#i wrote this half on my laptop and half on my phone so i'm not responsible for any inconsistencies

[merumis]

you gave kuroo a notebook last may—he hasn't quite had the courage to open it yet.

it's almost august now; it's that sticky kind of heat outside, the one that clings to both his skin and the inside of his lungs, so he's stuck in his childhood room. there's a rickety fan that keeps blowing half-cooled air into his face and downstairs, he can hear his father talking to his grandparents. something about dad's hardware store, something about a new employee, something about grandma wanting to make grandpa's favorite for dinner tonight.

the fan keeps lifting the cover of the notebook up. it's sitting on kuroo's desk. to his right, between all the remnants of last semester's college apartment that he couldn't leave there this summer: an air purifier his mom sent him (it was a peace offering, he thinks, after a particularly bad phone call. he doesn't think he forgave her), a box of his dishes, filled with cracks from his shitty dishwasher, and a bread basket you thrifted him. just to name a few.

and still, between the clutter, the breeze from the fan lifts only the cover—just enough for it to catch his eye. he reaches over to grab it, playing with the cover, bending the spine and flicking through the pages. it's an old notebook, well-worn and imprinted by your fingertips. the leather bends and gives where you would've held it, or where it would've jumbled around in your bag—molded by textbooks and pencil cases and your laptop.

he supposes he'll see you again next month, so now is as good a time as any to open this. you've been awfully incurious regarding this whole thing—sending him texts about your and his internships more than anything else. he's been partially grateful.

it's not that he doesn't want to read it. he doesn’t know quite how else to say it. he’s watched you scribble in this thing over the course of the year. it’s almost always late at night, in his bed or yours, lit only by his half-broken lamp or yours, gifted by a professor who you get lunch with every other week.

it was never that he didn’t want to read it—he means it, really. he’d always try to sneak glances while you were writing in it, and you’d tsk and laugh at him while pulling the papers up to your chest. in a weird way, it felt wrong to read it after you’d given it to him—like he hadn’t earned it, or like he’d be looking at something all too personal that hadn’t been there during all those failed attempts.

the fan lifts up the cover again, and this time, he sneaks his index finger under it, flipping to the first page.

i don’t normally fill the first pages of notebooks, it reads, scrawled out in your too-neat handwriting that he’s always made fun of. but it’s a good thing, you continue, because this way i get to fill this page with this. you finally get your way, tetsurou. you can read the notebook. i’m so—underlined three times, drawn a little darker, he can feel the sarcasm seeping through the pencil led—proud of you.

and then at the bottom, one more bit.

and by the way, do NOT tell me when you read this. don’t even mention it to me at all. this is embarrassing enough as is.

he lets out that stupid breath of laughter through his nose. those uninterested texts suddenly make a little more sense. he turns the next page.

i’ve met someone infuriating, it reads. crooked smiles, tequila-drenched breath, eyes made just to match. he leans in close when he speaks, laughter bubbling between words and fanning his warm breath across my ear and neck.

and then there’s that pull. i couldn’t put a name to it if i tried. that sweet tingling across my skin whenever he gets close enough; it feels like someone’s placed magnets beneath the surface of my flesh, and he’s holding their pair.

i knew we were going to kiss before he ever got that close—and i think he did too. he was too warm, too enticing, too, well, magnetic for anything else. and i love watching his brows furrow at the sound of my voice—indifferent, maybe a little cold. a comment about his big nose in return for one about my pretty eyes.

and all at once, kuroo knows this moment. the fan acts as a poor imitation of the cool october breeze—but it feels similar, all the same. it wasn’t quite halloween but at every party, you could see hints of it popping up in the corners. window decals of a witch and a ghost hanging in someone’s room, pumpkin carving kits tucked against the wall because no one had planned for a place to store them.

it was hardly the first time he’d talked to you—much less the first time he’d seen you—but you are right. he did know he was going to kiss you that night.

the fan catches one of his old posters behind him—making the thick paper scrape against his wall. the noise makes him turn. it’s an old periodic table (groan) and now it’s starting to get a little tattered at the edges. the fan catches again, this time on the notebook, and flips to another page.

kuroo allows it—call it fate or languor—and flattens out the notebook onto this new page.

i don’t know if you know this, it starts, but you fell asleep last night. shocking, i know, but it was before me, in my bed. you were sprawled out on my sheets—taking every inch of space you could in my mediocre full-size.

two weeks ago you told me you loved me. i didn’t know what to say. i laughed and kissed you and maybe said thank you. you took it like a champ while i dipped tofu into panko crumbs.

but tonight, i whispered it to you. once, twice, a third time—my lips brushing against the curve of your ear. i stopped every time you tossed or turned—i love, i would begin, and then hold my breath until your body stilled against mine. you, i breathed out. warm and all mine for tonight.

and kuroo has always known that you’re a writer—a good one, at that, from all those nights reading over your latest essay or poem for class, but this is different.

you like to write break-up poems for class—all about him, all fictionalized (he hopes) and all there to get a bit of a rise out of him, he knows. you love to write about the grand, the grotesque, things that he couldn’t put words to describe and you always did.

you had never written about him like this. or not to his face, anyway, and yet here it was—laid out in front of him, your handwriting looping around the college-ruled lines.

he flicks through a few more pages, fanning them out underneath the slow glide of his thumb—the fan swirling them in front of him faster than he wants, so he has to do it once, twice, and then again—a third. they’re not all about him, some are about her roommate, others about an essay or a concept that kuroo couldn’t put a name to. but most center him—in one view or another.

his grandmother clatters a few pans downstairs, a sharp clanging of metal hitting just beneath his floors. he can hear his dad call to her, his grandfather watching the tv 4 clicks too loud.

but here, with his rickety fan and tattered posters and his claustrophobic childhood scattered around him, he also has you. his phone buzzes next to him.

i think my job hates me btw, you send, and then another. how was your day off?

good, he replies, read a little.

anything good?

and because kuroo is so compliant to your word—perhaps maliciously so—he replies.

eh. not really. he smiles to only himself. maybe i’ll tell you about it later.

[drunkinyourbenz]

ALWAYS THERE FOR YOU

☆ SYNOPSIS: your parents' excitment about the election results left you with a pit of dread in your stomach. luckliy for you, you had billie, who helped you through it all.

☆ RELATIONSHIP: billie eilish x fem!reader

☆ WARNINGS: angst, comfort, politics, right wing family, implied homophobic family, long distance relationship (during tour)

☆ REQUESTED? yes, anon

☆ NOTE: hi my loves, i saw this request and just had to write it right away (literally wrote it in half an hour lmao) for anyone needing comfort as well as the anon who requested this, i hope you're doing okay. i'm not from america, but i'm also deeply dissapointed about the election results, and i feel for all of you who are there. i hope i did this request justice, i don't have a family who's like super against my views so i hope this is okay <3 anyone with family celebrating like the readers is in this story, please imagine me giving you the biggest hug rn, i hope you're coping okay. my dms are always open if you want to talk about anything at all, i love you all, please stay safe <33

☆ WORD COUNT: 1.2k words

you and billie had been dating for a while now, and she made you happier than anyone ever had before. she was your other half, and without her you would feel incomplete. you weren’t on tour with her, much to both of your disappointments. but you’d had personal things that took up your time at the start of tour, so the plan was that you’d join her once she came on tour to your city, and you’d join her for the rest of tour. despite not being on tour with her, your mind always drifted back to her, she had a permanent residence in your heart. 

so naturally, on election night, you sat in your room thinking about her. you wanted nothing more than to be held by her in this moment, you’d slipped away from dinner as soon as you could, but you could still hear your family’s excited chatter coming from downstairs. the fact that they were happy about the way it was going, the way they wanted a future that was so drastically different from the one you had in your mind… it stung. your parents genuinely wanted a future that you weren’t sure whether you had a place in, and you didn’t really know what to do with that information.

you were trying to stay off social media, to stay away from the news, because you knew it wouldn’t help you—you couldn’t change a thing. but every few minutes, you’d end up switching back to the tab on your laptop with the live updates, feeling a sense of dread settling in your stomach. you couldn’t quite comprehend how so many more people had voted for him, the man who made you genuinely fear for your future. 

so finally, you texted billie. you needed her comfort, even though it would just be her voice over a call. you needed her. 

can i call you??

billie replied not long after, her text simple. 

bils: ofc baby

her contact calling you came up on your screen before you could even move to call her, and you automatically accepted the face time. her face popped up on your phone after a moment, and as well as the tiredness from tour you’d been seeing so much of lately, she looked just as crestfallen as you. the two of you shared the same opinions on this, and you knew how much billie cared about it. 

just as the call loaded properly, you heard a loud cheer from downstairs, and you couldn’t stop the grimace that appeared on your face. billie’s lips curved down in a soft, sympathetic frown, “oh, baby.” 

a sigh left your lips, the sound somewhat defeated, “i just… i don’t know how they want that. it feels like they want a future that i’m not safe in–” billie cut you off with an understanding sigh, she knew that if she let you keep talking, you’d simply spiral. she knew what you meant, you felt a rift between you and your parents, you felt unsure of what that meant for your relationship with them. billie herself had never experienced it, with her own family being supportive and sharing her views, but she had always been good at comforting you. 

“i’m so sorry, baby. you know that me and my family have always got you, no matter what, yeah? we’ve got your back, we’re always here for you. all of us.” 

your lips curled into a soft pout, her words lessening the sadness you were feeling. “i love your family.”

she smiled softly at you, “and we love you. always.” 

you cracked a small smile at her words, the disappointment behind your eyes still very much evident, but you felt an overwhelming feeling of love for the people in your life. even if your blood-related family didn’t understand, you had your chosen family. that small fact that you had your people, who agreed with you on these things, it helped to soften the blow of your parents wanting the country to go down such a different path than you did. only slightly, but it helped. you felt the pain dull slightly. 

the two of you stayed on the phone for a while, billie distracting you from your parents downstairs by telling you about the tour so far. obviously, she was also upset about everything going on, but she knew you needed this support and that was more important than talking about it. she just wanted you to feel okay. you could feel the emotions hanging around both of you even through the phone, but you appreciated that she wasn’t mentioning them right now. you’d have plenty of time to talk about the election later, once you didn’t feel so despairing about the future. 

after about half an hour of the two of you just talking, you decided to ask her something. 

“bils?” 

“hmm?” she hummed, looking up as if she could sense the importance of what you were about to say even through one word. 

“do you… do you think i could join you on tour a bit earlier than planned? i just don’t know if i can stay in this house for any longer, it’s just–”

“of course.” 

her instant, firm reply cut off your rambling and you sighed in relief, “thank you–”

“don’t thank me, darling. i just want you to feel safe.” she paused, thinking, “you could join us on the minnesota dates, if you want. there’s two days there, so it gives you more time to get here. i can book you a flight–” 

you smiled at her considerate words, the way she was taking everything into account. oh, how you loved her. “that sounds perfect. and don’t book first class this time, jesus. i can put up with an economy flight, i’m used to them. plus,  i get to see you at the end of it.” 

she smiled warmly, “mm, you do. and then i’m wrapping you up in a massive hug and never letting you go, because i love you.” 

you giggled softly at her words, “i think i’m looking forward to seeing maggie more, actually.” 

billie rolled her eyes fondly, her mother just adored you. “i don’t blame you.” 

the two of you talked into the night, and were still on the call when you woke up. you weren’t aware that you’d fallen asleep, and you probably wouldn’t have if it weren’t for her soothing voice.

it was now the early hours of the morning, soft sunlight streaming through the curtains you’d forgotten to shut. the house had gone silent by now, your parents finally asleep, and you felt a tiny bit of peace just laying there in the silence. you looked at the screen for a moment, simply admiring her pretty sleeping face, the way her eyelashes fluttered slightly and her chest rose and fell with each breath. this time in a few days, you’d be in her arms again. 

you let out a soft sigh. the country may be falling apart by the seams, but you had billie. you had her, so you’d be okay. 

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 4)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 3, Part 5

summary: You get your laptop fixed... eventually.

warnings: smut!! (finally lmfao) masturbation, mutual masturbation, tiny bit of voyeurism, recreational drug use, dry humping, etc 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: caught up to where the og oneshot ends so i wanted to switch it up!!

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 6.8k (still in shock i wrote all this lmfao, i'm strictly a <4k words kinda gal)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

lips black and blue and gold.

You're frustrated. Bouncing off the walls, head spinning; and it's for a couple of reasons. 

First off: you haven't managed to find a laptop. Money you've worked damn hard for, and you can't really afford a new one. With moving around, you've burnt through quite a bit of your emergency fund. Enough to convince yourself you'll be just fine with a pen and paper in class, and the Google docs on your phone when desperate. It might actually force you to go to the library instead of half assing assignments the night before, you think. 

And there's your lab book, which you were smart enough to back up on your computer, but guess what? That's fucked; probably taken apart and sold for scraps by Miguel's mysterious friend , who you've conveniently never even heard of and–

"Just ask for an extension." He says, feet up on the sofa. Oddly enough, you've been doing that more often; spending time together. He's not holed up in his room as much, and spends time studying on the dining table, or pretending not to watch the soaps you've got on TV. 

"You're overthinking it. Explain the situation, chula, and it'll be fine." He doesn't even look up, just throws the statement in your direction like the lazy pass of a ball. 

You scoff, because he's right, and go back to overthinking. You think you can copy out the ruined half of your labbook by hand, and if you beg your OChem teacher for an extra credit project then–

"If I let you use my laptop, will you stop doing that?" 

"Doing what?" You frown as he walks over, and reaches to gently pull your hands apart. He turns your palms over, pointing at the raw edges of your fingernails. 

" That. " Mindlessly, you'd been picking at your fingernails, without even noticing. Looking up at him, he rolls his eyes. 

"...is that a yes?" You nod, hesitant, and catch the hint of a smile as he pads off to his room. 

When he returns, open laptop in hand, he thrusts it into your arms - and sits himself back onto the sofa. This time, he splays out facing you, avocado socks resting on your knee. You fight the urge to push him off, a small price to pay in return for his moment of kindness. He's been doing that more often now, slightly more touchy and maybe even… comfortable around you. Eyes flickering up towards him, you catch his. His brows knead together, and you return your attention to the screen just as quickly. 

You're going through the motions, more or less, logging into your college's portal and drafting up quick emails to send to your lecturers. But it's when you open up a new tab, that you see something at the top of the screen and pause. Mouse hovering over an incognito tab, hidden in a nest of referencing websites and scientific journals; it's there. Bold letters, in all caps: WOMAN POUNDED BY BIG BEEFY–

You shouldn't. You really, really shouldn't. Once again, you look up at Miguel, and he couldn't care less; tapping away at his phone, only stopping to look at the TV. Nevertheless, you shift to hide the laptop screen from him. But you're not going to look, or anything. You know better than to take a look at your roommates porn habits, the stuff he drools over whilst he fucks his fist; a big, dextrous palm wrapped around his shaft. 

You've done it. Clicked on the tab and nothing's exploded, as of yet. You turn down the brightness, with some shame, as if to make the paused video less explicit. But the image stays, a woman folded under the weight of the man above – in the middle of bullying his fat cock into her pussy. It's amateur; hot and sweaty and sticky, with only the woman fully visible. You suppose your curiosity's been sated, but you can't help but think…

…the woman. She looks like you. 

Tilting your head, you can't help but see the resemblance. Not the exact same of course - but her hair is similar, body type, skin tone, eyes. It's not close enough to be weird, you guess, but it's enough that that thought stays - burrows into you like an earthworm into an apple. Scrolling down, you see other videos, with the same woman, other women that look like you - the telltale red bar of watched videos. Evidence, but not really, and it makes you heat up. Your mouth goes dry, and you look over to him: only able to concentrate on the hand he's got spread out at his belly, the brown flesh peeking out - and how it looks just like the one on the base of the woman's stomach in the video. 

"...everything ok?" He's looking at you, suddenly; and you attempt to click over to your original tab, discreetly. 

He doesn't seem to notice, padding over to your side and leaning into your shoulder. 

"Yeah, no, I just…" All you can manage is a nervous smile. "The screen froze, so…"

"Oh." He gives the track pad a swipe. "Seems fine to m–" 

He freezes up slightly, and you watch as his eyes flick up the screen. The laptop is eased out of your hands, and he gives a few quick clicks. By the time it's back in your lap, the offending tab is gone. Imperceptible, his jaw shifts. 

"...Should be okay now."

You hum, a little amused at the display. He's seemingly unfazed, his little slip up notwithstanding, and leans back to lie up against you. Obnoxious, he splays onto the sofa cushions, his weight practically smothering you as you fight to push him off. You think he likes it – it's the only possible explanation – and gets off from watching you squirm. He seems desperate for a reaction, a child pushing boundaries and pressing buttons to see what exactly makes you tick. 

And that's the second thing: it works . He's  more touchy, and just as insufferable – jumping at any excuse to be near you, it seems. Miguel has a tendency to hover, follow you around the apartment as you talk aimlessly, and you do the same. You sit by against the doorway to the kitchen whilst he makes dinner; he floats around the door to your room when you try to study. In fact, you've spoken to your roommate more in the past week than you have in the past month; about anything and everything. Sometimes, he actually tells you where he goes during the day; off to lectures of his own, another tutoring session or his basically-an-unpaid-job of an internship. In your words, it seems like with the shit they make him do at Alchemex, he may as well be a full employee: with way fewer perks and a distinct paycut. It's almost as if they're paying for my degree, he says with an eye roll, practically hanging off your door frame. 

He does that a lot, now: arms drawn upwards to lean from the oak trim. Especially during lazy mornings in - he'll hang on the frame, and move to tug at your heel, waking you up despite fervent protest. Ultimately, it's a kindness and you don't know how to tell him how much you appreciate it; as he wakes you up on time to get to the library in good stead. You're still waiting on that laptop, debating whether or not to bite the bullet; but for now Miguel obliges, letting you borrow his now and then. 

He's not nice, you think his tongue is much too sharp for that; but he is kind, giving you some grace you're not too sure you deserve. It's more than what you've been given in a relationship of 4 years, and you don't know how to feel about it. 

Well, you do. Your talk on the living room floor not so long ago flipped a switch and all of a sudden you're paying attention to your roommate; really, really looking at him. He is very, very pretty; with a tendency for lingering touches disguised as something else. And you're out of practice: horny, frustrated, stressed. With the way he touches you; a hand on your back to greet you, a squeeze of your shoulder to tease, bare legs across yours on the sofa; it's a lethal combo. 

And here you are, headphones on, prepping to take a dildo. Incredibly self-indulgent, but you need it . You don't quite have the emotional stability for a one night stand (you think if someone touches you just right, you'll fall in love), but this dry spell has taken its toll. 

It wasn't just after the break up, either. Mismatched libidos had felt like a steady death knoll. Realistically, you knew Jaime was always too tired after a placement, but it didn't make you feel wanted. You just want to be desirable and fucked within an inch of your life – was that too much to ask? 

As a result, your toy drawer had grown: vibrators and dildos, clit-suckers and g-spot strokers; crude once said aloud, but all in search of something. With the stress of school and Miguel, Schrodinger's slut ; it's a wonder you haven't cracked it open earlier. 

You're on the floor, its purple base suctioned to the hardwood and towels to cushion your knees. Lower half completely exposed, it's an art , porn on your phone to complete the visage. The screen is smaller than that of the laptop you're used to, only providing some stimulation. And so, as you sink down on its silicone length, you can't help but think back to the sofa - and the videos squirrelled away on an incognito tab. Miguel, hunched over and fisting his cock to someone that looks like you; maybe even thinking of you – although the jury's still out, on that one. 

But you keep it close to your chest, rub your clit to the thought of it: you're his type, and maybe he'd fuck into you like the man on your screen. Broad, gorgeous shoulders and you wonder how pretty he'd look with scratches littered down his back, or hickeys sucked into skin: lips plump and messy and swollen. 

"Oh, fuck," You say it under your breath, knowing that whilst Miguel is out of the house, it still feels odd to put your lips around the pleasure that thinking of him gives. 

You speed up, the slap of thighs ringing out into your bedroom. The dildo is around 6 inches, sizeable; but you can't help but wonder how it compares to Miguel's. He might even be bigger; thicker, most definitely; and you bet his cock is just as pretty as he is. Oh fuck, and he'd tease; press into your hole just to snatch it away at the last second, rubbing persistent circles at your clit. You hear his voice in your head, the low grunts and groans you've memorised from all those nights he's spent with other girls. 

"Miguel,"  You're moaning shamelessly now. "...f-fuck, please–" 

There must be something electric in the way he fucks: with the litany of girls in and out of his bedroom, what keeps them coming back? He must talk them through it, whispering filth with his plush lips against their ear, and you wonder what he'd say to you. God , you'd give anything to hear it him say, just once, how beautiful he thinks you are; for him to wrap his hand around your neck and pull you close. You want him to fuck you; hard and deep and desperate. 

With that, your pace quickens and you gush around the toy. A spasm of limbs, and you're clamping down on the silicone – an orgasm that leaves you breathless and heaving. You convince yourself it's the taboo of it: fucking yourself to the thought of your roommate, after listening to his grunts and groans for the past couple weeks. He started it … thin walls, and all that. 

You ignore the want that lays stubborn at the pit of your stomach, riding through stuttering spasms as your orgasm winds down. You're touch starved, that's all, and Miguel's the closest warm body to latch onto. Nothing more, nothing less. Groaning, you shift, picking up your hips to gear up for another round. Just once more, so you know for sure. 

Thin walls. The sound leaks into your roommate's bedroom. But with your headphones on, you can't hear the sounds that echo back: Miguel O'Hara, back home early, with an ear pressed to the wall and desperately pumping his cock. 

~~~

"I'm not completely convinced, to be honest." You're in Miguel's car, tongue sticking out as you fiddle around with the dials. 

His gaze flicks over, and bats your paws off the dashboard. Flopping into your seat, you watch as he turns up the AC and switches the radio, as if reading your mind. 

"You really think I'd go through all this trouble?" He scoffs. "Bundle your ass out of the house and drive all the way here to…. do what exactly?" 

"Assert dominance in our shared ecosystem." You say it with finality, and he scrunches up his face in confusion. 

"...what does that even mean?" 

"Like in that nature doc you were watching the other day." 

"Well, the point was that spiders aren't hierarchical in the traditional sense. They form colonies that are… quasi-social, if anything, and–" He pauses. "Wait. You were paying attention?" 

You shrug. "I thought it was interesting." 

"Seriously?" 

"...no, not really."

You laugh as he pulls over to park, in a space next to what looks like an apartment complex. It looks way nicer than your place, with sandy brick and hedges that look well kept. Your laughter peters off. Miguel looks decidedly not amused. 

He opens the car door and clambers out as you scramble for the seatbelt. To your surprise, he opens the door for you; stretching out a hand for stability as you get out. When you both walk over to the intercom, your palm burns with his touch, and flexes with the memory of it. It's becoming a problem, his hands. You push down the beginnings of a hazy daydream. He presses a panel, waiting for the buzz. 

"Lyla? Could you let us up?" 

He waves demurely to the camera, and the receiver clicks. A cheery voice rings back. 

"...Us? Who's us, Miggy? Did you finally find a girl that puts up with your shit?" Her voice is singsong, teasing. With a smile, you watch as Miguel bristles, speaking into the slick panel. 

"My roommate, Jesus, Ly–" He says the next bit a little rushed, turning away slightly as if you still can't hear her loud and clear. "I thought we went through this, you can't keep trying to embarassmeeverytimeI–" 

She talks over him towards the end, rapid-fire banter that you can barely make out. 

"You never come and visit, except when it's 2am and you need to break into–" 

"Once! It was one time! Déjate, ya está bueno ya–" 

[Let it go, that's enough now–] 

"Let it go? No, no, absolutely not… what is it that you always say? It's the principle –" 

"Can you just fucking open the–" 

"What's the magic word?" 

He sighs, mouthing an apology to you. "Lyla–" 

"Magic. Word."

He mumbles. "Please." 

"Please what?" 

"Please could you open the fucking door."

There's a pause, and rustling over the intercom. The door buzzes open. 

In the elevator up, you keep quiet, trying your hardest not to burst out laughing. Miguel is visibly brooding; arms crossed and brow furrowed. 

"Don't." He says, with a pout you almost think is cute. Almost. 

"I'm trying really, really hard not to." You put your hands up, as if to surrender. "... Miggy."

"Fuck off." And then, a little softer. 

"...I told you I have friends."

~~~

You leave it at that until you're in Lyla'a apartment, when she opens and ushers you in. She looks exactly the way she sounds: pretty, mousy features, with her hair in short, choppy layers. She's bundled up into a plush white robe; heart-shaped sunglasses sliding down the tip of her nose. 

Miguel breezes past her, towards the murmuring voices you can just about make out in the front room. 

"Lovely to see you too, Miguel." It's under her breath, but when she turns towards you there's a twinkle in her eye. 

You introduce yourself, and she pulls you into a tight hug. 

"I know," She says. It's ominous, but her voice is light and airy. When you separate, she flashes a wide smile. "Lyla. It's nice to put a face to a name."

"Uhh, sorry. What?" She ushers you further into her apartment as you speak, confused. 

"Oh, Miggy talks about you all the time. Complaining , mostly, but in that way he gets when he's trying really, really hard to pretend he doesn't care. Like, he texted me yesterday and–" 

"Thaaat's enough." You feel hands on your shoulders, and all of a sudden, Miguel is steering you away from her grip. You stumble into her living room, so bright and airy your eyes have to adjust to the light that floods in. Looking around, her apartment is gorgeous; a spacious open plan, floor-to-ceiling windows with a prime view, and lush furniture. Everything about it screams expensive – especially in comparison to your paltry place. Maybe the shock is visible on your face, but you're in awe. She can't be much older than Miguel, right? She looks about the same age, mid-twenties, not too far-removed from college… and it isn't quite adding up. 

"How can she afford this? That's what you're thinking." There's a voice on the sofa that makes you blink. A young man with messy brown hair, a set jaw and 5 o'clock shadow calls out to you in between mouthfuls of pizza. "Lyla's… mmhgh… suuper fuckin' rich… mmfgh… that's how." 

It's then that you notice there are other people here, sprawled out on the sofa set; boxes of takeout on the side tables next to them. Of course Lyla's rich: only 20-somethings with money to spare have matching sofas. 

She's like Beetlejuice, or the Candyman, and pops up next to you when her name's said. 

"I work in tech! With a cute little job on Wall Street, and a part-time one white hat hacking." She clarifies. " Ethical hacking." 

She giggles like she's told a joke somewhere, and you nod – still not quite understanding. 

"...and some side gigs that aren't as ethical." A blond haired man next to Mouthful-Of-Pizza pipes up. "When are you going to introduce us, Miguel?" 

He's grumbling in the kitchen area, digging through the shelves for something. He returns with a bag of chips and dip in a container, flopping onto the zebra print throw pillows. Distracted, he waves a hand around the group noncommittally. 

"Uhh, Peter, Ben, Lyla." He gestures to you, saying your name, and then to himself; tearing open the bag at the same time. "-and Miguel. All done"

"My turn for questions, now," Miguel says, pointing at Lyla, looking at the boys to his side. "Is she…?"

"...super high? Most definitely." Lyla giggles at Ben's words, for good measure. 

"...right. Peter Parker, nice to meet you." He throws a thumb to the back of the sofa, where you notice a little mop of red curls peeking out. "And this is my little Mayday."

Peals of laughter erupt from behind him, and you notice grubby hands with a death grip to the cushion rest. Miguel leaps up, rushing to her side to help her up its back. 

"Ayyy dios mio." He scoops her up carefully, "Buenas, Arañita." 

Mayday is on his lap now, a little toddler of about 1 or 2, snaking herself around to hug Miguel's chest. She is certifiably the cutest thing you've ever seen: gap-toothed and giggly, with a smatter of freckles like someone's flicked a paintbrush across her nose. And with the way Miguel melts, you can die happy, knowing that you've seen the impossible: Miguel O'Hara, cooing and fussing over the little girl. 

"Arañita?" You ask, to no one in particular. 

"Itsy-bitsy spider." . ..is the sing-song, choral response from everyone but Miguel. They're mimicking his tone of voice, and he raises his head from May, looking around. 

"I don't sound- " 

"You do, dude." Peter sighs, tickling the little red head on the tummy; smiling as she collapses into bright laughter. "I don't have a nickname, and I've known you waaay longer than she has."

Miguel covers her tiny little ears, and says, "Eres un pendejo, Parker . "

[you're a dipshit, Parker] 

The scraggly man sticks his tongue out in response, and May pulls at his hair for good measure. He yelps, and Miguel passes her over to her Dad. The scene is funny, for sure, but you feel it's warmth more than anything. God, you can tell they've loved and laughed with each other for years; the kind of friendship you'd kill to have. 

"We just need whatever's left of her laptop, Lyla," He's blunt, batting away long forgotten chips and dip. "...and then we'll get going. Wish I could stay longer, Arañita, but I've got some work to finish off."

May makes grabby hands at him, and you melt. Who knows how Miguel can stay strong in the face of her big, round eyes. 

He gets up to stand next to you, arms crossed. The height difference is stark: his tall, solid frame towering over everyone else. It seems like an intimidation tactic, but you know him just well enough to tell: he's trying not to be swayed by puppy eyes and promises of food. 

"You just got here, Miggy." Lyla sighs. "We're going over prep for Jess', and we'll be two minutes, I swear."

"Oh?" His eyebrows light up. "I knew it! You were being evasive on the group chat, and Pete wasn't returning my calls…"

Huffing, he clasps his hand around yours, ready to storm out. "This is an ambush. A goddamn setup!" 

"Wait, Miguel, I need my-" 

"I'll pick it up later for you, okay?" It's said like an aside, so soft only you can hear it. With his hand around yours, it certainly feels more intimate than it should. And it seems like he realises a little too late, dropping your hand as your faces are mere inches away. 

"Um, we should… we should go." 

You look past him to the faces blinking at you guys, on the sofa. A pause, and then you're gulping down stubborn feelings to ask a question. 

"Jess' ? Is there a party, or something?" 

Lyla nods. "Yeah, and Miguel's meant to be picking up cake."

The man in question pinches his nose. "I can pick up the cake just fine. It's the whole… going to a party bit I'm not too keen on."

"Come onnn, you know Jess would love it."

"She'd love to blackmail me with some dumb shit I did drunk, that's for sure."

"It's her birthday, hardass ." Peter whispers that last bit, covering little May's ears like before. "She can have a little blackmail, as a treat."

"You're gonna say no to a surprise party ?" Ben echoes, shaking his head dramatically. 

"A surprise birthday?" You light up. "Miguel, you have to go."

His stony demeanor cracks, for a moment. You latch onto it, hellbent on wearing him down. He's always got his laptop out doing work, or cracking open a little notebook to prep a lab. When he's not at home, he's at that internship, or tutoring, or planning a tutoring session. Work, work, work; and you'll be dammed if you let him rot away in a little cage of his own machinations. 

"Come on, Miggy." You watch him bristle, prying at that little crack in the surface. This has to be done with finesse: present a challenge, and watch him scramble to prove you wrong. "You're telling me a couple of hours at a party's too much for you? That's it? " 

"That's not–" 

"S'what it sounds like to me." You shrug, a little smile on your face. The aim is to look as smug as possible; and it seems to be working. 

His jaw shifts, annoyed. Lyla catches on, giving you a crazed smile. 

"Even your roommate's gonna come." She says, an arm linked in yours. 

"I am?" She gives you a little dig, and you're spluttering. "Y-Yeah, I am!" 

You can see him fight with his own ego; but it's a one-sided affair. 

"Fine. " He strains. "Two hours, max. And then I'm gone."

Lyla gives you a squeeze, and then wraps you both up in a hug he desperately tries to fight off. Ben slots around you guys, and Peter's last to join, with Mayday squealing on his shoulders. 

Eventually, you get what's left of your laptop: a little thumb drive with as much as Lyla could save. You'd thanked her profusely, of course; trying to slither out of her vice grip of a hug, as best you could. She's absolutely batshit, the good kind; cryptic, and strange, but with a lot of heart. She makes you wonder, and they all do; just how did they become friends with Miguel? How do they fit? 

The man himself seems a little different, as if reinvigorated by being around friends. In fact, you catch him smiling to himself on the drive home. It's sweet; to see a different side of him around people he's clearly comfortable with. If only for a little while, he sheds the heavy weight he seems to carry around. 

Around the house, you notice he seems lighter – humming to himself whilst cooking dinner. That very day, you watch the little sway of hips as he stirs a pot; headphones in, singing under his breath. He can't sing for shit, of course, and he'd kill you if you ever uttered a word; but it's a sight you commit to memory, not knowing when next he'll be in such a good mood. 

There's still the question of a new laptop in the air, but you feel more settled by the events of the day. You're a little less fucked school-wise, you've got a party to look forward to, and potentially a drunk Miguel to make fun of. He goes to bed early; and you can hear the quiet drone of a podcast from the other side of the wall. He drifts off to the sweet, dulcet tones of Top Ten Genetic Precursors for Early Onset Dementia; one of his favourites, you've determined. 

All is well, for now. A tentative truce, and maybe, just maybe: you're finally friends with your roommate. 

~~~

There's something about dramatic irony that seems to smack you across the face, every time. 

You've come to somewhat of a understanding with your prickly roommate, and the stream of women in his bed seem to slow down, for a bit. He's hot, he's a whore; but he's sweet, with an eye for detail. He can read you with a scary amount of accuracy. Antsy and hungry from a long day? He leaves you scratching your head at his clairvoyance when you come home, chucking you a hot water bottle and a warm meal. You go to bed with a full belly, cramps abated. 

He's still a prick, of course. Sarcastic comments, and a massive grump – but you've learnt to deal with that. Just a couple of days after a seemingly settled week; what you can't wrap your head around is the pounding music from next door, at fuck-off-o'clock . He shouldn't be awake, let alone interrupting your late night study session. 

You're pissed, leaping from your desk to pound at his door. You're thudding towards his room, ready to deliver a well-deserved verbal lashing, and the door just… swings open. Empty; there's a window ajar and music pumping from speakers. Bachata and cheesy 90s R&B; which sounds suspiciously like his sex playlist. 

Yes, he has a sex playlist. And it really has no business to sound as good as it does. 

Nevertheless, you're resolute. If he's managed to sneak someone, at this hour, you decide he's going to get more than a stern talking to. 

There's clattering in the kitchen, and you whip around; half-expecting the giggle of another girl. When you walk in, it's just Miguel, rummaging through cupboards: a half-naked thief in the night. 

"Miguel?" 

He pops his head up from a cabinet, with a half-eaten piece of bread in his mouth. Caught red-handed, you suppose; and he gives you a little smile. 

"S'everyfin' – mmmfggh –" He scarfs the rest of it down. "Everything okay?" 

You squint. "No. Not really."

He chuckles, a slight rasp at the edges of his voice. Dickhead – what exactly is so funny? 

"You can't have your music so fucking loud, not when I'm studying. It's the middle of the night and–" 

Dressed in nothing but a pair of gray sweats, he's busying himself with a sandwich on the counter; clattering around noisily like he doesn't have full control of his limbs. Which is…. weird, admittedly. You'd trust Miguel to slice a grape with a machete – his dexterity is usually unmatched. Not that you'd made a habit of staring at his hands, or anything. 

"Are you even listening to me?" 

He nods, attempting to keep a straight face, but the faux solemnity does nothing to hide that droop of eyelids and slump of his shoulders. You get closer, pushing him to face you properly. 

"Oh, fuck," His eyes are a little red, hair messy and windswept. "Are you… high? " 

Miguel O'Hara? High? You'd never thought you'd live to see the day, honestly. His eyes go wide, dropping his sandwich dramatically. And then he's got a big hand at your shoulder, pulling you closer with a finger pressed to his lips. 

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering your name like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone."

With the way he says your name it makes you light-headed. It's slow and careful, as if he's testing the way it feels spilling from his lips. And maybe, with the way he smiles, it feels good; tastes sweet wrapped around his tongue. 

"I won't." You breathe, and then you're both giggling.

There's something about the way he looks at you, peering under heavy lashes; basically eye-fucking you in the space of your tiny kitchen. You feel bare in a little t-shirt and sleep shorts; suddenly exposed. 

"You should…" He starts, cocking his head ever so slightly. "Join me, chula. "

It's soft; sinful, even; said as he coaxes you between his body and the kitchen counter. 

You don't trust your voice enough to answer, legs already shaky, so you nod. Slight, at first; and then with a little more gusto as the idea of him and you on his sheets – intimate, alone – creeps in. He stretches out a hand, and you take it; led to his bedroom like a scene you've seen before. All those girls before you; led to the dragon's lair like damsels in a fairytale. Except in this one, you suppose, you're not waiting for a knight in shining armour to save you. 

He sits you down on the bed, passing you a freshly rolled blunt. Passing it to your lips , more specifically; hand on your chin as he brings the lighter up to its end. Even prettier up close, all you can do is watch the press of plump lips, and pink tongue sticking out as he concentrates. As he leans in, there's a hand on your bare thigh. You inhale, deeply, and he hums with content.

"Good girl," He purrs, prying it from your lips to take a slow drag. 

"You're a bad influence." You murmur, watching as his eyes flutter shut. 

"You need to relax," He leans back, arm drawn lazily upwards. "This is helping."

"That's not–" Oh. You feel it now, a steady haze rolling over limbs. 

Miguel quirks up an eyebrow, amused. 

You repeat, slowly, "You're a bad influence ."

"Does it feel good?" You pause, trying to ignore his low tone; and the steady blaze that it ignites within you. Dragging your eyes to meet his, you see it: want, lust, something heavy that swirls behind them. 

You nod, itching for another pull. As if psychic, he gestures for you to come closer; and your lips almost slot against his. He exhales, and you inhale; in the closest thing you've come to a kiss in months. It makes you ache for just a little more contact, for those pretty hands to slot between your thighs and–

"Is this all I need to do for some quiet around here?" He asks, lilting. If only he'd stop talking; interrupting your fantasy with that stupid grin of his. 

You're shaking your head, laughing at the sheer gall . 

"You're fucking someone new every week, O'Hara. Loud. Who was it the other day? Cathy, Kayla –" 

"Sita, actually." He has a strange expression on his face. "And we didn't fuck. Just going over lecture notes."

"Sorry . Must have gotten mixed up with the half-dozen other girls in and out of here. Our apartment's not a brothel , Miggy."

He rolls his eyes, handing you the remnants of the blunt. 

"...s'not my fault there isn't anyone fucking you right."

You scoff. "How would you know?" 

"Thin walls. " It's cryptic. What the fuck does that mean?

You take a careful drag, and hand the blunt back – trying your hardest not to strangle him. It must show on your face as you tussle with the thought, because Miguel is staring; unabashedly, unashamedly. When you notice, it throws you off. 

"... what?" Ready to defend yourself, you huff. 

He shrugs. His expression is soft, reminding you of that night, not long ago. 

"You look like a painting."

You practically short circuit. You've been complimented before, of course. Hot, by men trying to get into your pants. Pretty, sometimes. Beautiful, the other times. Whether it's been sincere, you don't know – but you're smart enough to not overthink it. It's hard enough to live a life, as it is; and you'd rather not be bogged down by what others think, how you look whilst doing it. And yet, you feel your body betray you; a steady bloom of heat at your heart, like you've been stabbed. So deep, it spreads like blood on the front of a blouse. Like a painting, he says. And you like the way he says it; how it sounds spilling from his lips. 

Its implication sits heavy. Like a painting : hand-crafted, silken, soft –

He blinks, the crack of a smile on his face. And it ends in a fit of giggling, if you can even call it that. 

"Stop fucking with me." You grumble, and he thinks the way your face scrunches up with disdain is cute. There's probably an implication there he should unpack in therapy – how he likes it when you shout and put him in his place – but he's much too high to care. 

"M'not-" He quiets down, flattens his face into something resembling sobriety and gravitas. He gets a little closer, so close you can feel the heat of his body and flutter of lashes. With wide, dilated pupils, he stills - and it really doesn't help that he looks so pretty. 

"Can't stop thinking about you, hermosa." His voice is low, slurred with the weight of the blunt he's taken careful drags of. Every word makes you feel hazy, drawn in by his lips. " Fuck, all the time."

"Hear your laugh in my dreams, sometimes." He circles your bare thigh carefully, without breaking eye contact. With a thumb on your chin, he brings you closer, and closer still. Gently, you close your eyes, expecting the press of his lips against yours… 

…instead, you get a puff of smoke for your troubles. Reeling, you push him away. He collapses on the bed in a laughing fit. 

"... now I'm fucking with you." Rumbling laughter, and you've got the wherewithal to be embarrassed – hand still resting on his bare chest. 

A little cruelly, you push down, giving him an elbow to the ribs for good measure and he splutters with surprise – laughing all the same. 

"Asshole." You slur, and he grabs your arm to pull you onto the covers with him. You paw at him wildly, wrestling amongst the table of sheets. It's not a fair fight, not really; the wide expanse of his bare chest feels solid, and he's probably got more muscle in his pinky toe than you do in your whole body. Miguel is strong , but plays along regardless, pinning you to the bed with his hands around your wrists - but lets you turn him over just as quick. You're both laughing, the blunt long forgotten but its haze blurring the lines. You straddle his middle, hips flush against his and he keens; head back and cheeks flushed.

"Fuck," It's quiet, said as he writhes below you and you try to pin his hands above his head. Maybe it's the weed, but he lets you: eyes low, breath steady. And you stay like that, for a moment; bodies laid against one another. 

You don't know who starts it: the slow roll of hips, the swell of his cock bucking up against your heat. Regardless, you welcome it, letting the heat build up with the pressure at your clit. Your hips sway and all Miguel can do is watch. 

Lips parted, head back; and you set a steady rhythm that washes over you both.

Humping against one another, you get more desperate and drag your hands to his chest for purchase. Underneath you, Miguel practically purrs – one hand on your waist and the other clutching yours at his chest. 

"So, so pretty…" He sighs into it, wide palm pawing at your ass, shamelessly grabbing handfuls. By now, he's rock hard; and you feel him throb through the thin material of his sweats. 

"Fuck, I can't–" You moan, ragged, the roll of your hips gaining speed. 

Miguel coos, bringing a hand to your chin to pull you closer to the crook of his neck. 

"Too fast, hermosa. S-Slow it down for me." He grips your waist, forcing the pace to slow. Your hips stutter against his, delicious pressure making you cry out. And, God, you're close; pleasure building up at your gut. 

"Ohhh, fuck. Just like that, just like–" It's soft, whispered between the press of bodies like a prayer: reverent, intimate, a slew of garbled English and Spanish into the shell of your ear that goes straight to your pussy. 

"A-Ahi, ahi–"

[t-there, there–] 

Plush lips brush against your cheek, and you try so hard to not float away - with only his words to keep you tethered.  

"... no pares lo que sea que estes haciendo–ohh-fuck–" 

[don't stop what you're doing, oh fuck–] 

The coil at the base of your stomach snaps, and you arch into his touch as he does the same. Miguel spills into his sweats, heaving with the effort. He can feel the clench of your pussy above, and he chases it in the aftermath; craning his neck to finally get a kiss. Limbs heavy, you still manage to swerve so his kisses land at your jaw. He's grateful for the contact anyway it comes and sucks careful hickies into the skin: at your neck, your collarbone, and anywhere else he can reach. 

You sink into it, curl up on his chest like a housecat; his hands wandering the gentle slope of your back under your shirt. 

Limbs heavy, you pry yourself from his hands ever so slightly. He strains to follow you up, snapping back into the sheets like an elastic band. Still, he kneads at your flesh - bare thighs spilling from your shorts. 

" Miguel," You whisper, hand travelling past his neck to cradle his jaw. "Need more…"

You punctuate that last word with a roll of your hips. Wanton, conflicted; he groans . 

"It's late, chula. " He says it slowly, hesitant – like he can't believe the words are coming out of his mouth. He's still high, lost in the whispy remnants of that blunt. You've never known weed to make someone more responsible, and you flop to his side, a little childishly. 

Miguel makes sure to keep a hand wrapped around your waist, dragging his other knuckles up your exposed tummy so that it rides up to the swell of your tits. 

"And you've got that 9am."

You cover your face with the span of your hands, grumbling. From between the gaps in your fingers, you repeat, 

" ...and I've got that 9am ."

He traces lazy circles in your flesh. Maybe it's the blunt, or the afterglow of an orgasm; but you make him laugh, a gentle ache replacing the creak and shudder of gears. 

"Idiot." He says, kissing it into your skin. And he burns from the touch, fleeting; like the warm flame from paper lanterns, or the flicker of a lighter against cool night air. 

_

_

_

Miguel taglist (1): @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns

@ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @aiyaaayei @hyp-oh-critical @tea-earl-grey-thot @sunset-euphoria @moonsio @akiras-key@szaplsdropthealbum@levanneisdumb @naiya-patel17 @Serostapesweat @strawberrymiguel @yumeeesss @errorundyne-exe @spear-bitch @redsoleily @marsissoswag @slezhara @ye4gerzz @adlct515 @nanam1 @indigocookie @cincocosas-blog @starguiders @path0logicalpeoplepleaser@funkyfishy@whoreloll@eugeab@tarjapearce@maddielikesmoths@egotaestical

[surfinminho]

Things that turn them on

Hyung line | maknae line

Wc: 1.3k

Warnings: gun play, anal, sub!skz, mommy kink, slapping/hitting

authors note: I'm back!! please bear with me, this was a draft since February so it might suck and I haven't wrote since lmao 😭 idk when I'll post the second half of this, but I'll try not to go AWOL again😪

Chan

You had him wrapped around your finger, he doesn't usually act like this. Being a leader of a group doesn't usually allow him to behave this way.

But when he's with you? It seems as if ever thought in his head disappears. He tries to not let it show especially when he's with the members but he can't help himself.

Him changbin and jisung were all in the studio, doing their tasks while sharing lyrics they came up with.

His complete focus was on this one assignment, something just didn't seem right. In the late nights when he was awake on his laptop, trying to get the lyrics right you would come. Calming his nerves and making him take a break. He needed that stress reliever again with the way he felt like he was going to cry over this demo.

his phone buzzed, sending vibrations in his pocket.

"Hi chan ^^ I'll be home a little late. Like late late, I picked up a extra shift. Hope you don't stay at the studio for too long. Love you 🩷"

He sent a quick message back, running his hands through his hair for the nth time.

The clock ticks to 1:30 am. Exhaustion took over him. Eyes threatening to close.

"I think it's time to call it wraps" changbin spoke up, shutting his notebook.

Chan and jisung both agreed, going their separate ways.

When chan got home, he felt so different. He took his usual shower, eating a snack, even managing to get a little more done on that track. As he got into bed, his nose was filled with the scent of you. He didn't even know when he started tearing up, or when they started pouring out.

To his luck, you came home at that time. Taking off your shoes and hanging your coat up. You didn't bother eating anything, having eating at your job.

You expected chan to be asleep when you walked into your shared room, not him crying in the dark.

"Chan? What's up?" Your socks padded against the wooden floor. Sitting on the edge of the bed.

"N-need you mommy" he tugged at the bottom your shirt, hand reaching underneath it.

It was something you guys did when he was really stressed. You didn't mind it, as it calmed him down.

"Need me? How so?" You maneuvered yourself to sit on top of him, hands grounding yourself by holding his thighs.

"Wan- wanna suck your tits. Please?" Tears were still seen in the corner of his eyes. Threatening to fall once more.

You lifted up your shirt, unclipping your bra in the back, letting him attach his mouth to one of your breasts. It's easy for him to relax and fall asleep just like this. Though, he doesn't think he'll let anyone know Abt his little secret.

Minho

I think I've mentioned this in my other ot8 post but honestly I see minho into gun play. Like if it's minho giving it, (que mafia trope) he's definitely a person in charge or In high rankings. And the more well known you are the more someone wants your head on a platter. He would never want to hurt you, that should be a given. But the thrill he gets from pressing a gun against your neck as his fucks you can give him jerk off material for days.

It was in the spur of the moment, you were perched on his lap in his office, and you were asking him questions about things he had on him, random I know. But it sparked a conversation about guns and one thing led to another and your chest is pressed against the desk, leather glove covered hand covering your mouth while the other has the gun pressed against your neck.

"Shut the fuck up will you?"

If it was minho receiving it, it would probably be a enemy situation. You had known him but jobs and other things tore you guys apart. Saying you missed him would he an understatement.

But when your boss said you had to interrogate him, you got a little giddy.

When you saw him in your basement, you had your hand on your gun. Even though he's tied up, doesn't mean you can't use it.

"Hello there" he smiles at you attempting to wave.

"Let's get this done, just tell us what you were doing." You stood in front of him, gun pointed at his forehead.

"You have the gun there as if you're gonna shoot me. Nice joke bunny." He was taunting you, which for some reason you couldn't take lightly.

You pryed his mouth open with two fingers, shoving the gun into his mouth. You heard him gag on it while you push it to the hilt.

You eyes trailed down to see him hard, straining against his pants.

"Really? Hard because of a gun? Pathetic."

Changbin

He wants you to fist him. That's it that's the sentance.He has almost an infatuation with pegging anal gaping and what not.

He was big and buff, and you.. well you weren't. If anyone was nosy enough (his friends) they would think he was a Dom. And nothing's wrong with that, until he starts talking about how strong he is in bed. What a lie.

When you guys were back at the dorms, you had him face down ass up on the bed. Working him open with three fingers, you made him cum once by sucking him off then again by fingering him. You had him whining like a little bitch. It made you smile.

"Binnie, baby give me another one. Or are you gonna fight me back? Since you're so strong." You rolled your eyes at the last statement.

"I- I said I'm sorry!" He shoved his face into the pillow, hoping to not wake up his flatmates.

"Are you really sorry? Do you need me to pick up the pace? Or add another finger?" He clenched on your fingers as you said that last sentence. Moaning your name as his came for the third time.

"Need me to add another one hm?" You laugh, easing in your pinky.

"No- no more, mommy stop!" You knew he didn't mean for you to stop, he had his safe word. But the thrill of it makes it better.

"Baby, we both know how you love to get your tiny hole stretched, don't hide it."

Hyunjin

I see hyunjin as a hard sub. The whole package if you may. You were hesitant at first, not wanting to hurt him. But soon you got use to it. Inflicting pain on someone was not on your years bucket list. You weren't gonna say you dislike it- actually you were the opposite of that.

Some of his close friends (who happened to be yours) said maybe you are being too rough. Then theyd point to the purple marks scattered around his neck and wrist, but he knows his safeword. He would tell you if it was too much.

He was being good this week, and you decided to give him a reward. It wasn't as usual for him to get a reward, mostly because he's always acting like a piece of shit. But that's besides the point.

You let him have your ass.

"You ready?" You question, digging your nails into his waist.

"Yea" he pulls his slick fingers out, replacing it with his cock.

He presses his cock head against your hole, whining when he couldn't push pass his tip.

"Can't- too tight" he threw his head back, clawing at your waist.

"Baby.." you smiled, grabbing his chin.

"How about we use that brain of yours? Or are you already fuzzy?" You roughly let go off his face, throwing him a bottle of lube.

"I'm feeling nice, try again."

He repeated his actions from before, opening you up a little more.

"Thank- thank you" he read your mind, I mean how could you spoil him and not get a thank you. How ungrateful.

"So warm" he whines, bucking up into you.

"Shit- hit me, mommy- mama please I want it"

[thirstywoso]

LESSONS IN PHOTOGRAPHY

Jessie Fleming x Reader

A/N: a little short one that I wrote in an hour

W/C: 1k

Warnings: not really smut but a little suggestive and some masturbation so MDNI 18+

so if you're looking for hardcore smut this is not it

Will do a part 2 which will be actual smut if I get a request for it

After your girlfriend signed with the Thorns your life in London was uprooted and together you made the move to Portland.

You'd both been to the city on occasions in the past but after living in Portland for a month now yourself and Jessie realised neither of you had really explored the place you now called home.

Your girlfriend clad in some white shorts and a black tank top yourself in dark blue shorts and a loose fitting white shirt, you found yourself downtown with a checklist of places you "MUST" visit according to Jessie's teammate Sam.

No surprise to you, your better half had her camera hanging off of her shoulder with one hand in yours and the other holding a large cup of what she calls "liquid heaven"

As you wondered down the streets you noticed the way Jessie would stop occasionally, snapping photos of the roses, lining herself up to get the correct angles of the buildings she liked the look of. Jessie would spend sometime perfecting her shot at each place you went to.

Yourself a fan of history would read out facts from your phone about said buildings or architecture Jessie was capturing. Unbeknownst to you a few of those photos she captured were of you in deep thought or in awe of what you were looking at. You really were the perfect match.

Jessie loved her camera almost as much as you and was hardly seen without it. That being said one of the few things she loved more was capturing you, from every single angle.

She enjoyed capturing the way your lip would tuck between your teeth as you would concentrate on one of your crossword puzzles, the way that vein would pop out of your neck when you were frustrated with whatever had you occupied. She would never get sick of taking these photos, especially the ones capturing your smile and the warmth behind your eyes.

You'd never really known this about Jessie until the day was almost coming to an end and you'd caught her taking a photo of you. After questioning Jessie and adding slight pressure when she wouldn't tell you anything and mimicking zipping her mouth shut, locking it and throwing away the key. You finally broke her finding out all about Jessie's little habit profusely blushing as she told you.

Returning to the apartment later on that evening you has begged Jessie to show you the photos she'd taken of you. Opening her laptop you saw the folder titled 'My girl" and your heart swelled, then almost combust when you saw the number of photos in the album. 4,332 to be exact.

"Oh Jessie" you say looking at her

She returns your gaze nervously "too much?"

"You're perfect Jess" you say leaning in to kiss her.

Pulling away Jess can't help but look into your eyes as she fiddles with her fingers. "I have a question... well more of a request which I've kinda wanted to do for awhile"

She pauses for a breath unsure how to go on. "Go ahead?" You say anxiously waiting to see what the request was.

"Iwanttophotographyounaked" she rushes out, once noticing your confusion she repeats herself this time a little slower, taking a deep breath "I want to photograph you naked, if that's okay?"

"Yeah?" You question excitedly.

"Yeah"

After discussing how you were going to go about it Jessie led you into your shared bedroom. Kissing you before she helped you remove your clothes.

"Are you sure, if you want to stop we can at anytime"

"I'm sure" you confirm.

"I want you to lay on your side with your head propped up in your hand" she begins to direct you.

You do as she says and get into position, after a few clicks Jessie then asks you to change position. Repeating this for awhile as you pose in various ways for her, occasionally complimenting you, telling you how good your jawline looks or the way the light cascades down the swell of your breasts.

She couldn't help but be in awe of how beautiful you looked.

Getting more bold Jessie then started directing you to pose in some more compromising positions like with your head thrown back or your hands squeezing your chest.

You couldn't deny that it was turning you on being told exactly what to do by Jessie.

Eventually being more bold yourself you began to touch yourself for Jessie, the clicks of her camera becoming faster.

Your hand snakes between your legs finding your evident arousal.

You slid your fingers along your folds spreading your wetness, Jessie's mouth watering as she captured the way your sex glistened.

She made sure to take in the way you bit your lip, your legs as they spread wider, the way your hand furiously rubbed between your legs your finger tips as the swiped across your clit.

"Fingers inside" Jessie demands

You'd be a fool not to comply and with that two of your fingers are swallowed into your wanting pussy with ease.

You were embarrassingly wet but showing off for Jessie you didn't care.

"Curl those fingers baby I want to see the pleasure on your face"

Taking photos of every inch of you she couldn't get enough wanting to capture every single part of this moment.

After a few more directions from Jessie regarding position and how to touch yourself you were right on the edge.

Your girlfriend practically drooling as your face contorted in pleasure, snapping the pictures of your screwed up face as you came and the arousal spread across your thighs.

Taking your fingers and sucking them clean putting on a show for Jessie as she continued to snap away with her mouth agape.

"Fuck it" she groaned almost throwing her camera to one side as she pounced on you.

"I need to taste you"

Shoving your fingers covered in your slick into her mouth, her eyes roll back as she swirls her tongue around your digits releasing them with a pop.

"I think it's only fair I get to fuck you after that little show"

[thewertsearch]

Mega-Giga Ask Comp: Part 3

@manorinthewoods asked: I'll be honest, I wrote the Locked Tomb ask having not read the Locked Tomb series. I literally only know the starting and ending strokes of the first book. That being said, I do like the half-soul-Sollux idea, and it works pretty well with the Locked Tomb's general theme of Lyctorhood, and how knotted the whole situation with Alecto, Gideon, and Harrow ends up being. (What is even going on with Nona) ~LOSS (4/13/24) @manorinthewoods asked: You know, if you hadn't already read Gideon the Ninth, I'd have recommended it as a good second liveblog. It really does fit your preferred sort of mystery. From all the clues presented, you could probably hit very close to the ultimate solution to the Lyctoral puzzle - as close as anybody could be expected to get. ~LOSS (25/4/24) @manorinthewoods asked: The Locked Tomb's prose is pretty good. On occasion, it happens to chime with a sound of 'Homestuck', but I only recall that twice so far in my reading. I like the skelebook. ~LOSS (27/4/24)

Once again, I'm glad my hidden agenda - convincing this blog's entire readership to check out The Locked Tomb - is bearing fruit.

I agree! TLT does occasionally give Homestuck vibes, presumably because its author is a fan. For the most part, though, its prose style is all its own.

Anonymous asked: Reference to American culture: the sphere of Jade's home dropping and the timer that preceded it are references to the Times Square Ball, an annual event held every New Year's Eve. A giant ball descends down a pole at 11:59 PM and reaches the bottom at 12:00 AM, January 1. I believe that you can figure out why the reference was included in the first place. Anonymous asked: btw the gamzee page was released on new years. ‘the miracle of a new beginning’ is the new year and the lab dropping is supposed to be a reference to the ball dropping in times square

Some America Lore here that I wasn't aware of.

I was wondering exactly what Gamzee meant by 'a new beginning'. Maybe Alternia practices the tradition as well.

@omnilew asked: the way you speculate and go indepth into sburbs features and how it affects the kids, made a silly headcanon that your kidsona is reading the comic while playing out their session though this is mainly because "Eventually, we were bound to cross a couple of wires that should never have been allowed to touch" kinda references chargerkind

I like it! Maybe my 'sonas have access to a more in-depth version of Rose's walkthrough, and are adding their own commentary in quiet moments during their own adventures.

@manorinthewoods asked: Your excitement over the resurrection of Dream Jade gave me a form of suspenseful mirth. Seeing how happy you were at her resurrection, while also knowing exactly what came of it, is perhaps textbook dramatic irony. If only you'd read a panel further… ~LOSS (26/4/24)

She looked so happy to be back, too! That certainly didn't last long.

She was prototyped with a smiling corpse, though. Maybe that was just her 'default' expression, and it vanished as soon as her actual feelings asserted themselves.

@thetinygladiator asked: 'I hadn’t really thought about Sally’s ectobiological parent - but now that I am, I think the funniest possible option is that it’s her landlady.' okay but i just gotta say… this immediately makes me think about how that relates to the house-building aspect. Like, with the giant tower, are they gonna charge the Imps for rent? That might work, honestly. Where do imps even live? Bet they don't have good AC or Wi-Fi, lemme tell ya.

300 GRIST/DAY NO CRUXTRUDER NO ALCHEMY NO PETS

@manorinthewoods submitted: How many computers would you have on your person if you were playing Sburb? Jade recommends at least 5. I say I'd have a laptop, phone, a spare of both of those, and computer gloves if I need to compute really fast. Also spare gloves. Speaking of the phone - is it possible for people to put phones in their pockets? Given Karkat (and a minor gag in Act 6), we can assume that it's difficult or uncommon to carry items without using the Sylladex - or maybe it's just tied to your dexterity, and you have to hold things gingerly to avoid captchaloguing them when you pick them up. On the other hand, there's no issues with accidentally storing something you've unstored and are using - so how does the Sylladex actually work? Do people just instinctively store their items once they're done using them? Is it difficult to avoid storing something you aren't using anymore? Can you stuff phones in pockets? If not, then why develop a PDA in the first place? Given the Sylladex, it should be much more commercially viable to make a tablet. ~LOSS (24/4/24)

Since Karkat can physically pick up a book, you can probably pocket your gear - although maybe there's a difference between holding an object and trying to add it to a physical 'inventory'. Either way, the issue is easily circumvented by employing wearable tech, like the kids do.

As depicted in my alchemy binge, my primary computing device would be the Pocket Holodex, which can remote into any computer in my sylladex.

In addition, my Modular Ring shirt is also a computer, which can presumably be augmented by adding extra mod1ules over time. I'd probably also captchalogue every computer in my apartment, of which I currently have six.

I'd be exploring the Medium with a minimum of seven computers, plus one pseudo-computer, plus a phone. Jade would certainly approve.

@iris-in-the-dark-world asked: the tension in act 5 act 2 is perfect, i love it. maybe even moreso on rereads, the foreshadowing and generally ominous vibes always get to me @heliotropopause asked: You're getting to the part where the comic really starts hitting its stride. This'll be fun.

The ever-present countdown certainly adds a degree of urgency to the situation.

I'm really liking the pacing of this current act, as things slowly progress towards some critical point - one which, for now, is still shrouded in mystery.

Anonymous asked: Forwarding another ask for the person with no account ~DJ: Eridan's deal seems to be based on Wizardry Herbert - a proto-Homestuck work by Hussie. A parody of Harry Potter dealing with whether magic is real. [] But Methods of Rationality began in February 2010, so "Harry Potter but obsessed with science" might have also been an intentional reference to that.-RM @heliotropopause asked: Eridan Ampora and the Methods of Rationality sure is an idea for a fanfic. He'd be so bad at it.

Eridan would be an extremely funny choice for a ratfic protagonist. He'd be so smarmy about it - and thus, a perfect addition to their ranks.

What would the definitive Homestuck ratfic be called, do you think? I think Tool-Assisted Speedrun would be a decent choice.

@killedthekat asked: An interesting thing about doomed timelines is how they serve to prevent stable loop metagaming. As a basic example, in a typical stable time loop scenario, if you observe yourself unharmed in the future, you can throw yourself into high danger high reward situations and know that probability will twist itself into whatever improbable knot it needs to do to keep you safe. But in homestuck if you lean too hard on predestination you just get shunted into a doomed timeline for your trouble.

It's true. Timehopping just isn't fun in Homestuck, as you're constantly walking a tightrope, desperately trying to stay in the one timeline that might not get you killed.

It's a good way to prevent time-travelers from becoming overpowered - something which is probably necessary for a comic which makes such heavy use of the concept.

Anonymous asked: Now that you're updating while HS^2 is, I've realised that while I'm barely keeping up with ^2, I just yelled "Oh! Upd8!" out loud when I checked your blog, so to me? You're the real continuation of Homestuck

What an honor!

For veterans of the comic, this blog is more Homestuck: Revisited than Homestuck 2. As a woman who would much rather watch video essays about old Simpsons episodes than new seasons of the show, I completely understand why some would prefer the latter.

@manorinthewoods asked: I've since finished Worm. I think Sophia's by far the best Vriska candidate. Lisa, Amy, and Colin are less so, I think. ~LOSS (21/4/24)

Oh, nice, you got all the way through it! Worm is an absolute behemoth, and I know a lot of people who started it, and gave up halfway through.

Sophia is likely the closest match to Vriska in personality. I agree with an earlier comment, though, that the most Vriska-like character in terms of audience reaction is probably Amy.

Anonymous asked: Cannot believe someone would propose a Homestuck/Locked Tomb scenario and leave Gamzee as part of a spare pairing, when the Homestuck fic The Serendipity Gospels, written by the author of The Locked Tomb, stars Gamzee and Terezi in the proto-necromancer/cavalier dynamic. Absolutely appropriate to have Gamzee as Ninth though, since his facepaint is the direct ancestor to Harrow's. Gamzee and Terezi is such a funny pairing to go with. I'm certainly looking forward to checking out The Serendipity Gospels when I'm done with the comic - both to compare it to Homestuck and to the Locked Tomb.

As am I. Apparently it was left unfinished - but considering how long this liveblog is taking, maybe Taz will have updated by the time I'm done!

Wishful thinking, of course, but I live in hope.

@bladekindeyewear submitted:

(I started Dragon's Dogma 2 a couple weeks ago and did my best to a Gideon Nav pawn (NPC ally), facepaint and two-hander and all, and the "Jaunty Straightforward" voice selection has been EXTREMELY distracting / game-improving because her voice and attitude chatting beside my player all the time sound almost straight out of the audiobook.)

Damn, you really captured her essence. Pawn is a very fitting title for her, too :(

@manorinthewoods asked: On the topic of blood color names - Blue through Purple were renamed in Hiveswap. Originally, Vriska was Cerulean, Equius was Blue, and Gamzee was Indigo - which I like more than their modern incarnations. I think 'bronze' might also be a Hiveswap thing, although I won't dispute it, and rust might have been renamed to burgundy? Maybe burgundy is a synonym. Idk. ~LOSS (4/13/24)

I think I prefer the likes of olive, indigo and bronze over more generic terms like green, blue and brown, which would quickly lead to confusion.

Vriska's blood, for example, is also a shade of blue, so it would be a little strange if blue blood was an official term, but it didn't apply to her.

@mxamericanblue asked:hi i have been absolutely BINGING your live blog rn and i gotta just get this out this is so so cool watching you react has been giving me so much joy, i don't have a computer so i can't really experience homestuck again casually when i want to but watching you read it and react and THEORIZE??? omg your theories have been so fuckin killer it's given me a new appreciation for Hussie as a story teller and how spectacular this comic truly was thank you for this, i've been having a grand ol' time, and it's all cuz of u

Thank you! I feel like I've been theorizing a lot less since I came back from my hiatus, mostly because the comic hasn't introduced many big mysteries recently - aside, of course, from Aradia's unexplained explosion.

(Pre-posting update: Since first drafting this ask, my statement above is no longer true, as Gamzee has been revealed as Homestuck's most important character. What the actual fuck.)

@lilietsblog asked: re fifth house aradia: she's an archeolodist :)

Oh, shit, you're right.

Maybe she'd be in more danger from the Lyctor than I thought.

@ben-guy asked: Vriska's ascension to god-tier is, in my personal opinion, one of the most visually striking scenes in all of Homestuck. Also, one of the panels you didn't include (which is understandable w/ Homestuck lol. Sacrifices for the sake of brevity) specifically the one where she has him write "[…] plenty of time for that l8r" above her head… Think about the position she would have had to move him to to write that.

…jesus, Vriska. You can't just do that!

@martinkhall asked: "What is treasure but a fortune, waiting to be found?" Or stolen if you're the THIEF of Light.

Son of a bitch. That's why she's a pirate, isn't it?

Because a Thief of Light is someone who steals fortunes!

@manorinthewoods asked: Eidolons. A species purpose-built to play Sburb, while breaking every mechanic you can solely with biology. Eidolons don't sleep, and live in a hive mind. Their psychologies are very poor at recognising distinct things, with Eidolons seeing the world more in terms of a blur of colors and shapes. They thus have a very difficult time understanding Classes and Aspects, never mind that their mythology never involved deities, and they never invented chess, or games of any sort… ~LOSS (15/4/24)

The idea of a species engineered from the ground up to be Players does raise the interesting question of whether there was a first species to play Sburb.

Of course, with all the time-loops we've been working with, there might not have been a first species - unless Sburb was 'created' in some sort of metatemporal space, 'before' any loops were put in place.

@manorinthewoods submitted: You are very good at analysing Vriska's psyche. Vriska's character was executed very well, I think, and I would hate her with a burning passion platonically but to a high degree if I knew her in real life. She's just… really horrible. She's a horrible person. And half her shtick is that she keeps evading consequences in spite of that. All of her mental torture of Tavros, for instance, ends in her becoming the most powerful player in the session. What sort of justice is that, Terezi? ~LOSS (15/4/24)

She hasn't entirely evaded consequences, but it's undeniable that none of the consequences she's experienced have actually stopped her from doing the things she does.

She's lost an arm, an eye, she's been beaten up, she's bled to death, and literally none of it has caused her to let up on Tavros, even a little. Letting up on Tavros, to her, would be worse than any physical harm, because it would be an attack on her worldview.

@sanctferum asked: "Has anything come of this since, actually? I haven’t heard anything about this new comic – although I do scroll in the opposite direction any time I see a reference to Homestuck, so I guess it makes sense that I wouldn’t." - The general feel I've gotten from the community has been largely positive re: the new Homestuck 2 updates, which have indeed been happening. It's being updated once per month for now, so a lot slower going than non-hiatused OG Homestuck. But I'm enjoying it so far!

Once a month seems more sustainable than Hussie's original barely-believable pace for the comic. With Hussie no longer at the helm, expecting daily panels seems like a pretty big ask - most people don't have the time, money or energy do what Hussie did.

Anonymous asked: I don't know if you read UTDR fanfiction, but this Tavros and Vriska situation reminds me a little bit of Flowey Is Not A Good Life Coach. she's trying to push him to his limits and torture him into being someone who will kill, and he just won't. say, what's your read on comparing Flowey : Vriska?

Flowey does what he does because he's lost his emotions, but Vriska does what she does because she's consumed by her emotions.

If anything, Flowey has more in common with Aradia. They're both time-travelers whose ability to feel is somewhat compromised.

Anonymous asked: WHATTTTTT HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN BACK???????? I THOUGHT YOU WERE STILL ON A LONG ASS HIATUS BUT I JUST JOW DISCOVERED TUMBLR ISNT GIVING ME POST NOTIFICATIONS FOR YOU ANYMORE EVEN THOUGH I HAVE IT TURNED ON FOR YOU AND IT WORKS FOR OTHER BLOGS???? WHAT THE HELL. IM GOING INSANE.

This has happened before - but before, I was also removed from Tumblr's search function, which doesn't seem to be the case this time.

Is anyone else having issues with Wertsearch post notifications?

@elkian asked: So has anyone mentioned the godhood joke yet? (The God Tiers costumes have hoods. God Hoods. Badum-tish)

LOL, I did miss that.

Anonymous asked: Fun Homestuck fact! After writing Karkat, someone brought up that the writer of the 'Programming For [Expletive]s' book sounded a lot like Karkat. Andrew responded by telling them to imagine that it was actually written in all caps, basically canonizing that the 'Programming For [Expletive]s' book was written by Karkat. At least, I think that's how that went? ~LOSS (28/2/23)

And it could be any Karkat, too. Maybe one of the Karkats from a doomed timeline actually learned to code from Sollux, and became a famous ~ATH developer.

@morganwick asked: So with conversation 8=8 apparently taking place in the immediate aftermath of Rose destroying her gate (even technically during Descend), and Rose's attitude towards Kanaya in the part of it that we see, does that change how much you think her attitude in their previous conversations reflects her genuine mental state?

Oh yeah, no, I’m pretty sure she was genuinely in a bad mood here. Not really so much because of Kanaya, and I think the anger directed at Kanaya specifically was inauthentic, but the bad mood itself was real. She'd recently been injected with several months of traumatic memories, after all.

@manorinthewoods asked: That panel, of John in Vriska's 'fabulous outfit', is actually pretty neat, because you can see from the proportions how young John really is. He's small, not even fully a teenager yet, and he's been thrown into this chaotic world of humans and trolls, quadrants, violence and danger. Everyone in the game must be scared, in some degree, but none of them ever show it. It makes you wonder just how strong Skaia's children really are. ~LOSS (29/4/23)

Seriously. In what universe are 13-year-olds the people most qualified to make universes? Sburb has some very funny ideas about the optimal way it should be played.

I suppose this is something that had to be true, though, for Homestuck to be the coming-of-age story that Hussie wanted it to be.

Anonymous asked: My interpretation has always been that "the Blind Prophets" are actually just Terezi herself, in a time loop-y/predestined way. She's blind, her class is Seer, AKA prophet, and those are her numerals. Also, on an unrelated note, but to weigh in on your last ask, according to Latin conventions, the plural of lusus is lusus. Does Homestuck follow those conventions? Well…

Or, since there are two Seers in Homestuck, maybe they’re Terezi and Rose. She’s a Light Player, so a blinding would be suitably ironic.

Anonymous asked: re: captchalogue codes and the states of objects: it takes a relatively small change in the physical arrangement of atoms and whatnot to turn a ghost dad poster into, say, a little monsters poster, but the two have a relatively large difference between their conceptual nature. on the other hand, it would take a relatively large rearrangement of atoms to make the slime pogo ride be anything other than a slime pogo ride. perhaps this makes the former change state more easily than the latter? alternatively, maybe the captcha system just knows that all it would really take to make the slime pogo ride stop being covered in oil is soap and water and it's happy to do that on its own, but paper is harder to clean so it wants you to jump through more hoops for that one new question: if john had used his posters for alchemy before he was able to see their defacement, would the resultant objects also be beclowned? evidence seems to suggest that players with unawakened dream selves Will draw on their walls in their sleep and not see it until Ready, so there not being mechanisms in place to deal with that seems less likely than the alternative to me, but especially considering people who aren't them Can see the drawings, how??? would that even??? work??? what would've happened if john had done alchemy with the arms cake. i think it would be funny to see that

I think he’d still get the clown posters.

The kids keep accidentally making magic items, so It's clearly possible for someone to alchemize an object with properties they didn't foresee. Therefore, I think John would make what appears, to him, to be a normal poster - but Rose would still see it as it truly is.

Anonymous asked: any thoughts on what the horrorterrors are? beyond their (admittedly vague) intentions?

I think they’re a sign of the wider cosmology beyond Sburb - and, more specifically, a sign that there is a wider cosmology beyond Sburb.

I don't know if we'll necessarily get more expansion on them than we've already had, because their whole shtick is that they're unknowable. Needless to say, I'd love to be proven wrong.

[om-nom-snom]

[When you're sick]

Steven x reader, Rika x reader

Steven <3

He probably realises you're sick before you even do

You'll complain about a dry throat and he'll half joke that you probably have the flu

When you wake up at 4am in a cold sweat Steven knows he guessed right

Even in his half asleep state, he's more than willing to go get you medicine and cold water

Rubs your back while you take the flu medicine and then gets a wet flannel to wash your face with

Steven doesn't want you to be feeling gross and sticky from the sweat

Absolutely would bring you some breakfast in bed later in the morning if you're up for it

Soup with toast or crackers is his go to, but he'll prepare anything that might make you feel better

Absolutely takes the day off work to take care of you

Steven dotes on you for the whole day, anything you want is yours

Want to snuggle on the couch and watch a movie? He's already got blankets ready

Want to play some video games in bed? He's got everything charged and is more than happy to boot up your matching switches

He gives you plenty of forehead kisses too

While Steven hates to see you sick and in pain, he does love getting to spoil you a bit

Rika <3

Rika was wide awake the moment you shot out of bed in the middle of the night

Holding back a yawn, she'll stumble after you into the bathroom

She's definitely the type to hold back your hair and rub your back as you throw up

Plenty of verbal reassurance too that she's got you and you'll be okay

Vomit doesn't bother her, she'll stick around until you're finished

After she gets you cleaned up, you'll find yourself back in bed with some ice water to sip on and a vomit bucket off to the side

Even if you fall back asleep, Rika stays up and tries to get some work done on her laptop

She's definitely taking a work from home day so she can keep an eye on you

Once you're awake again she's already got some electrolyte drinks and plain crackers ready for you

Rika definitely has you set up on the couch in her home office, all wrapped up in a blanket with your phone and switch

Occasionally, you'll look up and find her gazing at you from her desk

She always smiles when you notice her before turning back to her monitor

You can be sure that Rika keeps tabs on if you develop a fever or any other issues

She's happy to take care of you for as long as you need

Wrote this while I'm sick with the flu, god do I wish I had some of my favourite Pokémon characters to come take care of me while I'm ill

[thisismeracing]

#7 for lewis!! ❤️❤️❤️

💖 here you go! hope you like it, sweetheart

From the Quick Prompt List: 7. “Can you proofread my essay?”

word count: 0.4k

pairing: reader (she/her pronouns) x lewis hamilton

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, not proofread.

It was a Wednesday night, the house was quiet and so was the city. It was too late for someone to be awake on a Wednesday night, yet Yn was furiously checking her school notes and typing on her laptop while Lewis mindlessly scrolled through his phone.

"Are you almost done, love?" he asked Yn taking off his attention from his phone for a bit. Lewis has been patiently waiting for Yn to finish her uni work so that they could enjoy some quiet time together, but her paper was taking more than expected.

"Just adding one more paragraph and then I'm done," Yn answered without taking her eyes off of her screen.

It was only twenty minutes later when she got up from her spot stretching her body and letting out a small tired groan. Yn walked to the couch lying on top of Lewis whose hands instantly found her waist securing her body closer to his.

"Done?"

"Yup, almost" she answered, tracing one of his tattoos.

"What's up, babe?" he asked noticing her antics, he knew her all too well to know that she was considering saying something but was holding back. The tattoo tracing was something Yn would do in these situations.

"My eyes are hurting and my brain is melting, Amor," she joked and placed a small kiss on the corner of his lips. Lewis smiled at the endearing nickname in her mother language, he loved to hear her speaking and singing, even when she was angry it was cute to watch the way her lips would pout and her accent would get thicker.

"Ask away, babe," he poked her sides getting a chuckle from her.

Yn lifted up the upper half of her body, using her elbows to support it, and fixed her gaze on her boyfriend, "Can you proofread my essay?"

Lewis lets out a soft laugh, "Babe, you could've asked before. Of course, I can proofread your essay, though I have no idea about the nerdy topic you wrote about," he jokes.

Yn smiles and closes her eyes for a second enjoying the feeling of sharing life and its burdens with him. The possibility of resting and not worrying about everything because you had someone who could and would make sure things were in order just for you.

"The subject is all set, it's just my eyes are burning, I can't and won't spot my grammar mistakes, and I wanted to submit it tonight so that we can enjoy the rest of the week without University looming around."

"You know I would do anything for you," he states right before taking her lips with his in a slow kiss.

"I love youuuu," she whines when he stands up to grab her laptop and bring it to the sofa so that her essay will be proofread in no time.

"I love you more, bebê."

amor (love) and bebê (babe). wrote this listening to the silence of my room. hope you guys like it, don't forget to like, reblog, yada yada yada <3 *mwah*

[kuiperblog]

Book Review: I'm Starting to Worry About This Black Box of Doom

I have finished reading I'm Starting to Worry About this Black Box of Doom by Jason Pargin.

The premise of this book is simple, and rather than trying to summarize it myself, I will give you the author's blurb:

One day, a woman you've never met before offers you $100,000 in cash to drive her across the country—half now, half when you arrive. It’s a 2,600-mile trip, but there's a catch. She has a large, locked black box, big enough for someone to crawl inside. You're not allowed to look inside the box or even ask questions about it. She insists you leave behind all devices that can be tracked—no phone, no laptop, no credit cards, no GPS. You'll be paying with cash and navigating with a paper map the entire way. And finally, you can't tell anyone where you're going. There's no time to think; she says you must leave now. You hesitate, and she doubles the offer. Would you do it? Maybe, if you're brave or desperate enough. And besides, you think, what’s the worst that could happen?

I read it. I enjoyed it! I think it's my favorite Jason Pargin novel. One of the things that I have always liked about his novels are the fun action set pieces, and the way he builds tension throughout a scene, and across an entire book. He delivers on that here, and I am incredibly impressed with how he managed to stick the landing on this one: near the end of the book, I found myself thinking, "there's no way that this could have a climax that manages to surprise me without being a total letdown," but he proved me wrong: the big climax was completely unexpected, yet expertly "earned" by all the little bits that built up to it. It really all came together in the end in a way that far exceeded my expectations.

Jason writes humorous books, or so I've been told. I enjoy his Zoey Ashe books, and they are fun, but I've never found them to be particularly "funny." The Zoey Ashe series presents lots of absurd situations that entertained me, but none that really tickled my funny bone. However, Black Box of Doom made me laugh out loud multiple times. Maybe it's the fact that, unlike Zoey Ashe (which is science fiction), Black Box of Doom is set in "our world" in a way that feels incredibly true to life. And it feels like "our world" in a way that a lot of "real world" stories don't, largely thanks to the specificity.

Rendering the world we live in with high specificity is risky, because it's the sort of thing that is prone to "age rapidly," but I think that in 10 years, people will look back on this as an interesting period piece about 2020's culture. When Jason Pargin writes about TikTok, and Reddit, and Twitch, and the way the characters in his book engage with these platforms, you get a sense that he understands them deeply, and he is more interested in rendering them in high fidelity than he is in making a value judgment about them, or trying to poke fun at them. And yet, because he understands them so deeply, he also understands all of the things about them that are deeply funny and absurd, and so he can render those parts to great humorous effect without ever having to exaggerate. The moments of absurdity that manage to be pointed without feeling artificially "heightened" are some of the funniest, and give the book a very Dave Barry-esque quality.

Pargin ends the book with an afterward about karma how does not exist in this universe: this is a book where bad things can happen to people who behave well, and good things can happen to people who behave poorly. That much seems obvious enough that it seems unnecessary to explain it in a disclaimer, but Pargin wishes to disclaim something more specific: he wants us to know that if good things happen to a character, that is not a case of the author "rewarding" the character for being "right," nor are the bad things that happen to other characters in a case of Pargin "punishing" them for being "wrong."

Before editing this post, I wrote the previous paragraph about how "sometimes good things happen to bad people, and sometimes bad things happen to good people." But I rewrote those sentences, because I think that Pargin would reject the essentialist framing of "good person" vs "bad person." Everyone you know has done bad things at some point in their lives, and everyone you know has good qualities that might cause you to like them in certain contexts. Can anyone really make a judgment about whether that makes them a "good person" or "bad person?" If you go through someone's life looking for the one piece of evidence that will allow you to render a "good person or bad person" view of them, you will end up with a pretty low-fidelity picture of who they are, and a pretty low-fidelity picture of how the world works. All of the characters in this book do things that you probably don't approve of. Some of those things might even make you dislike them. But all of the characters in this book are fun to spend time with.

There are two interesting tricks that Jason Pargin pulls in Black Box of Doom that played with my expectations. One of which comes near the beginning, and one of which comes near the middle. Anyway, this is the part of the review where I get into descriptions that are specific enough to feel like spoilers.

First, the part that you learn as you read the first chapter:

Part of what Pargin does with his blurb is invite you to consider: what kind of man would be brave or desperate enough to accept someone offering $100,000 in cash to transport a mysterious black box across the country with no phone or GPS? What kind of hardened badass would accept a deal that is obviously pulling him into a world full of legally-questionable shenanigans and people who are obviously up to no good, with the confidence that he'd be able to handle himself in that hardscrabble world and come out alive?

And the answer is that the main character is none of those things. He's not brave; he's cowardly. He's not strong; he's weak. In fact, that's how he gets roped into this situation: he's anxiety-ridden. He's really bad with confrontation; he doesn't know how to handle conflict. And that is why he essentially allows himself to get bullied into participating in this insane errand: he doesn't know how to put his foot down and say "no." He tries to take the path of least resistance, basically procrastinating on the task of saying "I'm sorry, I can't help you," thinking "maybe if I go along with this, there will be a better opportunity for me to say no later," and of course once the ball gets rolling he can't stop it.

So, in a sense, the main character is kind of the opposite of who you think he would be based on the elevator pitch, and it's funny, and yet true-to-life, and makes for a story full of ways to put that socially-anxious guy into all sorts of crazy situations that he things are way beyond his capacity. And yet, of course, he deals with all of them, as best he can, because he must, and that's what most of life is.

Then there's something we find out partway through the story, closer to around the middle of the book.

You see, Jason Pargin has done yet another head fake with the main character, leading us to think one way before revealing something that feels almost the opposite. There is a real sense in which this story starts off with a poor put-upon guy who is roped into traveling across the country with a mysterious woman. You spend a good portion of the early part of the book fearing for his safety. He's here, but he doesn't particularly want to be here, and it's deeply unfortunate that he's stuck with the woman who roped him into this tense and chaotic mess.

But this is a road trip novel, and as the story goes on, you get a better sense of who these characters are, the cowardly driver, and the woman who hired him. You see more and more glimpses of the sort of people they are as they confront various situations. And, over time, you shift from feeling like he's deeply unfortunate to be stuck here with her (and gosh I'm terrified of what might happen to him if things go wrong), to starting to think about how deeply unfortunate she is to be stuck with him (and gosh I'm terrified of what might happen to her if things go wrong).

Just in the same way the blurb book invites us to think, "what kind of brave or desperate person would accept this insane business proposition," we're also left to contemplate, "what kind of brave, desperate person would offer this kind of insane business proposition?" What kind of woman would find herself in a situation where she was hailing a Lyft, and then ambushing the driver to tell him that she was ready to pay him six figures, in cash, to drive her and a box to the other end of the country?

That is one of many questions that is answered by the text of the book. I enjoyed discovering the answer, and many of the other answers we encounter along the way.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One Message Waiting

Sequel to One is the Loneliest Number, One on One, One Little Thing, Only One I See, One Thing Leads To Another

Warnings: none, Professor Steve (that’s a warning in itself)

Dunno if I’ll be doing an exhaustive drabble series but there’s at least this. Let me know if you’re enjoying it or not and any thoughts you have. Love you!

Your phone lights up in the middle of the lecture and you flip it, ignoring the dual notification in the corner of your screen. Inez has no shame as she swipes through her feed, Professor Rogers' voice reaching the high ceiling as he expounds on the themes of FitzGerald. You note the title of the email before it flits back into the tool bar: Teacher's Assistant: Application Accepted.

You can't get ahead of yourself. Once you're through class, you can get excited. And anxious. Inez has taken to calling you goody two shoes over your extracurriculars but you'll laugh at her over your paychecks.

As the lesson comes to a close, Inez yawns and stretches, "you'll send me a copy of your notes?"

"Star student right here," you close your laptop and slip it in yoir bag.

"Who? You? You learn fast, Miss Sniper from the Side."

"You might get a bit better than a C if you wrote anything down," you chide as head down the row.

"Right, mom, I'll get on that," she follows you down the steps towards the front of the lecture hall, "right after I pick up my official geek badge from the station."

"You're stupid," you hurl back at her.

"Never claimed otherwise," she chuckles, "hey, you hear that, this bimbo used a big word. Otherwise!"

"Quit," you smile and stick your tongue out at her over your shoulder.

Your name smothers her response. Professor Rogers waves his pen at you as he nears, twirling it before hooking it over his shirt pocket, "so, you get the good news?"

"Hi, professor," Inez says deliberately.

"Um, hi," he gives and awkward smile before turning back to you, "so?"

"About my TAship? Yeah, I just got the email but haven't opened it–"

"So you don't know?"

"Um, it said accepted so–"

"Right, I won't spoil it," he beams, "sorry, I… you two have a good day. I gotta get across campus but if you have any questions about your placement, you know how to find me."

"Sure, thanks, professor," you nod and turn away, Inez hesitating before she trails after you.

"Uh huh, you know exactly how to find him, don't you?" She hisses as you pass into the hallway, "all you have to do is exist. Like Christ–"

"Really? You're still on this?" You huff.

"Oh, come on, you're not that clueless. He was shaking in excitement. Just to talk to you."

"Whatever," you take out your phone and swipe up. "I bet I got Laufeyson. Not even English, just my–" you pause as you open the email and read through, "huh."

"What?" She asks as she opens the front door ahead of you.

"I got… him. Professor Rogers."

"I knew it. I fucking called it," she hops down the steps in glee ahead of you, "oh my god, perfect opportunities for good old Professor Hunk!"

"Stop. Please. I'm already stressing and you're– you're freaking me out."

"Come on, I'm teasing you. We both know he's too squeaky clean to do anything like that. But it's funny, he's got a little crush on you. On you! The cutest little nerd on campus."

"Wow, thanks, you're an amazing friend," you say dryly.

"You should be flattered. He's a hottie, even for an old dude. Not exactly my flavour, you know, with the dangly bits and all, but I can tell a hot tamale when I see one."

"Do you stop? Ever?"

"No," she giggles, "come on, lets go get some tea. Then maybe you'll calm down… and we can plot how you can really make Dr. Heart Eyes squirm."

"No," you sneer.

"Aw, fine, just tea."

📱

The weight of the textbook weighs on your chest, your eyes half-closed as you lay across the narrow twin bed. In a minute, you'll finish, you swear. You just need a moment. Your phone vibes and you growl, Inez can be so annoying. And persistent.

You reach over blindly and bring your phone up, unlocking it with your thumb. The screen flashes and you hit the icon for your messages. You're surprised to find it isn't Inez, but a number without a name. You read through the last messages and realise it's Steve.

'Hey, can't wait to see you gorgeous. At the restaurant now.'

You blink and shove the book off your chest as you sit up. What the hell?

You put the phone back. Wrong number maybe? You don't know but you feel worse correcting him.

You let out a breath and grab the textbook, trying to refocus on your homework. He'll figure it out. Hopefully he can just laugh it off.

You uncap your highlighter as you contemplate another cup of coffee. It's late. You should at least try to sleep after.

You zone out to the buzz of your playlist, bulling through the last half of the chapter. History… it's like reading a story in a way but you just can't hold onto the details.

Your phone shakes again. You grab it and look at the time. You rest it on the closed textbook and yawn. It's veen thirty minutes since hisnlast text but you don't think he realises.

'Hey, you still coming?' Followed by the smiley emoji. Oh god.

You should tell him. You should let him know he's texting the wrong person. You key in the message and hover over send.

You can't. You feel the second-hand embarrassment through the phone. Hopefully he figures it out and just deletes the messages and pretends it didn't happen.

You black out the screen and plug in to the charger. You pile up your textbook and notebook and drop them on the floor beside the bed. You hit the bottom of the lamp and it turns off before you flop against the pillow. You're too tired to worry about all this.

You drift off easily. You sleep most of the night but wake at the noise of one of your roommates in the kitchen. The place is small and the walls are thin. You groan and rub the sleep from your eyes.

You get up and pull on your robe, dragging your feet into the hall and down to the bathroom. You take your time and come out as Ellie waits outside. You apologise and go back to your room.

You take your phone and look at the time, a speech bubble floating beneath. You hit it to expand the preview.

'So sorry. Wrong number. Hope you had a good night.'

You snort, slightly amused. At least he caught his mistake. You swipe away the notification and unlock the screen, going through the dailyl listless scroll of social media.

[izhunny]

Sorry if you were asked this before, but I was curious so figured I'd go ahead and give it a shot xD

What was the most challenging fic you've ever written? Be it in research needed, doubts you had to battle or straight up time and energy cost; what was the fic that made you most go like "I fucking did it!!" once you finished it? :D

I have not been asked this before and I'm thrilled to try to answer. 🤣

My knee-jerk response was: Oh that's easy! My first big (160k)fic Just An Old Fashioned Love Song.

I get a little wordy after this @loni4ever so it's all below the cut.

I wrote JaOFLS so quickly, in just a few months. I barely slept. Every spare second I was hunched over my laptop or my phone, typing or researching something. And I had no idea what story I wanted to tell at the start or how to do it. Except for the scene that became the 1st chapter. Originally it was to be the next to last chapter of a planned eight chapters. That scene was going to be the payoff. Hahahahaha. I like that I decided to lead with it and make it a glimpse of the future.

I ended up scrapping around 20-40k words (in a few big frustration deletion incidents) and restructured, reoriented, stopped worrying about brevity, or how badly I was doing it, and built what has been posted to the archive. 

My chapters are too long. The POV shifts wildly between all characters because I couldn't restrain myself to just one side of any conversation. So readers get to see inside everyone's head. A lot. Had to make sure the core characters' motivations were upfront(almost painfully not holding back anything). There's a fucking wall of tags on it 😓.

But I'm so proud that I not only tried but that I actually did it. No matter how unskilled the result or how absolutely terrified I was about sharing it, I did it. I wrote it. I created a fic all by myself based on experiences and dreams and wishes using every storytelling concept and trope that seemed useful. 

So, my knee jerk response was my first big, not terribly well written, fic.

But I thought again. 

I wrote a ghost story. Never dreamed I'd be capable of that. 

I put together a flashfic PWP writing challenge prompt list for myself to dismantle my own writing inhibitions. Just dipping my toes into smutty concepts, 500 words in one sitting a day. About half of those 45 fics aren't even E rated 😞. None are, I'd say, as properly titillating as I'd wish. (Though others have said parts are in fact steamy). But it was excellent practice. 

I finally wrote an actual sex pollen PWP fic (without 20k of backstory to get to the action).

I wrote a three fandoms of Holmes/Watson crossover fic (via a bit of blatant literary device magic) that pleases me greatly for having wished to do so for around ten years but waiting until I'd acquired enough skill to satisfy myself with the result. It was quite difficult to gut the canons as I did and research to worldbuild to make it come together. Extremely satisfying though.

Honestly? I get that "Holy mother of god, I fucking did it!" euphoria from every single fic or ficlet I've written and shared. 

Er, well, once I actually write the endings down for the first drafts. 

I get another little taste again once I've properly edited and start posting, and see someone else enjoys it. Still gobsmacked that fics I created to make myself happy give others a little happiness too. 

I think I may be getting a little better at writing with every effort. I'm definitely learning something each time. And that's thrilling. 

I don't know if this answers your question properly but thank you so much for asking. And feel free to ask about anything anytime.

[fullofgutsndopamine]

Maybe I'll Feel Better (Give Me Forty-Five)

or: the one where you two are elementary school teachers "judging" a gingerbread house competition. hasan takes it very seriously.

listen: the bad news is all i'm watching now is hallmark movies. this was like, super briefly mentioned in a movie i watched tonight so here's: something?

anyways y'all seem to like my teacher AUs (or at least tolerate them) so

more hasan here

the email ping got you first.

my room. noon. sharp. sharpened pencil and other supplies provided -Piker

you snort. your fingers hover over the keyboard, considering what to say next. hasan’s emails usually seem like he wrote them in between passing periods, as kids tug on his shirt sleeves, begging for milk containers to be opened and for shoelaces to be tied.

you stare at the email, start typing something, realize it sounds dumb, backspace and delete it. there's not much time to think about it, before the bell rings and the students pile back into the room.

Noon comes quickly. If you weren't lying to yourself, you'd be honest about how your dragging your feet across the hallway to Hasan’s classroom, where the near constant cheering and songs he makes up makes your head ache and pound at the end of your day.

You feel as if you can feel your kids eyeballs on the back of your head as you finally go to Hasan’s room, but you push it down quickly.

Hasan is pacing around his room.

Correction: Hasan wears a crooked Santa hat on his head as he paces back and forth.

"Hey," You knock gently, "Am I interrupting something?"

You seem like you're interrupting something, and you fight the urge to take your phone out of your pocket to check the time, even though you know you're right on time.

"Finally!" He smiles, a lopsided grin on his face, "Time to get down to business."

You hesitate in the doorway.

"Come on," He laughs, "Have to show you everything, we have a whole procedure to go over."

You walk to his desk, where he stands, a clipboard in his hand before he nudges you a small wooden clipboard, a small stack of stapled papers under the clip, little boxes that were obviously handmade that say: rating, student, comments its obviously made in MS Paint, and was thrown together last night, but as you run your fingers over the lines, you think of hasan, in his pajamas after a long day, his laptop on his lap, glasses crooked on the tip of his nose as he stays up half the night, putting together this paper to try and make the day a little more magical for all his students.

"Here, my class made this for you too." He looks down as he passes it, but it's a homemade ribbon out of construction paper; blues and reds and yellows, is pinned to his chest, says: #1 judge in slanted writing.

He slides one across the table to you, matches his, and a little safety pin is fixed to the back of it.

"I guess you take this very seriously." You tease as you pick it up, your hands fumble with it as you try to pin it to your shirt with no success.

"May I?" Hasan is at your elbow, his voice is low and gentle as he takes it out of your hands gently, pinches your shirt as he carefully pins it, his fingers are long but work perfectly to pin it with practiced ease.

He talks as he does so.

"Class worked all period on this," He mumbles as he pins it, adjusts it carefully, "Said we should at least act like we care about the cold war, but I think they were a little pre occupied."

He takes a step back, tilts his head: "Beautiful, it's perfect."

And you speak so he doesn't see your bright pink face: "I think they spelled judge wrong." you tease gently.

He tsks, like he didn't see it, "Amateur hour, I'll get to the bottom of it. Here-"

He slides you a small collection of pre sharpened pencils, all that have Mr.Piker’s Favorite Student etched into the side of them, sparkle when you turn them around in the fluorescent lighting.

"Nice pencils." You tease, and he beams, lets it roll off his shoulders, only seems embarrassed for a second:

"Thanks! Made 'em myself. Follow me, I'll explain everything to you when we walk to the auditorium."

It's a short walk.

The school is small, the auditorium even smaller, his class load only in the twenties, but he holds the door for you into the small room, and ignores his students squealing when they see him, a wink and a nod to them, like they're all involved in some inside joke that you aren't a part of-

the rules are simple enough. follow him with the clipboard, rate the art, try and narrow it down to the winner. he explains everyone's a winner, doesn't have the heart for everyone to walk out without some sort of award, even if it's most creative, or most frosting on the side of a house or-

"Hell," He'll even say, throwing his hands in the air as you get to the first house, "Most creative use of a gum drop, it doesn't matter. Everyone's a winner when I'm judging."

and you realize how he's so loved among the students, as they run to his side and pull on his shirt for him to kneel on the filthy floor and listen to them, speaking through broken teeth as they tell him the random gossip happening-

"This is a good one." You say at the second one.

The roof is crooked. Half hanging on, except through a prayer and an approximate shit ton of frosting and red and green skittles, it's still cute, well coated with candy-you think of hasan in a little apron running around his room as he makes sure all the students have gingerbread, frosting, all the candy and fixings-

"Most creative use of frosting, l'd say." hasan nods, scribbles something onto his clipboard.

You snort.

"Most creative use of skittles, obviously." You scribble something as he does, suddenly feel like you should be doing it as well.

He snorts now. "come on. The frosting job."

"The council has spoken, Hasan. I'm so sorry."

"The council," He laughs, "And you're the council, I take it?"

"Obviously."

"And any way to object the council?" He pushes.

"Give me five minutes, I'll bring it to the council." you tuck the pencil behind your ear.

It feels good, finally laughing. Being a first year teacher and spending most periods holed up in your room, eating a peanut butter sandwich at your desk, craning your neck and face turning bright red every time you hear someone passing your room, always afraid that it's you, that you're the punchline.

"And?" hasan pushes after a few houses.

"Bad news, bud." You tease gently, "Council denied it."

He groans, "Fuck. Let me see your notes."

you glance at his; for the most part, he takes it seriously, little notes in the boxes on the placement of frosting and color patterns, enough for any child to feel appreciated-

but in the corners are little flower stems and hearts, litte scribbles you can barely make out-

"No way," You giggle as you hold the clipboard close to your chest, trying to not laugh too loudly, because this seems dangerously close to flirting, and you aren't here for that-

"Come on," He pulls at your sleeve gently, "We gotta announce winners."

You nibble your lip.

Even being a teacher, teaching in front of these kids it's different then talking to these peers that you're terrified of, terrified of being a punchline to a joke-

"Come on," His voice comes quieter, gentler, no edge to it, "I'll be right here, l'm not going anywhere."

And you barely know him. Like, besides him popping his head into your classroom occasionally, gives you supplies when you need it, helped you hang decorations once in passing-

"Okay," you nods, "Yeah, okay."

and you follow as he leads to a makeshift stage.

Somehow, everything is less scary with hasan by your side now.

"Everyone," He clears his throat, "We have the winners. Now- you all are winners to us two-"

Load groans are heard around the room, boos from his students, but he puffs his chest out and smiles widely as he calls the students to the stage, little make shift awards he obviously spent lots of time creating out of different brightly colored construction paper as the two of you take turns pinning it to the children's shirts.

"We make a good team." hasan declares as he holds your hand to help you off the stage, the winners still get pats on the back and photos for the year book

You shrug, to downplay it all, "Yeah, I guess. You're pretty okay."

He lauahs "I'll take it. Come on I made the hot chocolate, and not to brag, but it's my best batch yet."

He doesn't let go of your hand as he leads you away from the stage, even with all eyes on you two

[godilovemyhusband]

Just wanted to say how I enjoy your content. Love is such a rare find these days and it's often lost in the commotion of the world. I guess if I had a question it would be from the perspective of a lady as an aspiring loving husband myself how best do I approach getting my significant other to open up and be vulnerable to connect more deeply in your opinion?

Hey! I'm so glad you see my content and my blog in this way.

On my part, what I liked about my husband was how much space he gave me. When we started seeing each other more often, he didn't start showering me with compliments like "ahhh, you're so beautiful" or "I like you so muchhhh God gurl".

I remember that once, before I went to bed, I wrote to him "Good night, my dear." And he wrote me back the same thing and I found it soooooo romantic.

What I mean is that men often want to take several steps at once: they are impatient and think that women demand big words, big compliments right away. It used to overwhelm me, for example.

My husband, after he kissed me for the first time (with my consent, of course), let me cool down. We met the next day at the University, but we didn't talk, we just observed each other. I told him that I wanted to decide when we would kiss again, and he accepted it; that was a sign of his maturity to me: deep down he was probably terrified (I know him well enough to know that he must have thought he kissed badly, that I hated him, and that I would never see him again), but I wrote to him the very next day.

As a woman, I have always found him handsome, but before he became my lover in my eyes, he was my friend, companion, a great mind with whom I loved sharing my thoughts. It is this understanding, encouragement (you can always tell me anything, I am here for you) that is most important.

And trust.

I do not look at my husband's phone, laptop, or documents. Nor does he look at mine. If I need to see something on his computer or in his drawer, I ask his permission.

Openness appears slowly over time, along with growing trust (I trust you and something has been weighing on my heart for a long time, I want to tell you, I believe that you will understand me). You also have to accept that there are things that are worth keeping to yourself: only tell the other person about what is really important, what can really change your relationship for the better or help your other half understand you better (e.g. what you've been through).

Of course, I don't mean that you should hide if you do something wrong, but rather that sometimes it's not worth burdening the other party with things that happened in the past and are no longer important (e.g. stories about your ex).

Don't overwhelm her with your presence, let her have her things that she does on her own, or time that she spends doing something without you. Get to know each other's friends (this always gives a sense of security) and meet them, either as a couple or individually.

I am not jealous of my husband going out alone with his female friends, because I know all of them and they are my friends too; in exactly the same way, my husband is not jealous of my male friends or the fact that I see them, because he knows them very well and likes them very much himself.

Five years of being in a relationship (3 years in marriage) have shown me that the most important thing is an honest, calm conversation, in which each party can express themselves without fear that the other will start yelling.

[boneskullravenriver]

I'm trying to get back into reading and less time dicking about on TikTok. Because I want to finally finish words of radiance. And according to a note I have in obsidian (where I have a book tracker thing I cobbled together).... I started this book in OCTOBER (2024). It is now January of 2025. Lmao.

I'm in the later half of the book so... I've had this event thing set on my calendar to remind me to read 50 pages a day. It's a big annoying full screen notification that buzzes when it pops up on my phone at exactly the same time every day. So I put in some ambiance music on my laptop and I set a stopwatch to time how long it takes me to read 50 pages.

Hopefully at this pace I can finish soon. Been trying to Pavlov myself into reading and not going "oh, I'm gonna do this tomorrow..." *Tomorrow comes* "nah, the next day!"

Then I don't read for like a month lol.

It's been going good so far. I have this small, really small notebook that I jot down what page I've started at, what page I'm aiming for, the date.. what book I'm reading, and then really short hand-ish indicators on what pages I find interesting, maybe a brief comment to remind myself why I found it interesting (not too long) so I can go back to my obsidian book tracker thing to expand on it later where I have more space to write.

I also write down the amount of time it took me to read (from the stop watch).

It's a lot and I know some folks will ask "why can't you just go... Read?? Why all the extra shit?"

Well, you see, my attention span is so shit nowadays. Even though I might like whatever book I'm reading, my brain goes "won't it be easier to just watch a video, or spend the whole day scrolling TikTok for cheap entertainment?" Because it's less of mental energy to do that.

Reading means engaging with a story. Understanding what's going on, or figuring out what's going on, and picking up whatever small hints the author is trying to put down. If you're watching a TV show, you get these things from visual or auditory cues.

Like, slightly ominous music or making the POV look like it's from the perspective of a stalker coming up behind the protagonist in a scary movie or something. In books, you don't get that. It's through words. Character actions and other things. That requires you to be engaged, not passive.

I'm also trying to read more because i feel like I wrote better whenever I was reading more. I have this old document of a story I wrote in highschool.. and I was blown away by how much I seemed to have imitated the pacing and story structure of the books I was reading back then. I was crafting a story with plot and struggle for my characters to get through... But also not neglecting their relationships with one another and giving them all different quirks so they weren't all the same.

I was doing all of that without outlining, without banging my head against a wall trying to figure it all out. I was just... Doing it. I remember typing most of it on my phone on Google docs (I didn't have a computer for a long while because my old one became busted) like wtf!!

And I remember distinctly thinking to myself "I'm such a bad writer... I don't know where I'm going with this"

And then I come back, years later looking this over like... Damn... I was cooking something!

Little snippet I found:

I dont mind sharing this since it doesn't really show explicit detail about the story or anything so it's whatever. This is from at least... I think.... 2017 or 2018 I want to say? So would have been 16 or 17 lol.

I even had a trans character before I really understood what that was, which shocked me lol

[yanderepuck]

Part something of maybe 12 of the wheel of smut for my mutuals. I was on a roll and wrote like half of them immediately I think and now I have the other half.

This is for @namine-somebodies-nobody we like never talk but I see you in my notifs all the time and I love you sm. Bc of the prompt this is more modern time.

Prompt: him finding a horny posting blog that you run

Isaac knocks on your door. "Hello?" The door gets pushed open and he peaks inside. "Where is she?" He steps inside holding a small stack of books.

There was something she was looking for and so he pulled a few books from the library. He sets them on her desk and glances at her laptop screen.

It was on a site he hasn't seen before. He only meant to glaze over the words but then he was stuck reading it.

It was some kind of social media site from what he can tell, but it also seemed like a blog. The more he read the more he could feel his face warming up. Next thing he knew he hit the down arrow key and started scrolling through, barely noticing that all of these posts were by the same person.

Oh to ne pinned down and mercilessly fucked like caught prey

A day where I don't wake up with a cock prodding at my cunt is another wasted day

Wake me up by rubbing your cock against my pussy, slide it up and down, softly groaning in my ear as precum leaks from your angry tip, excited to slip into my wet hole.

Not to mention the sexual images. Some of the gifs he comes across are full on porn.

He keeps reading. He can't look away. The next is much more erotic than the last. What are you doing on a site like this?

The sound of the door being pushed open doesn't snap him out of it.

"Isaac? What are you doing?"

He jumps and starts to panic. He quickly turns around, his face quite flushed. "N-nothing! I-I brought you those books!"

He's so not good at this.

You see your laptop open and realize what he saw. You rush over and quickly close. "You weren't supposed to-"

"I didn't mean to look, I'm sorry!"

You're both in a panic. Your face starts getting warm as well. Neither of you are sure of what to say next. How do you explain that to him? How much did he read? What did he read?

"I-I have some things to do," Isaac does an awkward side step towards the door. Was he really going to act like he didn't just read that? "I will see you around dinner."

Isaac finally leaves the room, closing the door. You open your laptop again to see what he could have read.

"... He's going to think I'm a whore."

Isaac goes back to his room and sits at his desk. He has been teaching himself how to fix modern phones and has pieces all over his desk.

He can't concentrate however. Some of those posts keep playing in his head.

Pull my hair and fuck me til I pass out. Then keep fucking me

I love it when you grab my head and make me choke on your cock 💖

If you don't leave marks when you choke me, it isn't real

Did she write those? But he would never be that rough with you. Are you cheating on him?

"No! She would never. She wouldn't," his voice trails off as he rests his head in his hands. Maybe he isn't enough. Does he not please you enough? "Do I need to do more?"

More of the posts go through his mind, trying to imagine you and him in the scenario

Fucking her like she's only there for your pleasure and nothing else

Is that really how she wants to be treated? There's no way he read that right. There's no way-

You're a fleshlight, why would you need a safeword? I'm giving you what you want.

Actually there's no way he could treat you like that.

"Ugh!" He pulls his hair slightly and tries to relax. "Maybe...maybe I can try something. Maybe meet her in the middle somewhere."

He gets worried about him not being enough for you. He feels that he is disappointing you. The longer he thinks about it the more flustered he gets. He should just talk to you about it. Clear it up. But that's nerve-wracking.

~~

You get nervous when Isaac doesn't show up for dinner. Normally you wouldn't think twice about it, maybe he just got lost in his work. Does he not want to see you now?

You prepare a plate of food for him and go to his room. You don't bother knocking on his door and just push it open.

"Isaac? I brought you dinner," you come in with a tray and bottle of rouge.

He is still at his desk, his back away from you, still working. "Thanks. But I'm not hung-"

Before he can finish you set the tray on the desk, being sure it doesn't set on any of the pieces he has laid out.

"Of course you're hungry," he just doesn't realize it. You sit on his bed.

You both sit there in awkward silence for a few moments.

"About what you read-" now you get cut off.

"Is that what you are.. into?" He doesn't know how to word it. He's so bad about talking about this.

"I...I mean. Sort of," you look down. You might like it but it feels different to talk about it.

Isaac sets his tools down and turns to look at you trying to figure out where this conversation is going.

"You think it's gross, don't you?

"N-no! No no no!" He would never admit that anyway. He finds it a bit odd but if you are into it he would never say that.

Instinctively, his fingers twirl through his hair. You know what that means and you're trying to fight out how to get out of this conversation.

"Do I not do enough to... satisfy you?"

And now you're deeper into the conversation.

"No you do!" You quickly answer. You don't want him to get the impression that you have to think about it. "It's just that..." Now you are playing with the hem of your shirt. You're both nervous about this. "..but I would like to try new things."

"New things?"

"O-only if you're comfortable with it though!"

You don't want to make him do something too wild at first.

"What kind of things?"

You pause. What are some of the less kinky things you want to try? Which ones would he really be open to?

"Maybe pulling my hair. Choking. Biting me more," your voice is quiet. You talk about these things online with no issue so why is it difficult with your boyfriend.

You can tell Isaac is trying not to have much of a reaction. He knows these aren't even 'kinky' things. Sure he can bite you, but won't you pass out eventually? Pulling your hair doesn't seem too bad. But choking you? He's not sure he can do that. How is that enjoyable?

"I can try those," his voice is also quiet. You're not sure if it is because he's shy or unsure.

Feeling satisfied with how the conversation has gone, and not wanting it to get worse, you get up from his bed, taking a few steps to get closer to him to kiss him.

"Eat some dinner, okay?" You glance at the plate you brought him with the rouge alongside it. "Goodnight, I love you."

He kisses you back. "I love you too, goodnight."

He lets out an exasperated sigh once you leave.

~~

A few days pass since that very awkward conversion. You've been a little more cautious about how you leave your laptop. As uncomfortable as that may have been, you can't imagine if it was anyone else who found it.

But now Isaac is being a little more rough with you. His build might be small but maybe that vampire strength theory is true.

His door quickly shut and he has you pinned against the wall, kissing you. His hands are under your shirt, all over your body. Your hands are doing no different to him. Trying to get his shirt off.

One hand reaches down grabbing your ass. You press your body into his and moan in approval. His other hand grabs you and before you know it he's picked you up.

Your arms drape over his shoulders, your lips never parting until he drops you on his bed. The front of you feels cold without him against you, but you both quickly start to undress.

Isaac gets on the bed, getting between your legs, going back to kissing you. While you hold his face in place, he squeezes your tits.

It's not like he hasn't done this before but he feels as if he's trying to be rougher. In general he often forgets you aren't as fragile as you may look.

You can feel his tip, you try to move your hips like you're trying to get him inside you. One hand leaves your chest, dragging down your skin until it reaches your hips. He pushes you back down into the bed, holding you so you don't move.

You can't help but whine. You spread your legs wider, showing that you're desperate.

Taking the invitation he slides into you, both of you moaning. His thrusts start soft until he gets comfortable. Then he quickly gets faster and rougher.

That is not unlike him, but what you want is his hand around your neck. You didn't bother trying to ask, not yet anyway.

You try talking between moans. "Isaac.. p-pull my hair."

"How should I..?" He tried not to slow his hips down while he thought about how he's supposed to do it. Grab a fist full and pull? Go closer to the scalp? Top of the head, base of the neck? He's making this much more complicated than it needs to be.

You don't want to use words. Too much right now. "Like this," you smirk and grab hair at the nape of Isaac's neck and tug it back.

Oh that cute moan he made ignited something in you. You comb your fingers through his hair and tug it more, to show him how it's done of course, no other reason.

His cheeks were flushed. He's embarrassed to have moaned like that. But now he tries it on you. You exaggerate a moan to get him to do it more.

It's just that you have so much hair that he isn't sure if one place is better than another. He manages to grab hair from the back of your head and tugs it to tilt your head back.

You truly moan more that time. He seems to have an idea and grabs your hair in a way that he can tug your head to the side.

With his thrusts still keeping pace, he buries his face into your exposed neck to bite you. You moan louder and your hips buck up into his.

"Isaac!"

His grip on you tightens as he drinks your blood. Your blood is so addictive. He pulls his lips back and bites you in another spot, only taking a bit of blood from each wound.

Your moan was louder the second time. Then he did it a third time. He really wants to leave a mark on you.

The third time did you in. You don't think you've ever cummed so quickly.

Even after tightening around him, Isaac keeps thrusting into you. He licks each of your bites before letting your hair go.

You couldn't be bothered to try to get him to choke you this time. One step at a time.

He holds your hands to the bed, thrusting deeper. You felt like you could pass out from all those bites, but you didn't want him to stop. You forced yourself to stay conscious.

"I-Isaac," you whine is name, trying to reach up for a kiss.

He closes the gap, kissing you roughly. You can taste your blood on his lips. He lets your hands go to be able to touch your body, being rough with where he grabs.

You start to rock your hips with his to help you stay awake, any movement helps. Isaac starts moaning into your kiss.

His thrusting is getting rougher like he's getting more desperate. Your kiss breaks.

"Ahh- Fill me," you moan.

In moments his cum spills out into you. He bites his lip, not wanting to be too loud, but moans still spill out.

As his movement come to a stop, you both begin to pant. He looks at the bite marks, hoping he didn't hurt you too badly. Those marks were going to be there for a few days, and deep down you were hoping everyone would be able to see.

Your eyes flutter, finally wanting to pass out. Isaac gets off the bed.

"Let me get you something to drink."

He went to grab his clothes but you grabbed his arm to pull him back onto the bed

"Nooo," you whine. You hold onto him as if your life depended on it. "Stay."

Isaac puts his arms around you, rubbing your back, getting you to fall asleep in moments.

~~

Tag list~

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly @fang-and-feather @xalxtusxiao @namine-somebodies-nobody @ana-thedaydreamer @evil-quartett @ameyoruakiikemenseries @yrenesposts @tele86 @damekathearasi @lokis-laugh @candied-boys @breadmercury @aquagirl1978 @xenokiryu @nightghoul381 @vampiricpancake @lulu-the-smol-floof @tako-cafe @floydsteeth

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Familia mea mea est domus – My family is my home

I loved @mistydeyes medical checkup thingy here and got a little inspired, so thanks for that, hun

Unedited because I wrote this on a whim

Tagging my usuals that asked, just because: @glitterypirateduck @letsreadallday @jamesrifftapes @sofasoap @mmyrrhh

A soft knock on his office's door made Price look up briefly.

''Come in''

The door opened swiftly, even before the last word was uttered, and Riot stepped inside, closing behind her hurriedly. Then, without asking, she all but collapsed on the chair in front of him.

''Oh, good you're here, I need clarification on what this means, my German is a bit rusty...'' Price leaned back in his chair, leaving his fountain pen and looking up again, but the slight grin on his face disappeared when he saw her eyes.

Her haunted, wide eyes.

''Kid''

Riot's blue-gray eyes - no, Christine's - looked straight into his, unblinking, and he noticed that just as she sat down, her right knee had started bouncing wildly.

''I have my physical checkup'' Even her voice sounded lower than normal, strained, controlled. ''In half an hour''

''I know'' Price nodded, still lost about what could have happened. ''What's the matter, kid?''

''Can you come with me?''

''... what?''

She moved slightly in the chair, visibly uncomfortable, but her eyes didn't waver and still stared at him, desperate, pleading.

''In my file there's specifications that say I only want female personnel in the physical checkup'' When Price nodded again, Christine tried to overcome the knot in her throat. ''I was just there. There's only male personnel working at the moment. They told me Dr. Benítez was on break and wouldn't be back till noon''

''Can't they move your appointment to when she's in?'' Price was already shutting down his laptop, knowing where this was going, and feeling the exasperation boiling inside. Fucking idiots everywhere.

''They said I could either do the checkup now with the personnel that was in or they would put in my file that I refused to do it'' Christine's voice was even lower now, her fingers tapping furiously on her thighs, and her right knee still bouncing. ''Price, I can't...''

Half an hour later, Price was sitting uncomfortably right in front of the door of the room where Dr. Benitez and a female nurse were performing the physical exam on Sgt. Vega. It had cost him only five minutes of raising his voice at the incompetent idiot in charge of the clinic for the day, and a personal call to Dr. Benitez's phone (who had been appalled by the situation and cut her break short, God blessed that woman, and told off herself the idiots at the reception).

''I know. I'll fix this'' Price stood up and walked around his desk to offer his hand to her. ''Come on, kid, we're gonna give them a piece of our minds''

*

To pass the time, he had sent a text to Heather, explaining the situation, and her answer had been almost instant, and indignant.

I personally put in her file she was NOT to be examined physically by any male presenting person. I'm going to raise hell at whoever is ignoring the personal notes in people's files.

Great, now Heather was in the warpath too. Sighing, Price was about to put his phone away when he got a message from Nikolai, some stupid short video of something he had found on the internet.

For a second he considered telling him, but decided against it. There was no need to have an angry Russian mercenary storming into the base demanding to behead someone for upsetting his solnysh... solhn... his sunshine.

Price also wondered why she hadn't asked Soap or Gaz, or Ghost, but was still musing over it when the door opened and Christine stepped out, talking with Dr. Benitez.

It was like night and day. Now she looked her usual self, or at least her usual masking self, chatty and bright, confident and brilliant. Dr. Benitez nodded at Price and then went back inside, and Christine walked over to him as he stood up.

''All set, kid?''

''All set, sir'' She smiled, and then offered him a lollipop. Price stared at it for a second and then at her eyes, unable to avoid grinning when he saw the usual mischief in there. How in the world he had ended with two Soap in the same unit was beyond him, but it made him feel thankful everyday.

''Really? A lollie?''

''She gave me one and I asked for another one for you'' Christine shrugged, with a cheeky grin. He noticed with sadness how the left corner of her lips was uneven, twisted due to the scar, but he admired her 'fuck it all' attitude about it and her refusal to wear her mask most of the time.

''Oh, thank you then'' Price accepted the lollipop and both unwrapped them as they walked to the exit. ''I'm glad I was still around to come with you. I bet if Ghost, Soap and Gaz had arrived sooner from the drill with the rookies they would have been happy to accompany you''

Christine hummed quietly, enjoying the lollipop, but when he finished talking she looked up at him.

''They were already back when I asked you''

Price opened the door for her, and stared at her hair as she stepped out. She had gone to him, for support and safety, even when she could have chosen any of the other Sergeants or Ghost. Price was well aware of the something brewing between the Lieutenant and her, and that her and Soap were practically siblings, and that Gaz and her were thick as thieves too... but still, she had sought him out instead of them... His heart swelled.

''Alright, sunshine'' Price ruffled her hair playfully, grinning when she protested. ''I think we've earned a coffee. Let's go find the rest of the muppets. My treat''