#im simply reduced to. making. noises.

[kombuuuu]

miles deflecting is so GOOD he makes me ILL!!!!!! i love ur writing <3 do u think we cld have like a short continuation 4 it?

Deflecting on you.

42!Miles Morales x Fem!Reader

“Would you hurt me?” “Never again.”

continuation to this C:

im infecting people with the 42!Miles propaganda cough cough 🗣️ ly2 pookie (also this is definitely not short)

A few days had passed now, and Miles had stayed his previous level of civil, bordering caring, with you.

He wasn’t glad with how easy he had let the two other kids get off. But when they were reduced to cowering forms in darkened corners whenever he was around, it brought a pinch of justice, pride to his chest. Although, James had a rather decent punishment, in his opinion.

Word had gone around that he’d gone insane, smashed his head against a desk in an old , deserted classroom until he’d passed out. Mangled his own skull, intended to stab someone, but couldn’t get up from the damage to his own self.

A tip to the cops surveying the scene, and the rumour was spread a little wider.

He had been wary with you, from the moment you both sat staring at the city life below you, in his bed.

In his room, his house with his Ma just outside. The domesticity of the moment making the ache in his lungs suffocate his heart. Squeezing and pumping out as much blood as it could, heart rate trying to keep up with the lack of air.

He’d thought back to it too often in the mere days since occurrence for him to simply brush it off, but he sure tried.

—

He tapped the rubber of his pencil along his desk, staring at the page below him. The words being said had been drowned out by his racing mind, something he fully knows would get him in trouble eventually for “lack of effort”. But it was maths, there wasn’t a single thing being told that he didn’t already know.

What had his current attention, was the faint sketch of you on his gridded paper. He hadn’t meant to draw it, he’d just—, spaces out and it was there when he snapped back.

Now he was at a standstill with himself, use the currently tapping eraser to get rid of the drawing, or live with the faint lines hidden between pages. It was obvious, rub it out. But the thing, the most difficult aspect—,

—Was how utterly gorgeous the drawing was.

How your hair framed the page, the shape of your eyes being shaded in led. The soft look you’d given him that night being practically pulled from his mind and placed on the cheap paper. He’d recreated it perfectly, he could feel the apprehension, the uncertainty.

But despite how bitter those words sounded, uncertainty was still consideration.

You were considering him. Not as an enemy, or a nuisance — as a stranger.

You can get to know a stranger.

You can get to know him.

Miles closed his eyes and groaned under his breath, rolling eyes at the hope rising in the back of his neck.

He flicked to the next page, promising to never open to it again.

If it ended up cut out of his book, folded neatly and stuffed in the hidden latch of his desk drawer, no one but him would know.

—

You hadn’t forgive him, of course you hadn’t — you’re not that naïve.

He hurt you, cause you an entire season of torment, sleepless night and stress filled days.

You tried to stay quiet, like you always had. Passing by crowds unnoticed and surfing under the noise with a cotton stuffed ear.

And he’d started a ruining of that.

Trying not to draw attention to yourself, despite him so clearly trying to put you in spotlight.

This whole ordeal was a domino effect from that damn kaleidoscope, and he was just another finger flicking the next tile.

Until he wasn’t.

And he’d near killed a man for you. Taken care of you, feared for your life.

He’d found you, from nothing but a gut feeling.

The way he would stare now, was less vindictive. His gaze no longer that of anger but of a man conflicted. Like he couldn’t tell what to think of you.

You lay over your ruffled sheets, quilt and bedding under you to not overheat yourself. You window was wide open, airing out your humid room. The soft sway of leaves sprouting from the vines crawling over your building was pleasant. Digging their roots in the crevices of your window sill like Miles had been digging into the crevices of your mind.

You put a hand over your head, stretching your back up and listening the the crack that came from it.

Dropping back down and huffing, you continued to watch your ceiling in mild disinterest, trying desperately to reach the essence of sleep, and let the way Miles’ lips curled into a smirk fall from your mind.

He hadn’t realised it, but his small rebuttal to your teasing that night in his room had made a permanent statement in your head, no longer able to forget about it.

“No, just you —,” Your mind hadn’t cared to supply the rest.

Every single thing about that scarring night had burned its way into your temporal lobe. Like giving it a searing kiss with memory stained lipstick.

A small clicking had caught your attention, like fingernails tapping glass. The clinks were rhythmic, had the coordination of a spiders legs.

Your focus on the plain ceiling was now broken, a curiosity replacing it.

You approached the open window without caution, Moonlight spilling through the glossy panes. Placing your hands on the sill, you leaned forward, and felt the small rush of wind over your shoulders, the breeze cooling your heated face. An urge to close your eyes and take it in almost over-reigned that new curiosity, but your self preservation thought better of it. Checking left and right either side as if someone was going to be waiting right there for you. Because that was a completely rational and not at all ludicrous thought. You scoffed to yourself, glancing at the skyline with glistening eyes before turning and heading back inside, to finally — maybe, fall asleep.

—

Miles released a quiet breath, braids swaying from his suspended position hanging from a rooftop. Your rooftop, of your building—.. Where he was watching you. It was coincidence, really. That somehow, running from guys he stole a cure his Momma needed for a patient from. And when grappling from building to building, using clips and hooks and zip lines to get away from them, he’d stumbled into your street.

He’d lie to himself and say it was just the street his Ma’s favourite Paella was made, but the one time he’d seen you, exhausted from school—, drag yourself into an apartment across the street from that very place..

His opinion hadn’t changed, so to speak. But there was an added motive, that’s it.

And he’s hiding, it’s not his fault if your apartment is high up. Or his need to see you is growing at alarming rates, or his heart was beating so loud in his ears that he hadn’t heard you approach the window.

So when your fingers had softly scraped along the sill of your window, he’d pulled himself above you — and prayed you wouldn’t look up.

You hadn’t, thankfully.

He’d watched the way your skin had shone under the city lights, your features illuminated and accentuated by the chaos the streets. You were so unbothered—, so calm, even amidst everything he (and everyone else) had put you through.

Like a stubborn stone keeping the whole wall from collapsing.

His admiration for you had grown, not only from the past months — which he realises is slightly sadistic — but from your tenderness that had only lasted mere minutes. Even the glimpse of a softer you, not the one covered in a satiated rage, hands squeezing lemons until the bitterness dripped not from the fruit broken skin, but from your own. The sting of acid only making your bloodied finger feel more justified.

Not that.

What he saw was a woman free of woes, no need to split her skin when her heart was already so vulnerable.

And he craved for a mere glimpse of that again.

Like old, your anger had satisfied him. Gave him those doses of you he’d fiend for, and had excited him to no end. Now, he’s found something stronger.

He can’t let you go.

He watches you scoff at yourself, his mask retracting from his face. You look towards the city’s edge one last time before turning and making your way back inside.

He sighs, adjusting his position on the buildings ledge, and grabs the waterspout running the side of the building, crawling back to the shadows.

His claws clink, like nails tapping glass.

—

There wasn’t a day of peace in the last fortnight.

You were still suffering the effects of your previous injuries. People knowing that something had gone down between you and James, seeing as he hadn’t showed up in two weeks. And the near-healed bruises on your face were a well indicator of your involvement.

So when you stumbled upon Keith, someone you’d basically owed your still-intact-body too, scrambling out of an alley. Bloodied and bruised, nose broken and face almost as busted as your was that day. Safe to say you weren’t exactly confused to what was happening.

He looked up, eyes meeting yours almost eerily fast, the blood from his nose coating his teeth a deep crimson. A sick chill ran down your spine and you stumbled back. A wet gasp for breath was heard, diverting your attention towards its gruesome origin.

Turning your body towards the darkened alley, vision blurring at the edges. Your breath escaped you.

Keith had started speaking, and over the ringing in your ears he’d begged for your forgiveness, scraping his knees while he clawed to get away from his friends continuous spluttered coughing.

“What—..”

Mathew was lying on the floor, avidly trying to protect himself using only his bare hands. While a figure you could only see the back of punched in a strict, repeated pattern — like they’d done this before.

“Miles?”

The man whipped his head towards you, blood dripping down a cut on his cheekbone, and a snarl over his face.

Said contortion quickly smoothened out, a rather *confronted look replacing it.

Keith was long gone by now, having dragged his bloodied body away from whatever mess you were now a part of.

“Chiquita, don’t freak out.”

The way your lungs seemed to refuse oxygen kind of refuted that command.

You were frozen still, eyes stuck on the barely conscious body beneath the subject of your recent intrigue.

Mathew was barely recognisable, eyes puffed up in bruises and bloodied flesh. Miles had taken near no damage compared to the other men.

“[Name], c’mon.” He was getting up now, shuffling off his opponent with a tone of apprehension.

Only when his movement shifted your frozen eyes, did you see the key details you’d missed.

Braids, Nikes, Jacket, Collar, Claws.

A spray painted logo you’d only ever seen one man branding.

The Prowler.

"No te precipites, Ma."

“Don’t act rash, Ma.”

Right as the endearment left his mouth, you turned on your heel and ran.

"[Name], Por dios — quedate aquí."

“[Name]! Oh my god — stay there.”

He waved nonchalantly to the definitely not-going-anywhere boy on the floor. Shifting his foot back and jumping at a wall, claws digging in and gripping the ledge to the roof, swinging himself over it and keeping the momentum in a run.

Darting through corner stalls and confused pedestrians, you tripped over yourself to get away.

A strong, persistent mantra of ‘Holy fuck.’ was circling through the forefront of your mind, and yet everything else was hyper aware.

Not a fault in your step as your grace seemed to come out in times of dire panic, like a dancer following their cues, every movement made around you was an instructors yell.

You turned into the alley leading to your apartment, a shortcut, when you heard someone drop down behind you. You spun around, fast enough to dizzy yourself, and gave one look to the neon mask of the vigilante before going to run again. A small noise of panic escaped your shaking form.

“No corras, por favor!”

“Don’t run, please!”

Your heart beat fast, reaching the door to your apartment complex, swiping your key card and launching yourself inside, the scuffle of shoes being heard just outside the slammed shut door.

“Please, [Name], let me in. We can talk this out, Ma.”

Miles begged, knocking on the complexs’ back door.

"They were gonna jump you, [Name].”

“I don’t believe you.”

Your voice came out shaking, confused and *scared. You’d known he’d been capable of violence. It was adamant in the way he wouldn’t flinch at a hit, or the scars that coated his exposed skin.

But this? A man who’s killed people? Who was going to do it again had you not been a witness.

��I—“ You whined, voice giving out and tears finally breaking the surface of your waterline. “I’ve seen you—,” The back of your head hit the metal door and you sobbed silently. “,—On the news.”

Outside the thin steel, Miles sighed, guilt weighing his chest down heavy. He got sloppy, and paid the price. His anger, rage toward these men. And what they’d planned to do to you — he’d say it was justified. You’d say it was monstrous.

“You kill people, Miles.”

His heart broke at the tone of your voice, the quiet sniffles and shortened sobs. The way your voice cracked and broke under the pressure of your open heart.

“Ma, I—“

“I don’t wan’ hear it.”

His hands rest on the cooled metal, forehead pressing against it as he sighed.

“Please let me in.”

“I can’t.”

“[Name]. Chiquita, por favor.”

He’d begged, ready to get on his knees and stand out in the 40° (104°) heat, and wait until you opened the door. Even if it took days.

Although,

“I’ll break in.”

“Wha—,” you cut yourself off in a sobbing laugh, rubbing at your tear tracked face. “Miles, That’s not a very good bargaining chip.”

He smiled, closing his eyes and loving the sweetened tone you held. You weren’t scared of him, you were scared of the Prowler.

“‘Made you laugh.”

His accent thickened over the words, dragging them out in a rasping hush. Something only for you to hear.

Your resolve was breaking, lungs slowing to a calmed lull as the adrenaline left your body. You didn’t break though— couldn’t.

“I can’t—,” You looked to the ceiling of your apartment’s ground floor, standing in an empty back room. “,—You’re not good, Miles.”

“You helped them, before.” Your brows furrowed, not of anger, but of betrayed desperation.

“You.. You just watched—“

“I know, baby, I know.”

He opened his eyes again, staring at the door like it had attacked you.

“Go upstairs, yeah?”

“Why—“

“Just go on, Ma.”

You huffed out a slow breath, fight draining from your being. You wanted to yell, to scream at him how wrong of a man he was. How he couldn’t risk everything he had for you, not now. Not as the estranged people you were.

You wanted to show the anger you never could, reach that brink of anguish until you’d finally given him what he’d wanted since your moment of meeting. But he no longer wanted that.

He’d always wanted you to break, now he just wants you.

“Okay.” You were breathless and tired, coerced.

He lifted his head quickly, hands splayed against cooled metal curling into fists, an excitement running through him like that of a promise.

—

A minute later you were opening the door to your apartment, and locking it behind you. Anxiously making your way to your bedroom, worried to see what was inside, When you stepped inside, you weren't exactly surprised when your eyes landed on Miles' face, what had surprised you though — was that he was hanging off your window sill with a sheepish smile on his face.

"Now will you let me in?" His voice muffled through the glass and you breathed out a quick gasp, "You— Miles, get down!"

"Down?" He smirked, letting one of his hands drop from the wooden sill. "Oh my god!"

You rushed towards your window, discarding your phone on your bed carelessly. You slid your window up, as Miles laughed, swaying from his one hand. "Jesus Miles— are you trying to kill yourself?!"

He crawled through and you grabbed his free hand, dragging him inside. "Get—.. get." Giving up on your scolding half way through, you quickly ushered him towards your bed and turned to close your window.

"When you said 'Go up.' I didn't think yo—"

"I'm sorry.'

Your hands were left floating above your windowsill, shaking in still air. Miles had come up behind you, hands resting over your hips, toying with the hem of your shirt. His face lowered towards your ear voice dipping with it.

"I know you're mad— hate me, all that. 'S okay. I know—,"

He slowly moved his arms further around your waist, watching your breath hitch and the feel of your pulse under the blow of his breath.

",—And I'm sorry."

"I don't hate you."

"You don't hate anyone."

You relaxed into his hold, tears brimming forth again.

"You keep—" "Scaring you." "Yeah." He dragged his left hand down, trailing his fingers over the skin of your arms and watching as the bumps rose along your flesh. You were entrancing.

"Are you scared now, Mami?" He grabbed your wrist in a gentle hold, swiping his bloodied thumb over your smooth skin. Your hand twitched, and his thumb stopped.

"No." You flipped your hand into his, linking your fingers together, careful to not agitate his bruises.

"Would you hurt me?" He reciprocated, closing his fist over your own, the flick of pain felt like nothing— not when the aching in his chest was finally being calmed.

"Never again."

—

DUDE MY PHONE IS FUCKING BROKEN LOLLL

no ending image today im on my laptop (fucking cries)

translator (bbg) @sataraxia

taglist!! @red-riot-rat , @stvrfir3 , @erensbbg , @umawooma , @wisteriaflowersss , @inejsknifes , @meowsannie , @manduse , @rainy-darling , @riya1161 , @key-zee , @toasttew , @em711 , @starsval , @gemma42 , @lovelymiaablogs

[kiwi-on-ice]

ramattra smut...i beg...your tt post made me a robot fucker

Ramattra x gn!reader

Summary: becoming needy, you go to Ramattra for help but quickly learn the cost of his attention.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: 18+ smut, thigh riding, no use of y/n and no mention of reader anatomy, hair pulling, spanking, condescension, mild degradation.

Notes: first tumblr post! Hope you enjoy, was just a quick one i wrote up about him. Im working on some longer oneshots based on anon requests (and some personal ones lmao)

The urge to drape your body across the lap of malevolent robot was not something you would have thought would be at the top of your priority list, but life always had a funny way of unfolding. Deep in the recesses of a null sector base, surrounded by omnics of all types and models, was a human who couldn’t be touched. You. Walking down the hallway without a care, you pass by several robots who simply avert their gaze, for they know what’ll happen if they touched Ramattra’s pet human.

“Must you constantly interrupt me with your incessant neediness?” comes the reverberating tone of the most feared omnic in the world, as his head tilts to gaze at you. Entering his office, you see him busy with plans of some sort, not that it puts you off. You rest your cheek on his broad shoulder, feeling the cool metal against your cheek as you make a soft noise of affirmation. Something akin to a scoff can be heard escaping him, but his hand places the tablet he was using down before snaking around your waist and pulling you closer. Despite being seated, his form was huge and imposing, a clear dichotomy from your human frame.

“Very well, if you seek to distract me in this way, you will do well to entertain me for my troubles.” He murmurs, resistant to admit that you had been in his thoughts since he’d seen you enter the compound on the surveillance cameras. You smile as his hands grasp your waist and lift you as if you were a pile of feathers, before manoeuvring you onto his thigh. Tilting your head, you make a soft noise of confusion, clearly expecting to straddle his lap like you usually do, but he squeezes your waist gently.

“I said I wanted you to entertain me pet.” He says, his amusement clear in his tone, “So that is what you’ll do.”

His fingers trace under your shirt, the chilled metal causing a shiver to dance up your spine. He runs them up and down your sides, as if mapping out your frame in his database. You can’t help but jerk your hips forward at his touches, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself. The soft material of the scarf wrapped around his neck grounds you as you look at his blank faceplate. A slight nod of his head gives you permission to keep going, grinding against his thigh leisurely. The feeling was almost a gentle sort of pleasure, a soft caress of your carnal need for him as your hips drag over and over.

“Truly remarkable, how such an animalistic and pathetic motion can reduce a human like you to this.” His condescension was heavy in his voice, a hand creeping into your hair and tangling into the locks. When you rock your hips forward, he tugs softly at first, the blend of sensation making you almost dizzy. “Is a little bit of friction truly all you need to start whimpering like a true pet hm?”

Gasping softly, you nod as best you can with his grip in your hair as you keep going, dragging your heat over him. His other hand remains firmly on your hip, digging into your skin over your clothes. A knock on the door causes heat to rush to your cheeks, however Ramattra doesn’t stop the controlling hand moving your hips.

“Busy.” He yells out curtly, not wanting to stop the show you’re oh so eager to provide for him. Praying whoever was at the door takes the hint, he tugs at your hair more firmly to elicit a louder whimper to escape your parted lips. You can hear the slight whirl of his internal fan start, a sign he’s starting to become restless and desperate…not that he’d ever use such a pathetic word, a word reserved just for you.

He pushes you off him abruptly, not giving you time to ask any questions before he roughly removes the bottom half of your clothes, groping at your aroused heat and causing you to moan out and chase the pleasure. Instead, he laughs mockingly, deep and resonant before pulling his hand away and settling you back on his thigh. The lack of barriers makes the sensation more intense as you start to hurriedly grind again, unfocused.

“So desperate.” He tuts, moving both hands to your hips and forcing a steadier pace. Digging his fingers in, the slight pain mixes with the pleasure to create a whirlwind of intensity in your whole body. Control radiated from his large form, every movement of your hips being gifted to you, and he ensured you knew it. You could only stare at his faceplate and moan softly as your omnic lover took over your body without hardly exerting effort.

“Tell me pet, do you like it? Do you like using my thigh for your own perverted pleasure?” he asks rhetorically, but he still barks out a laugh when you nod in agreement. “Of course you do. You humans are controlled by your whorish impulses. I could do anything to you right now, and you’d still come crawling back to me to ease that ache between your legs.”

Despite his harsh words, the slight static that punctuated a few of the syllables lets you know how affected he is by your display of wanton need. Bruises form under the tight grip of his fingers as he pushes and pulls you, before he starts to slowly bounce his thigh to compound the pleasure you’re receiving. All you can do is whine and take what he gives you, moving over and over until your vision goes fuzzy.

A loud slap rings out and your body jolts, having felt his hand strike your ass. Another one follows in quick succession, the sting causing you to throb with need. You need more of him, more of his touch, but he denies you.

“No. You wanted my attention so that is what you are getting. Do not be greedy.” He reprimands, and you realise you’ll have to finish on his thigh or not at all.

He grips your hair once more, tugging so your neck is bared for him. He can see in that moment why humans are so enraptured with the idea of biting, as the thought of sinking teeth into your lovely vulnerable neck does cause his inner machinery to whirl a little louder than normal. With the rocking of your hips controlled by his firm grip, and the sharp pain from the hair pulling was causing you to hurtle closer and closer to the edge, your moans getting more breathy and uneven.

“There we are, getting close little one?” he asks, his gaze firmly upon your facial expressions. He had always been fascinated by the way your face would contort and relax when different stimuli were applied, how he could read your emotions without you uttering a word. It didn’t surprise him when you nodded, causing his thigh to bounce more firmly.

“Fascinating, well give me what I want then, human.” He demands, giving you permission to cum. He spanks you once more, his hand coming back and moving your hips roughly over him. It only takes a few more moments before you’re cumming hard over his thigh, your hips stuttering as the pleasure bursts. You take a few heaving breaths as your movements slow, Ramattra’s harsh grip on your hair relaxing to a gentler caress. You slump against him, his body now warm from his inner machinery heating up.

“Satisfied pet?” he asks, his fingers twirling your strands. Once you confirm that you are, he hums softly. “You do make rather pleasant noises for a human.”

You can’t help but laugh softly at his comment, sweet by his standards. His other hand rests on your hips, soothing the bruises he left from his harsh hold. In this moment, it’s like his walls lower as he allows himself to remain present with you. You relax against him, breathing softly. Regardless of anything else, you know that you’re his, his human. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[hearted-anon]

Mr Rich Man

Words: 1075

Notes: for @hi-im-1niki1-minaj333mwah love you <3

T/w: none, all soft tickling

Lee: Know

Ler(s): Jisung and Felix

Lee Know sighed beside the brownie boy as the beeps of the recording sounded throughout the dorms, failing to get the steps to this Tiktok again. Felix snickered beside him, trying his utmost best to get him to at least like the music in the background, but it was much more difficult than it seemed. After all, who would like this stupid annoying cat song continuously playing in his ears like a cartoon intro?

Jisung frowned behind the camera as his head cracked for ways to make this more enjoyable than it was, watching the cats struggle in front of him as their moves went out of coordination, their aegyo would feel too forced or they just simply forgot to start on time. Humming in thought, he eventually settled for faking some funny scenarios from the top of his head.

Right in the middle of their filming.

Abruptly, their moves paused as they watched the quokka pretend to fence in the background, before bursting into laughter. Their backs bended forwards as their fists clenched trying to hold in their laughter, reaching for the pause button to end their embarrassing bout of laughter. But as Jisung aided them in ending another failed shot, he noticed Felix’s eyes settled on Minho’s through his chuckles.

“W-What?” Lee Know got out through ragged breaths, noticing two pairs of sunshine-like eyes boring into him, sending a shiver of anxiety down his spine. Was he not meant to laugh? Had he done something wrong yet again?

“I want to hear that laugh again, come here hyung!” Felix yelled like a war cry before pouncing onto the older kitten, securing his place on his thighs. He craved- no, needed, that rich laughter he swore that could heal all his wounds immediately. Jisung, as curious as he was, waddled over to the duo where a very feisty cat was struggling to push the brownie boy off; he had his mind set on that goal and was going to achieve it, no. matter. what.

“G-Get away from ME! F-Fehehelix!” Minho shrieked, before fingers descended onto his stomach, tensed up into a row of abs that were practically begging to be wrecked. Squeezing and poking along the muscles softly, the Aussie’s eyes widened at the precious laughter and soft giggles that poured from the cat’s mouth, more than adoring it. Han eventually made his way over, squeezing his fingers into the oldest of the trio’s neck to wiggle and gently scribble along it.

“So cute! Why haven’t you told us you can laugh like this?!” Jisung fawned, eyes softening in love for the older’s laugh, deep and almost like it was rich in love and everything he could ever look for in life; the sunshine duo definitely planned on doing this more often. Meanwhile, the poor dancer was unable to find a singular exit out, cheeks beginning to redden under the continuous soft tickles.

“S-Stahahap it! Yohohou brahahats- eheheh!” Minho whined, covering up his stomach while his shoulders glued themselves to his ears. However, the sunshines simply opted for finding other spots to torment, Lix’s tiny fingers worming themselves through the kitten’s arms to his sides, poking and scratching the area ever so gently. Jisung scratched at the nape of his neck, blowing cold air into his ear to earn a hiccup.

“Nah ah ah~ That laughter is too cute to stop just yet~” Jisung taunted, whispering right into the oldest’s sensitive ears to watch them burn a bright red. They watched as if they were in love with the cat they had caught with all the noises they were hearing, the usually stoic cat now reduced to heaps of sweet, almost sugary giggles as they would put it; they were addicted to it and would never not be able to get enough of it.

“We aren’t brats, we love you hyung~” Felix cooed, leaning down to nuzzle his head against the oldest, earning a panicked snort. Just like that, they both froze in their tracks, staring down at the reddening dancer. It was rare to ever see him blush this hard under anyone younger than him, usually only giving into his fate when a sneaky leader would come to hunt him down; which more than often he avoided.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Lee Know barked, almost…upset that they stopped. A pout began to form on his lower lip, brows furrowing before his fists tugged and pulled at the Aussie’s fingers on his sides, which had completely frozen from the pig-like snort. Jisung too, had quit his gentle yet torturous assault on the poor boy, making him take his tantrum even further. As if they could read his mind, the sunshines smirked towards each other telepathically.

“You want us to continue?” Jisung chimed, with a knowing smile on his face. Although Minho knew they were genuinely trying to reassure him of his boundaries; they knew how sensitive and upset the cat could be when his boundaries were overstepped, he continued to pout, feeling his heart sink when the fingers refused to move. Taking in a deep sigh, Felix pinched up and down his sides once more, earning another adorable snort when Han massaged his shoulder blades.

“Ahahah- I-It tickles!” Minho whimpered, stamping his feet onto the wooden floor in a futile attempt to relieve the joyous sensations he loved so much. The sunshines hearts melted at this, what wasn’t to like about a grumpy cat being cheered up with smiles, snorts and giggles?! Leaning in, their heads clashed slightly as they nuzzled around in the oldest’s neck, pulling him to sit up to allow easier access.

“Really? How much from 1 to 10?” Felix teased with a soft smile.

“Are you happy now hyung?” Jisung inquired with a dimpled grin.

“Tehehehen! Y-Yehehes! Eek!” Minho could just feel his face practically being set on fire, the tender fingers that made sure his body was handled as if made of glass melting his entire mind; he couldn’t even register those words into his puddle of a brain that whatever the sunshines were spewing were meant to fluster him. Seeing that they have very much killed their hyung’s ability to think, both Jisung and Felix let up, rubbing at his chest and back in soothing circles as the cat laid still, only that same, deep, rich and happy laughter flowing from his mouth mindlessly.

“How about we try that Tiktok again now that you’re smiling hyung?”

[the1975attheirverybest]

A/N: because men need to be more vocal.

Warnings: smut.

————

The air in the room was hot. Matty’s skin felt hot like fire. His hair cascaded around his face, the curls stretching, like a spring, heavy with beads of sweat and dripping onto his body. The only sounds they made were Matty’s cuffed wrists pulling against the headboard, and the wet, filthy clicking sound of her hand, pumping his lubed up cock, working every ridge and inch of skin, watching him with greedy eyes as wave after wave of pleasure hit him.

Matty leaned backwards, resting his head against the headboard. His face and neck flushed, he breathed rapidly. He jolted, startled by the sudden gentle touch of her hand when she placed it over his taut abs; she simply wanted to feel him clench and tighten whenever she edged and denied him another orgasm, smiling to herself when she felt his body contract under her hand.

Matty whispered a strangled “please” that felt like it was ripped from the back of his throat.

“What was that, honey?” Feigning ignorance, she instantly let go of him, watching as his dick twitched against his stomach, his toes curling, his pretty, pink lips swollen. He managed to hold off on cumming, but the pain was agonizing.

He whined pathetically, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for the worst of the pain to subside.

“What’s the matter, baby?” She smiled, a hint of scorn in her voice.

Matty looked up at her, wide-eyed, thought it could’ve simply been his dismayed pupils. “Need to- to cum.”

She leaned closer, propped up with her hands on either side of him. “Then beg.”

“Please” Matty blurted out almost reflexively.

She sighed dramatically in mock-relief, shaking her head. “Oh, Matty. You don’t get it do you.”

He felt her hand wrap around him again causing him to jump, and yank on his restraints.

“Holy- fuck! Ow.”

Her hand picked up its pace, and so did Matty’s breathing.

“I want to hear you, Matty. I want you to make me believe that you really needed it. This mousy whispering? Not gonna get you anywhere tonight.”

“Wha-what do you- fuck! Ah!- what do you mean?”

“Matty, baby, I don’t think you realize-“

“Ah- okay- stop stop stop! IM gonna cum.”

She moved withdrew her hand just in time. “I don’t think you realize how hot your moans are.”

Matty’s eyes widened. He was sure that if his face weren’t already flushed, he’d be blushing right now.

“When you call out my name? When you feel so good that you’re moaning into my ear?” She decided he’d had enough of a break and resumed her torturous edging. “The pretty noises that you make? The sound of your voice?”

“Ahhha- please- darling, I’m so close it won’t take much…”

“Tell me how good I make you feel. Make me hear it. And if you do a good enough job, maybe I’ll let you cum.” She gave him a quick peck. “Here I’ll even help you along.” She tugged on him gently.

“Fuckkk!!” Matty cried out, the veins of his neck visible.

“That’s it, honey. Go on…”

He swallowed harshly. “Uhhh…p-please, babe, please. I- I need it. Please let me cum? Hmm? It’s - it’s just- hurts so good. And I’m so, fuckin sensitive. I- can’t. You feel so good. You-“ Matty could no longer remember what he’d intended to say, nor would he be able to say it even if he did. She’d reduced him to a string of incoherent moans and broken pleas. He writhed, his cuffs rattling, every curve and crevice of his sculpted body tensing; his inked skin glistening with sweat.

“Ple- ohhhh, fuck! Fuck! Shit!— please” he yelled out.

“Music to my ears.” She smiled. “Go on, Matty. Cum for me.”

“Really?” The shock in his eyes was endearing. “Yes, baby, really. Go ahead, let go.”

“Ohhh thank you- thank-“ before the word was out of his mouth, his orgasm hit him, and he felt it from his head to his toes.

She watched, in awe, her lips slightly parted as his legs shook and he made the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard before his body had finally had enough, and went limp against the bed.

“My love.” She kissed his damp forehead. “Did so good.”

“Yeah? I was good?”

She watched him attempt to swallow.

“You screamed. Like actually. Must be thirsty.” Bringing a glass of water to his lips. “Have a sip.”

“Can I please- cig?” He was still breathless but she knew he was probably thinking more about that cigarette than he was about untying his wrists.

“Sure,” she plucked a cigarette out of the packet, lighting it up for him between her lips.

“Here.”

Matty smiled. “I love you.” Still out of breath.

[itsseohannbin]

Hannji Rambles / Another Life Update

hiiii Pookies!!

Hope everyone is doing well and taking care of themselves!!!

I'm just popping in with a quick life update (cause apparently I'm having a lot of those lately) to kind of let everyone know what's been going on lately.

I know I said a couple weeks ago that I was ready to come back to tumblr and begin posting again, and I am, however, there's been a bit of a change of plans in regards to me starting up my writing/posting fics again.

Because I have been put on a temporary stress leave by my family doctor for the next couple weeks, I'm trying to reduce the amount of stress/triggers in my life until my next appointment, where I will be reassessed to determine if I'm fit to go back to work or not. I want to continue writing and posting because writing has always been a strong outlet for me to relieve stress and clear my brain when the noise gets too much, however, I need to make changes to what I will posting in order to help keep my stress levels under control.

SO,

that being said, I will be posting the remaining few parts/chapters of Like A Volcano (for all my Hannie stans out there who are ever so patiently waiting), BUT at this time, I will not be writing/posting a Jisung POV for this fic. I wanted to, and I was super excited to write a part in his pov, but I've been struggling with writing it for the last few months and it's really put a damper on my already not-so-good mental state. Maybe in the future, I will upload a snippet, but since the idea of creating a Jisung POV for LAV is causing more stress than it's worth, it will be put on the backburner for the time being. I AM SORRY FOR THOSE WHO WERE WANTING IT I JUST CANNOT WORK WITH IT RN!

However, the last few parts will be edited/revised and posted in the coming week-ish so I can finally put that fic to rest and start up The Blackened Heart again bc I am so so excited to start writing that again!

In addition to the Jisung POV being scraped (for the time being), I am also putting a halt on the LAV spinoffs I had in the works (Connected, which is the Chan x Jo spin off, and Waiting For Us, which is the Minho x Ash spin off) simply because both of them are causing more tension and stress than necessary.. I don't like it when writing feels like it's becoming a chore, I'd rather write stuff that I'm excited to write and post, and that entire AU series has quickly become the opposite of what I want to do... I will be coming back to them eventually, but as of right now, I need to do what I can to alleviate the amount of distress in my life, and that means putting LAV/Connected/WFU on hold.

I am happy to say I will be continuing my commission for the lovely @bethanysnow that I've been slowly working on while I get back into the swing of things, ((beth baby i am so sorry its taking so long im just really struggling right now so please bear with me :( )) and I'm of course still writing drabbles, fake!text posts, and my OT8 "The L Word" series.

Thank you all for the never-ending support and love I'm still receiving from a lot of you despite my inactiveness. Just know I read every single one of your comments, reblogs, and things that you all tag me in. I am still very much here in spirit, just slowly working my way back up to being a fully functional human being

In the meantime, as some of you may already know, I am starting a small business where I make beaded keychains, rings, lanyards, bracelets and more. Beading has very quickly become a safe haven for me and its very therapeutic to just sit for hours watching tv and making stuff to eventually sell. I am starting up an instagram account specifically for this business called Hannji's Creations, so if you're interested in what I'm making and such, feel free to give me a follow over there. I'm making a lot of SKZ themed stuff, however, I'm also opening up ideas for other kpop groups and other styled collections in general.

Thank you again to everyone who has stuck around and checked in on me these last few months. I know life can be tough sometimes, and lately I'm having a hard time getting back up somedays, but you guys all make it more bearable, so thank you. thank you for your continuous understanding and unconditional love..

You guys are awesome!

can't wait to show you all what's in store!!

Much Love,

Hannji <3

[ladyvladina]

Vladina's mind was slowly fading away, thinking becoming ever more difficult with every thrust. Bit by bit the noble gained confidence as hips came down with more speed and frequency upon the boy's massive girth. The wet noises coming from their union growing ever more obscene. "Ah! S-Shut up! You're my servant...I'll just use you for pleasure whenever I please! Im the one who owns you got it?! You're barely any better than a sex toy!"

Vladina was determined to gain the upper hand, at this pace they would cum together at the very least, she just had to hold on for a bit longer, at least that was her hope. "Eh?....Guh!!" The girl's head shoots back, tongue hangs in the open, eyes nearly rolling back as the boy slams deeper than expected. "I....I cant feel my legs...." All though of winning this contest melted away, limbs now barely holding on to the other for dear life.

"Why....why does this feel so good..." As if struck by a moment of clarity, the sexual high faded slightly. In that moment the girl's desperate mind begins to question how this all came to be. How could she have fallen so low? A proud and feared noble, reduced to a mere plaything for a familiar. Eyes widen as realization dawns on her, even if it is just speculation or the final shreds of her pride looking for an excuse, she has to voice this possibility.

"You....yes...haha....I should have known before.....you did something to me dint you?!" Another sharp gasp, followed by moans of delight interrupt the accusation. The boy was tormenting her chest with impeccable skill and there lie the issue. He was simply too good at this, almost as if his technique was tailored specifically for her. No matter how skilled one was in bed, knowing another's body to such a degree during their first encounter was impossible. "I....I should have known you....you little-"

She dint get to finish yet again as another jolt of pleasure rocks every fiber of the mage's body, something within her breaking for good. Even if she had figured something out, it was too late, she no longer cared. "Ah....ahh you naughty boy....are you trying to make me a mother?...." It was over, mind had given in and all though of breaking free died with it. After all, the though of being made into a mother by him dint entirely displease her.

"Oh fuck it! Just do it! Ruin me! Dye me white with your cum you worthless bastard!" As if driven by lust itself Vladina resumed grinding against Caster with renewed vigor. Matching her partner thrust for thrust, wetness becoming audible as she bucked hips in desperation. "Im...yours....im yours! So please....fuck me! Make me cum! Cum inside me! Ruin me! Break me!!!"

It was not the typical break no, but that was just how it ended up. Often the narrative called for leaving his treasures broken, unthinking messes. But sometimes, a little bit would be allowed to stay. Broken enough that they could not live without him but still keeping something about them he found enjoyable. And as much as he loved the thought of utterly shattering his Master's pride, he'd already more than won against her. She was his, heart and body, and that horrid attitude and defiant spirit would ensure she'd keep her new master thoroughly entertained.

It was this quality that let him allow her to behave and treat him in such a way. Because he knew he could take it all away whenever he wished. She was his now. His treasure. His woman. His property. Even if unspoken, her body would remain honest in that regard.

So he'd continue to reward her for it, arms shifting under her still to grip at her shoulders and really pull her down into each thrust. Precum drooling freely now from the tip as he hammered into the entrance to her womb that, were he not a servant, would be threat enough for the noble's reputation. But things like that hardly mattered. Why worry about anything else when one could just drown in the freedoms of hedonistic pleasure?

Deeper. Rougher. Faster. Pushing forwards toward that perfect climax. Flooding Vladina's body with nothing but the purest physical pleasures. Every weakness would be found and exploited with those nimble fingers and teasing tongue. Her breasts would receive the full brunt of the external. They were her best, most prominent feature and it only made sense to indulge in them. Little nibbles, long, swirling strokes, tugs and teases and gropes, oh he could use these for hours on end. This haughty bitch really was perfectly stacked in every place it mattered.

"Hehe~ Ahh, you should learn to be more honest like your body, Master~" A playful tease amidst their intense rut. "But thats what I like about you. You're so cute when you try to act like you're still in control."

Another kiss. More of her taste, more of giving her his. Let it be the only thing on her mind and let her body remember it thoroughly. A sweetness so addictive and pure on her tongue that she'd have no choice to seek him out whenever her body craved it.

Faster. Faster.

So close now, the pulsing, throbbing pounding of his cock signifying that. Mere moments away from filling his Master and truly making her his. With her legs locked tight about him there was no escape and no intention to pull out from the beginning. The exquisite, luxurious bed beneath them shook with each impact that brought them closer and closer to climax. This was it.

[queenofnohr]

instead of brain there is [indescribable sobbing into my hands]

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 8/30/22

goodbye august (almost)

listening friends at the table is an actual-play ttrpg focused on critical worldbuilding, smart characterization, and fun interactions between good friends. the scifi seasons in particular, counter//weight and partizan, are particularly dear to my heart and have kept me company through some of the worst times of my life. we are going BACK to my favorite setting for the next season, and jack de fucking quidt has done it again with an eerie, experimental...electronica? piece. there's a glitchy guitar bridge. there are my favorite sputnik-style bleeps and bloops. "Permanent Peace" is so ominous as a title. i'm so fucking hype for this season. ty to @bronanlynch for gently bullying me into listening to this podcast (TRAIN GOES BY NOISE) years ago.

-

reading grabbed a random paperback bc i had to do a lot of sitting around and waiting on sunday, and this one has a hell of a concept. unfortunately it is the third book in a series, which took me a while to figure out bc it was printed in the back and not the front. the character introductions are extremely abrupt, which is reasonable for a third book but i have no fucking idea who these people are. if i can track down the first book in the series i'll report back.

-

watching a wide variety of things. i seem to have temporarily burnt myself out on spaghetti westerns due to a string of terrible django ripoffs, so i am filling the void with mediocre action movies. nothing terribly notable except for Dick Tracy (1990, dir Beatty) which was a colorful spectacle and GOD was madonna hot. this dress perplexes me bc im pretty sure there's a way to engineer it so you don't need that uncomfortable looking proto-spaghetti-strap. perhaps by boning the everloving shit out of the bodice and judicious application of fashion tape, but i'm not a costume designer

how'd i come across this: it's been on a horrible awful google keep list with hundreds of entries of movies i want to watch for literal years. i am slowly transferring that list to letterboxd bc unfortunately that site significantly reduces the number of steps it takes for me to watch a movie

-

playing breath of the wild, bc the switch lives on my nightstand and it's easy to pick up and put down. i don't think i've played this game in this house yet. or at least not since i right after i moved? im fucking around in rito trying to finish a couple shrines (killed the hobgoblins or whatever near one shrine thinking that might be the key [no], followed a bunch of fallen pillars in the directions they were pointing [no, but did find a chest], gave up and googled it and the answer was to go back to the main town and listen to a song, and glean from that song that i was supposed to build a fire on the pad at 1230 PM. i would never have arrived at that on my own).

different shrine, walking into this cave was one of the coolest experiences this game has given me. i gasped out loud. i've been looking for this fucking thing for SO long bc it's the last leviathan skeleton i needed for a quest, and coming around that corner and getting to climb all over it? mwah. it's so hazy bc it's that far away!!! this cave is enormous!!! video games good (sometimes).

if i have done my math right (unlikely) there are like fifteen shrines that i have absolutely no fucking clue where they are (not counting the dlc bc i didn't have dlc money when i bought this game and still don't). i am GUESSING at least half are in central hyrule bc i simply have not fucked around in there at All other than unlocking the one memory. i will not be collecting all 900 or whatever korok seeds bc uhhhh fuck that.

-

making cracked open the late seventies stand mixer i bought a month and a half ago to find it is just fucking Full of powdery white mold (not flour. don't @ me). i had previously taken off a bunch of dials to clean them and found mold underneath, went "i don't want to deal with this right now" and stuffed it inside a taped-closed plastic bag. dealing with that now, i'm not confident i can clean it enough, and thinking about completely breaking it down to clean it after every use makes me not want to use it ever, so back to the thrift store it goes. so it goes sometimes, they don't let you take appliances apart in goodwill and i had not previously considered this as a thing to look out for, since modern stand mixers have far, far fewer apertures and openings for shit to get inside.

[egokillr]

manifesting with ocd/ anxiety

a gentle guide to managing your mental health while manifesting your dream life :D

i hope to write this as a motivational guide for those who deal with ocd, any anxiety disorders, and mental health issues in general. i’m going to explain how i dealt with my mental health and the things i experienced on my lil journey. last year when i really got into the law of attraction, my fears intensified and i realized they had always had my life on hold. or “limiting beliefs” as you would call it, but it kind of made me anxious about life and spirituality. etc. after i was diagnosed with ocd, i went down a kind of spiral because i didn’t understand the law of assumption yet and had lingering limiting beliefs that people in the law of attraction community would enforce. i honestly was kind of anxious abt creating my own reality. and, honestly thats okay! it’s completely normal when you come to that big of a spiritual realization. having ocd made intrusive thoughts feel scary for me because it seemed kinda real, knowing that your thoughts create. i also would have obsessions and intrusive thoughts which i would try to fix in my head. it lead me to create “rituals” or compulsions to try to “fix” them. the problem here is that i was trying to fix them when they didnt need to be fixed. your thoughts should not be viewed as “good and bad,” but rather just thoughts. they are nothing without your attention. so why fight them? its kind of like acknowledging that theres an issue when really, they are simply thoughts, so why would i fight with it? when you create an issue with those thoughts, your mind sees it as a threat. the goal is to neutralize that. a mental diet is normally used to manifest the things you want into your life by being selective with your thoughts, and it is extremely helpful. but i was taking some things the wrong way, beating myself up for negative thoughts, etc. i was scared of messing up my manifestations in any way and just felt guilty about my past creations in general. in reality, no one can take your desire away from you once you have it. i realized after pondering the question of how to manifest with ocd efficiently, that circumstances most definitely do not matter, and even that is just another “circumstance.” there is nothing in your way! your assumptions create.

i have realized a few things while bettering my mental health that have helped me understand the law and how to cope with ocd while it lasts.

1. you decide what manifests

your intrusive and anxious thoughts will never manifest if you assume so! i would recommend making that a reminder or affirmation to just know. i also would recommend not using this as a response to intrusive thoughts or anxiety 100% of the time though, bc it acts as kind of a mental compulsion in my opinion.

2. intrusive thoughts are to be treated like background noise

they are nothing without your attention. therefore they are already gone, bc they are nothing and you said so. some of them may be “scary” but really they are nothing more than thoughts until you give them the power to be more. Exposure Response Prevention is the leading form of therapy for OCD and is good for other forms of anxiety as well. it exposes you to the anxious environment while making sure you don’t perform a compulsion to reduce your anxious reaction to it. therefore, lowering your anxious reaction when exposed to the thought. i would recommend looking into it if you are struggling with anxiety on your journey. but if an intrusive thought arises such as “im going to get in a crash” and “oh no what if that manifests and i just die,” try not to respond to it but instead just sit with any anxiety or feeling and let it pass. don’t even give yourself reassurance that it’s okay. it’s not even a “bad” thought so why would you need reassurance? you’ll realize that you’re just the observer and thoughts have no power over you.

3. manifesting good mental health

this is optional!! you can always work through it the therapeutic way or both! i find that doing a bit of both helps me a lot. sometimes when things are difficult you may need the extra help. thats still you manifesting better mental health! its all you helping yourself. you can always have assumptions such as “i have no intrusive thoughts” or “i have the perfect mindset” and yes, it’ll come true. but regardless, no thoughts can ever effect you until you give them the power to, and you should always have that in mind. negative and intrusive thoughts are not the problem. the reaction to them is what causes the anxiety. i’m so glad you can manifest better mental health/ mindset, it really helps speed up the process.

5. affirmations to start your day :D

i find that reminding myself everyday of these affirmations help me to stay more calm. these are just what im comfortable with so you can always adjust them for yourself!

- i am always safe in my own energy

- no doubt or fear can even touch my power

- i love myself unconditionally

- i am in control

- negative and intrusive thoughts never manifest

- i am naturally a positive person with positive experiences

- i am confident in everything that i do

- i have the perfect manifesting mindset

6. calming resources!

if you ever are to experience a spiral, it’s always okay. the key is self-compassion, and remembering that you can change anything whenever you want too. you don’t have to manifest 100% of the time. take your mind off the event and onto yourself and your wellbeing first. you are your first priority!

- controlled breathing

this will help you anytime and anywhere! breathing through the esophagus (stomach) helps relieve anxiety. i would recommend taking a few deep breaths to just be and set everything else aside. you can look into meditation practices or breath work to get into a more relaxed state as well c:

- journaling

if you need to vent or are overthinking, this is a great outlet for releasing thoughts. write down anything u want! nothing can affect your manifestation if you assume so. journaling will really help you become more comfortable with yourself as well as improving your mental health.

- subliminals and affirmations

remind yourself that you are god and you can change literally anything! there are lots of subliminals for relaxation if you don’t feel like affirming.

- text lines, hotlines and therapy

sometimes we need help and das okay c:

a really good website for finding therapists in your area - psychologytoday.com

and if you ever need a crisis hotline, just look up the crisis hotline in your country and there should be an option to text or call.

that’s basically all i’ve noted based off of therapeutic research and just personal realizations. you don’t have to do any of these things and can still manifest! if you have anything to add to this, please let me know. i haven’t seen many posts about ocd and manifesting, so i hope this will help anyone who is wondering the same. always do what works for you. regardless of anything, you are god! i believe in all of you c:

[bokugaos]

CAN I, MRS KUROO, RESERVE BELLE’S PRIVATE ROOM WITH MY HUSBAND KUROO TETSUROU? 👻❤️

I want some pet play with Tetsu-nii pls 🥲❤️😳

HI BABE LOML (ɔˆз(ˆ⌣ˆc) i literally CAN’T FUCKING WAIT UNTIL FEBRUARY 14TH and pls u know what tf im talking about 💋 💋

private room: stepcest + pet play ⤳ tetsu-nii x catgirl!reader ♡

belle and ria’s 2k event!~

“Aw, kitten, how long have you been waiting?”

The amount of effort it takes for you to focus on his words is… surprising, perhaps a bit alarming, but you soon forget about that, when his slick fingers dip between your parted thighs and sweep along your pussy lips. Just long enough for you to moan once and try to spread yourself even wider, before he leaves off, trailing his hand up your spine and burying it in your hair.

You whimper pitifully and rub your nose along his thigh in silent supplication, but he only strokes you, rubbing your skin and makes soothing noises.

“You just want to be petted,” he notes after a moment and continues, “Wouldn’t it be better if you find something else to do?”

You doubt that. If anything, you want to mewl pathetically, pleadingly paw at your nii-chan’s legs. You’ve been laying here on the sofa for ages now, nude but for the collar around your neck, your head pillowed on his thigh while he runs his fingers up and down your spine, dirties your freshly washed and dried hair, and teases at your asshole.

“No?” He asks, “You wouldn’t want that?”

He drags his nails down your nape, skips over the collar, and continues between your shoulder blades. You shiver and bury your face in the leg of his dress pants, your hands clawing ineffectually at the sofa. You can’t stop yourself from squirming, arching into his hand when it returns to your bottom to palm your ass cheeks, then slip between them and prod gently at your hole.

Oh. Oh, yes. You bite your lip, whining.

This is what you want. And you want it so badly.

You want him to get you so open and wet that you’re leaking all over the sofa cushions; you want Tetsu-nii to call you perfect again; you want him to haul you up by your collar and make you sit on his cock until you cry.

“I think I know what you want,” Kuroo continues. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you? My good little kitty.”

You feel your toes curl. Your cunt throbs, and you can’t resist wriggling a bit, rubbing against the cushion with a quiet, blissful groan.

“You lovely thing, do you need it that bad?” Kuroo is practically cooing at you. One hand still toying with your asshole, while the other comes to stroke your hair from your forehead. The touch is distinctly reverent. “All right. You’ve been so good. You can have it.”

Oh, please. You bend your knees beneath him, spread your thighs as wide as you can, and finally he eases a finger into you.

It feels filthy, but this is the happiest you’ve been all day.

“Look at me,” Kuroo said.

You do, resting your cheek on his thigh. You want to preen at the expression on his face. Like there is nothing in the world but you, like you’d never ask for anything else again.

He is breathing so heavily he’s nearly panting—his unattended cock bulged prominently in his trousers mere inches from where your head lay—and he’s been reduced to this by just the sight of you.

Your eyelids flutter at the thought. You’d be touching yourself to this memory when nii-chan has to go to work; you’re certain of it.

Time goes hazy for a bit. The sensation of his fingers up your cunt stops feeling sublimely dirty and begins to feel simply sublime. Two fingers become three, plunging into you so deeply that you rock with the motion, shoving your face into his thigh with a throaty sob. Every thrust of his fingers into your hole brings with it an obscene, wet sound that makes you whimper and squirm.

“That’s good,” says Kuroo. He plunges them deep and suddenly curls, and you cry out as your walls throb, wanting more attention on that spot. “Up, now, on your knees.”

Gingerly, you raise yourself to your knees and elbows, then shake with a piteous moan when he moves his fingers out to circle the swollen clit.

“Such a pretty, clever kitty.” Kuroo sounds awed. His hand makes slick sounds as it slides along his own shaft, the perfect complement to the sound of his wet fingers in your hole. “I bet you want to come so badly.”

You do. You are trembling with it. You can’t stop moaning as you continue to twitch and leak in the torturous drawl of an orgasm with every thrust of his fingers.

“Go on, then,” He says, a sweet command that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Overwhelming relief rushes through your body, nearly flooding tears from your eyes. With a cry, you rock your hips in little pulses, fuck yourself on his fingers.

An insufferable bursting orgasm shocks your body. He fingers you so adamantly and you drop your head, spurting onto his hand, dribbling down his wrist and forearm, still pumping you furiously.

[thebigqueer]

hi again ;p thanks for answer my question! so for the fic prompt im using one of my friend's prompts. "au where whatever people say about you appears on your skin. not to nicos surprise, his skin is littered with belittling phrases, “weird, quiet, emo, dark, odd.” when nico wakes up one day, he finds the word “beautiful” in wills messy handwriting." of course you don't have to do this if you don't want to but it'd be really cool if you did ;3

hiiii ahhh thanks for the prompt!! sorry it took so long, i’ve been keeping up with my own personal one-shots but i hope you like this! and, as always: i usually do little to no editing on these, so please don’t be too judgmental when reading through them since they won’t be my best work!

Nico is tired. Tired of the words, the letters, the emotions. He just wishes this entire world didn’t exist. 

They jeer at him all day, all night, every moment of the day. There aren’t a lot of words, but enough to make him frustrated with just a single glance across his arms. 

Not all of them are even that bad, to be honest. They’re merely descriptor words - “emo,” “mysterious,” “cool.” But it’s the way that he knows that people are thinking about him that makes his brain crawl with anxiety. He doesn’t want people thinking about him. 

But he knows that is almost impossible. Even he can’t help but to think about other people, judge them for what they are. It’s strange, really - as much as he hates that other people have opinions on him, he detests even more that he has his own harsh opinions of others. He supposes he can’t really stop them, but he wishes they wouldn’t appear on other people’s bodies. Even if he doesn’t like someone, he wouldn’t want them thinking badly about themselves. 

Nico supposes this is why he tries not to get too attached to people unless he knows he can trust them. He would hate to have his handwriting screaming something harsh on someone else’s body. The amount of guilt would be crushing to him. 

He thinks about this as he lies in bed, watching the sun fall smoothly across his legs. It’s about eleven in the morning, but he just can’t find the will to get up. There’s too much racing in his head, too much noise. 

He sighs and rolls over in his bed, pressing his face into the soft white pillow behind him. Closing his eyes, he tries to think of more calming, anxiety-reducing thoughts, like the flowers that some secret admirer left him on the door step or the trip he has with Will to the library later. He tries not to get too excited about that; if he thinks too much, he’ll start getting his thoughts imprinted onto Will’s skin, and then where would he be?

Nico pops an eye open again, becoming restless in the darkness behind his eyes. For a moment, he simply stares out to the white wall in front, watching it for who knows what. He needs a focal point to keep his thoughts together. 

Then, from the corner of his eye, a faint shimmering appears on his wrist. His skin tingles gently, blooming with an anxious warmth, and dread settles in Nico’s heart. He closes his eyes tight again as the tingling takes over him, marks him with words he never asked for. 

After a few moments, the sensation simmers down, and now Nico knows that he’s been permanently marked with the opinions of someone he doesn’t even want. He groans and shoves his face into his pillow again.

For a little while, Nico’s able to push back his curiosity over what’s been branded over his skin. Dread makes it easy; he doesn’t want to see what kinds of thoughts people may have about him. 

But even then, at the back of his mind, there’s a desire to know, a desire to discover. Something in his heart tells him to look over, just take a quick peak at what the handwriting looks like. 

He does his best to fight against his curiosity. But Nico’s always had a wandering mind; he can’t help himself. He throws his wrist into the sunlight and watches the words come into focus. At the sight of them, his heartbeat skips. 

Beautiful. 

A blush crawls over Nico’s face, spreading over his nose and leaking out to his ears. Someone thinks I’m beautiful? he thinks as a giddiness comes over him. He sits up suddenly to get a closer look at the handwriting, and when he does, shock spills over him. 

It’s familiar. He’s seen it before. Memories of close touches, of warm skin, of soft laughter echo in his mind. He knows who it is. 

Will Solace thinks I’m beautiful. 

[moonflowerlesbians]

I wrote the 10 year anniversary fic

She's short but she’s sweet. Please enjoy.

to be loved a whole life long

Rated T, ~2.6k.

~~~

What is an anniversary, really, if not merely a ploy to indulge in all of the little pleasures one denies on any other day? Saying, “oh, well, we ought to save it for a special occasion.”

And, what, Jamie thinks, is an occasion more special than the day marking the tenth year since she began this beautiful, insane journey with the love of her life. A woman so remarkable that Jamie almost can’t believe she’s real. Almost can’t believe that she can wake up beside the same person every morning, smelling the same fruity shampoo, spend the day working side by side, and still, every night, fall into bed, eager to pull Dani close. Then wake up the following day and do it all again.

It’s a stability Jamie never thought she would have. After years of bouncing from foster family to foster family, Bly was the closest thing to home she’d ever had. Until, that is, these ten, wonderful years with Dani in the flat they share above the little shop that they built from the ground up.

She thinks as much as beams of cozy sunlight filter through the gossamer curtains Dani picked out for their bedroom. She has an arm draped over Dani’s middle, her front to Dani’s back, her hand tracing idle circles on the plane of Dani’s stomach beneath her sleep shirt. Jamie can hear the quiet exhalations puffing against Dani’s wrist, which she’s managed to trap against her cheek. Jamie is certain she’ll be graced with complaints of pins and needles when Dani wakes. Jamie will laugh and offer to massage the numbness away, and Dani will roll her eyes but allow her limb to flop inelegantly into Jamie’s lap.

Jamie props herself up on one elbow, her fingers trailing a path from Dani’s midriff, up her arm, to brush a wayward strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Dani begins to stir as Jamie presses slow lips to the junction of her neck and shoulder, moves to the shell of her ear, her temple, the slender curve of her jaw.

Dani makes a noise low in her throat.

“Ah, there she is,” Jamie hums, her voice, though quiet, still too loud in the morning stillness.

“Thought we w’re gonna sleep in t’day,” Dani sighs, already preparing to nestle deeper into the blankets.

Jamie runs a playful finger down the bridge of Dani’s nose. “Already did that, love. ‘S nearly half nine.”

“F’rgot you get up ‘fore the early birds,” Dani grumbles, “An’thing past six ‘s late for you.”

“The plants wait for no one.”

“They’re plants. ‘S not like they have anywhere to be.”

“You don’t know that. Could have important plant business to attend to.”

Dani, at last, rolls over incredulously. “Like what?”

“Dunno,” Jamie shrugs, “but you’re awake now.”

“You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Mhm,” Jamie chuckles, “happy anniversary, baby.” Their kiss is languid, sleep-heavy. When they break apart, their foreheads still touch.

“Happy anniversary,” Dani whispers, thumb absently caressing Jamie’s cheekbone. Her eyes glimmer with mischief when she meets Jamie’s gaze. “Wouldn’t be opposed to staying in bed all day, though...”

“Need food first.”

Dani huffs. “Fine.”

“Thought we might try the new cafe on the corner of Leeland and Huntley for brunch. Apparently, they’ve got terrific blueberry muffins.”

“And you know this how?”

“Kid and her mum came through the shop the other day. Wee gremlin wouldn’t put the damn thing down,” Jamie gripes. “Got crumbs all over my daffodils.”

“She sounds cute.” Dani sounds almost wistful.

“‘Course you’d think so. Once a teacher, always a teacher.” She waves dismissively. “Or something like that.” Jamie rubs her palms together. “Right, then, up and at ‘em. Those muffins won’t eat themselves.”

“Didn’t realize you were so excited by baked goods.”

“Not the baked goods I’m excited for. I seem to recall mentions of returning to bed after food.”

+++

They are dressed and out the door in record time.

+++

They’ve closed the shop for the day, allowing themselves a brief reprieve from the discord of the wedding season. Every other day, it seems, a new blushing bride parades through their doors, followed by a mother or mother-in-law with a thousand questions and a dozen requests per minute. Jamie enjoys the work, truly. Seeing the delighted relief wash over the room as the arrangement designs are finalized is immensely gratifying. Almost as gratifying as watching her flowers, her precious creations, adorn ballrooms and churches, surrounded by people celebrating life. The joy of being alive.

She feels it now, she thinks, the sheer euphoria of existing. Here, walking down the street, a take-away cup of tea in her hand, with Dani’s arm roped through hers.

They are living on borrowed time, she knows, stark reminders of blue and brown present in every reflection. Every so often, Jamie catches herself longing, pleading for more time. She should be grateful for what the universe has gifted her. But, on days like these, days where the air is right and the sun is warm on her skin, she finds herself wishing for a forever that she cannot have. A forever unpromised to a monster that lurks beneath the most beautiful smile in the world.

She pushes the thought aside. Tomorrow is never promised. All she has is today. And she’ll be damned before she lets it slip away.

+++

They feed the waterfowl in the park with muffin crumbs. There are ducklings this time of year, and Dani’s gleeful cooing, high-pitched and elated, travels across the pond. Dappled shadows drape across her shoulders. Tree branches sway in a gentle breeze, casting a spotted cloak across the scene. Jamie feels the tension drain from her neck.

They sit, side by side, on the swingset, watching the joggers run past, waving at their neighbors and their golden retriever, the couple whose engagement party The Leafling decorated last month. Dani exchanges pleasantries with them all. It’s the Midwesterner in her, she likes to say, amicability is in her blood. Jamie does not understand, but she does her best to nod less than awkwardly while her partner makes smalltalk.

They stop for ice cream on the way home. It is a special occasion, after all, and the balmy June weather provides the perfect excuse to indulge in seldom-savored decadence. One, Jamie decides, they should absolutely partake in more often, if the child-like giddiness Dani expresses over cake batter ice cream is any indication. The crows feet at the corners of her eyes crinkle as she grins, and Jamie thinks she has never looked more lovely.

+++

A trans-Atlantic call to Owen foils their initial plans of baking their own lasagna after Dani lets slip that they weren’t planning to boil the noodles before layering in the sauces.

“For the love of God, please order in. The both of you are im-pasta-ble. It’s like I’ve taught you nothing.”

“That pun was weak, even for you.”

“This is what you’ve reduced me to.”

So, they call in a delivery order to the Italian place down the road. Jamie chivalrously offers to pick it up, and Dani ushers her out of the flat with a vigor that has Jamie raising an eyebrow. But, she simply shrugs and slides into the drivers’ seat of their second-hand pickup. The familiar rumble of the engine is comforting, the crooning of some jazz singer on the radio soothing background noise. Crickets chirp in the early summer evening.

She swings through the grocer to pick up champagne on her way home and juggles the bottle and the takeaway bag of food as she fumbles her key into the lock. Dani opens the door just as she’s about to turn the knob, and Jamie falls forward, Dani catching her by the arm.

“You alright?” Dani asks, but there’s an amused lilt to her voice.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. If you could just take…” Jamie’s mouth goes dry. Her face is level with Dani’s hips, which she has come to realize are covered in a velvety fabric she does not recognize. Her eyes flick up, coming to rest on Dani’s collarbones, the exposed skin of her arms, the accentuated curve of her waist. “You… I… uh….”

“You could’ve knocked, you know. I would’ve let you in.”

“I… yeah, could’ve… knocked.” Jamie realizes she is frozen in the entryway, jaw on the floor, and, in all honesty, cannot bring herself to care. Not when Dani is standing in front of her, clad in a gorgeous purple dress Jamie’s never seen before, her bangs styled to frame her face, while the remainder of her hair is pulled back. Jamie clears her throat. “You, ah, you changed.”

“I did.”

“You, you look…” Jamie searches for the right word, but none seem to encapsulate the overwhelming rush of emotion she feels, looking at the love of her life in the dim light from the bulb in the hallway outside their flat, on the tenth anniversary of the start of life she never thought she would have.

Damn the limitations of this bloody language. She can say “I got absolutely goddamn shitfaced last night” in a hundred different ways, but there is no succinct way to phrase, “I love you so fucking much and you are the most incredible person in the world and I don’t know how I got lucky enough to know you and I could spend the rest of my life holding your hand.”

It seems, at least to Jamie, a grievous failure of linguistic evolution.

“Beautiful,” she settles on, at last. “You’re so beautiful.” It’s not enough. But it will suffice.

“Come on, loverboy,” Dani says, tapping the bottom of Jamie’s chin with a slender index finger before giving a tug on her sleeve. “Food’s getting cold.” She’s blushing, though, a faint tint coloring her chest as she takes one of the plastic bags from Jamie. Jamie, who merely stares at Dani’s retreating silhouette before remembering she’s supposed to follow. She shuts the front door behind her and stumbles into the kitchen, setting the bottle and second bag on the countertop next to the stove.

When she turns around, Dani is in the living room holding a match to two candles set on a ceramic dish on their kitchen island. She’s laid out their nice dinnerware, which, really, consists of the four gold-encircled plates and matching napkin rings they’d found at an antique store in Milwaukee, back when they had been exploring the country Dani called home. A vase of roses is positioned on the coffee table, and it’s evident that Dani arranged them herself, and oh, oh, how Jamie loves her for it.

“Surprise?” Dani says shyly.

Jamie blinks at her. It’s all she can do not to break down. Instead, she settles for taking two bold steps to Dani's side of the counter and kissing her senseless. Dani lets out a squeak of surprise, but quickly relaxes into Jamie’s touch. She’s biting her lip when they separate, Jamie’s twirling the fine hairs at the nape of her neck as she presses their foreheads together.

“Let me change, and we’ll eat, yeah?”

“Sounds good.” Dani’s breathing is an ounce heavier than normal.

Jamie winks slyly, wanders to their bedroom and opens the closet, pulling out the first acceptable outfit she sees. She doesn’t have to change, she knows. Dani could care less whether she’s wearing a three-piece suit or sweatpants. (Though she suspects the suit might have the edge.) She dons a white, three-quarter zip and black slacks, pausing briefly to add a pair of black leather suspenders she knows Dani likes. Something about being easy to grab and pull.

Dani is struggling to uncork the champagne when Jamie returns to the kitchen. Her tongue pokes adorably out of the corner of her mouth, and her soft grunts of frustration are surprisingly endearing.

“Hand it over. Come on, now. Before you put your eye out.”

“I can do it,” Dani protests. “Just. Need to tweak it. A little.”

Jamie takes the opportunity to press against Dani’s back, her arms wrapping around to cover Dani’s hands where they fiddle with the bottle. For a moment, Dani forgets to be cross and reclines her head, resting it on Jamie’s shoulder. She sighs, relinquishing control, and Jamie huffs out a quick laugh. She holds the champagne over the sink to catch the overflow when the bottle pops.

Dani mumbles something about “having loosened it,” which Jamie meets with resolute agreement and a, “‘course you did, baby.”

The lasagne, an Owen-approved non-abomination, has been plated, Dani having evidently done so while Jamie was shucking her dayclothes. She pours them each a healthy flute of champagne and seats herself beside Dani, raising her glass.

She hesitates.

“Wait,” Dani exclaims, hurrying to the hall closet. She rummages for a second, bringing back the Polaroid camera Jamie had given her their first Christmas together. She checks the film, appears satisfied, and balances the device on an upturned colander to set up her shot. She sets the timer and sidles under Jamie’s arm, picking up her champagne flute. “Smile!” Dani beams.

When the image prints, the picture reveals Dani, with the biggest grin Jamie swears she’s ever seen, and Jamie at her side, looking positively smitten. The flash has illuminated the silver streaks in her hair, the lines embedded in her skin. Time has been kind to her, she reminds herself, others are not so lucky. And, in any case, when she looks at this photograph, she will not be looking at herself.

Dani kisses her cheek and moves her keepsake to the coffee table for safety. Too many important documents ruined by spills for her to risk it. She props it gently against the roses. It’s perfect.

Again, Jamie raises her glass. She inspects the contents.

Again, she hesitates. Then, a toast:

“To another ten.”

Silence.

Dani stills, looks at her.

Jamie can see the beginning of an argument forming on the tip of Dani’s tongue, and Jamie holds her stare. It’s a challenge. A dare, even.

They do not often speak of the distant future. Only when it is absolutely necessary do they broach the sensitive topic.

A world-weary smile paints Dani’s lips. Her eyes are burdened, the vivacity present mere seconds ago seemingly having vanished. She is tired. It shows in the slump of her shoulders, the crease of her brow, the way the giddiness of earlier has slunk away, leaving Dani bare-boned and fatigued.

She lifts her glass.

She says nothing.

“I love you,” Jamie murmurs after the faint clink of glass on glass. “So much.”

“Always,” Dani finishes. And Jamie knows she means it.

+++

They embrace beneath the sheets that night, sweat cooling in the dry air. Jamie’s fingers are tangled in blonde waves highlighted with grey. Dani’s breathing has evened out, short puffs tickling Jamie’s sternum, as Jamie contemplates the window over her head.

She has found someone to love, and someone to love her in return. Someone who will stay, even on the bad days. Someone who expects nothing and deserves everything.

Dani is everything Jamie thought she never deserved. Dani is good. Dani is good and exquisite and utterly unbelievable and, god, how Jamie loves her.

She loves waking up beside her every morning, and she loves smelling the same fruity shampoo on the pillow. She loves spending the day working together on the business they built from the dirt up. She loves falling into bed every night and pulling Dani close. Every minute they have together is a gift that Jamie refuses to take for granted.

To another ten years, she thinks, and allows her eyes to close. Dani sighs against her.

[coeurdeviolet]

[ prelude ] melting point.

monsta x || minhyuk x fem!oc || nsfw || ao3 link tba 

like an old scar or a faded tattoo, she was impossible to get rid of. she knew exactly how to get under his skin--- but he’d be damned if he’d let her. 

just a littttttle bit of nsfw at the beginning but otherwise, this one’s pretty tame. i was planning to post my other fic first but this was just a little easier to write--- less moving parts in my brain i guess! anyway, thanks for reading, feel free to shoot me an im or an ask if you feel so inclined! i realized i had to make a new ao3 account for my mx fics so that’ll be coming soon aha okay, hope you enjoy!

He was so close.

Her touch was soft and slow but he could tell that every stroke was methodical. How they ended up like this was beyond him but he wasn’t about to start asking questions.

He’d never been more grateful to be flying first class than he was now. Fully reclined in his flat bed seat, he was completely at his companion’s mercy. All he could do was bite down on his fist to stop himself from making too much noise. The entire cabin was dark save for the overhead light above them and all the other passengers had been blissfully lulled to sleep by the plane’s ambient hum.  

“Oh, Minhyukie,” she cooed, the familiar voice so gentle.

A moan rumbled in his throat as she ran a thumb over the head of his cock, his hips bucking involuntarily. At that, the girl simply giggled, picking up the pace some as she anticipated his climax. She sat at his side, deft hands working him in a way that may as well have reduced him to nothing but melted wax, the dim lighting illuminating the small smirk on her face.

His breath hitched in his throat--- so close now.

She had to have known it as she moved even faster, both hands on him now.

But it wasn’t until he felt the warmth of her tongue run up his length that he let out a muffled moan, her name tumbling from his lips. She took his cock into his mouth easily, plump lips sucking lighty, teasing him now. Minhyuk moved to pull her hair away from her face, gathering soft locks in his hands as he guided her head. Dark eyes looked up at him as she fluttered her lashes, humming quietly, mouth still wrapped around him.

So fucking close.

Almost---

Almost.

And then he woke up.

The scene was almost the exact same. First class flight. Reclined back. Dark.

The only difference was that he was alone and she… She was peering over from the seat in front of him, a knowing smirk on her lips. His heart was still fucking racing, erection practically throbbing under the thin airline blanket— and there she was— completely eating this shit up.

Although he had been dreaming of her, Shin Hana was more of a nightmare than anything.

To say that their families were close would be an understatement. Not only were their fathers old  university classmates turned business partners, but their mothers were also best friends— so much so that they ended up going into labour only three hours apart, ultimately making it so that Minhyuk was a mere seven hours older. He and Hana had gone to the same schools and were placed in almost all the same classes. To most people, the two of them were a package deal. They were always neck in neck when it came to grades and other achievements--- it was like she was his shadow, following him wherever he went, whether he liked it or not.

Unfortunately, the amicable relationship that their parents had with each other did not extend to their children. The most decency they could muster was playing nice at family gatherings and important events. There were no holds barred at any other point--- Shin Hana existed only to make Minhyuk suffer. That much he was sure of.

Objectively speaking, Minhyuk would suppose that there was nothing inherently wrong with her, but it was hard for him to find anything good to say when she so clearly derived pleasure from his torment. It wasn’t a matter of whether he liked her or hated her, really. When you grow up with someone, you eventually stop having an opinion on them and just accept what comes. She was just an unavoidable constant. Nothing more.

“Minhyukie… Don’t tell me you were dreaming about me,” she spoke, voice just a low whisper. She batted her lashes at him just like she did in his dream.

He just rolled his eyes, shifting slightly in a futile attempt to adjust himself. Just looking at her lips was enough to send a shudder through him.

“What were you dreaming of? I heard my name,” she chuckled, head canting in curiosity.

Perhaps the worst thing about her was that she knew exactly what to do to rile him up. Minhyuk always figured it was because they had known each other for so long, but as they got older, she seemed to become more and more adept at getting under his skin in any way humanly possible. Maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t have victimized himself so much--- after all, he too, was guilty of feeding into her little games.  

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he retorted, shooting her a narrow glare.

“No need to be so snappy,” she huffed, using the same tone she always used when she wanted to get on his nerves. “Are you going back to sleep?”

Before Minhyuk could even reply, Hana had gotten up from her seat, casually letting herself into his personal space. While the first class seating had ample room for one person, two people really pushed the envelope on comfort. Unabashedly, Hana lifted up his blanket and settled in beside him, a small but knowing grin on her face. Again, he shifted in his seat, trying to hide the burden in his pants.

“You know, for someone who always gives me so much shit, you always jump at a chance to be near me,” he scoffed, although he showed no hesitation as he let her rest her head on his shoulder.

“Mm, I just want to make sure you don’t have any more bad dreams,” Hana said simply, amusement in her voice as she cuddled him shamelessly.

This type of whiplash wasn’t uncommon for them. Although the gesture might have seemed sweet on the surface, Minhyuk could tell just by the look on her face that she was really only cozying up to him because she knew it’d drive him crazy. There were few boundaries that they hadn’t crossed in the years of knowing each other but one thing was certain--- it was advisable to not get too comfortable for too long. Hana had a knack for appearing warm but then turning frigid in a blink of an eye.

Anyone with eyes could admit that she was attractive. She took good care of herself and was always well put together, but the real danger lay in the fact that she knew it. Hana was wholly capable of weaponizing her looks if she needed to. Minhyuk had seen her step on boys left and right without so much of a second thought. While he was mostly immune to her charms, obviously he had been letting his mind wander lately.

“Uh-huh… Seems like bull to me. When are you just going to confess and get it over with?” he prodded jokingly. “I’ll let you down easy, I promise.”

“... Oh, Minhyukie… A boy can dream. Wait a minute... Don’t tell me… Was that what you were dreaming about?” she giggled, knowing full well she was toeing a line. She fluttered her lashes at him again, tone coy. “Being with me?”

“Don’t lump me in with all those other guys who chase after you. Unlike them, I’m smart enough to see through your crap,” he muttered, shaking his head. At that, Hana simply let out a small laugh, allowing her leg to brush up against him casually. Their proximity was dizzying but she showed no signs of letting up.

A few minutes of silence passed before he realized she had actually fallen asleep. Her hands were clasped around his arm, lips pouted slightly as she slept. It was hard not to recall the image of her from his dreams, those same lips around him, those hands stroking him gently--- He was hoping to maybe slip away to relieve himself in the bathroom--- but so much for that. Just his luck, really.

Their families had been planning this trip to Los Angeles for months, deeming it a celebratory vacation as he and Hana had just completed their first year of university. Never one to say no to a trip abroad, Minhyuk was elated at the idea, but of course, the prospect of having to spend two weeks abroad with Hana soured his enthusiasm a bit. She had assured him that she had her own agenda and wouldn’t waste her time bothering him, but looking at her now, curled up beside him, he had to wonder how much of that would remain true. Minhyuk couldn’t bring himself to go back to sleep, afraid that his subconscious would take over again.

Heaving a sigh, he plugged in his earphones and browsed through the in flight movie catalogue knowing he had a long flight ahead of him.

[soundrooms]

Soundrs: Cyprus Fuel

My name is Alexander, I’m releasing music as Cyprus Fuel (solo project), Moonshots (together with Tim aka flingu) and Wow & Flutter (together with Ole aka Treetime Music). I run a label called UltraBold Records and a tumblr blog called Soundrooms. My profession is graphic design, my passion is music making.

➜ Visit Fuelstagram

➜ Visit Spotyfuel

➜ Visit UltraBold Records

➜ INSTANT KARMA BOOST

Why do you make music?

Out of boredom or frustration. I get frustrated when I’m not bored enough to make music. I started making electronic music just to entertain myself.

What are your inspiration sources?

Listening to new music inspires me, new hard- or software inspires me, learning about new audio production tricks inspires me. Anything new inspires me!

Tell us something about your workflow.

I don’t like using presets, so most of the time I start with trying to get a cool sound out the music equipment I got. Lots of gear came and went; these days im using a Teenage Engineering OP-Z, Pocket Operator tonic, a computer with NI Reaktor, Ableton Live and Push 2.

How would creative rituals benefit your workflow?

I think it’s important to make music with a relaxed mind so anything that reduces the noise of everyday life is beneficial for creativity. I need to set up a space where I can single task on making music only. It’s also important to keep an open mind and excite all senses. Don’t let the daily grind dull you down. I find sport in nature and deep breathing helpful.

How do you get in the zone?

When I’m alone I like to make music very late when I’m sleepy. In that state the zone is right around the corner. Except for my annual mushroom trip I don’t use any consciousness altering substances anymore. I like to breathe in deeply through my nose—that’s a rush!

How do you start a track?

Ideally I would create a folder on my desktop, give it an arbitrary name, a tempo and a scale. Then I’d start filling it up with sound design samples from various sources, just the synths and tools I feel like using that day. I’ll create a sound and put it through FX. I’ll record whatever comes out. That way I create sounds which are my own. When I feel like I got enough material together, I’ll start a fresh Ableton project set to that tempo and that scale, throw the samples into Push and start building a groove with 4, 8 or 16 bars. If the groove is to my liking, I’ll start arranging. Changing things up and making it interesting. It tends to get pretty weird and experimental sometimes. But that’s okay because it’s my expression. I like to make music that satisfies me, not an audience.

More often than not though I’ll start with the cheesiest chord progression that I can come up with, add a simple four on the floor house drumbeat and develop things from there. The simpler the better. Same goes for graphic design by the way, start with a triangle and Helvetica and take things from there : )

Do you have a special template?

I have an improvisation template for experimentation, with various synths and effects, ready to go. Otherwise I always keep a limiter (Ableton stock) and spectrum analyzer (ditto) on the master bus. The limiter makes sure that I don’t brick my speakers through any loud experimentation!

What do you put on the master channel?

If I master a demo I start with an EQ for high (~16k Hz) and low cut (~30 Hz), a glue compressor to catch peaks, a litte dynamic tube, a little OTT, another compressor for the final gain and a saturator. At the very end is a loudness meter, I try to hit 12 LUFS average.

How do you arrange and finish a track?

This is the part where I struggle with the most. Sometimes arrangement can be easy, fluid and fast, many times I get stuck on an 8 bar loop for hours. It can help to stretch out the 8 bars for several minutes and substract, or just re-record the master output and jam the track out for fun. The best music is made with feeling, not with thought. Another trick is to import a song from another artist and copy the structure.

How do you deal with unfinished projects?

I let em sit on my hard drive and revisit from time to time. I’ll try to find the element that’s most engaging in the project. Then I’ll try and build a new structure around that element or simply bounce it to audio and store it as a sample for later use.

How do you store and organize your projects?

My projects move through various stages through folders which I’ve set up like this:

• Ideas

• In Progress (Arrangement)

• 90 % (Mixing & Pre-Mastering)

• Finished (Demos & Releases)

How do you take care of studio ergonomics?

I have to mindsets: seriousness and fun.

In fun mode I can sit down or lay or stand anywhere and entertain myself with sound creation. Whether it be jamming on a bench or meadow outside with friends, alone with headphones on a train or simply in pyjamas on the couch with the OP-Z in front of me or the MacBook on my lap. In that mode I care about exploration and process and not about results or ergonomics.

In serious mode I want to achieve a goal like mixing or arrangement. This is where I’ll sit down in my humble studio. I’m very paranoid and frustrated a lot of the time about the way my music sounds. I’m always making adjustments, optimizing my listening situation. The next improvement is going to be a subwoofer. Room treatment is key for confident mixing!

Tell us something about your daily routine, how is your day structured, how do you make room for creativity?

I work as a freelance graphic designer so I’m in the lucky position to be able to structure my daily life how I want to. On a perfect day, I’ll wake up pretty early, fool around with my outrageously young girlfriend until she has to leave for her job, get up for a cup of coffee, do some body exercises, spend an hour playing video games or reading a couple of pages in a book to jumpstart my brain. I’ll then check the computer for correspondence and design duties. In the afternoon, I’ll go outside for sport and fresh air. After dinner I tend to get bored or frustrated and start up Ableton. I’m an introvert so I don’t have the need to socialize that much. In that regard the pandemic situation doesn’t affect me all that much, I feel. I don’t subscribe to Netflix or consume mass media to any degree. I like to play city walking videos on YouTube, for ambiance.

Share a quick producing tip.

Start from INIT. Play around with knobs and buttons until something interesting starts to happen. Begin simple, become complex.

Share a link to an interesting website (doesn’t have to be music related).

➜  http://radio.garden/

List ten sounds you are hearing right this moment : )

cars passing by outside

Cargo mix #043

keyboard typing

my breathing

my feet moving around on the floor

I can hear my thoughts

I can hear your thoughts

from a thousand miles away

if you think the same as me

we’ll both get an echo.

Thanks for reading. Stay wonderful y’all!

[flatstarcarcosa]

our love grows flowers in the winter

Summary: Three months ago, Slade died. Four days ago, be barged back into the house like a whirlwind, and for a moment all was right with the world. Reese has discovered strangers can wear familiar faces, and to top it off: There is another Slade greeting them over morning coffee and acting as if nothing is wrong.

How can there be two Slades, and what do either of them want?

(part one) (part two) (part three) (fin)

Ship: wilson&wilson Warnings: violence, swearing, slight depictions of gore? there’s a big fight is all im sayin. slade kicks his own ass, finally, his life long dream.  sidenote: i decided to structure this piece similar to the comic. there’s titles between switches scenes, and the timeline isn’t entirely linear. i think it’s still simple enough to follow, but it was a neat exercise.

------------------------

'Penitence' Bellevue Hospital, NYC Several Days Later

Slade’s arms are out at his sides in a show of defenselessness, shoulders slumped and head down. The gun sits on the side of the bed between them as Adeline regards him with hard eyes.

“If you still want to kill me, now’s the time,” he says. He’s said it before, of course. Over and over amidst their many fights. She knows he’s meant it every time, but this time it’s different. It’s not the adamant way he normally says it, it doesn’t carry the meaning of ‘I still love you, I’m sorry’, it doesn’t have the same undertones that show he’s only saying it to keep her attention for a bit longer. This time, he is all but begging her to go through with it.   This is not the man she married.  This is not even the man she divorced.

 The man in front of her is a broken shell, a cracking husk at risk of getting blown away by the next winter breeze. The man in front of her is hardly a man at all. She takes the gun, holding onto the feeling of the weight in her hand, and considers it for a long moment.

“No,” she finally says, dropping the weapon. “There’s no point. You’re no more Slade Wilson than the man that murdered my husband. You’re not the Slade Wilson I’ve loved, and hated for so long. You’re nothing now.”  He doesn’t respond. He lowers his arms and still doesn’t look at her, and it fills her with equal parts anger and pity. Anger, that he dares to ask one final favor from her, to give him one more thing after all she’s given.

Pity that he’s been reduced to this. He used to be strong, he used to be kind, he used to be a good man. Flawed, yes, but good nonetheless. What stands before her is none of those things but it is taking the form of something vaguely familiar, yet alien all the same.  “You want me to get closure?” she asks. “There is no closure, not with you, Slade. Not with any of us, and not for any of us. If I have to live with it, if Joey does, then so do you. So that’s what you can do for me. You can fucking live with it and let it eat you alive. It’s time for you feel the consequences of your own actions for once. Get out.”  Slade turns, padding across the room and pausing with his hand on the door.  “I really did love you,” he says softly.  “I know,” she whispers. “That’s the problem, you poison everything you love. Then it withers, and it dies.”  The door is silent when it swings shut behind him.  If Rose thought she was angry when this whole mess began, it is nothing compared to the feeling she is currently experiencing. Her footsteps echo throughout the stairwell as she takes them two at a time. The door to the parking garage bounces against the wall as she barrels through it. She finds Slade loading a duffel bag into the trunk of a sedan. When he turns, looking at her in surprise, she hauls off and punches him in the throat.  “You're not even trying,” she yells. Slade hacks out a cough and massages his neck. “You let me do that.”  “Why are you here?” he asks, hoarsely.  “To ask you what the fuck you think you're doing,” she snaps.  “What does it look like?”  “It looks like you're being a limp dicked coward and running away, again,” she snarls. Slade makes eye contact with her, and the blank look in his eye is almost enough to put out the fire in her chest.  “Why would I stay after this?” he asks. His voice is low, soft, and heavy with grief. “There's nothing here now, I made sure of that, didn't I?”  “So you're just going to wallow in your own fucking bullshit?” she asks, clenching her fists by her side. “I thought the whole point of you going back to Vermont was to stop running! To...to plant roots, or whatever bullshit you kept telling us!”  Slade slams the trunk shut and slams his fists again the metal.  “Those roots just got ripped up and burnt to the ground,” he yells. “I may not have started the fire but I still caused it! Hosun is dead, Barry is dead, Adeline is going to have a crippled arm the rest of her life, and Reese--!”  He stops mid sentence and makes no show to stem the tears.   “I'm not doing this for me,” he says softly.  “...dad,” says Rose. Her anger has finally died, and although she is still trying to process everything that has happened, she sets aside the urge to blame him. She gives into the other, stronger and perhaps more basic urge of being a teenage girl that wants her father, and clings to his chest. Slade won't hug you, repeats Bill in her head, but you can hug him.  For a moment, he does nothing but stand there as she cries into his shirt.  Finally, he returns the gesture, squeezing her like she is a buoy in a storm.  “I'm so sorry,” he whispers into her hair. Before she can respond, the moment is interrupted by the sound of a voice over the intercom.  “Wilson family, please report to the ICU,” says the disembodied voice. “Repeat, Wilson family to the ICU.”

------------------

'Your Return' At the Same Time Reese wakes up to the feeling of being choked. There is something blocking their airway, and they gag as they attempt to push whatever is in front of them away. Someone grabs their hands and pushes them back down as they make shushing noises in their ear. …Slade?  They want to open their eyes, but their body seems content to fight against the signals they send.  “Easy now, love,” says a soft, accented voice. “You weren't supposed to wake up until they got this tube out, it's almost over.”  “B...Bill?” they finally rattle once their mouth and throat are blessedly empty.  “The one and only, my dear,” he says. He brushes fingers through their hair. “Glad to see you back with the living.”  “Slade?” they ask. The word sears their raw throat, and it does not take much for Reese to figure out they have clearly been intubated. Their eyes begin to obey them once more, and they are pleased to find that Bill has already dimmed the lights above the bed. A team of nurses crowd the room, all of them talking among themselves as they poke and prod at Reese and the machines they're hooked up to.  “He's...” Bill trails off and closes his eyes. They do not need more of an answer. They know him too well.  Slade's probably already on a plane bound for Africa, where he'll hole up in his old ranch and proceed to annoy wildlife until an animal finally kills him and leaves him to bake in the desert sun.  Reese's eyes fill with tears that back up into their sinuses and begin dripping down their irritated throat. A nurse fetches a cup of water and a straw as they begin coughing.  “Can you breathe all right?” asks the nurse. Reese takes a small sip of water and manages to swallow half of it before their stomach protests violently against the intake of fluid.  Slade and Rose bust into the room just in time to watch them vomit into a basin. Long, silent seconds stretch out into minutes.  The nurses continue to do their jobs and one of them bothers to take Slade aside and fill him in on their condition. Reese notice the way Bill shifts, moving to sit more on the bed next to them and act as a barrier between them and Slade. They understand why is he angry and distrusting of his old friend, and they do not blame him for it.  Regardless, they want more than anything for him to move. “But are they going to be okay?” asks Rose. She is standing a step behind Slade, close enough to be part of the conversation and distanced enough to know she is not the intended target of it. The nurse takes a deep breath.  “The doctor will be here in the morning to do another evaluation,” she says. She speaks with a practiced, but no less believable ease that tells Slade this is not the first time she's had this discussion. “There was a lot of damage and a lot of blood loss. I don't know how the shrapnel from the bullet missed anything important, but it did. They're going to have an even more sensitive digestive system than they did before, and we had to take out a few things in their abdomen they shouldn't even miss, and recovery is not going to be quick or easy, but yes. I think physically they'll be all right, eventually. It's going to take time, and a lot of rest.”  “And therapy,” Rose adds. The words are barely out of her mouth when she realizes how inappropriate the comment it.  Slade says nothing in response.  His arms are flat by his sides, and he is clenching and clenching his fingers repeatedly.    “Yes,” says the nurse slowly. “Physical therapy will be important to their recovery. The fact that the shrapnel from being shot didn't hit anything vital is already lucky, but that the blade only nearly snipped their spinal cord is a kind of luck we don't often see.”  Still, Slade says nothing. Whether he doesn't know what to say, or simply can't say anything at all, Rose is unsure. She looks across the room, raising an eyebrow at Wintergreen. He blinks a couple of times before holding his hands up in a shrug. He has never seen Slade look as despondent and defeated as he does in this moment. He's just been told Reese will make a full recovery, and yet you'd think it was the opposite from his demeanor. It's only Reese grunting behind him that causes Bill to turn in time to see them trying to sit from their prone position.  “Hey,” he says, standing off the bed and placing a hand on their shoulder. “Easy. You're being held together with very expensive, medical grade duct tape right now.”  “Back hurts,” they say softly.  “I imagine it does,” says the nurse. She motions for the rest of her coworkers to file out of the room as she moves to raise the bed. “But don't try and sit up on your own right now. I'm going to put in an order for some meds for you. The rest of you need to figure out who's staying and who's going: we only allow one person at a time.”  “I'm gonna check on Joey,” Rose says immediately. She gives Slade a soft pat on the arm. “Okay?”  “...yeah,” he says distractedly.  “Perhaps you should both check on Joey,” says Bill. He crosses his arms over his chest and settles a stern gaze directly on Slade. “I'm sure he'd love to see his father.”  Reese's nurse quirks an eyebrow as she realizes she is clearly interrupting something, and wisely extricates herself from the room. Slade remains silent, standing in the shadows in the corner of the room, and Bill remains planted as the only barrier between him and Reese. Behind him, they let out an annoyed sigh and roll their eyes. It takes a bit of reaching, probably more than they should be doing, to get to the water cup on the table. They empty the contents into the basin they'd thrown up into and use their knee to slide the table away from the bed before chucking the empty plastic cup at the back of Bill's head.  “What the devil--!” he turns, blinking in surprise as he looks down at the cup clattering to the floor and back up to Reese.  “Thank you,” they say. It takes work not only to speak, but to keep their tone level. If there was a ever a time where they wanted nothing more than to be non-verbal, it is now. “Please go.”  “Reese, I don't think-” starts Bill. They cut him off by sharply yelling his name. He sighs and leans down to leave a quick kiss on the top of their head. As he passes Slade on the way out, he says, “I'll be down the hall.”  It is a promise, and a threat.  Although Adeline has always been clear with how much she wants Slade dead, Bill has always seen it differently: Slade is free to live his life and make his mistakes, but he does so knowing that should he ever become too far gone, or cross one too many lines, his oldest friend will not hesitate to remove him from the equation. Slade stays silent, and is admittedly having trouble parsing how an eviler version of himself getting zapped over from a different time-line and wreaking havoc is somehow his fault. He is no closer to making it make sense when the door clicks shut behind Bill and leaves him alone with Reese. His gaze is transfixed not on them, but on the area just towards the left of them, and they tilt their head a little as they take in the sight of him.  The last they'd seen him, he was bleeding out a few feet away from them and they know that even his healing factor can't reverse blood loss from nothing. The bandages peeking out from beneath his shirt tell them he's not bounced back entirely. They also know that many people have speculated over the years that Slade has some sort of subconscious control over his healing, that he can alter it's efficacy depending on how deeply he feels about something. Bill thinks it's why his eye never healed after Adeline shot him.  Reese thinks it's why there's still red spotting the bandages now.  “Hey,” they say. With what looks like a great effort, he turns his head to face them. They wonder if he's slept at all since he came home, even as they know he hasn't. They wonder if he's eaten, even as they know he hasn't. They wonder what kind of mental gymnastics he's doing to concoct a narrative that blames himself for what happened, even as they know he doesn't have to work all that hard for it.  In his mind, it is his fault for not being there to stop it. It is his fault for dying in the first place. It is his fault, and it will always be his fault and no amount of penance will ever absolve him of it.  The whole situation has shades of their kidnapping back in Florida. He'd been so upset and angry with himself about the situation, that for a while he refused to see reason and took it as a sign he needed to leave everything the two of them had built. Back then, it honestly wasn't much. It was a small, fragile thing with no roots to keep it in place and no new growth to push it forward and it was only Reese's indignant insistence that he didn't get to walk away from it that kept it from collapsing.  That was six years ago.  What the two of them have built is much more resilient these days, and Reese has already done the work of keeping it rooted while he was dead. It's time for him to do some of the work for once, and if that means he has to feel all of the sharp edges between them, then so be it.  Wordlessly, they hold out their arms.  Slade hesitates. The urge to turn and run is coursing through him as much as anything and getting stronger with every beat of his heart. He forces himself to take the first step towards Reese. By the time he collapses onto the edge of the bed and into their waiting embrace it is as effortless as breathing. They smell like iodine and rubbing alcohol and the most basic of hospital issued soap, but they smell like home.  “Hey, little one,” he says, voice thick with emotion and soft in their ear.  “Please don't leave,” says Reese. He squeezes them as tight as he dares without hurting them and rests his forehead in the crook of their neck.  “I'm not going anywhere,” he says, and for once in his life it is not only a promise, but a full one. The day will come when it won't be, of course. The day will come when he will unlock that familiar green army crate and he will be Deathstroke once more, but for now... For now he is alive and he is home, and he is not running away from any of it, no matter how many broken and jagged pieces are inside.

[scaredandbored]

.ok i caved and wrote spones. academy au spones. with a really, horribly out of character spock. was this purely self-indulgent? yes. i’m not even 100% sure what im doing with this story, only that its spones, they share a dorm, and its going to be a gross, borderline self-insert fic lmaoooo. playing fast and loose with the academy’s curriculum because i’m a lazy piece of shit who won’t research the actual structure. also, idk if it even counts as slash, because it contains what i consider flirting, which is ACTUALLY just bickering and academic/scientific discussion combined with gentle physical contact. let me have this. 

additional note : i snuck in some pining at the end! so it’s definitely romantic! ha! (it’s not worth it dont bother)

additional additional note : i fucked up a perfectly good spones fic by trying to add jim but it turned into McSpirk 

Collectors poke and scalpels ring

(title from billy corgan’s poem “a wax seal”)

warnings : don’t read this spock is so badly written in it.

                 blatant abuse of the comma, oxford and otherwise

                 someone gets burnt but it’s not severe and it’s off of tea 

                 cursing. a lot of it. 

words : c.6’000 (i’ll count properly tomorrow, it’s hard to get a word count on mobile)

If Leonard was being completely honest with himself (which he tried to be, dammit), his studying had stopped being productive at some stage between midnight and one a.m, but he’d be damned if he was going to grant his smug-enough-already roommate an “I told you so” by going to bed. Not that Spock would use such colloquial, illogical language. Resisting the urge to groan, Leonard let his head fall to his desk, confident the pile of pages he had accumulated while studying for his assessment in Standard Procedures in Classifying Non-Humanoid Life-Forms would muffle the thud enough to prevent upsetting his roommate’s meditation in the bedroom next to his. Walls were thin at the academy, that was the whole reason he’d had to turn down Jim when he’d requested Leonard to bunk with him for their second year in the academy. Bones loved the kid, he really did, but if he wasn’t blasting his frankly awful study music through the whole night, he had someone over from wherever he’d been that evening, and Bones had come to learn (quickly, and unwillingly), that Jim was loud in bed.

Making the decision to go make a coffee (not with one of those godawful replicators, but with some decent coffee beans that his younger sister had brought as a present on his birthday, for which he’d had to actually purchase a grinder and coffee press for afterwards, but it was the thought that counts), Bones couldn’t help but miss the all-nighters he and Jim used to pull together in their previous year at the academy, using each other to keep awake and motivated. The kid’s taste in classical music left much to be desired, but he didn’t seem to mind Bones’s preferences, so they’d throw on the med student’s study playlist on Jim’s maybe-technically-banned-but-no-one-is-going-to-snitch-on-us-because-we-all-have-one-Bones-relax speaker and bounce flash cards off of each other, explaining things to one another, and sharing notes. Jim had always been very much an aural-oral learner, unable to retain information unless he had explained it to someone, or had it explained to him, and while Bones definitely did not mind helping his friend out, he’d always been a more individual learner, preferring to take his notes and summarise them, re-writing the most important points until he had them ingrained in his subconscious. Which was all well and good, except it was a pain in the ass of a technique that only became more frustrating when it was employed in a long night of cramming.

Quietly, Bones took his mug as well as the rest of the required paraphernalia from the almost-bare shelf in the equally almost-bare cupboard he and Spock had voted to dedicate to Bones’s “illogical need to entertain guests with a strange variety of baked goods paired with one of two hot beverages” and Spock’s “ostentatious pots and probably poisonous concoctions”, all while chiding himself for reminiscing about study sessions. Of all the stupid shit he could reminisce about at the ripe age of twenty-two, study sessions with a friend he could easily invite over to join him was probably the one of the most stupid. Bones was forced to pause and evaluate his situation as he realised that all his quiet tip-toeing about in an effort to leave Spock’s meditation undisturbed was probably null and fucking void, seeing as he had to manually grind the coffee beans, which would indubitably create enough noise to irritate those over-sensitive ears. Not that the vulcan could feel irritation. Fucking asshole.

Rolling his eyes at his own cankerous mood, he began to prepare his coffee, keeping half an ear on the sudden rustling noises from Spock’s bedroom as the disturbed vulcan did god-knows-what before coming out to lecture Leonard. Or to glare at him. Or condescend him. Maybe criticise him on how late he’d left it to study for this godforsaken exam. Or maybe Leonard was projecting onto his poor roommate, who he’d only known for the better half of a month. (During which, the cranky bastard side of his brain argued, said roommate had made his distaste for human culture and illogic clear, his particular dislike (it was dislike, regardless of whatever “vulcans don’t feel” bullshit he was trying to pull) of Leonard thinly veiled, and his disinclination to speak to Leonard in general blatantly obvious.) Most likely Spock would simply head into their shared living area to procure a cup of his noxious evening teas before returning to his meditation, not stooping so low as to acknowledge the source of the disruption to his nightly routine. Leonard’s mission to caffeinate himself was not under threat. It took more energy than Leonard would ever admit to quell the disappointment that bubbled up at the thought of Spock just ignoring him.

It was stupid-o-clock in the morning, of course the vulcan wasn’t going to engage in a full-blown academic conversation with him, what was he thinking? Bones haphazardly plopped the filter over his mug just as the kettle came to a boil, doggedly ignoring the squeak of Spock’s door and the sound of his bare feet against their tile floor.

“It is not recommended for humans to ingest beverages of such a high caffeine content at this hour.” Spock’s voice breaking the eerie silence of the late hour was enough to make Leonard’s usually still hands jerk, splashing his knuckles with the hot water. He managed to suppress a hiss of pain, determined not to let the vulcan see any weakness.

“It’s not generally recommended amongst humans to get your medical degree at Starfleet Academy, yet here I am, Spock.” Griped Bones, turning to face Spock with his mug in hand, the eye contact he made intended as a challenge. Try and stop me, Pointy.

Spock raised an eyebrow, which alerted Leonard to the vulcan’s significantly slower than normal movements. The damn vulcan was sleepy, he realised. In an infuriatingly adorable way, Spock blinked slowly twice before responding, a significant delay in his usual response times to Leonard’s taunts. “On the contrary, an education in Starfleet Academy is highly coveted amongst humans; its expansive curriculum makes its graduates highly sought after in careers outside of the academy. I see no logic in your statement.”

Bones rolled his eyes, knocking back half his coffee in a matter of seconds, and burning his tongue in the process. “I don’t see the logic in continuing to hold conversations with an individual you find so distastefully illogical, Mr.Spock.” He passed the strange traditional vulcan teapot out to his roommate along with the decidedly terran-style mug Spock seemed to prefer using.

Spock offered three more of his slow, dazed blinks before responding with a tilt of his head that was slightly more pronounced than the one he tended to make during the day. “Distasteful? I do not believe I have ever said as much, McCoy.”

Bones gave a single, barking laugh, shaking his head as he began to move back towards his bedroom. “Careful, Mr.Spock. Keep up the flattery and you might say something you regret.”

“You are studying?” Spock called after him, just as Leonard was closing his door.

Leonard watched Spock as he shuffled around their kitchen, preparing his tea, his normally purposefully brisk steps reduced to a half-asleep stumble. His roommate gave no indication of having spoken to him. “In my usual, time-consuming way. Yes I am, Mr.Spock.”

Spock did not face him, but the delay in his response was still significant, for the vulcan, “You study using this highly inefficient method only when learning independently, correct?”

“What is it you’re getting at? There’s only so many hours in a night, and some of us have work to do.” Growled Leonard, his prolonged view of the back of Spock’s house robes frustrating him. Their arguments were much less entertaining and all the more aggravating when he couldn’t look Spock in the eye. Spock attempted to answer while turning to face Leonard in his sleepy daze, forgetting that he was halfway through pouring the boiling water over the strainer, effectively dousing his front in the scalding liquid. There was a brief pause where Spock blinked down at the front of his robes, while Bones processed what had just happened before jerking into action. “Get that glorified dressing gown off of yourself, Spock!” He whisper-shouted, determined not to wake the entire residential block. Spock just blinked at himself, then at Leonard.

“It is burning.” He deadpanned, prompting Bones to roll his eyes and cross the room in a few quick strides.

“It’s boiling water, Spock, of course it’s burning.” He hissed tapping the lapels of the robes. “You need to get out of this so we can get you under some running, room temperature water, try and stop any blistering.” Spock finally seemed to register what was going on and began to unwrap the ties of the robes, turning away from Leonard as he did so. Leonard noticed his roommate look uneasy at the prospect of being shirtless around him, and decided to leave him to it. “I’ll go run the shower, you dry yourself off a bit and run any part of your arm that got caught in the stream under the tap. I’ll call you when the shower’s the right temperature, ok?”. Leonard waited for Spock’s nod before bolting off to their shared bathroom to start working. 

So much for his productive night studying. It was starting to look like he’d be playing nurse for Spock until the on-campus medbay opened at five am. He was just beginning to realise exactly how fucked he was for the exam the following day when the door to their bathroom creaked open slowly. “Nearly there, Spock. I don’t recommend using any of your pungent herbal shit, we don’t want anything getting into any burst blisters or anything.” 

“Your alarm is unwarranted, Leonard. There is no lasting damage done to my person.”

“Congratulations on your medical degree, Spock, didn’t realised you’d discovered a fast track. Y’could’ve told me.” Leonard drawled, not taking his eyes off of the shower, his wrist under the stream of water to monitor the temperature. 

“You know I have done no such thing.” Spock huffed, his less alert state loosening his restraint enough to allow for such blatant emotionalism. 

“Sarcasm, Spock. Somethin’ you’re gonna have to get used to if you plan on launching into the void canned in with a bunch of humans once we graduate.” Leonard was angling for a mild version of their normally acerbic exchanges, but Spock didn’t seem willing to take the bait.

“If you insist I must bathe in tepid water, I will comply, but I trust you understand the state of my health is my concern alone, and you have no power to forbid me from assisting you with your studies.”

“Bold of you to assume I want your assistance.” His final attempt to goad Spock fell just as flat as his others, and he gave a defeated sigh. “Please stay in until your skin’s returned to its normal complexion, alright?”

Spock gave a half nod and stood to the side to let Leonard pass out of the bathroom, which he did a mite faster than was strictly necessary. Sighing as Spock closed the door, Leonard began weighing the benefit of trying to study against the fact he was just worried enough to be distracted from anything too difficult. Leonard scoffed. “Who am I kidding, everything in this module is difficult enough to make me want to rip my fucking eyes out.” He continued grumbling incoherently as he made his way back to his room, throwing a dirty look at the mess of teapots, mugs, and cafetieres as he walked past it. Spock would have a hissy fit. Or, the closest thing the teachings of Surak would allow to a hissy fit. “Goddamn, green-blooded, neat-freak.” Leonard groused, frowning at the state of his room.

Leonard often consoled himself for his lack of cleanliness within the confines of his bedroom using the fact he very rarely sullied shared living areas. He liked to think of his room as a sort of nesting area; cluttered, but cosy and homely. Spock thought the state of his room was indicative of his disorganised mind and illogical outlook on life. He looked around his room, trying to decide how to partially tidy it most effectively before Spock got out of the shower. 

Ultimately, he decided to leave anything that could be passed off as studying material (including, but not limited to the notes Jim had left behind on Starfleet-approved mixed martial arts) and to gather all clothing into one pile behind the door. He had just finished that and was contemplating moving some of the collection of unwashed, half-empty mugs he’d forgotten about into the sink when someone cleared their throat at the threshold of the door, causing Leonard to jump. “Goddammit, Spock, y’could’ve killed me!” He snapped, subtly kicking the sleeve of one of his hoodies behind the door. 

Spock’s eyes followed his foot as he attempted this subterfuge, which lead him directly to the pile of clothes. He raised an eyebrow, looking back at Leonard. “I was unaware the human heart was so poorly designed that even one belonging to a relatively fit for duty, young man was susceptible to cardiac arrest caused by unpredictable scenarios. It leads me to wonder why Starfleet consists mostly of such an inept species.”

The adorable, sleepy Spock had disappeared, leaving the sharper, more alert, more dangerously attractive Spock that Bones was going to have a hard time not coming onto over the next year. “I think I preferred you when y’couldn’t string together a sentence.”   

Spock’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally as he stepped purposefully towards Leonard’s desk. “You are hardly the image of a functioning officer after your rest cycle has been disrupted, McCoy.” He quipped, pouring over the notes Leonard had been working on before the whole tea-spilling fiasco. “You have been repeatedly transcribing the same five notes for upwards of an hour, if you maintained a constant rate of words per minute.” 

Leonard shrugged, striding over to his desk to snatch the notes back defensively. “What of it?” He snapped, picking up his pad of paper (not good for the environment, but he’d loaned his PADD that he usually used for revision to Jim a week ago and wasn’t due to get it back until that weekend) and old-fashioned pen that used to belong to his mother. 

Spock raised an eyebrow at Leonard’s odd behaviour, picking up the textbook that had started to slip down the back of the overcrowded desk to leaf through it. “It is a highly inefficient method of study. Particularly given your current time constraints.” 

“Spare me the lecture, Spock. It works, and that’s all that matters.” Leonard drawled, having already resumed his scribbling, desperately attempting to commit one of the longer definitions required for the exam to memory. 

“That statement has no grounds in fact, nor does your extension based on the untruth follow any semblance of logic.”

Leonard uttered a string of curses in his native tongue, making Spock consider taking Earth English classes on the side, if only to aggravate the med student in his own native tongue. Not that Spock would ever admit to such irrational motivations.  “Dammit, Spock,” Leonard’s familiar growls in Standard had less venom than they usually did this early in their verbal sparring, a fact that drew Spock’s concern sharply onto the med student. “,either sit down and help a guy out, or get out and let me be. Ain’t that hard.” Spock eased himself down onto the human’s bed carefully, sitting cross-legged beside him with the textbook balanced carefully on his knee.

“I have heard you listening to music whilst studying on previous occasions. I have noted you do not tend to do so while I am meditating, however, I am doing so now. If it assists you, I would recommend you indulge.” Carefully watching the human for signs of distress while he spoke, Spock decided another snip at him would not hurt him. “Your human focus is dismal enough without depriving it of the stimulus necessary for it to operate at an acceptable level of efficiency.”

Spock watched with mild satisfaction as Leonard threw his archaic study materials down in a small rage, his eyebrows practically dancing as he spluttered furiously for exactly 3.2 seconds before responding coherently. “Why, you listen here, you green-blooded son-of-a-bitch, y’ain’t doin’ much good in this here bedroom, so you’ve got about three seconds ‘fore i throw you out!”

Spock unfurled himself and stood, but he didn’t make a move for the door. Instead, the stoic bastard moved back to Leonard’s desk, sorting papers into piles as he systemically searched the surface for something. Finally, he picked up Leonard’s music device: a miniature PADD his younger sister had constructed for her first set of practical engineering exams, programmed to run audio files only. “A’ight, give it here.” Leonard stretched out his hand, palm up, waiting for Spock to hand it over. Spock took a moment to briefly page through the audio files Leonard had equipped the tiny device with, the corners of his mouth turning down fractionally. “Somethin’ the matter, Spock?”

“I was under the impression that humans preferred to listen to classical music whilst studying?”

“That is classical, Spock.”

“I do not recognise it.”

Spock looked up just in time to watch the furrows between Leonard’s brows deepening. “Well, it’s classical, terran music, not vulcan, so I don’t suspect y’would.”

Without thinking, Spock said, “My mother made sure I was acquainted with many kinds of classical terran music as a child. I expected to recognise at least one of these songs from the information she provided me with.”

“Your mother liked terran music?”

Spock didn’t even pause to consider the trust required for him to offer an insight into his personal history. He just did. “My mother was human. I am only half-vulcan.”

“Might be half-vulcan, but you’re still a whole pain in the ass.” The rapidity of Leonard’s answer set Spock totally at ease, and the vulcan allowed himself to relax slightly in the presence of the human. “Y’still’ve done absolutely fuck all to help me, and I really do need to study. Y’can stay if y’want, but I can’t be shootin’ the breeze with you all night, y’hear?”. Spock’s look of confusion at the idiom was enough to send Leonard back on the defensive, and he was about to launch into a strong verbal eviction from his room when something almost-but-not-quite-clear quickly swept over Spock’s eyeballs. “What in the fucking HELL was that!” He shrieked, immediately grabbing his training tricorder from under his bed and scanning Spock, studies forgotten.

Spock’s alarm was only notable in his shoulders, which tensed as Leonard crowed into his personal space to a degree that would’ve been considered improper on Vulcan. Spock did not make any movement to rectify this situation. “McCoy?”. Leonard was muttering to himself as he scanned Spock for a third time. “Leonard?”

“What was that, Spock?”

“I am unclear on what it is exactly you are referring to.” Spock maintained solid eye contact with the Leonard, concern for the human’s mental well-being bubbling under his cool exterior. Leonard blinked, twice, incredulously, before putting his hand on the junction between Spock’s neck and shoulder, which was covered by his turtleneck. He looked at though he was going to say something before he went extremely pale and spluttered incoherently for a few moments before beginning anew with his tricorder scans. “Leonard?” 

“Spock, something’s happening to your eyes.” He growled in response, pressing at the junction where his hand rested. “Turn your head, I want to scan it from another angle. Do you feel dizzy, nauseous, anything out of the ordinary?” 

“Nothing. The level of confusion I am experiencing is within normal parameters for my interactions with you.” Spock felt a wave on content pass over him when McCoy stopped scanning for a second to glare at him, before shaking his head and resuming his activities.

After a few minutes, he withdrew the scanner, dragging a hand down his face. “Spock, I don’t suppose vulcans happen to have a second pair of eyelids, do they?” 

“Have your anatomy classes failed to cover that of vulcans?” Spock narrowed his eyes, deflecting from the fact that he didn’t actually know if the second eyelid was still a functioning part of vulcan biology. He’d learnt about it as a vestigial organ, but his hybrid nature had fascinated many scientists back home. One of the reasons he had decided to leave for Starfleet; Spock had hoped to avoid the invasive poking and prodding done in the name of research. That being said, the soft poking sensation of Leonard’s fingers through his shirt was far from uncomfortable, and Spock felt strange when the sensation stopped. 

“We do, but the piss-poor files the VSA are willing to relinquish to us mere humans are so fucking full of redaction and contradiction that all we’ve left to work with are a few vague diagrams and thoughouly unhelpful paragraphs on the composition of vulcan blood.” Leonard took a step back from Spock, restoring the traditional respectful distance between them. Much too distant for Spock’s liking. “You’re sure you’re not going to die in the next few hours until we can get you to the sickbay tomorrow?”

“I do not need-”

“Spock, you’ve not only burnt yourself-”

“It is superficial at most, and does not require-”

“-but you’ve just discovered what might maybe be an eyelid but could equally -for all we know- be-”

“-medical attention. Your anxiety is unwarranted and your focus on your studies has waned to what could prove to be a detrimental degree if you do not-”

“-a malignant growth of some sort, you have to go to find out if that thing is hurting you or not at least-”

“-cease your illogical fussing and resume.”

“-and I- Spock are you even listening to me?” Leonard’s gradually increasing volume finally peaked out, and Spock raised an eyebrow at the outburst. “Ah. shit, the neighbours.” 

“At this hour, we can hope they are in a deep enough sleep not to have heard-”

“Are you kidding me Spock, I practically screamed-”

“If we continue in this vein, you will lose what little volume control you posses. Please sit down once again and I shall try and gauge how much you have prepared for this test already and we shall start from there.” Spock’s eyebrow lowered itself slowly as he relaxed once more, Leonard sitting down on the bed close to the headboard, making it easy for Spock to sit relatively close to him without making it look like anything but a logical decision for optimum viewing of the human’s notes. Not that it wasn’t motivated by logic. The fact his side was pressed soothingly to Leonard’s was a pleasant bonus. “That eyelid thing is a bit strange, you’re sure it doesn’t hurt?”

Spock levelled him with a flat stare. “I shall visit the nurse tomorrow if you cease this discussion.”

Leonard shrugged and dropped his head down and began working on a list of things he felt confident on for the next day in an attempt to hide his smug smile. It didn’t work, but Spock didn’t say anything. 

A few hours later, they had taken a break from Spock’s relentless verbal assessments for Leonard to give his brain a chance to process the points they had been drilling and for Spock to asses the data he had collected on Leonard’s rate of retention of information to try and streamline their next bout. Except Leonard’s head had dropped onto Spock’s shoulder, and the heat from where their sides were pressed tightly together was relaxing Spock into a borderline meditative state. It was only when his chest started to vibrate lightly when Spock snapped himself back to reality, confident he had not woken his study mate with his unfortunate vulcan habit. Hubris was not a trait vulcans were capable of possessing, so Spock classed his slide in judgement as a calculation error, not as a result of unfounded pride.

“Were’y’... purrin’, Spock?” The human’s voice was muffled by Spock’s turtleneck, so the flush high on the his cheeks went unnoticed by Leonard. 

“It is... an unfortunate, involuntary response of Vulcans.” Was Spock’s clipped answer, suddenly awake and almost frantically pouring over the notes he had made on Leonard’s progress. 

“Mmm, sounds like more of y’all’s goddamn cagey nature. Outta be somethin’ your doctor outta know.” Leonard slowly picked himself up off of Spock’s shoulder. Spock felt irrationally irate at the loss of contact, despite the fact their sides remained pressed together. “Ah, shit. How long was I out?”

“Twelve minutes.” Was Spock’s response, glad to have moved on from his embarrassing lapse in control. Leonard’s response wasn’t forthcoming, so Spock chanced a glance at his roommate, only to find his mouth wide open, eyes closed, and seemingly struggling for breath. Spock’s basic first aid training kicked in, fully aware that humans, much like vulcans, required a constant supply of oxygen, and he began to thump at Leonard’s back, the angle much too awkward for him to apply the force necessary to dislodge whatever may have been blocking the med student’s airways. Except, the med student seemed to have cleared his airways on his own. And was using his perfectly clear airways to yell at Spock.

“The hell’re you doin’? Coulda seriously hurt me with that goddamn “superior vulcan strength” you won’t shut up about! Ain’t a fella allowed t’yawn in his own damn bedroom?”

Spock quickly stood up from the bed, and Leonard watched as the relaxed stance the vulcan had had previously completely vanished. “You appeared to be in respiratory distress. The training I have thus far received in first aid on humans required the first thing to do in such a situation would be-“

“Dammit Spock, I’m a med student, I know what t’do when someone can’t fucking breathe! I, oddly enough, was breathing just fine!”

Spock’s chin lifted fractionally, the last of his near-tender demeanour hardening. “Incorrect. Your chest ceased to rise and fall regularly, you had opened your mouth for maximum oxygen intake and yet you did not inhale, and the distress weakened you insofar as you were forced to close your eyes.”

Leonard looked at him, incredulous. “I yawned.”

“I do not understand. Does this correlate with your -“

“I yawned, you thick-skulled-“ Leonard stopped and took a breath, scrubbing his face with his hand. “Don’t worry, s’just an unfortunate, involuntary response of humans.”

Spock recognised he was being quoted, but unlike previous, malicious quotations made by various humans (including this patprticular one), his roommate did not seem to be trying to get a rise out of him, so he decided to retaliate. “That is the nature of most human responses, voluntary or otherwise.”

The outraged eyebrow that was slowly creeping up Leonard’s forehead was completely undermined by the sleepy grin that was taking over his entire face. “I’m not going to get much more study for this assent done, huh?”

“Assessment?”

“Yeah, the thing we’ve been studying for.” Leonard looked confused, but Spock’s head tilt betrayed his own befuddlement. 

“You referred to it previously as an exam.” His arms crossed his chest, marring his perfect posture slightly. It looked to Leonard that, despite his confusion, his roommate was more relaxed than he had been. 

“Yeah, an exam, an assessment, no difference, is there?”

Spock would later deny the look he gave Leonard was ‘incredulous’, Leonard would exaggerate his expression into one of absolute shock when retelling the tale to Jim the following evening. “There is a considerable difference, Leonard. Considering the brevity of this particular elective, the only grade that might impact your final score will be the final examination. Assessments in such a relatively insignificant elective will not affect your final grade in any serious manner.”

“It’s a matter of pride, Spock.” Leonard smiled, shaking his head. “Gotta keep up appearances.”

Spock glowered down at his roommate, the expression so slight that Leonard didn’t notice it at all. The silence strung out for a moment longer than absolutely necessary before Spock sat down at the foot of Leonard’s bed. “Pride is illogical, McCoy.”

Leonard snorted, shaking his head. “Pride and spite are the only things that keep me going, take ‘em away and I wouldn’t do a thing.” 

He watched as Spock’s eyebrow crept upwards, his head tipping lightly towards him. “Your finger brushed my collarbone earlier, when you touched my robes.”

Leonard went a bright red, and his respiratory distress seemed genuine this time. He leapt off of the bed, putting the distance of the width of the room between them. “Fucking shit, Spock? Why didn’t y’tell me! Fucking touch-telepathy, that was probably stupidly invasive, wasn’t it? Shit, shit, shit! I’m sorry. I’m fucking dense, I thought- I don’t know what I was doing, shouldn’t’ve gone near you-”

“Calm yourself Leonard-”

“And now you’re too polite to call me out on it, goddammit, we had lectures on proper conduct with vulcans, fuck-”

“Leonard.” Spock had stood and walked over to the human. Leonard was shocked when Spock put his hand on his shoulder. “There is no offence taken, do you understand?”. Leonard seemed to have lost his voice, but nodded. “I only brought up the incident because I sensed only concern and concentration from you through the contact. There was no bitterness, no concern for your pride or reputation. You saw your patient and thought of nothing but how best to administer effective and efficient treatment.”

Leonard had not made any indication of wanting to brush off his hand, so Spock decided to return to the personal space he had occupied while Leonard had been scanning him earlier. Leonard blinked several times, eyes crossing slightly to stare at the tip of Spock’s nose, only an inch, maybe less, from his own. His mouth suddenly went dry, and he swallowed hard, once. Spock’s nose had never looked so kissable. He shook his head- not an appropriate thought to be having while Spock was, wait, what was Spock saying? Leonard could hear him speaking, but his brain wasn’t processing the words correctly. Or at all. He thought maybe he was complimenting him, or maybe trying to get Leonard to explain his dry, almost self-critical comment. Hell, Spock could be reciting Shakespeare for all Leonard knew. Or cared. The vulcan’s voice was deeper than it was normally, more like it was when he had been sleepily pouring his tea earlier, less like it had been for their shared life up until today. The vibration of this deeper voice reminded him of the purring, the utter relaxation and warmth that had accompanied those vibrations, and... and Spock was still talking and Leonard still had no idea what he was saying because his mouth was moving very nicely, had his mouth always moved that nicely?

“BONES!” That voice would pull Leonard out of any dazed stupor he could possibly fall into. That voice, with that tone always meant one of two things. Jim needed his help, or Jim had done something he needed to confess to that would probably piss Leonard off. “BONES? YOU HOME?”

Spock had somehow managed to perch himself on the edge of Leonard’s desk, textbook and notes in hand, pointedly not looking at Bones. Rolling his eyes, Leonard walked out into the living area. “What the fuck have you done, Jim?” 

“Bones!” Jim practically bounced over to the med student, which meant he’d absolutely fucked something up that was going to piss him off. Clapping his shoulder playfully, Jim used the momentum of his bounce to swing himself around Bones, heading for his room. “You’re not going to believe what a weird mix-up there’s been, man! So, look, I-why, hello, Mr.Spock!” Jim glanced over his shoulder with an “i-cannot-believe-you-got-the-hot-guy-we’ve-both-been-crushing-on-into-your-room’ look on his face, his mouth slightly open and his eyes comically large in mock disbelief. “What’s a hot guy like you doing in a dingy place like this?” He had turned his impish gaze back on Spock, gesturing vaguely around Leonard’s room as he mentioned the ‘dingy place’.

Spock’s face remained impassive, not betraying the flash of amusement he always felt when the younger human flirted blatantly with him. “Vulcans’ core temperatures are, on average, actually lower than that of humans.”

Where Leonard would’ve snapped back a witty counter attack in order to incite a fascinating debate, Jim simply leaned right into the lewd implications only he could draw from such a droll, basic fact. “Are you saying that you think Bones and I are hot, Mr.Spock?”. The man had far more confidence in his charismatic abilities than any other human Spock had seen knocking their own glasses off of their face when discussing something passionately with a lecturer.

Spock was about to fire back a response -noting in the back of his mind that of the friendships he had deliberately built with a select few humans in the hopes of appeasing his mother, the ones he had formed with Jim and Leonard, though not particularly strong yet, brought him a feeling of completion- when Leonard came into the room, red-faced and rolling his eyes. “Shut up, Jim, you’ll make him uncomfortable. Vulcans don’t flirt, that’d require expression of emotion.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at Leonard, mildly puzzled. Had Leonard not recognised their discussion before Jim had arrived for what it was? Was his respect and admiration of the medical student not clear?

“What is it you’ve done, Jim?” Bones had leaned himself against the door frame, staring fixedly at his ex-roommate, who was glancing between Spock and Bones with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. 

“Well, I was going to apologise for a stupid thing I did, but seeing as it wound up with all three of us in a room with a bed, I’d say no apologies needed.” Jim couldn’t keep a straight face delivering that line, his flirtatious demeanour crumbling into pure giddiness. “Sorry, sorry, I’ll stop. S’just weird seeing the two of you together, it’s like you guys exist separately in my mind, and seeing you getting cosy in Bones’s room is just so wacky-“

“Jim!” Bones’s bark made Jim laugh even harder, and Spock allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch ever so slightly as Jim’s merriment grew and Leonard became more and more flustered. These humans affected Spock more than he’d care to admit, and watching them interact brought a sense of contentedness over him. “It’s fucking crazy o clock in the morning, what in the hell could’y’ve done that y’need to confess so bad?”

“Small scheduling error, Bones, no big deal! In my defence, I didn’t realise how late it is, I was reading this really cool book that Galia’s sister sent her, so far it’s been absolutely gripping, can’t put it down-“

“Jim.”

His blue eyes darted around the room nervously as he giggled anxiously. “You don’t have a test tomorrow, Bones, I do. I fucked up and logged it in the PADD you’d loaned me instead of my own PADD, so I guessed you got a reminder and I know your memory is shit outside of your studies, so I figured you’d be up cramming-“

“Jim-boy, what’d you just say? Because if you said what I think you said, I’m going to-“

“Leonard, I would not recommend engaging in a physical altercation with Jim. He has considerable more experience in such matters.”

Spock felt a shiver down his spine as Leonard’s dangerously icy glare turned on him. “Are you sayin’ y’don’t think I can take ‘im, Spock?”

“That is not what he said Bones! C’mon, how bad was it? You got to bond with your roommate, and now my two best friends are on speaking terms, at least. Sounds like a win-win to me!”

“I’m gonna need the two of y’all to get the fuck outta my room, if I’m going to get any sleep at all before tomorrow.” 

Jim’s smirk got even more mischievous, the glint in his eye almost dangerous. “Maybe we’ve planned for you to get no sleep tonight, Bones.”

“I resent your implicating me in your antics, Jim.” Spock was definitely grinning, goddammit! There’s no way a vulcan could manoeuvre their mouths any further into a vague smiling shape.

“You’re not denying it-”

“Both of y’all need to shut up and go to bed, it’s late.” Leonard groused, having had enough of Jim’s playfulness, which was a bit too much for how late it was. Also, the thoughts and feelings he was invoking in Leonard with his meaningless teasing were enough for him to overthink on for the rest of his life. Jim’s pout made Bones fully aware of just how much he wouldn’t mind kissing his best friend, which reminded him of how close he had been to doing just that to his roommate, which reminded him of how it was just his fucking luck to be attracted to the two people he most defiantly shouldn’t be attracted to. The two most unattainable people on campus. He was probably a sadist. Jim sat next to Spock on his bed, and Spock had turned to mutter something in Jim’s ear. On his bed. He was absolutely a sadist. 

“That’s a good point, Spock. I think it’ll be difficult to strong-arm him into spending more time with the two of us as well.”

Spock had the good grace to look up at Leonard with what could be interpenetrated as an apologetic expression. “Those were not my... exact words.”

“I’m a med student, not a socialite, dammit!” Jim was sitting very close to Spock, they looked so right together it was sickening, and Spock was clearly mooning over Jim, and Bones... Bones needed to sleep. Now. “I’ll come over to your place tomorrow after I get out of the labs at six, Jim. If Spock comes, he comes. I don’t care.” He did care. A lot. 

“Seeing as two of us live in these quarters, it would be more logical for us to reconvene here, would it not?” 

“Nah, Jim’s got a better replicator.”

“I’ve also got better taste in holos, so...”

“You absolutely do not-”

“I don’t think watching documentaries counts as a relaxing night in-”

“I shall be there, eighteen-hundred hours.” Spock interrupted, his expression doing nothing to ease the daydreams determinedly banging at Leonard’s subconscious as he looked between the two humans. That odd eyelid-thing slid open and shut twice, which Leonard probably shouldn’t have found cute when he didn’t know whether or not it was hurting Spock. But he did, nonetheless. 

Jim clapped Spock’s shoulder, which stopped the eyelid blinking, and resulted in a rather cat-like freezing of his entire frame. “Excellent!” Jim jumped up, bouncing out the bedroom door. “It’s a date, gentlemen!” And he was gone before Leonard’s outraged spluttering could hold him up. 

“It’s not a- dammit, we’re not- Spock-”

Spock stopped to place his hand on Leonard’s shoulder, deliberately making eye-contact. “To borrow Jim’s turn of phrase, ‘it’s a date’, Leonard.” 

And that rendered Leonard totally speechless, left staring mutely at Spock’s retreating back. What the fuck kind of emotional fuckery had he gotten himself into?