#half the apps i was using are closed. only Word remains

[keeps-ache]

breaking news! i am in the barrel

[octuscle]

InstaMorph

InstaMorph was not actually supposed to be released in the AppStores. The beta test phase was not even close to being completed. But somehow the app had ended up in the stores. And even though it was an insider tip, an active user community quickly developed. Very few users were probably aware that what the app did was not just digital…

The way it worked was simple: people used Instagram as normal. But the comments were exclusively visible to Instamorph users. And the comments changed what you saw in the posts. Digitally. But also in the real world!

Steven and Ronald were not at all happy about being photographed by a magazine photographer on their way to the opera. Ronald's father, the two of them, was already thinking about calling him to file a lawsuit for violation of personal rights. By that time, the picture of the two of them had long been online with the caption “Young opera fans on their way to a glamorous premiere”. This sealed their fate.

The 2 of dem r quite kawaii, but they look liek they have a sticc up their ass

yea, a lil looser wud b dope.

the 2 of dem lacc the rite cocky attitude. The tuxedo is dope, but u have 2 fill it out

send deez 2 bacc 2 school! they need 2 mor yrs of lyfe experience. And they shud get it @ the gym

whomst the hell goes 2 an opera premiere? a movie premier wud b much cooler!

Steven and Ronald got dizzy. “Bro, do you also have the feeling that we've overdone it in training?” Steven asked his buddy. He gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Dude, you know you look even better in a tuxedo when you've pumped up your chest and biceps!”

Somehow still far 2 clean!

wat kinda movie premier is dis supposed 2 b? looks totally lame

wdy think of the red carpet @ a boxing match?

lit idea! and deez 2 r such fighters!

lit muscles and dope tattoos. Tht wud b poggers!

Their tuxedos vanished into thin air. Their hairstyles screamed “boy from the slums”. School education? Manners? The two of them became full-on jocks from the boxing gym!

“That's it!” “Let the muscles play!” “Give me a killer smile!” “Come on, do a double bicep pose!” Steve and Ron knew the drill. The camera loved them. And they loved the camera. Sure, they needed to work well together. Their business as personal trainers and fitness influencers could only remain successful if they were not only present on their own channels. An appearance like this before a boxing match was important for their image. And that's why they walked the red carpet half naked at 10 degrees Celsius with nipples as hard as steel.

I find dem boring

u name it, interchangeable liek barbie's ken

what if they wer older?

damn, thats a lit idea! such lit muscle daddies

silver foxes made flesh

hey, muscle dilf! show meh ur magnificent cock!

Steve and Ron smiled at the photographers and struck a pose. Most of the youngsters could have been their sons. Although, if they were their sons, the first question would have been who the mother should have been. Shit, they'd never stuck their cocks in a wet cunt. They were both into concrete asses and steel hard cocks. And apart from that, they would have beaten the sissies to the gym on the edge of the red carpet as teenagers. Steve and Ron were icons in the fitness scene. The two had already made a fortune with fitness videos and nutritional supplements before the word 'influencer' had even been invented. The two were in high spirits at the opening of the 100th branch of their Boxing Gym chain. It was going to be a great party. And plenty of fresh meat begging to be fucked by them according to all the rules of the art. Such bodies in combination with so much experience in bed could only be offered by these two. And the boys stood in line at attention for that.

[onlyswan]

summary: in which a shameless ex-lover makes your bad day worse and jungkook can’t help but to go wherever you are.

> fluff, dashes of angst / wc: 4k

> warnings: mention of blood bc oc gets scratched :( + is ready to throw hands at jk’s ex and then cries lol, taehyung cameo and mentions of yeontan :P + a line of jk reminds me of the orpheus drabble <3

note: last one for a while as i take a rest from writing and process jimin’s album <3 reblogs and feedback are always appreciated! it goes a long way :]

—

“jungkook, you’ve been in there for an hour! answer your phone!”

you click your tongue in annoyance, bouncing your thighs up and down as you fiddle with the controller and collect your kills with reckless tenacity. the ringing of the third phone call he’s receiving in the past ten minutes is overpowering the volume of the game, which you turned all the way down just enough so that you can faintly yet clearly hear it. well, right now, you can’t anymore. again.

“baby, you’re home?!” jungkook yells in surprise, and you spare him a glance.

half of his naked torso is peeking out of the bathroom door, and he looks like a maltese puppy who heedlessly jumped into a swimming pool, hair still dripping wet and pure excitement painted all over his face.

“who’s calling anyway? you can answer it for me!“

“can’t. i’m playing call of duty.”

“you’re what?!” he exclaims, but his voice enters your ear then escapes from the other as you remain deeply absorbed in the game. he disappears for a minute before emerging from the bathroom, half-naked with a striped white and khaki towel wrapped around his waist down to his knees.

you’re situated on the floor with your back leaning on the couch. he stands beside you with his hands on his waist, watching the television screen in sheer curiosity, which then morphs into astonishment. “wow, you’re actually playing it… i haven’t seen you touch your controller in months. but why are you sudden- yah! what is this? how are you doing so good?!”

the phone lying on the center table lights up once more. the incessant noise is seriously getting into your nerves and you’ve had enough of it, gritting your teeth as you snap. “i’m begging you. answer it. or i might break something.”

the irritation embedded in your voice makes him jut out his bottom lip sadly. more than that, your facial expression and body language evidently scream that you’re feeling on edge. you didn’t even bother to let him know that you’ve come home, and he’s uncertain if you nearly muted the volume because you don’t want to listen to the ear-shattering sounds of ammunition being fired or you don’t want him to hear them.

he picks up the phone per your request, eyebrows knitting in confusion when he fails to recognize the number flashing on the screen.

“it’s an unregistered number. i don’t know who- oopsie-” he scrunches his nose, chuckling because he accidentally ended the call when he muted the device. it vibrates with a new message from the same person not too long after.

“it’s my ex?” he blinks with a blank expression on his face. he intently reads the content of the text, tugging at the silver ring piercing the corner of his lower lip. “uhhh- she’s… asking me to put in a good word for her… because she applied to be an in-house choreographer at- at the company.”

on the other hand, you feel like a bucket of ice water was dunked over your head at the mention of your boyfriend’s ex-lover. your vigorous focus on the game wavers, but luckily, you’re already so close to finishing, and you still maintain half a mind to end the game in your own terms. the word ‘victory’ flashes on the giant screen, and you almost break down into tears because god knows you needed a fucking win today.

jungkook gasps in amazement, whipping out the camera app to capture a photo of your achievement. “did you just fucking win solo versus squads?”

the thing is… you’re not the biggest fan of these games. sure, you play occasionally (only using his accounts because you like how he already has most items unlocked and you can freely play around… you like to pretend that you’ve never been scolded for making him rank down before), but you prefer the relaxing types with adorable and colorful graphics. and just like he said, you haven’t touched your controller in months, which must be the reason why he’s pleasantly surprised. you won’t be shocked if you get bombarded by his gamer friends to play with them tomorrow, by the looks of your boyfriend proudly typing away at his keyboard while smiling from ear-to-ear.

“don’t move on too fast.” you breathe out a deep sigh before standing on your feet. “which ex? that bitch you broke up with because she kept on picking stupid fights with your friends? and now she wants to work with them?”

the combination of your harsh intonation and the recollection of dreadful memories make him wince. that relationship didn’t end on good terms, so this is confusing to him as well. it was a person he wholeheartedly liked, but they barely lasted six months because the way she treated those who are near and dear to him, unkind and discorteous, eventually turned him off and made him nothing but angry. she tried to convince him that she could change, but it was his decision that could no longer be changed.

does it even matter? he didn’t dwell on it too long, anyway. because then, he met you.

“yes,” he shortly answers, flipping his phone so the screen is facing you.

your brain chooses to not register any of the other characters used in the text except for those at the end: the flirty ‘Thanks babe! I miss u so much. See u around soon. Let’s catch up’ and winking emoji blowing a red heart next to it. you release yet another sigh, this time shaky and frustrated, and you gently move his hand aside to get the phone out of your sight. a headache is beginning to blossom at your temples, and you truly do not have the energy to deal with this bullshit right now.

“you must know how i feel about this, right?”

“i’m not sure-”

“like if she calls you ‘babe’ infront of my face i won’t hold back and i will claw her eyes ou-“

“okay, okay, baby, i got it!” he chuckles, taking a hold of your arms to pull you closer to him. he plants a sweet kiss to your lips, hoping that would aid in putting your mind at ease. “i won’t let her call me that again, hmm? or do anything that will make either of us uncomfortable for that matter.”

“good. i trust you. do whatever you want.” you speak softly, giving his rosy cheek light pats. he always looks a dash more attractive when fresh from the shower, so entrancingly hypnotic when bare-faced that it makes you want to fall on your knees and worship the stardust making up his existence.

unfortunately, your mind is too clouded and restless and you can’t stay to admire him some more. you withdraw from his hold, the cold drops of water from his hair sliding down to your forearm and you wipe them away on his towel.

“i’m going out for a bit. i need to buy something at the convenience store.”

you don’t wait for him to answer. you head straight to the bedroom to collect your essentials.

“wait for me. i’ll go with you!”

you return wearing a long purple jacket over your blue t-shirt and white sweatpants, also carrying your phone, wallet and pepper spray.

“i’ll be fine alone. i got this.” you wave the small bottle infront of him before stuffing it in the pocket of your sweatpants.

the front door rings as it opens and shuts, and jungkook despises the weight sitting on top of his chest— heavier and heavier with your absence. he still wanted to insist on tagging along, worried because it’s already late at night, but he gave up when he sensed that you really need to be left alone.

“shit, let me take care of this first.” he tilts his head to the side, and then the other, cracking his neck before he scrolls through his contact list to make an important call.

—

the soles of your sneakers scratch the rough asphalt as you lazily drag yourself to the convenience store. you’re having one of those kind of bad days- you woke up this morning mad at the world for a reason you couldn’t decipher, and it only got worse after you left the house for work. you brushed against someone while chasing the bus and the zipper of their bag scratched your arm that it bled uncontrollably. the nearest restaurant to your workplace was closed and you had to walk an extra kilometer. you didn’t have the time to text jungkook and complain about the shitty day you’ve been having. and you had to suffer the bus ride home beside an old teacher from high school who never ran out of uninteresting stories to tell.

oh! and how can you not mention that you were subjected to remembering that your boyfriend fell in love with other people before he knew you? the mere mental image of jungkook being emotionally and physically intimate with somebody else is a strong punch in the gut that makes you want to run in a corner and hurl.

and to rub salt on the wound, his ex-girlfriend, who is more than comfortable to reach out to him with an old term of endearment, wants to work at close proximity with him after saying ‘i miss you so much’… was the ‘so much’ necessary? was saying ‘i miss you’ necessary at all? you don’t know her intentions or if she even has any, and you don’t care if they’re good or bad. you simply cannot bear the idea of having to be constantly plagued by these vexatious musings.

maybe a good cry would help, but the tears won’t come out of your stinging eyes blinded by bright and flickering neon shop signs lined up beside the street. they’re saltwater in your lungs, making it difficult for you to breathe and to make sense of why you don’t feel like yourself today. it’s hormones. it’s always the hormones, you try telling yourself.

—

you’re sitting infront of the glass wall separating the sidewalk and the convenience store, watching the humans and the cars speeding past without much thought in your head… except for the hellish torture you’re inflicting on yourself. you sniffle loudly as you chew the spicy noodles in your mouth. your tongue is tingling and almost numb, but you lift up the flimsy wooden chopsticks to eat more of it because somehow, this is exactly what you needed. perhaps, it wasn’t accidental when you ended up pouring most of the buldak sauce.

however, your own little bubble gets popped by a tattooed hand you recognize all too well. it sets down a bottle of cold water infront of your cup of noodles.

“hi there.”

jungkook kisses the top of your head before occupying the stool on your left, which is the second seat farthest from the door that chimes every time a new customer walks in. he is very much not naked anymore, wearing a plain white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. his hair is still damp, bangs forming a perfect comma on his forehead, and the thin silver chain dangling from his delicate neck sparkles when the light grazes it.

“aigoo, why are you so messy?“

the doe eyes behind his glasses smile at you warmly as he wipes your swollen lips, the paper napkin you’ve been neglecting now stained with the dark red sauce.

“you’re here?” you ask dumbly, wanting to slap yourself right after the words escape your mouth because yes, what the fuck, he’s here. he’s touching you, and he’s real.

“of course, i’m here,” his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek before he answers, sounding upset. he removes his glasses and places it on top of the long white table. “i just wore the first things i saw then speedwalked here. i was sorting out the laundry and your handkerchief had blood all over it! care to explain?”

you guiltily avoid eye-contact, reverting your attention to the food as you poke and mix the noodles that have gone dry due to the cold air. “you didn’t have to. i already cleaned the wound twice- my left arm just got scratched.” you shrug your shoulders meekly. “i had a bad day, that’s all.”

“who do i have to fight, huh? who hurt you and ruined your day?” he takes your chin between his thumb and index finger, lifting it up to make you look at him. his sincere concern is written all over his widened round eyes and creased forehead. “tell me, baby. i’ll make them pay.”

“well,” you anxiously sink your teeth on your bottom lip, a hesitant effort to control yourself because the particular word tastes too sour on your tongue. “your ex was just my last straw, you know? i don’t even want to call you ‘babe’ anymore.” your voice gradually quiets down in exasperation.

“why not?!”

you roll your eyes with a huff, pushing his hand away. “you’ll just remember her every time i say it.”

you grab the bottle of water, twisting off the cap and hissing when its ridges scratch the heel of your palm. you take big gulps of the beverage, feeling refreshed after the burning onslaught that assaulted your mouth.

“oh, come here. you- i need you closer.”

you squeak when you feel the heavy metal chair moving closer towards jungkook’s direction, one hand flying to your mouth and the other gripping his shoulder in fear of falling. he jokingly copies you when you send him a sharp glare. he puts an arm around you to affectionately hold the curve of your waist, anchoring his elbow on the table to rest his face on the palm of his hand.

“i took care of that, alright? i asked the company and they told me they put her on the waitlist. pretty sure she knows, too- that she’s not getting the job.“ he raises his perfectly shaped eyebrows in jest, playfully sticking out his tongue. “i told her i can’t help her, and not to contact me again in the future because i’m in a committed relationship. with you.” he squeezes your hip to reiterate his words. “then i blocked her number. i thought i did it before, but i guess i forgot to? ah, i don’t know!”

a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips and he happily grins when he notices, deep dimples making an appearance. unable to resist the urge, he briefly draws closer to kiss your cheek.

“besides, i forgot she even existed. why would i think of her when my favorite person is right infront of me? that’s absurd.”

he was truthfully flabbergasted at the foggy memories that resurfaced when he read her name, had one of those ‘oh, that’s right, this happened,’ and ‘why the fuck did i like this person again?’ moments.

“you’re the only one i think of when i hear the word ‘babe’. and when i hear love songs, or breakup songs, because they make me imagine us breaking up and i get so fucking sad.” his expression crumples into a look of sheepishness after spitting out the unplanned confession.

it’s terrifying at times, how an imaginary breakup with you feels more painful than his past heartbreaks combined. he almost lost you once, and he won’t let that happen again. he removes his hand on your waist to tenderly caress your hair when you bury your face in your hands.

shaking your head, you giggle at the genuine distress lacing his voice when he said the last sentence. “what are you saying?”

and then it finally happens.

restrained sobs replace the carefree giggles racking your body. your hot tears soak the palm of your hands until they drip down to your wrists. your frail voice comes out trembling, shattered, and disgustingly vulnerable for a space scattered with prying eyes and ears.

“…i just- fuck, i don’t want to say this but- i don’t think you understand- that i’m selfish. and i want you all for myself. i can’t stand that everybody wants to have you. i hate it, jungkook.”

your name rolls off from his tongue with a soft sigh as he pulls you in for a tight embrace. the comfort of his love and warmth further breaks you down, and you almost make yourself bleed to keep your cries quiet. his silken lips brush against your temple before he puckers them for a kiss that lasts four, five, six… seconds. you begin wondering if he might just stay like this forever, not that you mind, until he detaches himself to speak and you hear the smooching sound that signals the end of it.

“shhh, trust me, baby. i do.” he rubs your shoulder to soothe your tensed up body. “but i don’t care about that. they can die trying because i only want to be yours.”

you swallow the lump in your throat as his reassuring words tug at your heartstrings. you wiggle out of his secure arms, wiping your tears with the paws of your jacket as you force a smile. “it’s embarrassing. i don’t want to cry here.”

“how about in there, then?” he teasingly undoes the third button of his shirt, exposing more of his honey skin to the cool air. it reveals the rest of his silver chain, and his defined pecs are also peeking out. you whine in protest of his scandalousness, pounding his chest lightly with your closed fist.

he chuckles, corners of her crinkling with mischief as he buttons himself up again. “i’m kidding, i’m kidding-” he cradles your face in his hands, gingerly wiping away the tears still rolling down your cheeks.

between the two of you, he admits that he’s the one who cries more easily. it takes a colossal build-up of emotions for your tears to be released, and today’s influx caused your sink to overflow at long last. seeing you weep, it feels like a direct stab to the heart— especially unbearable, twisting deeper, when he’s part reason why. even so, it’s a big relief when the weight you’re carrying is being unloaded. but he understands that you don’t want to do that here… not here.

“as if you’ll let someone steal me away from you, huh? i know you, you cunning minx.”

you feign innocence, batting your eyelashes. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“that’s exactly what i’m talking about.” he smirks before planting a chaste kiss on tip of your nose. “don’t cry anymore. i love you.”

“i love you, too. but-” you sniffle, frowning at him as you motion at the cup of noodles infront of you. “why did you have to go and make me feel better? i don’t feel like finishing this anymore. it’s too spicy.”

“yeah, i can tell. look at your face. oh-” he squeezes your puffy face in one hand. “you were already crying eating that, poor baby… i’ll just finish the rest, how about that?”

“please,” you smile sweetly, delighted with his preposition. “i’ll buy ice cream. do you want anything? beer?”

“beer-” his face lights up like a christmas tree when it dawns on him that you said the word simultaneously.

you beam proudly, recounting the time you’ve been well-acquainted with every nook and cranny of jungkook’s essence of being. “did i pass the test? i’m taking my master’s degree in kookology.”

—

after jungkook finished your spicy noodles, he claimed his appetite only treated it as an appetizer and it demanded to be served ramyeon for the main course. that brings you to this moment, your boyfriend applying bandaids on your arm while he waits for his food to be cooked. concurrently, you devour your cone of vanilla ice cream.

“babe, i think two is enough.“ you attempt to stop him from opening another one of the teddy bear patterned bandaids. he found them displayed by the counter when he paid for the ramyeon, and only then did he realize that he forgot why he ran to you in the first place.

“they’re not- it goes all the way down your elbow.”

and you can’t argue with him because he looks undoubtedly pissed off, his expression instantly darkening when he saw the damage that damn zipper did to your skin. if this happened to him, he would be in a terrible mood for the rest of the day, too.

he plants a healing kiss on top of each one and your heart flutters at the loving gestures, but you feel a little ridiculous walking around with three bandaids running across your arm. you decide to wear your jacket again in order to hide them, since you’re freezing beside the airconditioner anyway.

jungkook starts eating his second round of noodles, but not before boasting that he perfectly separated the wooden chopsticks unlike you. you roll your eyes at his cocky grin and tiny dance of celebration, taking another bite of the cone you’ve consumed halfway.

the two of you comically freeze at the same time when a familiar ringtone tickles your ears.

“who would be calling at this hour? it’s 1am!” jungkook puts down his chopsticks to fish out his phone from the depths of his pocket, his thick satoori accent slipping out as he chides the person on the other line. he shakes his head with a laugh when he sees the name written on the screen. “ey, of course, it’s him again. i knew it.”

you watch him with an amused smile, his reaction giving you an inkling of who it is.

he answers the video call and props up the phone on his tall can of beer, grabbing his chopsticks to resume eating. “hyung, did you just wake up again?”

judging by the background, taehyung is in his gaming room. the given keywords being messy hair and eyes as puffy as yours, you’re pretty sure the answer to your boyfriend’s question is yes.

his deep and rough voice rumbles through the speaker. “jungkook-ah, i just caught up to our gc. where’s ___?”

“with me. why?” jungkook answers, words muffled as he chews and bounces his legs with the pleasure of having his food craving beyond satisfied.

taehyung ignores his question for the second time, instead calling out your name to catch your attention.

“whyyy?” you mimic his sulky tone, slightly shifting the phone to the side to show him your face.

you snicker when he flashes you his famous boxy smile, almost choking on your ice cream when his following remarks cause jungkook to throw a fit.

“play with me. no one else is awake and i’m getting bored of jungkook. he doesn’t want to play new games.”

“yah! you know i can still hear you, right?!” he takes a break from chugging his beer to throw his retort.

“i know, i wanted you to.” taehyung blows a raspberry at his best friend.

you grimace, stealing the opportunity to butt in before their banter lengthens. “listen, i’ll play with you if you let me play with tannie again.”

he opens his mouth to answer, but he quickly closes it again to stare at you nonchalantly. you impatiently quirk an eyebrow at his silence. “soooo?”

“wait there. i’ll think about it.”

and then he ends the call.

jungkook throws his head back, bursting into vibrant laughter after witnessing the interaction, and your head drops on the table with a pitiful whimper.

with bam staying at the training center for the meantime, you awfully miss the rush of happy chemicals flooding your brain in the company of man’s best friend. it was two weeks ago when you and jungkook hung out at taehyung’s house. you spent some time with yeontan at the park after you complained about getting bored watching them play ‘i’m on observation duty’. and he wasn’t… very happy when his dog started flat-out ignoring him in favor of your presence ever since you came back from the walk. tannie was adamant on sitting on your lap during dinnertime, even almost following you past the front door when it was time for you to leave.

“aww, my baby.” jungkook strokes your back with faux sympathy. “he hasn’t moved on from it yet. give him some time… maybe, like, five more minutes?”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[bandgie]

Hiya I just read some of your work and I love it, do you think you could do a Yandre perv Seungmin, only if you can. Have a good day 🥰

a/n: thank you so much! and yes on it!

synopsis: You start to notice little things when Seungmin first moves in with you. Maybe your underwear goes missing and you swear he's starting to use your perfume. Weird, but not necessarily bad. Well, not yet anyway, you still haven't found the camera he's set up.

warnings: nasty Seungmin lol

872 words

Your eyes scanned the floor of your bedroom, confused. You swear you left your clothes out on the bed when you got out of the shower, but it was missing. More specifically, your underwear. Maybe I didn't pull them out, you think.

Even then, this isn't the first time it's happened. You've noticed a huge decrease in the amount of panties you own. Things tend to go missing in the house, that's always been a thing. But why your thongs?

You change into your shirt, wrapping a towel over your middle and lower section before leaving the room.

"Seungmin?"

He hears you call him from behind his bedroom door. Your pretty black undies are pressed against his nose. Granted, they're clean, so the smell isn't as strong. But it does the job. The faint scent of your smell is enough to get him hard, tugging pitifully at his cock.

He shoves the underwear underneath his pillow and sits up. Seungmin shoves his dick in his sweatpants, ignoring how uncomfortable it is to feel the sensitive skin rub against the fabric. He only pokes his head out when he answers. 

No bra, as usual. Your hardened nipples peek through the thin shirt which is slightly wet from your dripping hair. You smell nice, and judging from the towel around your waist, you just took a shower. 

"What's up?" 

You shift weight from one leg to the other, "Weird question, but have you seen my clothes around? I can't find anything to wear."

That's because I have most of them, he thinks to himself. "Uh no? Do you need some pajamas?"

Nodding, you answer. "Please. Just some bottoms."

Seungmin complies and closes the door, telling you that he just needs a minute. Which is half true, it won't take a long time to cum now. Not with the image of you naked in the shower, letting the soap and water drip down your body.

He drops back down on the end and grabs your underwear. He inhales your panties deeply, poking his tongue out to taste just a smidge of you. Seungmin much prefers when they're used. The smell is strong that way, and they're sometimes even warm. He didn't have time to dig through your dirty clothes this time.

Seungmin tears his jogger off and trails the panties down his body until it catches onto his hard cock. He wraps it around his length and slowly pumps himself. Quickly, he reaches for his phone and open his most used app. He's connected the feed to the hidden camera in your room. 

It's wrong of him, so horribly criminal of him to use your obliviousness like this. 

Even then, he can't help the twinge of excitement that courses through him as he views you through his screen. You're in your room, towel abandoned onto your bed. He watches as you continue to look for your undergarments. 

You bend and kneel, giving Seungmin a perfect view of your pussy. It's not aroused, not dripping the slick as it normally would when you played with yourself late into the late. In a way, Seungmin finds it better like this. 

Your complete blindness to what Seungmin's doing turns him on more. Here he is jerking himself off and getting your panties soaked with precum while you remain unknowing. 

Seungmin finds himself bringing the phone to his lips, tongue peeking out to lick the digital version of you. Fuck, he wishes it was you. Your pretty cunt drooling as he'd eat you out. How you'd pull him closer by the hair, suffocating him in you. 

The thought being Seungmin closer to the edge. Maybe you'd let him put his cock in. He would stretch you out so nicely, your perfect walls hugging him. Seungmin can't imagine how warm you'd be, how beautiful your moans would sound. 

The dildo you fuck yourself on isn't enough, it can't be. Whenever he watches you through the phone, he can see how restless you get. There you were, doing all the work just to cum. You'd rather lie down and take it, at the will of the person fucking you.

Maybe Seungmin should play with you while you sleep. Cum inside you so you'd wake up feeling satisfied, complete. It's always been a dream of his. To imagine you waking up to the drag of his cock. Shh, he'd say. It's just a dream.

He's cumming before he knows it. Thinking of perverted thoughts about you always makes him finish.

He's thankful your underwear catches most of the spurts, the rest dripping down his balls. Seungmin stares are your pixelated pussy, watching how you wrap the towel back around your waist once you give up looking for something to wear.

It's then that he remembers how he promised you some bottoms.

Looking through his drawers, Seungmin finds a pair of sweatpants that are too small for him. He takes your cum stained underwear and uses his finger to collect small amounts of the white substance. He smears it into the joggers, making sure to blend it perfectly into the crotch area.

Seungmin only finds it fair to have you walk around with his cum on you. He always does it with yours.

a/n: perv? yes. yandere? maybe not so much. seungmin strikes me as the yandere type to think about you and only you all the time, not necessarily action based hope you liked it! edit: part two here

[taesanluv3r]

sleeping beauty

park sungho x reader

established relationship fic, as requested in this ask! this is the cutest thing i've ever thought of TT it came to mind right before bed and i ran down my bunk bed to type it out in my notes app LMAO. sungho calls reader princess :3 lowercase intended, pls ignore any spelling mistakes/grammatical errors. enjoyyyy!

wc: 1,742

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"my princess...wherever could you be?"

park sungho sighs but laughs a little at his tendency to speak poetically like he were in a shakespearean novel. he's standing by the tallest tree in the local park, his fluffy hair blowing in the air as a gust of cool wind passed by him. he's been waiting there for over fifteen minutes past their meeting time. it was too out of the ordinary for his girlfriend to be this late. so where was she? where was the usually punctual yn ln?

another minute goes by and the boy decides he couldn't stand it anymore. worried, and hurriedly he begins to walk towards the direction of her house - maybe he'd meet her half-way, otherwise, he'd just have to give her place a visit.

it being the latter, sungho arrives at her front door. he knocks on it once, and then twice before he was greeted by her mother's surprised smile. "sungho! hello sweetheart, what brings you here?" the woman's voice was pleasant; she's quite fond of the sweet boy by the door. "hey mrs. ln, i was just wondering if yn was home? she was running a little late to our date...i got a bit worried, that's all" he, too, ends his sentence with a soft smile, similar to that on the woman's face.

"oh, why she just came back from work about an hour ago...haven't seen her since she went to her room! why don't you come in? it's getting cold out here"

the boy follows the woman in, closing the door behind him as he entered the cozy home. "that poor girl..." his girlfriend's mom speaks up again, peaking the guy's interest. "she's been so busy lately...all with work and college. hardly get's any sleep, that girl! good she's finally on a break, today was her last day of the term, see..." a light-bulb went off in his head at the woman's words.

that must be it, he thought, she must've fallen asleep.

after getting the permission, and excusing himself from the down-stairs living room, sungho begins to climb up the carpeted steps. he takes a left at the end of the short hallway, passing by many pictures of his partner's family before finally making it to her bedroom. polite as ever, the boy knocks softly on the door to let the girl inside know of his presence. only when he heard no response did he let himself in.

"hey princess..."

the nickname he had gotten so used to calling her fades out of his mouth, his lips closing quickly to stop any further noise. there she was - yn ln was fast asleep on the edge of her bed. it didn't quite look like a comfortable slumber however; the girl still had on all her work clothes, the bag she took with her to campus early in the morning slouched over on the floor leaning against her bed-frame as if she had just tossed it there. and her bed itself was a whole mess of its own. sheets unfolded, books and papers scattered all over, the remains of her make-up from when she got ready clustered on her bed-side table, right next to the piles of clothes that stacked up on the floor.

once again the boy sighs, he hadn't visited her home in a while - he had no clue, how much the love of his life had been struggling.

"oh princess..." he calls to her again, though the only sound that came out of her were silent snores. sungho scans the room once more, nodding as the gears in his head began to turn. he scrunches up the long sleeves of his blue knitted sweater, tucking the loose ends of his long-ish hair behind his ears.

first, he moved away everything that was on top of her bed over to the floor, making sure the slumberous girl had the room she needed to rest a little better. then, carefully, he bended down to lift her into his arms as softly as humanly possible so as to not wake her. his hands move down her body to unbutton her work uniform, removing it and tossing it where the rest of her laundry was. he does the same with her jeans, and the rest of her clothes. he stops momentarily to grab a t-shirt from her closet, helping her into it slowly. the boy moves her to the further right side of the mattress - her favourite spot. he drapes the pale pink blanket over her body, stopping right below the chin. he watches as she shifts unconsciously, her body sinking deeper into the covers. sungho takes a step closer, pressing his lips to her forehead and whispering softly into her ear. "sleep well, princess" she smiles, as if she were fully aware of his presence.

"now...where to begin?"

for the next hour or so, park sungho quietly roams around the girl's bedroom. he had put her papers away, placed her books back onto their shelf, hung her bag in the closet, and carefully closed the lids on all her beauty products, putting them down one by one in the separate sections of the drawer under her vanity. he takes a moment to breathe, and to look back at his sleeping beauty, still fast asleep.

then, he dives into the pile of clothes on her floor. he sorts them into piles of whites and coloured before stuffing them into her two laundry baskets that sat in the corner of her bathroom - while he was in there, he took it upon himself to pick up the chunks of her hair that clogged up the sink, wiping her mirror down with a damp cloth as well.

finally, he arranges the mess atop the TV stand, reorganizing her tiny action figures, and picking up the pictures that had fallen off of her wall collage beside the TV. he smiles as his fingers graze the surface of a particular photo-strip; it was from their very first date. he chuckles softly at the obvious awkwardness emitted on his younger face. sungho picks up a push-pin, placing the image on the empty spot it had been in before on the cork-board. he takes a step back, focusing in on each and every picture she had in the collection. his eyes glimmer a little, each photo provoking a different emotion. once again, he falls in love with her.

"su...sungho?"

the familiar voice of his girlfriend steals his attention. the boy turns around at once, meeting eyes with yn. "oh, you're awake!" he says, a smile creeping onto his lips. the girl reciprocates before letting out a yawn. she rubs one eye with the back of her hand, the other one tapping on the spot beside her, inviting him to come over. sungho giggles, but wastes no time in climbing onto the bed.

"what're you doing here-" she cuts herself off with a gasp, "did you clean my room?!" he laughs once more at the shocked expression on her face. "mhm...you were like fifteen minutes late to our date so i got worried and came over here" she gasps again, "oh no...oh, i'm so sorry, sungho! i must've fallen asleep when i got home from work and-" he interrupts her, "shh, don't even worry about it princess" his voice is just above a whisper. he looks deep into her eyes, his hand moving up to caress her cheek. the girl's face gets warm, a red-ish tint painting her complexion at her boyfriend's touch-y antics.

"and..." she begins to speak but stutters a bit, "and my room...you didn't have to clean it all, i was gonna do it tomorrow" he shakes his head, "nonsense..." he leans in to kiss her, their lips colliding ever so sweetly with each other. "...you deserve to rest, princess. i took care of everything for you, okay? so you don't have to stress" sighing, she nods. his hands are still pressed against her cheeks, and their faces so close to each other that their foreheads touched.

"i'm sorry i didn't show up before...that wasn't part of the plan"

they laid down now, his back against the plush bedding and her head on his chest, moving up and down slowly with his every breath, and some netflix show playing on the TV. he shakes his head again, "i told you to stop apologizing, yn..." she laughs, "you know i can't help it sometimes" they didn't speak much after that, just embracing the warmth that came from each of their bodies. his slender fingers danced into her hair, the same way her own ones twirled against his abdomen.

she scoots up suddenly, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck. yn places but the lightest pecks against his skin, feeling the goosebumps that formed all over him. she stops to look at him, examining every crease on his face, every crevice, every slight movement. sungho turns his gaze away from the television, face-to-face with her again.

with no words exchanged, the couple melted into each other once more. she had moved to sit on his lap, each of her hands on either side of his broad shoulders. his own gripped onto her waist beneath her shirt- not in any way that was suggestive at all, he just wanted to be in contact with her skin. in fact, this whole moment was wholesome more than anything else.

"sungho" she sighs, catching her breath. "what is it, princess?" he asks, just as breathlessly. "thank you" he smiles, "anything for you..." the boy trails off, carefully flipping the girl over so that she laid below him. sungho holds himself up by an arm, the other one smoothing over her hair and stopping by her chin. yn can't help the butterflies that swarm through her stomach.

they switch positions again, back to the one they had been in before; her head hidden between his shoulder and his jawline, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

"i love you" she says all of a sudden, not quite coherently as a yawn took over her voice. the weight of her body against his got heavier, as if she had fully succumbed to his embrace. "i love you more..." he replies, laughing slightly when he turns down to see her fast asleep all over again. park sungho leans in to kiss her once more, even when she wasn't awake, a blush grew onto yn ln's cheeks.

"...my sleeping beauty"

the end.

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aaaaaah i loved writing this so much. ily bf sungho TTTTTTTTTT hope u guys enjoyed this. as usual, feedback and reblogs r very appreciated! tysm for reading :3 love, kona.

[pryllee]

Eating Out?

Blade x Fem! Reader

The title is self-explanatory, cunnilungus / fingering, slight degrading kink, interrupted at the end, reader is implied to have a date + kinda implied to be friends with some benefits...

A/N: Got inspo from an old fic, and old blog I made/had. Wanted to try making it kinda better though, this time with Blade cus his personality fits it juuuuust right... Might've not went the way I planned it, tho.

——

"Hey," He calls your name, "Are we eating outside this time?" asking a question, and you raise a thumbs up behind the couch in response.

"Was that a yes or a no? I can't tell what you're truly thinking if you dryly raise a gesture into the air without a word." He emphasized the word ’dryly’, with his brows slightly furrowing in annoyance as you continue to remain silent.

Reluctantly, he decided to walk closer to you to find out what you were so focused on that he didn't need to be in your sight.

"So, a yes?" He spoke again with a questioning voice, crossing his arms as he scanned your figure. Head down, staring at your phone mindlessly.

Suddenly, he let out a disgruntled sigh which finally peels your eyes off the screen thats been distracting you so much.

"Oh... Uhm. Sorry. Just get take out..." You spoke with a dejected voice, raising one of his brows.

"Sure, what should we...—" He stops in the middle of his hundredth question as he found you, once again, boring eyes into your phones screen, stuck in a DM with someone.

The last time he had replied was a few hours ago. When he accepted your proposal out to a cafe — a date.

Your train of thoughts were broken as you felt your legs being slowly spread apart, your skirt stretching slightly.

"Blade?" You voiced a concern, finding his head inbetween your thighs, planting a hand on one of them.

"Actually, I think I'd rather eating out today, no?" He pushes the hem of your skirt upwards, then plastering his mouth onto your clothed sex earning a little confused yelp from you, loosely holding onto his hair.

"So, what happened this time?"

He was used to this, actually. You were always suddenly ghosted by people you've matched with on a dating app.

"Hnn...— The usual..." You let out a shaky breathe, adrenaline coursing through your veins as he slid your panties down, discarding it somewhere near.

"Hm, is that so?" He pauses, slipping a finger inside, "Perhaps it's because of how lewd you are with your roommate." Adding salt to the wound, quite like him.

"God...— You're always, mngh.. The one that...!"

"That what?" He adds another finger, making it two. It's starting to bother you with how still he is.

You buck your hips slightly, hoping for some friction from his rough fingers.

He only watches you.

Eyes analyzing your embarrassed expression, you would try to close your legs for your dignity — but you can't, frankly. His upper half was stopping that from happening.

"C'mon. Show me how much you need it."

This fucker, hes amused. But somewhat, you can't help but feel more aroused in this situation. You grind your hips slightly against the couch, his fingers slowly curling inside.

You grit your teeth, curling your toes as you feel yourself nearing your climax. You try to speed your pace to feel the satisfaction — yet was left disappointed as he withdrew his fingers.

"Nnh...– Ugh, I worked too hard to get off from just your fingers just for you to do that." You pout slightly in frustration.

"Mmh, what a slut. I'll get to that in a second. Be patient." He licks a stripe up your folds, making you shudder back into the pillows. You clutch onto your slipping lips trying to stop a waterfall of moans.

"Aah... Ren" You spoke with a trembling voice, his name slipping out in bliss. Completely forgetting the disappointment he just caused you.

He pushes his tongue in, causing your back to arch euphorically.

Fuck, his tongue, you can feel it all too well—

You whine helplessly when his hand slides down your waist, opting to rub your clit in a circular motion as his tongue thrusted inside.

"Shit! Ren, 's so good–" You sob, clenching onto his hair harshly, putting him into a headlock position as you hang your legs over his shoulders.

Your stomach feels tingly. Your minds starting to fog up at the sensation of his mouth against your lips.

.

You breathe heavily, his forehead touching yours as he knees against the couch with him bucking his hips. Still loosely wrapping your arms around his head, legs being lifted up by him.

You suddenly hear a rhythmical knock on the door, luring out an irritated groan from him at the sound. Probably Kafka.

He reluctantly lets you go, resting on the couch on your side.

"Wait for me, won't you?"

——

[cassetteinability]

hidden camera / 931 words

tw: incest duh

@microcest

I really thought I had kept it micro this time oops

Mind if I crash at your place tonight?

Everything okay?

Yes.

I just need a break from my roommates.

Sirius let out a chuckle that his brother wouldn’t be able to hear through the phone. Regulus’ roommates were always a handful; Sirius idly wondered what they could be doing to drive Regulus mad enough to need a break.

I’m still out of town. You have a key, right?

Sirius and his own roommates were on vacation in a small beach town for the week, leaving their large apartment entirely vacant, save their kitten.

Yes. I'm on my way over there now.

Take my bedroom

Sirius dropped his phone into the cup holder of his folding chair and ran back toward the shallow ocean waves, knowing Regulus wouldn’t need anything else from him.

****

“Sirius!” James called from the sand. He was bent over and drying his hair with a towel, his voice barely carrying over the sound of water crashing and birds cawing. “Your phone!”

Sirius pushed against the water as he made his way back to the beach, worried that Regulus was having issues getting into the apartment.

“Who’s blowing you up while you’re on vacation?” James asked, handing Sirius his own towel once he was within reach. “You just got like twenty pings.”

“Reg asked to sleep at our place tonight,” Sirius said, swiping his phone open once his hands were dry. It was a series of notifications from their doorbell camera as well as the camera he had hidden in his bedroom.

Sirius didn’t typically keep a camera in there, but James had asked a neighbor to take care of the cat in their absence, and Sirius wanted to be sure his bedroom remained unexplored.

“Looks like he got in okay,” James said, looking over Sirius’ shoulder and watching the video clip of Regulus pushing into the front door. James clapped him on the back before collapsing down into the sand and cracking open a beer from their cooler.

Sirius nodded his head, only half paying attention to his best friend as he continued scrolling through every video. He had never used the nanny cam before this trip, and it was significantly more sensitive than he had anticipated. It seemed to go off every time Regulus moved, capturing thirty second clips before it was triggered again, capturing another thirty second clip.

The first clip was of Regulus setting a duffel bag on the floor at the foot of Sirius’ bed.

The second clip was him unpacking pajamas.

The third was of him stripping his jeans and t-shirt off.

Sirius tried to close the app, tried to stop himself from watching his baby brother undress; he excused himself from his friends’ presence instead.

The seventh video clip was of Regulus scouring Sirius’ room in nothing but his underwear. His slender body was pale in the dim light of his bedroom, long fingers trailing over the glass of each and every photo lining his dresser. Sirius zoomed in on the footage and watched as Regulus’ fingertips made contact only with Sirius’ face, nail grazing over every set of Sirius’ lips.

Sirius felt his breath catch in his lungs as he watched, a sudden longing filling the space where the air was now gone from.

In the twelfth video, Regulus began rummaging through Sirius drawers.

He found the toys in the space between that one and the next; the thirteenth video clip began with a dildo poised at Regulus’ lips.

“Fuck,” Sirius whispered, sitting in the wet sand at the edge of the shoreline. The bulge in his swim shorts would do nothing to deter his friends’ questions — if not spur the questions on entirely.

He let the cold water lap at his legs in an attempt to steel himself before focusing his attention back to his phone.

Video sixteen, and Regulus was entirely naked.

Nineteen, and the dildo was filling his hole. The camera angle was perfect, the view absolutely filthy and delicious — obscene in the best way. He cursed himself for not splurging on the nanny cam that came equipped with sound.

By video twenty-three, Sirius’ hand was pushing into his own shorts, fighting the way the water made the fabric cling to his skin.

Sirius watched with rapt attention through every subsequent video, eyes glued to his brother’s face, to his hands and his dick and his legs. Sirius spilled into the receding ocean waves with a low grunt, just seconds before Regulus finally came. Their heaving breaths pumped at a matching pace, and Sirius was sure their hearts would be beating the same rhythm as well.

Guilt crawled up Sirius’ spine, filling his veins with it even as he sat sated, high from the weight of his orgasm. He shook his head, willing the shame of what he had just done to not eat him alive for the duration of his beach trip.

That was, until video thirty-four.

The clip where Regulus stared knowingly into the camera and winked, a self-satisfied grin splitting his beautiful face. He tossed Sirius’ favorite throw blanket over the camera, casting the frame in absolute darkness.

Sirius barked out a disbelieving laugh before exiting the nanny cam app and pulling up his text messages. He’d be damned if he didn’t tell Regulus what a brat he was for doing that to Sirius right there on the beach.

If he didn’t beg his little brother to take the blanket off the camera so he could watch him do that again and again.

If Sirius didn’t demand that Regulus still be there in his bed when he got home from his vacation in three days’ time.

[forest-falcon]

Inspired by @riallasheng 's Scott/Alan observation

https://www.tumblr.com/riallasheng/727079051307761664/it-was-just-such-a-cute-little-thing-i-wanted?source=share

Sprout

Lucy rinsed her mouth out in the sink.

Pregnancy was the gift that just kept on giving.

The veteran mom pressed her head against the cool paintwork of the bathroom door.

Only twelve hours until the kids' bedtime.

A distant crash had her acting before she had time to think. She swung the door open and almost collided with a child on the way out.

"Oooh Scottie! I didn't see you there! Everything okay sweetheart?"

Scott nodded, but continued to hover.

Lucy waited. She could tell that he was itching to ask her something...or maybe confess - but what, she had no idea.

A moment passed. Then another.

"Mom, are you poorly?"

That threw her.

Her brain fumbled for words.

"Erm...no love, I'm okay."

She did her best to rally a smile, but she could see that her eldest remained unconvinced.

She squeezed his hand

"Really Scooter, I'm fine."

The young boy hugged her. Blue eyes, so like his father's, drifted up to meet her own.

"But I heard you."

Those eyes challenged hers. Daring her to claim to be fine, when he knew better.

Her little boy wasn't so little anymore.

Usually, it was Virgil who took the title of being the worrier of the family, but Scott had never been far behind. The youngster forever trying to fill the shoes of his legendary father. And forever trying to take care of everyone in his absence.

"Now Scottie, you're the eldest. That makes you the man of the house while I'm gone. I'm counting on you to set a good example for the others and to help out where you can. Make me proud, son."

"I will dad."

"Attaboy!"

Jeff would toussle his hair with a fond smile.

And then he was gone.

For how long, Scott never knew. Time had a habit of dissolving into meaninglessness numbers as a child.

Part of him longed for adulthood so it would all make sense. He'd know exactly how long his dad would be gone for. He'd know exactly when he'd be coming home.

Until then, it would be Mom and him against the world. He had to look after her; she was his constant. As long as he had her, the numbers didn't matter. Mom would always be there to love and reassure. Mom would never leave him.

"Okay, Scottie. Yes I was sick, but no; I'm not ill."

She guided her eldest to a soft seat, where they could have this conversation properly then scooped him up closer for a cuddle on the sofa.

"That literally makes no sense." The child puzzled.

"You're sick, but you're not sick?"

Lucy gave a small chuckle, which Scott emulated without really being sure what he was smiling about.

"I don't suppose you'll really remember before Gordie was born? I think you would have been about six when I was expecting him, seven when he was born."

"You mean when you had the huge belly?"

Scott beamed.

Lucy gave a small laugh.

"Yes. Yes, when I had the huge belly. Well, right at the beginning, I was sick then too. Growing a baby can do that."

Scott pondered thoughtfully for a moment.

"That sucks."

Lucy sighed.

"Yeah. It does suck a bit. But, the payoff is that I got you and your brothers at the end of it all."

She squeezed him in again.

"And, later this year, it looks like you'll be getting another brother - or sister." She watched carefully for the eldest's reaction. Life was already pretty chaotic, though there was no shortage of love.

"But you don't have a big belly now?"

Relief washed over the tired mom.

Scott really was a sweetheart.

"Well, baby's still got a lot of growing to do."

"Oh. So how big is the baby? Is it like...this big?"

Scott roughly gestured the size of a newborn with his hands.

Lucy smiled.

"Smaller Scottie."

"Like this?"

The eldest child closed the span of his hands by half.

Lucy pulled out her phone.

"I have an app on here that can tell us..."

Scott rested his head on his mum's shoulder.

"Let's see...11.5 weeks. Baby is the size of a sprout!"

"A sprout?" Scott said, wrinkling up his nose.

"That's funny."

Lucy kissed the top of Scott's head. He smiled at her momentarily before sliding from the sofa so that his face rested upon her lap instead.

Ever so gently, the young boy placed a hand to her stomach and he smiled.

"Hey there Sprout."

[deviiancetv]

Skyscraper // Oneshot

Synopsis: A young twentysomething coming home after a long days work. Relaxing and unwinding from the hectic-ness of adulthood.

Word Count: 984

Genre: Adulthood, Loneliness, Alcohol, Melancholy

Created by: @deviiancetv

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“Honey, I’m homeee!!!” I say as I pull the key out of my front door lock, walking into my skyrise loft apartment, alone.

Well, not technically alone. I have my Chartreux fur baby, Bleu, who’s tucked into a loaf, sitting on the ledge upstairs where my bed is. He gets up and prances down the stairs to greet me, as I take my shoes off, and sit them to the side by the front door.

I give Bleu a little scratch on his back, he curls his tail around my leg. Most cats don’t show affection in noticeable ways, but for as long as I’ve had Bleu, he’s always been playful and sweet with me. Even though I didn’t give birth to him, he’s still my sweet child.

Sometimes I wonder if I could ever possibly have kids of my own someday. The way this world is, and how the people of my generation are, it’s probably best I remain celibate, and never give my body to anyone who will not treasure or pacify it the way I do.

I walk upstairs and strip down to nothing but my underwear and my tank top. I put on my favorite oversized crème colored hoodie, and slide my feet into my black Nike slides. I put my work clothes into the laundry hamper — probably won’t see them again for another week. I flop down onto my bed to check my phone, swiping and scrolling from app to app. When you think about it, having a phone is just not all that interesting. It’s just a small device that we’ve become so codependent on, constantly searching for validation on social platforms, looking at so many discussions and debates happening, when in the grand scheme of things… they don’t even matter.

Of course, as an artist myself I’d like to have my work adored and praised. Sadly, we live in a world that tosses its artists down the drain. We’re just merely sacks of blood and bones contained with creative ideas, only to be used for our intellect and discarded as soon as we aren’t needed anymore. From working these minimum wage jobs, I’ve barely found the time to create art or work on my passions. I oftentimes wonder, “Will I ever begin to live my dream life…?”

And now, after having such a nihilistic thought about how I view my place in the world of my passion — I think it’s time for a drink.

I plug my phone up to charge its battery and open my music app to my favorite playlist for vibey relaxing music. The genre that gets me into the mood to unwind, is Japanese Jazz. The mellow vibrancies of bass, saxophone, and light twinkles of a picturesque vision of smoking a cigarette on the balcony of a rainy cityscape… that’s how I would describe Japanese Jazz. I onnect my speakers to my phone, turn the volume up to 85%, and begin two-stepping my way off my balcony, and down my staircase. Snapping my fingers with a little twirl, I dance into my kitchen and open my fridge. My bottle of 2019 Gary Farrell Pinot Noir sits on the side door of my fridge, gazing at it with enticing lust, I grab it and fetch a wine glass from my cabinet.

I quickly rinse and dry my glass, I grab my bottle and twist the top off. Pouring half a glass full of wine, I sit the bottle down and close it back up. I pick up my glass, and take a sip joy. I wouldn’t call myself an alcoholic, but just having a few glasses of wine every now and again isn’t all bad right? Besides, I think at this point in my life, this is the antidote to my sadness. With my glass firmly gripped in my hand, I walk to my light switch, turn off the lights in my kitchen, and walk over to my side door where my balcony is. As soon as I twist the doorknob, *BOOM* the sound of thunder radiates in the distance, and a streak of lightning illuminates the forecast, and like clockwork, the down pouring of rain begins. I decide not to step out into the impending storm, and just sit in my window seat, leg crossed over the other.

Bleu scampers over to come to sit with me by the window, staring out into the distance as I enjoy the synchronized tunes of my music meeting the rain, enchanting my ears in a meditative state. Closing my eyes briefly, I imagine myself being on top of the tallest skyscraper possible, the skyscraper of one’s dreams. The building begins to flash an LED light show of my art on full display for all to see. And as my eyes are closed, I begin to feel something odd. Not to fly or fall, but for once, I felt an exhilarating feeling I had never felt before.

Happiness…

In the past, people doubted my successes, and I know that my future is filled with many uncertainties. But I also know that my artistry could get me into spaces where I can be viewed as someone of importance, inspiration, and success. I could be the tallest skyscraper in my imagination.

And with that, I open my eyes and turn my head over to pet Bleu, who was sitting right beside me watching as the rain trickled down. As I stared out the window, imagining a life of success that I’ve always wanted. I swivel my wine around in its glass, staring into it as if it was a black hole from the deepest corners of space. I take another sip, tapping the glass with my middle finger, laying back ever so comfortably on my window seat. I say aloud to myself in the privacy of my corners.

“So, this is what true happiness feels like”

Fin.

[iseldomunderstand]

It came to me in a moment of inhuman fatigue. Finals had me studying until the dawning sun's rays filtered through my half shut blinds into my dark apartment. I felt like a cryptid in a cave back then.

I was getting ready for bed, too tired to understand the concept of time yet absolutely certain I would not feel any better after whatever amount of it I would spend sleeping. Mouth slightly open, greasy hair, boxers I wasn't sure whether I changed today or not, a drop of drool rolling down my chin, I didn't care. I'm not the kind of person to go out often and as such I'd rarely leave home if not for academic obligations and tended to shut myself inside when on vacation. I tried to remain clean and fresh out of principle but finals preparation was an exception. Anything goes for the sake of finals preparation.

I was under the covers looking blankly at the ceiling. Not a thought in mind, fully lost, the only sensation I felt was a pain in my back, probably due to my less than impeccable posture when slouching over my notes for four hours a day. And as the light of the sun hit the wall next to me through the spaces of my blinds I had left open before going to bed, like the dumbass I am, I made out a word.

"Research"

The rays hit the blinds and refracted through my windows to spell the word very clearly on my wall. It lasted about ten seconds before it just became an assortment of rainbows and slightly yellow light.

"The fuck" were the first words that came to mind in response to this sighting.

I wrote the word "Research" down in my notes app then dozed off, this would have to wait. After a generous eleven hours of sleep, I woke up too late to eat lunch, realized I had to do laundry today and rushed through my shower and "breakfast" (at 4PM) in order to get to the laundromat before it closed.

I forgot about the note for two weeks.

I stumbled upon it while trying to make a grocery list for my birthday cake, and naturally, I freaked out. As tired as I was back then, the details came back to me very vividly yet I was half convinced that it was all a dream or the hallucinations of the sleep deprived maniac I was at that moment.

Generally, people didn't exactly know what they were meant to be good at until they tried their hand at it and realized they were, well, good at it, great even. It's usually mundane stuff. Some people are great at peeling potatoes in a dimly lit room, some are great at speed walking down hills without tripping over a rock and tumbling down, trivial, sure, but useful in some circumstances. The thing is, usually, those people do not get a revelation type visual above their head coming straight from the holy light of the sun into their bedroom.

This type of event is not unheard of but it is extremely rare, it is usually something people born in wealthy families or dire circumstances witness, the kind of people you see on the news as prodigies in their domain; diamond in the rough or born to rule kind of deals. And these were no minor events, mind you, because they were usually followed by plenty of supernatural stuff.

I never followed history classes with a lot of interest, I knew the basics, but the endless quizzing on party trivia never caught my attention, yet I was fascinated by the stories we were told of people with manifestations of their talents. They all sounded fantastical, partly because they were, but also because of the lives the lucky few went on to live afterwards. During world war two, a nineteen year old spy was surprised to read the word "communication" spelled out in blood on the ground after she killed her first victim. She turned out to be capable of telepathy and was extremely useful for acquisition of intel regarding enemy lines and strategies, mind reading is a priceless talent. Not to mention her ability to manage troops on the battlefield.

We're all favored, but not equally, if you get a manifestation of what you have been endowed with, it means you're bound to sooner or later bear heavy responsibilities, and that you've been given the tools to face them. So naturally, when my sleep-deprived corpse saw a manifestation of my talent, I thought I was tripping balls and dozed off straight to wonderland. There was no way I, a disheveled student about to fail my second year in university, was blessed with a manifested talent, and not just any talent but a talent as broad as "Research". Besides, I was fairly certain I had found my gift already, I could parallel park with my eyes shut, well, as long as I was driving with my parents' car so I could use the rear view radar.

"There's just no way I'm gifted like that. "Research" is so broad, that's the kind of deals prodigies get, I'm pretty sure the last chief archivist of the united nations had that, ain't no way."

I suddenly snapped out of my day dreaming and remembered I was making a shopping list for my birthday cake and gathered my stuff to head out. As I walked towards the store, not taking my car on purpose so I'd have more time to ponder, I resumed my reflections, thinking to myself.

"It's too broad, it's just too broad, it's one word and it's so motherfucking broad. "Research" is huge, and a manifestation means it's a big deal."

I started to think about situations where I could have confirmed this kind of gift.

"I don't think it's too hard to be great at research nowadays, if you have a question the answer is usually on Wikipedia anyway, I know how to use google but that's about it. My midnight frantic scrolling sessions through obscure articles isn't anything out of the ordinary. I get obsessed, sure, read article after article, but as much as I devour, the research it takes me to quench my curiosity isn't anything special."

I was beginning to believe more and more that I just hallucinated that one morning, yet, part of me wanted to believe, part of me was too eager to find out. So I figured if I was so good at it, I'd have to research how great this "Research" talent was, if I was gifted with it at all, that is. I strolled through the aisles, mindlessly putting my usual groceries in my bag.

"What's the number one place to do research in anyway, the library? I don't think I've ever been at the one on campus, so I guess that'll be a fun trip. I'll go and enter with one question in mind and see how long it takes me to find the answer without even trying."

I went through self-checkout, conveniently "forgetting" to scan a few items then went home. Once I was done putting away the groceries, the time was six PM. The campus library closed its doors at seven and I lived fifteen minutes away by car.

"Welp, seize the moment as they say."

I grabbed my keys, got into my car and headed to the university. As I drove, I wondered what to even look for once there.

"With something supposedly as strong as "Research" I should probably aim for the stars. What would be one answer the library couldn't possibly have..."

I was mentally flipping through a rolodex of outlandish questions to ask myself, things you'd never get the answer to in a book, not in a public library anyway.

"How many grains of sand in the Sahara desert? Nah, too plain, and I'm sure some deranged mathematician asked the question. How much garlic is too much garlic in garlic bread? Actually, I don't want to know the answer to that..."

I flipped and flipped, I wanted the first one to be grandiose. If I really was gifted with that kind of power, I should start with a bang, make it count.

"How to craft a private pocket dimension. Sure. Why not, let's see if the library has the answer to that. Don't think that's ever been done before."

Just as I settled for that question, I parked in front of the library. Perfect timing.

I entered and tried to figure out the layout of the building, having never been here before. It was a tall building with a full glass exterior, I passed by it on foot a few times and figured the library was on the western wing, but the parking lot was on the eastern side so I'd have to make my way through to the other side once in. The receptionist told me they were closing in a little over half an hour as I walked by, I guess I'll see if I perform well under a deadline sooner than anticipated.

I took a good look at the map of the building on an emergency fire escape plan and made my way to the stairs. My steps echoed as I climbed my way up, the stairwell was at the heart of the building and was entirely made out of concrete, glass and metallic guardrails. You could hear a pin drop five stories above. This was pretty grandiose.

"You know" I thought to myself "If I ever get that pocket dimension maybe shaping it after this place could be a good idea, it feels... Nice, in a way. Aesthetically pleasing."

I pushed the glass doors of the second floor, where the occult, religious, and physics aisles were if the signs were to be trusted. The place was actually really nice. The floor was carpeted, there were reading nooks, and warm overhead lights with a glow specific to the lightbulbs in the lampshade aisles in interior and furniture stores. It was raining outside and the sky was darkening as the moon rose. Truly a magical moment.

"You'd think if I were to get a revelation about my research capabilities it would be in a moment like this, not in a complete daze as I was going to sleep." I thought aloud, mumbling as I approached the aisles I was after. I was progressively becoming more and more reassured in my idea that I had hallucinated the whole event. Still, I came to check and check I would.

"Ok so, crafting a pocket dimension, let's see" I rolled up my sleeves, stretched, then squatted to be face to face with the books. I began to crab walk my way across the shelf, examining title after title, yet not finding much about what I was after. "Eh, thought so. Next." I moved on to the religious shelf, examining the titles and covers I found, yet nothing promising showed up. I had about fifteen minutes left. Well. It was quantum physics or nothing.

I was walking to the shelf as I came across a computer. "Surely" I realized "Surely it'd be simpler to just type 'Pocket dimension' in their database and see what pops up. Hoping they use tagging efficiently." I went to the desk, opening the online register of the available books and did as I planned, going in advanced search, yet, still, other than one or two fantastic novels, nothing came up.

I sighed.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

The librarian at the desk on my floor politely asked me to leave, I obliged somewhat sadly. I walked down the echoing stairs, grabbing the guardrail as I descended towards the exit, the nightguards locking the door behind me.

"Damn. I really was hoping I actually saw something." I walked out of the building as the streetlights lit up the avenue. It felt bittersweet, like your parents buying you a lottery ticket at the school fair and winning nothing. You lost in the end, but the fun was the anticipation. Yet I couldn't help but feel pretty bummed as I got into my car

"I was really hoping I was actually somewhat... Special." I said aloud to nobody but myself. "Maybe I went too strong, I mean, 'How to craft a private pocket dimension' is pretty ou-"

As I voiced my question out loud, what appeared to be a floating transparent sort of computer screen appeared above my passenger seat.

I froze in shock in front of the wheel, the screen glowed softly inside my car in a light blue hue. It displayed a very barren interface, with nothing but a search bar and a keyboard underneath. Above the search bar was a short line of text that read "Quench your curiosity".

Oh. Well. Color me fucking surprised.

I hesitantly placed my hands above the keyboard, looking around to see if anyone was in the parking lot, and most importantly, if anyone could see me, but I was alone.

I typed my question in the search bar, hit enter and was faced almost instantly with a page explaining in detail the pre requisites of crafting a private pocket dimension. All the concepts it involved that were all alien to me were explained in great detail and perfect clarity, what I knew enough about was not elaborated upon. I saw on the right a scroll bar. The page kept going. It was long. Very long. Yet I read through it at a speed I did not know myself capable of, breezing through lines and lines, no, paragraphs and paragraphs in an instant, devouring the knowledge that I sought in a matter of seconds. I finally reached the bottom of the page. I understood it all perfectly. It was clear as day. I knew all that there was to know on the topic of crafting a private pocket dimension. I did not however have the materials for it. I was wondering how I could possibly get my hands on all the required equipment necessary to see it done, then I looked at the screen once more.

No. It had arcane knowledge, but I couldn't just...

I refined my search : "How can I craft a private pocket dimension and get away with little to no consequences." And sure enough, the page displayed an elaborate plan for me to put in action. It was brilliant. There was no doubt it would work.

Oh. My god.

This was all too much. I had a power allowing me infinite knowledge over anything and could make it so I was essentially capable of all I wanted. I had in my hands the power of an actual god.

A flow of questions swirled in my head. Answers I needed. Answers the world needed. What's the meaning of life? Is there a god? How does this even work? What's the system behind talents? Who gifted me this power in the first place? Is free will an illusion?

I looked at the screen. I placed my hands above the keyboard, but then I froze.

This was a trap. A trap of my own making and one I was happily jumping into with both feet. I'm not a god. I'm barely in my twenties. I'm a student and I'm in my car typing away into a floating screen in a parking lot. This was ridiculous. I was about to reveal eldritch knowledge to myself, as if I tried to educate an ant in advanced rocket science. No. I'm wiser than this. I'm not fit to be a god. Not yet. I'm a human and I haven't lived as a human fully yet. This could wait.

I drove home.

I locked my door, threw my keys on my kitchen counter, took off my shoes and body slammed into my bed.

"What the fuck" I said into my pillow.

The screen appeared again. It had disappeared as I started to drive back in the parking lot, but here it was again. I didn't want to fully indulge in its power just yet but I had plans for it.

"How to make this screen appear" and "How does my power function" were the first questions I asked.

The screen appeared anytime I asked a question aloud. Simple as that. I could change how that worked by asking how to change the way it appeared in the search bar. It was a real wonder how in the span of two weeks between the revelation and today I hadn't asked anything to myself aloud. Yet, in hindsight, preparing for finals made it so I essentially talked to no one and only ever muttered a curse or two when going over my notes.

As for my power, essentially, it was as simple as it gets, I asked, it answered. It only had a few safeguards for me not to get hurt, if any research I did would almost guarantee that I either go mad or get killed in the process, the page would warn me and offer to redirect me to pre-requisite pages so I could go about it in a correct way. It was essentially moron-proofed. Besides, if any research or answer involved harming me, it would be highlighted so I did not get myself into any sticky situation or ended up in a sort of evil-genie or monkey paw situation.

I was also pleasantly surprised to learn that the screen was only ever visible to me and would not appear if I addressed a question at someone else in a conversation, so the screen wouldn't appear anytime I asked someone else how things were.

It was incredible. I had all that there was to know in the world at my fingertips, very conveniently too, and just one ask away.

Yet... I didn't want to put it into use quite now. This was the tool of absolute knowledge and power, I could have access to ways to make anything happen in any way I wanted and with little to no repercussion. I could change the face of the world. Make it a better place. But I doubted that I was wise enough to go about the proper course of actions in my questions. I was afraid my own bias would betray my good will. Perhaps I would even go mad with this power. Eradicate anyone or anything that bothered me.

The thought scared me.

So I pondered what the best way to go about all this was.

I had to become wise enough so I would not let my youth and instincts get the better of me, besides, when it comes to bettering the world, the best way to know what is best for it is to live in it. And using my power to go about living the easy way would alter my thinking. I had to live through it first. My mind was set.

I would grow old first, using only my power to ensure I don't die by then, then once I will have seen a lifetime worth, I will be ready. I will finally use it. But for now, this could not work, I was too naive, too young. I would hold true to my standards and values, do my best to do good until the time comes and only then would I take things in my own hands.

I summoned the screen and asked "How do I make sure I can live by the age of eighty-five". Sure enough, the page appeared and the way to go about it was clear as day. I'd have to switch studies, which didn't bother me anyway, and move away.

Then, I asked how to change the way the screen appeared and set it so it would only appear once I explicitly state aloud that I wish to summon my power and make the screen appear.

I looked around my apartment, then at the screen again, taking one last look at it for a long, long time. I was already mentally thinking about packing up my things.

"See you then". It disappeared, then I went to cook dinner.

As a rule, the shorter a skill is, the more dangerous it is. You’ve never used yours. You were scared of what a single word could do.

[bonebled]

@singofus asked : The one benefit of communication through text-to-speech was that it could all be carefully written in advance. At least his starting words. So, here they sat in his car with a coffee at the time he'd arranged. Sitting here in the quiet as his...son awaited the artificial voice to start speaking his words. Words he'd been thinking about since driving by the cemetery, doing his research. Seeing Fýlix having a picnic at his mother's grave. On this side of the family, he was all Fýlix had. Disappearing father's seemed a pattern, one he'd made. Fýlix could decide if he wanted it to continue. For himself this time. "This was all written in a chunk. If you need anything repeated or the phone shits itself, I'll repeat." Technology was tempremental but he was unfortunately forced into using it. For a moment his thumb still hovers over the button but he takes a breath and presses play on the app. It shits itself for a second but then the male voice does start processing the paragraph. "I just thought it was time you got an explanation. Why I never stepped forward, what my life's been like. Why I wasn't a father to you. Then the ball is in your court, you can do what you want with it. I'll respect whatever choice you make. Work on my part." "So, a summary of my life." It really was a whistlestop tour. "I don't really remember my father. He died when I was small. Then my mother had my half-siblings by herself when I was ten. She then focussed on building her career, securing our futures. It worked out for us now. Back then, it meant I was a teen dad." By now he'd just stopped beating around the bush when thinking about it. "They even called me it when they were young. I didn't stop them. Still don't." He leant back in his seat and closed his eyes, letting himself be a little cowardly and not watch the man's reaction to any of this. "Then they turned into adults and I went on this big rebellious tour of the country. Took my bike and ran off. Met your mother on it. We were only together a few months and I left again, but she knew I wasn't gonna be around long. I didn't hear from her again...but I heard some rumours she was pregnant. I wasn't an idiot, I knew there was a big chance it was my kid. But I'd just stopped being a parent, mother had gotten her break too. I'd told myself I'd never have my own kids. I'd done enough of that for a lifetime. So I buried my head in the sand and it seemed to work. Until I got sent through a wad of documents and a letter threatening to expose me, expose you to my family. My relationships. Realised then that I couldn't bury my head anymore, wasn't gonna let anyone hold this over me. So, I told them. Then you found me." That was the end of the first chunk. Charon took a moment, making a grunt as if to say 'hold on' and played the next. He'd just wanted a distinction between the two parts. "The other part of this, is my job. You're bright, I figure you know who I work for. What they're involved in. When you came looking for me, so soon after my shit went down, I thought you'd be dragged in further. Then I found out who your girlfriend is, her family. Then I knew you'd be fine. They know their security." Another pause. "Maybe if I'd known your mother had passed, I'd've done something different. I don't know. But that's what I wanted to tell you. It's no sob story, it's no excuse. I am an absent father. But now you know why. At least that question's been answered." Charon hoped that would give him closure, should he wish to step away again. But he'd wanted to at least clue him in, so he doesn't spend any more time wondering.

athens  ,  202x  .

fýlix  remains  leaning  his  head  against  the  closed  glass  of  the  window  .  he  doesn't  know  what  to  do  with  his  body  ,  so  he  settles  for  trying  to  take  up  as  little  room  as  possible  .  he  kept  his  sunglasses  on  ,  not  due  to  sensitivity  ,  but  for  his  own  comfort  -  and  ,  he  imagines  ,  his  father's  .  to  not  have  to  see  his  unseeing  eyes  . 

eyes  his  mother  told  him  were  the  same  hue  as  his  father's  . 

he'll  never  know  . 

the  text  to  voice  is  …  smoother  than  he  had  anticipated  it  would  be  .  given  that  this  is  one  of  the  ways  he  can  express  himself  ,  it  makes  sense  he  would  have  put  time  and  energy  into  keeping  it  as  he  would  like  to  be  experienced  . 

and  he  listens  . 

he  listens  to  everything  ,  all  the  context  his  mother  had  never  given  him  .  she'd  not  been  able  to  ,  from  what  it  sounds  like  .  she  didn't  even  know  the  man  she'd  laid  with  . 

fýlix  can't  blame  her  ,  though  .  that's  his  mother  .  he's  done  being  mad  at  her  ,  wondering  why  she  hadn't  fought  harder  ( or at all , really ) to  make  his  father  stay  . 

he's  made  his  peace  with  it  . 

“  thank  you  ,  ”  he  murmurs  ,  and  he  means  it  .  charon  certainly  didn't  have  to  go  out  of  his  way  to  explain  all  of  this  ,  in  a  way  fýlix  could  understand  . 

he  swallows  ,  thinking  ,  sitting  up  from  the  window  .  it's  hard  ,  not  knowing  where  his  arms  go  ,  so  he  clasps  his  hands  between  his  knees  as  he  speaks  . 

“  i  don't  …  know  how  much  of  my  story  you  know  or  even  care  to  know  ,  but  i'll  start  at  the  present  .  i'm  not  in  the  market  for  the  type  of  parental  guidance  i  would  have  needed  growing  up  .  i have my path , and i think i'm doing pretty well , all things considered . i'd  rather  just  …  get  to  the  adulthood  part  .  weddings  ,  children  ,  vague  holiday  whatever's  ,  that  stuff  , you know ?  ” 

he  waits  a  beat  ,  and  then  turns  towards  where  he  can  hear  him  breathing  . 

“  if  you  don't  want  that  ,  tell  me  now  .  no  harm  no  foul  .  but  i'd  like  to  see  ,  ”  he  chuckles  at  himself  for  a  moment  ,  in  reflex  ,  “  where  that  could  go  .  if  you  wanted  .  " 

[zody77-blog]

Apple Watch Series 10 Price, Release date, Specs

Apple Watch Series 10 is anticipated to be released. But from the debut of the first Apple Watch in the spring of 2015, there is one function that has been absent from every model. According to a recent study, it is approaching. the update from May 2. On April 29, 2023, this article was originally published. Updated on May 2. Even with the Apple Watch, not every update has good news. The Apple Watch Ultra, which debuted last autumn, is reported to have an upgraded model. Nothing unforeseen about it. Less certain, though, is whether or when the Ultra will update its display technology. All current Apple Watch models have OLED screens, but it's been said that this will change to microLED, a technology that might provide more brightness and pixel density. Exciting. But it’s the time which is most variable, it appears. The earliest rumored arrival was this year, so it's really been all over the place. I've always been dubious about this because throughout the history of the smartwatch, Apple has never introduced a new Apple Watch design only to drastically alter it the following year. Bloomberg’s Mark Gurman has previously said that microLED is coming, and suggested that the second half of 2024 was when we should expect it. This seems much more likely, though an update to the Ultra this fall is still possible and probably won't just be a processor update. Even though the current model might last for two years, it would be strange if the Series 10 had a new processor and the Ultra, the top model, still had last year's chip. Anyway, the most recent report alters matters once again. The new display technology will arrive later still, according to display analyst Ross Young in a tweet. To view the tweet, click this link, but you must be a subscription to Young's material. The general idea is that the Apple Watch Ultra will have microLED in the fall of 2025. In other words, more than two years away, a long way off. This makes perfect sense; after all, it won't be the first time Apple has had to delay the launch of a new technology to one of its products. Another query is if Apple would roll out microLED to all of its models simultaneously or just the Apple Watch Ultra. While it's true that, in the beginning, the only thing between the least costly and most expensive Apple Watch models was their metal casings, the Ultra broke the trend by offering a whole new design. Will this imply that new screen technology will be introduced to the Ultra first and only afterwards to other models? Although we don't know yet, I think this is the most likely scenario. Of course, there is plenty of time between now and the end of 2025 for all the facts to become clear. April 30 update. A story from Mark Gurman of Bloomberg follows closely on the heels of the most recent rumor. The use of your Apple Watch will alter drastically with the release of watchOS 10, according to Gurman in his most recent Power On email. This is probably the platform on which the syncing functionality below will debut. According to Gurman, Apple Watch Series 10 is "set to give its watch lineup one of the biggest software updates since the original version— with a new focus on widgets and fundamental changes to how the device works." This is fascinating, and according to Gurman, it's been created to allow for the least amount of navigating while still providing more information. Of course, for a device like a watch, conserving time should be a top goal. The emphasis on widgets is reminiscent of the Glances interface, which was used on the first Apple Watch but has since been retired. "Apps remained core to the Apple Watch," says Gurman. Launching applications is still the most effective way to get the device's information, other from examining complexities on the watch face. The home screen is reachable with only one click of the watch's most noticeable button, the Digital Crown, to make that as simple as possible. However, it appears that with watchOS 10, widgets will return and become a focal point of the experience, maybe even implying that you will be taken to the widgets rather than the home screen with only one push of the Digital Crown. Instead of forcing users to launch apps, Gurman says, "the idea is to let them scroll through a series of different widgets — for activity tracking, weather, stock tickers, calendar appointments, and more." This is a significant shift, so if it sounds like one, it is. Such a significant change, like the Digital Crown modification, may initially be voluntary. The Watch is expected to receive significant software improvements this year, which would undoubtedly be a significant improvement. A future Apple Watch Series 10 may sync to numerous Apple devices, according to the Twitter account of @analyst941, who self-identifies as an Apple software analysis. Here's why it's important. Currently, each Apple Watch can only be synced with one phone, despite the fact that you can sync several watches to your iPhone. So you can't even set up an Apple Watch if you don't have an iPhone but do have an iPad or a Mac. That's obviously because Apple enjoys keeping you secure inside of its walled-garden ecosystem, which the firm would claim is done to safeguard the user experience. But if you could connect your Apple Watch to an iPad or a Mac, a whole new set of possibilities would open up. You can only link your Apple Watch with one of your phones if you have more than one, even if they are both iPhones. Suppose one of those iPhones You must always carry the device that the Watch is linked with in order to keep it current with alerts, for example, if you use one for business and the other for personal use. The following is what @analyst941 tweeted: "Apple Watch can finally sync across several Apple devices. I'm not sure how this will be put into practice. All I know is that Apple Watch will no longer be dependent on a single iPhone and will sync with numerous iOS/iPadOS/Mac devices. There are no specifics on how it will be accomplished or how it will operate, but it's a smart step. When the Apple Watch acquired LTE connection in some versions, do you remember how much more liberating it felt to wear it? It's also unclear if an iPhone will still be required for initial setup. A companion iPad would work, but a Mac might not, I would have guessed. I'm sure an Android phone won't soon be able to link with an Apple Watch. According to 9to5Mac, a recent claim that the Health app from the iPhone would soon be available on the iPad with iPadOS 17 may portend the arrival of set-up with an iPad. The main advantage will be the inclusion of synchronizing with numerous Apple devices, regardless of the setup process. The only drawback I actually see is one that many new users experience: information overload unless you set precisely which email accounts and other services will deliver the Watch with data. But it's simple to correct it. At WWDC in June, we'll almost surely learn something about this, though its complete implementation might not happen until the autumn release of the Apple Watch Series 10. In either case, it's likely to be a watchOS 10 feature that supports several Watch generations. Read the full article

[thestarmaker]

god fucking dammit we were so understaffed today (like. Literally me and two other people, one of which was the shift manager) and I swear to god if bk is getting hit by the wave of people quitting I'm gonna scream. The worst part is that I CAN'T just be like "hey managers gimme better conditions" BC THEY'RE SUFFERING TOO and all of them aside from one is incredibly openly sympathetic to our problems and I'm already abt to start looking for another job (bc bk is just fucking hell in general) and at least if/when I find a better place I'll like. Actually put in my two weeks and not just quit out of the blue one day like so many of my ex-coworkers have done.

[dawnsbreaking]

not as smooth as we planned - chapter one

Harry and Rose get a second chance after the villa. pairing: Harry/CMC Rose chapter 1 of 4 chapter word count: 9,145 (i know) read on ao3

Despite winning a reality tv show and finding herself in a committed relationship with up-and-coming star Rafi Sayed, Rose Prichard was all too excited to go back to living a regular life after Love Island.

Rose loved her job as an event coordinator for a non-profit, despite the long hours and meager salary. After winning the prize money and moving in with Rafi, however, she no longer had to choose between a job that she loved and paying bills on time.

It had been Rafi’s idea for Rose to move in with him. He’d suggested it the night they won Love Island—before they were even technically a couple—and Rose resisted for as long as she could manage. It was far too soon, she knew that, but they’d been so close in the villa that resistance seemed futile in the end. She broke her lease and moved in with Rafi two months after the series finale.

Soon after the move, Rafi booked a breakout role and the job called him away for months at a time. In the year and a half that they’d lived together, Rafi had only been home with her for six collective months sprinkled throughout. Rose enjoyed spending her time alone or with friends in his lush flat— their lush flat—while he was away filming. It was idyllic, cooking meals in the fancy kitchen, entertaining guests in the well-decorated living room, and bringing her work home to a cozy spare bedroom turned home office. She hardly missed her boyfriend at all. That should have been the first sign that something wasn’t right.

On paper, Rose and Rafi made no sense. She was a private person, maintaining just enough social media presence to assure her distant relatives that she was still alive and, occasionally, using her fame after Love Island to promote charity events. Rafi, even before his stint on reality tv, had been a frequent purveyor of tasteful Instagram thirst traps and lifestyle vlog content. He thrived in the public eye and it was part of his career. It had been an uphill battle for him to get Rose to trust that the two of them could be compatible. 

Rafi had joined Love Island late, infatuated with the girl he’d seen on the show. Rose had been there since day one but had yet to be swept off her feet. Harry, the boy she’d been most interested in before Rafi, was indecisive and immature. Rose gave up on him before the third recoupling, ending up in a friendship match with Camilo until Rafi’s arrival.

Rafi was already committed to Rose before the two had even spoken. His beach hut interviews were convincing love letters to a woman he’d never met that charmed the audience and caused viewers to root for the couple even before their first date.

Though Rose was slightly overwhelmed by Rafi’s initial feelings for her, he was able to prove himself as a partner and deepen his feelings beyond a crush on a girl on the telly. The optics were good. Of Rafi’s crush working out so well, of Rose learning to appreciate and understand and then return his feelings. Of someone coming in so late and so quickly becoming part of a strong couple. When they won, everyone but Rose seemed to have seen it coming.

After the show, their relationship remained somewhat public, despite Rose’s protests. When Rafi got invited to red carpet movie premieres, Rose’s name was listed on the invitation. Rafi’s publicist also encouraged him to post pictures of him and Rose together. He talked about her in interviews, included short clips of her reading or working in his vlogs, and even once took a brand deal promoting an app for couples, using her name in the copy of the ad.

There weren’t fights, really. Rose expressed her need for boundaries, continued to share the bare minimum on her own socials, and declined every brand deal and interview she was offered. She’d ask Rafi for discretion and be disappointed when he could only provide so much.

Rafi was back home for a short stint between filming outside the country and a small press tour for his show when Rose hit a wall with him. He made dinner and opened a bottle of wine, she filled him in on gossip from work and her friends.

“Oh,” he said, sounding startled at his own abrupt change of subject. “I forgot to tell you. There’s a premiere for my friend’s movie in a couple of weeks. I’m gonna fly you there for the night so you can come.”

The verbiage bothered Rose the most. He wasn’t asking, he was telling. She took a sip of wine and gathered her thoughts before asking, “What are the dates?”

The charity that Rose worked for had its annual fundraising event coming up, an event that she had been working to organize for the better part of the past year. She wouldn’t be able to travel so close to that event, she’d be too busy. Rafi should know that.

“I don’t know, it’s a Friday. About a month from today.” Rafi smiled, reached to lay a hand over hers on the table. “It’s an artsy film festival thing, I think you’ll like it.”

Rose knitted her brows at him. If he was right about the day, he’d planned on attending an event outside of the country the night of her fundraising event. She gave him a moment of silence, hoping he’d remember and correct himself without her having to break the bad news.

“What’s wrong? Do you not want to go?”

“Rafi, are you messing with me?” She’d been talking about this event for months, complaining about vendors and guests and tablecloths almost every time she spoke to him about work.

“Why would I be messing with you? We’re going to a film festival. Four weeks from today. What’s wrong with that?”

“Friday, four weeks from today, is the day of my fundraising event.”

What Rose expected from this revelation was just a few meters short of overreaction. She expected a rush from Rafi to apologize, a hurried explanation. She expected him to get his manager on the phone and cancel with the film festival. Have his assistant send a fruit basket and flowers to everyone involved.

Instead, he shrugged, squeezed her hand on the table. “I’ll tell them you won’t be able to make it.” 

Rose withdrew her hand from his grasp, cradled it awkwardly in her lap as if nursing a physical injury. She frowned, giving Rafi yet another chance to self-correct. He raised a brow but kept his movie-star smile in place. Nothing. Rose hated conflict, even when it was unavoidable.

“What about my event?”

Rafi offered no solution, shrugged again. “You know I hate those things, anyway. Networking events.”

“Networking events?” Rose closed her mouth tight before she could say anything that might put her relationship in jeopardy. She was hosting a fundraising gala with a silent auction. Attendees certainly could network, but that was far from the focus of the event. Besides, his film festival certainly was a networking event. She didn’t argue, didn’t say any of this out loud. She stood, cleared her plate and his.

“Thank you for making dinner.”

Rose took the plates to the sink and started doing the washing up, her back turned to Rafi so that she didn’t have to keep her facial expressions in check. Rose was a terrible liar.

She could feel his eyes on her, though, watching her work to produce even breaths. 

“I forgot to tell you,” she said, keeping her back to him. “I have to run to the office tonight and get some last minute work done. We added a couple of new organizations to the guest list so I need to get some paperwork ready for them.” 

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

Rose turned, facing him again. She decided that she didn’t care if he knew she was lying or not. “I’ve got meetings tomorrow.”

“Can’t be helped then.” Rafi shrugged. He was playing it cool, but Rose could see his shoulders tense as he took another sip of his wine.

“Thank you for dinner, again.” She kissed his cheek on her way to the door. 

-

Harry had never expected Rose to pick him in the first place, so he wasn’t surprised when she’d ended up with someone else in the end. He wasn’t surprised when she won, either. Rose Prichard probably could have won no matter who stood next to her.

If it had been anyone else, his first instinct would have been toward anger. He’d never understood the phrase, ‘if you love someone, let them go’ before. But he adored Rose. He was happy for her, despite everything.

After the show, when life swept them up in separate directions, he wasn’t surprised that they stopped talking. If her social media was any indication, she was happy and busy. Harry didn’t resent their lack of communication or push too hard to keep her in his life, he accepted her shrinking away. Eventually, he unfollowed her on Instagram.

It was hard enough seeing Rafi on movie posters, he had to draw a line in the sand and move on.

Some things were easier said than done.

Harry wasn't sure if his eyes were working properly when he saw her again. The last time he'd seen Rose Prichard had been at the taping of the 'Islander's Tell All' part of the Love Island finale. She'd been with Rafi all night, then, and had barely spoken to Harry.

But there she was, more than a year later, in the flesh. And she was walking into his office building.

Since letting Love Island and all its trappings fade into his past, Harry had continued his original life plan with some slight alterations. He’d landed a job at a tech startup, after learning that he was better suited for back end stuff, programming alone in an office rather than trying to hold the world on his shoulders.

It was rewarding, doing something he was genuinely good at. Even if his life was less glamorous than he’d once hoped, he was happier for the stability and self-assuredness that he’d earned in the pivot.

Rose scanned a key card at his building’s entrance and Harry watched in horror and confusion as his past collided with his present.

The large office building was home to multiple companies that paid to rent spaces or entire floors. It was entirely possible that Rose worked somewhere in the building.

Without thinking, Harry jogged to the door. He’d been enjoying a leisurely stroll before, early enough to work that he could enjoy walking the long way from the parking garage across the street. Seeing Rose had jump-started him like the espresso he’d planned on buying from the café next door. He scanned his badge and slowed to appear nonchalant as he walked in, he held his breath as he brushed past Rose and they stepped into the same elevator.

She looked up, eyes widening when she registered his presence and then his identity. He remembered nights by the pool, making her compete in staring contests just so he could swim in her eyes. 

“Harry?”

“Oh my god!” He tried to play it off like he hadn’t seen her, but he suspected that Rose might be able to see right through him. He found he didn’t care. Something in him wanted her to know that he cared for her, even at risk to his pride. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here,” she said. “Do you work here?”

He beamed. “I’m a programmer on the sixth floor.”

Rose’s eyes lit up and she laughed, shaking her head. Her hair had grown since Harry had last seen her and she was even prettier than he remembered.

“That’s so weird. My new office is on the sixth floor.”

She had to be joking.

“You have to be joking.”

Rose laughed again. “Nope.” She pressed the button for the sixth floor as if to prove her point.

“Huh.”

“Why haven’t I seen you before?” Rose asked, stepping out of the elevator with some hesitation.

“Ah, I’ve been working from home…” Harry adjusted his backpack strap on his shoulder. Though he’d grown more confident, Rose’s clear gaze still had a way of making him self-conscious. He waved the question away. “Do you usually come in this early?”

It was just past five in the morning and they were among the only people in the building.

Rose frowned, seeming to take a moment to think about her answer. “I’m just trying to catch up on some things.”

Harry recognized the crease in her brow and wished she wouldn’t lie to him. He nodded, though, didn’t push the issue.

Harry had thought about seeing Rose again a terribly vast, innumerable amount of times. His imaginings ranged from the dark, where she laughed at him for thinking he might have ever had a chance, to the sweet, where she told him that she’d left Rafi and wanted to be with him instead. Now, in real life, none of those fantasies served him. He had no idea how to speak to her after all this time.

“What, um, company do you work for?”

The sixth floor was home to multiple companies besides Harry’s, since half of it was dedicated to a row of self-contained offices that served as overflow for higher-ups from other floors.

“The same charity as before,” she said, hesitating to say before Love Island. Harry nodded to communicate that he understood the impulse and she continued, letting their shared history remain unspoken, “I was promoted recently, though.”

“Oh, congrats!” The elevator doors opened again, depositing them on the sixth floor. It seemed that one had been round to turn on the lights, though. It was still completely dark.

“Thank you,” Rose said. Then, “Christ, it’s dark, still.”

Harry laughed and flicked on the torch on his phone, lighting Rose’s footpath. “I’m not sure where the switches are,” he said.

She walked forward confidently, finding a switch on the wall directly opposite the elevator.

Harry turned the torch back off. “Do you come in early a lot?”

Rose shrugged. “The new job is busy.” She looked off toward the hallway and Harry got the impression that she might be trying to shut the conversation down. He missed where he was a few seconds ago, trapped in an elevator where she couldn’t leave him.

In a desperate effort to preserve the conversation, Harry asked, “What is it you do, now? For the organization.”

“I’m still in event planning, but I’m pretty much in charge of the whole gala now. They made a position just for me, hence the office down here. They didn’t have room to give me an office where everyone else is.”

“It’s cool that you’re still doing the same stuff. Like, everyone else from the villa is basically an influencer, now.”

Rose laughed, shaking off the compliment. “Not you, though.”

Harry ruffled his hair, blushing. He occasionally helped with Nicky and Seb’s podcast, but Rose was right, he preferred the path his life had been on before Love Island—computer screens and tech startups. He could do with a bit more money, but he didn’t really enjoy all the attention of reality TV long term. “You couldn’t pay me enough.”

“We have that in common, then.” Rose’s smile was as genuine as ever, radiating warmth. She was gorgeous, inside and out.

Harry almost didn’t want to ask. “How’s Rafi, by the way?”

“Oh. Things with Rafi are good,” Rose said. Harry watched her hand toying with a loose thread that sprouted from the handle of her cloth tote bag. “He just got back yesterday from a shoot in Canada.”

“That’s good, then?” Harry couldn’t help but wonder why Rose would be at work so early instead of sleeping in with her boyfriend if he’d just returned home from a long trip. He didn’t voice the question, but it hung in the air regardless.

“Yeah!” Rose dropped the loose thread, clasping her hands in front of her to keep them still. “It’s a shame I’m so busy.” She laughed again, still a little stilted, and gestured lamely down the hall. “My office is number six, by the way—has a nameplate—if you ever need anything.”

Harry took a step back, taking the hint. “Of course, it was good seeing you, Rose.” He hurried to his desk, but her name lingered sweetly on his lips.

-

Rose didn’t know what to make of seeing Harry again. It was strange enough seeing people from the show on Instagram—Harry was right, most of them were influencers, now—or occasionally hearing about them from Rafi, who was better at keeping in touch with everyone. Seeing Harry at work was beyond strange.

For almost one entire hour, she did her best to throw herself into her emails. It greatly impeded her, though, that she hadn’t yet slept. Because of the disagreement with Rafi the night before and her subsequent all-nighter, she was both incredibly tired and almost three days ahead of her normal work schedule. 

When Harry had asked her why she was in the office so early, she hadn’t had the heart nor pride to tell him that she’d been there all night, only having left the office briefly to stretch her legs and grab a spare phone charger from her car.

Sighing, she stood from her desk. It was a large rectangular glass desktop on a stained wooden frame, identical to the desk in her office at home. Both had been gifts from Rafi to celebrate her promotion since he’d been abroad when the promotion was finalized. She remembered the bittersweet feeling of receiving the gifts but wishing Rafi was there to celebrate with. 

Harry wasn’t hard to find. The majority of the sixth floor was dedicated to large tables of open-concept desks where robust computers could be given sufficient room to breathe.

Rose smiled when she saw him. He was completely absorbed in his work, wearing a pair of large blue light glasses and over-ear headphones, staring dead into his monitor.

“Hey,” Rose said, waving her hand to get his attention. He removed his headphones and grinned up at her.

“What’s up?”

“Just needed a break,” she said. “And, I mean, what are the odds of us both working here and coming in early today? I felt rude for running off earlier.”

Harry gestured toward a rolling chair opposite him and scooted his monitor to the side so that he’d be able to see her past it. “Have a seat, then.”

“I mean, if you’re not too busy.”

He laughed, shook his head. “Nah, sit down.”

Rose sat, feeling at ease already in his presence. She’d liked Harry in the villa because he wasn’t intimidating. She had been instantly comfortable around him then too.

“What are you working on?” She asked. Harry kept typing, looking back and forth from her to the screen without losing pace.

He said, “I have a coding test coming up, I’m going for a better position on the programming team here.”

“Oh yeah?”

Harry nodded, a blush spreading on his cheeks. “I’m the only person up for the position internally, so it’s pretty much a done deal.”

“I hope you get it, then.”

Harry stilled his typing and studied Rose. His face lowered into a slight frown as he asked, “Is there a reason you're here and not at home with Rafi?" He paused, catching himself, and quickly added, "I mean, not like it's really my business but if something is wrong, you can talk to me.”

Rose wasn't sure what compelled her to be honest with Harry. She hadn't spoken to him nearly since the villa. It wasn't as if she’d consider him a particularly close friend, or even a contender for becoming one, but that lack of closeness also created a lack of permanence to the conversation. If she really wanted, she could spill her guts and then avoid Harry for the rest of her life. It hadn't been so hard not to see him before now.

"I kind of ran out of the house to avoid an argument," she said, slumping in her chair. "I do actually have work to do, but..."

Harry folded his arms and leaned back, giving her his full attention. “So, you’ve been here all night.”

Rose nodded in the affirmative, caught.

“Don't you have work to do?" She asked, unsure whether she did so to dissuade him from pushing further or out of guilt at having interrupted him.

He shrugged. "I've pretty much got this in the bag."

"The confidence!" Rose giggled, feeling lighter at his easy reply. She liked that about him, too, even if it had been a little infuriating in the villa, the confidence suited him now that he'd grown up a bit.

He had grown up a bit, Rose noticed. He seemed more self-assured and quietly confident than he had before. If the villa confidence had been an act, this new attitude was completely genuine.

"So, the charity gala I've been planning, right?" Rose said, still not completely sure of her desire to vent to Harry but not unsure enough to fight the words from falling from her mouth.

"Right," Harry affirmed. He’d heard about the galas when they’d been a couple on Love Island, she’d been involved in their planning then, too. 

"It's literally all I do all year. I plan this event, it goes great, then I start over and plan the one for next year. Like, literally once a year all of my work gets to pay off."

Harry pushed his keyboard away and folded his hands in front of him, making a show of closely listening.

"So Rafi and I were having dinner and all of the sudden, he's talking about this movie premiere he wants me to go to..." Rose huffed, speaking faster as the irritation came back to her. "Which, like, fine. But it's the same weekend as my gala.”

Harry made a shocked face, covering his mouth with a dramatic flair. "No! Really?”

"Yeah!" It felt good to have someone validate her feelings, even if that someone wasn't her boyfriend. "Right? He didn't even apologize or anything. He just said that I didn't have to go and laughed it off."

"Wait," Harry said. "So, he's not even going to go with you?”

"Yes!" Rose felt more justified in her anger by the second, realizing she wasn't completely crazy for how mad she was. "At this point, I'm not even sure I want him to come."

As she said that, Rose realized that it sunk to the heart of the issue. She didn’t want Rafi at the gala if he didn’t want to be there. A small part of her, though, panged at the thought as a slideshow of her time with Rafi passed her by. The brand deals she didn't want to take part in and the press events she loathed. Rafi’s career at the cost of her privacy.

The first opportunity had come to return the favor and Rafi had fallen completely flat.

-

When Rose had coupled with Harry on their first day in the villa, Harry had felt like he'd won the lottery. He was stunned at first that she was interested in him at all, but he'd have felt that way about any of the girls. She was way out of his league, and he'd made a joke to her to that effect on the first day. But as time passed and they were able to get to know each other more, he realized just how lucky he was.

Rose was radiant and kind. She was able to keep the peace with people around her. She rose above the drama in the villa easily and always managed to come out on top of things. She was funny, too, and smart. Conversations with her were fortifying to Harry in a way that seemed rare and precious.

After just the few days they had together as a couple, he could see himself really falling for her. 

Then he'd messed it all up. He got intimidated, worried that she wasn't really as into him as she let on. He'd started to get the sense that she was further out of his league than he'd originally suspected, that she was starting to get tired of him.

When his insecurities got the better of him, Harry started entertaining other options. He flirted with girls he cared less about because they would hurt his feelings less when they moved on. It felt cliché beyond cliché, so he'd never admitted it to a soul, but he broke things off with Rose because he liked her too much.

She didn't know this, though, she thought that the breakup was mutual, that they both wanted to explore other options. If she was upset, she didn't show it, didn't even give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd made the wrong choice. He knew that she was being charitable and kind and thinking of others like always. She didn't want a disagreement, so a disagreement was avoided.

She had liked him, though, he’d realized all too late, and he'd blown it.

To add insult to injury, Rafi had stolen the show completely when he’d arrived.

Rafi made a spectacle of how much he liked Rose, throwing Harry under the bus while he was at it. Rafi was a real man, Rafi wouldn't take a diamond like Rose for granted, Rafi could show her just how made up his mind was.

It had made Harry want to leave the show early. But he’d stayed, made his bed, got nice and cozy in it.

He was happy that Rose was happy, but he’d never been Rafi’s biggest fan.

Now, hearing Rose complain about him so charitably after he'd done something so careless and needlessly mean, he had to hold back all of the harsh things he wished he could say. He’d always thought that Rose was too nice for her own good.

"Maybe he'll realize his mistake after you ran away in the middle of the night. Like, he has to, right?"

Rose shrugged, looking completely at a loss. "He doesn't pay all that much attention to my silly moods. He knows that if I really have a problem, I'll let him know."

Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Really? You will?"

"Okay..." Rose blushed. "Point taken."

Harry wished that she'd be more assertive. So many mean people that didn't deserve to assert themselves so much did so all the time. People like Rose deserved to get their way more often.

“Look, maybe this isn’t my place but Rafi should already know he's fucked up. Like, you shouldn't have to tell him that the thing you've spent a whole year on means something to you." He leaned forward, speaking faster, hoping to keep Rose from interjecting before he’d convinced her of his point. He liked the feeling of having nothing to lose with Rose, being able to tell her exactly what he thought. “Like, what if he spent a year working on a movie and you wouldn't even go to see it because you had plans with a friend the night of the premiere?"

Rose blanched, seeming all at once to realize the extent of her own hurt feelings. She said nothing, let her shoulders sink with the weight of what she felt.

"Maybe someone should send him anonymous hatemail..." Harry spoke without thinking, blushing when he realized he was thinking out loud. Lucky for him, though, Rose found it funny. She shook her head at him but giggled despite incredulity.

"Please don't," she said. "Christ, though, maybe I’m more angry than I thought because I am tempted.”

"You should be! That was a dick move."

"God," she said after a moment. "You're right."

“Of course I am.” Harry chuckled, downplaying the moment to keep her from sinking again.

"You know, actually…” Rose smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. It was a good look on her, sweet Rosie almost never looked mischievous. "If he does decide to ditch me, I could use a date."

“Surely he won't completely ditch you," Harry said, brushing the insinuation off. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. "Come on."

"He might." Rose sighed, resting her chin in her hands, despondent. "He didn't even think twice before telling me that I could just go alone."

"God, what an ass." Harry paused, covering his mouth. "I didn't just say that."

A laugh slipped past Rose's lips at his serious reaction. Harry was relieved to see her laugh.

“It's totally okay, he is being an ass." She rubbed her face, collecting herself again, and added, "I'm sorry, by the way, if that would be weird... I just, I don't know."

"If what would be weird?"

"You coming to the gala with me. I didn't mean... You know."

Villa history hardly seemed like history, but Harry got her meaning. "No, not at all. I'd be honored to come.”

She smiled, radiant. Harry never realized before this that he could miss someone so much when they were right in front of him.

-

For the first time since she'd been hired at her organization, Rose left work early. She went straight home after lunch, practicing what she was going to say to Rafi the entire drive from the office. Harry was right, Rafi shouldn't have to be told how much the gala meant to Rose, it wasn't too much to ask for her to want him to be there. Or at the very least to expect some kind of remorse for not being there.

She knew he’d be home. During the weeks Rafi was off of work, he spent most of his time at the flat doing small press things over the phone and watching movies in his pajamas. Rose would almost envy all of his free time if she didn't love her job so much.

"Rose?" Rafi was standing in the kitchen, he called her name when she came in the door, surprised to hear her. "Put out all the fires?"

Rose resented the sardonic tone that crept at the edges of his voice. He had a bad habit of not taking her work seriously, of treating her just a bit like she was silly for working so hard when she didn’t need to be working at all.

She set her tote bag in a dining chair, keeping quiet. Rose didn't want to engage in an argument right away, even if she felt she had grounds to win it.

"I got a lot done," she said. "I want to talk, though.”

Rafi made a low noise in the back of his throat, a dismissive hum. “Aren’t you tired? You were out all night.”

He was right, she was exhausted. But as much as she wanted sleep, she didn’t want to do so before she’d at least attempted a resolution of the conflict. Part of her wished she'd taken a nap on the couch in her office. It wouldn't have been comfortable, but she might feel a touch more coherent if she had.

"You need your sleep, my love," Rafi said, his voice softening. He took a step toward her around the kitchen island and reached out to brush a strand of hair out of her face.

“Why don’t we talk after you get some rest? I promise it’ll go better if you’re not running on empty.”

Rose sighed, relenting almost immediately. As much as she didn’t want to have this conversation, she especially didn’t want to have it go poorly. She had a better chance of expressing herself properly if she was better rested.

“You’re right,” she said, letting him take her to bed.

-

The morning of Harry's interview, he was surprised to learn that he wasn't nervous. He was confident in the fact that he’d done good work. He deserved the job.

In his school years, working as an intern on the business side of things, Harry had always felt a little out of his depth. He’d never felt able to measure up to his coworkers or mentors, nor could he pinpoint what was missing. It was refreshing to be in a completely different position now, knowing he was the best man for his job. 

As a celebration of his newfound confidence and an indulgence in a guilty fantasy, Harry bought an extra donut and cup of coffee from his favorite café on his way to the office. He took them straight up to the sixth floor and to Rose Prichard’s office.

When he reached her door, he realized that his hands were too full to properly knock. He laughed, gently knocking his head against the glass door to get her attention.

Rose’s smile when she saw him could have launched a thousand ships.

"What's this for?" She asked, letting him in and accepting the coffee and pastry bag as he offered them to her.

"It's a good luck breakfast!"

“That’s right, your interview is today, isn’t it?”

Harry loved that she’d remembered.

"Yes! And I'm, like, not nervous at all." He'd done a lot of practicing. A lot of late night hours in the office hoping to see Rose. When she didn't show, he’d at least been able to focus his energy on acing the coding test.

"You're gonna crush it." Rose took the lid off of her coffee, blowing it gently before taking a careful sip. “I don’t know why you brought me coffee as a good luck charm, but thank you.”

"Of course." Harry blushed. He liked doing things for her. 

Harry took a seat on the small sofa opposite Rose's desk. In the time since he'd started working on her floor, he'd seen her reading or lounging on this couch just after the end of her work day. He'd wondered at first what she needed with a couch in her office, but it seemed that she got good use out of it. Her office was like a second home to her.

He wondered once or twice if she enjoyed being work more than she enjoyed being home.

"I meant to ask," Harry said, pulling Rose's attention back up from her computer monitor. She'd immediately returned to her email mid-conversation. She'd been a bit of a space case in the last couple of days, but her gala was approaching quickly and Harry knew she was constantly worrying about minor details. Harry knew she must be thinking about it all hours of the day. "How did the conversation with Rafi go?"

She gave Harry a guilty look and his heart sank. He knew what she was going to say before she said it.

“We didn’t really talk.”

“You didn’t…” Harry sounded more surprised than he felt. In the time that he’d known Rose, he’d never known her to be confrontational. She enjoyed keeping the peace, even if it meant swallowing her guts.

“I tried, but I was too tired that day to be coherent and then we only just brushed past it.” She resumed typing, keeping a level tone of voice as a show of nonchalance. “It just kept getting further and further away until it felt silly bringing it up again.”

“Are you still upset?”

She considered for a moment too long for the answer to be no, regardless of what she wanted to tell him.

“Rose.” Harry did his best impression of a stern parent. It didn’t suit him, but he persisted. “You’ve got to talk to him soon, doesn’t he leave for his trip this week?”

“Right.”

“Well there you are. He’s not going to fly back last minute if he doesn’t think this is important to you.” Harry kept what he wanted to say back. He wanted to remind her that Rafi should know better without being told. But he didn’t want Rose to think he was outright bashing her boyfriend by remaining so firmly against him. Even if Rafi objectively deserved the bashing.

“I’ll try to talk to him again,” Rose said. Harry wasn’t convinced.

“Promise?” He stood halfway to reach out to her, offering a pinky in a silly—but hopefully sincere—gesture of solidarity.

She rolled her eyes but locked her pinky with his. Her touch sparked electricity that traveled all the way to his bones. “I promise.”

-

Rose stormed into the apartment, dropping her keys and bag on the entry table with a clatter. She didn't want to lose any of the momentum she'd worked up in the car this time.

“We need to talk,” she said. Telling, not asking.

“What’s wrong, Rosie?” Rafi looked shocked, but he maintained a level voice. He was wearing nothing but a nice pair of silk pajama bottoms and had been relaxing in front of the TV when Rose barged in, flustered. All things considered, he was taking the intrusion in stride.

All in one breath, before she could even take a seat next to him on the couch,  Rose said, “I’m upset about you not coming to my gala. Like, I know you have other things going on—which is fine. But you don’t even seem sad about it or sorry you’ll miss it.”

Rose stopped speaking just long enough to sit next to him on the couch, pulling one leg up next to her so that she could face him in her seat. She continued, “It’s really hurt my feelings, Raf. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it before, but…”

She trailed off, trying desperately to blink away tears. It had been made into a joke on Love Island that Rose cried easily and often, which made her all the more self-conscious now.

“Rosie…” Rafi reached for her, pulling her to scoot closer and lean into his bare chest. He closed his strong arms around her when she complied. Rose hated how her easy tears always toppled the balance of these types of conversations. How quickly the other party stopped taking her seriously when she started crying.

She didn’t want to be coddled, she wanted to be heard.

“Rosie, come here.” Rafi smoothed her hair down as she tried to collect herself, but her efforts were very nearly in vain. She felt hysterical.

“How long have you been holding onto this?” He asked.

The tears came faster. It had been almost two weeks since he’d told her about the film festival.

“I didn’t want to make it a thing,” she whimpered, feeling pathetic.

“It’s okay.” Rafi smoothed her hair again, pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It’s alright, baby.”

The angry, frustrated part of her wondered if he was ever going to actually apologize or if he’d just continue to comfort her meaninglessly. He acted like she was upset at someone or something completely separated from him. Like he was saving her from her own sadness, detached from all meaning.

“Do you know what I mean, though?” Her rising anger kept the tears at bay long enough for her to speak again. “I feel dismissed.”

Rafi shook his head. “I know, but you’re not going to like what I have to tell you.”

Frowning, Rose said nothing. She pulled back, daring him to say what she knew was coming.

“Well, if I’d known sooner how much it meant to you I would have been able to change things but…” He trailed off. She got the gist. This wasn’t his fault anymore. He’d surely have been more considerate if she’d given him proper notice.

Rose cut him off. “So that’s it, then?” Her voice was soft, not malicious even if she deserved to be.

“I’m sorry,” Rafi said. He tried to reach for her arms again but she shook him off. “It’s out of my hands!”

Rose recoiled, sinking into herself once more. Speaking her mind hadn’t fixed anything, but at least she knew that she had a right to be angry. She stood, took quick steps towards the door. “I’m going back to work.”

“You’re not.” Rafi gave an incredulous laugh.

“I am.” She punctuated the sentence with the rattle of her keys being retrieved from the entry table. “This was my lunch break.”

“Rose, please.”

“If you can’t change anything, fine.” She opened the door, took a step outside. “Forget I said anything.”

Rose shut the door gently behind her, wishing she had the strength of conviction to slam it.

-

When Harry's interview ended and he was told that he'd be moved to the better postion, he was first thrilled, then struck by an odd desire to run directly to Rose's office to deliver the good news. He hadn’t even called his mother yet but, there he was, taking the elevator back up to the sixth floor.

He arrived to find that the lights had been turned off and Rose was no longer there. It was odd for her, to be gone this early in the day.

Harry knew that he should hope that she was talking to Rafi, finally getting the apology she deserved, but he wished despite this that she was just taking her lunch or in a meeting, that she’d be back before the end of the day.

Without Rose to share his news with, Harry went back to the first floor. He’d taken the rest of the day off for the interview, since it was scheduled after his lunch. His second instinct was to step outside and call his mom.

In front of the office building, Harry dialed his mom’s cell and took a seat on one of the large, concrete blocks that replaced actual benches in favor of a brutalist, corporate aesthetic.

“You have good news?” Harry’s mom had texted him a sweet good luck message that morning. She would be happy with him even if he hadn’t been given the job, but he was filled with pride to tell her that he had. 

“I got the job,” he said. He smiled down at the cracks in the sidewalk, warmth rising to his cheeks at getting to say the thing out loud. “I’m really excited.”

“I’m proud of you,” his mom told him. He was overjoyed. “Really, good job, son.”

“Thank’s mom.” Harry kicked his legs, feeling unusually boyish despite his grown-up accomplishment. He looked up at the sky, trying to take in the moment. So much of him had changed in the last few years. It was like he could feel his frontal lobe developing in real time.

He’d grown into a man his mother was unequivocally proud of.

Harry’s mom told him about what she was cooking for dinner and about some home-town gossip and Harry listened patiently, happy for the distraction from wondering where Rose was.

When he finally hung up the phone, he almost didn’t believe his eyes when he looked up and saw her. It was as if Rose had been conjured from his mind and placed in the street in front of him.

“Rosie!” He hopped up from the bench, waving to get her attention before she entered the office building. He wasn't sure why the nickname had come to him, but it felt comfortable, like he’d said it a hundred times before.

She turned and the corner of her mouth budged into a hint of a smile. “What are you doing out here?”

He held up his phone, shook it for emphasis. “Calling my mom.”

The realization struck her and she gasped, dropping all casual pretense for sincere excitement. “Ah! Did you get the job?”

Harry flushed, head to toe, warm with pride like he’d taken a shot of liquor. He was sure his cheeks were tinged with pink, but he didn’t entirely mind.

“I did.”

“Oh my god!” Rose beamed at him. “Harry, that’s amazing!”

He didn’t remember the last time he’d heard her say his name, but the sound of it made him dizzy. He looked down, kicked at the air in front of his foot. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m really glad.”

“I’m glad for you! Are you coming back inside?” She asked. “Or did you take time off for the interview?”

“They told me I could take the day.” Emboldened by his recent luck, he asked, “Have you eaten lunch already?”

-

Since she’d taken her lunch break to try to talk to Rafi, Rose knew that the responsible thing would be to grab something from a vending machine, go back to her office, and resume work. She found that she didn’t want that, though. In direct contrast to the last few weeks, where she had felt safest while locked away in her office, Rose didn’t want to go back to work.

She wanted to go to the Pho place Harry suggested for lunch. To stay with him for the rest of the day. She felt uncharacteristically carefree when she had his positive attitude to bask in, and a woefully neglected piece of her wanted to hold onto the feeling for as long as she could.

As a compromise—because Rose couldn’t abandon the gala as much as she wanted to—she invited Harry up to her office and they ordered Pho to be delivered.

While they waited for their food, Rose answered emails and called vendors. She had no extra time to spare away from gala preparations. Harry was patient, chatted to her about her work when she could spare the focus and played a game on his phone when she couldn’t.

Rose enjoyed Harry’s company, even if they weren’t speaking.

When the food came, they cleared space on Rose’s desk to eat. It was cramped, since she didn’t want to get hot broth too near her computer. They had to sit on the same side of the desk, elbows bumping for the fact that Harry was left-handed.

“We could switch sides,” Harry said, giggling at yet another accidental bump.

Rose shook her head, giggling as she scooted a tiny bit away. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry my desk is only really built for one.”

“I don’t mind being cozy.” As if to prove his point, Harry bumped her elbow with his again, a playful jab. “But we wouldn’t have this problem if you traded me seats.”

“I didn’t know you were left handed.” She bumped him back. “Isn’t it weird how little we actually learned about each other? You know, on the show?”

In the nearly two weeks since they’d been reacquainted, neither of them had really mentioned the reality television shaped elephant in the room. It had been easy not to address their shared history, to let any past heartaches fade into the background. Rose wasn’t sure what made her bring it up, then.

Maybe it was getting harder to spend time with Harry without thinking about what it had been like to kiss him.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. 

“I didn’t really know you were left-handed, to start.”

On Love Island, they hadn’t been allowed to talk about certain things early on. Their conversations were kept infuriatingly shallow until the end, manufacturing an artificial sense of closeness between the finalists and keeping drama front and center. Rose knew the basics; Harry was from York, he’d still been a student then. They’d swapped descriptions of their family dynamics and anecdotes about their studies. Harry had once bragged about how early he woke up every morning to recite positive affirmations.

Plastic kiddie pool shallow.

“To be fair, I was too busy trying to impress you to open up much,” Harry admitted. Rose stared down into her bowl, too startled by his honesty to meet his eyes. “I mean, that’s how everyone was, though.”

“Right, we didn’t get into a lot of deep conversations until the end.”

“No,” Harry chuckled. “I mean, everyone was trying to impress you.”

Rose turned, knitting her brows at him. She’d never understood this impression people had of her time on the show—that she’d been particularly well liked or desired. On some level, something like that had to be true for her to have won in the end, but she’d assumed that the popular vote had been won in large part by Rafi’s charisma, not her’s.

“Everyone was trying to impress everyone,” she told him. “But things were weird there, we had to be these silly, exaggerated versions of ourselves in order to stand out. I don’t feel like I really got to know anyone until after.”

“Does that include Rafi?”

“I think so,” Rose admitted. “Not entirely a bad thing, but... I don’t know, there’s a reason reality TV relationships don’t usually work out.”

Harry paused, a crease forming between his brows as he seemed to see through to the heart of Rose’s sudden nostalgic turn. “Did you talk to him?”

Rose sighed, nodded. She’d suspected that her feelings about the argument with Rafi would catch up to her eventually, but she’d hoped to at least finish lunch first.

“Here’s the thing,” Harry said. “If you don’t want to talk about it again, we don’t have to. But if you need to vent, I really do care for you, Rose.”

She could only bear to let the sincerity of his statement linger for a moment before it was too much. 

“It didn’t go well,” Rose said. She could start there, understated. “I mean, basically exactly what you predicted happened.”

“Meaning?”

Tears welled in her eyes already. Rose wished for the second time that day that her heart were just a touch further from her sleeve.

“He said that if he’d known sooner then he could have changed his plans, but…” Her voice cracked and she trailed off, looking away from him in an attempt to preserve her pride.

When she looked back, Harry’s face was twisted into a deep frown, barely holding back anger. Then, seeing her eyes again, his gaze softened into a look of deep concern.

“Can I offer some unsolicited advice?” He asked.

-

Harry hated to see Rose cry.

Only once in the villa had she cried in front of him, but her easy tears had been made into a running joke by the producers and the narrator on the show. Harry remembered hearing the narrator joke about it for the first time, how furious it had made him. That had been one of the first things that made him want to distance himself from the franchise entirely.

“If I grant permission I don’t think it’s unsolicited advice anymore,” Rose joked, a sad attempt at a laugh bubbling from her chest. “But go ahead.”

“I think you should consider what this means for the rest of the relationship.” He wasted no time getting to the point. In the time since Rose’s first argument with Rafi, Harry had been consumed with desire to fix things for her. But he had his reasons to hesitate to get involved. He didn’t want to seem like he was rooting for a breakup or judging Rafi too harshly, even if he suspected that Rose didn’t know he still harbored feelings for her. Here he was, though, past the point of no return.

He continued, “Like, if you think you can accept that your feelings were hurt and that he’s probably not going to fix this, then you can move on. But if you can’t…” The insinuation hung between them without Harry having to say the words. He didn’t want to tell her to break up with him outright. Even if that was objectively what he thought she should do.

He expected Rose to reel back or offer some kind of rebuttal or defense of Rafi. She didn’t, though. Instead, she twisted her hands together in silence for a moment. Then, “God, Harry, when did you get so wise?”

Harry blushed, surprised at the comment. He’d never once been accused of being wise. “Oh, you know…”

Rose took a moment, silently collecting herself, brushing her eyes with the backs of her hands. She must wear very waterproof mascara, Harry imagined, the corner of his lip twitching up at the thought.

“What are you smiling at?” She narrowed her eyes, but cracked a smile at the same time, only selling her attempt at annoyance halfway. 

“Is your mascara waterproof?” He asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Very funny. Yes it is.”

Without thinking, he reached for her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“You know, I hated how they made that a thing for you. On the show.” He pulled his hand back, cradling it in his lap as if to keep himself from reaching for her again. “It made me so mad seeing them trivialize your feelings the way they did.”

Rose gave him a doe-eyed look, like she didn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.

“Oh, um…” She wiped her eyes again then looked around the room to avoid eye contact. He remembered how she fled from moments of sincerity in the villa. How much Rafi had been required to push her to make her realize his feelings were genuine. “I appreciate that.”

-

Rose had feared conviction like this when she’d first moved in with Rafi. The conviction that she should break up with him without knowledge of where she would go if she did.

She resented the fact that the name on the lease was his. Since he paid most of the bills, it meant that she would be the one who would have to leave. Even if she’d been the one that spent the most time in the flat, making it a home.

After her lunch with Harry, Rose told him that she needed time to think and to focus on work. Even though a tiny part of her wanted him to push back and not leave her to herself, Harry absconded without protest.

Rose thought about texting Rafi and preparing him for a conversation when she got home, but she couldn’t work up the nerve. She finished her work for the day, tried not to think about the conversation ahead, drove home without a plan.

As she walked up the stairs to the front door, her phone dinged. A text from Harry wishing her luck. She walked into the flat smiling, grateful for Harry’s support.

The living room was dark, though, and Rafi was gone. Because he wasn’t in town much, he didn’t drive, so there was no way to judge whether or not he was home by a car outside the building.

Rose went to the bedroom and her office, just in case, but he was nowhere to be found. She was halfway through typing a text asking where he was when she saw the note on the kitchen counter.

Rose,

I had to catch a flight, they need me on set early. I’ll call you when I get in tonight.

Rafi

-

so sorry this was way more self indulgent and much longer than it needed to be. cheers.

tags: @starsarestars @lasswithumor

[amaya-writes]

Notes: I wanted some Aizawa comfort fluff so I wrote so Aizawa comfort fluff

Warnings: reader breaks down, Aizawa calls reader kitten (i couldn't think of any other gn nickname that fits him).

Gender-neutral reader, you/your, yours

Aizawa didn't know why he still bothered with the paperwork.

It had only been half an hour since you sat yourself down in his lap, arms and legs wrapped around his back as your head rested on his shoulder to easily stare at the phone cradled in your palms.

The gesture was familiar, one that silently communicated your fatigue and longing for affection but respect for his work space. It was an understanding of sorts the two of you had come to after a year of dating, one that allowed Shota to let you into his workspace, a place so sacred and dear to him for the importance it held, so long as you didn't disrupt it.

It had taken some getting used to and a lot of training to have you remain as complaint as you were now, but the warm touch of affection after a long a day of work and before the next tiring weekday was one Shouta had come to appreciate and dare say look forward to.

"How long?"

The question was muttered against his clothed shoulder, with your lips drawing dangerously close to his as the words were spoken.

By now Shouta had gotten used to the two words, prompting him to reply even as he continued to stare at the same page of homework he had for the past half an hour.

"Ten minutes."

Liar.

Both of you knew Aizawa wouldn't be getting through the pile of 1A homework anytime soon, but as you rolled the word over your tongue, testing out the consequences that would come with it, Aizawa couldn't help but silently dare you to object.

Surprisingly, you chose to relent for once and instead slumped further against his chest, prompting Aizawa to draw his arms closer to one another even as he never dared to return the embrace.

Because returning it would mean you won.

It would mean your determination to have him all to yourself was far greater than his to finish his work on time. It would mean that you could and most certainly would test his limits and trample all over his perfectly created plans for the day just to watch him cave again.

And most importantly, it would mean that the past half an hour spent staring at Kaminari Denki's English homework had been for nothing.

This certainly wasn't the most time Aizawa had spent blankly staring at Denki's work as he contemplated just how stupid his student really was, but it certainly was the most exasperated one.

Because Aizawa couldn't allow himself the luxury of amusing himself with illegible homework when you were so clearly distressed and ready to snap at any moment.

Shouta wasn't daft, he had known something was off the moment you slumped against his chest with a barely legible 'evening' that was cut off by a small sigh. He just chose to ignore the signs with promises of dealing with your sour mood once he was done.

But then you started to switch between scrolling through social media to distract yourself and using one of the calming apps you swore by, letting out one of those tiny little exasperated sighs every time you closed an app just to open another.

Shouta knew you were waiting on him and that your patience was running thin as your bottle of emotions threatened to spill over any second, but he couldn't help but try and convince himself that it was alright. That he could finish Denki's paper and then muse about it as you cuddled the night away.

Aizawa was certain he had things under control, that he could skim over the last paragraph of his student's essay in record time and get to cursing Yamada for his inability to grade all the essays by himself.

Shouta Aizawa was certain everything would be just fine and that this was just another one of your bad days, up until he heard the broken sob that was muffled by his shoulder.

Denki's paper fell onto his desk around the same time your phone slipped through your fingers, but neither of you seemed to care for the discarded objects as your hands automatically found their way to each other, all in an attempt to ease your heart.

"Whoa, kitten, you okay there?"

You didn't bother with a verbal reply, probably too upset to muster the words without bursting into another sob, but the shake of your head against his shoulder was enough for Shouta to finally do what he should have done the second you sat on his lap: comfort you.

He didn't bother with words, for Aizawa was uncertain of what to say or if he should say anything at all considering how serious the situation seemed. The raven-haired hero had dated you long enough to know something had to be seriously wrong for you to breakdown this way, but he also knew now was no time for questions.

So Shouta couldn't help but resort to the only logical course of action; physical affection.

It started small; a reassuring hand on your head, fingers rubbing circles into your back. It was only when you sunk deeper into the embrace and buried your face into his chest as you hid away from the world that Shouta continued.

His actions were common, things people would naturally do when calming down a loved one mixed with actions he knew you craved. Aizawa didn't do anything special, not bothering to try and make you forget as most in his situation would.

Instead, he was reassuring. Reassuring in a way that made you feel motivated to cry more, to bawl your eyes out and sob until your throat hurt as you let it all out and drowned Aizawa in a river of sadness that he would eventually soak up with his unceremonious sunshine.

Shouta didn't make you hide away from your problems or change the subject, he neither forced you to speak nor shut you down. Shouta gave you options, he gave you the choice to do as you please as you sobbed away on his lap so long as you knew that he was there for you.

That no number of awful essays or hero work could pull him away from you and your needs. Because you were his darling kitten, one he was ready to live out storms with.

Perhaps that was why he couldn't help but smile as Shouta felt your hiccupped breaths even out and shaking sobs retreat, being replaced with small snores that had him nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

Sure, Shouta was willing to stick by you through it all, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt to see you in pain.

As the raven-haired hero impossibly tightened his arms around your sleeping form and slowly began to follow you into the dreamland, he couldn't help whisper out one last statement, one that hung in the room long after he succumbed to the sweet lulls of slumber.

"I'll always be here for you kitten; sorry I don't show it enough."

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 10: BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN

y/n is back in brooklyn for the holidays. thinking that a stream will make her feel less homesick for cali, she starts working on her famously titled hentai.free.srv. what was supposed to be a relaxing stream turns into a special delivery about two hours in.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 2.2k ─── ❥ req: Here's one... You know those apps for delivery like Domino's or whatnot... What if reader is streaming Among Us with Corpse, and reader mentions they're hungry and Corpse offers to order them food, and readers like no no it's fine... Then there's delivery at the door (Corpse ordered beforehand) 

author’s note: fucky format is also back in town baby!!! also if you find any mistakes - no u didnt <3 thank u everyone for enjoying this story sm i literally cant believe how feral yall going strawberry cow was a nuclear explosion im still recovering tbh. got an ask a while ago and decided to incorporate it into myso. happy holidays everyone! myso will continue on monday!

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Indeed, being soft on any social media platform was the biggest disgrace and needed to be eliminated post haste. Moreover, it was a slippery slope - once you start flooding your timeline with cute imagery and heart emojis, what will stop you from posting inspirational Facebook quotes? Disgusting. If Rae were here, she would chide you (not you thinking about her as if she’s dead or something). For once in your life, you feel like you deserve it. 

Alas, you hope this little chaos you’ve caused is enough to throw everyone off. The stans, especially. You know the hashtags, you’ve seen ARMY scourging for info online with the same fervor and ruthlessness 1 Direction fans hacked airport security cameras just to spy on the boys. If you had any dirty secrets online, they are out to the public now - thankfully, besides the Harry Styles stan account (with edits and all), you have nothing. Though, now that you think about it, exposed nudes would have been better than your Punk!Harry edit receiving almost a million views. God, your life’s a fucking mess.

Your fans aren’t the only ones out for info - you, too, are trying to decipher Rae’s message. Code: Barbecue Sauce. The two of you had come up with it roughly two years ago, around the same time when you promised that if you didn’t find significant others by the time you’re 40, you’ll just marry each other. It was one of the many rules found in your friendship codex. Barbecue Sauce signifies information - an exchange of information. And depending on how it ends or begins (”So I’m sitting there” alludes to Rae, “On my titties” alludes to you), secret data on that person is given away, usually free of charge. 

But why? And to whom did Rae give away what? You had pestered her mercilessly and even sent some voice messages where you were crying. You were only crying because of a video of a grandpa smiling you saw on TikTok, but you are a snake, and so you put those tears to good use. If streaming doesn’t work out, you’ll just become an actress. Hollywood would love you. Your PR firm sure as fuck wouldn’t, though.

Rae was having none of it. She said you’ll figure it out eventually. Told you to channel your superior puzzle skills. You were quick to remind her that you can barely count to ten without having an aneurysm. Oddly serious, she admitted that she worries for you sometimes. Why only sometimes?! you demanded. She merely sighed. uttering under her breath something that sounded closely to “Boke.”

You leave her for barely a week and she’s already neck deep in the gay volleyball anime, hoodie and cardboard cutout and everything. Your life is falling apart.

But Brooklyn is nice. It had snowed when you stepped off of the plane. Thousands of snowflakes sprinkling into your hair, dotting your cheeks and nose. You missed this sight back in Cali. You missed your parents, too. 

Home cooked meals, old sweaters, your old room and about 40GB worth of old high school pictures on your computer. You went through them all one night. Some were stomach churning, cringe inducing nightmares. You were especially fond of those. Texted some of your friends that were still in Brooklyn, met up, decided to bake. Bad idea, Rae was the resident chef back in Cali. Besides laughing till your stomach hurt, and almost burning down your kitchen, nothing all that significant happened. Somewhere down the line, at about 3 am, half-way through a cheesy rom-com you had the overwhelming urge to text Corpse.

That’s where the problems really started. God, you missed California, missed being in the same timezone with a guy you hadn’t even met yet, how embarrassing is that?! You missed skating around and taking pictures of the beach in the setting sun, sending it to him, silently wishing he was with you to admire the view. 

You really want to call him. And to hang out with him. But for some reason, the thought of that springs up immediate anxiety and you shy away from asking. Him sending you cute good morning texts doesn’t help, either. Maybe it’s better he doesn’t know that you’re a blushing, stuttering mess each time you read “baby”. 

Late evening. Your stream is already set up, people are slowly trickling in and you greet them with a grin and a soft “Hello! Hi hi!”. You did your best to make your room a perfectly chaotic backdrop - led lights, an embarrassing amount of anime merch and plushies. You always try to balance out your weeb side by dressing hot as fuck for your streams - today’s inspiration just so happens to be egirls. Mostly because you watched one too many egirl make-up tutorials on TikTok, and also because you’ve been listening to Corpse’s song all day.

Yeah, no, who are you kidding, you dressed up this way because you were hoping Corpse was watching your stream. You didn’t forget your cat headphones, either. You know he likes them. You want to make him suffer. Perhaps then, finally, he will ask you out, so you wouldn’t have to.

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“I feel like,” You start when you put away your phone, staring idly at the chat, “I feel like I need a new name for you guys. Calling you guys after two years of streaming is just... weird, no? I also don’t respect men so I don’t want to call you guys. Like, so many creator’s have, like, a name for their fans. Uhm, Cody Ko has the chodesters, Kurtis Conner has, uh, folks? Kurtis Town? Citizens! Markiplier has mommy issues--” You can’t help snorting, “So, I’ve been, like, thinking - I know, shocking! - so I was thinking I’m gonna name you cockroaches. Because you’re grimy little shits impossible to kill. And also then I can use the legendary Minaj meme ROACHES!”

Your stream enthusiastically echoes ROACHES, making the chat swim. Yes, if anyone would enjoy such a name, it would be your audience. You’re as equally proud as you are disturbed.

“Well, anyway.” Leaning back into your chair, you throw your arms out with a bright grin, “Big dick is back in town, baby! If you noticed the backdrops different, it’s cuz I’m in Brooklyn now. Don’t ask me when I will return to Always Sunny, I don’t plan that far ahead.”

While Minecraft boots up, you decide to answer a few questions.

r u dating sykkuno?

You want to smack your head into the keyboard, but as it is, you can’t exactly afford a new one, so you refrain, “No, Sykkuno and I are not dating, we are just good friends. Uhm, I’m not sure how much I’ll have to repeat this, but, we really aren’t, so if the roaches could chill - Oh my God, that sounds so stupid, I love it - uh, yeah, if the roaches could chill that’d be great.”

the roaches lmao sounds like we’re a sports team

“Oh shit, yeah it does, uh-- maybe I can make like, jerseys or something. That’d be cool, I think.”

how disappointed are your parents with the way your life turned out?

“My parents are actually not disappointed at all!” You say with a cute little smile, “Uhm, they’re both really proud, actually. They’re glad I found something I love doing and made a job outta it. Dad finds my Youtube videos endearing. Yes, they watch pretty much all of my videos, unless I explicitly tell them not to. And yeah, with all the fucks and thirsting for anime characters. Uhm, it was very embarrassing at first, but I mean, after a while, shame just...doesn’t exist anymore, I guess? Funny thing about my parents, actually, when they watch my videos-” You eye catches a comment, “Oh! No, they only watch my Youtube videos. They don’t know how to use Twitter, thank God. Uhm, anyway-- when they hear a name they don’t know, like, I dunno, Dabi, or something, they google--” You’re grinning by now, eyes crinkling, giggling softly, “--who that is, and buy me like, merch and stuff. It’s really cute. 

can i be adopted by ur parents plz

will you and corpse ever collab?!

You were about to answer, though the man of the hour himself decides to do it for you.

Corpse_Husband: yes.

Okay, not to say your heart skipped a beat, but it totally did. With a pleased smile, you nod, like one of those bobble head toys sold at the dollar store. The motion is oddly reminiscent of Sykkuno’s own nod. Perhaps you had picked it up from him. The chat seems to notice.

pack it up, sykkuno

More questions pile about this mysterious collab you and Corpse are planning. Yeah, you’d like to hear more about it, too, since he single highhandedly decided one was happening right now. Corpse remains silent. Fine, keep your secrets. 

“Okay, guys, oh, I mean, roaches, Oh my God--” You’re covering your mouth, giggling, “-calling all roaches, calling all roaches, calm down. Everyone grab a snack and a blanket I’m turning up the music volume so we can all chill. Entering chill zone. Entering chill zone. Roaches, prepare.”

we are prepared

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An hour or so passes and you grow hungry. It shows with the amount of cakes you had baked in your server. Currently, you find yourself throwing eggs at the wall of one of the renovated houses, your face scrunched in concentration and slight frustration. 24 of the 50 eggs have been wasted. “What’s a girl gotta do to get some chicks around here?” you had uttered under your breath, until, finally, a screech - the egg finally spawns a mob. Your mouth falls open, “Aww, look!” You approach it, so small, walking in zigzags beside you, “It’s a baby chicken! Die, bitch.” The baby chicken is no more as you swing your bedazzled (you have mods) diamond sword. You’re cackling by the time the dust settles.

y/n is a child murderer

“Roaches,” You address your fan-base, spurring another fit of laughter - you can’t get over the name, “I think I’m like, forgetting that eating in Minecraft won’t actually make less hungry in real life.”

take a break and go eat queen <3

“Fuck no, we starve and die like men. Now I actually really need another chicken.”

Another twenty minutes trickle by and you’re trying to lure back a panda from the jungle when there’s a knock on your bedroom’s door. Whipping your head to the side, you slide down your headphones. At the same time, your mom pokes her head through the ajar door, “MOM!” You scream, “Get OUT of my room I’m playing Minecraft!” But your yell has no actual bite to it, as you don’t manage to hide your smile. Your mom laughs, doing some sort of sign language and motioning for you to follow her with her head. That or it’s some sort of performative dance. 

“I’m live right now,” You tell her, pointing at your screen. She knows this already, though, “do you want to say hi?” 

The roaches spam the chat with friendly hellos. You mom, quite impatient now, waves you over. 

“Sorry, roaches, mom needs something. Be back in a bit!”

Stopping the stream, you rush out of your seat and pleased she slinks into the hallway. “What’s this about?”

“Your pizza came.”

“My what now?” You echo, confused.

“Domino’s. You ordered pizza?”

“What? No? I was busy with the stream, I never--”

Thankfully, you had managed to grab your phone from your room before you exited. You almost choke on spit once you read the messages.

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You decide that it’ll be impossible to stream after experiencing what you had just experienced. You tweet out a quick apology to the roaches (God, that fucking name) and say that you had a breakdown but you’re okay. That is as a close to the truth as you managed to muster. It’s a sad sight, chewing and crying; your mom winced when she saw your state - disheveled hair and rundown eyeliner and everything. “D’aww,” She had muttered, caressing the top of your head, “don’t cry my little raccoon.”

If anyone was ever to ask you where did your chaotic nature come from, you’d answer with my mom. To make yourself feel better, you took a selfie - duck face and peace sign and the horrible 2000′s angle. Sent it to Rae. 

looking hot, her message read. 

thanks, was all you replied with.

You couldn’t just leave things as they were. Once you calmed down, you wanted to text Corpse, but how would you follow up the ungodly caps lock and screeching? Impossible. An idea sprung to mind, one that was brave. Taking the first step.

Instead of sending a text, you sent a voice memo.

“Thank you for the pizza, it was delicious.”

You voice still sounded a bit raspy. His reply was instant. Your heart skipped a beat. He sent a voice memo back.

“Glad you liked it, baby.”

He was going to be the death of you.

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tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @slashersdream - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai - @truly-dionysus - @multi-fandom-central707

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙