#i want a laptop that can do things like actually

[deathsmallcaps]

It’s somewhat helpful nowadays to have online assignments, because that way it can be turned in while you’re thinking of it, or even gets graded as soon as you finish! As long as you can get through that part, you can kill it. So asking for accommodations that way may be appropriate and may work for you. Sometimes you can even work on it in little bits, from waiting rooms to public transport, and that can be better than not doing any of it at all.

Hell, you could even take a (CLEAR PLEASE) picture of your assignment and email it to your teacher as soon as it’s done if it’s a paper assignment. You’ll be early AND have a digital copy that you can show them if THEY forgot they received it.

Then there’s the redundancy approach. I keep a chapstick attached to my keys, one in my car, in every bag I use regularly, in my wallet, and one in every coat pocket I use regularly. This isn’t as helpful for hw, but it helps decrease anxiety and displeasure, which helps with memory.

Then there’s the approach for having *everything* attached to each other in one spot. When I was in HS, I used a giant fabric binder instead of a bag and kept everything in there. I had trouble staying organized, but everything DID end up in there and I rarely forgot the binder itself. If you can train yourself to only take papers (and your laptop, if you were like me) then at the very least you can maintain somewhat organized chaos in one small area. Which is sometimes what is best.

A lot of it comes down to consistency and training … which is the antithesis of ADHD. But it’s the truth. And the thing is, it’s appropriate to ask your environment to change too. They may not do it, but maybe if your teacher puts their homework bin by the door, it may cause a little bit of a choke point at the beginning of class but you and your body will get used to stopping by there and dropping off your paper.

If you can train yourself to check your school classroom assignment board, then that’s great too!

And OMG!!! Write on your skin!!! It’s not professional but you don’t have to write on the back of your hand.

My advice? Write things you need to remember on your wrist. It’s not as visible, it can be hidden by a long sleeve, and if you’re like me and wash your hands regularly you won’t wash it off too quick.

Plus, if you have darker skin and have trouble finding a utensil that’s darker, the wrist is usually pretty pale! If you really cannot find a marker that stands out against your skin tone, you may want to explore paint pens* or use metallic ones. They wash off faster but they WILL stand out.

Don’t use pen unless it’s your only option, it can wear off past the point of legibility within an hour. Skin pens ARE effective, the ones made to specifically write on skin safely, but they can also last for a WEEK if you aren’t scrubbing that area regularly. So use that for something that needs remembering for a week I guess.

So while I cannot attest to the absolute chemical safety of Sharpies, they DO work really well. I use orange or brown ones if I run out of skin on my wrist and need it to fade quickly on the back of my hand. Black or blue ones are very effective (for my pale self). If you are tan, then blue/turquoise actually shows up pretty well for a while. And metallic ones will not last as long usually, but silver is the best and it does show up well especially on dark skin.

You don’t look at your wrist quite as often as your hand, but you rarely lose it! So you can write a Turn In list. And tbh, while I still often do this, once I started ‘disciplining’ myself to look at my wrist, it was easier to get into the habit of checking my school website for my assignments, etc.

GOOD LUCK!

*check this site so you can know what to check for allergen and chemical wise, I personally have yet to try them so I do not know how they are vs. Sharpies

When I was a kid I kept failing classes because I'd lose my homework. I'd finish it, but between the dining room table and the classroom it would just walk away. Sometimes it ended up in my backpack, sometimes it didn't; sometimes I finished the homework at school and it got home in my backpack but wasn't there the next day.

To attempt to address this, my parents got me a neon orange folder to put in my backpack; it was my homework folder, all homework was to go into that folder and that folder only, and it was to only come out of that folder when it was being worked on. I was to put homework in the homework folder as soon as it was assigned and if I'd worked on it, put it back in the folder as soon as it was finished. The logic here was that using the folder was supposed to be automatic, and you wanted a bright color so it wouldn't get lost in the depths of a backpack.

I think I lost about eight of those before my parents stopped buying orange folders.

So it was very frustrating to search "how to be organized at work as an adult with ADHD" only to get a list that said "set alarms and write things down and try to make friends with a more organized person" which was immediately followed by tips to help your ADHD child stay organized and the one right at the top was to put their homework in a bright folder so they couldn't lose it.

If you have been harmed by the ADHD Tips Industrial Complex you may be entitled to a packet of fun-dip and a cactus cooler as consolation for losing your homework folder again.

[rubyvhs]

better than this | d. winchester

synopsis. dean notices how close you’ve stuck by him ever since you’ve decided not to kill cass tags. 0.9k words, some angst, some mysoginy (dean’s thoughts), series not in order, I’ll just write when I feel like it. the beautiful @daylighted gave me the idea, can’t believe I actually wrote something guys, it’s cause of dahlia <3 series masterlist

Dean found it weird that you were hanging around the Winchesters without you sticking to his side, now it's just creepy. You're everywhere. He can't get a break— and at first he thought that was a good thing because he liked being around you but it's honestly getting ridiculous.

"Hey," He doesn't get past that because you jump up and off the couch to run over to him. Great, your enthusiasm is as much flattering as it is irritating, "Cass, you have anything?" He pours himself a cup of coffee, a headache coming on strong from having gone to sleep with a full stomach.

It happens sometimes but he doesn’t mention it to anyone, just lets the coffee work its magic. Except he doesn’t have the chance to do that because while Cass is explaining to Dean that the angels are now hunting both angels in the cabin, your hand is wrapped around his more muscular one and the headache is just gone.

He jumps away, his coffee just near dripping but he catches it just in time. "What— what did you do?"

"I healed you."

"I know that! Why? Why did you heal me?" The look on your face almost makes him regret yelling but he stands his ground, his hand burning from the hot coffee but your response is the only thing that'll make him move from his spot. 

"Because you were hurt."

"I wasn't hurt, and you usually ask before you do that, you know?"

Cass perks up, "Yes, he has mentioned countless times how important consent is." When y it’s put like that… stop. Dean is not a chick. "Wait, you healed him? You know you shouldn't do that."

Dean's eyebrows furrow. "Why not?"

Cass looks up from the laptop, sensing Dean's change in demeanor. "Oh, well, you have angel blood in you, don't you?" Dean's about to deny the words religiously but he doesn't stop. "It makes it harder for you to get hurt, just as it makes it more difficult for us angel to heal you. It takes more power than if you were a mere human— and you," he faces you, "you're not strong enough to heal evenpeople."

"Not strong enough?" 

"Yes. Before he left," Dean doesn't have to ask who 'he' is, "he made one last generation of angels. There are arch-angels, angels, and guardian angels. She's a guardian Angel." Dean wants to hear more but when he looks over at you, your eyes are narrowed and the only thing your missing is steam out of your ears. Alright, testy subject. 

"Okay, whatever. What do you have, Cass?" He asks and tries to listen to Cass but his eyes keep straying to you, still bubbling, still so damn gorgeous. Still so wrong.

"She's always everywhere! Tell me you don't see it." Dean whispers aggressively but his brother only laughs. They pass the corner, Dean slams the beer cans into the shopping cart and Sam scoffs.

"It's not that big of a deal, man. So she cares about you, what's wrong with that?"

"She doesn't 'care about me', she's like… attached to me! It's creepy, Sam." The taller brother's response dies on his tongue as they make a turn around the corner and she spots your eyes on them from outside the store. Shit. 

"She can hear you." Dean immediately looks around, sighing in relief when he sees you're outside. "She's an Angel, asshole. She heard everything." Dean turns around and your face only falls further, getting in the backseat of the car. 

The drive to the next town is quiet, like most of them, except for the cassette Dean picked out. The volume is slightly higher than usual though and Sam notices so he offers a gas station break that Dean gladly accepts. 

The second Sam's out of the car, pulling Cass behind him, Dean looks back at you, "You know I wasn't trying to be mean, right?"

"You were though."

"You aren't actually— look, you're not my guardian Angel. They only call you that because, and no offense, you're weaker than the others. It's a name they gave you, but it isn't your purpose."

"It's not a name, it's a title. So it is my purpose. I'm supposed to guard you but you don't want me around—"

He sighs, pinching his nose. "Uncross your arms." You listen to him. "And looks at me." You pry your eyes off the window to glare at Dean. "It is not your—"

"Don't tell me what my purpose is! I like protecting people."

"Okay, great, maybe just cool it on trying to protect me, okay?" You shake your head. "Why not? I can take perfect care of myself, darlin', I have for twenty nine years."

"I have been in this world for centuries. Many, many, many centuries. I am weaker than the other angel but a thousand times stronger than you, Dean Winchester, and yet you underestimate me." Your soft sigh tugs on something in his chest. "And I don't know why it matters so much to me."

Sam chooses that moment to rip the door open and dean starts arguing with him about it, his eyes still on you in the rear view mirror. He won't let you stay angry for long, a few nice words will get you smiling again. And never questioning your closeness.

join the taglist. @loverslantern @justwhisperingfantasies @saltcxrcle @blossomingorchids @darling-eos

@ltotheucyy @1967barracuda

[babyboywilson]

“cas and I will go out and search the perimeter for any signs of activity,” dean said to sam, rubbing at the back of his neck and not quite making eye contact with his brother.

sam glanced up, squinting at dean as if he were assessing his brother, before nodding. “call if there’s anything suspicious.”

dean nodded once, turned around, grabbed cas by the trenchcoat sleeve, and dragged the angel out the motel door and into the woods surrounding the building.

“sam’s smart, he’s going to figure out we aren’t out here keeping watch for werewolves. if he hasn��t figured it out already,” cas pointed out unhelpfully.

dean dropped cas’ wrist and turned around. “we can always go back,” he pointed out. “or…” he said, leaning his back against the nearest tree, “you could get your feathery ass over here and kiss me.”

cas hesitated for the briefest second, glancing back towards the motel room and furrowing his brows, before he was closing the gap and leaning in to kiss dean.

the whole thing was so high-school. sneaking out of the motel room to kiss anytime they could because they hadn’t told sam yet. it was all so new still and dean wanted to just enjoy this for awhile without sam peppering them with questions and knowing looks.

but there was a thrill to sneaking around that dean was addicted to. the shudder that raced down his spine as cas pushed him up against the tree, the angel’s fingers tugging at dean’s hair as dean deepened the kiss. the way his lungs felt like they were burning as he dropped his knees apart and cas slipped his thigh between dean’s legs. the stuttered little gasps cas uttered into the kisses as dean slipped his tongue into cas’ mouth and rutted against cas’ thigh.

the burn of the bark against the back of his neck, combined with the way cas pushed closer and closer into dean as if he wanted to climb into dean’s chest was intoxicating. he could spend all day with his lips attached to cas’; drinking in the taste of grace as cas let it bubble to the surface as tendrils slipped into dean’s mouth.

dean could get lost in these kisses for hours. how they’d only just started doing this when they could’ve had this years ago was beyond dean. but those thoughts disappeared from his mind as cas stuttered out a breath against dean’s lips and the angel kissed him harder.

slowing down the kisses, dean took his time chasing cas’ upper lip and licking his way along cas’ lower lip. cas let out a breathless sigh and dean pressed his smile against cas’. “we should get back,” dean murmured against cas’ mouth.

“yes, we should,” cas agreed, but he contradicted his words by stealing another kiss. and another. and another. quick presses of lips morphing into slow drags of their mouths against each other.

by the time cas pulled away, dean felt lightheaded. “sorry, too much grace in the kisses,” cas shuffled shyly.

“no such thing,” dean replied, snagging cas’ tie and tugging him into one last lingering kiss. when dean broke the kiss, cas looked a little starry-eyed, too. “c’mon, let’s head back.”

cas nodded, leaning in for one final kiss, which dean happily reciprocated.

they made their way back to the motel room, their arms brushing with every step they took. opening the door, sam glanced up from his laptop with a raised eyebrow. “take down a werewolf den out there?”

dean rolled his eyes at sam, but furtively wiped across his mouth with the back of his hand. “we did actually. you’re welcome, by the way.”

when dean finally looked up and met sam’s gaze, there was a glint in his brother’s eyes that said he knew exactly what dean and cas had been distracted by in the woods. but sam didn’t say a word. he just gave dean a knowing look as cas moved further into the room and brushed his hand against dean’s shoulder as he walked past.

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 34]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s while Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 4.3k 🌶️🌶️

ao3 link

It is not often that you get a night to yourself. 

Usually, once you get Minnie down, you dive into your laptop to clock into work, but tonight there is server maintenance, and you are free to do as you please. You wish you had checked your e-mail before Matt had given himself over to the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, but alas, you did not think that far ahead. 

You don’t mind too much, however, as you use the opportunity to stretch out on the couch, relax, and binge trash entertainment. You allow yourself to be half tucked under a throw blanket that Matt’s cologne clings to and try to turn off your brain. You do not want to think or follow a plot and quickly wind up watching catty women start drama over things like seating charts and the differences between the color lilac and the color lavender. It is fun without being too serious and easily keeps your attention.

You decide you need a glass of wine after two episodes of your show. Even with the distraction, your eyes won’t stop darting to the corner of the screen to check the time and with each siren in the distance, you tense up. You know Matt’s plan is to be out late, combing the Kitchen in search of clues to lead him to people who butchered Enhanced children, but you can’t help but worry. 

Daredevil is more than capable of taking care of himself - you have heard and read plenty of stories about his fighting prowess - but whoever is out there seemingly has no morals and that can lead to situations where enhanced senses and fists don’t cut it. You trust Matt to know his limits - only if that trust comes from knowing he would never do anything that would make his daughter cry.  

Mouse’s happiness outweighs all of Matt’s faults - at least according to Foggy. 

But you will still stay awake until he is safely in bed with you, and you can fall asleep to his steady heartbeat. It is the least you can do for him and under the multicolored glow of the billboard across the street, you lounge, caught up in a world that is so far from your own, trying to enjoy your brief time alone. 

You don’t hear it when a pair of feet land firmly on the roof above you and you don’t hear it when the access door creaks open, but when a streak of moonlight shines across worn hardwood floors, you do notice. 

You pause your show as you lurch up into sitting, heart racing. You know no one other than Matt would be coming down the stairs, but you weren’t expecting him for hours, and your panic is pointing out you are woefully unprepared for any type of fight. There’s not even a baseball bat laying around so you can pretend you can defend yourself. 

Luckily for you, you would recognize the silhouette that comes through the door anywhere - Matt in his ‘Man in Black’ outfit - and your heart turns from panic to worry. You scramble up, shoving the blanket you had been bundled under to the side, and hurry to meet him at the foot of the stairwell. 

As he enters into the area of the apartment with enough light for you to actually see in, your heart catches in your throat while simultaneously sending the pulse in your nethers into overdrive. 

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen clearly had a very different night from you. Dried and drying blood cakes his face - coming down from his nose and mouth with smudges on his jaw line. His Muay Thai ropes are grimy and disgusting, and you can just barely see how they are tinted red. His shirt is ripped in various places, and it clings to his torso like it has been drenched in sweat. It has ridden up quite a bit from all his movement, so a band of skin shows, teasing the firm muscles that lie beneath, and his pants hang low, giving a hint of that V you so admire.

Despite the state of him, he oozes confidence and danger. He’s standing straight, head held high, and shoulders pushed back to emphasize how broad he is. Every muscle is pulled taut - ready to jump into action at the slightest of provocation. His chest is rising and falling with each breath, and it makes you wonder if he ran back to the apartment or if he is having trouble breathing through his nose. Either way, it is animalistic, and you are reminded of documentaries showing a predator before it pounces on its prey.  

In the dim light, your eyes zero in on Matt’s mouth and you watch with an intensity you know he can feel as he pulls his lips back into a slight sneer and runs his tongue over his teeth. 

You decide then and there that you are going to do something Matt has been denying you the chance of for weeks. 

You are going to suck his dick. 

You have found Matt loves to tease you sexually. Little touches here and there and sly comments with double meanings are his game of choice. He likes to get you nice and worked up and to deliver on his promises with his mouth to the point you are pretty sure enjoys oral more than the act of penetration. While you very much are thrilled being on the receiving end, it doesn’t mean you don’t also want to indulge in giving. Having his cock on your tongue has been a fantasy for quite a while and it is high time you turned it into a reality. 

After making sure he isn’t about to bleed out on the floor. 

“You’re home early,” you breathe out as a greeting, gaze still firmly locked on his cut lips. You want to kiss and bite them, but not in their current state. As much as you want to jump him, you do not know whose, or what’s, blood is covering his face, and you do not want it getting in your mouth.

The man in front of you tips his chin up just slightly, head tilting in a way you know means he is examining you. By the way his sneer turns into a smirk, you know exactly what inputs he is receiving. You don't need super smell to know your panties are already soaked through.

“Didn’t expect the Irish to be setting up shop in the tunnels,” he replies, voice low and rumbly and going right to your core. You let the shiver run through you and try to not react as your nipples pebble under your shirt.

“They certainly don’t belong there.”

You force yourself to turn away from him then. You don’t want to fall into the trap of becoming flustered while Matt teases you - if he gets his hands or mouth on you, he will be insistent on pleasuring you and you won’t get what you truly desire. 

He follows you like a shadow into the kitchen, barely letting you stay a literal step in front of him. You can feel the heat from his body against your back and the smell of his sweat and whatever he rolled in is wrapped around you like an all-consuming cloud. He practically boxes you in as you grab some paper towels and when you go to wet them, he looms over you. 

When you do turn to face him, your breast just barely brush against his torso. You have a feeling he wants to crowd you into a corner and get you onto the counter so he can eat you out, but you won’t allow it. Your body is thrumming with need and want and that is overruling in any anxiety and doubt you may have. 

You know he likes to tease. You know he likes to banter and push back and that helps to embolden you as you reach up and begin to wipe his face. You want to play his game right along with him.

“They aren’t the ones hurting the kids, are they?” You start, trying so hard to be nonchalant. You know you are both very aware how your bodies are responding to each other, but that is part of the teasing.

He allows you to clean away the blood, but he doesn’t lean into your touch - he remains tall and cocky, like he’s still on the streets. “No, they’ve got a warehouse with an access hatch. They were trying to store things. Probably weapons.”

You hum, taking in the information as you dap up gore that may or may not be his. He does not appear to be particularly injured, but you know he can hide that pretty easily - and stories and your own experiences tell you he will pretend he is perfectly okay, even when he isn’t. But, still, you probe because you want to be thorough in your care before you get your mouth on him. 

“Do you need any stitches?”

He huffs in response, and you take that as a ‘no’, which makes things much easier. You aren’t sure how much your desire would fade if you had to focus on needles and thread. 

As you begin to finish running the paper towel over his face, Matt moves impossibly closer to you - he presses forward, his knee starting to wedge between your legs, and it takes everything within you to not adjust so he can slide fully between them. He ducks his head to be closer to your face and tells you in that low, growly voice of his, “I might need a chest wrap, though. Why don’t you check to see if you agree?”

You understand the challenge he is giving you and you accept it. You toss the dirty paper towel into the sink, then drop your hands to hover in front of the hem of his shirt. Your heart pounds loudly in your chest, in your ears, in your cunt, as you hook your thumbs under the fabric and push it up. You go at a snail’s pace, letting your touch ghost over defined abs and feeling them flex under you. You only look down to examine the damage once his torso is almost fully exposed.

He will most definitely need a chest wrap. Bruises are already blooming around his ribs, and you can see they go around to his back. 

You make a soft, sympathetic noise in the back of your throat, “I think you might be right.” 

Again, Matt moves. His hands skirt over your hips, teasing at the fabric there and you are fully aware you are probably right where he wants you. This is confirmed when he bumps his nose, which is still hidden under his mask, against your cheek and drags it up to your ear.

“Do you know what else I think?” he breathes, voice pitched low enough to make your entire being quake in want. 

You know he is about to say something absolutely filthy, something that will make your knees give out - something that will have him winning this little game. 

And you can’t allow that. 

So, you tilt your head to the side and up, brushing your nose against his, and say in your own low voice, hoping you sound alluring, “I think you should go sit on the couch.”

Fabric crinkles as Matt’s brows raise in surprise and a tinge of Pride shoots through you at that. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting push back from you and his mouth curls up into amusement.

“Mmmm, and why should I do that?”

You resist the urge to wet your lips, not wanting to seem weak. Instead, you slowly start to guide his shirt back down, so he is covered again.

“Because I want you there.” 

“You want me there?” He confirms as he pulls his head back enough you can see his full face. His hands, however, are defiant - they finally settle on your hips, and with the slightest of tugs, you are flush against him and can feel his hardness pressed against you. Your cunt clenches around nothing in desire and you mentally chastise it as Matt grins like the Cheshire cat. “I think you want me here.”

Your mind races for a solution. As long as your body is weeping for his touch, Matt is not going to back down about getting what he wants but you need him to let you be in control. With his senses and with his suaveness, he has the upper hand. You need to undermine that.  

You need to use his advantages against him. 

Plus, the one unique advantage that he has given to you. 

You decide the only way to control the Devil is to tell him exactly why he is going to listen to you. 

You bite your lip, trying to be a bit coy, then whisper out as confidently as you can, “I want you on the couch so that I can get on my knees and get my mouth on your cock. So, you are going to do that because I know you can smell and taste how wet the idea of sucking you off makes me, and you said that you are mine. You are mine and this is what I want, so that is what you will do. Understood?”

Matt doesn’t respond at first and you try to not panic about pushing the boundaries too far.

But then his lips part just slightly, and his nose flares and you can practically see all of his bravado crumbling. He tightens his grip on your shirt for just a moment before he lets you go and slowly, slowly steps back. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he finally replies, his voice not as growly, not as deep. 

“Good boy.” 

You watch him back away from you until he pivots to be able to head towards the couch, relief flooding through you. You wait until he has actually sat down to grab the first aid kit from its hidden cupboard and make your way to the living room. 

Matt has manspread so that you can comfortably kneel between his tree-trunk thighs, and as much as you want to take your place there, you do need to actually wrap his chest. His Muay Thai wraps are going to keep him from taking his shirt off, but you don’t mind that much. The idea of him staying in the Man in Black outfit is rather thrilling.

As you go to sit beside him and open the first aid kit, you direct him, “lift your shirt up.” 

You expect a comment or resistance, based on his teasing earlier, but he is surprisingly quick to obey you. He sits up straight and tugs his shirt up as high as it will go, giving you plenty of room to work with.

Wrapping is one of the things you have practiced doing on some of Minnie’s toys, so you feel well versed in the task. The gauze is much better quality than what you have, but the motions are the same and Matt is stoic as you bind his ribs. With each rise and fall of his chest, your cunt drips with anticipation, and you wonder if his dick is twitching with the same. You consider taking your time with wrapping, but you don’t want to drag things out for yourself. 

You want your reward for taming the Devil.

You clean up your mess once finished and set the kit on the coffee table, so it is out of the way. Matt’s attention on you is nearly physical in how aware of it you are. It makes your insides bubble with delight.

You let yourself make a show of standing up and stepping to stand between his legs. Matt’s hands are planted on the couch, and you watch the way his fingers flex and curl as you lower yourself to your knees. 

“This is what you want?” he confirms as you settle yourself. His voice is losing that harsh edge, and he sounds so much more like the Matt you are used to. 

“Very much,” you purr. “It’s all I’ve thought about for days.”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat in response, and you watch it as you place your hands on the inners of his thighs and slowly push them up towards his crotch. You then deviate, going around where you know he wants you to touch him and going instead for the buckle of his belt. As you do, you lean up and forward to kiss at the skin just under the gauze. 

You give light, soft little pecks as you make your way down his stomach and Matt arches up into it, fully giving himself to you and stopping with his tough guy act. Pleased with this reaction, you nuzzle him before sinking your teeth into his flesh and starting to suck, determined to make a mark. 

Under you, Matt hisses in pleasure. His hips buck up with want and all his former words about wanting to be scratched and bit flood your mind. He likes the bruises. He likes the pain. 

So, who are you to deny him when he is being so good for you and you very much like the idea of him having reminders of why it’s a good idea to listen to you. 

You treat his washboard abs like a canvas - you bite and suck and scratch, leaving all sorts of different traces of you on him. Matt paws at the cushions, unwilling to put his hands on you for some reason, as his breathing turns harsher and needier. He doesn’t moan, but your name starts to slip out like a prayer and that is the motivation you need to keep going.

You are not satisfied until you’ve touched all the bare skin on the front of his body. 

Only then do you undo his belt and pop the button keeping you from your prize. 

Hard doesn’t begin to describe Matt’s cock - it's swollen and red and leaking like a faucet. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he had already cum all over himself and wouldn’t that have been the ego boost of the century?

His musk is nearly intoxicating as you dip down to rub your nose and lips against his head, smearing precum all over yourself. 

“Please,” Matt begs from above you, voice ragged and needy. It sends an electric thrill through you and you can’t help but want to tease him.

“Please, what?” You ask, throwing it back at him like he always does with you when you are a mess. “Use your words, baby.” 

“Put your mouth on me. Please suck my cock,” he mumbles, rolling his head back and pushing his hips up like you have no clue where to find what he is asking for. “Please. Take what you want. I’m yours. Please.” 

“Don’t worry, my good boy, I’ll take care of you,” you promise before wrapping your mouth around him. 

The burst of saltiness has you moaning and very suddenly your goal shifts from taking care of Matt to taking care of yourself. You’ve thought so long and so much about this experience, and you want to enjoy it exactly how you have imagined it. 

You haven’t given a blowjob in a very long time, so you take your time adjusting and exploring. Your tongue swirls around as you bob up and down, taking more and more in each time until it feels like too much. Then you back off and start again, continuing the process over and over until you no longer gag around him. 

He is heavy on your tongue, filling your mouth and making your jaw work to take him. It's perfect and how you pictured it in your mind. You know, in another time when you weren't so determined with your task, you could get lost in him fucking your throat.

The thought makes you drool, and you pay no mind to the spit gathering in your mouth and dripping down to soak Matt’s pants. 

You know he doesn’t mind being messy. 

When you feel you have thoroughly mapped Matt’s cock by swallowing it do you switch tactics. He whimpers and writhes as you pull off of him only to start panting when you attach your lips to the underside of it. Years of reading dirty books and sex tips has you knowing the frenulum is sensitive and you imagine Matt’s is doubly so. You are proven correct when you start moving your tongue and the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard comes from deep in his chest. 

You relish in how you are undoing Matt. You drag your lips and tongue up and down his length, sucking and flicking your tongue to get different responses. You want to know which one gets him moaning the most, so you are sure to take your time experimenting and learning. One hand wraps around his base to pump slowly, so no part of his cock is neglected, while the other reaches up to resume clawing at his skin. 

Praise and need and begging come pouring down from above you and you want more. You want Matt to feel as good as you do when he lays you out under him. You swallow him again, taking as much as you possibly can in, and when you reach your limit, you stay there. Your hand above you finds the gauze you wrapped around his chest and you move it to where you know the worst of the bruising is hidden. 

Then you press down. 

His cock twitches hard in your throat, a single salty spurt coating your insides, and you know he is right on the edge with the way he moans your name. 

You want more. 

You need more. 

Your cunt is pulsing and gushing at how much you want to make the Devil into a pretty mess, and you know just how to do it. 

You pull back to give yourself room to maneuver, but you keep your mouth on him, worshiping the tip of his cock as the hand wrapped around his base drops to go between your thighs. It is easy to push your sleeping shorts and panties to the side, and you begin to coat your fingers in your own slick. You are so very wet, and your own touch leaves you quivering, but you know your time for physical pleasure will be soon enough. 

You make sure your fingers are absolutely dripping before you remove them from between your legs and enact your plan.

With your mouth still on him, you reach up, your fingers pointed forward and Matt does not need to be told what you are wanting of him. He practically dives for them, slurping them up greedily - like he is parched, and they are his salivation. You push your fingers more into him, until the heel of your hand is flush with his chin, making him start to gag and drool around them. 

As you do that, you swallow him down again and dig your other palm into his bruised ribs. 

The result is instant, and you get no warning as Matt’s hips buck and stutter and he fills your throat with his seed. 

You drink it as greedily as he drinks you down when he is between your legs. You very much understand the pleasure he gets from it - you’ve barely just finished, and you already want to lay him out again. Pulling away from him feels like a Herculean Trial - you yearn to stay there with his cock in your mouth until it gets hard again, but you know you should check on him to make sure he enjoyed himself. 

You give one last tease as you drag your fingers from his mouth, though, letting them tug as his lips and smear spit and slick down his chin, timing it so his cock falls from your mouth at the same time. 

You can only see the bottom half of his face, but he looks pretty blissed out. Matt’s lips are puffy and red, and he has this dopey, pleased smile on his face - something very contrasting from his all-black outfit. You are gentle as you tuck him back into his pants and even more so as you push yourself up so you can climb into his lap, straddling him. 

His hands are on your hips immediately, looping around to tug you flush against his chest. You brace yourself on his shoulders and smile down at the masked man. 

“Did you like that?” you ask, pitching your voice to be sweet and flirty. 

His response is to lean in and begin to kiss your neck, nice and slow and leisurely. You tilt your head to give him better access and he makes his way up to your ear, purring out a ‘yes, ma’am’ as he does. 

His breath against your skin has your core thrumming and reminding you that you need your own release, and you do not plan to deny yourself of that. 

So, as Matt begins to nuzzle and nip at your neck, you pull his mask from his head, tossing it to the side before you tangle your fingers into his hair. You let yourself be rough as you yank his head back so his sightless eyes can stare up into yours, all while clawing your other hand into his shoulder. You then contrast that by giving him the sweetest peck on the lips.

“Good. Because you still need a shower, and I need your cock in my pussy for at least an hour. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

---

This one goes out to @pastafossa . Matt always needs a good Domming session.

--

@two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @astridstark13 @hashcakes

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[kireilien]

obsessed.

pair. bf!seungcheol x fem!reader; wc. 2,737

tw/cw. nsfw content, cursing, intentional lowercase, not proofread, alcohol use; plot heavy story, angst-ish?, dom!seungcheol, sub!reader, race neutral reader, reader is an overthinker, food play, alcohol consumption, wam (wet and messy), slight spit play, kissing, oral (f receiving), cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, nipple play, unprotected sex, doggy style over the counter, hair pulling, use of “cheol,” and “baby” 

note. please don’t fucking eat people out do anything w alcohol like this, this is fiction THIS IS FAKE 

synopsis. thinking of how shit your life was, you genuinely thought your boyfriend would break up with you. turns out he never would because he’s way too obsessed with you!

you felt like all of your feelings overwhelmed you. work has been terrible. your personal life is as shitty as it could be. you and your boyfriend have been distant more than ever. everything. literally everything in your life was actually horrible. 

day after day. 

afternoon after afternoon. 

night after night.

it just repeats. every single damn time. nothing is new to you anymore. you wake up. get ready for work. step into the office. get yelled off by your coworkers and boss. work over time because you’re the only one who doesn’t have any plans. get home. eat a shitty ass meal. get unready. sleep. then it repeats.

so what could you be doing out of all the days of rest? it's watching movies on your living room couch and just being a complete slob. you’ve never let it got this low. you turned your phone on silent, left your laptop away, and the only thing electronic with you was your tv. 

time passes. your low and hazy-like eyes shift to the clock onto the top left of your tv screen, barely even focusing.

10:30/22:30.

huh. didn’t know being a slob was that much of a waste of time. in a blink of an eye, the day has already passed. 

without much of a thought, you knew that there weren’t going to be any important notifications besides the typical notifications you would get from random apps on your phone that you didn’t bother to turn off. 

but to your surprise, there was something important.

missed calls from your boyfriend, seungcheol.

you regretted seeing those missed calls. you haven’t been the greatest partner these past few months to him. your life came crashing down, what could you do?

reluctantly so, you picked up one of his calls. 

the last call out of all five he sent was approximately two hours ago. surely he’d be active, right? there weren’t any voicemails left by his number anyways. you were slightly scared though when the echoing ring filled your right ear from your phone being flat against it.

you grit your teeth. what if he wanted to break up? it wasn’t gonna be a surprise if he wanted to. like before, being a shitty partner and being absent in all ways isn’t the best partner. yet, a small, painful ping in your heart says you could’ve done better.

it picks up.

“y/n?” seungcheol exhales.

you’ve missed his voice like crazy. you temporarily forgot why he was your boyfriend in the first place. he’s the first man who really made you feel love in your heart rather than your other exes.

“cheol,” you smile behind the phone.

“can i come over?” he sighs.

you immediately felt your smile and heart fall after you hear those four words. he was definitely going to break up with you. you couldn’t believe it. you swore to yourself you could’ve prevented it. you were just too late.

“cheol. i’m so sorry,” your teeth were clenched but, you carried on, “i wish i could’ve been better for you. you don’t need to come over. i’m so, so sorry.”

before you knew it, your water line fills with salty tears; daringly about to fall and roll down your cheeks.

“y/n, what the fuck do you mean?” seungcheol laughs lightly against the phone. you could hear a bag rustle in the background of his call with a few glass bottles getting put into that said bag. “baby, i’m coming over. we’re talking but we are definitely not breaking up.”

you took a moment to recollect what just happened in the last few seconds. seungcheol isn’t mad at you. he isn’t breaking up with you either?

after a quick pause and a quick wiping of your eyes, you continued the conversation, “uhm, sure. what’re you doing?”

“let’s have a drink. we haven’t drank any soju in a while, have we?” he mumbles a bit after hearing him shuffling out the door while exiting his apartment complex.

“oh. yeah, we haven’t. when you coming?” you were glad he wasn’t angry, but you were still confused why he wasn’t.

“like uhh, gonna be there in 10?” seungcheol hums as you hear the dragging of his slippers against the concrete of his complex garage.

“cool, ‘kay see you then, cheol,” you sigh in relief. unconsciously, you were picking at the sides of your couch pillows in nervousness though. 

“yeah, see ‘ya, baby.” he ends the call as he turns on his engine of his car.

your phone drops beside you; lightly bouncing on the fabric of your couch. you were definitely gonna get a small earful of what seungcheol has to say about you worrying. he hates hearing you worry. 

but never mind that. you at least wanted to tidy yourself up before seungcheol arrives. so, you changed out to newer pajamas and headed over to the kitchen to pull out your cute matching shot glasses, remembering how it was still early on into your relationship when you got them.

you still remember your weekly drinking sessions with cheol. they were so giggly. sometimes glum, most times intimate and borderline sexual. nonetheless, you also missed drinking with him. you miss the nights where it was just the two of you alone. no one ever joined in. it was because it was a secret between you and him. just a night. for the two of you.

as you were lost in your romantic thoughts, seungcheol rings the doorbell. lightly skipping over, you swing the door open to your ever-so handsome boyfriend. everything from his tousled deep black hair, white tee, gray loose zip up, some black sweats, and his black slippers that you heard over the phone, was just perfect.

the little thumps in your heart came again. just like a few months back when you still visited him often.

“soju?” he gleefully lifts up the crinkled plastic bag while tilting his head down to place a small kiss against your lips. 

you return this kiss while nodding, “i have our shot glasses out.” 

taking off his slippers, you guide him to your kitchen counter where your glasses are. cheol snickers at them, still remembering those fond memories of the two of you drinking every week.

“shall we?” you grin.

“we shall,” he reciprocates.

opening up a brand new bottle of soju, specifically the blue bottle by jinro, seungcheol pours out some for the both of you. “no tricks this time?” you poke at your boyfriend.

he rolls his eyes. he always used to do those fancy tricks when he drank. cheol sighs and closes the bottle up again. he flips the bottle, making his arms crossed to open it up again and rearranged his hands again to flick some of the alcohol towards you. you flinch away from the splatter, giggling at his attempts to have some fun.

finally, the two of you brought your respective shot glasses up to have a small clink for a cheers and shot it down your mouths in a quick second. the gasp of the cool alcohol leaves your lips, already needing more of the addicting drink.

one shot, down.

half a bottle, down.

one bottle, down.

another half bottle, down.

before you knew it, the both of your brains started to cog a different way than before. you could already tell by the silence in between all the shots the two of you took.

after the moments of silence, cheol speaks up, “y’know. i’ve missed you,” he murmurs with his tired eyes. 

you snicker, “how can you miss me when i’ve been the shittiest girlfriend ever? i never pick up your calls or texts. i never—.” before you could even continue, seungcheol immediately shuts you up by pressing his lips against yours for a quick second.

“you really needa stop doing that. i miss you. that’s it. i’m obsessed with you at this point. not even just now, i’ve been obsessed with you. there’s no other way around it,” he sighs while softly tap-slapping your cheek.

“oh, really?” you twiddle with your shot glass, rolling it between your fingers.

“yes, really.” seungcheol is confused why you’re dragging this out for so long. why couldn’t you just realize it?

“hey,” he breaths out.

“what?” you retort back.

“how about i show you how obsessed i am with you,” cheol simpers.

“sure.” you liked how this was going.

seungcheol immediately attaches your lips with his again, however in a romantic-like gesture. his hands slide onto your body so fluidly he reaches down, all the way to your hips. while yours found their way up and about in his hair. you could both taste the soju dancing along your mouths, loving the way it mixed into your saliva. 

quickly enough, breaths began to get rapid. the two of you were almost animalistic with each other; hands were everywhere. seungcheol’s grunts and your whines were more than enough to understand that the both of you couldn’t get enough of each other. you still didn’t believe the man you thought you lost was making your mouth messy with his.

“fuck it,” cheol let’s your plumped lips go and downs the rest of the soju remained in the bottle. but, he leaves half of it still in his mouth, waiting for someone to drink the rest. that someone, is you.

he returns back the kiss, allowing the alcohol slip down your mouth, ingesting it along with the enhancing wetness of his spit from the soju beforehand. you were well dizzy from this point on. not from the drinking though. it was purely from seungcheol. he’s driving you crazy, nothing like ever before.

you couldn’t help yourself. you needed him so, so, bad. you zip off his zip up jacket, throwing it across the kitchen somewhere; as well as his shirt to reveal his bulky figure he’s been building up these past few months. 

cheol was ravenous. you didn’t know if it was from the buzzing from the alcohol or the making out, but he was sure enough it was just from you. 

he slips off your pants and underwear, leaving you bottom naked for him to prop you up on your cold kitchen counter. you lay back on your propped up elbows to give him a wide view of your dripping cunt, out and ready for him to use. 

taking another bottle from his bag, seungcheol twists open another bottle of soju to pour a few drops over cunt for him. “fuck— i need you, cheol. i need you so bad.” you whimper under his touch.

“i got you, baby, lemme make you feel so good,” he mutters a bit before outlining your sopping pussy, kissing a few times over. seungcheol hooks his bulky arms underneath your thighs to have you lie completely down the counter to make sure he has all of you, melting in his hands.

at this point the soju, his saliva, and your juices covered your inner thighs. you couldn’t bare to open your eyes. cheol made you crazy. he knew how to mess with your head. his hands even pulled down to slide his thumbs on the edges of your inner lips to extend his view of your pretty cunt. 

you were melting on the counter. your hands were tangling his hair, legs were hooked were propped on his back, and you didn’t give a single fuck of how loud you were being. moan after whine after whimper was continuously falling with seungcheol’s name. you couldn’t help it.

soon after, the knot in your stomach felt tighter and tighter in seconds. “fuck—! cheol ‘m gonna—!” you groaned out.

“come on my face, baby— lemme taste your sweet cum,” he sighs against your drenched cunt.

in a matter of seconds the knot in you snapped, causing you to release your cum all over seungcheol’s face. he laps your juices to make sure he tasted all of you and comes back up to your face, “god, baby— you see— literally obsessed enough to eat you out with alcohol dripping down your pretty pussy,” he mumbles as he stares into your eyes while taking his hand to dip down and rub small rings around your clit.

“more— i need more, cheol.”

“take off this top, baby, i’ll give you more.”

you discard your shirt to some other place in the kitchen as cheol shoots down the rest of alcohol in the bottle in his mouth. seungcheol then latches his mouth around your right nipple. your mouth shot open with strings of curses leaving your lips, relishing in the coldness from the soju, as well as the warmth of his mouth. 

his lips danced between both of your nipples and down to your stomach, back up to your lips. “slide down, baby. i wanna fuck you— wanna fuck you so bad,” cheol groans in your ear. you nod quickly before pressing your torso down against the semi-cold and semi-hot counter. 

seungcheol strips himself as quickly as he possibly could and lines himself against your cunt; nearly breathless. the vibrations from your whines buzzes against your cheek. you were on overdrive at this point. your brain was mush, and it was about to become every bit more mushed.

with one quick push, cheol bottoms himself out completely in you; gaining two hearty moans from the both of your mouths. 

after a few pauses, cheol whispers against your ear, “you good, baby?”

“mhm, please, fuck me, cheol.”

cheol slides his hands under your hips to slide yourself on and off your cock. the slickness of your cunt and the soju claps between cheol’s cock. although the pace was slow at first, the speed and intensity soon picked up. 

you couldn’t contain your moans of movement. your hands started to become sporadic. your hands gripped onto the edge of the counter to the flat middle of the counter. seungcheol noticed your hands but his eyes eventually trailed to the a few bottles still unopened in his plastic bag.

he stopped his movements and slipped his hands out from your hips to open up another bottle. as one hand holds the bottle cheol’s other hand slides up to your hair and pulls it back, making your back flesh against his chest. “you haven’t drank that much tonight, baby. care for a drink?” seungcheol seductively hums in your ear.

your mouth slacks open for cheol to pour a good amount of the soju for you to gulp down. a sigh of relief exits your mouth from the soju but that was soon interrupted by a sudden snap of cheol’s hips. his tip just grazes your cervix from that snap, causing you to gasp.

“you seem to like the drink more than my dick, baby.” cheol tsked from your reaction. 

“no— i don’t! fuck me, cheol. i love your cock. i’m obsessed with it,” you frantically try to buck your hips back to fuck your self back on his cock.

he chuckles at your weak attempts of fucking yourself back on his cock. “here, drink the rest, will you? lemme make you feel good.” seungcheol passes the bottle off as his hands finds your hips again to sharply snap his hips against yours.

meanwhile, you could barely hold the cold rim against your lips. with each thrust up, you caught a tremble in the glass. you needed to get this over with. you didn’t care that the strong liquid pours over your chin and onto the countertops. with quick gulps, the majority of the soju was gone.

finally, you could focus on cheol’s cock. the glass rings from the sudden hit of your hands to the countertop, literally nothing could phase you past your boyfriends cock. it was too heavenly to focus on anything else.

the thick veins on his dick are pulsing from the friction between him and the slickness of your cunt; just dripping from arousal. your moans and whines intertwined with cheol’s grunts and groans; it was almost too erotic.

eventually, cheol’s thrusts started to become stronger yet, slower. with a few more pumps, the both of you came; coating each other in your sticky fluids. after a few hearty breaths, seungcheol comes close to your face.

“can’t you see i’m obsessed with you?” seungcheol kisses your cheek gently. 

“yeah— can now,” you smile from his kiss.

even then, you were already obsessed with seungcheol from the start.

© KIREILIEN 2025 | please like, repost, and/or comment! ♡︎

[emmiesoverthemoon]

stupid bet

Pairing: g-dragon/ kwon jiyong x reader

Word Count: 2,326

Summary: A playful drunken challenge turns into a game of seduction, but as Jiyong steadily dismantles your defenses, you realizes they lost long before you even knew you were playing.

Tags: teasing, tension, flirting, all that jam, stubborn reader

cross posted on ao3 here

Your office is quiet.

The kind of quiet that only comes when the day has stretched too long, when even the air feels heavy with exhaustion. Most of the staff have long since packed up and left, the faint click of doors and elevator chimes fading into the background hours ago.

But you’re still here.

Your desk is a mess of contracts, schedule printouts, and a half-empty coffee cup that’s long since gone cold. The white-blue glow of your laptop screen flickers across your face as you skim through another email, fingers moving swiftly over the keys.

“You work too much.”

You don’t even look up.

“And you don’t work enough,” you shoot back, scanning the last few lines of text before hitting send.

A soft thunk—the sound of something being placed on your desk. You glance over to find a takeaway cup, still steaming. The scent of something warm and sweet curls into the air—not coffee; hot chocolate.

Your eyes flick up.

Jiyong leans against the edge of your desk, hands in his pockets, watching you with that infuriating, ever-present smirk. His dark eyes glint with amusement, but beneath it, something quieter.

He gasps, feigning offence. “I work very hard at pretending I don’t work at all.”

You sigh, rubbing at your temples. “You have a radio interview tomorrow morning, a magazine shoot in the afternoon, and a late-night talk show to close out the day. So forgive me if I don’t have time to listen to you whine about my work ethic.”

“And yet,” he drawls, “you’re the one still in this office at—” he flips his wrist over to check his watch, “—almost ten o’clock at night.”

You don’t answer. Because, well. He’s right.

But that doesn’t mean you have time to dwell on it.

You reach for another document, flipping through the pages. “If you came in here just to be annoying, congratulations. Mission accomplished. Now go home.”

“Actually,” he says, “I came in here to drag you out of this office before you wither away under overly fluorescent lighting.”

You glance at him again, wary. “No, thanks.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

“Jiyong.”

“Sweetheart.” The teasing lilt in his voice makes your fingers tighten around your pen.

You exhale slowly. “I have a hundred things to do before the end of the week. If you want to go out, I can have someone else arrange it for you.”

“Nope.”

“No?”

“No,” he repeats, gaze still being held strong to your eyes, “because I’m not asking anyone else. I’m asking you.”

The shift is subtle.

His voice, still teasing but softer now. The way he leans in just slightly, like he’s pulling you into some invisible gravity.

“Come out with me,” he insists, quieter this time. “Just for an hour. Two, if I can convince you to stay.”

“You can’t.”

“I bet I can.”

Your jaw tightens. “I have deadlines, Jiyong. I have three back-to-back meetings tomorrow and—”

“And you’re still going to have all of that whether you take a break or not.” His gaze flickers over you, assessing your overworked state. “But you’re running on fumes. If you don’t stop now, you’re going to crash, and then where will I be?”

“This isn’t about you.”

“Everything is about me,” he says smoothly.

You huff, shaking your head. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you put up with me.”

You should say no. You should send him on his way, return to your work, and ignore the way he’s looking at you like he already knows he’s won.

But—It’s late.Your head is starting to ache. And, fine, maybe you’re running on fumes. And, fine, maybe you like that there’s something dangerous in the way he’s waiting for your answer, like this is more than just an invitation. Like this is a challenge.

You exhale sharply, snapping your laptop shut and rising from your chair. “One drink.”

His smirk widens.

“We’ll see.”

It started as a joke.

The kind of reckless challenge tossed carelessly across the table, carried by the haze of warm lights and the slow, liquid burn of another late night. The kind of thing you say when the air is thick with laughter and bravado, when the lines between daring and dangerous blur into something you don’t bother to examine too closely.

The bar hums around you, a low murmur of voices and clinking glasses. Outside, the night is deep and endless, pressing against the windows, but here, it’s all golden glow and too much familiarity. The heat of lingering conversations. The comfortable, slow-burning drowsiness that comes from just enough wine to be bold, but not enough to be reckless.

Well.

Maybe just enough to be reckless.

Because you say it without thinking—without considering that the weight of your words might shift something in the air, might tilt the balance in a way you won’t be able to take back.

“I think—I bet you couldn’t make me fall for you even if you tried.”

Your voice is flippant, dismissive, the way it always is when you’re baiting him. You tip your glass back, letting the liquid swirl against the side as you lift it to your lips, not really watching him—except, of course, you are.

Across from you, Jiyong stills. The change in his body language is slight. Barely perceptible. But you notice.

The way his fingers tighten around his glass, the faintest shift in his expression—there, then gone. His dark eyes flick to yours, and for a split second, something sharp flickers behind them.

Not amusement. Something else.

Your stomach performs an unfamiliar lurch. You expect him to scoff, to roll his eyes, to brush it off the way you do—like it’s nothing, like it’s all just another round in the unspoken game the two of you continue to play.

But instead—

Jiyong leans back against the booth, one arm draping over the backrest. Slowly.

His movements are deliberate, measured, but the ease is deceptive—because it’s not relaxed, not really. It’s something else entirely.

His head tilts slightly as he considers you, the hint of a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. But it isn’t his usual cocky grin. It’s different.

It’s like he’s just seen something in you that you weren’t aware of exposing.

“Oh yeah?” His voice is low, rich, carrying just the faintest rasp, and God help you—it shivers down your spine before you can stop it.

You smirk. You don’t let yourself waver. “Yeah. You couldn’t even if you were to dream of it.”

The second the words settle between you, something shifts. The warmth of the room suddenly feels stifling, it isn’t coming from only the wine anymore—this is palpable. The space between you—across the small wooden table, across the dim bar lights—narrows without either of you moving.

Because Jiyong isn’t laughing. Not in the way you expected. His smirk deepens—not playful, not teasing, but slow and deliberate.

Knowing. Like he’s already decided something. Like you just handed him the exact opening he’s been waiting for.

Your pulse trips. The smart thing—the safe thing—would be to laugh, to roll your eyes, to shrug it off and move on.

But you don’t.

Because you are watching him now.

The way the candlelight flickers over the sharp lines of his jaw. The way his fingers drum lightly against his glass, controlled and unhurried. The way his eyes flicker—first to your lips, then back to your eyes, like he’s weighing his options.

And then, slowly, carefully, he leans forward.

Not much, just enough to make the air between you thin.

Just enough that you feel it, the heat of him, the pull of something you shouldn’t name.

“Alright then.” The words are dangerous in their quiet simplicity. His voice drops—low and smooth, brushing against your skin like velvet and steel.

“Let’s play.”

And just like that—the game began.

At first, it was harmless.

Or at least, it pretended to be.

Jiyong flirted with you as easy as breathing, it was second nature to him. He smirked at you in a crowded room, murmuring half-teasing, half-infuriating comments just to get a reaction out of you. He leans in too close when he doesn’t need to, his breath brushing the shell of your ear, voice smooth as silk.

“Careful, baby. You look like you’re thinking about me too much.”

You scoff. You roll your eyes. You pretend it doesn’t affect you.

But then—he starts getting clever. He learns your tells.

He found excuses to touch—small, innocuous touches that linger longer than they should. A hand at the small of your back as he moves past. Fingers curling around your wrist for a second too long when he hands you a drink. A fleeting touch against your waist when he steadies you, his grip warm and certain.

And worst of all—he made you notice.

He watched.

Not obviously, not outright, but intently. His gaze lingered when he thinks you aren’t looking, dark and unreadable. He met your eyes across the room and held them, unblinking, like he was waiting for you to admit something first.

It was unbearable. It was working.

You tried to fight back.

You threw every sharp word, every pointed glare, every biting remark his way. But you never intended harm, and Jiyong was highly aware.

“You really think you’re winning, don’t you?” you proclaimed one afternoon, arms crossed, chin lifted in defiance.

Jiyong grinned, lazy and unbothered, shifting just slightly with the purpose to invade your space.

“I don’t think, doll.” He dipped his head just slightly, voice dropping to a murmur, breath warm against your skin. “I know.”

Your stomach tightened. You shoved at his chest—more forcefully than necessary, your hands pressing warm sparks across his body. He allowed you, laughing, but he’s still watching, still waiting.

You strode away from him. It should have ended there.

It didn’t.

Because now, it was everywhere.

It was the way he looked at you when you were laughing at something else, something completely unrelated, like you were the most fascinating thing in the room.

It was the way his hand lingers at your lower back in a crowded space, casual to anyone watching, but to you—it was anything but.

It was the way he murmurs your name, low and quiet, like a secret slipping through his lips.

And then—then, there was the night you pretty much lost entirely.

The two of you were alone in your office long after the working day had ended, moonlight streaming in through your thin blinds, creating low mood lighting to add to the overwhelming tension in the air. The night hummed with an undercurrent—a weight in the air that neither of you had the courage to name.

You stood in front of your desk, leaning against the edge, your arms crossed against your chest. Jiyong was situated across from you, hands in his pockets, his usual confidence tempered with something quieter. Something heavier.

You should have done something. You should have ended this. You disliked that you were losing this stupid game, giving in was unlike you.

But you said nothing.

Because he was watching you again, like he already knew the answer to a question you had yet to ask. Like he was waiting.

“Tell me something, sweetheart.” His voice is soft now, coaxing. He took a step closer. Not enough to touch, but enough that you can feel the heat of him. “Do you ever think about giving in to me?”

Your breath caught. A part of you wanted to laugh, to scoff, to throw back something sharp and biting. To pretend you were still in control of yourself. Like you were no more than putty in his hands the moment he looked at you the way he did in that bar the night this all had begun.

But you remained silent. Because there was nowhere to run now.

His hand lifted—not touching, but close enough. Hovering near your jaw, close enough that you can feel the warmth of it, the promise.

“Say the word,” he murmured, confident radiating from every syllable. “And this will all stop, I’ll leave you alone. Promise.”

You should have said it. You should have won.

But the space between you was suffocating, and your pulse was hammering too loudly, drowning out any voices of logic, and so you didn't say anything at all.

Because you didn’t want him to stop. And he knew it.

His smirk was gone. His usual playfulness—gone. He waited—because this was the moment, the moment when the game stops being a game.

The moment when you lose.

Your breath was uneven, words challenging him didn't spill from you. And that’s when it happened.

His fingers ghosted along your jaw—soft, reverent, as if testing, as if waiting for you to pull away. But you did no such thing. The action would betray you.

His face was warm, dusted with pink when he leant in closer, when his lips hovered just a breath away from yours. He was so close, you could close the distance yourself, you could finally—

A creak echoed from somewhere in the hallway outside your door. A sharp reminder of reality. You both froze, hearts beating loudly in sync.

Jiyong’s hands were motionless against your skin. His eyes flickered, dark and unreadable, his breath still mingling with yours.

And then—he pulled away from you. Slowly. Deliberately.

Leaving you standing there, heart pounding, breathless.

His smirk was back when he spoke again, but it was softer now, edged with something you can’t quite place.

“Told you this wasn’t a game, sweetheart.”

And then—he walked away.

Leaving you behind with your pulse roaring in your ears.

Leaving you behind to realize—You lost this game a long time ago, before it had even begun.

thank you for reading! might make this a two parter idk, what do you guys think🤷‍♀️

[artstennisracket]

I Don’t Matter? wanted to give my take on what happened when Patrick found out that Art was going to Stanford. thank you @diyasgarden for your help with this :)

MRTA!Art x MRTA!Patrick

cw: sfw, angst

Junior Year

They had talked about it once. In passing. A very short conversation. It wasn’t meant to be short but that’s just how it ended.

Art was sitting at his desk scrolling through his college applications. He had finished all of them except one, Stanford. He always knew he wanted to go to college. Getting an education was never something he second guessed and to be honest tennis was never something he wanted to do forever. The more games he played the more he realized it didn’t feel the same, he didn’t feel the same.

His passion for it was dying.

It was fun as kid. No pressure. Just about having fun, doesn’t matter if you win or lose. But that’s not how it was at the academy.

Everyone was competing against each other. Him and Patrick included. But it was different with Patrick, it was fun.

Whether they were playing doubles or singles against each other Art always had fun, being good at it was just a side effect.

But they can’t play together forever, it’s not feasible. The US tennis circuit boasts over 300 players, Art would have to play them too if they kept it up. Strangers on the other side of the court who just don’t get him, not like Patrick did anyway.

He didn’t want to be stuck dwelling on his childhood forever. He wanted to see what tennis was like when he’s not always in constant competition with his best friend. But he also wanted to develop an actual career in college, maybe study economics in case this tennis thing didn’t work out. Art was never all-in for tennis.

Patrick got home late. It’s been like that for the past week since he was always seeing Lisa? Liza? Whatever her name was.

He caught a glimpse of Art’s laptop screen with big letters at the top “Collegeboard”.

“You’re not seriously going to play college tennis are you? I thought we were going pro,” Patrick says definitively. No joking manner behind his tone. He’s kidding right?

“And when exactly did you come up with that plan? Don’t think I was there for that conversation,” Art huffs out, keeping his eyes glued to the computer screen.

Art isn’t surprised. Never is when it comes to Patrick. Patrick’s assumption that Art would continue to follow him around like some lost puppy even at the detriment of his own self. Maybe in Patrick’s eyes Art really is that pathetic. Needing his guidance even as they grow into their adult selves.

Patrick scrunches his eyebrows together in confusion, “That was always the plan. Fire and Ice duh. Why wouldn’t we go pro? To spend our prime stuck up in some stuffy college. Stuck playing in NCAA?”

Art lets a half laugh, “You know they offer classes in college right? Don’t want my only skill in life to be hitting a ball with a racket. You can always come with me. College tennis teams tend to consist of more than one person.”

Patrick wouldn’t hear that though. He can’t really hear anything over the sound of his massive ego. As far as he was concerned the MRTA boys team only consisted of one person for singles and that was him. Sure Art was great, but Patrick was better. Art really only coming into play when it was for doubles. And even then Patrick’s erratic style and domination on the court made it feel like sometimes Art wasn’t even there.

He laughs. Patrick laughs and just hopes he wakes up from this fucked up nightmare where the two of you go separate ways in the future. “Sure man, whatever you say.”

Art could tell there was more. So much left unsaid between the two. But he decided to push. Not right now.

Senior Year

Okay so maybe they actually talked about this twice. Once junior year and once senior year. Not a shocker it would come up in conversation again.

Art had officially accepted his offer to Stanford. He was so ecstatic that hitting a ball with a racket got him into one of the best schools in the country. He was being scouted by a few different schools, received multiple offers, but Stanford beat them out by a long shot.

His coach was there when the scout extended the unofficial offer on Friday. He wanted to tell Patrick about it, but he never came home that night. He had been spending a lot more time with Sara? Sadie? lately, almost as if he was trying to push Art away.

So Art didn’t expect Patrick to show up at 8am practice at all. Let alone on time.

“Okay before we start just wanna give a shoutout to Donaldson for accepting his offer from Stanford, let’s clap it up for him,” Their coach says before clapping.

The rest of the team is whooping and hollering. Clapping like crazy, some even clapping Art on the back. Really hyping him up. Everyone except Patrick.

Art can see Patrick. He’s unmoving. Stuck in his place like a statue. His face is neutral but Art can see the hurt behind his eyes. Patrick brings his hands up to start clapping, not wanting to be singled out. And no one else notices, because they never do. Patrick is a master at masking his feelings to the world, except to Art .

Art tries to find Patrick after practice once he’s finished showering in the locker room, but he’s already gone.

He heads back to their dorm hoping to find Patrick there so they can talk about this. He was hoping to be the one that broke the news first but it’s too late for that.

He finds Patrick on his bed. Their beds no longer pushed together which he’s assuming is because Patrick is upset. He’s smoking a cigarette even though he’s not next to a window.

“C’mon man we’re gonna get in trouble if you smoke in here like that,” Art sighs, dropping his stuff on the floor.

Patrick shrugs haphazardly gesturing to the smoke alarm which is covered with a shower cap.

Art walks to stand in front of Patrick’s bed, “Can we at least talk about it?”

“You can fuck right off for all I care. I’ve smoked in here like this before with no issues,” Patrick spits back.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Art says gripping the bed post. He knew this conversation wouldn’t be easy but he’s just hoping they’d both make it out alive.

Patrick sighs, “Oh you mean the part where you decided it’s fuck me and my feelings right?”

“Patrick that’s not—“

“There are a million things I anticipated when coming to this school but finding my best friend wasn’t one of them you know?”

“I know Patrick I—“

“Like for the first time in my life there was someone who actually gave a fuck and didn’t just think I was just this piece of shit person who fucks around playing tennis. Someone who never thought I was too much.”

Art has always been an emotional person but especially when it came to people he cared about. Patrick being second on that list at the moment (second only to Art’s grandma). He could feel his eyes starting to water just thinking about the things Patrick is saying. Art never knew he perceived himself that way.

Patrick has always been confident and outgoing, the loudest in the room. It balanced Art’s wallflower persona perfectly. He never once stopped to think that maybe Patrick’s ego was just for show.

His voice cracks when he tries to say, “Patrick I’m—“

“No I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry. Because you’re not. If you were sorry you never would’ve accepted that offer. Would’ve went pro.” The “with me” part goes unsaid but Art knows. Of course he knows.

“I can’t keep hitting a ball with a racket forever, we have to grow up Patrick,” Art says wiping the unspilled tears from his eyes. Hoping he also wouldn’t be such a crybaby when he grew up.

“Says who?” He retorts taking another drag of his cigarette, “Stop treating me like I’m some fucking child. At least have the balls to tell me the truth. It was never about that. You never loved tennis.” Patrick has seen Art play tennis against other people and sure he’d win, but it wasn’t the same as when they played together.

Art doesn’t dispute that because Patrick is right. He never loved tennis and he never would.

You never loved tennis, you loved me so why are you leaving me is what Patrick should’ve said.

And why am I not enough to make you stay is what Patrick was really thinking to himself.

tagging: @tacobacoyeet @newrochellechallenger2019 @antxnxlla mel actually make a tagging list and use it challenge extreme difficulty

[slxy1ng]

i think i get why people [formerly me too] overcomplicate the actual meaning of LETTING GO and GIVING UP your desire.

let's take it from the perspective of someone who doesn't know the law; when the person desires something, they keep repeating the thought of wanting it and hence remain dissatisfied or depressed when they don't have it in the 3d.

now looking at this from the perspective of someone who knows the law and affirms wanting something and right after desiring the particular thing, they fulfill their wish of having it in the 4d. this is called being in the state of WISH FULFILLED; where one is aware of having had their wish already fulfilled after desiring it in the present moment-

I want a laptop = I affirm and persist that I already have it = I don't go back to my usual self who doesn't have the laptop because the moment I desired it, I already had it = hence, my want is already satisfied and I don't go back to the old mindset of not having it.

the concept of 'giving up' that all bloggers talk about is not 'giving up on wanting something and letting go of the fact that you actually want it' or something like that. after desiring your wish or whatever that you want, all you do is fulfill it in your 4d and LIVE IN THE END, this is what they mean.

living in the end-

I've already got the laptop the moment I desired it and then I let go of the thought of 'wanting' it anymore because I already have it! why would I still want something after knowing that I already have it? why would you still insist on eating when you've already reached the 'point of satiety' from where you can no longer consume??

i know this whole post might seem repetitive but THAT IS ALL you have to drill in your brain!

you decide you want something = you fulfill the desire in your 4d and go on with your life = your state of fulfillment must be so strong that you forget your desire because guess what? it's not a desire anymore, you ALREADY HAVE IT! THE CREATION IS DONE!!

what you ALREADY have isn't a desire anymore, it's a fact. I HAVE that laptop because I desired it and now it's no longer a desire.

but what about the 3d- honey. you scroll posts all day on tumblr, rack youtube videos, search posts on pinterest for motivation but do you implement what you're watching/reading/studying? do you GET the main idea of it really?

all of them and when I say THE LITERAL concept of the LOA revolves around one main fact = the 3d is the reflection of your 4d.

so if you imagine that luxury car to be yours and FEEL IT, KNOW IT, LIVE WITH IT, that it is yours, then no one can stop you from having it. i'm not telling you to convince yourself to believe that it is yours if you imagine it, I'm telling you to KNOW that it is yours when you imagine it and if you keep on looking for proof then you're lacking, no you're not a dumbfuck who keeps contradicting the law without trying, you're a human with a human brain doing it's human thing but also, it has the power to change how you perceive the world/reality around you, so why can't you do that, ofc you can, you've been doing it and you'll keep doing it, unconsciously or consciously.

i read something like this while scrolling:

searching for changes in the 3d is like being pregnant and wondering where the baby is.

also these beautiful words by Neville himself:

“If I could yield myself to my dream and it would not become flesh, it would be complete tyranny over this wonderful concept of life. But you cannot fail if you yield. If you hold back within yourself, wondering “What will I play as my last card if this doesn’t work?” then you have not yielded, you have not nailed yourself to it. It is a complete yielding. It is the great cry “My God! My God! Why hast Thou forsaken me?” If you know that you’re God doing it, you can yield. But there must be complete abandonment as though it were true and then you make it a reality. The cost is that form of mental abandonment that Blake calls “madness.” But man is afraid; he dare not so abandon himself to a dream, and so never “dies.” So Blake was right when he said: “There is nothing like death: the best thing in life is death.”

- Neville, Art of Dying 1959.

[cosmorice]

Oh God, Are You Pregnant?

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

Synopsis: CEO!Jungkook and you have an odd relationship filled with tension and chaos; but is it hatred he truly has for you?

Pairing: CEO! Jungkook x Reader

Tw: angst, slow-burn, swearing (duh), toxic jungkook, accidental pregnancy

Wc: 1782

I hate you, I think? Series Masterlist

Hair askew, time seems to come to a standstill and dread soon rushes throughout you. What the hell did you just do? Without another word, Jungkook adjusts himself and straightens out his appearance quickly before exiting the bathroom; Leaving you all alone with your thoughts. The smell of his cologne lingers and dances with the sterile bathroom aroma, leaving you nauseated. 

You hastily fix your once-neat hair into a rather quick but spotless bun, followed by readjusting and smoothing out your dress. You just had sex with your boss. A mixture of emotions floods you but the show must go on; Everyone was still out there. The bathrooms white walls reminds you of an asylum, somewhere you’d much rather be at right now.

The walk back to the massive gathering felt rather slow; What seemed like 30 minutes, was actually 2 in reality. Namjoon quickly spots you and is relieved until he sees your dazed state of being. Jimin and Jin on the other hand, were conversing alongside Jungkook with another investor.

“What happened? Everything alright? We saw Jungkook follow you not too long ago.” Namjoon confusedly asks. You sneak a glance towards Jungkook and scoff. The way he can quickly build a facade and act as if he wasn’t just screwing you in the midst of this event was mind boggling. You nod quickly with a tight lipped smile, giving it away that all was not quiet on the western front.

“We’ll discuss this later. This conversation is not over Y/N.” With all being said, Namjoon returns to his conversational state as more investors approach you both. The fakeness of it all left you feeling even more conflicted. 

-

“Care to explain why you were trailing behind Y/N earlier?” Jin questions as Jungkook types away on his work laptop. Jungkook shoos Jin away, indicating that this topic was not up for discussion, instantly raising a red flag. “Jung, I’m going to ask one more ti-,”

“It was nothing. I was simply just pulling her aside to let her know not to be nervous with those men.” Jungkook responds casually as he fiddles with his lip ring, eyes never breaking away from the computer screen. 

His legs were enveloped within the bedsheets while Jin remained on the miniature couch placed near the window. The days events leaving both men utterly exhausted.

“You’re lying.” Jin spits out, noticing the behavior. Jungkook only played with his lip ring when he was nervous, and when he was nervous, it usually pointed towards him lying. Jin delivers a smack upside his friend’s head, earning a small ‘ow’ from the unsuspecting man. “You know the last time you played with your lip ring? When I found out you were lying and hid a cancelled deal with the Hong Kong investors from me.”

Jungkook was fucked. Guess that’s what he deserves after keeping a friend like Jin for 20+ years.

-

“Joonie, I already told you all there is to it. I was simply going to the bathroom. He walked right past me and headed towards the men’s bathroom. Nothing more, nothing less.” You state as you undo your hair. Your head pulsates from all the overwhelming thoughts.

“Alright but if you want to talk about it, you know I’m here Y/N.” He responds softly. Namjoon didn’t believe a single damn thing you just said, but he didn’t want to press the matter any further. He then turns towards the door to leave.

You could do one of two things: let it go, or, keep the mask on and continue with your night. Your spiraling mind decides to betray you. “Wait!” You call out, biting your cheek. The iron taste of blood engulfs your taste buds as nervousness overpowers you. Namjoon turns towards you, puzzled, but walks back over nonetheless. 

“What is it?” 

“Do you think, Jungkook ever crosses the line with people? Like blurring between professionalism and whatnot?” You ask not being able to keep any sort of eye contact with your friend.

“I mean, in what way? In terms of his duties as a CEO, yeah. I see him go behind that threshold.” Namjoon exhales sharply, wanting to know why you’d even ask such a thing.

“Not as a CEO…Just like, with his employees. Has he ever, I don’t know, crossed a boundary with anyone?” You shrug weakly, trying not to give way to the overwhelming sense of wanting to cry. Namjoon’s eyes narrow towards you, tilting his head. The gears begin to turn,

“Y/N..” He starts, his voice dropping. “Did something happen between you both tonight?” The question rings throughout your ears and tightens around your throat like a noose. 

The dam you built up for yourself begins to crack and suddenly, tears cascade down your face. “To be quite honest, I don’t even know what happened myself.” You laugh weakly. The bed indents further as Namjoon scoots closer alongside your shaking body. 

“Just try your best to explain.” Namjoon responds with great comfort intertwined with his voice. For the first time since being in your room, you look into his eyes. You wipe your tear streaked face, unable to hold back anymore. The dam broke.

“Namjoon..” You start, indicating the seriousness of the conversation itself. You hardly used Namjoon’s name unless if it was something huge, which is something he also caught onto. Your voice begins trembling, “I don’t know where I stand with Jungkook now or with myself.” The weight of everything settles within your chest.

“You don’t need to have everything figured out right now, but whatever happened with you and him, is something you have to face eventually.” Namjoon’s calm voice was a simmering contrast against your unusual demeanor.

You shake your head as your hands tremble within your lap. “What if it changes everything? What if it changes how you view me? How everyone sees me?” 

“Y/N, whatever it is, I’m always going to be here for you. You know that right? No matter what.” The weight of his reassuring words persuade you into telling him everything.

-

The remainder of the work trip goes by in a blur; Jungkook elects to flat our ignore you. Whenever you came in his presence, you felt like a ghost. You couldn’t tell if this was worse compared to how he treated you before. Namjoon decides to share a room with you upon taking notice of your newly formed fragile state.

Upon returning back to the office, you felt as if you were walking on shards of glass. Jungkook barely glances your way during meetings with his typical sly remarks being replaced by complete silence. It was defeaning. Every so often, upon the mere mention of your name, his jaw tightens with flickering eyes, an indicator he’s burying something deeper within himself. Unbeknownst to him, Namjoon was knowledgable on the topic of what really occurred that day within the confines of the bathroom.

Namjoon keeps a closer eye on you. Much closer than he ever has in the entirety of your friendship. Another evening paints the sky in darkened colors as you’re the last ones left within the office. 

“Ever since we got back, it seems like you’re holding your breath.” Namjoon states, voice lowered.

“If I exhale, I’ll fall apart at the seams.” You blink towards him. He sighs, taking a seat across from your desk. The chair creaks beneath his weight.

“It will get better.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Days eventually turn into weeks as time steadily flies by; mending your emotional state in the process. Today marks the second day of the stomach flu that has overcome your body. Jimin and Namjoon decidedly head to your apartment after work to drop off some ‘get well’ supplies; Composing of soups, crackers, and cough syrup. 

Jimin, remaining his normal warm self, had grown even closer to you and Namjoon. This being a natural shift, though he remained out of the loop about what really happened during the business trip. He was always just there, offering a steady hand, unknowingly filling in the cracks Jungkook left behind. A steady knocking at the door rings throughout your apartment, indicating the arrival of your friends.

“Y/N you look like shit.” Jimin exclaims, earning a hit to the chest from Namjoon. The brief exchange earning a laugh out of you.

“Don’t listen to him. I’ll make you some soup.” Namjoon states matter-of-factly, making his way towards your kitchen island. The grocery bags crinkle against the marble counter as he ruffles for the can of tomato soup. Your favorite.

The crisp metal of the can opens with a pop, and as the aroma reaches your nose, nausea possesses your body. With a gag, you slap your hand atop your mouth and make a beeline towards the bathroom; Namjoon and Jimin exchanging quiet and confused glances.

“I thought you said it was her favorite.” Jimin pouts with a whine.

“It is?” Namjoon scratches his head dumbfoundedly as they both stand amongst each other in the brightly lit kitchen.

You hunch over the toilet, spilling what little contents you had within your system. After standing to collect yourself and flush the disgusting mixture, you hover over and grip onto the sink. Trying to convince yourself it’s just the flu, your mind wanders as the nausea feels…wrong. Could it be anything more? 

“Y/N, can we open the door?” Jimin’s voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Yes.” You weakly respond, your throat burning from the phantasmic acidic juices coating it. 

“What’s going on? Namjoon said tomato soup was your favorite.” Jimin states, voice tainted with confusion. Namjoon looks to you, awaiting your answer.

“I honestly don’t know.” You stutter. Something was wrong. You could feel it in your bones.

-

You return to work once again several days after, everyone happy to be graced by your presence; Except for Jungkook. Namjoon and Jimin never fail to notice the way you run to the bathroom in the mornings or how you indulged in odd food combinations during your lunch breaks.

It was once again lunch time and luckily, the three of you found solace in your office. 

“Y/N, you’re acting like my sister when she was pregnant with my baby niece.” Jimin jokes, causing Namjoon to begin thinking. You did have sex with Jungkook over a month and a half-ago, and if he recalled correctly, no protection was involved. Oh god. 

Your eyes widen at Jimin’s statement upon realizing you hadn’t had your period at all. You stare blankly at Jimin along with Namjoon. It could just be a coincidence as you remember that the last time you got severely stressed it had affected your cycle; With that being remembered, you shrug off the worry and ease up a bit.

"You know, the last time I was as stressed as you, I was pretty damn sick to my stomach. Throwing up everyday. Maybe you just need a break." Jimin says, mouth full of tteokbokki. Namjoon feels his once tense muscles smooth out upon Jimin's statement. Upon you all chalking it up to stress, you resume with your meal.

taglist!!! :

@juikmon @sassykryptonitedelusion @theternaljk @tatumrileyslover @topforsure @senaqsstuff @santiiagopopegarcia @fandems

[eightglass]

What laptop manufacturers think people want:

What people actually want:

Seriously!

Like, what happened to 4:3? Websites and word processors work with VERTICAL SCROLLING. That means we want more VERTICAL SPACE.

What happened to buttons on the trackpad? The smooth square is bullshit. Bring back buttons. Also there should be a scroll wheel beside the trackpad.

Why are laptops so thin nowadays? Where's the sturdiness? Where's the space to put things?

What happened to the io? I WANT MORE USB. I should not have to buy an adapter to have enough USB ports.

Disc drives! SD card readers! Why did they leave?? Put them back.

And easily removable batteries!! That should be common again!! If the battery stops carrying enough charge, anyone should be able to replace it easily.

Also, like, why are laptop speakers consistently so ass? Make them good!

Keyboards should have more buttons! Un-merge the function keys and the, like, volume and brightness control keys. More buttons more better.

Why is there usually only a power button? Put a sleep button next to it!!

[dandelion-roots]

[ID: a digital drawing of Sandra Lynn and Fig from Fantasy High. They're sitting on the roof of the hangvan at night and sharing cloves and a flask of whiskey. They're leaning on Baxter. The sky is clear and the stars visible. End ID]

[moeblob]

A lil guy !

[eachuisge-cc]

do you happen to have any psds saved for the cat skins? i love how high quality yours are and would like to make my own custom patterns, i understand if not tho!

I will not be releasing the psds as they are, because they're large files and they are not set up in a way that would make them easy for someone else to use. They're also 100% painted from scratch and I'll admit to feeling kind of protective over them, since releasing a template for recolors pretty much immediately relinquishes any further control over what's done with them. I could see maybe releasing a template for personal use in the future but I'd need to think about how I'd want to go about that and reorganize the layers etc into something easier to parse.

[dullahandyke]

'if youre looking to be secure, MFA is best' shut up + dont speak to me again + rot in hell + fuck you + fuck you again + let me turn it off or i crush you and your family with my psychic powers.

[huginsmemory]

Where's that one Ford art post thats like I'm in the best years of my life clutching a hot pink thermos thingy with hot gurl juice when he's clearly not. cause damn . Yeah

[dennisboobs]

going to attempt to rip the season 6 blu ray to an .iso with my ps3 wish me luck lol