#i hate sending work for review

[thewenglishwarlock]

.

[nonsensechemicals]

crying whenever i talk about Cookie9 because all my friends have these interesting and unique theories on them while i take everything too literally and they all just stare at me like “dude… uuugh we r TIRED” <-they dont actually say this they are very kind to me but i can Feel It

[sasquatchandleatherjacket]

.

[troglodytemignon]

Love to work in an increasingly dysfunctional and paranoid workplace

[exdeputysonso]

i had to leave one gif out that tumblr didn’t like for some reason but surprisingly the underboob one was fine!

[not-gray-politics]

can we also talk about how without fail all of these arguments are almost always weaponized against minority creators representing themselves in their media. It does not escape me that every time the internet bandwagons on hating something and calling the writing and art direction bad, the creator is a queer person writing queer characters, a woman writing for other women and girls, a poc writing for other poc, or a combination of the three. Everyone acts like that's not the "REAL reason" they hate that piece of media, but after the 50th time, I think we can all see right through it. When I see someone jumping onto a hate bandwagon, I always want to ask.. Did you even watch/play/read it? Or did you just listen to someone else's opinions on it and make them your own? If you did experience the media yourself, did you go into it having already formed a bad opinion of it? In getting involved with the online discourse around it, did you listen to ANY positive opinions on it, or do you just block out/send hate to anyone who enjoys it because it makes you feel morally superior? Think about it. Seriously, whoever's reading this, go reflect on that. Think about the piece of media YOU specifically don't like and ask yourself these questions. Dig into it.

You want more minority representation in media but if they have flaws its problematic and if theyre perfect theyre a patronizing mary sue. If they crack under the pressure of the conflict the author thinks that minority is weak and if they overcome the adversity they must be a neoliberal bootlicker who thinks real world bigotry is a matter of personal attitude. You want minority characters but if theyre a villain its violently problematic and if theyre the protagonist then we circle back to the very first sentence. If theyre a side character theyre being sidelined and the author is once again bigoted, and don't you know that every single minority character death is unilaterally bigoted, without exception? You want more minority characters but if their identity is a big part of their personality or struggles then they're problematic and if their identity has nothing to do with their personality or struggles then the author is tokenizing that identity for clout. You want more minority characters but every time theres a minority character who doesnt have every single experience that you have then you tell the author to kill themselves on twitter. You wonder why not even minority authors will write minority characters.

I would ask you to read Catch-22, but you'd just call the military base problematic.

[kentucky-daisey]

I'm not much one for physical contact, but I had a really stressful meeting at work and all I want is a really tight hug. I'm emotionally exhausted.

[rabbitsonthemoon]

I will absorb this like a sponge as well, thank you for the addition.

everybody just latched onto “terf = enemy” and then never again put any thought into why that is, and what transmisogyny is, so they just make a big deal out of being an anti-terf instead of understanding the problem in the first place

[melanchoire]

THE MIDNIGHT DETOUR ──── yu jimin

── ( 🌸 ) the constant jabs and petty games with your nemesis karina reach a boiling point at a party, culminating in a bathroom encounter where heated arguments give way to an even hotter, forbidden connection you never saw coming.

pairing. dom!popular girl!karina x sub!riival!fem reader

warning(s). bitting, degradation, fingering, hate sex???, making out, thigh riding.

word count. 4,8k

author's note. thank you so much for the almost 500 notes on the yujrina fic <3. right now i'm working on eight fics and four requests BUT feel free to keep sending requests or thoughts to my ask box 🙏🏻 i love doing this guys...

the fluorescent lights of the school hallway hummed, a monotonous soundtrack to the daily drama unfolding around you. you gripped your textbooks tighter, the worn covers offering a small comfort as you navigated the crowded space. ot wasn't just the sheer volume of bodies that made it feel like a minefield; it was them. the “ae-girls” as the student body had so aptly nicknamed karina's group. they moved through the corridors like royalty, their beauty a blinding force field that seemed to repel anyone who dared to stray too close.

you'd seen it happen with other groups before, the casual cruelty of popularity. but with karina and her crew, it felt different. more personal, more... calculated. you were no stranger to loud, boisterous friend groups. your own friends were certainly a handful, their humor sometimes landing with a thud outside your inner circle. but karina's group was something else entirely. it was a finely tuned symphony of subtle jabs, barely concealed snickers, and outright antagonism.

the “ae-girls” were a constant, irritating hum in your otherwise relatively quiet existence. you knew, rationally, that cliques and social dynamics were the lifeblood of high school, but you couldn't shake the feeling that they were deliberately, maliciously, targeting you.

ever since the day you'd first bumped into karina —literally, colliding mid-hallway, sending textbooks scattering across the floor— there had been a palpable tension, a current of electricity charged with something you couldn't quite name. it wasn’t just the typical high school drama. it felt as though they were actively trying to burrow under your skin, to find that one loose thread that would unravel you entirely.

the whispers were the first thing you noticed. walking past the ae-girls, you’d catch snippets of conversation, their eyes darting in your direction, their lips twitching with suppressed laughter. it was a performance of complicity, a silent communication that excluded you, that made you feel like the butt of some private joke you could never understand.

then there was winter. her method was more physical, a jarring disruption to your daily routine. you remember the chill of that particular day; the fluorescent lights of the hallway hummed as you walked, heading to math class, minding your own business, reviewing quadratic formulas in your head. she walked with a deliberate swagger, her blonde hair swinging around her face like a halo of mischief and suddenly, a sharp, unexpected impact sent you staggering. winter, all sleek lines and effortless cool, had deliberately slammed her shoulder into yours, a calculated, almost predatory move. you flinched, the force of the blow rattling your teeth.

“watch it.” you’d muttered, more surprised than angered.

winter just smirked, a tiny, almost petulant curve of her lips. “maybe you should be more aware of your surroundings.” her voice was a low, velvety purr, that made you shiver and not in a good way. she barely glanced back as she continued walking, her laughter mingling with giselle and ningning who were on her side.

and then there were giselle and ningning, the twin guardians of silent judgment, their gazes like a brand. you’d learned to recognize their looks, the heavy scrutiny that followed you down the hallway, the air thick with unspoken criticism. it felt like being dissected under a microscope, every movement, every imperfection magnified and analyzed.

you always see them in the mornings when students enter school, clustered near the lockers, bathed in the cold light.

giselle and ningning, their dark eyes flitting over the crowd, scanning for… what? targets? you swallowed, feeling the familiar pinprick of unease as their gazes landed on you, lingered, and then, with a barely perceptible smirk, moved on. it was always like this. they never said anything, but their looks spoke volumes, dissecting you, judging you with a silent, almost telepathic precision that made you want to crawl out of your own skin.

you remember one time, you were heading to the library. your footsteps echoed on the polished floor; the heavy silence was interrupted as you noticed them, they were in the corner talking with their heads down. when you passed by they raised their heads at the same time and stared, giving you a look that would curdle milk.

“what are you staring at?” you’d asked, your voice a little sharper than you’d intended. you stopped right in front of them.

giselle and ningning exchanged a look, a silent conversation that seemed to happen before your very eyes. they said nothing, their expression unchanging, a mask of detached disapproval. then, without another word, they simply turned and walked away, leaving you feeling exposed and foolish.

but karina... she was the epicenter of it all. you saw her, leaning against the lockers, her expression unreadable. she was breathtakingly beautiful, her features sharp and elegant, framed by the dark curtain of her hair. it was an unfair level of beauty, the kind that stopped you in your tracks, that made you forget everything else for a fleeting, agonizing moment. her beauty was a weapon, you thought, sharper and more dangerous than any of the subtle jabs her friends threw your way.

and it wasn't just her looks. it was the way she carried herself, the confidence that radiated from her like a heat wave. it was her voice, low and melodic, with a subtle rasp that sent a shiver down your spine despite yourself. you hated that voice. you hated the way it could draw you in, even as it was dripping with sarcasm and disdain. you hated the way it made you feel.

she was the one who always escalated, who threw herself into the fray, whether it was a confrontation with winter’s casual cruelty or an argument about giselle and ningning's incessant staring. she wasn't just a bystander; she was an active participant, a conductor of the symphony of your discomfort. you had plenty of fights with her, both verbal and physical, though they never quite got violent.

you remembered the first time you had spoken to her. it had been over a misplaced library book, a clumsy misunderstanding that had felt utterly catastrophic at the time. you had tried, stammering and flustered, to explain the situation, but karina had interrupted, her voice cool and laced with barely concealed amusement. “you always make such a mess.” she had said, looking at you with those piercing, dark eyes. “it's almost impressive.” you had been mortified, your cheeks burning with shame and anger. it wasn't just the words, but the way she said them, with a hint of something… else. something that you couldn’t quite place but that made your stomach churn in a way that felt both awful and exhilarating.

or the time when winter bumped into you, you'd been about to yell at winter but karina was there, stepping in front of winter. but instead of offering you a kind look of concern, she followed it with a sharp glance at you, a small, almost imperceptible curve to her lips that made you wonder if she was secretly mocking you even as she appeared to defend you. “you need to watch where you're going, clumsy.” she’d said, her voice laced with a kind of mocking amusement. her gaze was intense, and you found yourself inexplicably drawn to the rich depths of her dark eyes.

“i wasn't the one who bumped into someone!” you retorted, your hands balling into fists.

karina leaned closer, her breath fanning against your cheek. “maybe if you weren't so busy daydreaming, you would have seen her coming.” she said, her tone dripping with condescension. the way she talked to you was so infuriating, but her voice... it was like a melody, a song that somehow wrapped around you and made it difficult for you to think. you could have listened to her speak for hours.

when giselle and ningning’s silent stares became unbearable, and you dared to call them out, it was karina again, her voice cutting through the tension. “leave her alone, girls. don’t waste your time on her.” and again, that look, that strange mix of disdain and something… unreadable.

it was infuriating. it was mesmerizing. and it was, you had to admit, utterly confusing. you hated the way karina's presence could disrupt your carefully constructed world, the way she could make your heart pound in your chest with a mix of anger and... something else you didn't quite understand. it wasn't just that she was beautiful, it was the way she seemed to see you, to pierce through your carefully constructed facade and to see something hidden beneath the surface.

today, as you walked past her, you kept your gaze fixed ahead, trying to pretend she wasn't there, yet you could feel her eyes on you, heavy and intense. you could feel the faint warmth rising to your cheeks, and you hated it. you hated the way she could make you feel like a teenager again, all awkward and flustered. and yet, deep down, nestled within the layers of frustration and anger, there was a different feeling stirring, a confusing flutter that felt dangerously close to... not hate.

you wanted to scream at her, to demand an explanation, to ask her why she treated you this way. but the words caught in your throat, swallowed by the strange ache that pulsated beneath your skin. you wanted to hate her. you wanted to erase her from your mind. but you knew, with a certainty that both terrified and excited you, that was impossible. because, beneath the layers of annoyance and antagonism, a strange and unnerving tension had begun to simmer, a tension that felt like a tightrope walk between loathing and something else entirely - something that felt incredibly dangerous. and incredibly, impossibly, alluring.

you wanted to hate her. but you were starting to wonder if you were already too far gone. the way those dark eyes held yours just a little too long, the way her voice wrapped around your name with a subtle rasp… it was starting to feel personal. and that, more than anything else, was terrifying.

the bass thrummed through the floor, vibrating up your legs and into your chest. it was the kind of party where the music was loud enough to drown out thought, where the air hung thick with sweat and the scent of cheap beer. around you, your friends were a cacophony of boisterous laughter and half-finished stories, their words washing over you like meaningless static. you nodded along, offered the occasional ‘yeah’ or ‘no way’ but your attention was elsewhere, a magnetic pull you couldn't quite ignore.

karina.

there she was, across the crowded living room, tucked away in a shadowed corner like a stray star. alone. it was a sight so incongruous with the image you had built of her – surrounded by her ‘ae-girls,’ her loyal pack – that it almost made you stop breathing. she was leaning against the wall, her gaze fixed on something beyond the party, a melancholic air clinging to her like the smoke from a forgotten cigarette.

a smirk played on your lips. this was it. an opportunity, maybe even an invitation, to finally cut through the layers of manufactured arrogance she wore like expensive perfume. you hadn't come here tonight expecting anything more than the usual awkward small talk and forced laughter, but the universe, in its twisted sense of humor, had presented you with this.

you excused yourself from your group, their chatter fading into the background as you navigated the sea of bodies. each step you took felt deliberate, a purposeful march towards a confrontation that you knew, deep down, you craved. when you finally reached her, the space between you felt charged, the air crackling with the unspoken history you shared.

“the queen bee without her hive. playing bad all by yourself, are you?” the words were out of your mouth before you could bite them back, a challenge laced with the bitterness you’d come to associate with her. you stood a few feet away, arms crossed, trying to look unaffected by the way her eyes snapped up and locked with yours. those eyes, you were sure, could freeze hell itself.

karina turned her head slowly, her eyes, sharp and obsidian, locking onto yours. a flicker of something – was it a surprise? – crossed her face before her usual mask of indifference slid back into place. “and you…” she drawled, her voice a low, velvety purr that sent a shiver down your spine despite your best efforts to remain stoic.

a slow, predatory smile bloomed on her face, the kind that promised trouble and the thrill of a dangerous game. “and you’re here, i see. did you forget everyone else, or were you always this obsessed with me?” her voice, the honeyed velvet you secretly adored, sent shivers down your spine, a sensation you would vehemently deny if asked.

"obsessed? please. i just thought you looked a little lonely without your little band of tormentors around to back you up.” you retorted, leaning closer, the scent of her perfume, a heady mix of sandalwood and something dangerously floral, filling your senses. “i just didn’t expect to find you all alone, stripped of your little lapdogs. It’s almost…disarming.” it was a weak jab, you knew it, but it was enough to elicit a low, throaty laugh from her.

her lips curled into a smirk, a flash of white teeth that made your stomach clench. “disarming? honey, you have no idea what kind of power i hold, with or without those girls behind me.” she took a step closer, narrowing the distance between you, the heat rolling off her body like a tangible thing.

“and sweetheart,” she purred, taking a step closer, the gap between you closing, the air crackling between you, “we’re just having a little fun here. you, on the other hand, seem a little… preoccupied.”

the heat in your cheeks had nothing to do with the stifling air. your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird. “preoccupied? i’m… i'm just stating facts.”

“are you?” she whispered, moving closer, her breath ghosting over your ear, “or are you just looking for a little attention from someone who can actually handle you?”

a strange, dizzying sensation twisted in your stomach. it wasn't a question, it was a declaration, a challenge thrown down like a gauntlet. “handle me? you think you can handle me? you're all bark and no bite. without giselle's death stares, winter's shoulder bumps, and ningning's silent judgments, you're nothing.”

she didn't answer. instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing against your arm, a touch that sent a surge of electricity through your veins. “come with me.” she murmured, her voice a low command that you found yourself strangely compelled to obey.

and just like that, you were following her, weaving through the crowd, away from the music and the noise, towards the back of the house, a place you knew was usually empty, and a strange sense of dread and anticipation began to bubble inside of you.

you found yourselves in a small, dimly lit bathroom. the music was muffled here, the air thick with the scent of stale cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. you leaned against the cold tile wall, the back of your head thudding softly as you tried to catch your breath, and karina stepped inside; she turned and locked the door.

she didn't speak, didn’t even look at you directly for a moment. she just stood there, a few feet away, her eyes watching you like a predator sizing up its prey. you tried to hold her gaze, but the intensity was too much, and your eyes drifted to her lips, the curve of them, the hint of a smirk playing on the corners.

“so…” she drawled, her voice low and husky, “what exactly did you want from me?”

your mind was a blank slate, your carefully constructed arguments dissolving into nothingness. “i— i don't know…” you stammered, hating the way you suddenly felt, small and unsure, completely at her mercy.

karina laughed, a short, sharp sound that was more taunt than amusement. “that’s what i thought.” she moved without warning, closing the distance between you in two quick strides. her hand shot out to grab your chin, tilting your head up so that you were forced to meet her gaze. “ypu're not so tough when it comes to me, are you?”

before you could form a coherent thought, her lips were on yours, a bruising, demanding kiss that stole your breath away. it was everything you had wanted, everything you had never dared to dream of, all wrapped up in one intoxicating moment. you instinctively kissed back, your body responding to hers with a desperate need that shocked you.

her hands roamed, tracing the curve of your jaw, delving into your hair, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush against each other. you could feel every inch of her, the heat of her skin pressing against yours, the hard muscle beneath her soft curves.

“you like this, don't you?" she murmured against your lips, her voice laced with a smugness that both infuriated and aroused you. “you like that i’m the one in control. you like that i decide when to kiss you, what to do with you.” she punctuated her words with sharp little bites on your bottom lip, sending shivers of pleasure through you.

her hands began to roam, tracing the curves of your body, sending sparks of desire through your veins. she explored your waist, the curve of your hip, and the small of your back with a boldness that made you breathless. her fingers brushed the edges of your clothes, teasing and taunting you with their delicate touch.

her hands pushed at your shirt, sliding beneath the hem, her cool fingers sending jolts of electricity through you. you whimpered, a mix of protest and surrender. she chuckled, a low rumble against your ear.

her hand slid down lower, finding the waistband of your pants, her fingers teasing you, sending sparks of sensation through your core. “tell me,” she breathed into your ear. “tell me you want this.”

you wanted to deny it, to pull away, to reassert some semblance of control. but the words caught in your throat, replaced by a soft moan as her fingers found their mark, slick heat blooming between your legs. “karina please—”

“you're so easy,” she murmured against your lips, her breath hot and intoxicating. “i could do anything to you right now and you wouldn't stop me.” the words were degrading, a calculated humiliation, but instead of anger, you felt a strange thrill course through you, a sense of surrender that was both terrifying and irresistible.

you pulled back slightly, your breath coming in ragged gasps. “you’re so mean.” you whispered, your voice trembling, the truth of her words hitting home with full force.

she laughed, a low, throaty sound that reverberated through your body. “and you love it.” she said, her eyes sparkling with a dangerous glint, pulling you closer once more, the dance of dominance and submission continuing. the kiss was deeper, more passionate, her tongue exploring your mouth with a confident, practiced ease. you were lost in her, drowning in the force of her touch and the intoxicating pull of her personality, the feeling of a strange mix of fear and a longing that you never knew you possessed.

you, completely overtaken with sensation, didn't even realize how long you were in there, or how much her words both insulted and intoxicated you, but as the kiss deepened, and her hands roamed more, the reality that your friends were probably looking for you, and just the whole situation in general, slowly began to cloud the haze of lust.

she takes you out of your thoughts when her deft fingers made quick work of the button on your jeans. karina smirked as she slowly slid her hand into your unzipped jeans, teasingly tracing the lace of your panties. she rubbed your clothed slit with the heel of her palm, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm.

karina's voice was a low, urgent growl in your ear. "fuck, you're so wet already… is all this because of those stupid kisses i just gave you a few moments ago? or have you been this wet all night since you got here because your little head has been thinking about me touching you? dirty slut… getting this turned on in public. i bet you want my fingers buried inside your tight little cunt, don't you?”

karina's nimble fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, teasing along your clothed slit. she rubbed slow, maddening circles over your clothed clit, applying just enough pressure to make your toes curl in your shoes. “that's why you always give attitude, isn't it? is giving dirty looks and a bitchy attitude your way of saying you want me to fuck you silly?” her other hand slid under your shirt, caressing the smooth skin of your tummy before cupping your breast, kneading the supple flesh.

“poor little thing... you must be really desperate, aren't you? karina purred, feeling the dampness seeping through the fabric. she slipped a finger under the waistband and pulled your panties aside, exposing your bare, glistening folds.

karina dragged a single fingertip along your slit, barely grazing your sensitive flesh, from your entrance up to your clit. she circled the throbbing bud with maddening slowness, not quite touching it directly.

“please—”

karina chuckled darkly at your needy plea, relishing the power she held over you. she continued her torturous teasing, now running two fingers slowly up and down your dripping slit, spreading your wetness throughout all your folds and then slipping her finger just barely inside your tight entrance, only to pull it out and circle your clit again.

“please what, baby? say it.” karina demanded, her hot breath washing over your neck. she nipped at your earlobe, tugging it between her teeth. “beg for my fingers like a good little slut.”

“please no, this is embarrassing, i—”

"but you're so wet… i can feel it dripping down your thighs. you want my fingers so badly, don't you slut?” she circled your clit once more, drawing a needy whimper from your lips before finally, mercifully, pressing down on the sensitive nub. “c’mon, baby. tell me how badly you need my fingers buried deep in this hungry cunt. i want to hear you say it.” she rasped, her voice thick with lust and dominance.

karina smirked as she felt your body tremble against hers, your breathing growing ragged. she loved reducing you to this desperate, aching mess. her finger traced maddening circles around your entrance, dipping just the tiniest bit inside before retreating, over and over.

“please, karina... please fuck me.” you gasped out, too far gone to hold back your plea. “i need your fingers so badly. i'm so fucking wet and empty... please fill me up.”

karina let out a low, wicked laugh. “mmmh, good girl. i love when you beg for it.” she purred approvingly. without warning, she plunged two fingers deep into your soaked, clenching heat, pumping them in and out at a brutal pace.

“that's it, take my fingers like the greedy little slut you are.” karina growled, her thumb grinding against your clit. her other hand shoved your bra up and out of the way, allowing her to roughly palm and squeeze your bare breast, rolling and pinching the stiff peak.

the bathroom filled with the obscene sound of your wetness, the slap of karina's palm against your pussy, and your desperate, wanton moans.

karina's fingers curled inside you, stroking your g-spot with ruthless precision as she finger-fucked you mercilessly. her thumb rubbed tight circles around your clit, the stimulation overwhelming your senses.

“fuck, baby, your cunt is gripping my fingers so tightly. i can feel you getting close.” karina rasped, her voice heavy with lust. she leaned in, biting and sucking at your neck, determined to leave her mark on your skin.

suddenly, she pulled her fingers out, leaving you empty and aching. before you could protest, she slammed you against the bathroom wall. her lips crashed against yours in a bruising, demanding kiss, her tongue invading your mouth.

karina grabbed your wrists, pinning your hands above your head as she kissed you deeply, swallowing your whimpers and moans. her knee pressed between your thighs, rubbing against your dripping, throbbing clit. she broke the kiss, both of you panting heavily.

she smirked wickedly as she felt you grinding your hips against her thigh, desperate for any friction. karina grabbed your ass, squeezing the firm cheeks as she encouraged your movements.

“that's it, ride my thigh like the needy little slut you are.” karina purred, her voice dripping with dark amusement. she could feel your wetness soaking through her jeans, staining the denim. the bathroom echoed with the obscene sound of your pussy rubbing against her thigh, your panting breaths, and karina's approving moans.

keeping your wrists pinned above you, karina leaned in to attack your neck, biting and sucking at the tender skin. she wanted to mark you, to leave you with bruises and hickies that would remind you of this moment every time you looked in the mirror.

karina roughly palmed your bare breast, rolling and pinching the stiff peak between her fingers. she tugged and plucked at your nipple, sending jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your core.

karina could feel your movements growing erratic, your desperation reaching a fever pitch as you rutted against her thigh. she could tell you were teetering on the edge, your body tensing and shaking.

“c’mon baby, cum for me.” karina purred, her voice a sinful whisper against your ear. “i want to feel you gush all over my thigh. go ahead, let go and cum like the dirty girl you are.”

to push you over the precipice, karina pinched your nipple hard, twisting it as she bit down on the junction of your neck and shoulder, breaking the skin. at the same time, she pressed her thigh harder against your clit, grinding against it with ruthless intensity.

the combination of intense sensations overwhelmed you, and you shattered, coming undone against her. your vision went white as your orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing and shaking uncontrollably. karina held you tight, not letting you fall as your pussy clenched and spasmed, gushing your release onto her thigh as a scream of ecstasy ripped from your throat.

ehe continued to grind her thigh against your spasming sex, drawing out your climax and making you ride out the waves of pleasure.

when your orgasm finally began to subside, karina captured your lips in a searing, dominating kiss. she plundered your mouth, her tongue stroking and caressing every inch of you, swallowing your whimpers and moans. her hands roamed your body, squeezing and groping your curves possessively.

finally, she pulled back, leaving you gasping and boneless against the wall, your chest heaving. “mmmh, look at the mess you made, you naughty girl…” karina teased, trailing her fingers through the damp patch before bringing them to her mouth. she made a show of licking your juices off, her eyes never leaving yours. “delicious. i knew you'd taste as good as you look.”

her hand slid around your hip, squeezing the curve of your ass as she pressed closer, pinning you neatly between her body and the wall. karina's lips found your neck once more, her mouth hot and open against your skin.

karina pulled back slightly, her dark eyes glinting with mischief and unquenched desire. she glanced at her phone, a smirk playing on her lips. "shit, look at the time. i gotta jet…”

karina cursed under her breath but quickly composed herself, stepping back from you. she smirked as she glanced down at your disheveled appearance; your jeans still unbuttoned, your shirt rumpled, and your hair mussed. the satisfied flush on your cheeks was unmistakable.

“we'll definitely do this again.” she said casually, as if finger-fucking you senseless in a bathroom was an everyday occurrence for her. “but don't think this is over. i'm not done with you yet, not by a long shot."

karina leaned in close, her lips brushing yours teasingly as she whispered. “i'll find you later. maybe tonight, i'll sneak into your dorm room and finish what we started here. wear something easy to take off.” she purred, before stealing a quick, hard kiss and pulling away.

with a final wink, karina turned and sauntered out of the bathroom, leaving you dazed, aroused, and eagerly anticipating her promised nighttime visit. you knew this was only the beginning of your adventures with the infamous queen bee, karina.

[neonovember]

So I currently have food poisoning and I can’t help but it think how mad Carmy would be if a restaurant gave his gf/wife food poisoning

Also Carmy come take care of me and make me soup plz 🙇‍♀️😫

Plus he would give the best snuggles 😭

firstly, sending lots of love and recovery, i've never actually had fp lmao so a lot of time on webmd will be spent. get ur fluids in! secondly, carmen might have to go underground for setting the restaurant on fire. we love him for it

summary: You were hungry and had just finished work and you didn't think about inspecting the goddamn Michelin star restaurant, maybe you should have.

warnings; cursing, food poisoning, richie (he's a warning), hipsters, talks of future arsony, possessive carmen, cracked fic ngl,

divider by @firefly-graphics

i'm slipping back into the unsafe territory of wanting fictional characters. (and i don't care)

You could roll your eyes in annoyance if you weren't hunched over the ceramic bowl of the toilet heaving out the contents of your stomach while Carmen held you hair back.

The one time, the one goddamn time you decide to try a new place without Carmen's input, without his meticulous standards and in depth research behind every night out.

It wasn't like you hadn't tried to vet the new braised beef spot that opened up on west Avenue. In fact, you had heard all but stellar reviews from friends and family, meeting you with suprise hearing that Carmen hadn't taken you. You decided to bring home a small plate, their signature braised meat with plums, red onions and atrichocke hearts.

You had meant to share it with Carmen, and you were going to, but a botched catering order had him staying back another hour than what had been planned. And well..you say you tried to save some for Carmen, but despite its bacteria laced beef and vomit inducing sides it was pretty fuckin' good.

Was this God's wrath coming down upon you? Punishing you for your gluttony? Food poisoning did feel awfully close to perpetual hellfire.

The TV was blaring some indescriptive show, the kind with dramatic introductions and soap opera worthy screams. It helped fill the space of absence when Carmen worked long nights, and you felt quite comfortable wrapped up in a blanket with a full stomach and a warm sofa.

Your phone had pinged with the sound of Carmen's text, letting you know he was on the way when it started. At first you had written it off as mere indigestion, probably from shoveling the cursed meal into your mouth too quickly.

Then, around the time the show's main character had found out her boyfriend got her mother pregnant, the nausea set in. Swirling aches that felt like a whirlpool in your stomach had taken over, sloshing and swirling and never leaving. You couldn't mistake it, as you tried to swallow past a dry throat and the creeping sweats of a headache inducing fever began to ravage your body.

You hated sitting in discomfort, it wasn't as though you were afraid of vomiting no, you just could not bare to feel the way your stomach skipped and jumped with every wave of nausea that took over.

You thought of making yourself sick, but shook your head when the alarming disapproval of Carmen's voice loomed over.

"It's just gonna make it worse, you gotta sit with it till it passes"

Fuck him and his medical knowledge. What did he know?

You had ripped off the blanket that had once felt comforting, peeling of layers of clothing that stuck to your body like a second skin. You just felt hot, so hot, is anyone else feeling this heat? You try to move from the couch to reach your phone, but the sudden movement has nausea bubbling up your throat.

You fall to the ground in a heap, hand clasped around your mouth to stop the possibility of projectile vomiting on the rug you had just bought and shoot your hand up to reach for your phone.

You press Carmen's number, begging him to answer you in genuine crisis rather than when you were drunk with friends and missed him. You feel the urge to heave and crawl quickly to the bathroom, phone clasped in hand and suddenly desperately needed his medical knowledge.

Carmen phone rings from the behind the stack of documents in the office, and he hastily wipes his hands across his apron before trying to reach it before it rings out.

Guilt fills his stomach at the thought of you, he was meant to be home hours ago. The catering order needed a few extra hands to help, and once Carmen began he got lost in it, and now you had spent nearly the entire night alone.

"Fuck- Hey baby, I know I said I was comin' but I had to finish a couple things-" Carmen quickly responds as he swipes the call button.

The groan of pain that responds has Carmen freezing in the middle of the kitchen.

"Baby? What-, are you okay?" Carmen replies quickly, his voice going short as his mind turns every possible scenario that had you whining in pain over the receiver.

"Please come quickly, Carmen I think I might-" You gulp and make a retching sound "I think I got sick from that place I was telling you about" You plead out, breathing heavily into the speaker.

The guilt that had filled Carmen seems to morph into an anger that rushes up his chest as he shakes his head.

"The new place? The one with the fuckin' smoke meat? They did this?"

"Mhm" You mumble "I should've just listened to you" You groan out in sadness.

"Fucking idiots. How the fuck did they even? Okay, okay honey just gimme a second yeah?"

How did he let this happen? Carmen has half the mind to stop at the restaurant that more of a Instagram attraction that a respected place of business. You were so eager and excited t try it, Carmen had his own thoughts but would glue his mouth shut if it meant making you happy.

He'll make sure they get shut down, or at least black listed from Chicago as long as he's concerned. His hands shake with the eager want for the fight, to smash someones jaw for resorting you to a heap of tears and sick. He would, he knows he will, but at this moment he needed to take care of your first.

He mumbles out a rushed reply, phone between his shoulder and ear as he slips out of his work shoes and into his sneakers. He thinks for a moment to grab his things but immediately shut that thought out when he hears you groaning into the phone.

"Just stay on the phone okay? I'm coming now, I need to get you some things alright?"

You let out what you hope is a reply, hunched over the toilet.

Carmen rushes to the store fridge, grabbing containers of soup Tina had prepared for family as the Chicago winter was getting close.

"You alright kid?" Richie mumbles, walking into the kitchen entry way, scratching his stomach as he watched Carmen's erratic movements around the store.

"Fuckin-, she's sick. And I'm here chopping up tomatoes for fucking Guy while she was in pain for god knows how long-"

"Woah, Bugs sick? We talking COVID or.."

"I'm such a fucking idiot. No it's not COVID Rich, Jesus Christ. Some rookie new spot trying something outside of their abilities gave her food poisoning. Fuckin' hipsters"

"Oh that's bad. You know when I got food poisoning the one time I took Tiff to this romantic getaway. Had me projectile vomiting in the AirBnb bathroom. Couldn't even get a deposit back, had to pay some dumb ass cleaning fee-"

Carmen wipes a hand across his face shaking his head. He was already pent up, he might throw a pan at Richie if he doesn't stop talking.

"Richie, I don't have time for this, I need to get her some Sprite or"

Richie shuffles across to the cupboard near the back of the house, grabbing bottles of Gatorade and a pack of saltine crackers.

"How do you even have this stuff lying around"

"You're the one with the inhuman alcohol tolerance Carmy, someone of us actually have hangovers you freak" Richie retorts

"Yeah yeah, thanks. Fuck- I gotta" Carmen replies, to which Richie nods.

"Go. I'll wrap up anything here" Richie replies, understanding in his voice. You took precedence over pretty much everything in Carmen's life.

"And Carm?"

"Yeah?" Carmen calls out, slipping on his jacket as he turns to Richie

"Tell me when we're going to sort out those bearded wearing flannel ass wipes"

Carmen shakes his head with a smile, before nodding and pushing past the kitchen doors. The traffic lights better be green green fuckin' green tonight.

You were stripped to a singlet and sleeping shorts as you knelt over the toilet, blinking back exhausted tears at the state of you.

You suppose you have no one else to blame but yourself, but the indignation righteousness burns almost as bright as the acid reflux crawling up your throat.

You hear the faint opening and loud clang of the apartment door opening and closing and you sigh in relief as you hear the familiar footfalls of Carmen down the hall.

It had felt damn near torturous suffering without him, and as he calls out to you following the trail of loose clothing he spots your figure in the bathroom sprawled.

"Oh honey, I'm sorry" Carmen says

And it was as if your body needed to finally feel safe in Carmen's presence before you felt the nausea spill out of you and splash offensively into the toilet.

You feel Carmen crouch above you, dragging your hair that had gone loose from it's wrapped up do away from your face. Gently rubbing your back, his large hands softly dipping up and down your spine.

"That's it, 'atta girl. Let it all out" Carmen coo's softly

You purged the insides of your stomach into the toilet bowl, retching loudly with every heave as Carmen comforted you. After what seemed like hours, and the nausea had subsided Carmen carefully wrapped his arms up under your armpits picking you up of the floor.

"Slowly, yeah? You damn near emptied out you're entire water content" Carmen murmurs, flushing the toilet and helping you walk to the basin and wash out the taste of bile from your mouth.

"I probably look insane" You cry out, blinking back exhaustion from your eyes as Carmen shakes his head furiously.

"Never, my pretty girl. Need you to go easy okay? Gonna take you to bed and let you sleep through it. Can't have you collapsing on me" Carmen murmurs, wiping at the edge of your mouth, patting the sweat that stuck to your forehead.

You let Carmen carefully maneuver your body, one arm under your legs and the other supporting your back walking to the bedroom. Your wring dry and can barely keep your eyes open as Carmen placed you on the cool sheets you immediately moan at.

You hear the faint rustle of movement as Carmen brings in a paper bag. The clunk of bottles placed on the bedside table as you sing praise for the very short bit of relief you have before the next bout of nausea rolls in.

Carmen pads to the adjacent bathroom, the door opened so you can see the stream of light that illuminates him. Hes running a cloth under water, squeezing the excess and looking up to check on you every so often.

He looked so...domestic, like he hadn't come back from working at one of the most decorated restaurants in Chicago. Stripped of his shirt so he stood bare chested, golden curls pushed behind his ears, sweatpants hung low on his hips and the furrow of his eyebrows in concentration and worry.

Your eyes flutter shut as you thank the midnight sky for bringing him to you, for keeping him for you, this one good thing that was yours.

The skies answer by the sound of his voice listing off all the things you will not be doing in this stage of recovery. Sitting on the edge of the bed as he places the cool rag against your forehead, lips between teeth as he feels your temperature under his skin.

"Just bone broth, Gatorade and bread sticks for you, doll. And no, before you even think it, its not the garlic ones." Carmen tsks.

You were thinking it. He knew you too well, but when he kisses your eyelids and measures out careful tips of the Gatorade bottle, you don't mind it.

[yazmarina]

in my drafts

for the love circuit series

—that message wasn't for you but paul doesn't mind as long as you don't, either.

paul aron (f2) x gn!social media admin reader

warnings/notes: smut, unprotected sex, lewd photography, office sex, fingering, creampie, accidental nude sending, mild dirty talk

a/n: sorry i disappeared again!!! pls take this as my apology

It was supposed to be just pictures of him during the break. You expected innocent, somewhat average snapshots of how Paul spent his past two months. You knew he took that trip to Italy, attended his sister's graduation, did some training. It was your job to be at least a little updated on the drivers' whereabouts, in case the head of comms needed you to capitalize on it for content.

So when you received a few photos from Paul through iMessage of all his fall whereabouts, you didn't think much of it. You messaged him a few days earlier asking if he could send a few more unreleased pictures that he hadn't posted on his personal account yet, stating that it was for a post you were putting together for the Hitech Instagram. He was delayed in his reply, as usual, but that's something you expected. He was busy, after all.

Perhaps too busy to notice the outlier in the stack of photos displayed in your message thread. Everything seemed to be normal at first; Italian architecture, gym photos, the cheesecake he made. Typical day in the life photos.

And lastly, a photo of him in dim lighting, taken in front of a mirror, with nothing but shadows covering most of his naked body.

You stare at your phone, dumbfounded. Your first instinct is to wait to see if Paul has anything to say, an apology, maybe, or a half-assed excuse. Anything to indicate that he noticed how he sent you a full-on nude. You prepare yourself for the three dots that show he's typing, the frantic scramble to delete the photo from your exchange, but it never comes. Heat rises up your neck as you realize you're going to have to confront him about it. This was, after all, a professional exchange and you'd hate for HR to come knocking at either one of your doors.

-Paul, please review the photos you sent. Thanks.

You regret it as soon as you send it. Was that perhaps too snippy? Too callous? It was as embarrassing for him as it was for you, maybe even more. But come on, how hard is it to distinguish your nudes from your vacation photos?

The loud throb of your heartbeat reverberates in your ears as you wait, cursing under your breath as a full minute passes and then another. You lock your phone, getting up to pace around your room. You're most likely going to see him tomorrow as he'll be at HQ for sim work and other things and you just so happen to have a lineup of meetings at the very same time. You're going to have to face the fact that you'll have to look each other in the eye after you've seen the outline of his dick.

Wonderful.

You unlock your phone, resigning to just delete the photo from your side. You can claim plausible deniability or whatever legal term it is, if it comes down to it.

Just then, Paul starts typing.

You yelp, setting your phone down on the desk harder than intended.

You realize belatedly that you're holding your breath, fingers pressed into your mouth as if suppressing any more potential noises. He stops then starts again then stops, as if he's unsure of what he's typing out.

-I'M SO SORRY!!!! It was an accident I promise 🥹 Don't report me

-Please I'm so sorry it's totally my fault ______ 😭😭😭

-______ please I'm so sorry

Somehow, despite everything, this coaxes a chuckle out of you. Paul was always open and easy around you, and you know he knows you won't report him for an honest mistake. He's probably just red in the face right now, fighting his inner demons.

You type out a reply to ease his nerves.

-I'll just delete it off my phone so no one can say we were fraternizing inappropriately 🥲

The response from Paul is almost instant.

-YES please I'm sorry again

Your finger hovers over the photos when another message comes in.

-Unless you want to save it for a rainy day that's okay too

-I WAS JOKING its a joke I'm sorry I'm sorry

You groan, throwing your head back against the backrest of your office chair.

He's done this on occasion. Flirt. Compliment you on your hair, your outfit (despite it being the team uniform), your smile, even. You brushed it off as typical driver behavior. Nearly all of them had that kind of nerve about them, a confidence that only comes with driving cars that are closer to rockets than actual cars on the street.

Bringing the phone up to your face, you gingerly scroll back up to the photos Paul sent, opening the accursed photo. Your breath hitches as you take it in more carefully, the light cutting sharply between the shadows of whatever hotel room Paul was in. Your eyes trail down and your fingers pinch at the screen, zooming in.

"No! No, no, absolutely not," you admonish yourself, swiping the photo away and typing back a slightly crazed reply.

-Whoever that photo was meant for might not like it if I do

-

"________!"

You freeze on your way out the door from the conference room, Paul's figure jogging toward you from the other end of the hall. The presence of some execs and the head of comms looms from behind you and you quickly shuffle out of the way to let them pass, all of them greeting Paul as he sidles up to you.

"Hi!" You say a little too brightly, turning to Paul, arms coming up mechanically then stopping, your brain reminding you that a hug might be too awkward but standing around without greeting him in some way would be just as weird. A flurry of butterflies erupt in your stomach as Paul stops in front of you, his cologne coming off strong as always. Just the way you liked it.

"How's the meeting?" Paul asks, gesturing to the room. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet, a nervous habit he has that you've observed over the time you've worked with him. He has his hands shoved deep in his jeans, too.

You shrug, forcing out a laugh. "Same old, just going over social media plans and PR."

Paul nods, a little too eagerly perhaps. His eyes shift to the retreating personnel, all of them turning a corner, leaving you and Paul alone in the vicinity.

"Were you waiting for me?" You ask before he can say anything else.

Paul swallows. "Yeah. Look–"

"Paul," you cut him off, raising a hand between the two of you. "It's okay. It's no big deal. Happens to the best of us."

He raises an eyebrow at that. "Have you ever sent a nude to the wrong person before?"

Your cheeks flare up in a violent blush.

"Well, no. And keep your voice down," you berate lightly. Paul looks around and shrugs as if to say, 'Nobody's here'.

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "But what I meant was, like, messages are sent to the wrong people all the time, I'm sure you didn't mean any harm, and besides, no one else knows. I promise I haven't told anyo–"

"Okay." It was Paul's turn to cut you off. "Okay, I believe you."

He smiles at you good-naturedly, opening his arms and coaxing you into a hug. It takes you a second, but eventually, you let yourself laugh in relief, wrapping your arms around his strong frame.

"I missed you over the break," Paul admits, pulling away and holding you at arm's length. You blush again, masking it with a chuckle.

"Well, the break isn't over yet. We still have three weeks to go," you remind, your own hands coming up to settle on Paul's outstretched arms, making it look as if you're holding him in place. To anyone who didn't know, you two would look like a couple deep in discussion.

"At least you get to see me more," Paul offers with an easy smile. nudging you lightly.

You scoff. "I think I've seen enough of you, thank you very much."

A heavy silence settles over the two of you as you realize what you just said. Paul lets his arms drop from where they held you, an apology ready at your lips but Paul gets to it first. He runs a hand through his unkempt hair, blonde strands tugged between his fingers.

"You haven't deleted it, have you?"

No, you haven't.

"I was going to, but I got distracted with other things." Not entirely a lie. You really meant to do so, but thoughts you'd rather not share took hold and there were matters you needed to attend to. Matters that could only be solved with your fingers and a vibrator.

You should feel guilty, getting off to a picture of a coworker that wasn't even meant to be sent to you in the first place. Maybe you're terrible, maybe you should be fired, sued by the Aron family.

Memories of you gasping out Paul's name in the quiet of your room come flooding back and you pray that Paul doesn't notice the irregularity in your breathing.

"I'll delete it now, in front of you, so you can see that I did," you offer, fishing your phone out of your pocket.

Paul shakes his head, catching you by the wrist, his hand large and warm against your own skin.

"I mean if I was going to send it to anyone, it would have been you," Paul says lowly, as if afraid someone would hear him, despite the entire expanse of the hallway void of any people other than yourselves.

"Consensually, of course," Paul adds in a hurry, eyes widening. "If you wanted to receive them. It. Receive it."

Your eyebrows shoot up, your mouth curling into a smirk. "You have more you want to send?"

Paul's lower lip slips between his teeth and it seems the two of you are finally on the same page. You try to suppress the smile threatening to break out, clearing your throat and avoiding his eyes.

"Until when are you staying here?" You ask casually. You didn't mean 'here' as HQ. Here as in, in town, close to you.

"Next week," Paul replies, stepping closer. "I won't see you until Qatar after that."

"Shame," you mutter, tilting your head as you meet his gaze once more.

"Maybe," Paul begins, slipping his hand into yours and twining your fingers together. "I can add one more thing to my break to-do list."

"Now?" You ask incredulously. Paul nods immediately.

"You know that one storage closet inside the sim room?" He asks, winking at you.

"What? Paul!" You whisper-shout, but he's already leading you down the hallway. The two of you make a sharp turn to the right where big blocky letters spell out 'SIMULATOR' on the large double doors of the sim room.

You squint, immediately plunged into darkness as the only source of light inside is the curved screen, dimmed as well as it sits on standby.

"What if your engineer walks in? Your teammate? Doesn't he have a session soon?" You continue to protest, even when Paul gently pushes you toward the storage room door at the very corner. He flings the door open and you see that it's filled mostly with spare sim components and monitors.

"Babe, that's why they call it a quickie," Paul reasons, flipping the light switch on inside. The lightbulb offers little respite in the darkness and shadows still play along the lines of Paul's face. He shuts the door behind him.

"It doesn't lock? Paul, I swear–"

You gasp but barely any sound comes out as Paul presses his lips to yours, hands settling on your hips. He maneuvers you toward a shelf, pushing you against it and pressing himself fully on you.

You can feel how hard he is through his jeans.

"Did you like it?" Paul asks as he breaks away for a second. He kisses your jaw, tracing its outline as you sigh, your head falling back. He takes his opportunity to kiss along the column of your neck, his tongue smoothing over your skin.

"Did you get off to it?" Paul asks again and your breath catches in your throat. It's as if he knew all the dirty, deplorable things you did over that one picture.

"I know you did," Paul concludes with a breathy laugh, reclaiming your lips and driving a knee between your legs. You groan in response, grinding against his thigh while your fingers tug at his belt.

Paul pulls away and takes over for you, undoing his jeans and slipping them down to his knees. You silently thank whatever god is listening for the fact that you so conveniently decided to wear those easy cotton office pants, slipping them off in one quick swoop along with your underwear.

"I'm tempted to get on my knees right now so I can eat you out," Paul teases, hiking your shirt up and exposing your chest.

A snide remark forms in your brain but it's cut off when you feel the cold press of fingers on your clit. You clamp a hand down on your mouth as Paul gently flicks at it, feeling yourself getting wetter by the second.

"Maybe later after work," Paul says, rubbing harder. Your elbow spasms at the sensation, hitting the shelf behind you.

"Ow, fuck," you curse, meeting Paul's eyes. You two burst into muffled laughter just as Paul slips a finger in.

"What happened to a quickie?" You demand, hips moving along with Paul's hand. He adds a second finger and you whine, fingers digging into Paul's shoulders.

"I have manners," Paul informs with an easy smile, face impossibly close to yours. You can see the shift in his bright blue eyes. "I need you wet and ready for me, no?"

You bite down on your lip, eyes rolling into the back of your head as Paul curls his fingers inside you. A shiver runs through you and you feel yourself clenching down and around his digits.

Paul retracts his hand, much to your dismay, but you don't get to complain before Paul kisses you again, rough and heated. His tongue dances against yours and you grip at his Hitech team kit for purchase.

"Bend over," Paul commands and you're more than happy to oblige, turning around to do just that.

You brace yourself against the shelf behind you, gripping at the wood as you lower the front of your body. Paul grabs your hips and your back arches almost automatically. You can feel him pressing up against you and you sneak a peek behind you to see Paul with his phone in hand.

"So I can 'accidentally' send you another one," Paul jests before slowly sinking in. You whine, head dropping down between your shoulders. The thought of him documenting your little tryst sends a shiver up your spine which only intensifies as Paul grabs one side of your hips. He sets up a hard, steady pace that has the shelf in front of you creaking.

"Paul," you gasp out, your whole body shuddering at the force of how hard he's fucking you.

Both of his hands grip at your sides now so you can assume his phone has been put away. You try to stay upright which proves challenging considering Paul is ramming into you ferociously.

Contradictory to it all, you feel the soft touch of fingers through your scalp, smoothing over your hair. In a moment's turn, your head is yanked back as Paul tugs at your hair, arching your back even more.

A garbled sound escapes you, part moan, part sob as the sting in your scalp shoots straight down to your core, pushing you ever so closer to your release.

"The social media person," Paul begins through gritted teeth. "Always so pretty behind the camera. Making me do trend after trend. I'd do anything for you, baby."

You mewl in response, reaching back to grip at Paul's wrist, pushing back against him, urging him to go faster. Paul gets the memo.

"Funny how that photo was taken only because I was about to jack off to the thought of you," Paul continues. "You sent me a message and I was missing that pretty face of yours so I went through your Instagram. Looks like you had fun in Mallorca, tiny swimsuit and all."

"Sorry, baby," Paul says close to your ear. "Couldn't help it."

"Inside," you plead. "P-Please, I'm close. N-Need you to cum inside me."

Paul merely grunts, letting go of your hair so he can pull you flush against him. His thrusts grow erratic, barely pulling out of you each time. He pulls you back to him, your back against his front as he bites down on your shoulder.

"Yes, yes, right there." Your voice comes out raspy, walls squeezing around Paul's throbbing cock. He reaches over and resumes his movements from a while ago on your clit and you yelp, hips spasming pathetically.

You cum with Paul deep inside you, his groans filling your ear as he follows soon after. He stills and pulls you even closer to him, arms encircling your torso. He kisses the spot where he had bitten you, pressing his lips almost reverently to the indented skin.

You're both breathing hard and you're perfectly content to stand around while the two of you gather your bearings. But Paul momentarily disentangles himself from you and reaches down. You see him pull his phone out from his jeans from where they've presumably fallen down to his ankles.

"Smile," Paul prompts, his lips planting a soft kiss behind your ear as he angles the camera toward the two of you.

He snaps a blurry photo, just in time to capture your hand coming up to rest against his cheek as he grins into your skin. Emboldened by the somewhat artsy, flirtatious nature of the photo, you turn around and land a proper kiss on Paul's lips, savoring each second his tongue passes over your mouth.

"Send all the photos you want," you whisper, smiling up at him.

"Or we could just take them together," Paul offers, kissing the tip of your nose.

[hahaifolded]

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - The Contract (Long Drabble) Author's Notes: Once again playing with something new. Not gonna lie, hated this because this was more work than I had expected. Next one will be more narrative for my sake Warnings: MDNI, Angst (ALSO PUT YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO CAUSE I DO BLOCK)

Contract of Employment - Intelligence Operative Name: [Retracted] Address: [Retracted] The basic terms and conditions of your employment are outlined in this Contract of Employment and the Employee's policies. Duration of Contract: Your employment with the Employer under this Contract started on [Retracted] and will end after 12 months after the initial date. Contract can be renewed after the Employee ends in good standing with the Employer after the 12 months and the Employee deems it a good fit.

Job Title and Hours 3.1: You are employed as INTELLIGENCE OPERATIVE for [Retracted] reporting to "the Captain." 3.2: You are expected to perform all duties outlined below starting at 0800 (8:00am) to 1700 (5pm) Monday through Friday. 3.3: You must be available for any extenuating circumstances past these hours. All emergencies will be informed by "the Captain" and "the Captain" only.

Price: Need you to review the plan for the next mission before the meeting tomorrow.

Ghost groans after reading the message. Price just had to ruin his Sunday night. Realizing that his plan to sleep in was just ruined, he decides to text you. Seeing that you normally got in around that hour, maybe you could join him?

Did he deserve that? God no. But, he missed you. So he sends the text and waits... and waits... and waits...

Next thing he knew, his alarm was ringing, signaling the new day. He checks his phone and sees there are no new messages. It didn't matter. He'll see you around soon enough.

But soon enough comes around and you're nowhere to be seen. Were you running late? Shit, your car. Maybe you were walking again? He sends you a text, but again, no response. He's so worried that he can't even focus when looking over the plans. It's not until he sees you walk in for the meeting exactly at 0800 that his mind eases. Surprised to see you walk in late, he decided to check up on you after the meeting.

Knock, knock

You glance up from your monitor. "Lieutenant?"

Lieutenant? Sure, that was his title, but you always called him Ghost. Something didn't feel right.

"Sorry, I just wanted to check up on you."

You stop typing and completely turn towards him. "Why?" Your tone is accusatory.

He stumbles a bit. You were never short with him. "C-cause you came in late toda--"

"I did not come in late. If you look over my contract, you would see that my start time is 0800, exactly the time I clocked in today." You turn back to your monitor and continue to work.

Ghost takes a big gulp. "Oh. I- uh... I sent you message last night and this morning."

You let out a heavy sigh and stop typing. "Was it an emergency?"

"No, but--"

"Good. I can't waste any time here, have to make sure I put all of my energy in my work. So if you don't have anything else of importance, you can leave." And with that you continue to type.

Ghost walks out of your office and closes the door. Why did it feel like it wasn't just your door that was closed here?

Job Responsibilities 4.1: You are responsible for all work that requires intelligence which includes analysis, gathering of intel, and presentation of said intel. 4.2: You will not participate in work that falls outside your jurisdiction.

After today's meeting, Gaz was weary of the plan. Despite being checked by Ghost, he couldn't help but feel like it needed to be discussed further. He kept in his thoughts during the meeting as he wanted to process them further.

Now after thinking about it all morning, he realizes he needs one more brain to help finalize his thoughts. Not just any brain, however, yours. If he wasn't so caught up in his thoughts, he would have realized that he no longer had any entitlement to your help. But alas without a second thought, he rushes to your office.

He knocks on your door and walks in before you have a chance to say anything. "Hello, hello!" he chirps. And, instead of being greeted by your warm smile, he is greeted by nothing. You don't even bother to glance at him.

Without removing your eyes on the screen, you say with no emotion, "Sergeant Garrick, what do you need?"

Sergeant Garrick? Ewe, that sounded so wrong coming out of your mouth. You always called him Kyle... Gaz if you felt cheeky. Feeling nervous now, Gaz hesitates to speak.

"Sergeant, I really don't have time for your shenanigans. Do you need something?" You quickly glance up and shoot him a sharp look.

That look brings Kyle to the present. "Sorry, yes. I was hoping you would..." You finally look at him, but instead of easing his nerves, it only exacerbated them as you looked at him with annoyance. "If you can, obviously, help me go over the plans for the next mission. Something about them just seem off and I could really--"

You interrupt him. "I have to stop you there. No." And just like that, you turn back to your monitor.

"Why?" he asks without thinking. He catches the way you took in a sharp breath.

Without looking at him, you respond, "I have never been in the field so what use do I have for you? Besides my job is in intelligence and in intelligence only."

He cringes at his own words. He tries to get another word in, but you're clearly not listening. Feeling defeated, he walks out your door.

"Sergeant?" you call after him. He quickly whips around. Maybe you changed your mind?

"Close my door."

Job Responsibilities 5.1: You have jurisdiction over all work that deals with intelligence. 5.2: You have complete authority to discipline officers of lower ranking or similar rank if their actions interfere with your responsibilities.

Soap doesn't know how it happened. He has been in his office all day, working. Sure, maybe he spent more time than he should have thinking about you, but everyone else does it. Now he was scrambling, trying to finalize the schematics for the explosives needed for the next mission.

Low on time, he rushes to your office to beg for your help. He knew he was in deep water with you, but he really had no choice. He hoped your caring heart would pity him this one last time.

He barges into your office, calling your name out. You immediately shoot up from your seat, worry apparent in your face. You hurry to the front of your desk to reach the panting Scotsman.

"Sergeant MacTavish, is everything okay?" Johnny can hear the worry in your voice. Good, you still might care.

"It's an emergency. I need to finish these blueprints by today or Price will kill me! Help your favorite Scotsman out?" he begs. Soap nearly whines when you take a step back from him.

You scoff. "Are you being serious right now?" Okay, maybe you don't care.

"I know, I know. But I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate," he cries. His entire body shudders when you scoff at him once more. You shake your head in disbelief and return to your seat.

"Please, get out."

"Please, it's not even a lot. Just go over--"

"No, Sergeant. I have my own work to do."

"It won't take a lot of time, just--"

"NO!" you stand up again, slamming your desk. "Sergeant MacTavish, it is not in my contract to babysit fools like you." He winces. "If you cannot handle the work that comes with being in Special Forces, I recommend you to consider other careers. So leave my office before I write you up for insubordination," you hiss.

Soap quickly apologizes and leaves your office. He bumps into Price on his way back, but it doesn't phase him. Your utter disappointment in him plays back in his head over and over and over again.

Breach of Contract 8.1: If Employer deems the work of the Employee as unsatisfactory, contract will immediately be terminated. 8.2: If Employee deems the Employer is breaching any of the parts outlined above, Employee has the right to terminate the contract without any repercussions

John didn't take Soap crashing into him personal. It was clear his sergeant was lost in his thoughts. What did pique his interest was where he walked out of. It seemed like every member on his team had a chance to pop in your office today, but him. Refusing to let any of those muppets get in your good graces before he does, he decided to pop in.

Since Johnny left you door open, he just knocks on the doorway before letting himself in. "Hopefully, I'm not disturbing?" he jokes. The clacking of your keyboard stops and you slowly turn to look at him. You take in a deep breath, almost as if you're trying to contain yourself.

"Captain Price," you announce plainly, "do you need something? I'm almost done with today's report."

"No, not at all. Just wanted to check up on you. See how you're doing?" He doesn't quite catch what you mumbled under your breath. "Sorry?"

You roll your eyes. "Nothing," you pause. "I'm fine. Just trying to get my work done before 5pm."

"5pm? Have an appointment or something?"

You stare at him for a bit and remind him of your contracted hours.

Assuming that you were worried about not finishing on time, John assures you that you can always stay in late or pick up again tomorrow. "It happens to the best of us."

Your eyes go cold. "It wouldn't have happened to me if your men and yourself weren't adamant in harassing me with matters that frankly do not pertain to me." You readjust yourself in your seat. "I advise all of you to go over my contract to avoid further misunderstandings. I would hate to leave mid-mission."

John goes cold. You... leaving. He looks in your eyes to see if there was any hesitation. There’s none.

Employer Signature: [Retracted] Employee Signature: [Retracted] Date: [Retracted]

After that day, the 141 realized what they had done. They had completely crushed your spirit and pushed you to be the epitome of professionalism. You were still a phenomenal Intelligence Officer, but you were just that. You were no longer their team mate... their friend.

But you're still here so that's fine... right?

Word Count: 1732

More Thoughts - Next Thought

[my-castles-crumbling]

Hi, guys! Let's talk about fandom etiquette!

👨‍🏫👨‍🏫👨‍🏫

I know a lot of you are young and perhaps have not been part of fandom spaces since the dawn of time (circa fanfiction.net) so let's talk about some dos and don'ts with fandom, so we can keep this a happy place! Please read this and reblog to get this out to people who genuinely may not know!

📕DON'T: Write reviews of fics on Tumblr, Tiktok, or other social media. Fic writers are creating these things for FREE, and did not ask you to review. This often leads to negative discourse and can even cause fic writers to take down their fics. 📗DO: Leave kudos and ONLY POSITIVE comments. Talk about only positive things on social media. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all!

Edited to add: YES, EVEN CONSTRUCTIVE CRITISCISM. If the author didn't ask for it, don't give it. Some may appreciate it, but others won't. At the very least, ask permission first.

📕DON'T: Post fic ideas or headcanons on AO3. AO3 is for posting actual fanfiction or fanart and nothing else. (What I mean by this is, I've seen posts on ao3 like "Just posting an idea that someone should write, here it is!" and that's not what ao3 is for). Edited to add: You can also post original works and nonfiction works based on fandom on ao3! 📗DO: Post headcanons and ideas on Tumblr, Tiktok, etc!

Edited to change: Okay, so I feel like there's some arguments over like...what qualifies as metafic versus something that shouldn't be on AO3? So from my understanding (correct me if I'm wrong), people DEFINITELY should not be posting just a title with no work attached, which I have seen a lot lately, nor should they be posting to search for someone else's fic. However, it seems like lists, and similar metafic are okay, as well as original content, and nonfiction.

📕DON'T: Repost entire fanfictions without permission or sell bound fanfiction. Again, this causes writers to take their fics down, and can actually cause issues with fandom because it can cause allegations of copyright infringement. 📗DO: Recommend fics you like to others by talking them up and posting links! Ask permission before you translate!

📕DON'T: Send hate to authors for writing a fic in a way you don't like or not updating enough. Again, authors are doing this for free and sending hate causes serious mental harm to authors because they are people! If you don't like it, don't read it! 📗DO: Send love to authors in forms that they are comfortable with!

📕DON'T: Shame others for their ships/fics/kinks. Fandom is supposed to be a supportive space! Judging people is taking away that safe space! 📗DO: Use the block button! Block or filter out things or people you don't like!

📕DON'T: Use AI to create art or fics. This is detrimental to the creators who work hard to create their work! 📗DO: Try making your own art or fics! Practice makes perfect!

These are just a few of the things that I've seen happening more lately, but keep in mind that if you don't like something, you don't have to interact with it and fanart and fanfiction creators are people who are doing this for free. Please make sure to respect the hard work people put in, or fandom can't exist!

(Feel free to discuss/add things as long as you're being respectful!)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Meet the Family 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: um I woke up to this in my head. Sorry.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You honk your horn as another driver slowly veers toward the line. You’re not letting them in. If they can’t weave in, then they aren’t fast enough to leave the slow lane. You sigh and gesture at them as kindly as you can in that instant. You have enough going on. 

Your phone starts to ring. Again. You tap the button on your steering wheel to answer. You would know who it is even without his custom ringtone. Your boss allows no space for breathing, even on a call. 

“How far out are you, pixie?” Lloyd asks as you growl and lean on the gas pedal. You hate driving on the highway, especially at night, and the sky is steadily dimming. 

“Close,” you assure him. “Next exit,” you flip your blinker on. 

“Thank god. You got everything?” 

Yeah, everything you forgot. You don’t give the dry retort aloud. You know better. Where your boss has no filter to be found, you find yourself often censoring yourself. As much for his ego as for others’. Arguing never gets you anywhere. 

“I believe so--” 

“You believe or you do?” He asks impatiently. 

“Mr. Hansen, I got everything on the list,” you assure him. “All with a bow on top.” 

“A life saver, pix, I swear,” he praises, but a compliment from him is rarely genuine, more transactional. You did him a favour so he’ll give you a treat. 

“Alright, I need to get over, ramp’s coming up. So--” 

“Yeah, yeah,” his ends rustles and you hear a muffled female voice, “I got shit going on too. You got the address, text me.” 

He hangs up first. You can never be the first to end the call. He has to make the decisions. You just know how to guide him to the right one. You merge into the exit lane and follow the ramp away from the whirring stream of headlight. Finally. 

You’re less than pleased to be within minutes of your destination. This isn’t how you envisioned your holiday. A last-minute itinerary change to fix yet another of Mr. Hansen’s oversights. It’s never a mistake, he’s just a man with so much going on that it slipped his radar. Another bandage for his ego. 

The slower pace feeds your agitation. At least on the highway, you felt like you were getting somewhere. The lazy roll of the cars in the town tweaks at the nape of your neck. You just want to be in one place and that won’t happen even when you get to Mr. Hansen. 

You’ll be lucky to have two hours of sleep before you have to catch your rebooked flight. Yep. You’ll play Santa and drop off your lot before hiding at the hotel long enough to dread the airport jungle. Then it’s off to your own familial obligations. Those are rarely enjoyable and being a day later than promised will hardly please your mother. 

Your phone announces your arrival at the destination. The long drive of the over-sized suburban mansion is full. You park on the street and turn on the interior light. You get out and open the back seat. The whole medley of shiny paper and quaffed bows stares back at you. 

You text Mr. Hansen and wait, huffing and puffing with impatience. Of course, you have to upheave your plans to meet his deadlines, but he’s taking his time. It’s not a surprise, not even a disappointment, you expected as much. 

“Pixieee,” Lloyd drags out the last syllable, “there you are, pretty pixie.” 

Pretty Pixie? He’s drunk or he’s going to ask for something else. You brace yourself as his shadow struts up the long driveway and passes beneath the cone cast by the tall street lights. Coloured lights glimmer over him from the eaves of the surrounding facades. 

“Mr. Hansen, wrapped, labelled, everything you requested,” you gesture to the backseat. 

“An angel. A true saviour, pixie,” he surprises you as he grabs your head, his palms pressing to your cheeks as he bends to kiss your forehead, “did I ever tell you you’re immaculate?” 

“Mr. Hansen,” you gently pull his wrists until he drops his hands. You smell the alcohol radiating off of him. 

“It’s the holiday, call me Lloyd, sweet cake,” he insists. 

“Right,” you tut and turn to drag out the largest gift bag, “here, you better just take all this, I have to check-in--” 

“About that,” he ignores the gift as you hold it out. “We’re just about to start dinner, you should pop in, have a bite.” 

“I can’t, Mr. Hansen--” 

“Of course you can,” he insists. You look up at him. His eyes gleam in the spectrum of lights shining from your car, the houses, and the tall poles. You sniff. He’s only tipsy, there’s still the hint of authoritarianism firmly implanted in his tone. “I told everyone you would.” 

“Everyone?” You echo anxiously. 

“The family,” he exclaims as if it should be obvious. 

“Okay, I can come say hello but--” you wiggle the bag at him. 

“Damn right you can,” he catches your hand and takes the bag. He drops it on the ground carelessly. 

“Mr. Hansen, that’s fragile,” you say. 

“Shhhh,” he grabs your hand and you curl and unfurl your fingers desperately, “Lloyd, remember?” He feels around in his pocket as he keeps you in his vice, “now, you just need to slip this on.” 

He struggles to line up the ring with your finger as you squirm in confusion. What is he doing? 

“Mr. Han--” 

“Lloyd,” he growls, all humour trickling away. He squeezes until you whimper. “Look, I just need you to smile and bat those long lashes of yours, alright?” 

“What’s going on?” 

“As far as anyone knows, I proposed to you on Thanksgiving,” he says. 

“Proposed?!” You nearly shriek. 

He hushes you again and finally rams the ring down to your knuckle. “Look, pixie, mommy’s being a real pain in my ass so you just need to play along.” 

“Mr.--” 

“If I have to tell you one more time--” 

“Lloyd,” you gulp, “please. I... this is... strange. What? Why? I have a flight in eight hours.” 

“Cancel it,” he sneers. “Double time and a half for holiday overtime. See the family in the New Year.” 

“What? That’s-- This is insane--” 

“This is your job, honey,” he clings to your hand. “To do what I say or you can spend your January trawling the job boards.” He squeezes until the band digs into your flesh. “Now, I know Mr. Walker thinks you’re darling and he offered you a role last year but once I tell him about your little defiance issue, I don’t think he’ll be interested--” 

“Huh?” 

“I know a lot more than you think,” he grits. “Alright? So let’s start getting this shit inside. That’ll give you a chance to get yourself together.” 

“Lloyd,” you gasp. “Why--” 

“No more fucking question. Since when did you get so uppity,” he barks. 

“Sir--” 

“Ah, none of that, either,” he lets you go and waggles his finger in your face. “Relax. Have some eggnog when we get inside and take the edge off.” 

“This can’t be happening,” you murmur. 

“It’s fucking happening, alright?” He picks up the bag off the ground. “I keep you around ‘cause you’re quick on your feet, Pix, so let’s get to it.” 

“Oh god,” you utter. 

“Keep it to yourself,” he warns. 

Your disbelief has you a bit dumb. You’re panicking. He knows you have an insurance policy with Walker and you have no doubt he’ll do all he can to spoil your future if you fuck around with his present. You’ve worked long enough for him to believe his threats, even when everything else is dubious. 

You turn and grab several gifts from the backseat. You move out of his way and he gathers some more himself. He backs up and uses his knee to close the door. He nods you toward the house. 

“Smile, act like you’re excited,” he commands. 

You pass him and stare up at the blaze of holiday lights. The lawn is decorated with a Santa and sleigh, complete with all his reindeer. You make the march up the walk and towards the glowing windows that trim the front door.  

Lloyd comes up next to you and kicks it, “open up.” 

It isn’t long before obedience appears from the other side. You do a double take at the man who answers the door. He looks a lot like Lloyd but not. He doesn’t sport the same bristly stache and his hair neatly combed, the sides unshaved but tidy. He rolls his eyes. 

“Was hoping you got lost in the snow,” the man scoffs. 

“Shut up,” Lloyd shoulders through, “always a fucking prick, Hugh.” 

The other man snarls, “don’t fucking call me that.” 

“Aw, I’m sorry, baby boy,” Lloyd puts the gifts on the bench against the wall, under the large mirror with an elaborate frame. “Why don’t you go suck on mommy’s teat?” 

“You’re disgusting,” the other man, Hugh, hisses. 

“Speak for yourself. We’re the OnlyFans thot? She not joining us?” 

“Oh, fuck you.” 

“Fuck you, fuck me, we already did this, remember?” Lloyd faces him. 

“And who’s this slut?” The man tosses you a sharp glare.  

“Woah, man, that’s my future wife,” Lloyd lies so easily it startles you. He sounds almost genuine and you’ve never heard him sound like that. “Not a slut, so keep your eyes and your hands to yourself.” 

“Huh, I didn’t believe it,” the man puts his hand on his hip as he looks you up and down, “she’s tiny.” 

You narrow your eyes, speechless as they talk about you like a new lamp. 

“Ransom,” Lloyd gestures to him derisively, “Pixie. Now you’ve met so you can skedaddle back to the liquor cabinet.” 

The man, Ransom, snickers, “good luck, sweetheart,” he scoffs. “If you need a drink, just look for me. You probably will. At least for the next forty years.” 

He struts off through the archway behind him and you look at Lloyd. He takes the armful of gifts from you and grumbles. He stops and crosses his arms.  

“Well, get your boots off. Mom will kill you if you’re tracking salt all over her freshly polished floors,” he shakes his head. “And a bit of advice, stay away from my cousin. Ransom’s a fucking pest.” 

“Right, sir.” 

He tilts his head and you show your palms, “Lloyd.” 

“Good girl,” he says and slips free of his loafers. “Now, you’re going to have to meet my parents before anyone else or I won’t hear the end of it. I’ve already got an earful. I know I shoulda booked that resort...” 

You unzip your boots and set them aside on the rack. You stand and he beckons you past the open archway and down the hallway. You take in the decor; gold on beige on ivory. It’s all very luxurious. 

He pushes through a white birch door and warmth enshrines you along with the smell of turkey. There’s a clattering beneath a shrill voice snapping out orders, “oh, not mashed, whipped!” 

A tall blonde woman crosses her arms as she hovers like a vulture over the aproned staff crowded around the large marble island. Lloyd grabs your hand and drags you after him. Your socks slip on the tile as dread coils up your limbs. 

“Mom, she’s here,” he announces as he gets close to her. 

“Ugh, about time, they already set the table and I was dreading the empty plate,” she slithers. She turns her chin down to see you, “Oh, look at her. She’s so... petite.” She levels her hand with the top of your head, “much different than I envisioned.” 

You look at Lloyd as he pushes his shoulders back. You’ve never heard anyone talk to him like that and you’ve never seen him so uptight. You turn your attention back to the woman. 

“Hello, Mrs. Hansen, it’s nice to meet you,” you offer your hand. 

She considers it then grabs it, turning the ring up. You examine the jewel as she does the same, your first glimpse at the thing. She harrumphs, “that’s the ring?” 

“Mom,” Lloyd utters. 

“Mm, very well. Dear, you may call me Gwenyth, not Mrs. Hansen,” she lets you go. “Now, dear son, out of my way. I’m trying to get dinner done.” 

Lloyd stares at her, almost expectantly, the takes your hand again and leads you away. He pulls you back through the door. You don’t dare say a word. He leads you away from the kitchen and the wall of voices buzzing from the front room. He guides you through the archway opposite and around to another door. 

He knocks and there’s a lull as you wait. He taps again. There’s coughing from the other side. “What do you want?” 

“Just me, Dad,” Lloyd answers. 

“Ugh, get in here then,” the timbre calls back. 

Lloyd twists the knob and urges you in ahead of him. The smell of cigar smoke blows in with the cold wind. A gray-haired man puffs by the window, his efforts to puff through the opening sabotaged by the wintry gusts. 

“Close the door. I don’t need the banshee sniffing me out,” he growls. 

“Sure,” Lloyd shuts the door. “Dad, uh, this is her. The woman I told you about. My fiance.” 

“Took you long enough,” the man sneers. You flinch and his grey eyes soften, “him, I mean. Forty-three years--” 

“Dad,” Lloyd rasps. 

“Well,” his father looks you over, “she’s young. Bit small...” 

You do your best not to let your annoyance show. So you’re a little shorter than average. 

“William,” he introduces himself, “and you are?” 

“Pixie,” Lloyd answers for you. 

“Didn’t ask you, boy,” William rebukes and keeps his eyes on you. “You smoke?” 

You mull his question and sigh, “never tried it but I guess it’s never too late to start.” 

William snorts, “truer words.” He puffs, “I don’t recommend it. Horrible habit.” He tamps out the stogie in a copper tray. “Well then, is the food ready, or did you just come to show me your woman?” 

Lloyd stiffens and touches your lower back, “guess I just came to do that.” He mutters, “come on, let’s go get something to drink.” He turns and opens the door. 

“Don’t let the smoke out,” William snips as you spin around. 

[kiwinatorwaffles]

the pushback against the discord mobile update shouldn’t be based upon “if you can get used to it” or not. some people might like it. some people might get used to it faster. but a lot of people won’t. and the point of the pushback is that discord keeps thinking they can change this shit and get away with it.

nobody asked for discord to change its color to a brighter blue. remember that? we all got used to it. but that was one of the first instances of the userbase just tolerating a useless change.

later came the dreaded username change. nobody asked for that. in fact, it caused a fuck ton of trouble. remember the markipkier username situation? yeah. but we all just “got used to it.” i don’t hear anyone talking about it anymore. we moved on, even though it really fucking sucked.

now it’s a complete overhaul of the mobile app that removed pretty much everything people liked about discord in the first place. removing the right swipe to see members and pins just made everything clunky and slow. the swipe to reply they replaced it with doesn’t even work all the time. the nice and cozy gray is now colder and darker, which would be fine, but there’s literally a midnight mode that they just released out of beta after 7 years. (edit: i actually used the app for a little more and realized just how fucking hard it was to read anything with the new contrast. it's a genuine accessibility issue. jesus)

they removed the community. want to see which friends are online? fuck you! click the top of the channel that is much slower and cumbersome than just swiping! want to see the funny and/or important messages you pinned? too bad, because we’re cutting off longer messages and hiding links/images that were attached to the message. and also, you can’t see who sent the message in a dm or group chat. also^2, you have to click into the channel and click into ANOTHER tab to even access the pins. fuck you.

regardless of if you like the changes or not, the point of protesting isn’t due to personal preference. it’s that discord keeps thinking they can change this shit that nobody wanted and get away with it. staying complacent will just let them know they can roll out changes and their userbase will still stick around, even if they hate it. which is not true. because users (including my friends and i) and even NITRO USERS are considering jumping ship to alternatives that don’t hate its userbase.

don’t let discord think it’s invincible. send feedback (go to settings and appearance, and there will be a button), even if it’s likely they won’t read it. review them in the app store. if there’s enough genuine feedback that outlines the faults and focuses on the performance and usability of the app, there’s a chance they might change Some things. because we don’t WANT to move and leave all our friends and communities, but a lot of us will have to if the situation gets worse.

the best case scenario is that they let us choose the format we want, but considering that this is discord we’re talking about, i don’t think it will. the least we can do now is to make sure at least some things get changed back for accessibility and convenience.

[retiredteabag]

Unknown Rivals

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader

Synopsis: There was only one thing worse than being paired with Sukuna for an important school project, and that was realizing the slacker somehow had a higher class standing than yourself.

Tags: Academic rivals, enemies to eventual lovers, type A reader, mentions on anxiety.

pt. 1 - pt. 2 - next part

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

You had been partnered with Sukuna for weeks now, and you were starting to lose it. After turning in your draft for the final presentation, you had learned of your classmates status as a student.

After having assumed that every meeting the two of you held was more of a free tutoring session for the lazy man, it would turn out Sukuna was the only student in class who was rivaling your own grades.

After this information had been absorbed, you left class without so much as a glace the boy's way.

It killed you to know that he was so nonchalant, that he barely put any effort into class and work yet he was up there with you.

He likely thought you a fool, all that time "teaching" him, he probably spent mocking you.

You couldn't help the flood of thoughts that overtook you, thoughts of him mocking you to his friends, thoughts of him screenshotting your messages to send to some group chat, thoughts of him making jeers at your intellect while you explain a concept ad nauseam.

Oh, how you hated him.

It didn't help that you so desperately craved approval from others. Teachers, friends, parents. You wanted it all. If you hadn't their validation, what did you have?

You worked tirelessly to earn the grades you maintained, even if people teased you, called you stuck up, or a sycophant. Was it so wrong to want to be liked?

And here he was, above it all, putting little to no effort into his work and still coming out on top.

He must have found it real funny. Probably had a good laugh every Friday when you met to "work" on your project.

That is why you found yourself writing up a short email, explaining how you no longer had an interest in meeting with him to prep. Requesting he develop his final presentation alone and informing him that from that day forward you would research, write, and present separately.

You hadn't even requested he send in his work for your review, though he had never done it before. No, you would do your part as far away from Sukuna as you possibly could and hope he never looked your way again.

This project was a big deal, you would be presenting it not just to your classmates and professors, no, but company stakeholders as well. They would be coming out to the auditorium to see students speak during finals. Some might even be looking for possible interns.

Apparently Sukuna knew what he was doing so maybe you didn’t need to monitor his work.

You were still going to stress about it though.

--

"UGH! I just cringe to think of every conversation. Why was he even meeting with me?"

You and your roommate had gone out for dinner and you were regaling her with the woes of your school project while she dipped her fries in a generous coating of milkshake.

"That boy looks like he's never held a coherent thought in his head, I doubt he cared to spare any consideration to something other than himself." She spoke with her mouth full, taking another bite, "He looks pretentious."

She wiped her fingers off on her jeans and reached for another handful of fries.

"But that's just the thing" You sigh, "he looks like he wouldn't handle complex thought but-" you're cut off by her giggle but you push onward, "-I'm serious! But he's apparently some wonder boy, a reeeeeal academic." You end your thought with a huff, dipping a nugget into some ketchup, and finishing your meal.

"Well now your Fridays are free, that's nice at least." She shrugs and all you can do is nod. "Who would have thought popular Sukuna is a nerd like you."

"He's not a nerd." You point a finger at her, "He doesn't even study! And I don't get why everyone likes him, he pays nobody the time of day."

"Are you kidding me?" She makes an incredulous laugh, raising her browns.

"What?"

"You haven't the slightest clue why he's so popular? Have you seen the man?"

As much as you hate to admit it... she was a little right. He was undeniably attractive. And his tattoos stretched across his body in a way that made him look like art. He wasn't a peacock either, flaunting himself, he seemed indifferent to the whole thing. He really was just one lucky bastard.

I seriously hate that guy.

--

The next week was filled with your typical busyness, avoiding your project partner didn't really occupy too much space in your mind, especially since he hadn't taken the curtesy to even respond to your email.

That was why, when you eventually saw him straighten his posture the second you entered the shared class, him stalking your movements carefully, you couldn't help but feel frustrated.

Did he say anything? No. Did he try to get your attention? No. But he kept looking at you, and every so often during the lecture, you could feel his gaze in your direction. Serving to annoy you further. He could pay no attention in class and still catch up to your academic level.

Stop being a distraction.

Ugh.

--

After the last fiasco with this professor, you weren't exactly looking forward to sharing a word so you found yourself packing up the moment class was over. It hadn't even taken you putting away your folder for you to feel a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey."

You narrowed your eyes in his direction. Sukuna spoke.

"We should probably discuss the presentation."

This might have been the most you had ever heard him say at a time. About school or otherwise.

"I sent you an email, you know?"

You shuffle your bag to fit everything comfortably and zip it up. Continuing on, "We already split everything up, if you'd like to see my slides so you can match my format you'll find them in the email I sent." You swung your bag over your shoulder, "Last week."

You were making your way to the classroom door, fully prepared for him to shrug it off, but he seemed to have kept up with your pace, speaking down into your ear as you made it to the threshold.

"I've looked over your slides. That's not what I'm talking about." He followed behind you, opening the classroom door wider to stand next to you.

"Sukuna. I emailed you. I've emailed you several times. What about our project do we need to discuss that you couldn't have just emailed me about?" You try to keep your voice down, your professor was still at his desk.

"Shouldn't we... I don't know, be practicing?" He shrugs.

"...What?"

"Practicing? For our presentation? I don't know, I figured you would be the type to want things to flow smoothly."

You pull back, "I do want things to flow smoothly, like I already stated in the email, I am going to present first, then wait for questions, and then you'll go and do the same."

He raises a brow, "I got that." The way he looks at you and speaks so patronizingly distinct as if to suggest you were the slow one. "I'm just saying, we should practice at least once, I want to make sure you can do it."

It took you a moment to understand what he had just said. No way, NO WAY he had just suggested that YOU didn't know what you were doing. You bark out a laugh. "I'm sorry? You want to make sure I can do it?"

He stands still, looks up at the ceiling, and hums, "Well, you're so anal about stuff, I figured you'd want to."

You can hear the blood pounding in your ears, "I'm sorry I like things to be done right." You swing your bag a little more aggressively. "I'll send you my presentation notes so you can make sure I can do it."

You start to march down the hall, offended by his lackadaisical insults when he swoops up to you in just a few strides. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying.... wouldn't it soothe your anxiety to go over it together? I don't think it's wrong to suggest that we would do better after having gone over it at least once."

Oh sure, he was thinking about your anxiety, how kind. You roll your eyes.

You saw him out of your periphery and clutched your bag to your chest as he approached. When you turned to see him he had his arms raised in defense. "If you really care so much I'll add my slides to the presentation and send it to you."

"Good." You swung back. "I've only been asking for," you roll your eyes, walking backward to one of the campus exits, "oh, I don't know, weeks?"

"Fine." He huffed, squinting at you, "But we seriously should go over it so I can be sure you don't ruin my work with your public speaking." He was smirking at you, you had never seen that look on his face and you hoped never to see it again.

"Oh-" You gasp, "my gosh." You stomp away, whipping out your keys, "Thanks Sukuna, I'll try not to ruin all your hard work since you're such a team player."

That man was dead to you.

--

You would never say it to his face, but as finals approached, you were beginning to feel the typical sickness in your stomach. You made recordings of your note cards to listen to at night, practiced your speech endlessly, and changed the batteries in your clicker at least three times.

You had always been anxious, memories of puking before tests as a child still live on in the churning of your gut. This anxiety helped to motivate you but was unnecessarily intense, your own mother had told you to loosen up in the past but that was simply not something you were capable of controlling.

"Well, you're so anal about stuff-"

Oh, that man pissed you off. And after all that effort to seem cool and composed in all of your "tutoring" sessions, he could still tell that you cared. Cared more than you should.

You would never be the cool girl.

And this was why you were growing more upset with the understanding that you felt- you knew you really would feel better if you could just have the chance to practice your speeches.

But your pride had gotten in the way.

Couldn't he have just said that he wanted to practice instead of making it seem like he didn't believe in you?

His email did come, by the way. No words, just an attachment.

And damn him, the slides we good, not too crowded, and perfectly concise, he even had his speaker notes included and as you whispered them to yourself while sitting on your mattress you became determined.

You would not let this man outperform you. There would be employers present looking for interns and if you wanted to be noticed you could not be seen as the weak leak between the two of you. Especially not if it was Sukuna.

You started your email at 11 that night and rewrote for far too long.

Yes, you would practice your presentation with him, because and ONLY because you wouldn't allow him to drag you down.

It would also help settle your nerves, but he didn't need that confirmation.

It was on. Partner or not, you were fighting for the top spot in class and if your speaking ability fell short in comparison to his, you could not ever stand to look at him again.

But one thing you knew for sure as you sent the email, was that your advisor would be receiving some correspondence about avoiding a certain someone in future semesters.

It was past midnight. You started drafting a note about your class enrollment needs.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Tags: @blueyesuguru @monimonster57