his chest, eyes locked and hearts aligned. You lean back on your heels, and he perches his chin soft on your head.

His hands find your shoulders. “I’m gonna jump in the shower,” he says. “Do you want to head back to the hotel now, or –?”

You shake your head. “I’m good. I’ll wait for you.”

“’kay,” he whispers. He lingers, still scanning the sight before him. Hands still on your body, squeezing in time with your hammering heartbeat.

Probably taking in the oddity of the entire thing, the same way you are. The two of you framed in the mirror, no closer than you spend most days, and somehow – the closest you’ve ever felt him.

Your Max. Who once caught wind that you had a crush on one of the kids in class, and teased you all summer long for it. Who once gatecrashed your horror movie night with Victoria; burst out of the closet in a Ghostface mask, screaming bloody murder.

It’s exactly the kind of feeling you’d text him for advice on. Hey, what do you think about this? I had butterflies today, standing next to this guy.

Exactly the kind of thing that he’d reply with, Does he know you cry at animated movies?

Does he know you say good morning to the birds?

Does he know you burn pancakes anytime you try to make them?

Yes, you’d send. And he doesn’t mind any of it.

Max takes the visor of your cap between his fingers and turns it. “This way for when you’re feeling fancy,” he says, laughing at his own joke the way he always does.

You breathe a relieved laugh of your own. “Sure,” you reply, shaking that feeling free. You turn, hands light on his forearms. Your gaze climbs from his chest to his eyes.

“Thank you,” you whisper, staring into the oceanic home you’ve known since you were a kid. “I’m really glad I came. You, uh…I don’t know what I’d do without you, Max.”

He shrugs – never one to take a compliment without wrestling with it first. “’s not about me,” he replies, tapping your nose with his knuckle. He swallows, shifting between feet, before his chest fills with a deep breath. “Let me take you to dinner. As a thanks for coming, obviously.”

“You mean the hat isn’t my thanks?”

He shakes his head. “I can do better than a smelly denim hat.”

“I’ll bet you can, Verstappen.”

[mingisaddctn]

mind over matter | s.mg

Pairing: best friend!mingi x reader Genre: [+18] smut w/o plot Warnings: jussss smut, enjoy a/n: first fic on this blog yay

the two things you can be sure in life is that 1. you will die and 2. you've never wanted to suck a dick so bad.

I mean, you always knew that your best friend was hot — you had eyes, for god's sake! — but holy shit.

it started when you ran out of cat food. you were an attentive cat owner, don't get me wrong, but at the same time, you had the worst week for your mental state. exams after exams, studying 'till the library basically had to kick you out and group projects with lazy people... so that's how it ended up with your cat screaming at the top of their lungs and waking you up from your power nap.

mingi happened to be around because, guess what, you also forgot about your plans to watch that new anime that he rambled all about for the past month, and truly, you wanted to be able to enjoy some quality time with him, but you fell asleep as quick as his cursor pressed play on the screen, the warmth that irradiated from both inside his hoodie that you were wearing to where your head laid on his shoulder was too cozy.

so when you got up to feed the cat, your heart dropped, and you saw the grocery list accumulating dust on top of the counter, the 'cat food' underlined three times. you looked outside the windows of your small apartment and saw that the simple drizzle from before now turned into a full on storm, and all you could do was lean onto the counter and bawl your eyes out.

mingi was startled but tried to comfort you somehow, not really sure of what he could do to help, and as you tried to tell him between hiccups and tears, he quickly grabbed his jacket and told you that he would be right back.

twenty minutes later, a full-on drenched mingi stood on the doorstep, chest heaving as he took off his shoes and the same jacket, now in a darker tone from the wetness. you stared back from your couch, as you were curled into the throw blankets, eyes widened.

you almost forgot about the cat food.

in your defense, it should be illegal the way his white tee clung to his abs so sinfully highlighting each of his muscles. and when he rose his arms to take off his cap and ran his fingers between wet strands of hair that framed his cheekbones, your eyes fixated on the way his sweats clung onto dear life to his v-line.

holy fuck. jesus christ. oh my god. whatever divinity that was out there.

"you okay?" he asked, as if he was expecting your answer and you shook your head, trying to escape the trance you found yourself in.

"what? why?"

"i asked if i could use your shower" he placed the single bag with the cat food on the counter as he tried not to wet your floor.

you can use me, for sure; you thought to yourself.

"yeah, yeah, go ahead" you nodded and he took his shirt off on the way to the bathroom.

you quickly jumped from the couch to feed the cat — since that was the prime reason for all the ruckus. as you put the blocks of minced meat on the food bowl, you caught yourself fantasizing about it again.

how good he should be looking, as droplets of rain still lingered on his skin as he took of the sweatpants slowly, leaving only the boxers that perfectly held his firm thighs and secured his—

meow, you looked down, to find that a block of meat fell beside the bowl and you took a deep breath. control yourself.

you blamed the ovulation. or maybe the fact that you haven't been sexually active in a while. or that movie that had hot scenes with your favorite actor... gosh you were a horny mess.

but your life has basically been all about your studies lately, and the stress was clouding your reasoning, making you feel like impulsive decisions were now worth a lot, and that's how you found yourself standing outside your bathroom door, idly looking at it with your hand raised, on the way to give it a knock.

the thing is, the moment you found the courage to do it, the door opened from the inside, and only mingi's torso popped out, in the middle of calling your name, but now confused that you were on the other side.

all that led to the both of you sitting on the edge of your bed, with him only wearing a towel around his hips, not staring at each other as the silence overcame the storm from outside.

"so... you want to suck my dick...?" he simply repeated your words from minutes ago.

it would be comical if it wasn't so tragic.

"yes."

"are you feeling okay?" he asked.

"yes."

"'then... how should we do it?"

you took another sharp breath, your lungs almost failing you as your mind tried to disassociate from your body. leaving the bed to kneel in front of him, you kept your eyes focused on his face, his lips parted as his eyes were half-lidded. from all the years you'd known him, you knew that he was probably overthinking it and trying to figure out what was happening. but neither you could tell.

your fingers slid to the towel and as you were going to take it off, his hand flew to yours, holding it softly. he pulled you towards him in a swift movement and placed his palm on your cheek, nose now brushing against yours. soon after, you felt the plumpness of his lips onto yours.

"wait" he leaned back cautiously, as though any minor movement would startle you like a scared kitten. his eyes overthinking each and every detail. "I want to kiss you first."

and as if you were waiting for that to snap, you grabbed his neck and pulled his face lower so you could slide your tongue into his mouth. his big hands fell to your hips and grabbed firmly, decided not to let you run away.

you kinda wondered before how good of a kisser mingi was, your friends joked around saying that it must be good since he has fat lips, but you usually kept those thoughts at bay, not really wanting to dive into your hidden desires. it wasn't like you, to explore and try new things. you became friends a long time ago, and when he earned that title, you felt like it would be too messy to see him as anything else.

but you weren't dumb, of course you'd noticed how a blush crept to his cheeks whenever you grabbed one of his hoodies, or how he would stutter when others teased him about you. he wasn't good at hiding things, and you weren't good at ignoring them.

one of his hands snuck to your neck and the pulled you closer, his breathing growing heavier to the point that you could hear a faint groan from his throat.

shit, you moaned.

he let go of your face and you leaned back, a little ashamed of the noise that escaped you, but mingi didn't seem to mind, in fact, his cheeks could be mistaken to a tomato. he shifted in his place and you noticed the tent in his pants. oh.

placing a final kiss on his cheek, you maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself to your knees, hands falling to his covered member, feeling the warmth through the towel and earning a sharp gasp from him. licking your lips, you only broke the intense stare to undo the lousy knot, uncovering his lower body.

oh. OH.

how did he hide that monstrous thing all along?

"uh... pants, I guess..." he said almost in a whisper, and then you realized that you were thinking out loud.

"shit, I mean, it's not a bad thing" you placed your hand at the base of his cock, wrapping your palm around it and the boy hissed. "I just... didn't expect that."

"so you thought about it before?" touché. you deflected by giving him a slow tug.

before he could say anything else, you lowered your head and wrapped your lips around him.

"fffuck-" he let out, throwing his head back.

you started bobbing your head at a slower pace, quickening each time he groaned, and listened to his raspy moans as if they were songs hidden in heaven. his hand ran through your hair, pulling at the strands just light enough to make you whine, the vibrations helping into the pleasure.

"please—" he pled, eyes fixated on you and wet hair sticking to his face. he couldn't look any better, you noted.

mingi stared right into your soul with deep, dark eyes. his nose was flaring up and trying to keep up with the sharp breaths that left his parted mouth. it was as if he belonged in that position, and you wished that you had midas touch to keep him like that forever.

"so pretty" you said more to yourself than to him, and one of your fingers snuck into his mouth, and he wrapped those plump lips around it to suck.

feeling his tongue under your skin made shivers run down your spine, and even though you tried to take in more, he pulled you towards him once more, now landing you onto his lap. mind you, his naked lap. your pajama shorts did nothing to the mixture of pre-cum and saliva that rubbed under fabric. you hoped he couldn't feel the wetness that was forming between your legs.

kissing you again, you wondered how your teeth were not clashing at all from the desperation that exuded from both parts. you wanted him as much as he ever had wanted you, and it didn't seem like a real experience. the euphoria that overtook you made you feel almost dizzy from all the exchange in pheromones and fluids, holy fuck, you wanted to stay like that forever.

while he kissed you, mingi's hand went to the bottom of your shorts, holding you so you wouldn't fall as he took them off, leaving you in his hoodie and panties. you didn't remember what kind of underwear you wore, but you hoped to whatever god that was out there that it was something without a hole or anything.

without taking the panties off, he slid them to the side and ran both his middle and ring fingers along your folds, the new feeling making you jump a little, and he giggled. the motherfucker giggled.

"jeez... can't wait to be inside you" he said against your lips, hissing as you gave him an experimental roll of your hips.

holding your panties to the side, he grabbed his cock and aligned himself to your folds, placing the tip inside and a loud whimper fell from your mouth. you knew that it would take more effort to get him inside, he was the biggest you've ever been with, and mingi also seemed to notice that, so he touched you as if you were made of glass.

the warmth of his hot member now sheathing inside your pussy felt like too much, and the room felt foggy, just as your breaths. he kissed the side of your neck, licking up to your ear and groaning ever so slightly, as if he had noticed how much you reacted to those sounds, using them now against you.

the moment you reached the bottom, you felt as if your internal organs would combust. his dick felt like too much and too good, you drank from the sensations and the tingles that your body left each time he moved an inch, clenching around him. you reached your hands to the hem of the hoodie you were wearing, but his hand left your lower back to stop yours.

"leave it on" he looked up at your face with puppy eyes. "I want to fuck you in my clothes."

OH. FUCK.

you moaned into his mouth and slowly started to move your hips. you could've cum just from his words, but you tried your best to concentrate in making him feel good.

"you feel so good around me" he whined, a short moan leaving his lips to meet yours again.

you didn't know how you looked at that moment, probably a mess. from taking in all the sensations, his huge cock and the way he looked like a whiny mess under you... you felt powerful, and he was letting you use him to your wishes.

"please, please" he whined even more, probably taking notes that you got off from that.

"what is it, big boy?" as soon as the words fell from your mouth, you questioned yourself. is this really me?

"let me fuck you right" his hips shot up, taking you by surprise with a gasp and he bit your collarbone. "I wanna be good for you- wanna make you feel good."

"use me however you want" you said in a desperate tone. not even minding how it looked to him, you truly wanted everything from him.

with one arm sneaking around your back and the other on your neck, he moved you further into the bed, now on top of you. he didn't say anything else, only left a small kiss on the corner of your mouth and gave you a slow thrust.

the most high pitched moan fell from your lips, and you didn't care to be embarrassed. not when he was pleading for you, having your body wrapped so deliciously around him, the same as his.

you could write paragraphs and paragraphs about the way he looked; the occasional lightnings shining against his wet skin, highlighting each of his curves and muscles while his hair fell above his forehead, now a mess from the way you rushed your fingers between strands.

mingi kept rolling his hips against yours, and words kept falling randomly from your mouth, meddling with moans and sobs, you felt so cockdrunk that even the slightest stimulation coming from him could make you shed tears. felt so fucking good that got you questioning every life choice you've ever made to this point, as if everything was a part of god's plan for you to end up right under your best friend, as his touches made love to your limbs.

"hm-ugh- feels so fucking- oh my god" you kept going on and on, not even sure yourself what you were saying, but mingi wasn't falling behind.

the knot had already taken place on your lower body, each of his thrusts feeling more intense than the other. you could tell he was getting closer from the way his teeth were nipping on your neck and his thrust were growing sloppier.

"please-ah!-please, let me cum inside you" he left your neck to look at you, and you felt the knot tightening and your legs starting to tremble. "let me fill you nice and full- please"

"yes, I want all of you" you almost screamed when he took that as confirmation to grab your back and glue his chest to yours, sharpening his thrusts.

it finally snapped and you felt like you couldn't breathe anymore. he held you so close as if he could melt into your skin and become one, and with a final thrust, he whined and groaned and screamed and did everything so involuntarily, almost animalistic, and your mind was too dazed to even comprehend anything else besides the way that your pussy gripped him so tight, keeping his hot seed inside you. you didn't want to let it go.

you were still spasming from your orgasm when he let go of your body and snapped your legs apart, taking place in between them, nuzzling his nose onto your pubic bone and feasting. his tongue lapped each of yours and his juices without mind, sucking, kissing, moaning, grunting, only to prolong the way your climax came down; you screamed so hard that your lungs burned.

falling limp on the bed covers, he let go, going back on top of you with the support of his arms and knees, face leveled to yours when he placed an innocent kiss on the tip of your nose and another one to your forehead.

"did it help you de-stress?" he joked and you placed one of your arms onto your eyes.

scoffing, you shook your head. "holy shit, I'm in love with you."

he gave you a slight push and rolled to his side, still staring at you with a darker flush across his chest and neck.

"well, I'm yours" he said and you licked your lips, sneaking a glance from under your arm.

"yeah, you better be."

[haikyu-mp4]

Delivery boy

word count; 717 – f!reader

Akaashi gulped as he reread the order to ensure he wasn’t hallucinating his predicament.

Please send your cutest delivery boy<3

The sushi shop he worked at was family-owned, mainly run by the older family members, whose children went to university and couldn’t help deliver anymore. Thus, they hired him.

And when someone sent this request with their delivery order, the ladies had cooed and assured him he must be exactly what they were looking for. Those ladies loved their sweet, honorary family member.

He, however, wasn’t so sure. He looked at his reflection in a window he passed on his bike, pulling at the collar of his uniform and feeling the clammy edge, suddenly also noticing how the hair that peeked out of his cap clung to his forehead.

Honestly, didn’t feel like the kind of cute boy they wanted. At least not today.

Not when he had rolled out of bed way too late after studying until midnight last night. He broke his shower time record this morning and was incredibly thankful for his uniform including a cap when he had to leave it to dry by itself on the way to work.

Turning onto your street, he shook his head, trying to rid it of irrelevant negative thoughts. He has to deliver it anyway, it’s just a funny request.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.

He parked his bike by the curb, taking a look around for anyone who looked like they might want a new bike for free before choosing to put the bike lock on even if he wasn’t staying.

The window on the door greeted him with his reflection once again, and he instinctively adjusted his glasses. Checking the names on the doorbells for the apartment building, he found the right one according to the order instructions and rang it.

It didn’t take long before he could hear two giggling voices from behind the door, making him purse his lips nervously and clutch the bag of food that he pulled from the delivery bag a minute ago.

“Hi! Can I pay by card?” you asked while Akaashi handed over your order. He nodded, going back into the delivery bag to fish out the handheld card machine.

“Did you write cutest boy in town?”

“Shh!” you hushed your friend, who hid behind the other door and just peeked at Akaashi through the little window. “Sorry about that…” you mumbled and held up your credit card, which was decorated with cute stickers.

Akaashi cleared his throat, completely overthinking it and assuming your friend thought you had forgotten to specify since you only got him. “I’m sorry, we currently don’t have any other delivery staff.”

You looked up with wide eyes, startling him. “What? No, you’re plenty cute!” you clarified before planting your face in your hands in defeat. “I mean- don’t worry about it. You’re great.”

Akaashi tried not to smile, finding you beautiful already and even sweeter when you were flustered. Flustered about him nonetheless. “Oh. Thank you.”

You came out of hiding to pay, but quickly lifted your card again. “Wait, is there a student discount?”

Akaashi hummed in thought before nodding, turning the machine’s screen back to himself. “Can I see your student ID?”

He was rolling on his heels while you fumbled for the other card in your pocket, holding it up so he could check. Instead of looking at the date, like he was supposed to, he observed your name and picture, then the school logo in the corner.

“Hm? We go to the same university.”

While he put in the student discount and then held the card reader out again, you said something about hoping you might see him around.

His teeth showed when he smiled, keeping his eyes on where the payment was confirmed because he knew that looking at your pretty face might give him heart palpitations at this point. 

There was an added tip as well, so he politely bowed his head before stepping back. “I’ll keep my eye out for you.”

He practically skipped down the steps, back straight as he glanced over his shoulder and just managed to catch you still looking at him through the window on the door before disappearing when he caught you.

Cutest delivery boy in town, huh.

masterlist

[amsznn]

can you do a story about how chris and the reader meet at tara’s party but before that, reader accidentally revealed that she found chris cute and the she went viral for it (idk if that makes sense)

SOCIAL MEDIA FRENZY - c. sturniolo

2 days ago..

“chat are we enjoying this haul? don’t flame my style in the comment section.” you warned to your viewers on instagram live before grabbing the next package of clothes off the floor, ready to show your 14k viewers the next batch of items. “next youtube video when?” you read off from a comment.

“this was going to be a youtube haul, but i got lazy so..new video this week!”

your rise as an influencer had to be studied. from a random youtube vlog that you made out of the want to romanticize your life a bit and a rant on tiktok people found funny that gained 2.5 million likes caused you to not only receive near to 3 million subscribers on youtube but almost 1.9 million on tiktok.

this was only in the span of 2 years. growing and working to not only please your new fans but to also have fun for yourself as you still decided to go to college for that degree.

social media was just a hobby for you like a lot of people say. but you truly couldn’t expect the new wave of attention you would revolve for a simple comment you made.

the next item of your haul was a fitted cap that you saw at a pop up shop in your city. you recognized it from somewhere else and decided to buy it since it was also cute.

“guys this cap i actually bought because this youtuber, chris sturniolo also wears it in his videos.” at the mention of the social media star your comments flooded. “guys calm down, im not crazy, he’s just cute okay?” you laughed before setting the cap down then moving to the next piece of clothing.

soon enough you ended the live and went on with your day as normal. filming a bit of your vlog for your new video, answering emails from brands, doing some household chores and of course, settling down in your bed with some snacks for your nightly tiktok scrolling.

as soon as you opened the app you got bombarded with a screen recording of your live with the bit where you said chris was cute. it was all over. even on twitter you began trending for the potential new relationship between you and the social media star.

all you could do is read the comments, some encouraging and some hateful, watch edits of you two being shipped, and quickly text your manager profusely apologizing for the mess you just made.

you groaned while rolling around in your bed. sometimes you just forgot you were too well known to be spewing whatever nonsense came to mind.

which brings us here.

at taras party.

since she was inviting influential people, and her friends, you were a definite invite on her list. and you knew either all of one of the triplets would be there too.

you were nervous to bump into chris. would he even speak to you? and if he did would he be uncomfortable or understanding? well you were about to find out in a moment since he was walking in your general direction.

you mustered up all the courage you could and began to walk towards him. feeling the need to apologize to him since the situation was your fault and it must be annoying for him as well.

you came to a stop as he turned his body to fully face you. your breath hitched for moment taking his appearance all in. his black hoodie and black baggie jeans with his messy hair was a lot to take in in person.

either way you were gonna say what you needed to say. “hey, my names y/n. you might know me. or not thats fine too!” you stumble across your words for a minute before taking a deep breath. you could feel his eyes on you but you remembered hes just a person too.

“you may have seen the plenty of edits and a lot of my supporters in your comment sections or dms, and i just wanted to say im sorry since its been going for three days now and you must be annoyed.” you said it all in one breath and finally met the boys eyes. instead of confusion you were met with a look of amusement.

“oh you’re completely fine. honestly i felt bad for you since you were getting a lot of hate for a simple comment.” chris shrugged while giving you his signature smile. you smiled as well glad that he seemed fine with the recent uproar.

“ive heard worse.” chris said while grimacing at the thought which caused you to laugh nodding in agreement. the night went on with you and chris sticking together for the majority of the party. introducing one another to friends, chris introducing you to nick (your new best friend) and overall having a great time. before you left chris made sure to get your number and texted you to make sure you arrived home safely.

you couldnt help the smile that was spreading on your face as you recall the events of the night. maybe making that comment wasnt so bad after all.

walking towards your room of your apartment, you plopped down onto your bed and decided to make a quick instagram post for the night.

and guess who liked the post?

a/n: i hope yall enjoy this cus i sure did (i was so close to making this into a smut 😭)