#it’s shit like you being too fucking lazy to write an email to your fucking coworker!!

[clowningcrows]

the way that so many people are willing to literally destroy the earth just “talk” to their favorite fictional character. or to not have to write their own damn paper. or their own email

[inkskinned]

it's just that there's a few more steps you have to take that other people don't have to take, but they don't see the steps, so they think you should be able to hop from moment to moment, a chickadee.

it isn't getting out of bed. it is the weight, the hook in your chest, the anchor. you have to move the anchor first. you have to silence your alarm, but your phone is in your hand, which means now you have to put the phone down, which is too-hard. you get stuck in there for a while, the white screen, mindlessly scrolling. you don't even like this activity, have tried a few other options but - here you are, and time is passing.

you've googled iron deficiency causes depression and if i drink enough water does it help with mental illness and anxiety but no caffiene within the last two weeks, like how you googled am i gay quiz at 17.

it isn't just calling the doctor back, it's the anxiety, it's these little moths in your lung cavities, furious and fluttering. you need to figure out how to capture your fingers from between their nervous bodies. you are an adult, you can say the words yes hi, i'm calling because i need - but you need to practice first. maybe write it down because what if you misspeak, wouldn't that be embarrassing. write it down, but you need to find a pen first. well, actually, your desk is kind of messy. you should get a new pen. you should get a new organizational system. you should try journaling.

your grades in school were always strange. the way teachers would say things like it feels like you're not trying. you could touch stars in the stuff you cared about. well, sometimes. god be willing. homework average zero. oops! your english teacher's wrinkled brow: i know you know this stuff. what the fuck are you doing?

it isn't the showering, it's the mirror before the shower and the soft horrible pull of your naked physique. you have to avoid eye contact completely or else it'll be 93 minutes later and you'll have picked at your skin until every little pore is bleeding. you have to stand up but standing is tiring and also you should have remembered to buy more soap but you never remember anything. maybe get out of the shower and while it's still running and you're still dripping wet, use your phone to take a note. make a note to get your groceries. let the shower run while you stand half-in half-out and get lost in your phone for a moment. come back out when the water runs cold and now you have to sprint to get ready.

your grandmother's frown. you're just being lazy. protestant work ethics in a house that isn't even protestant. she says she just learned different but she means learned better, doesn't she.

it's not that you can't send the email, it's that your hands have been hurting lately and the desk really is messy and also why the fuck would you even care about this thing? doesn't everyone else feel like they're drowning? hi brendon thanks so much for sending! will review and get back to you shortly. but now you're on the internet, close the tab with tumblr on it. go on, close it. feel the little soft vapor of boredom come up and over your eyeteeth and make everything overwhelming and itchy.

literally all you have to do is put on shoes to go outside. you're literally already dressed, that's the hard part of this whole thing. literally just put the shoes on. just... do it! do it! this shit is easy!

it's literally that easy. just stop taking all those stupid invisible steps. stop following your strange made-up rules. times like this, even you're positive you're faking. you just don't want to bother with the cleaning and the cooking and the being-an-adult.

but then - shouldn't you be able to put these stupid shoes on? nobody's even looking. go on kid. life is out there! just take the leap!

get moving.

[nejjirez]

" FIRST PLACE ☆ ."

pairing: e!42 basketball player miles x fem!blk reader

contents: fluff , kissing , basketball player miles , annoying ass fangirl..

a/n: when i actually give a fuck i could write like 3 fics in one day , lord im so lazy oh my goodness

Miles was a great basketball player for the school , everyone loved him. A lil too many people tho .. girls ; girls that weren't you. miles didnt have his eyes on anymore but you, however the fact that other girls had their eyes on him pissed you off a lil. actually , not a lil , you wanted to punch them in they shit but you aint have time to get suspended .. who does?

you walked down the hallway with your airpods in your ears playing your favorite playlist while scrolling on your phone. suddenly you looked up to check your surroundings , and happened to see a poster on the wall for the school basketball team. you walked over to it , reading it. "school game .. october 12th? why didnt he tell me.." miles always told you about every game he had that was coming up , maybe he forgot to tell you this time.

as you walked off from the poster , you just happened to get a text from miles. you read it in your head as it said "maa , wya? i just got to school" you giggled at the text , being that miles was always late to school. you instantly replied with "the main hallway near the library" with a smile plastered across your face.

sooner or later miles saw you down the hallway and jogged his way to you , playfully yelling your name. "(nameeee)" he yelled with a smile on his face. "hiii milessss" you grinned , hugging him and taking one of your airpods out. "you didnt tell me you had a basketball game coming up" you glanced at the poster , looking back at miles for his response.

miles looked at you with a puzzled look until he saw the poster squinting at it while his eyebrows raised after he read it. "i do???? wtf they didnt tell me this time" miles shook his head checking his phone , messages , and emails. "welllll yk ill be theree" you smiled , wrapping your arms around miles' neck.

"ik you will ma , my #1 supporter" he grinned , kissing you on your forehead.

------------------------------------♡----------------------------------------

On the day of miles' game , you made sure to look your best even tho you'd be in a crowd FULL of people .. but who cares? your man would see you. you wore your prettiest outfit and sprayed yourself with your perfume , making sure you smelled good. you walked down to the gym when it was time for the game to start in about 10 minutes. you touched your forehead randomly because the school was hot and you were slightly sweating.

aaannnnddddd you forgot to do your edges. shit. you hated leaving the house without your edges done , it was like your finishing touch. your eyes widened as you quickly jogged back to the school bathroom getting your edge control and edge brush out your bag , struggling to close the zipper back.

you brushed your edges to your forehead while your other hand worked to unscrew the top off the edge control. after like 3 minutes , you were finally done with your edges. you scurried back to the gym , but you heard someone talking on the mic which meant the game was about to start. you walked faster and finally got to the door , but...it was locked.

your heart dropped but you were quickly cheered back up as one of the teachers came and opened the door. meanwhile , miles was on the court as the principal gave her speech , he paced around scanning the bleachers to look for you. he started getting worried when he didnt see you , what if you couldn't make it?

suddenly , you walked thru the door , which caught miles' attention and he started smiling. his eyes were on you the whole time you walked to the bleachers , as you on the other hand scanned the court for him. you looked for his jersey number , (42) and eventually you found it. you locked eyes with him as he smiled at you , and you smiled back.

after the game , you wouldn't guess who got first place .. actually yes you would. it was miles of course , the crowd cheered as he made the final shot from quite far away , but no matter how many people cheered you were the loudest.

well , you thought you were. you heard another voice yelling his name from the other side of the bleachers , making your head snap that way in an instant. you weren't the only one hearing this , miles heard it too. he side eyed the girl yelling her lungs out , and walked over to the bleachers where you were signaling for you to come down.

you got up and grabbed your bag going to miles , but as soon as you got to him so did the girl (shorty spawned outta nowhere..). "uh.." you looked at the girl with disgust , she did the same to you. but she didn't have the right to.. why does she wanna talk to YOUR man??

miles kissed you and looked at the girl with a stank face , walking off with his arm around your neck , leaving the girl to start muttering in anger.

©cyb3rspyd3r

taglist: @tainted-liquor @urmadiik @ashsostrange @arielliio @all444miles @spiderheartzz @laaailuh @xoxokiwi @chessbox @cat3ch1sm @breeandhermunches @nokkihy @mayearies

[stoned-writer]

A request where chris evans fucks his assistant, reader in his trailer

so so sorry this took the longest ever but here we are !

side note- i shall no longer write for c.evans

photo not mine*

the assistant - Chris Evans

summary- after being friends with chris for years and working for him, the feelings boil over and tension breaks.

warnings- p in v unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it yall), choking, use of daddy, oral (m & f) not sure of any other pls lmk !

word count- 1,351

a/n- not totally happy with this but i hope yall enjoy.

MINORS DNI 18+

You had been friends with Chris since high school, you knew his life and all its chaos better than anyone so it only made sense when you inevitably became his assistant as his career grew. 

You did have one tiny problem with your little arrangement…

You’re unbelievably in love with him. 

It was especially hard on days like today when you’re on set with him watching him walk around like he isn’t the sexiest man alive. You don't really know when it happened, maybe you always felt this way about him, but all you knew was you couldn’t take it anymore. 

You were sitting in his trailer answering some emails when he strolls in wearing the most simple outfit, jeans and white t-shirt that is at least a size too small, almost instantly the dirty thoughts start running through your mind “his arms look so sexy, i wonder what it would feel like to have them wrapped around my-” you’re snapped out of your daze when you realize he's talking to you shit “hey pretty got a lot to do today?” he asks sweetly, tilting his head slightly, you blush and look away hoping he doesn’t notice “no actually all done for the day” he plops himself down on the couch next to you, arm stretched out behind you. He’s so close you can smell his cologne so casual like he doesn’t know he's driving you insane. 

You finally look up at him and find he’s already looking at you with a cheeky little smirk on his face he’s up to something “well what do you know i'm all done for today too.” The sexual tension between the two of you is off the charts right now you think you might explode if someone doesn’t make a move soon. 

He catches you staring, “see somethin ya like doll?”  Your eyes snap up to his - is this really happening right now ? taking a second to catch your breath you look from his eyes to his lips briefly before replying “yeah would there be a problem with that?” he laughs lowly casting his eyes over your body before making his way back up to your eyes “not at all” he leans in a little bit and you find yourself leaning to meet him halfway, his hand makes its way to the side of your neck, lips barely touching he says “are you sure about this pretty girl?” you nod your head instantly but that’s not enough for him, “words baby” he demands shit you're wet you lick your lips “yes i'm sure.” 

He doesn’t waste any more time and crashes his lips to yours. You both moan out at the new contact between the two of you. It was like the dam finally broke after years of pent up tension and pining it was finally happening. 

He brings his hand down to the back of your thigh and grabs you to sit up and straddle his lap as both his hands now slide to grab your ass, he moans into your mouth at the feel of the flesh between his huge hands. You instinctively start to grind down on him feeling how hard he is through his jeans. You slide down off of him to rest on your knees in between his legs as he adjusts himself to be manspreading looking down at you with a lazy smile on his stupidly handsome face. You reach to undo his belt and make quick work of sliding his jeans off, you can't say you're surprised when you see how big he is through his boxers, saliva pooling in your mouth at the thought of getting him into your mouth. Reaching up to slide his boxers down, he mumbles almost to himself “i can't believe this is actually happening” you almost didn't hear him but you chuckle and say “oh believe it baby.”

You lock eyes with him as you spit onto his cock “jesus christ” he exhales, and you proceed to take him into your mouth as much as you can, his eyes roll back at the feeling of your mouth working on him, he brings his hands to gather your hair in a makeshift ponytail- “look at you angel so pretty with my cock in your mouth goddamn so good honey, such a good girl for me aren’t you?’ you moan around him at his praise. His hips buck up into your mouth as you take him further down your throat, “fuck baby as much as I would love to cum in your mouth I need to be inside you right now” he growls as he pulls you off of him as he undresses you insanely fast and pulls you back into his lap. 

He brings his hand under your chin to make you look at him as you position yourself over him, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip and pushing it into your mouth, he exhales “gonna be the death of me pretty girl”

You both moan out in sync as you sink down on his cock, giving you a minute to adjust, he rubs his hands over your hips as he starts to move you back and forth. “So big daddy oh fuck-” “shit say that again baby, go on what’s my name?” “daddy- feels so good, so deep” he then takes this opportunity to stand and place you down on your back on the way too small couch. 

He then starts destroying your pussy at an alarming pace but you couldn't think past the immense pleasure you're feeling, he brings his hand up to your throat and applies just the right amount of pressure, “eyes on me angel” he growls to keep you present with him, he looks down to where the two of you are connected and spots a bulge in your lower stomach, it drives him crazy, he presses down on it and says “fuck honey feel that? Feel how deep i am in your guts, god this pussy was made for me.” you're a moaning mess, unable to form a complete sentence “uhh fuck - daddy” he laughs lightly, “got you cockdrunk already huh? Feel you squeezing me baby i know you’re close go on give it to me cum all over my cock baby” thats quite literally all it takes till you’re screaming “oh my god chris- daddy fuck i’m cumming.”

Your orgasm triggers his own and he’s twitching inside you and spilling his whole load inside you. Moaning at the warm feeling, he leans down to kiss you. 

“I’m not done yet honey, eyes on me.” 

Before you can ask what he means he’s pulling out of you and sinking to his knees as he dives in to eat your pussy like a man starved. His tongue lapping up the mess you both made has you arching off the couch and grabbing at his newly buzzed hair and your eyes rolling back. “Come on doll, you got one more for me right?” “uhh fuck- yes daddy” he moans into you, “thats right yeah you do.”

You can feel the band getting tighter and you know you’re close, he knows it too.

“I know baby, go on cum, you can do it for daddy, let go” 

And you certainly do. 

As you start to come down from your high he sits up wiping the sides of his mouth bringing his fingers into your mouth so you can taste yourself. He leans down to connect your lips to his, he squeezes himself back onto the couch with you bringing you back to sit in his lap. Before either of you can say anything there's a knock on the trailer door, “uh Mr. Evans you're needed back on set” says a surely traumatized crew member. 

You both sigh and start to get dressed, before he steps out he places his hands on your hips and says “we will definitely talk about this when I get back” with that he kisses you sweetly like he didn't just rearrange your insides, throws you a wink and out the door he goes. 

[ravings-of-a-mad-scientist]

I think there is something of a story that could be made out of tech no longer being supported by the tech is life supporting

You know what? YES! There is a story to be made out of tech no longer being supported even though it's life supporting! My fuckin emails!

I used to use Windows' default mail app, which sucked. It couldn't work with custom email addresses and was generally janky, but you know what? It was my janky default mail app, because I was too lazy to change it to a better one. Just like with every other default app included with Windows 10 (which I still use even though they came out with a Windows 11 (even though they said they'd never do that (fuckin tryhards)))

But then Windows was all like

"mail app will no longer be supported, please switch to Outlook, bleh".

And that's when my alarm bells started ringing. I knew shit was going down hill. First they took Flash, and now they're after my fuckin MAIL?!? Is nothing sacred???

And what's worse, they had the gall to make *me* do something, and accept change, when I'd much rather be embracing stagnancy. What? Are we too good for the bare minimum all of a sudden?

But, I also knew the deadline was like six months away, so I didn't do shit and forgot about it. Because I have a heavy prescription for A.D.D., a mental disorder which makes it difficult to not put things off until the last minute since I can't think in scales longer than about six days. I am heavily dependant on my calendar app to tell me when to do stuff.

But then it happened. Six entire months had passed, and I finally had to change to Outlook. That made my afternoon a SLIGHTLY more stressful and busy than it'd have normally been, the bastards

But, you know what? There's no point getting angry over that. I think I might have just been too complacent with my old shitty default mail app all that time, and was too lazy and had too many dysfunctioning executives to look for better options. I might never have known what other mail apps could be like until someone gave me that little push. There really is a lesson to be learned here. 😔

And you know what that lesson is?

DON'T EVER FUKIN TRUST WINDOWS! BECAUSE OUTLOOK IS WAY SHITTER AND JANKIER THAN MAIL APP! WHY DID THEY MAKE ME SWITCH TO IT???

It takes forever to open, it also fucked the calendar app because apparently those can't be separate windows anymore so I had to spend like 20 minutes fixing it, then it fucked my wife, and just today it refused to open at all because it FALSELY believed it was already open.

I ended up having to restart my entire ass computer, WITH A FORCED WINDOWS UPDATE, giving me plenty of time to write this post. Haven't slept in 42 hours btw (unrelated). Then Outlook decided to log me out, so I had to find my password to sign back in. Meanwhile, I couldn't do any work because the only thing I needed to do was see my goddamned emails! So I finally get in, and I discovered that apparently that Windows update was updating Outlook, because I had to tell them that NO, I DON'T WANT MY DATA HARVESTED.

All this and for what? Fashionable looking UI design? Compatibility with email handles that don't end with @gmail.com?

What do I look like, some kinda jackass who owns multiple alternate email addresses with custom domains? Custom domains that I've been using an entirely separate web based email service to check since the old mail app wouldn't let me open them, but I was just too lazy to switch over to completely for my primary work and school gmails? Do I look like someone who bought themadscientist@ravingsofamadscientist.com thinking that somehow a *mailing list* would make me INTERNET FAMOUS?

Because yes, I am and I did do that. But you know what? I STILL do all that because I haven't gotten around to putting those emails into Outlook!

YOUR FORCED EMAIL SERVICE MIGRATION ACHIEVED NOTHING! SUCK IT BILL GATES!

[imagine-knb]

Hii! If you don’t mind can i request GoM+ hayama+ izuki How they comfort their s/o after she had a bad day at work?

Thank you !

Kuroko

he may not have all the advice in the world to offer, but he's a very good listener and encourages you to rant about your bad day to him if it'll help you feel better

while he's listening to you talk about all your bad points of the day, he's looking for anything good that may have happened that he can point out

"look at how much good has come out of today instead; at least today isn't a total waste."

Izuki

it doesn't seem like it at first, but Izuki is a master and being able to write out snarky emails that seem professional at first glance, so he starts offering you lines you can use

most of them actually have you laughing at how ridiculous they sound, but there are a few that you actually jot down for future reference

"how do you professionally say 'fuck you, do your own work'? I might have to think about that one for a bit."

Kise

he's another person who encourages you to rant about your bad day to him, but instead of giving you advice on how to better deal with it next time, he's coming up with ways to get revenge

the things Kise suggests are petty and childish, but after a while it has you laughing about all the ridiculous ways you could make your shitty day a better one

"next time your boss asks you to complete a project so last minute, you should dump it on his desk for review last minute too!"

Aomine

the minute he sees your sour face walking through the door, Aomine is asking if there's anyone he has to beat up on your behalf; he's only half-joking of course

he's not very good at calming you down from your bad day; in fact, he's backing you up on every little point you complain about, no matter how small the problem

"yeah, fuck your coworker for taking the last bit of coffee, that was yours!"

Midorima

he knows what it's like to work in a high stress environment, so Midorima offers some pretty solid advice on how to not let bad days get to you too much

he offers practical suggestions, giving you tips on how to view issues with a new lens that may benefit you better; at the end of the day, the two of you have completely analyzed your shitty day

"I think if you approach it this way next time, you'll find that it won't be so bad. I know you can do it."

Murasakibara

he would never admit this to you, but Murasakibara kept a stock of your favorite snacks hidden away in the high shelves of his closet; they were reserved for days like this

he plays it off like he'd bought them for you on a whim, having a feeling that you were having a bad day, and he presents them to you with a lazy smile

"have a snack with me ____-chin, you can tell me about your day then."

Akashi

over a relaxing cup of tea, Akashi discusses your day with you and does little to bring up his own unless you ask, wanting to focus instead on helping you get your mind of your troubles

he makes a lighthearted joke about you quitting your job, though he knows you like the independence of being able to take care of yourself

"you know the offer stands that you'd never have to work while with me."

Hayama

though he listens to you complain about your day for the first hour, Hayama is of the thought that work is for work and home is for play, so he's quick to try and get your mind off your shit day

he hadn't made plans to go out that evening, but he decides at the last minute that an outing for dinner might be exactly what you need to decompress

"no time to be focusing on work anymore, ____, let's go out on a date to forget about it."

[terpernoctem]

well hi there

i think it's high time we bring the personal posts back, what do you think? yeah let's do this

not really sure how—

happy new year, i guess, for a start!

2024. *insert paul rudd gif* (you know the one) (i could do it, really) (insert it, i mean) (after all, this is the internet) (but i don't want to) (so just picture it in your mind's eye and pretend you can do telepathy) (perhaps you can) (thrilling, innit?)

anywayssss

it's the fucking year 2024, you guys. who can believe this. how??????

i don't know about you but i never even thought of 2024 before.

more than that—it's like, i never thought of myself growing past the age of, let's say 22.

i remember being a kid, like in high school, vaguely trying to shape out the contours of the person i wanted to be. i remember applying for law degrees. but it was so unserious—i don't even think i ever gave it serious thought. they said pick something to do and i was, and honestly still am, shit at science (which was, the big thing back then) and too lazy to think of anything else. in retrospect, maybe i would have liked that. law, i mean. maybe it would have given me some kind of purpose.

maybe my nervous break down would have happened two years earlier.

in senior year, i was briefly crushing on a guy who wanted to be a vet (at least that's what i imagined it was what he wanted to be—it's not like we ever talked about it so maybe i made it up completely). i visited paris that summer right before senior year (i was traveling alone with my mum for the first time) and i remember thinking like "oh yes, i will definitely come and live here, i guess" (and do what? watch that dude become a vet? bet.) and i could picture it, for like 5 seconds, but it was like watching something from above. i wasn't actually picturing myself living this life. it's like, i was a character in a movie.

meanwhile i didn't have the faintest idea what i would be doing with my life.

and i still don't! yayy

i kid you not

more than an entire decade went by and i still have got no clue what i want to be. worse: i honestly believe that i'm useless at most things.

last night i got a rejection email for a ny internship i applied to 3 months ago. it's not that i was surprised, but still. i think i still have these delusions that my life hasn't quite started, and that there's this great big thing that's going to come up and change everything for the better.

in a way, i think the reason why i took the last job i had is somewhere along these lines. such big hopes.

and all for what?

i'm writing these lines on my parents' couch. since november, i'm back in my teenage bedroom—the one where i brought the only boy i've ever loved all these years ago. it looks nothing like it did back then and yet, it's full of ghosts, no matter how thoroughly i cleanse it. everything in this town, everything on this island haunts me. my old life in europe feels like a distant dream.

pros: free food. not constantly worrying about my aging parents. cons: i'm never alone. but it's strangely okay. (i guess a decade of acute loneliness would do that.)

and yes, haunting aside, where else would i be? my mum has asked me a couple times: "what are you doing here, rotting away with your old parents? why don't you go and keep living your life?"

and boy oh boy, wouldn't you like to know? i sure would.

stay tuned, it's going to be a packed year—i'm (finally) going to get my driver's license in the next few months (never got to get around it before) and potentially, a sense of self.

[troglobite]

lkasjdf

if i've deduced my own pathetic issues correctly then i think

i've craved validation my entire life for doing things that were hard for me. but not other people.

but instead i got validation for doing things that were easy for me. but not other people.

i excel at school and tests. great, good job.

but like. okay. wasn't difficult for me. (not a brag, i'm lucky in that regard)

but doing group projects. talking to strangers. sleeping and eating without issue. answering phones as an office assistant in 7th grade. nope, nobody cares. do better. it's a disgrace that you were a classroom aide in senior year and couldn't answer the office phone for your teacher and he had to interrupt class to answer it. pathetic.

good job you got into good schools! you applied to good schools! well done!

oh my god you really can't just live on campus?

wow well done you're v responsible and i don't have to worry abt you!

jfc you really can't learn to drive? it took you this long and this much time and money and concern? jfc.

and it persists to this day.

ppl compliment me on things that i know i'm good at. that i'm performing for others.

and i've said for a long time that compliments make me uncomfortable so some ppl kindly avoided giving them (while others weaponized it against me to make me stop talking in a conversation)

but the reality is. i crave compliments and validation. it's all i want. and i don't want it to be for something i did. or something that i'm just good at.

bc that's never enough.

if i get a compliment for that i get a horrible rush and a high from it and then i keep wanting more.

bc in reality what i want compliments & validation for?

scheduling my own appts.

driving to places that i haven't been before.

handling a non-covid-safe situation well.

eating food that i was ocd-afraid of anyway.

being alone for 2-3 weeks in a house infested with spiders.

emailing people i dont' know v well and dont' like in high stress situations.

managing my own sensory stuff & meltdowns.

communicating boundaries well.

handling high/intense emotions in a way that's responsible.

actually improving from years of therapy.

but then the problem becomes like. i hate myself so fucking much and i never got validation for any of that, that when i get it from my therapist, it feels like a lie. like something i paid her to tell me. something she just says to people.

it doesn't feel true bc nobody has ever really said any of that shit to me and meant it in a way other than condescending pity.

every time i do something like that for my mom, she's surprised. and then she consistently never asks me for actual help. she doesn't actually rely on me.

she only ever asks me to do things that we've established i'm good at.

that's nothing. that stuff is easy for me. it's meaningless. doing it is literally no problem, literally easy. i will always do it. only logistics for that stuff are ever remotely difficult.

it's not the same as living in my head and doing the stuff that my head wants to kill me for.

but that's not hard to her or anyone else, so no one cares.

i want validation that i'm working so hard every day. but the only person who's ever said it to me is my therapist.

my mom sees me leave a box out to break down for the recycling later, and she assumes i must be in too much pain to do it. bc the concept of "yeah i'll get to that later" isn't okay.

prioritizing parts of my health or time and knowing some things just aren't time sensitive isn't a Skill, to her, it's laziness and carelessness and inconsideration.

even though i never ask her to do the things that i put off til later, and they never inconvenience her except on rare occasions. and that's usually when i've just forgotten.

she'll compliment me for writing a good email.

that's nice.

that's not the hard part.

the hard part is sending it.

she'll compliment me for doing well learning this new project at work.

that's nice.

again, that's not the hard part.

the hard part was doing all those training meetings with a woman i didn't know.

she'll reassure me abt that teacher's aide job i applied for (all the way back in 2021) that i ended up not getting, reassuring me that i'm good enough.

that's nice.

i might've been slightly insecure at the time, but that's not the problem.

the problem is i was terrified i had fucked up the interview portion.

because doing an interview is utterly fucking terrifying.

applying wasn't the hard part. DOING the job wouldn't have been the hard part.

interviewing for it and interfacing with a new person who's senior to me and explicitly judging me was the hard part.

but she never remembers that. nobody else ever really cares or notices that.

i've just spent my whole life being complimented for stuff that came easy to me. and being told that the shit i was bad at SHOULD be easy and i'm a disgrace/failure/inconvenience for being bad at it.

and no comfort or compliments for me for when i did it well or okay. because i'm supposed to do it.

when i would complain abt things being difficult or scary, i was told other ppl (in particular my cousin w cerebral palsy) had it worse so i should be grateful.

i was told as an adult, to my face, that i'm a spoiled brat because my fear and ineptitude at certain things made me not want to do a particular job, and i was having trouble communicating that. so instead she conclude that i was selfish and lazy and spoiled, and that actually she regrets not making me have a job my entire life starting at age 14/15, or even earlier, like her.

i get complimented for doing my testimonial job well.

but not about the hard part: which is interfacing w the ppl who respond to me and demand a further response.

it doesn't matter that it unsettles me and scares me and puts me on the spot. it doesn't matter that that's incredibly high stress. it doesn't matter that i hate navigating those situations. it doesn't matter that i'm terrified of looking bad or pissing someone off.

and it doesn't matter that THAT'S why i didn't want to do this job in the first place.

i only get compliments/validation for the easy part: gathering and editing the testimonials and sending them out and collecting them on time.

not the emails. not the interfacing. not the parts that are actually hard.

so when my cousin starts baking. and giving it to my mom. and getting compliments and attention.

i break down.

bc baking is one of the few things that people will actually compliment me on. i take it, emotionally, as a threat whenever somebody is as good as or better than me at one of the few things i'm good at.

bc if i don't have that. if i'm not the best at that. what do i have?

wow look at you you can type fast. and write emails and edit basic text. you can easily problem solve things that aren't complicated.

whoopdifuckingdoo.

i have nothing. my adult life has been the winnowing away of things i'm actually good at, desperately clinging onto them and trying to scrounge for every bit of validation that i can get.

because i'm never going to get it for anything else that's actually difficult.

it always turns into a joke. i always have to explicitly ask for it. and the response is always "yep" and that's it.

and i'm so fucking broken and useless and shitty that anybody trying to fix that, like my therapist, sounds like a condescending liar to me.

bc nobody--and i mean NOBODY--in my life. has ever seen what things are difficult for me. and had nothing but judgment-less compassion and understanding for me.

it's ALWAYS been judgment. when i was a kid, it was pity and condescension bc i was young and Shy.

and when i got older, it became "what's the excuse/problem? just do it. you can do all this other stuff [school] just fine."

and now that i'm an adult it's resentment. even when i'm getting better. it's never enough.

so no, i can't get enough compliments or validation abt the things i do that are good.

bc that's not actually doing anything to address the pit of self-hatred, shame, and humiliation at the fact that just living is difficult for me.

anyway i wish i had never been born.

[compassionatereminders]

Dealing With Executive Dysfunction - A Summary

(The full post with elaborate explanations can be found here.)

Being a responsible adult doesn’t have to mean doing things perfectly - it means doing what you realistically can. Can’t eat 7 fresh veggies and fruits a day? Buy some veggie juice or a smoothie and chug that. Can’t make a proper, healthy meal? Add some extra protein to your instant noodles. Can’t do the dishes? Buy some paper plates. Don’t worry about doing things “the right way”, just do what works.

It’s not cheating to do something the easy way. If there’s an easy or more manageable solution available, use it. Even if some people think it’s lazy. Don’t worry about that. Just focus on finding the methods of doing things which make life easier for you.

Fuck what you’re “supposed” to do. Yes, ideally you shouldn’t run the dishwasher twice, but if cleansing the dishes by hand is not an option and that’s the only way you can get clean dishes, do it anyways! When you’re in a really bad place mentally, fuck the rules. Do what you need to do to get shit done, even if it’s not how you’re supposed to do it.

Do stuff while you’re waiting to do other stuff. We spend a lot of time waiting, so spend the time you’d normally just waste getting some chores done. Collect the trash while your roommate is in the bathroom or wipe down the kitchen counters while you’re making coffee. You can even turn it into a game! How many dishes can you clean before the potatoes are boiling? How much trash can you collect and throw out before your load of laundry is done?

You don’t have to do everything at once. Don’t wait for the day where you’re up for cleaning the entire house cause then you’ll be waiting for ages. You can wipe down one counter and call it a day. You can put away a couple things and leave the rest. You can do one small chore and let that be it. You don’t have to choose between doing everything and doing nothing. Any progress is worthwhile.

Let go of the idea that something has to become a permanent habit to have any value. Doing a certain sport for a month is still healthy even if you then move on to something else. Exploring a new hobby for a while and then moving on to other stuff will always teach you something. What’s good for you today will not necessarily be what’s good for you tomorrow.

Don’t worry about the entire task. Just focus on the first step. Don’t worry about brushing your teeth - just get your toothbrush wet and put tooth paste on it. Don’t worry about writing the essay - just look at the assignment and open a document. Don’t worry about going to the store - just put on your coat and your shoes. Starting a task is a lot easier if you only focus on the step right in front of you.

Imagine that your body is a pet/animal you have to care for. Feed and hydrate yourself, keep yourself and your environment clean, make sure you don’t get under or overstimulated, allow yourself time to rest and relax, find ways to enrich your life (like socializing, media or hobbies) - and do your best to make sure you’re healthy and happy, even though you never actually signed up for being your own zookeeper.

Just because you can’t do it perfectly doesn’t mean you should stop trying. Packing lunch a couple times a week is better than never packing lunches. Journaling or making art once a month is better than never doing anything creative. Exercising every once in a while when you have the energy is better than never exercising. You don’t have to do something every single day for it to be important and helpful.

Put on a professional persona when it’s necessary. Try to separate the anxious and dysfunctional you from the Student You who’s sending that important email or the Client You who’s making that phone call or the Customer You who isn’t afraid to ask for help. It might feel like you’re performing a role, but to be honest, most of us do at times.

When you’re doing chores, act like you’re filming a tutorial. Narrate what you’re doing like someone’s watching. That might make it easier to maintain focus and to keep track of the various steps.

You don’t have to do anything perfectly. Wiping yourself off with some baby wipes beats not doing anything about your personal hygiene. Eating a protein bar beats not eating. Using mouthwash beats neglecting dental hygiene completely. Going for a quick walk beats not moving. It doesn’t have to be perfect to count and make a difference.

Make something you know you have to do the trigger for you to start doing something else. Tell yourself “next time I get up to pee I’ll take out the trash” or “when I get up to get something to drink next I’ll make lunch.” If you HAVE to get up anyways, you might as well.

Assign yourself a deadline. Tell yourself “once this video is over, I’ll do the dishes” or “once this alarm rings, I’ll do my laundry.” 

If you struggle to be compassionate towards yourself, try visualizing your future self as a separate person who you like and want to do favors for. Try to think of your future self as a friend who is separate from your current self and do what you can to make their life easier by doing things like preparing that lunch, doing those chores, taking that shower or making fun plans. I know they’ll be grateful.

Make putting stuff back where it belongs so easy that you “might as well.” Organize your home so that placing stuff where it belongs becomes so easy that you might as well just place it there. For many people that means several laundry baskets, many trash cans and easily accessible and very visible storage options. So if you keep finding things in annoying places, make sure they get an easily accessible home!

Look into why you can’t do something. Is something about the chores you’re struggling to do actually causing you sensory distress and is there something you can do to make it more comfortable? If you hate mint toothpaste, get one that tastes like bubble gum. If old food grosses you out, do the dishes with thick gloves on. If showering makes you feel bad about your body, shower with the lights off. The problem isn’t always about self discipline, and in those cases it’s worth looking into why you’re struggling so much to get certain chores done.

Take care of yourself in order to take care of others ( whether pets or people.) Outside motivation is necessary for many people who struggle with executive dysfunction. For many people getting out of bed is easier when you know someone else is relying on you being somewhat functional. So don’t be afraid to find the motivation to take care of yourself in wanting to take care of others.

Make keeping your place clean as easy as possible. Make sure there’s easy one step access to the things you need often. Make sure that the place where a thing is supposed to be is actually within reach of where you use the thing. Make sure everything has a an easily accessible place to go, even if that means several laundry baskets and several trash cans. Examine what’s messing up your place and find a home for it where you’re likely to actually place it on a regular basis.

Choose one very specific thing to work on - like the bathroom sink or the oven or your desk. If you suffer from executive dysfunction you’ll likely be distracted, but having one specific focus point you can keep returning to will mean that in between getting distracted, you can return to your chosen project and get some shit done.

When something feels overwhelming, tell yourself to “just show up” and that you “won’t have to stay the whole time if it’s horrible.” Cause odds are that once you’ve pushed past your initial mental block, you’re likely to stay and finish what you started.

If you really can’t do something, accept your limits and find a different method. Don’t keep trying to push through via willpower alone. If you need outside accountability to get your shit done, find someone who can hold you accountable. If you know you can’t remember the stuff you’re supposed to remember, make sure to always write things down. If you keep forgetting your meds, set a daily alarm. Don’t keep expecting yourself to be able to do things you always struggle with.

Make your chores into a game. Assign certain chores certain points and make a list of fun rewards you can have once you’ve earned a certain amount of points through doing chores.

If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing poorly. Any amount of effort is better than none, so on days where you can’t do something well, do it anyways! Any amount of progress beats not getting started.

Find a momentum and use it to do that thing you’ve been struggling to start doing. You can’t get yourself together to shower? Well, find something you CAN do - and once you’re already doing something, you might be able to channel said energy into showering.

Take it one step at a time. I know a shower sounds overwhelming, but can you take your clothes off? If yes, can you turn on the shower? If yes, can you stand under the stream? Look who just tricked themselves into doing the thing by breaking it down into manageable chunks!

Don’t just break a task into smaller steps - break it into steps so small you can’t possible get overwhelmed and fuck up. “Clean my room” is far too vague - but “set a timer and collect all the trash you can in 10 minutes” is actually manageable and so is “move all dirty dishes to the kitchen” or “remove and/or sort all clothes laying on the floor.”

Don’t worry about how most people do things - worry about what works for YOU. You constantly lose your key? Make ten copies. You overlook your post it notes? Put something with the important reminder on it in front of the door. Got laundry and trash all over the floor? Get more laundry baskets/trash cans. Coping with executive dysfunction is not about learning to do things the neurotypical way, it’s about finding strategies which actually work for you.

When you’re overwhelmed and struggling, find the easiest and fastest way to get rid of some of the distress. Eat if you’re hungry, sleep if you’re tired, pee if you have to, get that thing you’ve been postponing done if you can. The more stressors you can remove, the better - and it’s okay to start with the smaller ones!

Don’t worry about aesthetics. When you struggle with executive dysfunction, maintaining a picture perfect home is probably unrealistic. So drop that dream and focus on making your space practical and functional. Remove the doors of your kitchen cabinets and closets if that will actually make you put stuff away. Get a paper shredder and a mail sorting station if you got mail and advertisements everywhere. Buy all your socks in one color if you struggle to pair them. There are many ways to make your environment more functional. Explore them instead of just trying and failing to make your home look nice.

Get started on your next task before you take your break. Write that first sentence, make that first sketch, get the vacuum cleaner out of the closet or collect the dishes for washing and THEN have your break. Many people with executive dysfunction struggle to start tasks, so for most of us it’s easier to continue something we’ve already started working on than to begin from scratch.

[amatchinwater]

Pairing: Briles

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Brett Talbot, Mason Hewitt, Liam Dunbar

Warnings: explicit sexual content, anal fingering, anal sex, praise, semi-public sex (they're in Stiles' jeep),

Words: 2337

Kinktober: Bffs to Lovers

Ao3 link Masterlist

---

Having a best friend since childhood is supposed to be awesome. It’s supposed to make your heart happy and your life feel full. And for a time it did. Stiles and Brett were thick as thieves. Two peas in a pod. And whatever other cliche you want to attach to them, they were it. But then Stiles’ mom died and Brett’s parents were killed in a fire by hunters. Then the wolf moved away and Stiles was stuck in Beacon Hills. Not even the company of Stiles’ little brother Liam was quite enough. 

Don’t get him wrong, he loves Liam. But there’s certain things you don’t talk to your little brother about. Thank god for technology though. So at least through emails and texts and eventually video chats and facebook, Stiles was able to keep in contact with the wolf. His face the day Brett Talbot popped up in his friend requests nearly gave him a heart attack. Because at that point, they were reduced to occasional emails and a phone call here and there. And not many people knew his real name. 

But that opened a door for them to have so much more contact. 

It was almost like the wolf never left. 

He’s not even a little surprised that Brett grew up hot. Or is going to a prep school. Or next in line to be Alpha whenever Satomi decides she’s had enough. He didn’t have a whole lot to tell the wolf unfortunately, but that’s okay. Brett listened to even the most mundane things the human would tell him. Like getting an A on his economics homework despite writing the entire paper on circumcision. They more or less picked up right where they left off. 

It was nice. 

And then Stiles’ knees got taken the fuck out with a dose of reality. Or rather, fantasy and reality merging together. 

His little brother is all too easy to rile up. Everyone knows that and nearly everyone- Stiles included- takes advantage of it. So why Liam thought it would be a good idea to go and talk to the opposing team for tonight’s game is beyond him. Especially it being so close to the full moon. Liam doesn’t struggle too much, but when his IED is pushed too hard, it’s not a good time for anyone. 

Standing in the crowd of people with Mason, the other boy sees the blood dripping from Liam’s hand a moment before he does. “Uh, Stiles,” he pats his chest.

“Yeah,” Stiles whips around, looking to where Mason is pointing. “Shit,” he mutters, rushing towards his brother. He has no idea who the young wolf is talking to with the crowd surrounding them, but chances are slim they’re aware of the supernatural. Rushing over to his brother, Stiles clamps his hands on his shoulders, “hey, bud, let’s maybe just take it down a notch, yeah? We don’t need-” 

“Stiles?” the human looks up to see the owner of what’s probably his favorite voice on the planet. Brett fucking Talbot, standing outside the Devenford Prep bus with the rest of the lacrosse team. 

“Brett,” Stiles gasps, dumbfounded. He shamelessly stares at the wolf with his mouth parted. Seeing Brett through a laptop screen is one thing. In person? A totally different beast that Stiles didn’t think he’d struggle with. But his legs are jelly, his stomach full with far too many winged-things to be comfortable. “You’re- you’re here. Holy shit,” Stiles mostly recovers, throwing himself into the wolf’s arms. Brett tucks his nose into the human’s neck, rumbling in his chest. 

“This asshole is Brett?” Liam growls behind him. 

“How are you here right now?” Stiles asks, ignoring his little brother, pulling back to look at his best friend. 

“How many other prep schools in Beacon County do you know of?” Brett asks him, not fully letting go of him. 

Stiles could slap himself. “Well, I didn’t know you were in Beacon County, to be fair.” 

Brett shrugs, a lazy smile on his face as he drops his arms. Tapping Stiles on the nose he says, “you never asked." Brett bites his lip, eyeing him up and down, "I wish I didn’t have to cut this short, but we gotta get on the field or Coach will have our asses. I’ll uh,” the wolf chuckles to himself, “I’ll see you on the field.” Brett winks before walking away with his team. 

Stiles hears a flood of questions directed at Brett. The one catching his attention the most, “that’s Stiles?” Brett talks about him? To his friends? And what the hell does the wolf say about him that that is his friend's reaction?

“His coach isn’t the only one that’s going to be pissed if we don’t leave too,” Liam grumbles behind him. Annoyed at Brett and most likely being ignored. 

He’s just a little too busy watching the wolf walk away. Brett turns to look at him one last time with a stunning smile and Stiles has to will his knees not to buckle. How in the hell is he supposed to make it through the game with Brett on the field? Easy, there’s no fucking way. None. Stiles is a mess when it comes to lacrosse on a good day. Having the wolf there is only going to make it that much worse. 

To no one’s surprise, Stiles’ included, Devenford wiped the field with their faces. Like it was nothing. Probably wasn’t for them, actually. They’re all scary fucking good. And Stiles did the most sensible thing in the world. Didn’t even look in Brett’s direction, just ran to the locker room, showered, and then bolted for his jeep. 

As great as it would be seeing the wolf again, Stiles is sure to put his foot in his mouth should he come face to face with Brett again. Teenage hormones, or maybe a crush that’s been brewing for years without him knowing, he’s going to do something stupid. Like tell Brett just how hot he looks now. Or maybe he’d be really dumb and simply jump the wolf’s bones without so much as a sentence spoken. 

Best to just flee. 

Didn’t help either that Brett walked onto the field shirtless and Stiles had to just watch him get dressed. 

Keys already in hand, Stiles fumbles for the one to his jeep, wanting to be out of this parking lot. 

“Just gonna leave without saying goodbye?” 

That perfect voice makes Stiles jolt, his keys clattering to the pavement when he whips around. Mouth hanging open, he closes it, swallowing thickly at how relaxed the wolf looks leaning against his jeep. Already showered and changed. A t-shirt, jeans, and a jacket shouldn't look that good. How in the hell did he not hear him? “I, well, I was just-”

“-leaving without saying goodbye,” Brett grins, calling the human out for not having a proper excuse. “It’s okay,” the wolf shrugs, crossing his arms, “I’m not mad at you, gorgeous. I just haven’t had the chance to see you in person in years, thought we’d at least talk.” 

“Well, I mean, yeah,” Stiles relaxes a bit, Brett still smiling cheekily at him, “we talk all the time. I guess it was just-” hang on. Rewind. Stiles’ brain finally caught up with what the wolf said. Brett’s smile widens, seeing the realization wash over the human’s face. “What did you just call me?” 

His heart stutters in his chest and the wolf steps closer, “should I not call you what you are?” Brett’s eyes flick to his lips then back up, “because you are gorgeous. You know,” the wolf leans in and Stiles is struggling to catch his breath, “I always wondered if the blush was just the laptop cameras being fuzzy. Lights playing tricks and all that. Glad it wasn’t,” Brett whispers, sealing their mouths together.

Stiles can’t bring in any fucking air. What little he had, rushed out in a gasp at the wolf kissing him. Holy fucking shit, Brett is kissing him. It’s far too easy, as though they’d been doing it for years, for him to melt into the other boy. Eagerly opening his mouth for Brett’s tongue, the wolf’s hands coming up to cup his face. Stiles’ back presses against his jeep, his best friend’s knee grinding between his legs. Fuck, if this isn’t everything he’s ever wanted tied in a nice little bow. 

“Take me home,” Brett murmurs against his jaw, kissing his way down Stiles’ neck. Nipping and sucking little marks onto his skin. 

Stiles gasps as the warmth of his tongue, eyes fluttering closed, his dick hardening in his pants. He groans, “I can’t, my dad is going to be home soon.” 

“Okay,” the wolf continues to mouth at his neck, making no attempt to move his leg, “I’ll take you home, then.” 

Nope. Not okay with that either. “I can’t wait that long,” Stiles says, fingers curling into the wolf’s jacket. It’s at least a forty minute drive there. He’s already too pent up from next to nothing. Stiles cannot sit in the car for that long. 

Brett growls, grinding his hips, showing just how hard he is too, “yeah, neither can I.” Bending down, the wolf picks up his keys and opens the driver’s door. “Get in,” he instructs, climbing into the driver’s seat. Stiles stares at him for a moment. No one but him drives Roscoe. “Get in, gorgeous,” the wolf repeats. 

Stiles scrambles to the other side of the jeep, all but throwing himself into the passenger seat. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“I don’t think I’d forget how to get to the preserve,” Brett chuckles, effortlessly starting the jeep. Before Stiles can argue literally anything, his best friend takes off, flying through the streets until he reaches an opening in the preserve enough to park the jeep in. Turning the car off, Brett climbs into the backseat, “come here,” the motions with a finger. 

Yeah, he doesn't need to be told twice. With grace he never once possessed, Stiles crawls to meet the wolf, getting pulled into his lap. His lips are on Brett’s before he’s fully settled, pulling at his jacket. Brett just as eagerly tugs at Stiles’ shirt. Getting those off was the easy part. Their pants, not so much. But neither boy really cares, both fumbling to get naked as quickly as they can. 

The first time seeing each other in person and they're both attracted to the other? It's a beautiful cocktail to want to tease each other's clothes off and do something about it.

Down to just their boxers, Brett pulls Stiles back into his lap. Hand on his hips, grinding Stiles down, their erections throbbing together. The thin fabric adding an extra sensation to the friction. Stiles moans into the wolf’s mouth, needing so much fucking more. Brett trails his tongue along the human’s pulse, his breath hitching in his chest at a harsh bite. “Brett,” Stiles huffs out. 

His boxers are shredded, the sound of Brett spitting on his fingers is all the indication given to his request being answered. Brett pushes his finger past the tight ring of muscle with little resistance. Honestly, the amount of times Stiles has played with himself- today- it’s surprising the wolf wasn’t able to slide two inside right away. 

“God,” Brett groans, adding a second finger, making Stiles moan, “listen to you.” The wolf’s hips buck, forcing his fingers deeper, “you sound- fuck, Stiles,” Brett gasps, thrusting his fingers. The human arches his back, pushing his ass out to make it easier. Brett’s long fingers press against the bundle of nerves inside of him and precum smears between them. 

The wolf goes to add a third, but Stiles pushes his hand away, “I’m fine,” he says, trying to get Brett’s boxer’s off. 

It doesn’t work.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” his best friend tells him, tearing the rest of Stiles’ boxers away and then his own. Brett spreads his fingers one last time before positioning the head of his cock at the human’s entrance.

“You won’t,” Stiles argues, sitting himself down. The burn is something he’s grown to really enjoy, or maybe just not notice as much anymore. “I like it,” he closes his eyes on a moan, missing the way Brett’s face contorts with pleasure. 

“What the fuck,” the wolf laughs, gripping his hips to try and still his movements. “You are something,” Brett runs his hands up to cup his face, “look at me.” When Stiles opens his eyes, he’s met with golden orbs that make him shudder. “You’re okay?” The wolf checks in and he nods, putting his arms on Brett’s shoulders. “Okay, gorgeous,” Brett bucks his hips, punching the breath from Stiles’ chest. 

His moans come out much the same, Brett continuing the pace, their thighs slapping together. “Fuck,” Stiles groans, loving the way the wolf’s cock slams into his prostate with perfect force. Precum smears onto Brett’s abs where his dick rubs against his skin. “Brett,” he whines. 

“I’ve got you,” his best friend grabs his hips, helping Stiles grind against him. The brushing of Brett’s cockhead against the bundle of nerves licks fire inside of him. His orgasm rising quickly. “Come on, baby, cum for me. I need to feel it,” Brett growls, moving him faster. 

“Shit, shit, sh-” Stiles breaks off in a moan, pearly ropes shooting all over the wolf’s stomach and chest. Stars burst behind his pinched eyes, the wolf not stopping his movements. Stiles can only dig his nails into Brett’s shoulders for stability, riding out the high until he’s spilling himself deep inside. Filling Stiles to bursting before settling his hips. 

Brett nuzzles into his neck, peppering soft kisses along his skin while Stiles rests against his head, trying to catch his breath. “Hey, Stiles?”

“Hmm?” The human grumbles, too tired to speak. 

“About that talk?” 

Stiles can only laugh. Yeah, with Brett’s dick and his cum still in his ass, they should probably talk.

[serenadeonacanoe]

Honestly, I'd piss him off on purpose. (Namjoon x OFC)

Pairing: Namjoon x Original Female Character

Genre/Warnings: Smut, Angst, Fluff, too tired to beta

Tags: Artist!Namjoon, Yoongi and Tae are the best flatmates, Enemies to Lovers I guess... more like brats to making out in the storage unit, OFC is an idiot.

Summary:

"Wow. Is that that grumpy artist behind you? Jesus. He really looks like a bit of a dick. And you are right. He really is hot..." Oh no. Speakerphone. Namjoon was standing behind me and was staring at me. Then at my phone. He let out a little laugh, then raised his hand to wave at Tae and Yoongi outside who were now also staring at him as if frozen, before turning around in unison. As if that would help. As if he couldn't see them. Or better even... couldn't hear them.

[...]

Mister Darcy has nothing on Kim Namjoon - that new and upcoming artist you probably already heard of (You haven't? How dare you? At least have the decency to pretend you have!). He is cold, serious, and rather good at making other people believe he is a prick. Especially Elizabeth Bennet - uh... Charlotte - is about to lose it because of him. Maybe in a good way. Man, I'd literally piss him off on purpose.

More chapters on AO3

CHAPTER 1

Even the sound of my own nails rhythmically tapping on the top of the counter was annoying me. To be fair, it didn't need much today to blow my fuze that had never been particularly long in the first place. But after a week consisting of being belittled by old white men and endless hours of unpaid overtime I about had it. Welcome to the art world. You know well before you enter that the hours are horrible and the job market is more than frustrating, but you love art and you have good organisational skills, you are resilient, charming when it counts and tend to romanticize things even when you know you shouldn't. It's too late to turn around now.

"That is why I don't use an agenda or notebook. If something is important enough for me to attend I simply won't forget. I know you youngsters are all about the bullet journaling and expressing yourself by mapping out your life but it really is just another way to procrastinate instead of getting to actual work." For a second I considered throwing my damn notebook in the buyer's face, but that probably wouldn't have helped my CV and the new job I would have to look for starting tomorrow. At least I should have screamed at him a little. Mainly, that I didn't care, that I was on my period and my shitty shower in the shitty flat i shared had broken and no dry shampoo in the world had fixed my hair this morning and that god damn it, how the hell was I supposed to remember every phone number, every call my boss had to take, every art handling transport I had organized if I couldn't write it down somewhere. Instead, I smiled. Died a little on the inside and complimented him on the gift of his exceptional memory and asked whether he would like another cup of coffee.

"What a dick." Samantha murmured, more to herself than me, after the guy had finally left, which made me snort under my breath. She usually didn't say much but when she did it was usually pure gold. In the end, it didn't matter that he was. Didn't matter that everyone at the gallery thought the art he had bought from us over the last couple of months had neither been smart nor impressive purchases. Mainly expensive. And flashy.

"Doesn't matter now." I said in a sigh after a quick glance at the clock. It was Friday night and we were about to close. Since it was my birthday on Monday I had taken two days off, about the longest break I had had this year and I was looking forward to being the lazy slob for a few days I was maybe always meant to be. In silence we answered a few last emails, tidied up the desks and counters so that potential buyers that would come in over the weekend wouldn't have to suspect anyone was actually working here. - A white desk. A huge Imac on it. That was all they needed to see, folders and pens and apparently especially agendas to be hidden away in drawers.

At five to eight I threw on my coat and Samantha just gave me a tired smile. Probably happy for me, just exhausted. "Have fun then? Don't get too wasted?" "Oh..." I said with a huge smug grin on my lips. "You have no idea... gonna take a bottle of Moët with me from the bar and drink it in my bathtub after eating a huge pepperoni pizza by myself and dancing to only the finest of 90s Euro Trash." I couldn't help it, apparently, I felt it necessary to give Sam a little demonstration, waving my arms up and down while swaying my hips in a way that I'd probably would not have if it hadn't been for a bit with an audience of a single person. Or maybe two?

A quiet scoff behind me and I quickly turned around, slowly lowering my arms, Sam biting her lower lip at the sight of me standing there like an idiot in front of HIM of all people.

Men didn't have to be old to annoy me. Or white. Yes, those were the ones that pissed me off most usually, but no one had managed to do so as much as Kim Namjoon recently. And now he was standing there, looking me up and down and stopping at my hair. The crazy too-much-dry-shampoo-because-the-shower-broke-hair. "Nice." He just commented and then looked over at Sam. "I'd like to take a last look before Sunday's opening if that is okay?" I stood there, my shoulders dropping, completely ignored.

"Uhm, actually, my babysitter has to leave in about an hour and I will have to be home before that." Samantha replied and I was impressed by how calm she stayed. "Of course." Namjoon said and gave her a slight smile. "Anyone else still around? Chris maybe?" Of course Chris hadn't been in today. It was Friday and unless important guests had announced themselves the owner of the gallery wasn't around on Fridays... "I am afraid not. But maybe Charlotte has a few minutes?" Well. Thanks. Thanks a lot. I felt a little betrayed. "Wouldn't want to keep anyone from their important Moët-Pizza-Dance Party plans." Namjoon replied before I could say a word. His voice once more dropping to a hushed, deep disapproval and his hands buried in the pockets of his rather expensive looking coat. Silence for a few moments and then he just walked off towards the room his exhibition had been set up all week. Showing without a further word that I would have to stay anyways if he wanted it that way.

"Well thank you for pushing me under the bus like that. Really appreciate it." "I am so sorry. But I was serious, I can't lose this babysitter. She got Jamie to eat vegetables. VEGETABLES!" Samantha suddenly seemed in a rush, grabbing her jacket and purse and showering me in promises she would make it up to me. Even though we both knew that wouldn't happen and wasn't necessary. Suddenly having to stay longer was normal. I just hated that it had to be today. And because of him.

I heard the door close behind Sam and I stood there for a second before putting my bag down again. Usually, I would have followed the artist, asking if I could somehow help, but nahhh... my ego was bruised up enough now, especially remembering the little dance. I closed my eyes. Fucking hated the guy. Always had. Well, not quite. I had thought he was cool for about five minutes when he had come in the first time. We had heard about him for quite a few months before, I think I had even seen pictures of him at some point, but those were nothing compared to him in real life. He came in all cheekbones and sharp chin and an all grey outfit, quick pace, observant gaze. Incredibly hot. He had also completely ignored me.

That's how it had started - a bruised ego. He couldn't know that it was my weak spot. Having studied art and its management and now feeling like a better secretary at times, when my colleagues and I were doing all the behind the scenes work while Chris worked very little hours and ended up with all the money and recognition. I was aware this wasn't the only field of work where this was the case, but it still frustrated me... I had imagined my life in the last years of my 20s to be a bit more glamorous than living in a tiny apartment on the outskirts of the city... spending my Friday night waiting for some rude artist dude to leave so I could lock up.

But what I perhaps hated most about him... was that I admired him. - Purely for his art. Really. Even the fact that he kept acting as if I wasn't around every time he came in didn't mean I couldn't admit that. At least to myself. The stories behind his huge colleagues were clever and thought through, but even without context, the pure aesthetics were mesmerizing. It was the kind of art that touched something deep inside of you and standing in front of it I always had a hundred questions. Whenever he brought in a new piece I was the first one to sneak a peek in the back rooms before it was hung.

"I don't get why you have such a problem with him. He is just... quiet. I think he might even be shy... stop being so sensitive and just ask him out already." I had almost strangled Sam for that comment a couple of weeks back. Stop being so sensitive. What did that even mean? Comments like that made me want to cry and scream at the same time, which probably would have been perceived as even more sensitive, but when had insensitivity become something to strive for? I had only kept quiet because I liked Sam and I knew what she had tried to say. At least I thought so. That I might have given less of a shit if I hadn't been rather attracted to Namjoon. Even though I had never mentioned it, she just knew. She knew if I didn't care about something I didn't waste my time on it. But if something made me angry or upset there was usually more to it. I hated that she could read me that easily. But he was still a dick and I still wanted to go home.

He took his sweet time. After an hour I walked up to him, a little speech prepared in my head about how he could come back first thing tomorrow. But when he turned around he just raised a hand between us to keep me from interrupting and turned away again. I hadn't seen that he was on the phone. "No, it's nothing, just one of the gallery employees." I heard him say and okay... if I wasn't about to explode before I was now. I stood there for a minute, fuming, and then simply walked back to the office area, my hand shaking when I started turning off the gallery lights one by one. It wasn't as satisfying as I had hoped but still felt good. Two minutes later the only lights still on were the one above my head and the one in front of the door. I would at least give him a clear direction where to head, he seemed to need it.

When Namjoon appeared out of one of the dark corners he looked even more annoyed than usual. Looking my direction through squinting eyes and his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek. "Seriously?" he yelled my way and almost walked into one of the little flyer shelves. Wasn't the first time I had seen that happen to him though so maybe that had nothing to do with the light.

I felt oddly triumphant. By the time I had put on my coat and turned off the remaining lights, ready to finally lock up, Namjoon had almost found his way, standing in the open door, still on his phone. A little groan from my side when he didn't even notice that I was standing behind me went by unnoticed. Or simply ignored. But instead of the appropriate clearing of the throat or the maybe less polite squeezing past him, I just put my hands on his back and gently pushed him forward a bit, until his feet hit the pavement and he turned around. Dropping his hand with the phone in it, for a second he looked like he wanted to push back. Or trample me.

"Okay, what the hell is your problem, Charlotte?" His voice was hoarse. His eyes dark. God, he was hot. I hated him so much. "You." I simply replied and stared at him for a second, then turned around and locked the two locks on the door before stepping over to the alarm system. I couldn't help feeling smug because apparently, he knew my name. I imagined him staring at the back of my head because he was flustered, but couldn't be sure. All I knew was that when I turned around again a minute later he was still standing there, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his lips pressed together forming a straight line and watching me.

"Do you always act like that at work around people who could get you into trouble?" He was right, he could get me into trouble. But I was too fired up now, my heart racing. "Is that a threat?" "An observation." "Only around the ones I don't like." "Cool." "Great." "Enjoy the dance party. Sounds shit."

And with those words he had turned around, coat flying open in the wind, unfortunately making him look really cool as he walked away and I ABSOLUTELY HATED HIM. I kept my mouth shut and just walked off in the other direction, realizing minutes later that my car was parked the other way, but I kept walking for a while before I finally turned around. It took a while to calm down and only cuddling up to my cat on the couch to trash tv finally did the job. But by then I had realized something I wasn't sure I liked too much. Yeah, I thought he was a prick. And yeah I should have just played it cool. Would have been much smarted in many regards. But I also had somewhat enjoyed myself in the most fucked up way.

Seeing that stern look, that intense posture as he was towering over me... man, I'd literally piss him off on purpose.

More chapters on AO3

[hoe-doroki]

stay

A response to this ask:

Reader having a silent mental breakdown and trying to hide it with Bakugo and iida!( bakugo’s fine if not iida)

warning: detailed descriptions of panic attack, self-loathing

pairing: Bakugou x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

word count: 2.2k

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

It seemed stupid to have any kind of mental illness around someone like Bakugou.

Bakugou had experienced near death multiple times by his mid-twenties had had witnessed the worst of the world first hand. His teens had been littered with trauma and, as an adult, his work was constantly throwing him into circumstances where his body, his life was at risk. He did this day in and day out and it wasn’t even a question. He survived it all and, more than that, he let the world think it was easy.

Sometimes just getting out of bed wasn’t easy for you.

You felt like your body was rotting. You’d been on the couch all day and it smelled stale from the layers of lazy sweat you’d gotten on it. From the shower you hadn’t taken and the hair you hadn’t touched. But was it rot from the outside in—something a bit of soap and buffing could slough off—or was it the inside out? Harder to reach, harder to fix. As your brain sent your every thought clenching on your veins, your vital organs, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was both. Rotted from the inside out and the outside in.

You tensed when you heard the door to your shared apartment click, a key being shoved into the lock. Over the cold numbness that you’d felt all day, a shot of panic sprinted through your bloodstream as a million ways to lie popped into your head. You popped off the couch and tried to think of a way to look busy, so you ran to the kitchen and started boiling some water.

This was something Bakugou couldn’t see. The last thing you wanted, the last thing he needed was for you to be another person that he had to save. Another person to risk himself for.

You eyed Bakugou when he came in, shoulders drooped, gait wide. He looked tired, but otherwise normal. You usually tried not to worry yourself with the cuts and scrapes he often showed up with after work, and, so long as he was walking, he usually told you to calm down and that he was fine. You weren’t going to test it today.

“Hi, babe,�� you said, putting strained effort into your pitch, your tone, your face. Maybe your voice was too high, maybe the smile spread a bit too wide, so you turned back to the water, watching it heat.

“Hi,” Bakugou greeted as he kicked off his sneakers, voice gravely as it usually was after a shift. He was in civilian clothes now, having showered and changed at the agency. A black tee and jeans that never fit quite right on his narrow hips and tall frame. “What’re you up to?”

“Oh, I, um…” You looked down at the water, still cool enough to stick a finger into. You’d done nothing all day, having skipped out on all your classes with half-assed emails sent to the teachers. The idea of going had been too much to take—for reasons you had no language for—so you’d wallowed on the couch as the hours of the day had bled away. So the question felt like an interrogation about to put a scalpel to your flaws. “I’m just heating some water for tea. Was gonna get started on dinner.”

“What were you gonna make?”

Bakugou was in the kitchen now, coming up behind you to press a kiss against your temple. Your heart rate increased but not in the good way. Not in the way that it should. Instead of flutters it was pounding, smacking against your ribs in a reminder that he was too close, you were too visible—you might explode and you would hurt him.

“I, um, I wasn’t sure,” you said, the answer sending shameful heat to your cheeks. And then you were slapped the other way by how stupid that was. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Okay,” Bakugou said, going to the fridge. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

Bakugou was always insistent on having a stocked fridge. With his job and you in your master’s program it was hard to find the time to grocery shop, much less eat consistent meals together, but those were the kinds of things that Bakugou prioritized. The things behind his sharp persona and shrinking legacy of reckless anger that made him a good boyfriend. An amazing partner and enviable roommate.

And what did you offer him? Emotional instability without just cause? A nascent—at best—career while he was climbing the pro hero charts every cycle?

Who were you kidding? You hadn’t even gone to class. You hadn’t done any of the work that you needed to do—the evening was a wash now, so you wouldn’t catch up. You were just wasting everyone’s time, like you always did.

“Hey, babe?”

By the tone of his voice, you realized that Bakugou had called you multiple times. Your eyes flicked toward him, but your head felt heavy to lift. “Hmm?” you asked, squeezing every last bit of breath into that hum.

“The water’s boiling.” Bakugou walked over to you, two mugs with teabags slumped at the bottom. He set them on the counter and put a hand on your shoulder, turning you a degree closer to him.

“Oh,” you intoned, pulling away and turning off the fire. Stupid. You were about to grab the pot when Bakugou dropped his hand down to your elbow, giving a firm squeeze.

“Are you okay?”

You ignored his gesture to stop and reached for the kettle, putting all of your effort into keeping your hands steady as you poured hissing water in one mug and then the other. Doing something was the only thing keeping you upright as your thoughts continued to swirl in your head poisoning each brain cell you had. You hadn’t done anything worth living for today. But goddamn it, if you couldn’t make these mugs of tea, then you should just walk out of the apartment and let Bakugou be better off without you.

“Woah, woah, what’s happening?”

Bakugou’s hand was on your chin as he pulled your face a little too roughly towards him. Or, rather, it wouldn’t have been rough, if you weren’t resisting it. But you didn’t want him to look you in the eye. See what a failure you were. Someone who couldn’t even overcome a bad emotional day to go to class while he’d been out saving lives—as usual. He took the pot from your white-knuckled grip and set it on the stove.

“Why are you crying?”

Were you? You hurriedly brushed a hand under your eyes and they came away slick, the water hot as the tea you were steeping.

“The…The steam…” you started, prepared to lie and lie and lie until there was nothing real left. The real stuff was too hard to hold. “I think…It just must have irri…tated my eyes.”

Your breathing was running away with you, chest heaving as you pulled away and faced the other direction. Your attempts were thin, too threadbare to hide behind. And your boyfriend wasn’t nearly stupid enough to be fooled, even by your best efforts.

“Babe, tell me what’s wrong,” Bakugou said forcibly, stepping around to face you again.

His eyes were searching for yours, but you held fisted hands to your cheek as you turned away from him. Now you could feel the tears streaming, and you couldn’t turn them off. But what was there to tell him? That you were just a big, stupid idiot who cried for no reason? That watching him become a better man only emphasized how totally shit you were? That when the two of you were on the street together, you knew that people wondered what a guy like him was doing with a person like you?

“I just want you to stop crying,” Bakugou said, and you could hear him getting desperate, only making you feel worse. You were biting your lips closed to keep the sobs from tearing out, but that only made embarrassing little huffs come out your nose, whimpers sneak past the back of your throat.

You couldn’t stop crying. How could you stop it when you didn’t understand what had started it?

“I’ll just,” you hiccupped, backing away from him. “Just give me…I’ll be fine, just give me a minute.”

“Fuck that,” Bakugou said, grabbing your wrist. “Do you want me to go because you want me to go, or because you think you deserve to be alone?”

The words felt like a trick, a riddle from some fairytale turned nightmare intended to make you fail either way. Telling him the truth would trap him in whatever trip wires had you tied in knots right now. But, at the same time, he was expecting the lie. He wasn’t letting you save him from this.

But why? He was always saving people. Why, for once, couldn’t you save him from you?

“Idiot,” Bakugou said, pulling you in to him. You cried harder, the weight of your failure dropping in your well and spilling more tears out of you. “Why would I leave you alone?”

A sob crashed out, breaking through haphazard letters of attempted defense. He needed to go; him seeing you like this only made it worse.

“It, um,” Bakugou’s voice was low, a register that was unfamiliar even to you, unsteady and unrehearsed. “It seems easier to be alone. I know it does. But…you’ve shown me that’s not true, so just. Let me show you the same, okay?”

You could feel how hard he was trying as he pressed you into his chest and you finally, finally let him. The sobbing made you weak in the knees, light in the head, but he held you. He held you up, held you close, and he wasn’t letting go.

Everyone always talked about how crying felt good. About it being a release that helped you process your pain. And maybe that was right when talking about grief or loss, but not this. These tears felt like nothing more than splashing in the masturbatory wallowing hole of your self pity. Embarrassing and stupid.

“Why?” you finally whispered when the sobs subsided a bit, letting you keep enough of the air in to at least say that.

For a moment, Bakugou didn’t say anything, and you wondered if you’d imagined the words. If you were imagining the whole thing and he really had left like you’d wanted. But then you heard breath catch in the back of his throat as he seemed to try and fail to find the words a couple of times.

“In another world,” he finally started. “I’d come home from a day of work fucking exhausted, slump on the couch, eat, and pack it in to go to bed before starting all over the next day. And I’d probably be fine with that. But I’d be a fucking idiot, because coming home to you makes it worth coming home.”

Your breathing was steadying as he talked and you could feel the tears cooling against your cheek, against his wet t-shirt.

“Even with you looking like a damn mess like this,” Bakugou said and you could hear the smile in his voice. His smile, which had grown less rare over time, was always so wide that it made his words sound different. Warmer. They managed to draw a haggard chuckle out of you. “I’m happier just to be around you than convincing myself that being lonely at the top is the best way.”

“I don’t want to drag you down from the top,” you said. “Your company shouldn’t be dead weight.”

“Dead weight?” Bakugou repeated, pulling back to look at you. “Dumbass.”

He pulled you in again, both of his arms around the back of your head so that you were nearly smothered in his chest.

“That’s the stupidest fucking shit I’ve ever heard. You’re fucking incredible, and if that’s why you’re crying today, then you and me have to do some talking.”

Another laugh managed to crawl its way out of you and Bakugou let you pull back to breathe again.

“Are you okay now?”

‘Okay’ felt like such a far ways away. But you were above water again. Somewhere next to okay, distance undetermined.

“I’m surviving,” you decided.

Bakugou looked at you, a couple different things flashing over his eyes, too quickly for you to identify. “Well, that’ll do for now, but we’re not settling for that. Just talk to me. I’m not the best at this, but…I want to be better at it.”

In that moment, you remembered that Bakugou wasn’t perfect either. That he constantly had voices in his head telling him that he wasn’t doing enough and, not only that, he had the public constantly critiquing his attitude, his skills, his work. That, to some degree, this was already something you were going through together.

“I think you’re better at it than you think.”

Bakugou smiled again, this one not so wide, but more private. “You too, he said. Whatever bullshit you’re telling yourself—you’re better than you think.”

He pulled you in close again, and this time you sunk into it, enjoying his warm muscles, the way that his hair was still a little damp from the shower. You weren’t sure if anything had changed—all your problems were still present as they’d ever been. But yet, there was one thing. Now, with Bakugou’s arms like a buttress to your shaky but standing foundation, you, paradoxically, hoped that he would stay and stay and stay.

[johnkrrasinski]

nothing to forgive; 

full masterlist

Pairings: dark!Ransom Drysdale x female!reader

Word count: 4,014

Warning: smut!!! BDSM, use of toys, dirty talk, stalking, humiliation. (MUST BE 18+)

Summary: there’s nothing more dangerous than a jealous ransom drysdale. 

a/n: this is for @imanuglywombat​’s 4k writing challenge. i chose the song “jealous” by labyrinth with the city as for the moodboard. i know it’s a heartbreak song but i just couldn’t resist taking ransom to the extreme with the title. this was fun to write. hope you like it. please leave a like & comment. enjoy!

If there’s anything to describe Ransom as a lover, it would be a jealous one. No, he’s not exactly an insecure boyfriend. He knows the appeal that he possesses and the charisma that he carries. He knows with that dashing face of his, he could get any woman he desired, with only the touch of those aquatic orbs and that enticingly smug attitude.

And of course, he had you wrapped around his finger too. And he liked it while it lasted. But what he strongly does not like is when someone dares to even think about getting close to what’s his.

You, a fierce, headstrong woman; someone who had no interest in wasting her time on incompetent men who were incapable of keeping up with you and your swiftly flourishing career. You were too busy building your thriving makeup company that is soon to be an empire. You were proud of your baby.

And you weren’t talking about Ransom, hell no.

He lost you the moment you found out that he slept with another woman whilst he was on his trip to London doing God knows what. Ransom likes to go on random lavish trips because his inane brain has no idea what should he spend his money on. The money that he didn’t even work for a day in his life. The money that he was so entitled to because of his family’s wealth.

You really liked Ransom at one point. Your families grew up together and you and him hooked up every now and then every time he was in New York, the city where you lived or you were back home and needed to release some tension.

He was hot and he knew your body inside out well enough to give you a good orgasm. And so, last summer, you two began dating after he jokingly asked you out after you gave him one of the best blowjobs in his life. You rejected him at first but he kept insisting until you had no other choice but relented. He was such a persevering man when he wanted to be.

It lasted for an entire summer, he would go back and forth to New York to see you and fuck you on every surface of your apartment or he would take you to his five stars hotel and aggravate the other guests by making you moan like you two owned the place.

Until last Christmas when he didn’t even tell you that he was going to London, which you only found out through Linda Drysdale when you visited the Drysdale household. You weren’t one to be a clingy girlfriend, but when your ‘boyfriend’ doesn’t even inform you at all that he was going on a spontaneous trip, it was pure outrageous.

When he went back to Boston three days later after his unbeknown trip, he went straight to your parents’ house where you were staying for another late-night rendezvous. Your parents weren’t home yet due to them being at a Christmas party that you weren’t interested in attending so you had to pretend that you had unbearable cramps and that you needed to stay at home.

Ransom didn’t spot your parents’ car so he knocked on the front door and waited until one of your maids opened it. You didn't expect him to return this soon so you didn’t bother leaving a message to your maids that if Ransom comes, don’t open the door for him. So he went straight to your bedroom and there was a contented smile on his face.

“Hey babygirl, I’ve missed you.” He took off his coat and hung it on your study chair.

“What the hell are you doing here, Ransom?” You truly didn’t expect to see him tonight. You were in the middle of answering some of your work emails regarding the packaging of your upcoming eyeshadow palette. Work didn’t stop despite the calendar saying it’s Christmas.

“Well I had to see you first after my trip, baby. You know I’ve missed you.”

“You asshole! You didn’t even fucking tell me that you were going to London!” You got up from bed, ready to punch him on his stupid gorgeous face.

“Sorry, baby, it was a last-minute trip. I just had to get away from my shitty family before Christmas comes so I don’t have to see all of them. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to surprise you when I get back.” He kissed you before you could even reply. You’d never admit it but the way he plays his tricks with his lips always prevails every fiery emotion in you. So you decided to let it go. Not that you had much of a choice anyway when his hands were already roaming under your oversized sweater before taking it off of you.

After making you cum twice and chased his own release, Ransom fell asleep seconds away next to you. You couldn’t help but admire his sculpted figure as you were lying bare next to him. He looked so… gentle when he was sleeping. Anything that he wasn’t when he’s wide awake.

Sometimes you wondered, is there a future for the both of you? You weren’t one to settle down and have kids. You loved your freedom and you would like to hold on to your youth a little longer. Marriage and kids are going to make you feel like you gained 50 years into your age and you weren’t ready for that. You don’t think you’d ever be, honestly.

But if you could take a look into the future to see whether you and him are going to stay together or not, you would. You didn’t want to waste your time by committing to a man when you could be sleeping around with actors and models. Of course, you could do that too whilst still dating him. He didn’t have to know. But, if there’s anything that you execrated is cheating.

You took pride in your deep-rooted loyalty. You didn’t share your love with too many people but the lucky ones who do have a piece of your heart were promised of your devotion. And that includes Ransom.

Not for long though.

You rose to your feet to use the lavatory in your room. After you were done, you walked to your study chair where Ransom’s coat was placed and then you grabbed it with the intention of hanging it on the coat hanger. Gosh, Ransom could be quite disorganized sometimes.

You had this habit before you put your raiments where they belong, you’d always rummage through the pockets to make sure that you didn’t forget a valuable item there that would cause you to act frantic because you need it and your life would be on the line if you lost it.

You checked the left pocket and nothing was there until you felt something soft inside Ransom’s right pocket. It felt like a material made of lace. You took it out and then… The garment that you had in your hand felt like a slap on the face.

Whose fucking red underwear is this?

You immediately woke Ransom up and he was confused as hell. Why the fuck were you suddenly going apeshit at nearly 3 AM? His drowsy state fought hard to adjust his vision to the lighting in the room.

“What the hell y/n?”

“Care to explain this?” You shoved the red lace underwear onto his face.

His eyelids instantly dilated. Oh shit, he’s been caught.

“Whose fucking panties is this, Ransom? Did you fuck a bitch in London?”

Instead of giving you the answer you already knew, he only stalled by saying “baby, calm down, alright? Let me explain.”

But he didn’t need to. The look of trepidation on his face pretty much gives everything away. “You. Fucking. Cheater. Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Shh! Just give me a second to explain, okay?”

“I don’t wanna hear anything that comes out of your mouth. Now get the fuck out of my house! Out! Now!” He was still naked but you couldn’t care less. You grabbed all of his clothes that were scattered on the floor and his coat and threw them along with the alibi of his misconduct at him. You pushed him out of your bedroom door until you both reached the front door of your house. He was still trying to make you stop and listen to him but you didn’t give him a chance.

He stood on your porch naked and hurriedly put on his clothes. It was a private residence so he didn’t have to worry about the neighbours seeing him naked. Not that he cared anyway, but still, the embarrassment of being thrown out while he was still nude was what he dreaded.

The next day, he tried to call you for God knows how many times and left you hundreds of text messages. He tried visiting you the next day but you refused to let him in. You asked your security guard to block him from entering the house. You told your parents what happened and your overprotective father was enraged.

He even went as far as facing Ransom himself at the gate to warn him that if he ever came anywhere near you again, your father wouldn’t hesitate in hiring a private bodyguard for you to keep him away from you. Well, with your rising fame and success, you figured you eventually were going to need one anyway, but now that you had an unrelenting cheater in your ledger, he might need to hire a highly trained one for you sooner.

You dumped him officially on a phone call and before you ended it, the last thing that he said to you was “without me, all you’ll find is heartbreak and misery.” He gritted through his teeth.

“Goodbye, Ransom.” Then you pressed the end the call button and blocked his number. You changed yours and then a few days after New Year, you fled back to New York. Your company was waiting for you.

For the next several months you kept yourself occupied with your work. You were thrilled for the launching of your new eyeshadow palette. The stress accelerated to a much level higher that you didn’t even have a second to think about Ransom. You hadn’t heard from him for a while and you certainly liked to keep it that way. There’s no room for a cheating, lying, lazy scumbag in your life.

A part of you couldn't help but feel grateful that you broke up with him before the clutter in your work increased. You weren’t sure that you were capable of maintaining a relationship with someone that you don’t near to. You would’ve had to make time to see him and it would’ve been a major distraction.

You held a party to celebrate the launch of your new eyeshadow palette, to say you were nervous would be an understatement, there was nothing more that you feared than failure. Despite being fortunate enough to be born into a wealthy family, you still spent years saving up money and studying hard in college to major in dual degree; business and cosmetology to construct your dream makeup line.

And now, for the first time, the eyeshadow palette that you had been tirelessly crafted to perfection, is going to be available for purchase on your website. The countdown shows there’s only two minutes and thirty seconds left until every makeup enthusiast gets to put it on their shopping cart.

You were holding a glass of rose champagne in your hand whilst giving a speech to the team that you loved so dearly because they were your second family. You didn’t see them as the people who “work for you” but rather, you saw them as equals; your partners and your biggest supporters. Without them, this entire makeup line wouldn’t be standing so tall.

What you didn’t realize was, through the glass-structured building, Ransom was watching you like a hawk. He had his hands in his pocket and he had his gaze fixated on one person only and it was you. Despite the distance and the crowd, his focus didn’t bend.

The past few months for Ransom had been filled with acrimony by his wounded ego caused by being dumped. He couldn’t get anywhere near you due to your heavily guarded apartment building. You even had your own bodyguard now. Great. He was taller and bulkier than Ransom and he wasn’t foolish enough to try to fight the big guy.

You also ordered every security guard in your office, which is the headquarter for your makeup company, that if Ransom ever dared to show his face, they must get rid of him immediately. The only way Ransom could get to you is by stalking you on social media through your company’s official Instagram account and your rising personal account too.

He really thought that it would only take a month before you come crawling back to him. Ransom was so used to getting his way that he strongly condemned being rejected. He would do whatever it takes to have you back.

Whatever it takes.

He had everything prepared meticulously for months. He waited for the right moment to execute the plan and then you would never be able to escape him ever again.

What he didn’t see coming was you going on a date and laughing with a man he didn’t recognize. He really thought that you wouldn’t be dating again for at least a year but he clearly he was mistaken. He thought you secretly missed him but you had too much pride to admit it. He also thought that you could’ve done better than that.

Who the hell does this guy think he is swooping in on his girl like that? His jealousy whispered wicked things into his ears like a red-horned devil. He had waited in his car in front of your apartment building thirty minutes before you left. He found a way to bug your phone without your knowledge and from there, he could monitor every single text, every single phone call and every single person you associate with.

He did a background check on this bloke who was a few years younger than him, making him someone your age. The result showed that he had gone to the same university as you and now he had his own publishing company located in New York as well.

This fella named William had the same distinctive features as Ransom; a brunet with blue eyes, which means, you probably had a type. “So fucking predictable.” He thought whilst he was scrolling through this stranger’s biography. The man was just as tall as him. He posed in a dark grey suit with a tie that synchronizes with the look for the camera.

Apparently, you had run into him at one of the finest restaurants in town when you were having dinner with your girlfriends. He had come up to you to make sure that it was you. You two chatted, catching up on things and he charmed you by asking the one thing you were most passionate about which was your cosmetic line. You exchanged numbers and after talking for a few weeks, he asked you out and you said accepted.

You truly didn’t do anything halfway. When you were going out, whether it be with your friends, for a party or on a date with some guy you used to go to college with, you were dressed to the nines. You looked so crushingly stunning, your beauty dazzled him like daylight. He couldn’t blame this fella though, there’s a reason why he asked you on a date first before this schmuck inserted himself between the two of you. He had to have you and once he got you, he blew his chance. He lost you.

Not for long though. You belonged to him and only him.

You walked into the restaurant as the jazz music serenaded your ears. You asked the receptionist looking for someone named “William” and she led you to a table in the centre of the room, with a good-looking man sitting there in his raven suit.

You greeted William and then made your order when the server came with the menu. You ordered a bottle of Champagne, and you were truly enjoying the company of this man. He was courteous, smart and a little shy for someone as smart and as successful as him. Maybe it’s time to get yourself back in the dating game.

Not all men are Ransom Drysdale.

Ransom couldn’t stand seeing you laughing at his jokes and touching his hand. He didn’t have it in him to wait for another second to let you roam in your freedom without being his. He was going to do it tonight, but he had to do it before you reach your apartment where your personal bodyguard would be guarding you like a fort.

So he went to the parking lot two blocks north of the restaurant. There was nobody there so he had to act fast before someone came. He used a screwdriver to unlock the door of your car and once he succeeded, he sat in the backseat and obscured himself within the absence of light.

Now all he had to do was wait…

The date was lovely but it was time to go home. As much as you loved dressing up in your Lobouton heels and flaunting your beauty downtown, the thought of your warm bed and cozy pyjamas make your heart flutter. You didn’t know if there will be a second date or not, and even if he asked, you weren’t sure whether you’d say yes or no this time, but it was nice to catch up with fellow alumni.

You walked to where your car was parked and unlocked the driver’s seat car and sat behind the wheel. You revived the engine by pushing the ignition starter and adjusted the rearview mirror but what reflected on the glass made your heart drop like a beat.

“…Ransom? What the hell are you-”

But before you could finish your vexed question, Ransom pressed a drugged handkerchief onto your nose and despite your attempt to fight him, his strength overpowered you. Then in a matter of seconds, everything turned black.

You woke up with a sore head as you slowly felt your visions turning pellucid, it took you a few seconds to realize that the dress you wore had been stripped away from you. Your undergarments were also no longer covering your bare body from the cold… What the hell?

You began to realize that you were currently in a cramped, dimmed room with a single pillowless bed in the centre. There were many other sex toys that you were familiar with, you even had some in your drawer, and there were also a few other contraptions in the room that looked like they belong in a sex dungeon.

When you tried to move, only then your brain began to discern the state you were imprisoned in. You couldn’t move and you couldn’t pull your limbs away for they were secured with a device that you couldn’t see due to the position you were in.

Your cheek was pressed on the futon mattress and when you tried to scream, you couldn’t form any words for there was a ball gag in between your lips. You tried to scream but that only made you drool even more, making a tiny pool on the leather material.

You squealed, trying to get any help from anyone out there who might listen but then you heard the sound of the creaking door opening and someone entered the room. You tried to give them a single to set you free by making incoherent noises.

But all you heard was; “well, well, well, look what we have here.”

That voice. That voice sounds familiar. Your mind tried to distinguish it, and then you realized… It was Ransom. You remember it now, you walked into your car after a date with William, you saw him in the backseat through the rearview mirror and then you couldn’t recall anything else that happened after that.

And now here you were, bound by a percontator, exposed and helpless in a strange, unknown place. You began to thrash your body but it was futile, the device really did an excellent job in keeping you immobile.

“Hush now, dirty whore. You really think you could escape me forever? You must be dumber than I took you for.”

You heard the sound of unbuckling belt then he took off his shirt behind you. “No amount of protection can keep you away from me. I’ll make sure of that.”

He stepped into the mattress and lowered himself to his knees. He didn’t wast any second in placing the tip of his cock near your entrance then he intruded your body with his length. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and kept your head there in place. He spanked your right ass before he began moving.

“Ah,” he groaned. “I’ve always loved this pussy. Always so fucking tight.” He accelerated his pace and he grabbed your hair, forcing you to look up at him through your tearful eyes. “Is this what you want? To be fucked like a bitch? ‘Cause I will, whenever I fucking want to.” He gritted through his pounding.

You could only moan and cry. Your mind took you back to the last Christmas eve when you caught him cheating. “Did you fuck a bitch in London?” He was deriding you by weaponizing your own words against you.

He put your head back on the mattress and kept thrusting brutally. He spanked you once more and you shrieked. He loved the sound of your agony so he did it five times more until your ass was as red as he liked. “Fucking slut. Aren’t you better like this? Not talking, no CEO bullshit.” He stopped his thrusting and pulled your hair back once more to glare into your eyes. “I’m gonna have so much fun breaking you piece by piece until you’re nothing but a brainless fuck toy for me to use.”

He slammed your face back down to the mattress and resumed his violation on your body. He kept pounding until there was no more energy left in you to fight. He then threw your body around so you were lying on your back.

He inserted himself back into you and picked up his vigorous pace. Your breasts jiggled with every assault. “Missed those perky tits.” His hands shamelessly groped your breasts and held on to them like they were knobs.

His right hand went from your breast to your throat, encircling the fingers around the delicate flesh. Your breathing becomes difficult and you felt yourself seconds away from passing out but before it could happen, you felt the tightening coil in your lower belly that was familiar with Ransom. And the expanding bubble burst, making a soaked mess on the leather underneath you and all over Ransom’s cock.

“There you go, what a fucking mess.” He smirked. “Last time I fucked this cunt, I don’t remember you getting off this soon, baby.” His hands went back to your knees as he chased his own orgasm. And in a matter of seconds, he released his cum deep inside your womb, staying there until he had no more drop left to give.

He withdrew himself out and then he stepped out of the mattress. He put back his sweater and jeans and before he left. He sneered at your disarranged state, complacent with the mess he made you of. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Be good or there will be punishments worse than you just had, understood?” He didn’t wait for your answer before kissing your upper lip.

He disappeared behind the door, leaving you in the tenebrosity of the room as you languidly losing yourself into unconsciousness.

[yet-another-fan-girl9]

Inhuman (1)

Summary: All beings in the universe have a soulmate except for Midgardians. People can hear their soulmate in their heads. For almost five hundred and fifty years, Loki believed that he had no soulmate until 1513 when a Midgardian princess was born. Will fate be kind to them or will the universe tear them apart?

Warnings: violence, language, hella historical inaccuracies (I tried to do research but then got lazy), maybe some AOS season 2 spoilers(?)

Word Count: ~3400

A/N: Yay! The re-write is here! I changed it so now there are flashbacks and stuff and the chapters are longer! I’m also posting this chapter a day early because of reasons. Anyways, enjoy!

[New York, New York, March 2024]

‘Soulmates?’ You had never heard of the concept.

‘We are destined to be together. The universe made it so.’

You shot up in bed, a light sheen of sweat covered your body. Loki’s words replayed over and over in your head. You hadn’t heard his actual voice in so long but it was still as clear as if he was speaking to you now. It had been twelve years since you had seen him in Germany and he had tried to take over.

‘We are destined to be together.’

The words echoed in your mind. ‘Destined’ huh? Well, if you’d learned anything from the past four hundred and eighty-six years that you were not with Loki, it’s that the universe does a shit job at keeping you together. You ran your fingers through your hair, easily smoothing out the tangled mess. It was too early to think about Loki.

You slipped out of the silk sheets that covered your king-sized bed in your two-level, top floor Upper East Side penthouse. You were very proud of how far you had come. The view was amazing. You could see some of Central Park from one side and the stereotypical New York skyline from another.

As you walked out of your room, you caught your reflection in one of your full-sized mirrors. And that was definitely a nice view. When you came out of Terrigenesis almost five hundred years ago, you quickly discovered that you were now the blueprint for a perfect person. Straight, white teeth, surprisingly tameable hair, and clear, unblemished skin were some of the visually obvious changes. In addition to your perfected looks, you had increased senses, healing, strength, endurance, and your favorite, pain tolerance. Oh, and don’t forget you basically look twenty-five forever.

You checked your phone while you made breakfast in the kitchen downstairs. There were a couple of emails from your employees on their latest jobs. You opened one from Max, your right-hand man. You were reading over some job offers he had handpicked for you when you got a text from the man himself.

Bringing up some donuts!

Max was the only person from work to have access to your penthouse. He was your best friend. The two of you had met when you were at Afterlife nearly fifteen years ago. He was an Inhuman as well. All of your employees were Inhumans, using their specialties to carry out their jobs. Max had the power to change surfaces. It was a strange power, but he had learned to make it very useful. He could cause his pursuers to slip on the suddenly ice-like ground or climb up a glass skyscraper.

“Hello, bitch! I brought donuts!” Max called from the elevator.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Max walked in holding the goods. He always wore eccentric color-coordinated outfits. Even the times you saw him in stealth mode, he had to have some lace or frill somewhere. Today he wore a mixture of neon green and pink with matching eyeliner.

“Are Cosmo and Wanda disguising themselves as your clothes?” you asked.

“Haha,” he deadpanned. “I knew you were going to say something like that. You’re so fucking funny. Soo…” He plopped the three large donut boxes onto your kitchen counter. “Have you heard of the Avenger’s new quote-unquote recruit?”

“Um, I think it’s your job to keep tabs on heroes.” You opened the nearest box and happily pulled out your favorite donut.

“Okay. Number one: I’m not speaking to you as your right-hand, right now, but as your friend.” He held up his finger. “Number two: it’s not really a job if I do it in my free time anyways. You’re paying me to do something that I do on an hourly basis.”

“You stalk the Avengers on an hourly basis?”

“No? Anyways, number three: it’s Thor’s brother. It’s your Loki.”

“What the fuck?” you choke on your donut. Max was the only person who knew you that you and Loki had a history. And that’s all he knew. Nothing about soulmates or all that shit. “What the fuck, Max? Did you try to use donuts to soften the blow? Stop laughing.”

“I-I wish I had caught that reaction on camera,” he said in between fits of giggles.

“Haha,” it was your turn to deadpan. “Fuck, man. I guess we just have to double our efforts to keep ourselves off of their radar.”

“Do you think they’ve forgiven him for New York?” Max composed himself.

“I mean, they must have if they’re letting him join the team.” You chanced another bite of your donut.

“But lots of people haven’t.”

“Lots of people still haven’t forgiven Barnes,” you pointed out. You didn’t know when or why Loki had attacked New York. That Loki was nothing like the man who you had grown to love back in the 1500s. But you were nothing like that girl either.

 “Have you chosen a new job from the list I sent you?” he changed the subject.

“No, not yet, and you have a little…” you motioned to the corner of your mouth.

Max got the hint and wiped some powder off of his mouth. You noticed the sprinkling of grey that was mixed into his curly black hair. He displayed the last fifteen years proudly while you remained unchanged. Max was the closest you’ve been to someone in a long time, and just like everyone before him, you would outlive him. But you would remember him. You remembered everyone. You remembered everything.

Right now, you thought of Agnes, your first real friend. She was your handmaiden and you had met right before everything went to shit. She had helped you cope after you underwent Terrigenesis, although you hadn’t known what it was back then. She had helped you run away and even died for you. You had only known her for nine years, but you compared everyone to her. Max held second place, right after Agnes.

“I think we should take the Senator’s offer,” Max said, jolting you out of your memories. He pulled up the offer on his iPad. “One million to off his upcoming competition.”

“Damn,” you whistled. “He’s desperate, isn’t he? Is there a deadline?”

“No, but I assume we should get it done quickly.”

“Send over the info.”

🌹

You shoved the flower into Jake Morano’s mouth. Blood from the bullet wound in his forehead trickled down until it turned the perfect, white rose red. You snapped a quick photo on your burner phone to send to the Senator as confirmation. With a huff, you looked around the apartment. Mr. Anderson had put up a fight, although it didn’t do anything to deter you and Max. A few glass awards were in pieces on the hardwood floor, family pictures were shattered, and the wall behind you held a couple of bullets from Anderson’s gun.

“All good?” Max asked from his location by the computer. He was deleting all footage of you being there. And everything else, just to be safe.

“Yep.” You walked over to him, your boots making a satisfying clicking on the ground, and proudly displayed the picture of the dead body. “Got the confirmation picture for the Senator. How’s it coming?”

“Almost… there. We’re good to go.”

The two of you left in your favorite black Lamborghini. Unfortunately, you actually had to drive places now that Gordon was dead. You followed his advice, though, and bought a plane along with four other sports cars, a helicopter, and a couple of motorcycles. You knew how to operate every single one of them. What else were you supposed to do except for establishing your contract killing empire?

🌹

Loki stood in the middle of his assigned room with his hands on his hips. It certainly was much nicer than the last prison the Avengers had kept him in. They may say it wasn’t a prison but the twenty-four-hour surveillance from Stark’s new AI said otherwise. Even though it was nicer than the shitty glass cylinder from twelve years ago, it was empty. Thor had shown Loki the few things in his room: books, photographs, and his own goddamned merchandise. 

Would Loki have his own merchandise one day? Everyone was redeemable as shown by Romanoff and Barnes. Maybe there would be plastic replicas of his helmet? No, Loki thought that was stupid. Only heroes got merchandise and heroes had to show up to events and sponsor health drinks or whatever the fuck they do. Heroes had to be nice.

Nothing good ever came from being on Midgard. Most recently, there was his father dying, although what followed was worse. Before that was the attack he had been forced to make on the city. And the first time he had ever come to Midgard had ended with disappointment and heartbreak.

Loki sighed and waved his hand to conjure green and gold accents, sheets, and blankets. At least there was color in the room now. No doubt the AI had reported that he had used his magic. He hoped it had also told them that all he did was improve the room, he didn’t need anyone talking to him at the moment.

“Good afternoon, Reindeer Games,” the AI echoed through the room. Loki glowered at the sound of Stark’s nickname. “There is a meeting in Conference Room Five that the entire team is required to attend.”

Loki hadn’t the faintest fucking idea where the conference rooms were. He left his room and caught sight of his brother and the Valkyrie. The God of Mischief followed the pair down to where the meeting was taking place. Did he really want to go? If he wanted to be part of the team he would have to. He preferred the Revengers, though. While it had lasted. It was smaller.

Everyone was sitting around the long table. Of course, Loki would be the last to arrive. Stark and Barton both glared at him when he entered. Understandable. Romanoff remained impassive, but Loki knew she would bash his head in the first chance she got. Rogers had to remain positive that Loki could be redeemed because if the Norse God could redeem himself, then so could Barnes. Bruce had warmed up to Loki on the journey to Midgard. None of the newer members of the team outright hated him, but they were still cautious around him.

Loki found himself sitting in between his brother and Bruce. Stark went up to the screen at the front and everyone fell silent.

“This is Jake Morano.” The screen turned on to show a dead man with a rose stuffed in his mouth. “He was going to run for Senator against this guy.” The screen changed. “This guy is William Anderson, a very corrupt Senator. In the last month, Morano began to gain a lot of support including a sponsor from us. Well, a sponsor from me in the name of the Avengers.”

“Are you implying that Anderson killed Morano?” Rogers asked.

“I’m saying that Anderson hired someone to kill Morano.” The screen changed again to display multiple bodies left with a rose in their mouths. “I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. do a quick search of bodies with roses found in their mouths and we found a shocking amount of similar deaths. The first ones dating back to the nineteen twenties. More recently, some of the deaths have happened at the same time on opposite sides of the globe. Deaths include, but are not limited to, shooting, stabbing, poisoning, drowning, burning, missing organs, being found stuck in a wall, and looking like a suicide. They all have a white rose soaked in blood in their mouths.���

“Are you sure it isn’t a serial killer?” Wilson questioned.

“Yeah, it’s probably not the same guy,” Romanoff pointed out. “Especially if it goes back to before Steve looked like that.”

“It’s gotta be an organization,” Barnes guessed. “Been around for a while, a couple of deaths happening at the same time, and one constant MO.”

“Loki?” Everyone looked at the God of Mischief when Stark said his name. “You’re technically a part of this team now. What’s your opinion?”

“Barnes is probably right,” Loki said after a moment’s hesitation. “The locations are all over the place and there are many different ways the victims met their demise.”

They nodded and Loki returned to silence.

“Alright, game plan.” Stark clapped his hands. “We have to get Anderson into an interrogation room. Round one is the good cops: Steve and Sam. When he doesn’t crack, and he won’t, we up the intensity. Nat and the Manchurian Candidate will do some intimidation. If he still doesn’t crack we can send in Wanda, or even Reindeer Games if she’s not comfortable, to search his mind.”

“Are all Midgardian politics like that?” Loki heard the Valkyrie ask Thor after the meeting. Thor only shrugged so she turned to Bruce.

“I mean, I haven't been here in a while but it’s always kinda been fucked up.”

Only an hour after the meeting, Anderson took out one million dollars in cash. Stark tracked him to a small cafe where he was going to, no doubt, pay the assassin. The team rallied, but of course, Loki wasn’t going. Apparently, he wasn’t ‘cleared’ yet. The only other people staying behind were the Valkyrie, Thor, and Barton due to a recent injury. 

Loki went to his room to sulk, although he told everyone he was thinking. He didn’t want to be here. Maybe he wanted to go somewhere that reminded him of home with tall buildings that reached the sky… 

🌹

"Hello, (Y/N)." Loki’s voice was as smooth as it was in your head, but it was different. The only way you could describe it was that it was solid. It felt less intimate. Like he could bless others with his words, but it was more special because he was here. 

"Loki," you breathed.

"You look more beautiful than I ever could imagine." He stepped closer.

You touched your hair self-consciously. There were multiple knots, and it probably looked like one of those bird nests the dogs always knocked out of trees. You had woken up in a hurry and your hair being trapped in the hood of your cloak probably didn't help.

Then it occurred to you that you were wearing only your nightgown, and you tightly wrapped your cloak around yourself. Loki wouldn’t hurt you, but no man has seen you in an outfit so revealing. Still, you took another step closer.

"I do not know what to say." Fortunately, your voice didn’t shake or waver as you had feared, but Loki could probably feel your nervousness.

You both took a final step closer. You reached up and cupped Loki's face in your hand which tingled slightly when you made contact. You admired his sharp features and bright blue-green eyes. Then you shivered in the cold winter air. Loki noticed and pulled you into a hug. You leaned into him and felt a shiver, a different, better shiver, shoot through your body.

“You’re real.” Your soft voice was almost lost in the biting wind. “I was so scared that I was dreaming.”

Another goddamned dream about Loki? You groaned into your pillow and pushed a few damp strands of hair away from your face. Why now, all of a sudden? Was it because he was so close? Just a few hours upstate in the Avenger’s compound.

Pushing the dream aside, you stretched and got ready for the day. You had sent the photo to the Senator, who you had learned was very fucking corrupted, and he replied with a location. That changed your plans a bit, you hadn't physically met a client in decades, but it was for the better for multiple reasons.

The first reason was that the cafe he had chosen was next to a flower shop where you got your supply of roses. The second reason was that it meant his apartment would be empty. While you went to get the money, and eventually kill Senator Anderson, Max was going to rob his house. It wasn’t something you’d usually do, but honestly, the shitty asshole deserved it.

Your lips were painted red and you wore your usual boots and a leather jacket. Your regular hair was hidden behind a pink and green wig, courtesy of Max. A baseball cap and large sunglasses further hid your appearance. Though if somebody knew your face, the hat and glasses did nothing. There were multiple knives hidden on your body as well as a handgun tucked into your waistband and a pocket pistol in your, well, pocket.

As you walked into the cafe, Izzy, the auburn-haired florist, nodded to you. She had Botanokinesis, plant manipulation, so your supply of white roses was never low. Every once in a while, Izzy would take a job but she had told you she was very happy in her shop.

You noticed the Senator immediately. He still wore a suit and the sunglasses did nothing to hide his identity. There were two young women behind the counter and you suspected that the four other ‘customers’ were too buff not to be the Senator’s security. Anderson had his back to the door which meant you would have to get past his security to get out. You zeroed in on the black briefcase on the ground by his feet.

“Senator,” you greeted and sat down across from him.

“You can’t possibly be the one I talked to,” the asshole replied. “You’re just a girl.”

“Well of course I couldn’t be,” you rolled your eyes behind your heavily tinted glasses. “My boss is too busy and smart to meet you in public.” He didn’t notice your sarcasm. You pulled out the burner phone and showed him the messages as proof. “Now, I’m also busy so if we can get this over with?”

“Sure, darling.” He put the briefcase flat on the table and pushed it towards you.

“Open it.” Even though small boobie traps wouldn’t hurt you much, it wasn’t a piece of information you wanted to give him.

Anderson sighed and complied. Then you turned it around to quickly inspect the contents. One thousand one hundred dollar bills. Hello Mr. Franklin. You nodded in satisfaction and comically rubbed your hands together to inconspicuously grab a knife that was hidden up your sleeve.

“Thank you, Senator. That will be all.”

You closed the case, stood up, and plunged your knife deep into his left carotid artery. As his security descended upon you, you pulled the knife out and his neck satisfyingly squirted blood. The Senator collapsed with his hands clutching his wound desperately. The pool of blood rapidly grew underneath him.

The two baristas screamed behind the counter and the Senator’s security drew their guns. You flipped the small table for cover as bullets pierced the cafe’s window behind you. Perfect. Just a bit more.

You pulled out the handgun from your waistband and with practiced ease, shot three of the four goons. The last one got the bloodied knife to the face. You elbowed the already damaged window and it finally broke, raining glass down on you. Ignoring the small cuts, you jumped out of the cafe through the window as a familiar red and gold suit landed in front of you. Why the fuck were the Avengers here? What about Loki?

You darted into Izzy’s shop and she played her part well, screaming that you had run out the back when you had actually gone into the side room. You listened as the Avengers followed her directions. One person, maybe it was the Black Widow, stayed behind to help calm down the seemingly hysterical Izzy. If she wasn’t so happy at her shop and she didn’t want to work directly for you, she could be a great actress.

You rolled back the rug on the ground to reveal a metal trapdoor. You entered the code to unlock it and climbed down into the darkness. Behind you, you heard the trapdoor’s magnetic lock click back into place. Two centuries ago, you had tunnels dug underneath Manhattan, Brooklyn, and Queens for easy getaways. If you went… that way, you would end up in Sandra’s souvenir shop which was a couple of blocks away from your penthouse.

With a million dollars in one hand and a handgun in the other, you walked down the concrete tunnel.

*

*

*

*

*

Taglist:

@kaithehero @liliannyah​ @andreasworlsboring101 @oatballsoffury​ @aberrant-annie

[virgil-is-a-cutie]

Alya salt Alya and class (except Chloe and sweet tomato Nathaniel) destory Marinette's sketchbook but shes doesn't care cuz it was 4 the class and consequences happen (based on unmaskedagain fictattered remains and broken dreams(yours not mine))

Screwing Up (You Did, Not Me)

This has light salt cuz I'm too lazy to to continue. If y'all want a sequel tell me.

Marinette hums as she put her sketchbook of her designs in a metal box with a lock in it. She had bought the small vault after Chloé copied her hat design.

Chloé still winced and gave her a sheepish smile whenever they hanged out at the bluenette's room.

At least she showed she regretted it honestly.

She was glad she got the steel box, it was something she was glad she got once Lila came into the picture. She lost trust in her ex friends a week after Lila came back since they easily followed Rossi without taking into consideration what she was saying.

Sure the class have only known her for two years, but surely they've heard about her the four years that she's been at Dupont since moving from America at the age of 10 years old.

They acted like friends, but they honestly saw her as someone to only do stuff for them.

At least some did a commission unlike others in the class. That made it easier to have separate sketchbooks for the class really.

She puts a white sparkly sketchbook in her backpack since Sabrina and her had been discussing the designs for the school play that she and the rest of the theatre class were going to put on.

At least the theatre teacher commissioned her early on and Sabrina and her discussed with Marinette on what the style of the costumes they wanted for the play.

Mylene had been kicked out of the theatre club as well the class after they witnessed her verbally assaulting Marinette, who had been ignoring the shorter girl by listening to a P!ATD song. Mylene had protested, but Sabrina had ripped Mylene a new one. She may not get along well with the bluenette since Chloé and her became friends with the bluenette, but she didn't believe Marinette deserved to be treated harshly.

She wore a baby pink sundress with a black motorcycle jacket with pink flowers stitched into it and pink combat boots with spikes on them.

She had started to hang out with Gina more now and her outfits have changed a little because of that.

She fixes her hair in a side braid before grabbing a granola bar and a yogurt cup before grabbing her school bag before heading to school 40 minutes early. She had a small breakfast meeting to get to before class started.

She met with Sabrina and the theatre teacher in the theatre classroom to discuss any alterations and last minutes things needed on the classroom, which were not needed much to Marinette's relief.

So when there was about 10 minutes before class was set to start she went to her locker and put up her small make up bag that just contained eyeliner and light pink lipstick and a few nail polish containers. She noticed she was missing a white sketchbook with the design of a rainbow poop emoji, but she shrugged it off.

It wasn't that important. Well it was, but only for her class really, the classmates that deemed it a right to use up her time among other things for free things that she really believed they didn't deserve.

She hums listening to I Write Sins Not Tragedies as she walked to class, softly mumbling to the beginning of the song.

Nathaniel was pacing back and forth outside the classroom, he noticed her and tried to talk with her, but Chloé grabbed his hand and questioned him quietly as to what was worrying him.

A few of her classmates had a shameful look on their faces while a few smirked smugly at her or snickered as she walked passed them on her way to her seat in the back.

She frowns upon seeing shredded paper on her desk, but realization struck her when she saw the cover of the sketchbook her ex friends ripped up.

Nathaniel and Chloé watched from the door with a nervous and worried look on their faces.

She shrugs and sings along to the song softly as she takes a picture of it, grabs the cover of the sketchbook, saving it into her backpack.

For fun reasons only.

She then sent emails to whoever she needed to before grabbing the shredded paper and throwing it into the trash can that was beside the corner in the back. Making sure to clean up the mess well in her desk, and goes over to the front of the. She wanted to see their faces as she told them that they all screwed themselves over.

Well... a few of them did really.

Nathaniel tried to gently grab her shoulder, but she waved him off with a soft smile. She took off her headphones, music blaring loudly out of it as La Devotee played out.

She turns back around before groaning and pinching the bridge of her nose before smiling widely to the class.

Her ex friends were very much surprised, they thought she would be crying, or screaming really. Even Lila was a little shocked at the biracial girl's reaction to seeing her ripped up sketchbook. She wanted the Chinese Mexican American girl to at least cry.

They thought the the

"Aren't you.... aren't you at least a bit sad dudette?" Nino asked weakly.

He wasn't close to Marinette anymore because of Lila, but he knew that Alya went too far in destroying the bluenette's sketchbook.

He was honestly debating on breaking up with her ever since she started to beg for more dates and tell him to drop their younger siblings off with Marinette, who he knew was possibly too busy to even do so because the bluenette always had her schedule in order.

Marinette breaths in deeply and makes a praying gesture with her hands as she does this before giving them a toothy and wide eye grin.

A very wide toothy grin with wide eyes that sorta freaked out a few of her classmates. Possibly even Lila.

"I cannot stress this enough... but y'all fucked up, pendejos. Pinche brutos," she said slowly as if to let them understand as if they were children.

Which they were, but more on the teenager part really.

Everyone gaped as the small petite bluenette cursed at them. Lila blinked in surprise before smirking smugly, hiding her smirk as she dipped her head low.

"I would be, but not really. Ya ni me va importar ese cuaderno," she says with a small tilt of her head.

Everyone in the class blinked, except for Nathaniel and Chloé. Sabrina stepped in a second later and paused to take in what's happening.

She was about to speak when Chloé shook her head, making her frown, but she stayed quiet.

Marinette raised an eyebrow, "don't really care for that sketchbook really. It wasn't at all tan importante. Not at all that important to be frank with y'all."

Everyone blinked in shock at what they heard the bluenette say.

"What do yo-"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOT IMPORTANT?! IT WAS YOUR SKETCHBOOK!" Alya screeched as she stood up.

Lila flinched and winced at the yell since Alya sat very close to her.

"It was a sketchbook yes, but not one that would break my heart if torn," the bluenette said with a shrug which shocked the class.

"Wait what," Nathaniel asked in shock making Mari lightly giggle before giving the class a shit eating grin.

"The sketchbook with all the designs that are worthwhile and deemed good are locked away at home in my room. I stopped bringing it to school a month after the hat contest," she said as she looked at her nails.

"The sketchbook with a rainbow poop emoji is for this class specifically. Specifically for the class members who demand for things for free, as well as class representative things."

Everyone in the classroom frown.

"What do you mean demand? We commission you for almost a lot of things," Ivan asked curiously.

He may have stopped being friends with the bluenette, but that didn't stop him from paying a commission early than necessary for things he needed since not many stores carried his size.

A few others nodded since they always commissioned the bluenette as well order a box or two full of pastries from the bakery when they wanted to bring a treat to the class that they have Marinette bring. However, only a few froze and sunk in their seats little at the implication.

Marinette raised her eyebrow at him and gestured with a nod towards Mylene, Alya, Kim, and Alix who all just sunk down in their seats from being called out.

Lila raised an eyebrow at the people who got called out.

Rose frowns as well did the rest of the class, "wait... hold up-"

"Wait... did you all four expect Marinette to make your stuff for free?" Nino asked in disbelief.

"It's just that she desi-"

"It doesn't matter if she's a designer Alya. Marinette may not be our friend anymore, but even if she was it doesn't mean to take advantage of the fact she designs clothes and other things," Rose said with a disappointed look on her face.

"Wait-"

"Don't worry to those who commissioned me, I have your commissions on a separate sketchbook and you all did the commission online so you're all good. I just need to work on them so that they can be finished in the intended date."

"THAT'S NOT FAIR! WHY-"

"Césiar she is wasting time on making things that you and the other three useless beings don't bother to commission that make her waste tons of material just to make your useless asses things that honestly none of the four of you really deserve to have made," Chloé bit out icily with a glare.

"But it's just small things! A dress here, a jacket here-"

"Yeah posters really," Kim interrupts Alya.

Chloé raised an eyebrow and smirked widely as she stepped towards her ex friend.

"Adrien, do tell how much a custom made design does your dear old dad charge someone."

Adrien blushed and mumbled softly.

"I'm sorry what?"

"$9,000 and that was for a simple black pantsuit with a a red rose stitched in one pocket," he said out loud. The blonde shaking a little, he had arrived a minute before Nathaniel so he didn't know what was going on until the commotion started.

Chloé hums and looks at her manicured nails.

"My mother would charge up to $3,000 depending on the 'simple' dress Alya asked for really. Up to 20 grand for the dresses Alya and Mylene basically demanded from you unless she had to hand sow herself," she said with a smug grin to the two girls that basically demanded Marinette to make them skirts among other things really.

The two girls paled as they realized how much money they basically would've saved if they hadn't ripped up the bluenette's sketchbook. Even if they basically demanded it to be made by her.

Alix paled as she realized that she demanded Marinette to design her a suit simply because she hated dresses. That would've cost her so much more than a simple measly $100 that she had somewhere really.

"B...but I need a dress for a date with Ivan!" she gasps out with wide eyes.

"So do I! I need a new skirt!" Alya growls out.

"Yeah too bad so sad, but you two are not going to get anything because my commissions are already full really," Marinette said.

"B...But the school's basketball's team needed new uniforms!" Kim out.

"That is a ridiculous thing you had asked of me Kim, even your basketball couch was appalled that you asked that of me," Marinette said with a raised eyebrow to her ex friend.

Kim blushed at the realization of what was said, "but-"

"Either way I gave him the number of a really nice cousin of mine, Carrie Ross-Snell. She does design for a living, but it's more of a hobby in the side to be honest. She doesn't mind really," she mumbles the last part.

"She gave him a good price really," she said out loud.

She really was going to have to thank the stars that Sue had used the bunny miraculous to have Carrie be placed in a new home when born after The Blood Prom occured. At least Fu saw it fit for the girl and her boyfriend see their error of their ways and wanting Carrie to have a happy childhood. Which led her to be adopted by Ms. Desjarden.

Their future P.E teacher. Who later married her uncle Chris.

Thank god Master Fu had been in a America for a short while when that happened.

At least Carrie was raised with love and was cared for. Even if she was still a very shy person.

"Either way I can't work on all the things that were on that journal, there were too many last minute demands you forced on me. They're gone, as well as the other things that were on that sketchbook," Marinette said with a shrug.

"W...what about fundraisers you promised to help?!" Alix screamed out.

The bluenette raised an eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips, "I never promised anything at all Alix. You and Kim bitched about wanting help and that's it. I just told y'all good luck really," she told the now embarrassed two.

"B...but my outfit for Kitty Section!" Mylene cries out.

"Can't really work on it, it wasn't a commission, although the rest of y'all didn't commission for anything so I don't really have a reason to work on anything," Marinette said with a shrug.

The members of Kitty Section nodded, but then everyone who commissioned her froze. She had her schedule she stuck by so they knew she was already swamped and all internally groaned.

Those who never commissioned her didn't think what the matter was but remembered how much they had to have paid if they even ever asked for a commission.

They paled after that remembering what Adrien said.

The others internally groaned remembering that they had a few things they knew couldn't be worked on because they forgot about them.

Marinette shrugs, "I also had a few of the class representative things there, but oh well, can't do those anymore. As well a few things that only a few other people asked for."

Everyone frowned, but shrugged it off really as the bell rang for the school day to start.

Ms. Bustier walked in and sighs before looking at Marinette with a soft concerned look before sighing.

"During lunch class we will decide the new class representative. Marinette unfortunately has to pull out due to reasons," the teacher said with a weak smile.

Marinette smiles brightly at the teacher before going to her desk.

"What a shame, we could've gotten to go see Luther Inc. and Oscorp," she says to herself, but she said it out loud for people to hear.

All of them heard and felt their hearts break at what they just heard.

The class will soon realize that those who destroyed Marinette's sketchbook for the class fucked them all over.

Because not only did it have things for class representatives and such.

It had their schedules and other important dates that Marinette always believed and told them were very much important for them.

Something they honestly believed wasn't until the last minute and caused them to feel dread at the thought of them forgetting something or anything they had scheduled.

All because Alya and the other three decided to tear up Marinette's sketchbook.

The wrong one at that.

[geekxgoddess85]

Very Bad Things

~PROLOGUE~ How It Began

“Are you sure a-about this Armin?”

“Of course, I’m sure. You trust me, right?”

Eren bit his lip, giving his childhood best friend a worried look. The two were currently on summer break from Trost University, going into their senior year. For Eren, junior year was a nightmare. If he was to be honest with himself, he had been slacking for the past two years so, when junior year came, he had to buckle down and keep his nose in the books in order to be able to pass the necessary courses to complete his credits. For college, staying an extra year on the count of not passing a course or lack of credits was more normal than one would think. But for Eren, he wanted to make sure he graduated the same time his friends did.

It was one week into summer break and Eren still felt the stress from taking his finals. It was the reason Armin was in his bedroom at the moment, making an account on—on behalf of Eren— on an adult live cam site called Strip ‘N Chat. Eren didn’t know how to feel about it. It was one thing to watch porn videos, but to actually interact with a person via webcam was kind of unnerving. Armin mentioned it was a great way to let off steam and when his best friend brought the idea to him, Eren was a bit…perturbed about it all. It was ironic, though. During their entire lives, Armin had been the conservative, stick-in-the-mud prude who used to balk at the very thought of sex, while Eren was the extroverted, loudmouth rebel. Three years into their college career and look at how the tables turned. Eren was still…well…Eren, but he found himself as the prude. The crazy thing was, Armin lost his virginity their freshman year during a frat party to Jean, of all people, while Eren was still a virgin. After his little tryst with Jean (and a couple of times afterwards), Armin began to blossom and open up in all ways, including sexual. He was openly gay and sexually active. And fucking proud of it all too.

The shit was crazy.

“Okay. Done.” Armin smiled and sat back in his chair. “You’re all signed up and I got ya’ logged in. Here’s your username and password.” He grabbed Eren’s sketch pad and began writing the information down. “Username is SlickxJagger and your password is Sk8terB0i30.”

Eren raised his eyes. “Slick…x…Jagger?”

“Yeah, corny, but cool, huh?”

“No!” He argued. “I sound like a washed up 90’s porn star!”

Armin shrugged and blinked his eyes innocently. “It’s a porn site, Eren. Everyone’s username sounds like a washed up 90’s porn star. Now, you’re all set! I loaded up that pic of you at Krista’s pool party.”

Eren sighed. He knew what picture Armin was speaking of. He posted it on his Instagram and had gotten a ton of likes. He didn’t think it was anything special. It was just him, with his red and white swim trunks on, holding up the hem of his shirt with his teeth, exposing his abs and various fake tattoos. He had grown his hair out—almost to his shoulders—and was a damp mess of a bird’s nest. Because of that and his long bangs, his face was pretty much hidden, though the sun light had shone just right on his sea green eyes, which caused them to sparkle and almost glow. “What do I do now?” He blinked owlishly.

Sitting forward, Armin clapped his hands onto the top of his knees. “Fill in your profile and filter out what you’re looking for. Then you can pick which Cam Model you like and subscribe to them. Every time they go live or post a pic or video, you’ll get a notification. Remember, some of that shit, they charge you tokens. It’s usually the more risqué stuff. The amount is based on their own discretion. And if you want one-on-one’s, you definitely have to pay out the ass with tokens.”

Biting his lip, Eren looked at his profile. He filled in the basic information about his age, height,  and build, and his likes and dislikes. He answered everything to the best of his ability and honestly. The only thing he lied about was his name. Instead of his real name, he decided to use ‘Jagger’ as being his first name. He didn’t provide a last name. His preferences came next. He started clicking the various boxes. “Um….okay, I like brunettes. Height doesn’t really matter to me. A muscular body would be nice. Don’t care about ethnicity…..” He continued to click away, with Armin helping him on certain things. “Is that all? Did I miss anything?”

“Yes, you sure did,” Armin replied, with a devilish grin. “And I know exactly which to pick out of Twink or Daddy. Click on Daddy.”

Eren winced. “Ew!”

Rolling his eyes, Armin sighed. “Not that kind of Daddy, Eren. Duh! Daddy kink.” He watched his buddy blink cluelessly at him. “I can’t believe you don’t know what that is. Even I know, dude. It’s when a younger male twink is enticed by an older male ‘Zaddy’. That’s the gist of it. If ya’ wanna know more, google it!” Standing, Armin slapped his hands down on Eren’s shoulders, before wrapping his arms around Eren’s neck, hugging him from behind. “I gotta go. Mikasa asked me to fill in for her at the Café. Did you talk to Annie about your schedule?”

Eren raised his own arms up and behind him, awkwardly wrapping them around Armin’s waist…or trying to as much as he could while sitting in his red and black gamer chair. “Yeah. I have the same schedule as you now so that I can catch a ride with you.”

“Great! I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Armin kissed the top of Eren’s head, before taking his leave.

Eren gave his buddy a lazy wave goodbye with a lopsided grin. When his bedroom door closed, his smile died down and was followed by a heavy sigh. He still didn’t know about this whole cam thing. But he was always up to trying new things. And if Armin liked it, then maybe it couldn’t be that bad.

Over the next hour, he had gone through dozens of pages of so-called Daddies. That process was a little more frustrating that what it should have been. Eren was picky when it came to who and what he found attractive. Not that it was a thing with him anyway, but he didn’t pick based on looks. He couldn’t because all models were required to wear masks for anonymity sake. He thought that was kind of neat. It gave the models a sexy, mysterious look to them. He had to go off based on their profiles and preferences. He had to weed out a lot of douche-bags but narrowed it down to two: The Captain and Dr. Pain. He was kind of skeptical about Dr. Pain. He looked to be into BDSM and while Eren didn’t have anything against it, he had never done anything like that. But Dr. Pain was 6”2, with impeccable styled blonde hair and chiseled features from what he could tell through the mask. They had a few of the same likes and dislikes. Overall, the guy sounded pretty normal, despite liking ‘a little pain with his sex’ (his own words). The Captain…well…there was something about him. He was a shorty, standing only at 5”3. Eren was a full five inches taller than he was. Not that it mattered. He didn’t think their was a height requirement to being a Daddy, but when he googled it, the norm was the Daddy was always taller and bigger than the Twink. They shared a lot of the same likes and dislikes, but what struck a chord in Eren’s heart was The Captain’s eyes. Even through his white, red, and black mask, Eren could see a pair of piercing blue-gray eyes. Almost a light cobalt. They pulled him in as if he were in a whirlpool, being sucked into the abyss.

‘What the hell?’

Blinking back into reality, Eren shook his head and walked to the kitchen. His stomach was roaring at him angrily to feed it. “Mikasa, are you hungry?” He called out to silence. Armin was gone to work, and it seemed like Mikasa had left to go some place too. So, he was alone.

Sighing, he kicked his door closed with his toes and plopped down on his bed. A sandwich and soda sounded real good right now and that’s exactly what he was chowing down.

It was a couple of minutes before ten when a notification sounded out. He thought it was his phone, but when he checked it, he saw that it wasn’t, he furrowed his brows. “Hm—oh! My laptop!” Scrambling off the bed, Eren rushed to the laptop and pressed on the ‘enter’ key to wake his system up. Checking his email, he saw one new message and blinked slowly. “It’s from Strip N Chat.” Biting his lip, he cautiously opened up the notif; reading every single letter that made up all the words.

“The Captain is now online.”

Swallowing hard, he clicked the link that took him straight to The Captain’s page. It was a simple page. There was a large blank box in the middle of the screen that said ‘The Captain’s Quarters’. The chat was at the bottom. There his stans already there talking to each other, waiting for The Captain to show.

And when he made his entrance, it was pandemonium.

“Hello Darlings, it’s your Captain speaking. Did you miss me?" Leaning forward, resting his chin on the backs of his fingers, he winked on cobalt blue eye. "Have I got a story for my horny little Ship Mates tonight.”

Eren watched a grin spread across his face, which he couldn’t see much of it. Like all the models on the site, The Captain wore some kind of masquerade looking mask that covered majority of his face. Only his eyes, hair, and his lips and chin were seen, as far as his face goes. His body…well that was another story.

“Wow….” Eren whispered, mesmerized by the guy’s body. His shoulders were broad, and his arms were toned. And as bright as day, he sported a winged tattoo on his chest, with what looked to be a matching one on his left hip. “That’s so hot,” he whispered. Eren had a thing for tattoos. He wanted some of his own but was too afraid of needles to get any. But fucking A if this guy didn’t look hot wearing his.

“…but first, looks like we got some virgins in the house.” He smirked; a pink tongue coming out to wet his bottom and top lips. “Come on.” His voice deepened, dropping one octave. “I don’t bite.....unless you beg me for it.”

Those very words and the way he said them sent a shiver down his spine and an electric shock to his dick.

“Crew, say hello to our newest Shipmates RainMan95, PoisonedL0v3r, and…SlickxJagger. Mmmm….hey Slick….just how slick is that tight, little hole of yours?”

“Fuck. Me.” Eren’s eyes went blind. He was caught. Hook, line, and sinker or whatever the fuck it was called. The guy had him. Him and his aching dick that was standing on end, making a tent in his sweatpants.

“Speaking of holes mmmm, wait until you hear this one. It about a cute, little Twink with a bubble butt that I ate. All. Fucking. Night. Long. When I was done with him he had a…Slick…hole too, Jagger.” Captain grinned widely. “Wanna hear the story, Crew?” He lowered his voice and his tone. Sitting back in his chair, he reached into his pants and pulled out his enormous, leaking cock and began to stroke it lazily.  “Get out your dicks, my lovely little perverts. Come stroke with me down memory lane.”

‘Oh no…’

Eren was fucking hooked.