#Second hand Desktop Computers

[usedstore-blog]

[superstardestroyer]

Dawg I work in automating email-job-type-tasks and my coworkers - fellow elder millennials - were STUNNED at my solution to create a dynamic folder name. Not the method of making it dynamic, the part that stunned them was the "run cmd.exe: '/c mkdir [filepath]'" and at the point where I was going "yeah no its not wizardry its just like... a vestigial recreation of MSDOS..." I had to confront that frankly computer literacy has never been more in the toilet.

Telling young zoomers to "just switch to linux" is nuts some of these ipad kids have never even heard of a cmd.exe or BIOS you're throwing them to the wolves

[shivitsolutions]

Laptop Shop in SP Road

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[curewimdy]

i have got to upgrade the ram on my pc but ive never done that kind of computer maintenance by myself before. scawwy. i grew up with macs & whenever the hardware got to old/outdated/slow you just had to suffer until you could afford to replace the whole computer

[pixelatedcrown]

What is FilesFound!...? New Article: Desktop Partner Dear Dog An early virtual pet game with really charming 3D graphics! Another game I couldn't find any footage of online… Until now! 🐶 New Article: Random Floppies - Volume 1 A look at some of the files I've found on random, second hand floppy disks. I'll keep you safe, Snoopy.bmp! 🖼️💾

New Article: Building - Fun with Architecture Build with blocks, on the computer! A simple game where you make pictures out of shapes, but with an interesting aesthetic 🧱🔨

[burjtechnologies]

When looking for laptops for sale in Oman, it's important to compare the offerings from various brands. Each brand has its own strengths & weaknesses when it comes to providing quality laptops.

[luveline]

do you have anything more from office frenemies with james? i just read it and i loved it so much

yes! love u ty

—you and James don’t get along until you kind of, sort of do. fem!reader, 1.5k

James listens to the most obnoxious playlist in the mornings. There’s about a fifteen minute window between when he arrives and when the workday officially starts, which coincides exactly with your window. He often gets the same elevator ride, walks a pace beside you, and decides whether he’s going to let the ‘lady’ go first through the door depending on the day. 

That morning, he’d opened the door widely, grinned at you with music blaring loud enough to make a normal person deaf from his earphones, and let you pass. Then he pretended to stick his foot out to trip you up, pulling it back at the last second. 

Jerk, you think, angry even now as he tucks himself into his desk, his earphones still ridiculously loud. He actually, genuinely, is going to get hearing damage. You’re not being bitter. Human ears aren’t meant for that. 

You click onto the workplace Outlook and open a tab on your desktop. How loudly can you listen to music? you google. A few articles appear straight away that fit your purpose —you drag them each into an empty email. Then, smiling to yourself, you find an article on the negative effects of workplace noise pollution and how this sort of selfishness can affect your coworkers’ mental health and add that at the very top. 

To: jamesp@outlook.wpa.uk 

Hi James, 

please find attached a few articles I felt might be important for you to read.

Worst, 

Your unhappy adjacent desk. 

You know he’s received it when he laughs loudly, turning down his music with a few quick clicks on his phone. 

An email comes through to your inbox shortly after.

Hi bestie, 

I’m so so sorry for the noise. Please find attached a few articles I, in turn, felt you might enjoy. 

Best, 

James Potter :) 

He’s attached an irksome variation of articles. Why music can help you get ready for the day. Ten ways workplace friendships are important. Can you really find your soulmate at work? 

You open your personal messaging system. You tend not to use it with James, but this morning he’s winding you up. 

I could report you to HR for that last one, you send. 

He replies quickly. You try very hard not to look up at him from over your desktop. I didn’t mean me. 

You’ll be deaf by thirty. 

Jealous you don’t have such great taste in music? 

Jealous of everyone in the annex. 

Want a cup of coffee?

You meet his gaze finally over the computer, find him already looking at you. You shake your head scornfully. In what world would you ever want him to make you a coffee? He’s never actually offered to make you one before, to be fair, but he’s awful to you so what are you supposed to think? He’ll probably poison it. 

He stands to leave. Remus, the other accountant to complete your trio, arrives while he’s gone with his boyfriend Sirius in tow. They’re also James’ best friends, unfortunately. It makes for some awkwardness. 

“Where is he?” Remus asks you, in the midst of a quick goodbye kiss before Sirius makes his way to his desk further down the office. 

You nibble your lip and give a dispassionate shrug. You hate talking about James. You hate his stupid mess of hair, his reading glasses, his lips when he smiles crookedly and worse when he’s glaring at you. You hate the way he sighs as he clicks his neck, the quick lap he does every other hour complaining of tired legs, the genuine tenderness he shows you whenever you’re sick. You hate James. You don't like to think about him too much lest you get caught, a fish in a net.

Or a fish with a painful hook in its lip. 

“Ah, you’re here,” James says, two cups of coffee in his hand. 

You’re only a little heartbroken when he puts one on his desk and one on Remus’. Didn’t want one anyways. 

Remus grins as James comes up behind him for a rough hug and hair ruffle. “How was last night?” 

“I wish you’d come. Sirius spent all night trying to out drink Marl, you know he can’t, so I spent all night holding his hair out of his face. I wasn’t gonna talk to him this morning, but he was being very pathetic.” 

James laughs. You pretend you aren’t listening to them, pretend you don’t feel left out even if they have no reason to be your friend, clicking at random things on your screen and scrolling through spreadsheets long finished and filed. “You know I couldn’t come, Moony,” —no point starting on their awful nicknames— “what if she needed me?” 

You still. She? 

“James, there’s not much you can do,” Remus says gently. He’s a quiet, soft sort of man, but they’re all so loud about loving one another. “You have to let her… you know.” 

You feel them both looking at you, your gaze steadfast on your screen. 

“Try not to think about it,” Remus says. 

“I’ve been distracting myself,” James agrees. 

Oh, you think. Oh. I’m such a dick. 

“You could go home?” Remus says, putting his face in his hand. “I could cover you.” 

“It’s too much work.” 

“I know, but, you know, I’ll do half, and you’ll only have half to catch up on when you come back.” 

You’re not sure who she is, and you very much still don’t like James Potter, but you're not heartless. He sounds awfully upset, fragility to his voice and a foreign balling of his fist by his hip. “Um,” you say, clearing your throat weakly, “well, with me and Remus, we could cover for you.” 

James’ face is unreadable, looking down at you. “You’d cover for me?” he asks. 

“Your work isn’t exactly hard, James.” 

“But you’d do it?” 

“How long will you be off for?” 

James frowns. “Like, two days?” he says quietly. 

“That’s fine. We can do that,” you say, checking with Remus from around James hip. “Yeah?” 

“Of course,” Remus says quickly. 

James looks at you long and hard. “You’re not kidding?” 

“No, James. Not kidding. You’d do the same for me, right?” 

James leans down to hug you before you can stop him. His arms wrap around your shoulders, a perfectly amicable touch made up of sleeper muscle and the attractive smell of almond oil, nearly sweet, slightly woody. He laughs against your cheek as he pulls away, turning back to Remus for a similar hug. “Thank you. I’ll go tell Danny right now.” He beams at you. His relief is thick as honey, palpable in his warm tone. “Thank you.” 

You can’t look at him very long. 

The memory of his fingers linger, the weight of his arm behind your head. He excuses himself to go talk to your boss, and you and Remus sit in a semi-awkward silence, of which you’re wholly responsible. 

“His cat is dying,” Remus says eventually.

You wince. “Oh, no, really?” you ask. 

“He’s had her since we were kids. It’s really nice of you to do this.”

“I really do think he’d do it for me,” you interrupt. “I’m not, you know, cruel, because we don’t get on.” 

“I know. James knows that too.” 

You want to get defensive. Why does it matter if James knows? But Remus is too nice to argue with, and secretly, strangely, you’d wanted James to know you aren’t mean. You wouldn’t have sent him that email this morning if you’d known, and maybe this is apology enough for that. 

Still, it doesn’t feel right when James returns, gathering his suit jacket from the back of his chair. “Thank you guys, so much. I will bring you the most amazing desserts of all time as a thank you. I won’t even put your mug on the top shelf the next time I wash it,” James promises you. 

You bat aside the rage of knowing he’s the culprit and instead get out of your seat before he can leave. “Uh, James?” you ask. 

He raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?” 

You look at the floor by his shoes. “About earlier…”

James stands subtly between you and the bulk of the office. “You okay?” 

“I just– I’m sorry for complaining about your earphones. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive.” 

“You weren’t insensitive,” he says, “I was being obnoxious. Don’t worry about it, okay?” 

“I–” You hate yourself for all your stammering. “Hope whatever is wrong, that you’re okay. I’ll cover for you for the week if you need me to.” 

“Please stop feeling sorry for me. It looks weird on you. I much prefer you when you’re frowning, you get these super deep wrinkles in your forehead that I just love.” 

You turn away without looking up. “I’m gonna input all your sales information wrong.” 

“And I’m gonna bring you the best donut you’ve ever tasted to say thanks, sweetheart.” 

[mossy-covered-bones]

I think i might get myself a new computer

[stargirlygirl]

Rut Suppressants pt.1

Alpha!Shoto x Omega!Fem!Reader

Summary: You find out that Shoto's been taking rut suppressants ever since you've been together. You take them off him and get to see a new side of your husband.

Word count: 5.2k

A/n: This is PART 1 of 2. Part 2 is hyperlinked. The second part ties up all the little plot points touched on here.

🚨Warnings: Smut, 18+, NSFW, p in v, masturbation, oral sex, lots of swearing

------------₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊------------

You were typing away at your computer, responding to some dry work emails about tomorrow’s presentation. You had been working in a small team to design a new marketing strategy for your company’s latest hero gadgets. And of course, you had been pulling the weight of the team, you little hard worker. Or maybe your HR team didn’t hire the right candidates, you decide. It was easy enough though. The hard part was just getting your colleagues to look like they knew what they were doing by 10am tomorrow.

After responding to another email of “What does this mean?”, you heard the front door click open, grocery bags scraping against it. Ah, your mate is home. Finally, you smile.

You set your desktop to sleep before leaving the study. As you walk down the hallway, half-white half-red hair comes into view. He’s got his back to you. Black shirt clinging to his sweaty muscles. Must of been to the gym too, you thought. You rest your shoulder against the fridge, arms crossed underneath your chest, taking in the sight of you husband. He’s going through the bags, rummaging through them restlessly, clearly on the hunt for something.

“Need some help?” You smirk.

He turns around, blue-grey eyes wide. His expression visibly eases, slightly opened mouth forming a closed smile. “No, I’m fine. How was work?” He returns to his scavenger hunt in the bag right at his feet.

“Fine. I’ve got it under control for tomorrow’s meeting.” You push off of the fridge and come up behind him, hand on the edge of the island bench. You look over his shoulder, curious about what he could possibly be looking for. Shoto always gave you a kiss first thing whenever he came home, regardless of what had happened during patrol or of what you were doing. For him to neglect you like this was rather odd.

“You didn’t do all the work again, did you?” His voice had an edge to it… It made you bite your lip ever-so-slightly.

“You know how it is—”

“Well, it shouldn’t be,” he almost growled. “You should all be doing it, not just you.” He cussed under his breath.

Okay, this was getting weird. Agitated over you working hard? I mean yea but, he usually reins it it, accepts that this job is just that for you, a job. One that you’ve talked to him about leaving. And swearing? Not Shoto. Only when y’all are… you know.

“Shoto, babe, what’s up?” Standing directly behind him, you run your hand through his locks. He hums.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine," you whine.

You watch as he starts going through the fourth bag, pulling out a small box with the label “Rut suppressants. Take as needed. Maximum dosage: five per day."

This little fucker. You snatch it out of his hands immediately, sprinting from the scene into the back of your apartment.

“[Y/n]! [Y/n] stop!” You can hear him coming after you, the sound of his feet hitting the floorboards. “Give that to me now!”

You’re running frantically, heart pounding in your chest, hands getting sweaty around the evil cardboard box. You dash into your shared bedroom, slamming the door shut. Fuck! Where should I hide it?

You look around, [e/c] eyes settling on the dresser. You race over to it, emptying the contents of the box into the first draw, beneath your bras and panties.

“[Y/n]!”

Shit, he’s close to the door. You slam the drawer shut and run-stumble into the ensuite. Leaning against the door, you lock it. Okay okay, think! Think! The door knob rattles.

“[Y/n]! Open this door right now or I swear—” The silver handle is shaking now.

The toilet! You open the lid and crush the box in your hands; it makes those crinkling noises before you toss it into the trash bin and flush the toilet. At that moment, the door bursts open.

Shoto’s chest is heaving. His eyes are unfocused, frenzied. He’s panting… with anger you decide as there’s no way that little sprint could of worked up the number 3 pro hero that much. He stalks towards you, grabbing your wrists and leaning down to meet your eyes.

“What did you do with it?” His tone shocks you. His voice is so low now… and hoarse. It throws you off. “With-with what?” You breath out. You’re pretty puffed. “Don’t play dumb. You didn’t actually flush ‘em down the toilet, did you?” His face is now inches from yours.

You remain defiant, eyes staring back into his. The heat radiating from his left tickles your skin. “Um… well yea, yea I did. They’re um, yea, they’re down the toilet.” He laughs. More like barks. His breath hits your face. All you can smell is his sweat interlaced with his fresh scent.

“You’re so bad at lying, you know that?” He smirks, straightening back up. His muscles pull taut as he runs pale fingers through that snowy, silky hair. You watch as he looks around the bathroom. “Where’d you really put ‘em?” He looks back down at you, scrutinising you beneath his gaze. Your ragged breathing now hitches. “I don’t—”

“Don’t deny it!” He shouts. You shrink back instinctively.

You’ve never seen him like this before. He’s always so controlled. Even when you’re in heat, he’s always got it together. Always able to draw back or change the pace when you need him to. That’s why you took the pills off him in the first place.

You’ve been getting suspicious for months now since the two of you got married that he’s been on rut suppressants. It just didn’t add up. After your first heat together, you had actually asked him about his ruts so you knew when you had to return the favour.

“I don’t really rut, babe.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck, heterochromatic eyes averting from yours.

You laughed in response. “You don’t rut?” Your eyebrows raised. “Should I be concerned or…”

“No,” he said shyly, “it’s not like that.”

You waited for him to continue, watching as his eyes fluttered from object to object.

“I don’t get very intense ruts.”

Your brow was still quirked. “You don’t get ‘very intense ruts’? Like, you don’t get super aggressive and horny when you rut.”

His muscles relaxed upon hearing that. He looked back at you now. “Yea, it’s a minor annoyance. Nothing to worry about.”

You relaxed too, seeing that he was more comfortable now. “Trust me.” He took your hands in his larger ones. The temperature difference of both something you weren’t used to yet. “You don’t ever have to worry about control with me.” He gave you a sweet reassuring smile.

“Are you sure? I mean—”

“Trust me.” He squeezed your hands and leaned over, planting a small kiss on your lips. You grinned as he pulled back, trusting his word, however strange it seemed.

Had he lied to you? When you had announced to your friends that you and Shoto were (finally) getting married, they had warned you about that post-wedding baby fever. The endless marathon sex you two would be having once your cycles synced up. You had been waiting your entire relationship for that to happen and it hadn’t. So, once you two tied the knot wink, you had been hoping that the talk of pups would come up, but it just hadn’t. That’s when you had begun to think something was off. Even if he didn’t have “intense ruts”, he would still be feeling the urge to breed you, wouldn’t he? Or maybe he just didn’t—

“Where did you put my suppressants?” He stared you down, thin brows furrowed. “Babe…” His hands are trembling at his sides. Pupils dilated so only the rims of his irises are visible. It strikes fear and-and something else into you. Attraction? Excitement? Maybe you should try something else. Something else that’s gonna get you the result you want.

“Make me.”

At this, he frowns even more. “Make you what?”

“Make me tell you.” You take a step forward, feigning confidence, coming close to him again and tilting your head to the side, challenging him.

He scoffs. Those beautiful eyes, like solar eclipses, flickering away from you for a moment. “Make you…” He says quietly. He stares at you even more intensely now as he’s thinks it over.

It’s time to get cocky. “Yea, make me.” You stretch up towards him, arms wrapping around his neck. “I want you,” you move to whisper in his ear, your lips brushing his earlobe. “My sexy Alpha,” you run both of your hands through his hair now. He groans right back into your neck, large hands palming your lower back. “To make me submit to you.”

In an instant, you're over his shoulder, his palm smacking your right cheek. He’s carrying you out of the ensuite. You’ve done it now hehe.

As he crosses the threshold, you notice the door knob was coated in ice, hanging there, limp. Looks like you’ve gotta add fixing that to your to-do list tomorrow. He throws you like a stuffed toy onto your plush bed. His shirt’s already coming off, rippling contours all for your pleasure. Yea, make that a ‘to-do next week’.

Large hands already besides your head. Lean arms, meaty thighs, delicious toned frame caging you in. You’re forced to stare into those mismatched eyes. Not like you’d want to do anything else anyways.

Your breaths intermingle, just like your scents. He just stares at you, licking his soft, full lips. Afternoon light from the adjacent windows makes your figures glow. You love the way it streaks through his hair, and he loves the way it catches on your pretty pink lips. He thumbs your lower lip, pulling it down to reveal your teeth. You lower your chin, taking his thumb into your mouth. You circle your tongue over the top of his thumb before tasting the pad of it. It’s cold, like a popsicle you suck on in summer. You can think of another ‘popsicle’ you’d rather be sucking on right now.

“I… I-I don’t…” His brows are knitted together once more. Pupils wavering between dilated and contracted, showing off those blue and grey hues you love so much. You stop what you’re doing with your tongue, opting to place both of your hands on his cheeks. His thumb leaves your mouth but rests on your chin.

“I don’t know if… if this s-safe.” You can’t stop yourself from giggling a little. What a cutie. “Pookie, of course this is safe. I was made for you. You know that, right?” You smirk. You’re a feelin’ like a cocky little shit today btw if you didn’t get that. This man’s shyness inflating your big dick ego.

“Of course I do but…” He averts his gaze, looking at your ear instead. “But?” You continue. However, he doesn’t respond. He just moves his hand from your chin and tucks a strand of [h/c] hair behind your ear, which has suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room.

“You don’t wanna hurt me? You do wanna hurt me but don’t wanna admit it?” You tease. “No! No, of course I don’t want to hurt you.” His eyes shift back to yours.

“Shoto.” You squeeze his cheeks gently. “I’m your omega. If you hurt me then you can just make it better.” You bring his face closer to yours. “You can make it better, can’t you?” You whisper.

He gulps, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down with the motion. “Y-yea,” he replies, voice low, “I can.” That last part coming out with more confidence. “Good, then don’t make me dom you, Alpha. That’s kinda embarrassing for you.” You giggle whilst leaning up to him and finally, kiss him.

You both moan into it, feeling the relief washing through you two. But quickly, it’s not enough. It’s far from enough. He growls into your lips, changing his tilt. You follow his lead. You like that. His tongue grazes your bottom lip and you part immediately for him. The tangle that ensues is soul-gripping, bone-shaking, mind-blanking, breath-taking…

Your fingers are gripping his locks. His fingers are gripping the hem of your thin white tank top. Saliva, don’t know don’t care whose, if dripping from the corners of your mouth. His exhale is your inhale and vice versa. He catches your lower lip between his teeth. His sharp canines sending tingles throughout your entire being. There’s nothing that gets you slicked up like a lip bite from your Alpha.

He pulls away, you two panting. Not that the reprieve is sufficient or long-lived. Soon his lips are sucking and nipping your earlobe and that sensitive spot beneath your ear. You whimper out his name. “Shoto”, “Alpha”, “Daddy”, maybe “Babe” or “Honey”… yea, those, they’ll be the only words you know for the next week.

He nips at your mating mark, the beautiful white scar just above your left collarbone. He continues biting it, almost re-piercing the scar. You can’t help the moan-mumbles that tumble out of your mouth. Already, your wetness is soaking your blue lace panties and beginning to slide down your inner thighs. “Fuck,” Shoto breathes out into your other ear. You shudder at the word, one hand sliding down to his shoulder.

He continues at it, licking and sucking and kissing and biting at your neck. Soon, his fingers are tearing through your top. You mewl at the sensation of him ripping the torn, flimsy fabric off your body. His hands reach for your bare breasts, cupping them completely. Those long fingers begin pinching at the sensitive flesh. Your body responds instinctively, moaning, small hands grasping his wrists, breaths catching in your chest and throat. He fingers your nipples before bringing his mouth down to you, lips ghosting the hard peaks between his fingertips. He takes one into his mouth, eliciting a delicious whimper from you. His warm tongue circles your nipple as you did to his thumb, but just so much better.

You’ve barely gotten started and yet, you know never get enough of this. No matter how many times he’s done and will do this to you, and so much more, you’ll never be forever satiated. You just can’t be.

He moves to the other, keeping your now wet left breast covered by his cool palm. Fuck, that feels good. More moans spill from your mouth as he continues his ministrations. That slick is at your knees, probably. You can’t really tell cause it just feels like a wet, sticky mess down there at this point.

“Shoto,” you whine. He groans in response. “Hurryyyyy up,” you drag out that ‘y’ as you mewl. You shudder as he chuckles against your tender skin. Tender from his bites and sucking, of course. “You want me to go faster?” He pulls away from your breast, face coming back close to yours. You whine and nod your affirmation.

“But if I go faster,” he strokes your cheek softly with the back of his index finger, “you’ll miss out on all the fun.” His finger trails down to your chin, gripping it tightly but playfully with his other fingers.

Damn, you’re getting wetter by the second. He’s doesn’t usually tease you during your intimacy. Prefers that slow, soul-binding kinda love-making.

He just smirks at you before moving back to his painstakingly slow kisses and sucks on your breast. He only moves down to your ribs once he’s satisfied and you’ve probably soaked the bed sheets with how much he’s turning you on. It’s driving you insane. No. He drives you insane.

Shoto’s hands wrap around your ribs, feeling their rise and fall, and their ridges. “Beautiful,” he mumbles, kissing each rung. He keeps those eyes on you. All cocky. He knows what he’s doing to you and he likes how pathetic it makes you for him. And you can’t help but like it too.

After thoroughly kissing and touching every part of your torso, your arms, your everything really, he’s finally fingering your low waistband. You sigh relief and begin wriggling, trying to get those pants off as fast as possible, but your Alpha is still having none of it.

“Be patient,” he growls as he squeezes your clothed inner thigh, your flesh perking up between his fingers. “But Alpha—”

“I said,” he stares you down, this dark look in his eyes, “be patient.” You whine, “Yes Alpha.”

Hearing your compliance, he loosens his grip on your thigh and begins kissing your hip bones and skin just above the band. Fuck, he’s really killing you this time. I thought alphas were all, “Let’s bang. Now. Hard.” when they’re rutting but, I guess not. Maybe, Shoto didn’t completely lie to you by saying that his ruts were different to other alphas. Or maybe, he just wants to tease you for once.

You’re brought back to reality when you gasp reflexively to him biting into your inner thigh through your wet pants. Wet as in soaked and clinging to your hot skin.

“You’re not focusing on me.” Shoto’s voice is low, raspy. Fuck, you love it when he talks like that. Especially just after he’s woken up and you two have some fun together before getting up.

“And you’re not even focusing on me right now.” He bites even harder into your thigh, breaking through the fabric and pulling little red dots to the surface of your now swollen, marked flesh. “I,” you breath out, so it sounds like ‘hi’ and not ‘I’, “I thought you wanted me to be patient.”

“I want you to do both. Can you manage that? Or is that too much for my little girl?” He’s got a shit-eating grin across face. Since when was your husband such a tease, and such a good fucking one at that? It’s the years of pills, you decide.

“N-no, I can’t manage. Help me m-manage.” You imagine that you must look like some blubbering, whimpering mess right now, and you’re not even naked yet. And he’s not even naked yet. “Okay,” his grin widens.

Licking those glorious lips, those lips that you want on yours and not the ones on your face if you know what I mean, he pulls away from your thighs. He gets up from the bed, taking off his grey sweatpants and briefs. And fuck, you’re not ready for what meets you. For real. Swollen, hard, precum dripping down the shaft.

He smirks at you as he grabs his cock with his hand, moaning on impact. His other hand comes up to his face, finger pointing to the side of his mouth. At this point, your sitting up, thighs to calves, legs spread wide, dragging your wide eyes up and down his body.

“You’re drooling.”

I would say that you blushed at hearing this, but you’re already red as fuck in the face with how hot he’s been making you. You’re embarrassed and laugh it off, hand coming to wipe that spit from the side of your mouth. Yea, that was definitely yours and not his from earlier. That had already dried.

“W-well, how can I not when,” you take a deep breath in and look back up at him, “when my husband looks this good.”

“Have I got your attention now?” That rasp. That will be the end of you. Or the end of these bed sheets, whichever comes first. You nod feverishly. “Good girl.”

Ah fuck. He’s praising you. Fuck. That’s it. If that dick isn’t in you within the next three minutes, who knows what will happen next. You start shuffling over toward him when he stops you.

“No. You stay there. I want you to watch.” His eyes crinkle as he smiles, amused by your reaction as you realise what’s going on. Is this how this twisted fucker wants you to help you 'be patient' and 'focus'? By not letting you touch him? And by not touching you?

“I can’t. No. Babe. No please.” You’re shaking your head vigorously, already rising from the bed when his hands find your shoulders and push you back to sit down on the edge. “Watch.” His voice is commanding, absolute.

You’re forced to obey your alpha and sit there helplessly as he pumps his veiny cock with those veiny hands. The precum now all over his dick with even more leaking from the tip. His dick that should be in you right now. His eyes are trained on you, observing every stuttered breath you take in, every time you bite the side of your lip, how focused you are on how he’s pleasuring himself. That feels even better than his hands ever could. Fucking hell.

“Can I—” You start.

“No. Just watch.”

“Not you but my—”

“No. Watch.” His tone is stern. His voice strained.

Fuck. If your hands were bound then this would be so much easier, but no, you’re forced to hold back from touching yourself by your alpha’s command and your own self-discipline. You doubt that you’re even allowed to rock your hips right now.

You watch as his movements get faster and now he’s panting. His eyes half-lidded and tongue darting out across his lower lip every so often. You can see the sweat beading on his chest. You start whining, wanting to be the one touching him like that. What you wouldn’t give to just… just have him right now.

“Please,” you begin. Which becomes a slew of please daddy, please, please let me touch you, please, I’m sorry that I took your suppressants, I’m sorry okay, I’m sorry Alpha, I’m sorry that I wasn’t being patient or f-focusing on you, please Alpha, please let me touch you, please, please, please, please… You don’t stop. You can’t stop. All you can do is sit there, slick drenching the sheets below you even though you’re lower half is still clothed, and plead for your alpha to fuck you.

His pale hips jerk forward and you can tell he’s really close. Would he even let you swallow it? But he stops. He stops and comes over to you, collapsing onto you, arms around your shoulders and neck. “Shoto,” you squeak, but it’s muffled by his weight falling onto you. He huffs into your ear and you just rub his back.

“Tired already,” you jest, but he’s not in the mood to play with you anymore. “Enough. I can’t cuddle my wife?” He mumbles grumpily into your shoulder before taking the flesh between his teeth. You hum, “You can always cuddle your wife, but I’d like it more if you fucked me.” He chuckles low, right below your ear. You feel it vibrating through his throat and chest. “Yea, I bet you would.”

He holds you for a little longer before pulling back, peeling his sweaty body off yours.

“Alright, I’ll give you your reward,” he smiles lazily, even showing off one side of his pearly whites. You squeal with delight. “Finally!” “Oi, settle,” he says as positions you so that he’s between your legs, spread wide, slowly pulling both pants and panties off you. Oi? “So, you’ve been on patrol with Dynami—”

“Don’t mention him,” Shoto growls. He’s been doin’ a lotta that today and you like it. A lot. “Or anyone else right now. It’s just you and me.” You nod submissively. You really should stop riling him up sometimes. But you can’t help it. You’re a cheeky little shit after all.

The relief that engulfs you once those dreadful clothes are off brings out a sigh of pleasure from you. He doesn’t make you wait any longer. He’s already at the source of your heat, lapping up your slick like it’s the elixir of life. To him, it is. You whimper and mewl as his tongue makes its’ way between your folds. It feels so warm and wet, perfect against your swollen lips. You relish in the feeling of what he’s doing to you.

Shoto eats you out like he’s been starved. Greedily, hungrily, in a frenzy. Without a break for air, he keeps going. That tongue, those long digits curling inside of you, his lips, all making you shake and mew. The whimpers and words leaving your mouth are unholy and impure, some real nasty shit. Only he can get you like this. Only he can have you saying shit like, “Fuck me however you want, daddy.” Or, “Knot in me, alpha! Breed your little omega!”

Once he’s had his fill, he moves away from your core, grabbing your hips and flipping you over, onto your stomach. His fingers are back at your folds, playing with your clit and teasing your entrance, drawing more filthy moans from you. You feel him move on top of you, straddling you. He withdraws his fingers, replacing them with what you’ve been craving for this entire time.

You moan loudly as he fills you up, completely, inch-by-inch. He groans as you draw him in, tight walls clenching around his girth. He stays still for a few moments, allowing you to get comfortable, before he sets a brutal pace. You hands are by your shoulders, gripping the sheets as he fucks you.

Your body is shaking, contorting to his every rough thrust in and out. It’s got your mind absolutely filled with how only your mate can do this to you. You can’t even form a sentence. You mewl, over and over, to the sound of your skin slapping harshly together. Your mingled groans and moans, all that dirty shit dripping from your mouths fill the room. It’s humid. Sweat coating your bodies. Your hair is stuck to your forehead. Your favourite part — besides from how tight he’s gripping your hips, likely (and hopefully) leaving bruises on your soft skin — is how deep he gets. His tip reaches that perfect spot, making your toes curl and knees bend, before he draws back out, and he does it again and again.

“Sh huff sho moan shot huff to." He grunts out in response. “Sho huff sho huff I huff.” Fuck, you can’t even get the sentence out. That’s how brain fucked, how body fucked, this man’s got you. “What?” He growls. He’s breathing hard, you can hear it, and it makes you drip even more and he can feel it. “Use your words, baby. Moan What is it?”

The filthy sounds of him pounding you fills your ears. The squelching of your juices around his length. You can’t even remember what you were trying to say. Oh! That’s right! “I-I whimper Shoto whimper Sho fuck moan I’m moan I-I’m gonna,” your voice is quiet and breathy, but he still hears you clearly.

He can feel your thighs beginning to shake, the way your pussy tightens and then releases, and he knows what you mean. “I know,” he grunts again. You continue to moan, feeling your climax coming in hard n’ fast. You gotta know if— “Just hold on for me, alright. Just huff just hold on.” You whimper in response. Not cum yet? You don’t know if you can do that. “I’ll try—”

“You will wait for me.”

Your moans and mewls get louder as you get closer, as does his growls and grunts. Even if you can’t wait for him , it doesn’t really matter, you still benefit.

He picks up the pace. You never even realised he had this kinda stamina. But, you should of known. He is THE pro hero ‘Shoto’.

It feels impossibly more pleasurable. It’s like he’s surrounding you. Every thrust is godsent. You couldn’t escape the pleasure of this moment, even if you tried. Your orgasm is building and building, threatening to crash down on you any second now.

“Shoto!” You cry out. You’ve got tears in your eyes. Your shaking, trembling, convulsing as you climax. You squeeze around him hard, sending him over the edge with you. You’re sobbing and screaming at this point, as you feel his knot swell and plunge into you. Thick, white, hot ropes spilling into you. Filling you completely with his seed. Fuck.

You ride out the high together, him rocking into you and you rocking as much as you can manage back into him. Breathing out, he leans down, pulling you back and laying you two on your sides. You groan at the movement, still experiencing those last minute tremors of your orgasm. His legs intertwine with yours, arms wrapping around you. He strokes your head, drawing you close into him as you both calm down. You sniffle and he takes this opportunity wipe the tears from your eyes.

You giggle, “Thanks, honey.” The words dampened by your sudden emotional outburst. “Anything for you, love.” He kisses the side of your forehead and moves to grab the blankets and pull them over you two, up to your chin. You snuggle back into him, hands grasping his forearms, a mindless smile spreading across your face. “You’re not done with me yet, are you?”

He remains silent for a few seconds, before groaning into your hair. It still smells like fresh cut strawberries in the midst of all the scents filling the room. “Only if you tell me where you hid my suppressants.”

“Than I’m never telling you!” You squeal. There ain’t no way you’re gonna give up this side of your alpha just yet. “Hey, that’s not what you should be saying.” His voice is low, bordering on a growl. “Sorry for not following your script.” And now you’re the one wearing a shit-eating grin.

“You know,” he shifts, now leaning over you and narrowing his doe eyes at you, “if you insist on acting up, then maybe I will just have to fuck you through this rut of mine.” “I hope you do,” you smirk even wider. “’Course you do,” he grumbles, laying back down again, nose buried in your hair.

You two lay in silence until his knot goes down, and he can finally pull out. He turn you back onto your stomach and pulls the blankets back, drawing out slowly, making you moan. His cum gushes out, further eliciting moans from you.

You can feel it dripping down your the back of your thigh. Shoto watches, enjoying the sight. Though, before he’s realise it, he’s got his fingers inside of you, finger-fucking that cum back into you. You can’t help but start whimpering and moaning even louder as you feel him fingering you.

“Shoto…”

He draws his fingers back out, letting the cum drip out again. He’s tempted to slide them back into you so that no more escapes, but he refrains from doing so, knowing that you two need to talk a bit more about kids than just “Do you want kids? Yea, I want kids. Do you? Yea, sounds good.”

He clears his throat, “I hope you’re ready, baby.” He wraps his hand around your waist and turns you over, onto your back. Your eyes find each other. The sun’s setting, illuminating how wet and dewy and bruised your soft flesh is.

You breathe out, smiling happily, “I’m ready.”

[usedstore-blog]

How to Upgrade Your Refurbished Laptop for Peak Performance

Identify Limitations: Examine which elements are producing congestion. Use tools like CPU-Z, HW monitor, or special to collect the detailed information about your system. 1. Compatibility Check: Make sure that the upgrades you plan are cooperative with your laptop model. Check the Producer’s website for description and increase guide 2. Upgrade the RAM:Determine Maximum Capacity: Come across the greatest RAM in your laptop can support. Choose the Right Type: Make sure that the RAM matches this type (e.g.,DDR3,DDR4) and speed identifications support by your laptop Installation: Install the new RAM modules, making sure they are securely seated in the slots 3. Switch to a Solid-State Drive (SSD):Choose the Right SSD:

Decide even if your laptop support SATA or NVMe SSDs. NVMe SSDs are quick but cannot be supported by older laptops. Clone Your HDD:

Use cloning software to remove your operating system and data from old HDD to the new SSD. Installation:

We can put it back the HDD with the SSD. Produce certain required tools and screws to fixed the SSD. 4. Upgrade the Processor (If Possible): Compatibility:

Examine if your laptop’s motherboard supports a CPU to make better. A large number of laptops have attach CPUs, making this not possible. Heat Management:

Manufacture fixed cooling system can be hold the heat output of a new processor. We have think about to put in the fresh thermal paste. 5. Enhance Cooling Solutions: Clean the Fans and Vents:

Dust growth can seriously effect on cooling organization. we have to use compressed air to clean out the dust from the fans and space. Add or Replace Thermal Paste:

We have to apply new thermal paste to the CPU and GPU, and it can improve heat transfer. Cooling Pads:

Examine while using a laptop cooling pad for additional airflow. 6. Upgrade the Battery: Check Battery Health:

we can use tools like Battery info view to check the health of your current battery. Replace If Necessary:

When your battery life is poor, consider to put it back with a new one. secure your operating system is up to date with the updated versions and updates. 7. Update the Operating System and Drivers: Latest OS Version:

Secure your operating system is up to date with the updated versions and availabilities. Driver Updates:

Regularly we have to update your hardware drivers, containing those for the graphics card, lowest price, and network adapters, for greatest performance and security. 8.Optimize Software and Settings Startup Programs:

It require extra startup programs to speed startup time. Background Processes:

Use task manager to identify and manage background processes that absorbs resources. Anti-Virus Software:

Use lightweight antivirus solutions to protect your system without outstanding performance hits. 9. Consider External Upgrades External Graphics Card (eGPU):

If you need better graphics performance and your laptop supports it, think about of using an external GPU. Docking Stations:

For supplementary connections options and regularly of use, a reducing station can be a high-priced customization. 10. Regular Maintenance System Clean-Up:

We have to delete unnecessary files regularly and perform disk clean-ups. Defragment HDD:

If you are still using an HDD, reorganize it regularly to improve entrance speeds. Note that SSDs do not require for the compact. Conclusion: By carefully checking out and make better on the key components of your refurbished laptop, especially you can boost its performance. In any case of it’s increasing RAM, convert to an SSD, or maintaining with perfect cooling, these steps will help you achieve a smooth and efficient calculating of the experience. Always we have to check similarity and convertible before making any upgrades, and examine the professional help for more network attachments.

[merakiui]

promising young man.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, one-sided student/teacher relationship, obsession, dark thoughts, jealousy, delusion, brief descriptions of blood/gore, violence, death, murder, brief nsfw note - riddle's perfect world comes crashing down with the arrival of foreign exchange student azul ashengrotto.

He meets him in Intro to Psych.

Azul Ashengrotto struggles to parse English, but he’s dressed like a businessman with his pressed suit and leather Oxfords. The only thing that reveals his status as a student is the black backpack he carries to class. Riddle’s seen him around campus a handful of times. It’s hard to miss him when he seems to throw himself into social circles with practiced grace.

This is the first time he’s ever had class with him, though, and so now he gets to see him in a classroom setting. There isn’t much about him that immediately strikes Riddle as odd. He’s well-dressed and prompt with a polite tongue. Every time he speaks in his thick accent, the one that just commands admiration and attention, that tiny Italian flag pinned to the strap of his bag becomes even more apparent.

Riddle’s not sure what he’s doing in this class. Perhaps he’s aiming to study law as well. He’d hoped to find more people with similar academic hobbies and interests and, while he’s yet to form any lasting bonds, he’s been wondering what sort of person Azul is.

On the first day of class, he introduced himself with confidence: “Buongiorno, amici. I am Azul. I look forward to the year with all of you.”

Though the structure and pronunciation of English proved awkward in his mouth, that didn’t stop him from opening himself to others. He’s friendly and outgoing, always welcoming conversation when it’s thrown his way. Riddle finds it impressive. If he were in Azul’s shoes, he’s certain he’d feel just a little lost attending school in a new country, far from home, surrounded by people who speak a completely different language. But Azul is resourceful, a dab hand at communication despite the barrier in vernacular. Perhaps that’s where his charm comes from.

Riddle thought the two of them might get along.

But then Azul proved academically formidable, and then you began to pick his brain after class, during time that was specifically reserved for Riddle so that he could discuss psychology with you.

So now Riddle sits in his seat, impatiently awaiting his chance.

“The law over in here is fascinating,” Azul says, leaning closer as you show him something on the desktop computer. 

“What’s it like where you’re from?”

“Mm. How to explain… The law is…”

“It follows a civil law tradition,” Riddle pipes up, casually flipping a page in his textbook. He does it for show. He’s aware it probably makes him look like an arrogant know-it-all.

You peek past the screen at him. “Oh! Riddle, you’re still here. Hello!”

He hums, warming under your gaze. “I always am.”

“What was it you were saying about the Italian legal system?”

Azul stares at him. An unhappy frown tightens on his face.

Uplifted with pride, swimming in the clouds, Riddle elaborates: “I’ve only just started researching it, but it’s very interesting. In the realm of criminal law, trials are often led by judges or a select few to form a panel unlike the juries we have here. Of course you’ll find differences everywhere. All countries have justice systems and law enforcement. Still, it’s fascinating to compare and contrast the fine details.”

From across the room, Azul’s stink eye has never been more obvious.

“Ah, that’s right. I’ve heard a few things regarding the way cases are handled over there. From what you know, Azul, would you say the system is harsher here than it is there, or is it the other way around?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Azul says, and that polite mask of his slips for a second. “I’ve never done crime.”

Riddle snaps his book shut and rises from his seat. “Let’s hope not. You’ve a promising career ahead of you.” He smiles sweetly at Azul like he’s particularly stupid.

Azul tracks him as he packs his belongings away and strides towards the door. His brilliant blue eyes are dark. “Ci fai o ci sei?” he mutters, clicking his tongue discreetly. “Rompipalle…”

Riddle will later learn these are slang phrases. He’ll learn a lot of things later—things he thought he’d never need to learn.

Thinking it a joke, you laugh and wave your hand about dismissively. “Aren’t you going to stay, Riddle? I watched the first episode of that podcast you recommended.”

Riddle perks up at that. “You watched it?”

“This past weekend, yes. It’s a riveting series. They really dig deep into the facets of a criminal.”

“Don’t they just?” He hugs his textbook close to his chest, nearly vibrating out of his skin. Finally, the moment he’s been waiting for—an opportunity to speak with you. “I’m amazed at how much time and research goes into each episode, and they always treat each case with tact. It deserves so much praise.”

Azul glances between the two of you. Riddle is sick with satisfaction. Once more, his blue hues land on him.

“You like criminals?”

“Not in that way, of course not.” Riddle shakes his head. What a preposterous assumption. “I find their minds to be exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.”

Azul blinks back at him, owlish. He doesn’t seem to grasp most of what Riddle’s just said.

“In short, I think they’re a fine learning experience.”

“An experience? Non capisco.”

“For those wishing to pursue a career in criminal justice or law. Think of it like watching a tape from a criminal investigation. It’s important to study the interview techniques and tactics utilized by detectives to understand what’s most successful in gathering a proper confession.”

Azul nods along. “Ah, capisco.”

“We’ll cover things like that later in the semester. Don’t feel so overwhelmed, Azul.”

“I’m not. I learn as I go. Grazie, Professor. You’re very kind.”

“I’m happy to help. If you ever need anything, my office hours are on that sheet I gave you. I had a colleague of mine translate the syllabus for you. If you have any questions or need accommodations of any kind, let me know.”

“I will.” He fixes the strap of his backpack and, after bidding you a final farewell, stalks past Riddle out the door. His footsteps echo down the hall until eventually they’re no more.

“Riddle, if you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you.”

“Of course. Anything,” he says hastily, his heart stumbling in his ribs. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, could you help Azul out? I notice he struggles taking notes during lectures. If you’d be willing to share your notes with me so that I can get them translated, that would be great.”

Riddle doesn’t want to share, but this is an opportunity to be praised in spades. “I’d be glad to. I’ll scan and email them after each class.”

“Thanks, Riddle. Your notes have always been so organized. This is a huge help. I’m sure Azul will be just as grateful.”

I’m not doing it for him, he thinks, bitter and envious.

But he just smiles, standing a little taller when you compliment him.

Your notes have always been so organized.

What is he getting so territorial for? He’s had you for four classes in past years. Azul’s only known you for a few measly weeks. That’s nothing compared to the special bond you have with him.

Riddle isn’t worried.

1 September, 20XX.

Dear Diary,

(Name) Rosehearts has quite the lovely ring to it. Far more musical than that of (Name) Ashengrotto. I’m almost certain he sits there in class, silently drooling over Professor. Just last week, he took my seat at the front. The gall to do such a thing! Can you imagine? He must know that seat is the best for getting a perfect view of Professor. It’s childish to bicker over seating arrangements and I refuse to stoop to his level. That said, the seat is mine. Professor’s time is mine.

I’ve deigned to share my notes, but only because Professor put such faith in my abilities by personally asking me. Even though it’s foolish, I’m tempted to sabotage the notes so that Azul will have incorrect study material. But that would be unfair and an infraction upon all that I stand for when it comes to academic fairness. Thus, I’ve refrained from doing anything of that sort. I’m certain Professor would disapprove.

It makes me happy to know Professor listens to the podcast I recommended. I wish we could discuss it at length, but Azul is always there and he takes up so much of what little time there is. It’s infuriating. I wish he would just drop out of the class. That way it will be just Professor and me, as it was intended.

Perhaps he will once the coursework comes knocking.

Sincerely, 

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle slumps forward over his desk and combs his hands through his hair.

“That rotten Azul…” he sneers, his face scrunching into something sour. “He’s always monopolizing your time… Does he not realize how important it is to me—how much I look forward to talking to you? And you smile at him… You look at him with those sweet eyes of yours and he’s completely undeserving of such treatment! It never does anyone any good to be greedy, yet there he is…”

He inhales deeply, holds it for a few seconds, and then exhales.

What am I supposed to do? How can I make this right again?

Azul isn’t breaking any rules. It’s not a crime to seek you out for conversation after each class ends. But therein lies the issue. There is nothing wrong with that. It would be wrong if, say, there was an illicit exchange between the both of you. Like a taboo relationship of sorts…

Riddle startles in his seat, his eyes blown wide.

Azul isn’t having a secret affair with you, is he? Not that it could be considered cheating when you’re not yet married (and Riddle intends to keep it that way). He has a plan. When he graduates, there will be no formal barriers holding him back from starting a relationship with you. He can email you freely without the need to circle back to academics. He can invite you for tea or coffee and the two of you can chat about things that aren’t school, and it won’t be weird or overstepping boundaries. Because he won’t be your student anymore. He’ll be Riddle, your former student. And former students have better odds than current students, do they not?

He’s thought it out carefully. He was raised to be responsible, to do everything right.

And though he’s thought of it in passing—considered what might happen if he were to try to play at being a seductive siren—he’d never truly act on such folly. But Azul… It isn’t too impossible to theorize he might be sleeping with you for a better grade. What if he’s forced you into it? What if he has some sort of wicked blackmail? What if you’re holed up in your office every day, scared for your career, while Azul bends you over the desk and uses that boyish charm of his, that silky-smooth accent, to coax the sweetest of sounds from—

Riddle shakes himself free of that thought. He’s not going to imagine it any further. He doesn’t need to be plagued with graphic imagery, gross as it may be.

Even though he chases the fantasy from his brain, it returns to poke at him. He gazes at his lap, noticing the substantial strain in his pajamas, and groans.

It would be easier if he wasn’t where he is now. Logically, he’s aware he doesn’t have much of a chance. Neither does Azul. Unless he’s sleeping with you in secret. Then he has a chance. But he’s not. He can’t. That’s against the rules.

And even if he was, it wouldn’t be very fair for him to do the very thing Riddle’s abstained from.

His hand closes around his dick. He feels pitiful as he pumps himself to scandalous visions. 

It’s not fair.

He should have a chance. In a perfect world, he’d have you. He’s earned this, hasn’t he? He’s worked so hard. So why isn’t he allowed to have you?

It’s not fair.

Why does Azul get to relish in your attention when Riddle’s left alone in the shadows? Why can’t you look at him like you used to? Why can’t you praise him for knowing all the answers? Why can’t you tell him good work when he does just that? Why must you coddle Azul? Riddle thinks he can speak perfect English. He’s just playing it up to look weak and pathetic—to garner your sympathy!

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

He’s the good one. The one with perfect marks. The one with perfect attendance. The one every professor holds in high regard.

Riddle squeezes himself and sucks in a breath through grit teeth.

He’s not funny like Azul. He doesn’t have that awkward charm Azul has. He can’t speak another language fluently. He’s never traveled out of the country. He thinks he knows everything, but he only knows so much.

He can fascinate you with the intricacies of his mind, each fold primed for education, but Azul can do better because he has social experience.

Riddle can’t believe it. He, of all people, is jealous of someone.

Cum oozes from his dick and coats his fingers in a pearly-white. It isn’t satisfying.

Right then, he thinks his world would be better if Azul stayed in Italy.

Or maybe it would be better if Azul wasn’t in his world at all. 

On his way out of class, Riddle stops Azul in an empty corridor.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

He blinks back, oblivious. And then he smiles, revealing a row of perfect teeth. “What I’m doing?”

Riddle won’t say it. He can’t. Because then he’d be admitting the truth Azul’s trying to pry from his heart, whether that’s his intention or not.

“You know very well what you’re doing.”

A silent head tilt is his reply.

His temper is nearing its boiling point. It’s been on a low simmer ever since Azul first bewitched you, and it’s threatening to spill over.

“I see the way you and Professor look at each other during class. You may think it discreet, but I know.” Riddle folds his arms over his chest, feeling very proud of himself for successfully playing Sherlock. “I can tell there’s nothing formal about it. So how long has this been going on? How long have you been flouting the rules?”

Azul stares at him. His shoulders shake with his chuckle. “You’re funny.”

Riddle startles. His accent—

“I’m here to learn just as you are. What I do outside of the classroom is none of your business, so it would please me greatly if you could stop prying.”

His eyes narrow into vicious slits. “If you lay a hand on—”

“Oh, I’ve done more than that.” Azul smooths the nonexistent wrinkles in his sweater vest. The same brand of sweater vest that Riddle wears. “But you have no proof. The courts here will want that, won’t they? Or is it harsher here? Will you need to peer inside Professor to see for yourself? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never committed a crime.”

Disgust pools in his stomach. He feels like he could vomit, and it isn’t because he’s appalled by the conspiracy Azul’s proposed. It’s because he should’ve been the one to do it if it was that easy. Instead, he musters a mean glare.

“Who are you, Ashengrotto? What do you want?”

“I’m just a student like you. I want to learn lots from Professor.” He brushes past Riddle, his voice a melodious hum. “And some things can’t be taught in the classroom.”

Riddle opens his mouth to let the angry tirade fall, but he chokes on the words. There’s so much he wants to say, but all of it will come out accusatory. And that’s where Azul has him pinned. It’s all baseless accusation.

He doesn’t want to believe it. Surely you wouldn’t… It’s impossible! An academic and social infringement! It’s wrong!

It should’ve been him.

Later that evening, cooped up in his room, Riddle scrawls furious lines in his diary: He’s a liar. A cheat. An embarrassment to this institution. I should be the one who holds Professor. I should be there in Azul’s place. I’ve worked so hard. I deserve it. I’ve earned it!

He can’t let this madness go on any longer. He won’t tolerate it.

Looking at it logically, Riddle has illustrated the negatives and the positives in his notebook.

If Azul’s insinuations are true, then all Riddle needs is valid evidence. Unfortunately, that would mean you might lose your job given the circumstances. If it’s consensual, both of you are equally at fault. If it’s not, Riddle hopes Azul will burn in a terrible blaze.

But if you do happen to lose your job, it would relieve some of the weight burdening his situation. He could start a real relationship with you. It’s plausible! Perhaps not very realistic, but there’s always a shred of hope to be found in misfortune. 

Riddle wonders if he should just ask you and save himself the headache.

He gazes sidelong at Azul, who has since claimed that seat for his own, and chances a glance at his open notes.

That’s Riddle’s handwriting.

He’s sure of it. That’s his handwriting. He writes his notes in cursive. He writes in a perfect, elegant slant. His letters always connect. There’s no denying it; that’s his handwriting on the page.

A disturbing thought crosses his mind: Has Azul been practicing my handwriting?

It sounds impossibly silly. Who would devote so much time to something so witlessly fraudulent? Riddle wracks his brain for a reasonable explanation. Why would he need to practice someone else’s handwriting? Riddle could understand if Azul struggled to write in English. Most of his work is submitted in his native language. You allow this exception even though Riddle finds it unfair. Maybe it’s because you treat Azul’s work like it’s something special, and you jump through all of these hoops just to get it translated. Why can’t you treat his work with that same amount of care?

Riddle drags his pen along the page, scribbling mindlessly. Why is he doing that? He has nothing to gain from writing like me.

But then Riddle realizes the notebook is the same as his. The same color, in fact. He wonders when Azul purchased a new one. Did he purchase a new one, or has he always had this one?

Riddle looks down at his notebook.

That’s Azul’s handwriting.

He blinks twice and rubs frantically at his eyes. When he looks back at Azul’s notebook, it’s to a page filled with Azul’s stylish scrawl.

Have I…been copying him this entire time?

No, surely not! He would never plagiarize. That’s one of the biggest sins of academia. He couldn’t live with himself if he did that!

Besides, he’s not the copycat. It’s Azul in his sweater vest, boasting the same writing implements as Riddle, using the same brand of notebook. Riddle’s not copying him. It’s Azul. It must be.

It can’t be Riddle. He’d never do such a thing.

After class, you call Riddle up to your desk. He hesitates, his heart thrumming wildly, and shuffles over.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Riddle, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.” You withdraw last week’s assignment from a folder and set it down. “You wrote this, did you not?”

Riddle scans the typed document. “I did, yes.”

“May I ask if the Italian was intentional?”

“The Italian?” he parrots, confused. “I don’t understand what—”

In between brilliantly articulated paragraphs, he’s sprinkled in Italian words and phrases.

He coughs out a rattled laugh. “I must have been studying it for another assignment before I did yours. I…can’t believe this happened. It was fully unintentional. I’m very sorry.”

His face is flushed cherry-red. He’s never felt more humiliated.

“It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to ask. It definitely confused me.” You take the paper from him, smiling that understanding smile he loves so much. But then, rather intrusively, he wonders how many times those soft-looking lips have been on Azul, wrapped around him, sending him to cloud nine… “I actually asked Azul to translate it for me. He said all of it was written correctly. You must be very adept in your Italian.”

“I… I suppose I am,” he answers after a tense minute.

His brain is swirling like sediment stirred up on the ocean floor. When did I pick up Italian? I’m not taking any language courses this semester. I don’t even own an Italian dictionary… Just what in the world is happening?

“Ah, you don’t have to look so pale! It’s not going to affect your grade. I only wanted to fulfill this nagging curiosity of mine. Thank you for all the good work you do.”

Riddle nods mechanically. When you ask if he has time to stick around and discuss more psychology podcasts, he shakes his head and mumbles a feeble excuse.

He tears through his desk and all of the drawers in his room in search of it. If it’s not there, he can relax. If it’s not there, he can chalk it up to stress. If it’s not there—

It’s tucked away in his bookshelf. A little pocket dictionary. English to Italian. And it’s been bookmarked and annotated.

Riddle pulls it from the shelf in a baffled daze. When did he get his hands on this? More importantly, when did he read through it? In a hurry, he empties the contents of his backpack and flips a few pages in his notebook.

His notes from class. Dated for today. Written in Azul’s script. And at the top of the page, an exact copy of his signature, a name that isn’t Riddle’s: Azul Ashengrotto.

Riddle peers at his trembling hands. He flexes his fingers, curls them into a fist and then unfurls them.

He seizes his psychology textbook next and skims the chapter index in search of an answer. He lands on it. Page 371. Dissociation.

Two minutes into a phone call with Trey, he’s asked a simple question: “Are you speaking with an accent?”

Riddle bristles. “Of course I’m not. Of…course I am not,” he says, sounding the words out. His brow furrows. Why does my tongue feel so clumsy in my mouth? “I’ve always spoken this way, have I not?”

“I can’t say. I mean, come on, Riddle. You’ve gotta be pulling my leg.”

“You know very well I don’t pull legs, Trey.”

“You told me buongiorno when I picked up.”

“I did not!” he snaps, scandalized. “I said good morning as I always do.” And then he pauses. “I… I did say good morning, didn’t I?”

Trey’s silence is answer enough.

Riddle sucks in a sharp breath. Neither of them says anything.

Eventually, Trey speaks. “Do you want me to come up there? I could bring you a tart or…something. You sound…tired.” He chooses his words carefully. “Silly question, I know, but I’ve gotta ask. You’re not overworking yourself?”

“No, not at all.”

“And you’re getting enough sleep? What about food?”

Riddle frowns even though Trey isn’t there to see it. “I’m fine, Trey. Midterms are coming up. I’ve got to focus. I refuse to fail.”

Again, the other end is quiet. A minute later, Trey says, “Do you have time this weekend?”

“This weekend?” Riddle flips his planner open to this week. “I do.”

“All right. Is it cool if I visit?”

Riddle almost declines, so it surprises both him and Trey when he replies with, “Please.”

“I’ll be there,” he promises, and the call ends before Riddle can say grazie.

Trey brings six strawberry tarts. Riddle shares three with him over tea at the campus café.

“So what’s up?” Trey points his fork at Riddle. “You sound like yourself, but you don’t seem…fine.”

Riddle chews thoughtfully. He can’t confide in Trey because Trey wouldn’t understand. Because he’d apply Trey Logic to everything, and Trey Logic is almost always sensible. Riddle doesn’t want to hear it.

“I submitted an assignment in Italian,” he says instead, casually, as if it’s not a big deal.

Trey looks at him like he’s grown a third eye. “Since when do you know Italian?”

“I dabble.”

Trey laughs. Upon seeing Riddle’s serious expression, the humor sticks in his throat. “Oh, you meant that. Well. That’s…good then? If it’s for a foreign language course—”

“It was for psychology.”

“You…wrote in Italian…for a psychology assignment?” he reiterates, attempting to parse it. He drags his fork through his cut of tart, but he doesn’t bring it to his lips. “Why?”

“I couldn’t say. It perplexed me to no end when I realized it. My professor thought it was curious.”

“It is. I mean, you don’t find that just a little…unusual?”

Riddle stares at him over the rim of his teacup. 

Trey tries again. “Was the Italian correct, at least? It wasn’t all nonsense?”

He nods. “It was as if I was translating and switching between words. Like using the Italian word in place of an English word.”

“Huh…”

“It’s not very impressive. I can do much better than that.”

“I’m not doubting your capabilities. I’m just…trying to understand why.”

Riddle smiles. “Why not? I think it’s very good to study another language. It opens more doors for opportunity, and it’s a challenge that proves rewarding in the end.”

“Is that it?”

“Precisely.”

The conversation comes to an abrupt halt there. Trey changes the subject. They chat the afternoon away.

Later, Riddle returns to his diary.

He writes an entire entry in perfect Italian. Workbooks pile up on his desk; he’s not sure when they got there. He’s filling them out so fast his hand gains new calluses. 

Azul visits your office around the same time Riddle used to. Now it’s Riddle who trails after him, hoping to catch him in the middle of a nefarious scheme. He’s not sure he’s ready for whatever he might learn, but he swallows his rage and carries on.

Azul turns just as Riddle ducks around the corner, perfectly out of sight. He waits until he hears the tell-tale click of those pristine Oxfords against linoleum before continuing. Azul walks right past your office and then he’s gone. Looking both ways, Riddle creeps further down the hall.

Where is he?

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He whirls around, startled, and is about to unleash verbal tyranny when he stops short. You stand there, looking positively puzzled. 

“Are you looking for something, Riddle?”

“No… I—” He cuts himself off. “Actually, I was hoping I might discuss something with you. The final project.”

“Oh, of course! Did you come earlier? I stepped out of my office for a second. Sorry if my absence had you looking all over.”

Riddle falls into step with you. “It’s quite all right.”

He’s not sure what he hopes to find by sitting in front of your desk, gazing at the familiar interior of your office. He manages to get through all of the questions you ask him regarding the final project.

“I have too many ideas,” he lies, “and I’d like assistance in narrowing the topics down to one.”

He glances slyly at the floor. Would Azul be bold enough to hide a voice recorder or a camera somewhere? Or is there something of Azul’s left in here? A cheeky means of marking his territory, maybe?

Riddle turns up empty.

He stalls the conversation expertly for ten more minutes. During that time, he can’t locate anything from his semi-thorough observations.

Maybe it’s hidden in your desk. Maybe there’s nothing at all.

No. No, there has to be something.

He thanks you for your help and, shouldering his backpack, leaves.

Just as he turns down the hall, Azul steps into his path.

“Your mind is exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.” He snickers like a devil. Riddle wants to punch him. “So many ideas. Where do you have the space for all of that?”

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”

“Oh, is that so?” Azul taps at his phone and then turns the screen towards Riddle. There’s a picture of him in the hall, looking awfully disoriented. “It’s not very polite to stalk now, is it, amico?”

Riddle narrows his eyes. “How easily that accent comes. Almost like flipping a switch.”

“Non capisco.”

“You should know you’re going to ruin your life and Professor’s.”

“I’m not.” He smiles cryptically. “You’re going to ruin it for me.”

Fed up with his attempt at mind chess, Riddle stalks past him in a huff.

You walk into class five minutes late, disheveled and breathless. You’re babbling about a meeting that ran late, but Riddle can’t trust that.

Meetings don’t end in frazzled hair and crooked ties.

What’s even more damning, perhaps, is when Azul Never-Late-to-Class Ashengrotto walks in fifteen minutes after you. He sits in the seat beside Riddle. There’s not a hair out of place on his person. Except there is. The glass face of his luxury wristwatch is smudged with a fingerprint.

Riddle wonders what forensics would have to say about that.

He phases in and out of focus during the lecture. He can’t stop searching you for fine details. He can’t stop questioning Azul’s presence beside him.

How dare you? he thinks. How dare you defile my professor? What makes you think you have the right to do such a thing when I’ve been working hard all this time? When I’ve been nothing but perfect…

He glances at his notebook. A single phrase has been scrawled over and over, so manically that the lines loop and overlap in angry criss-crosses. Lo voglio morto.

At the end of class, Riddle catches Azul in the hall.

“I would like to review with you for our upcoming midterm.”

“What an honor.”

Riddle hums. “Let’s compare our notes tonight. You can stop by my room after dinner.”

Azul grins like he can read through Riddle. Like he’s in on a joke Riddle’s not privy to.

“I would be happy to study alongside you,” he says, his accent thick.

Riddle imagines a rope around his neck. A rope of thorns and barbed wire, pressing into his jugular until, inevitably, it severs his head clean off.

Azul arrives on time. He really does feel like an echo of Riddle. Same school supplies. Same notebooks. Same fashion style. Same manner of writing.

Riddle shuts and locks the door behind him. He doesn’t waste time waltzing around the subject.

“You’re the reason Professor was late today.”

“You’re mistaken. I simply lost track of the time.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what is? I had nothing to do with Professor’s tardiness. If it bothers you so much, why not tell Professor to be more conscious of the time?”

Riddle grits his teeth. He’s sick of this. Sick of these mind games. Sick of all this mental chess.

Sick of the fact that he gets to have you when you should have been Riddle’s from the start!

“You’re a liar! Do you know the gravity of your actions—the severe consequences that’ll undoubtedly befall Professor? Do you know you’re jeopardizing a brilliant mind all for your own immature fun?”

Azul holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Those are harsh accusations. They could ruin my life, you know.”

“Oh, like that’s such an issue.” Riddle scowls.

“Your room is quite nice, I must say.” Azul looks around, his hands in his pockets. He spies the many Italian workbooks lining Riddle’s shelf, and a slimy smirk pulls at his lips. “Imitatore,” he marvels, his eyes bright with an eerie sort of joy. As if he’s just discovered a particularly filthy secret and can’t wait to tell someone.

“If it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”

“And what makes you think Professor would ever entertain you?” Azul rounds on him, still smiling. “Professor loves me most. There was never any room for you.”

Riddle hears the distant crackle of something fraying. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? All I did was take your best characteristics and make them even better. Italian lovers are a romanticized ideal abroad. You were never an option, let alone a consideration.”

How dare you. How dare you. How dare you!

Azul steps towards the door. “Addio. Le mie condoglianze.”

That something inside Riddle finally snaps, and with it goes his restraint. He grabs Azul’s wrist and yanks him to the floor. There’s a struggle for survival. During the scuffle, Azul claws at Riddle’s arm and face. Riddle kicks him down. And then his fingers wrap around his psychology textbook—all 800-something pages, a hardcover—and he brings it down, brutal like a guillotine.

“How dare you walk away in the middle of a conversation!” he berates, lips curled in a monstrous sneer. “How dare you touch what isn’t yours—what you didn’t earn!”

He thinks he sees a real smile on Azul’s face, but in the midst of blind rage he can’t tell.

He sees red. He feels red. It splatters his room in a mess of broken bone and pulpy gore. It flecks his face, warm and thick and soupy.

It all ends with Intro to Psych.

Riddle is bathed in blue light, afloat on a chaotic sea.

Distantly, in the back of his mind, he can hear his mother in hysterics: What have you done?! Do you have any idea what you’ve just done—the future you’ve so carelessly thrown away?! All of my hard work?! Do you realize what you’ve done?!

And he does.

If there’s anything Riddle has ever been one-hundred-percent certain of in his life, it’s this. He sits on the steps to his dormitory, battered and bloodied, and bites into the strawberry tart clutched between crimson-stained fingers.

Despite the crisp autumn air, he feels warm.

An officer approaches him just as he’s licking his fingers clean of strawberry and blood.

He holds his arms out before the woman can say anything. He already knows what comes next.

Riddle has always wondered what criminals think and feel in the aftermath of grisly crimes. He can’t feel much of anything other than hollow relief. Maybe that’s just the adrenaline snuffing logical thought and remorse. He thinks everything and nothing all at once. He’s sure he’ll feel it all come crashing down when he’s sat in the station for questioning and then the reality of his actions will seep in, awakening him from a vile, murderous dream.

Right now, he isn’t concerned with that.

You lived filthy and you died just the same, Riddle thinks as he’s led to a police car. And now there’s no part of you Professor will ever want.

[dokyccis]

jaemin watches you with love overflowing his big eyes, enjoying the adorable scene of you playing with his kitties in his bed.

you’re recording a cute video of luke climbing up on you, finding cute the way jaemin’s cats got used to you so quickly. you giggle as you observe the hairy and tiny kitten lay peacefully on top of you, almost closing his little eyes out of sleepiness.

as you let luke relax on your chest, you pat luna’s head when she approaches you to jump in your legs, making you laugh with the sudden attitude. “you’re unpredictable, huh?” you say, smiling to luna.

you had sparkles in your eyes as you played with the little kitties present in the room, loving the way they were treating you like you were another version of jaemin.

“oh, lucy!” you quickly take luke out of your chest and luna out of your legs, standing up from the bed to approach lucy on the desktop. “don’t bite the computer, baby! that’s expensive, your dad would be mad at you.” you explain as you take her in your hands, holding her like a real baby.

jaemin gets up from the armchair standing in the corner of his room, going straight up to you and lucy. “you were trying to bite my computer, miss lucy?” he asks, burying his face in her white fur to give her a sweet kiss.

you hand jaemin the kitty in your arms, watching him baby it like it was the most precious thing in the earth, because for him, his cats are the most adorable things to ever exist. but, obviously, after you.

jaemin places lucy in his bed along with her siblings, lucy and luke. he turns around to you again and grabs your waist, looking at you with so much passion.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, surrounding his neck with your arms.

“you’re always so careful and loving with my kids.” you laugh with the way he refers to the kitties.

“of course i am, those are my boyfriend’s precious kids, how can’t i be careful and loving?” you smile, mesmerizing jaemin for, maybe, the millionth time in the day.

he leans in and leaves a sweet kiss in your lips, you don’t hesitate to kiss him back. your hands go straight to his nape as you deepen the kiss in pure passion.

both of you didn’t have any second intentions, you were just enjoying the moment, the vibe and each other’s warmth.

you pull away of jaemin’s lips, smiling before feeling a fluffy aspect tickle in your ankle. you look down to see luke looking up at you with big black eyes, and you melt with the adorable figure.

“oh, come on! luke, the girlfriend is mine, not yours!” jaemin looks down to scold the kitty, who was already trying to climb up your leg to play with you.

you absolutely love spending time with jaemin, specially when his kitties are there too.

[cyberseong]

day off.

pairing: wooyoung x f!reader

genre: smut, established relationship

warnings/topics: there is like no plot, dom!wooyoung, slight degradation, oral sex/blowjob, handjob, accidental exhibitionism, y/n is kind of a brat, mentioned yunho and san, unprotected sex, wooyoung is a gamer bf basically

a/n: i have not been writing at all because i’ve been so busy oops. this was something i wrote quickly so there may be errors or typos, but enjoy! notes/reblogs are appreciated!

wc: 1k

“i’ll be off soon love... just a few more rounds, and we’ll call it a night,” he reasoned repeatedly— you felt bad asking him for his attention so many times, especially when you knew his friends had been eager to speak to him just as much as you did. you were all busy people, but you couldn’t help but feel like they were cutting into the time you two usually spent alone.

the time read 10:00 PM when you decided you had enough of waiting on wooyoung. if you had to take his attention from his screen physically, you weren’t going to hesitate to do so; even if san and yunho also had to experience the consequence. you quietly slid under wooyoung’s desk, pausing to see if that would warrant a reaction. to your luck, you went unnoticed; wooyoung was too busy yelling at yunho for something he had done in-game to even realize where you were.

it wasn’t until he felt his sweatpants being tugged on that he snapped his neck downwards, looking in between his legs in surprise; you gave him nothing but a small smile and a head tilt as if you had not the slightest idea of what he might’ve been staring at you so hard for. His attention didn’t stay on you long, so as soon as his eyes locked back onto his screen, you put in the rest of the effort to drop his pants to the floor and push his legs apart just slightly so you would have easier access to what was in between them. you snickered upon seeing he wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath his pants. nevertheless, you caressed his tip lightly just to tease him. you could see a glimpse of wooyoung’s face from where you were under the desk; he bit his lip whenever he wasn’t talking through his mic in an attempt to keep san and yunho unsuspecting of anything. he hissed as your hand eventually began to stroke his now-erect length, using his precum as a lubricant. you made sure to maintain an agonizingly slow pace and then speed up as soon as he was required to speak into his mic.

“san, to your– fuck– your left, hold on–” wooyoung quickly muted his microphone, even as he heard san and yunho asking if he was alright through his headset. he had to stifle a groan as he felt a wetness around his cock; he changed his gaze to meet yours, and then he realized it was your mouth that had suddenly taken him in whole.

“fuck, y/n, what’s up with you today? so needy that you couldn’t have waited a few more minutes?” he furrowed his eyebrows as he took the headset off his head and roughly sat it on the desktop, his veiny hand then gripping your hair and pulling your head back to ensure you were listening to his words and taking in the expression laid upon his face. he stood up from his chair, signaling for you to get out from under the desk. once you were within reach, wooyoung lifted you by your waist and legs, throwing you over his shoulders before nearly throwing you onto the mattress that was adjacent to his computer. the game was still running, and yunho and san were still playing, but all 4 of you knew wooyoung wasn’t getting back on that game tonight.

wooyoung quickly stripped you out of your clothing, creating a pile of them on the floor in a matter of seconds. He wasn’t angry, but the slight annoyance that coated his actions and expressions just made you shudder; you loved seeing him like that. his hands worked quickly as he flipped you onto your stomach, positioning your body so your ass was in the air and your head was being pushed into the sheets by his one hand. he didn’t even make an effort to locate his lube as you were already dripping over his bed. his other hand rested on your lower back as he bottomed out into you immediately, not even giving you a chance to adjust; not that you needed one, anyway.

“fuck, w-woo, faster please,” you moaned, which was muffled by the soft fabric that was repeatedly pushing against your lips.

“why so demanding? i don’t think you're in a place to boss me around y/n, hm?” wooyoung teased, keeping his thrusts short and fast, his hand now holding a tight grip on your hip. you were sure it would leave a mark later, and the thought of that alone was pushing you closer to your release.

wooyoung’s thighs began to tremble as he could feel the familiar pressure build up in the pit of his abdomen; his thrusts eventually becoming sloppier and less precise than before. his small high-pitched moans gave it away that he was nearing his climax.

“wooyoung, fuck, i’m so close–” you moaned loudly before reaching your high, clenching around wooyoung’s dick; which resulted in him cumming as well.

he gently pulled out of you, falling back onto the mattress and taking a moment to catch his breath. he was about to praise you for doing so well for him until he heard a faint voice from his headset speaker.

“i think he just might’ve intended to mute…” yunho giggled, even though his ears were beet red from hearing everything from the last half an hour.

“i mean, it was hot… but fuck, he made us lose this round. my rank went down again…” san sighed, leaning back into his chair after leaving the lobby.

“no, i think you just suck at the game, san.”

[bits-and-babs]

✦ 𝐁𝐔𝐙𝐙 𝐁𝐔𝐙𝐙 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 3: PHONE SEX

johnny mactavish x reader | smut, 18+ | 1.3k words

summary: on leave, johnny can't resist pestering you while you're at work. or perhaps he just can't resist you...

cw: f!reader, sexting, dirty talk, voyeurism(?), begging, masturbation (m & f), orgasm denial, inferred voyeurism. this one made me blush.

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 4: APHRODISIACS ⇾

❝You look so good right now. I can’t actually see you, but I assume you look good because you always do.❞

A grin splits across your lips as you read the text that lights up your phone screen. It lays next to your keyboard on your desk, the lock screen a photo of you and Johnny on holiday in Spain. The sky brings out the blue in Johnny’s eyes– or what you can see of them. They’re almost crinkled shut as he laughs at you, having pushed the icecream you’d both been sharing into your face, creamy white gelato smeared across your nose. 

Peering over your desktop screen, you make sure no one in the office is looking as you pick your phone up. Donna has her eyes firmly on an excel spreadsheet that looks far more like an ancient language than it does data she can make sense of, and Peter has left his desk to make what you could only assume was his signature, watered down cups of tea that made you gag when you tried them. Before he could come back and catch you red handed, you tap your password into the phone, unlocking it to respond to the cheeky text message. 

It was odd to get a message like this now. Texts like these were usually reserved for when Johnny was on deployment, off in some God forsaken sandy wasteland where bullets would fly past his head and threaten to steal him from you. Instead, he was on leave, no doubt sitting on the sofa with his PS4 controller in hand, yelling commands to his makeshift squadron. You’d be home in a few hours – an office job wasn’t quite as long and treacherous as a place on the special forces. 

“Can’t last 7.5 hours without me? x” 

You smile to yourself as you hit send, turning your attention back to the work on your desktop before noticing how quickly the ‘ … ‘ speech bubble appears above the keyboard in your chat. It takes barely a couple of seconds before Soap replies. 

Bzz. 

“Go in the bathroom and take a picture of you touching your pretty pussy. Please? xoxo” 

It’s ridiculous, the way such a simple text sets your body alight. The warmth prickles in your stomach, settles between your thighs as you try to reason with yourself. Lunch was two hours away, and you had no doubt that Johnny would keep pestering you until you finally gave in to his pleadi–

Bzz. 

“Please? xoxoxoxox”

Chuckling to yourself, you lock your computer and stand from your desk. As casually as you can manage given you were soaking your panties, you inform Donna that you need a bathroom break. Making a note to pat yourself on the back for working so hard and earning her trust, you grin and offer a quiet thank you when she nods her head in dismissal. 

As you try to hurry to the bathroom without catching anyone’s attention, you can feel your phone buzzing in your hand. 

Bzz. 

Bzz. 

Bzz, bzz, bzz. 

Biting back a stupid grin, you ignore his pining text messages entirely and head straight for the call button, pressing your phone to your ear as you enter the single stall bathroom and lock the door behind you. 

It takes two trills of the phone before Johnny answers. You’re surprised– you expected him to hit the answer button halfway through the first. 

The first thing you hear is the sound of skin on skin, wet, sloppy sounds of Johnny working his cock in his hand as he groans your name down the receiver. 

“Fuuckkk. Yer a dirty girl, bonnie. Leavin’ yer desk to touc–” 

“Shut the fuck up, Johnny,” you breathe, malice lacking in your voice as you quickly pull the hem of your skirt up to your hips, leaning against the wall and burying your hand underneath the waistband of your panties. 

“But– Fuck– I wanna taste you,” Johnny continues pining for you, making your clit throb as you roll it beneath your fingertips with an airy sigh. Johnny sounds far more unhinged on the end of the phone, crackly audio punctuated with heavy, needy gasps of bliss and the slick sound of him fucking into his hand over and over.

“You sound so needy, Johnny,” you coo quietly, pinching your clit and feeling the warmth of your arousal trickle through your nerves when you hear Soap groan desperately. 

“Jesus– Yer bein’ so fuckin’ mean t’me,” he complains weakly, the sound of his thrusts getting louder and quicker over his slurred protests. “Feels so fuckin’ good, Bonnie. Wanna feel you ‘round me.”

Slowly burying your fingers inside your slick cunt, you whimper softly as you grind your clit into the heel of your palm. It’s not enough. Nothing is enough after having Johnny. His months away on deployment are torture, no technique or toys enough to bring the same bliss he consistently pulled from you each and every time you fell into bed together. Or the sofa, or the shower, or the kitchen counterto–

“Need you t’come home, Bonnie. Need you t’come home and sit on my face. Cannae wait all day for ye to come back home,” the timbre in Johnny’s voice is hoarse. It burns something sinful deep down in your gut, pleasure arcing with another circle of your clit. 

“What if I just left you there?” You muse quietly, careful not to be too loud incase anyone was passing by, “What if I clocked off after work and went for dinner with that guy on the payments team… What’s his name, Darren?” 

You’re grinning halfway through your teasing comment, hearing Johnny spluttering in complaint. 

“Bonnie–”

“Or… You could behave. Could wait for me to come home without interr-upting my work,” you hiccup, dangerously close to cumming when you felt the beginning of your orgasm zing up the base of your spine. You arch your hips away from your palm despite your clit’s throb of complaint, squeezing your eyes shut and bracing your voice to sound steady. “And when I come home, I’ll ride you while you play your game. You can be on mic, and Gaz and your friend’ll hear you struggle to keep it together. Hear how fucking wet I sound when you put your dick in me.” 

“Steamin’ fuckin’ Jesus–” Johnny wheezed, the sound of him fucking his hand hastening at your filthy offer. “Hah–”

“You can’t cum, though,” you urge him quickly, grinning at the sound of his desperate wail when the sounds suddenly stopped altogether. It was replaced by the sound of Johnny’s heaving breaths, quiet moans of complaint. You could imagine him now, sprawled out across the sofa, grey sweats around his ankles. He’d have his face buried in the crook of an elbow, cock flushed like his cheeks while bobbing up and down in protest and drooling precum onto his stomach. 

“Stay right there, just like that,” you breathe, excitement bubbling in your chest at the sound of his struggle, “Text Gaz and tell him to be online at 17:30.”

“Fuck,” Johnny slurs, and the sound sparks something so visceral in you that it threatens to spark an orgasm all on its own. “S’fuckin’ torture.” 

“I know, baby. I’ll make it worth it,” you promise him, ending the call before the sound of his keens made you cum. 

An hour or two later, sitting at your desk and vaguely focusing on the spreadsheets of information that were all beginning to blur together, your phone buzzes with another text. This time, a picture is attached. 

“Still here.” 

Johnny’s laying on the sofa, lips raw from gnawing on them in what you could only assume was an attempt to restrain himself. His cock is rock hard, bright red and angry with its neglect as it drools a wet pool of precum across his abs and down his shaft, exactly as you’d predicted. 

You’ve never been so excited for clocking off. 

cod mwii/kinktober taglist:

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog @crissteetee @crissteetee67 @sylvanasthebansheequeen @akaym2 @exploremyworldsm @thriving-n-jiving @su57 @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @tusk89 @bellasbees01 @dog55teeth

@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @babychoi03 @infectedkura @allekat1988 @whore-for-anime @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @mockerycrow @cyberpr1m3 @i-love-ghost @allekat1988 @infectedkura @babychoi03 @freakquenci @maviee @yunggoblin @sleepystaarr @watyousayin @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @damn-dean-blog @pheonyxmoon @magicalreviewphantom @limegreenbabx @johfaam0 @iaur @justsayk

@bloodmoon-bites @wiltedwonderland @doggydale @limegreenbabx @namelesshumanperson @ninahhh-brahh

[iliketangerines]

I need some absolute deviousness rn but, hear me out;

Yandere god Raiden getting mad when you get bored of playing mortal kombat, like he knows he's in a game and so does all the others and sometimes you could see his character look at you through the screen eugghhh

And then he overrides the new game you're playing and snatches you up :33

stuck in a dream

a/n: god i need him so bad it isn't even funny

pairing: lord raiden x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), nipple play, pussy eating, finger fucking, electrostim, creampies, size kink, praise kink, slight overstimulation, not proofread

you stare at your desktop, trying to decide whether or not to play the new Mortal Kombat 1 game or to play Mortal Kombat 11, and you flick between the two of them

the appeal of the new game is tempting, but you had a soft spot for Mortal Kombat 11, especially Lord Raiden

you had painstakingly unlocked every skin and detail and item for the god, had bought stickers of him that decorated your water bottle and laptop, had pins of him on your bag, had hung charms of him from your keys

your friends often joked about your obsession with lord Raiden, and it never failed to make you blush and smack them out of embarrassment

sure, maybe the obsession you had with him was a little unorthodox, but it wasn’t like he was real or anything

staring at the screen, you purse your lips and click purchase on the new game, watching the little icon load and give you a loading time

a couple of hours, enough to get some dinner and then take a nap before you play

you set down the controller and get up out of your seat, stretching out your stiff muscles and walking over to the door, ready to go and microwave something from the fridge

the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as a feeling of unease creeps up your spine, like someone was watching you, and you turn around

your bedroom was still empty, the window blinds open, and you place a hand over your beating heart and walk over to the window and make sure it’s locked before you close the blinds

seems like you were on edge for no reason, but it was a tad strange still for you to be on edge so sudden

you shake off the feeling and pad off to the kitchen and microwave some leftover rice and side dishes, scrolling through your phone mindlessly and avoiding spoilers left and right

as you finally wash the last dish and leave it in the drying rack, you fill up your water bottle and walk back to your bedroom

sparing a glance to your computer, you nearly have a heart attack when you see the Mortal Kombat 11 game open on the character select screen, Lord Raiden staring right ahead

okay, you most definitely didn’t open the Mortal Kombat 11 game when you left your room, and you sit back into your chair and take hold of the controller

Lord Raiden stares ahead at you, and you purse your lips

something felt different, like he was actually staring at you and not just forward, and you quickly exit out of the game, watching your screen load and then finally close the game

static shocks your fingers and you drop the controller into your lap, rubbing at your fingers and staring at your controller

that…that most definitely was not normal, but maybe you were just tired and needed some sleep, that nap sounded really appealing right now

you check on the progress of the game, halfway done downloading, nothing seemed wrong with it, and you rub at your eyes and sigh

yeah, you were definitely just tired, work had just been long today

standing up from your chair, you just flop onto the bed behind your chair and don’t bother with covering yourself in the blanket as you close your eyes

it’s easier than expected to fall asleep, and you sigh and snuggle, letting yourself drift into the land of dreams

a jolt wakes you up, and you twitch violently, eyes snapping open, except you’re not in your room

the room resembles more a temple rather than your apartment room, and you blink for a second, sleep still heavy over your body

oh, you were probably just dreaming

getting up off the bed, you open up the door, heavy and sturdy beneath your fingertips and walk through the compound

it’s like you’ve been transported into a historical c-drama about monks, the temple vast an gorgeous and clearly built with a lot of respect and love and money

something buzzes in your brain, the temple looked so familiar, but you’re sure that you’ve never seen this building in real life

turning another corner, you find someone large and much too tall to be human standing in a room, talking with two others

wait, no, was that Liu Kang and Kung Lao? were you so deep into Mortal Kombat that you had started dreaming about them?

Liu Kang glances over to your and his eyebrows draw up in surprise at your appearance, his mouth slightly opening as he repeats your name

oh yeah, definitely a dream, but your heart still stutters in your chest when the tall imposing figure turns around and reveals himself to be Lord Raiden

heat rushes up to your cheeks, and you clear your throat and say hi to all three of them, hoping that you didn’t look as flustered as you felt

Lord Raiden stares down at you, hands twitching at his sides, and he steps toward you, making you crane your neck up to stare at him

you don’t expect it when his hands come up to cup your face, almost as if inspecting you, bright eyes wide with wonder as he touches your face

he squishes your face slightly and then murmurs something underneath his breath that you can’t quite hear over the beating of your heart

his eyes seem to glow as he stares at you and a shiver goes up your spine, the same one from before

strange, but the thought it swept away when he grabs onto your waist and hoists you over his shoulder, making you squeak and your hands to try and steady yourself

the last glimpse you see of Kung Lao and Liu Kang is them looking at you with a terrified expression before a flash of lightning overtakes your vision

you blink away the white, nearly losing your breath when Lord Raiden throws you onto the bed and just towers over you, just staring at you and breathing heavily

he mumbles that he’s been waiting for this for so long, to finally have you in this bed, and your brain swims with this self-indulgent fantasy

well, you might as well enjoy this while you can, and you smile up at him, telling him to show you just how much he had longed for you

his lips part and then he leans down and kisses you, warm and heady all the same, broad chest pressing firmly into you, only his own arms holding himself up

you throw your arms around his neck and kiss him back, humming into his mouth at how warm and real this felt

brains truly were a wonderful thing

his lips are desperate, never stopping, barely tilting his head back to catch a breath before he’s back on you, groaning about how he wished for this ever since he had laid eyes on you

a slow warmth fills you up as he continues to kiss, and you tug off his hat and his cowl, threading your hand through his hair and slightly opening your eyes

bright white hair that seemed to glow in time with his heartbeat, how interesting

he pulls away, blinking slowly at you, pushing his hips toward the bed, forcing you to part them open to accommodate for his size

you continue to play with his hair, mindlessly playing with it, and he lets you, staring at your lips, your eyes, your neck

he leans down and presses light kisses to your neck, slightly nipping at the skin, and you let out a surprised sound when his teeth are sharper than you had expected

Lord Raiden doesn’t acknowledge your surprise, shoulders simply flexing as he kisses his way down your neck until his lips reach the edge of your clothing

one of his hands lift up to remove the offending piece of clothing, and you smile at him and tell him that you can get it off yourself

his lips downturn into a frown at the thought of having to get off of you, and he shuffles back up just enough to place another kiss on your lips before slowly peeling himself off of you

you sit up on the bed, grabbing onto the edge of your shirt and slowly taking it off over your head, teasing him with your skin

he focuses right onto your chest, the skin unmarked and all for him, and twitches toward you ready to get back on you and adorn you with his worship

slapping at his hand lightly, hs eye twitches, almost offended that you had told him in essence to stop touching you

but the expression quickly fades when you hands travel down to your pants, and you slowly take them off along with your underwear

his chest heaves up and down as he stares at you, completely enraptured with how you look, and one of his hands come toward you, squeezing at the soft flesh of your thigh

Lord Raiden looks back up to you, breathless and then mumbles that he truly had made the right decision, and before you can question him, his lips press to your chest

one of his hands palm at your chest, taking your sensitive nipple in between his rough fingertips and pinching lightly

you bite your lip and let out a small sound, one hand going over your mouth as you watch your favorite character kiss and lick at your chest

truly, this dream was a blessing

he sucks at your chest, drawing hickeys to the surface and then pressing the flat of his wide tongue over the mark and then lightly biting it

it makes you jolt and gasp, and the god looks back up at you and then closes his eyes as he wraps his lips around one of your nipples and sucks on it

his moans travel through you, making you gasp and let out a small whimper as your hands finally make your way into his hair

Lord Raiden just sucks harder, pressing his tongue into your nipple and flicking it back and forth before lightly nipping at it

his hand teases your other nipple, pinching and rolling it in between his rough fingers, and you whine out his name, hips jutting upwards

he opens his eyes to look at you, detaching his mouth from you for just a second, a string of spit connecting your nipples to his mouth, and he looks up at you expectantly

you suddenly feel embarrassed as he asks you what you want, his low voice making your head buzz, and you just manage to squeak out for him to go easy on you

rather than answering you, he simply switches his mouth to your other nipple, sucking on it and lightly nipping at it to make you whine and gasp while his other hand goes back to your spit-slicked nipple to roughly squeeze

squirming underneath him, you feel him groan into your chest as your hips rut upward for some type of friction on your clit, and he finally moves on from your chest to kiss down your stomach

his hands grab onto your thighs and bring them into his shoulders as he stares at your pussy, taking two of his fingers and spreading your folds apart to look at the mess you had made

heat spreads through you as he just stares, mouth slightly parted, and you frown and tug at his hair, asking him to please touch you in a hushed voice

for a dream, Lord Raiden sure liked to take his time

he flits his gaze to you before looking back to your dripping pussy and finally pressing the flat of his tongue against your clit

you moan and tilt your head back and close your eyes, mouth slightly parting as you let him taste you

it feels better than anything you could have imagined, the wide flat of his tongue lapping at your desperately, sending you spiraling into a pool of pleasure

the heat spreads throughout your body and fills your body with cotton, only your fingers firm as you hold onto his hair, trying to keep yourself grounded into reality

soon enough, your grip on reality disappears when two of his fingers slip in between your folds, collecting your wetness and then stretching open your cunt

you whine and squeeze around his fingers, gasping at how thick he is and panting into the air as you try to regain your sense of self

Lord Raiden grins into you, wrapping his lips around your clit and sliding his fingers in deeper, crooking his fingers upward to try and find your sweet spot

he doesn’t take long to find it when you whine loudly and then snap your mouth shut when you realize just how loud you had been

his fingers press into that spot insistently, sending pulses of pleasure echoing through you, and your legs squeeze his head, as if trying to get away from the stimulation

but it’s addicting, how he presses into you, how his tongue lavishes your clit with attention

you let out a sharp sound when a jolt of electricity runs through your sweet spot, your vision going white for a brief moment, and your hands twitch in his hair

another jolt goes through your sweet spot, and he brings his head away from you and slightly adjusts your position so that his other hand can press his thumb into your clit

realizing just a second too late what he’s going to do, you’re helpless as he runs electricity through you, blinding pleasure racing through you

your back can’t help but arch off the bed as you whine and whimper, mind going blank as you cum on his fingers, hips desperately rutting upwards to get away from the stimulation

the electricity running through your clit stops first and then his fingers buried deep in you finally relent on the electricity, opting to instead scissor them inside of you

you stare up at the ceiling of the bedroom, mind still reeling from what was probably the most intense orgasm of your life

he slips his fingers out of you, and your head lifts up just in time to catch him tasting your release on his fingers, moaning at the taste of you as he cleans his fingers off with his wide tongue

somehow, you think you’re more aroused at the sight, and you clench around nothing

Lord Raiden looks back at you and shuffles back upward, pulling his pants down just enough to reveal his cock, and you suddenly thank whatever god was up there that this was a dream because that would most definitely not fit inside of you in real life

it was flush at the tip, leaking pre-cum and you probably wouldn’t be able to make your hand wrap completely around it if you tried and you swear that it was longer than your forearm

he brings your attention back to him as one of his hands cup your cheek, and he tells you he’ll make it fit, that you and him finally have all the time in the world

odd comment, but you just smile back up at him and tell him to kiss you

smiling at you, he says he gladly will and leans down to kiss you, and you reach your hand down to try and give him back some modicum of pleasure he had given you earlier

his lips frown against yours, and he pulls back and slaps your hand away, telling you that he was going to enjoy his spoils today, that perhaps another time he’ll have you suck his cock

you frown at him, wanting to at least get a taste of him before you woke up, but he leaves no room for argument as he kisses you again and brings your legs to wrap around his waist

his cock grinds into you, dragging deliciously against your clit, and you can’t help but moan into his mouth at the feeling

it’s all he does for a moment, just kissing you, and your hands grip onto the back of his shirt, wanting to pull it off, to feel his skin underneath yours

he ignores your silent request and pulls away from your lips only to get up onto his knees, lifting your hips with him into the air and lining his cock up with your pussy

slowly, he pushes his way in, and you squeeze your eyes shut and claw at the sheets at the sting of pain that rushes through you

Lord Raiden doesn’t stop, simply pushing in further and further, and you gasp and whine out his name once again, trying to say that it was too much as you clench around him

he simply adjusts one of his hands so that his thumb covers your clit, and he slowly rub it back and forth to get you to relax

the pain and pleasure mixes and swirls in you, your body unsure of whether it wants more and if it wants to get away

pleasure wins as you hear the squelch of your pussy struggling to accommodate to his size, and he only stops when there’s too much resistance

finally, Lord Raiden speaks, telling you that you’re doing so well taking him, so so good for him, letting him taste you, to test on you, to kiss you

he glances down, saying that you still a little bit left, but that was okay, he would make sure to stretch you enough so that you could take him all one day

his words muddle and turn into a puddle in your brain as you let out labored breaths, still trying to adjust to his size

thankfully, he moves his thumb insistently against your sensitive clit, keeping you relaxed and slick as the sting of the stretch finally morphs into pleasure

you whimper for him to move, and there’s a slight pause before he finally draws his hips back slightly and thrusts back in

it still slightly stings, but you bear through it as he praises you, telling you that you were doing so well, so good for him, taking his cock so well

his thrusts slowly get longer and longer, rougher and rougher, until he pulls back so that just the tip remains and thrusts in, the wet sound of your pussy echoing in the room

your breathless pants fill the room with you whines and moans, and Lord Raiden is quiet, only letting out a few groans here and there

his lips are pursed together, as if he wanted to hear you better, to hear how he pleasured you

in the haze of pleasure, his cock stretching and pressing just right against that spot that makes pleasure flood through you, you don’t notice how his hands grip on tighter and how he mumbles under his breath that he finally has you forever

he fucks into you, and you whine out that you’re going to cum, hands gripping onto the sheets

Lord Raiden tells you that he knows, and he continues to rub his thumb against your clit, waiting breathlessly for you

you whimper and moan out his name, tilting your head back and letting out a long moan as you cum on his cock, hips slightly twitching in his grip

he groans as your pussy squeezes around him, and his own hips finally stutter as he buries in himself as deep as he can and groans out your name

his hips shallowly thrust into you to fuck his cum deeper into you, almost hesitantly like he didn’t want to leave your warmth

opening your eyes, you look up at him with half-lidded eyes, and he presses his lips together as he slips out of you, looking almost mournful at the loss of your heat

you only groan, overstimulation starting to kick in, and close your eyes again, feeling his hands brush up against your skin and then cup your face

his lips press to yours again before he tells you to rest and that he’ll get you cleaned up, and you let out a hum as you turn to your side and slightly curl up to get comfortable

when you take up, your vision is still slightly blurry with sleep, but you recognize the bedroom from your dream

you’re still not in your own bedroom

okay, so that was a little strange, and you lightly pay your face with both hands, trying to wake yourself up

you get up out of the bed and then fall down to the floor when you your legs don’t work, your body sore and tired from earlier

panic slightly sets in when the pain of falling down to the wooden floor doesn’t jolt you awake back into your own world, and you force yourself to stand up, using the nightstand next to you to grab onto with your hands to help yourself up

the door to the bedroom slides open, and Lord Raiden rushes over to you, saying that you were not nearly well enough to get up out of bed yet

you stare at him, complaining underneath your breath that this was some dream, and Lord Raiden quirks his head at you

he says that this was no dream, you were in his world now, for good

in his world

what the fuck

his smile unnerves you as you start to struggle, words sputtering and failing as you try to ask what he meant, and he only settles you back into the bed and says that he and you had all the time in the world since you were finally his

now that he had brought you from your world into his, everything was finally perfect, and your brain struggles to comprehend the weight of his words

he hums at your dumbfounded expression as he sits down on the bed, the mattress creaking and tipping toward him as he says that he has spent many many years here now

and you, his god, the player, his only solace were finally here in his arms, he wouldn’t be letting you go now

you start to understand why Liu Kang and Kung Lao had looked so terrified when he had whisked you away when his eyes slightly crackle red as he stares at you

[matcha-binz]

Muse. (teaser)

The newly arrived painting captures your attention as the archivist of the local museum. But, as you investigate further, you discover a secret that no one was supposed to know. Panicking, you run from the scene in a daze, trying to hide what you have witnessed. Before you could even realize, you were stopped from your trance by a suspicious individual. To your horror, it was none other than the secret himself. the muse of the oil painting stood right before you, looking into your eyes with a gaze too human.

Genre . Suspense, fantasy, romance, fluff

pairing . Prince!beomgyu x museum worker!reader

wc . N/A

note . Erm… oops. I’ve been gone for a while now… tehe. Anyways I’m back with this wip. Idk when it will be released, probably at the start of September, hopefully !

As your hands trace the intricate, gold framing of the painting, your eyes cant help but wander back to his deep, honey hued ones. This one is different.

The brush strokes that combine together to make his eyelids, the thin lashes that look as if they were painted each individually, and the deep, oak colored hair that rest around the golden crown adorning the head. And his lips, so carefully painted the exact shade of the pink carnations that he held. His attire is something a tad too simple for a prince to wear — a plain ruffled tunic, fading to a light beige — a popular clothing choice from this time, you observe.

It’s hard to imagine someone to be this beautiful. But at the same time, this oil painting seems to be waiting for the moment to just come to life. The furrowing of your brows do not go unnoticed by Taehyun, as he observes your reaction from the doorway.

“It took some time for it to arrive here-“ a graceful smile paints his face. “… I’m glad you like it” he chuckles, his laugh echoing off the dim lighted walls at your speechless form.

It takes a good second for you to snap out of your awe struck trance, stuttering a flustered respond for your coworker, who only smiles as you do so. “L-like it…? Taehyun, I’m like- “ you sigh. “I… I can’t believe this.. “

with an airy laugh — that was more of a half gasp — you turn over your shoulder to look into his eyes. “This can’t be… is this… the original copy?”

your eyes widen as he slowly nods his head. Your teeth nip on your lower lip as you struggle to keep in your excitement, the hand that rested on the gold frame of the painting jitters and twitch as you tuck it back in your cardigan pocket, and the smile that etched onto your face, you knew that it wasn’t coming off anytime soon.

“Well, I’ll trust this relic to you then” he states, shooting you a farewell smile and shutting the wooden door behind him. As he leaves you in the room, the sun has completely set behind the horizon and leaves darkness scattered in the sky. the clock strikes 8.

With one last glance at the painting, taking in all of its beauty, you take a step back, letting out a small yelp nearly tripping over a pile of old books that was probably left by taehyun as well. Lovely. A sigh leaves your lips as you crouch to take pick them up, blowing away the dust as you walk towards your desk that sits facing the wall.

“All right, then. Let’s get you in the system…” you idly mutter to yourself as you turn on the computer, the soft sound of the whirring fills the room, reminding you of just how old this computer is. As you quickly punch in the pin, you take note of saving up for a new desktop, this old one takes too long to load, to your dismay.

You right click onto the program to record the the addition to the museum gallery. Most of the gallery consists of old relics from important time periods to relics and art from before technology existed. You have always found these works to be exceptionally beautiful, the timelessness of these objects made by the talented artists are not to be forgotten by those who truly appreciate art.

Same goes for this painting, you think as you enter the description and the room it shall be placed in. But as the cursor hovers over the ‘name’ section, you hum as you try to rack your brain for the name of this piece.

“Hm… What was your name again..?” You say, to no one in particular as you glance back at the painting that stood still in the middle of the room, the dim lighting shining off the gold frame. Your brow raises as you tilt your head. Did you move it to the center before? The memory doesn’t appear immediately, but you deduce that you probably did.

And with a shrug, you turn back to the glowing screen, letting out a theatrical sigh.

”You may address me as prince Choi, ”

-