#writerscommunity

[the-golden-comet]

Hello insomnia, my old friend 🫠✨

for someone who loves sleep, i do not sleep enough at all

[hayatheauthor]

7 POC Architectural Inspirations for Your Fantasy World

Fed up with (most) authors sticking to the Renaissance ‘white’ castles so here’s some inspiration (and a gentle nudge to branch out because I can’t stand them anymore): 

1. Mahals (India)

Ornate domes, intricate carvings, and symmetrical layouts. Mehals take decades to be made and are intricately brought to life with beautiful detailings, take the Shish Mahal's mirror work, Jharokhas, the Pietra Dura Mughal inlays, and classic Jaali work that female characters sneek peeks through to watch the throne room from afar. 

2. Qilā (Fortresses of the Mughal Empire)

If you want something more in tune with a war-based story Qilas are a good option. They’re brought to life with massive stone walls, gateways with pointed arches, and courtyards for strategic defense. Qilas are intended for protection but many hold a rustic mix of Persian and Indian architecture which provides that aesthetic charm writers like. 

3. Shiro (Japanese Castles)

Shiros are Japanese castles with many buildings within their walls, such as the Goten (palace). I used a Shiro for my book and it is so convenient if you have a larger cast, like a court system/multiple families. If you want to know all the structures, names, what they look like, etc. just google ‘Nawabari’ (the Japanese term for a Shiro’s layout). 

4. Kasbahs (North Africa)

Kasbahs are native to Morocco and perfect if you need something minimalistic yet pretty. Their structures are very similar to that of a Qila since they both have a pragmatic, angular build. However, Kasbahs are more earthy with thick clay walls, small windows and subtle yet pretty detailing. 

5. Qasr (Middle Eastern Palaces)

Qasrs are Arab palaces that feature ancient Bedouin architecture. However, there is no ‘one size fits all’ Qasr because this word is used to describe both palaces and forts. You can have a ‘qasr’ that is a palace with sprawling courtyards, marble arches, and curvy turrets, or a ‘qasr’ that is a Bedouin fort with structured cylindrical towers. PS: castle = Qusur. 

6. Baray Temples (Cambodia)

Barays, like those at Angkor Wat, symbolise spirituality. Like many Asian temples, they are typically surrounded by water and reservoirs. The complexes feature intricate stone carvings, steep steps, and a flat triangular top (Google if you cant visualise it please). Unlike most structures on this list, they are typically made using Laterite or Earth/clay. 

7. Mudbrick Mosques (West Africa)

While South Asia uses intricate craftsmanship for their detailing, Mudbrick Mosques have smoothly carved pillars, tapering walls and flat domes that are strategic yet beautiful. The beige tones blend seamlessly into the dessert with wooden beams protruding from its walls to make it stand out. I would recommend looking at the Great Mosque of Djenné; truly a masterpiece. 

I've mainly covered types I've either seen irl or used in my writing please don't come at me if I haven't included something from your culture, you can comment it.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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[b1tchyboyxd]

˚₊‧꒰ა A oneshot for you guys ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Daddy's home kids and I brought the milk 🔥🔥🔥

So this is very bad, it's late and I'm sleepy. I only wrote this because I haven't posted in months and I have to feed you, my children.

Scenario ⊱ ☆ ⊰ :: Your boyfriend wakes you up in the middle of the night to f★ck you <3 (Smut yay!!)

W :: I don't know how to write Smut. It's really shitty, but fuck this shit.

───────────── ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ────────────

───────────── ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ────────────

In the darkness of the night, your peaceful sleep was suddenly broken by the feeling of a warm hand shaking your shoulder. It was your boyfriend, awake and clearly up for something more than sleep. He gently rolled you onto your back, his hand grazing your waist as he straddled your hips, the weight of his body pressing against you.

"Wake up." he whispered, his voice husky with arousal, his gaze intense even in the dim light.

He trailed a finger along your jawline, his touch both a caress and a command.

"I need you," he murmured, his other hand slipping under your shirt to trace circles on your bare skin with his fingertips, causing goosebumps to rise everywhere he touched.

"I can't wait," he continued, his voice a little husky as he began to rock his hips against yours.

His breath was hot against your ear, his words barely registering as your mind tried to catch up with the situation.

But your body was certainly awake now, responding to his touches.

His breath was hot against your ear, his words barely registering as your mind tried to catch up with the situation.

His mouth found yours in the dark, the kiss slow and sensual at first but quickly building in intensity. His tongue moved against yours, mimicking the motion of his hips in a slow, torturous rhythm as he pressed himself against you once again.

There was a desperation in his touch that betrayed how much he wanted you.

As if sensing your waking state, his kisses moved from your lips to your neck, leaving a trail of heat against your exposed skin.

His hands slid under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head, tossing it aside to give him better access.

His mouth was everywhere; kissing, biting, and teasing in ways that had you arching your body towards him, wanting to be closer.

He took advantage of your position, pushing his hands under you, palming your behind and lifting your hips to meet his.

You could feel him, hard and eager through the thin barrier of his clothes, his movements becoming more insistent as his lips trailed down your neck, sucking and biting at your skin, leaving marks that would be impossible to hide.

He pulled back for a moment, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire.

"I want you so bad..." he whispered, his voice shaky with need. He didn't give you a chance to respond, his mouth back on yours in an instant, the kiss all consuming.

His hands moved to the drawstring of your pajama pants, toying with the tie for a moment before finally pulling it loose.

His fingers dipped under the waistband, teasing the sensitive skin of your hips. He broke the kiss again, his eyes locking with yours, silently asking for permission.

Your breathing hitch at his touch, and you nodded, the tiniest movement of your head letting him know it was okay.

He kissed you again as his hands worked your pants down, his fingers caressing every inch of newly revealed skin.

He quickly disposed of his own clothing, his movements rough and rushed, the desire coursing through him. He didn't waste any time, immediately pressing himself against you, his skin against yours.

His mouth found yours again as his hands skimmed over your body, caressing every curve and dip, his touch setting off a trail of heat and desire.

He shifted his position, pressing against you more fully, the contact both comforting and overwhelming.

His touch was everywhere, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that only added to the heat building between you.

He reached down again, gently taking one of your legs and hooking it around his waist, drawing you closer.

He moved against you, the friction sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, his breath catching in his chest as the sensation took over.

He needed you, you could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch, and hear it in the sounds he was making against your neck.

He moved slowly at first, every movement calculated, every touch deliberate, his lips finding yours again and again, the kisses growing more needy, more desperate.

He murmured words of praise against your lips, his words a mix of praise and pleasure, making you feel desired and cherished in the same breath.

His hands moved to grip your hips, his touch grounding you even as he gradually increased the pace, the intensity growing exponentially. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, a silent plea for more.

His breath hitched against your skin as the waves of ecstasy grew, his kisses becoming more urgent, his touch more firm.

The heat between you was all-consuming, the sounds of your shared pleasure filling the quiet room, your bodies moving in a synchronous rhythm.

His moans mixed with yours, his breath hot on your skin, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

He held onto you tightly, fingers digging into your hips as he moved with purpose, the tension between you mounting.

He reached down, hooking his arms under your legs, changing his angle and hitting a spot that had your back arching off the bed.

A low groan escaped him, the sound vibrated against your skin, sending another wave of pleasure coursing through you.

His pace picked up, his movements more desperate, the intensity growing with every touch. Your hands found his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as you held onto him, the sensation overwhelming.

He reached down, his fingers finding your hand and lacing them together, pinning it to the bed beside you.

His lips found yours again, the kiss bruising, his tongue swiping across your lower lip as he swallowed the sounds you were making.

His rhythm started to falter, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his release, his breath panting in your ear, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I'm close." he whispered, his voice ragged, his words catching in his throat, his hand tightening around yours. He moved faster, his kisses becoming sloppier, his touch becoming more desperate.

"Come with me." he murmured, his words barely more than a whisper, but the command was clear.

He changed his angle slightly, hitting that spot again, and you could feel the tension in his body

The sensation of his body and the words sent you over the edge, your back arching off the bed as pleasure crashed over you, your grip on his hand tightening as you rode out the waves, his hand squeezed back.

As you came down, he held you, his chest heaving, his pulse racing. He kissed you again, his touch gentler now, his hand releasing your own to stroke your face.

"I love you ~" he murmured against your lips, his breath still unsteady, his words filled with affection and relief.

He rolled onto his back, pulling you with him, your head resting on his chest, his arm wrapping around your waist, holding you close. He placed light kisses on your forehead, his thumb tracing idle circles on your skin, the after-shocks of pleasure still coursing through your body.

───────────── ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ────────────

───────────── ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ────────────

Goodbye fags, time for disappear for 2 months again

[jb-cantsleep]

There is no "forgive and forget" when you are a writer. Everyone who has wronged a writer is a fragment of their story, like shards of glass from a mirror.

[scareqrow412]

Mood and truth

"why does writing take so long" because 60% of it is coming up with a sentence, realizing that sentence doesn't work the way you want it to, and staring at a wall

[callherwylder]

In every breath,

I find your shadow,

And I crave you,

Endlessly.

[17panicattacksinatrenchcoat]

i have so many projects planned out in my head that will probably never see the light of day because every time I open my docs i just stare at my screen and daydream about the projects instead of actually writing them

[mellblogss]

I want someone to love me for me.

[lalchimiedecupid]

Sorry guys i lived in a war zone and a had a bad environment growing up💘💘💘i hope you enjoy my fics just as much as i enjoy writing them💘💘💘💘

the true cycle of life

[whereserpentswalk]

Every ten years, some of the most powerful beings in the multiverse bet on the life of an average human.

They've been doing it since humans evolved sentience, it's become tradition at this point. Azarath angel of war and fire. Opheria high lady of the autumn fae. Eoauiioaie old one of dreams and eater of planets. Drehn the dragon at the edge of time. Kalhesh demon of the unbreakable chain. Haramare the parasite that eats the bodies of dead universes. And many others, some of whom I can't even describe here, all gather to make their bets.

They pick a human by rolling millions of dice until they find someone who matches the DNA sequence generated. Then they'll begin to watch them, watch their little moves, their daily tasks, their relationships, everything about them. And they'll start making bets, on little things at the start of the year, on what they'll have for breakfast. On if they'll make the train on time. On what dreams they'll have when they sleep. But as time extends they start getting more and more invested, and they'll bet on the big things, if they'll ask out their crush, if they'll get that promotion, in some dark circumstances if they'll die.

There are only two rules. Nobody can use their powers to effect the person's life. And the human in question cannot be aware of extra dimensional being. The person is just living their normal life, and they're observing, seeing with baited breath what will happen, not knowing.

It's 2022, they're betting on a university student living in Tokyo. She's been burnt out for days, everyone is waiting intently to see if she finishes her papers in time. The multiverse cheers when she does. She passes all of her classes, does well, though feels the pain of a few sleepless nights. Despite her worst fears and insecurities she's quite intelligent, and all her paranoias prove to be illusions of the mind.

It's 2012, they're betting on a teenager living in the Midwestern US. They're considering coming out to their parents but they don't at the last momment. Some cheer because they remained safe and weren't hurt by their father. Some weep because they've waited even longer to come out now. They're still in the closest when they stop being followed on New Years Eve, their parents never accept them, they end up moving to Chicago for college and cutting off contact years after the contest ends.

It's 2002, they're better on a hunter living in the forests on South America, one of the few people left on the earth not to know of the colonizers and the empires of the west, though he's still felt their effects. He's almost ambushed by a python, everyone waits with baited breath hoping he survives. By all luck he does and the multiverse cheers. He'll die a few days after the contest ends, meeting a westerner for the first time, and meeting a western bullet for the first time, as he was considered to be "trespassing" on a private farm.

It's 1992, they're betting on an elderly man living in the suburbs of St. Petersburg, he comes home one night to find out that his beloved cat has died. He weeps and the multiverse weeps with him. Nobody could have known the cat was in danger, so no bets were made on her, but everyone weeps anyway, it is November, and the multiverse knew her well. Throughout halls of civilizations the old man will never know the cat is mourned, entities from countless worlds wishing things could have gone differently.

The contest is always broadcast to the entire multiverse. The faeries, and the old ones, and the demons and the angels, and all other manner of creature, always know. The ones making the bets always root for their predictions to come true, but those who are always watching tend to hope for the best outcome. They become so invested in everyone's lives, hoping everything is ok for them, loving the people they watch in a way those being watched will never truly know.

They say it's to keep them humble. So that the faeries, and the angels, and the dragons, and the elder horrors will all know in a way what it's like to be human, and know to care for those so much less powerful then them.

[ptimepoet]

[cautious-soup]

A little over a month ago I went to see Transformers one with my sister, then came home and thought "Well, since I'm unemployed and depressed and haven't posted anything substantive on my ao3 in almost 9 months I should watch the other movies in chronological order."

I proceeded to watch every live action transformers movie, and Rise of the Beasts altered my brain chemistry so much that it ripped me from my writers block and forced me to write three whole fics about a dumb robot and his human boyfriend, a batman fic, and a new long original work.

So I guess, thanks transformers for restoring my livelihood 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀 (might write megop or megascream next)

And if you're struggling with writer's block, watch something new, you might get inspired, or you might get brain worms. Either way, you'll be writing.

[mxxnlightwriting]

Okay everyone, please interact with this post if you're okay being tagged in tag games and stuff like that. I'll add your name to this post so that I can refer to it when looking for people to tag (because I never know who is okay with what, and I don't want to bother people who don't want to participate)

@thekingofthenameless @the-arson-author-gamer @major-arcana-series @nrivanwrites @gullwrites

@savvyminnow @vivianwrite @tragicheirs @world-of-iridensia @keen2meecha

@foyle-writes-things @pcm-vandermeer @vsnotresponding @innocentlymacabre @theprissythumbelina

@notwritinganyflufftoday @rachaellawrites @trixierosewrites @k--havok @dyrewrites

@indigowriting @kayedium-writes @maddstermind @leebrontide @abiteofhoney

@astorichan @physalian @bluberimufim @seastarblue @aurumni-writes

@daughter-of-inklings @theroseempress @bellascarousel @moltenwrites

[hellincarnation]

“Do you Caesar felt more wounded, in the back or in the heart?”

our relationship is weird. not a friendship. not anything more. but this used to be the way I described our relationship.you were my flickering light to my late night tales, the agrippa to my octavian. and if you told me to revere you, I would. for that is how much I loved you. my loyalty to you was akin to oxygen and flames.

but you changed, slowly the words and secrets we shared, and the jokes I made that used to make you laugh got dismissed. maybe you found a better fool. one that entertains your court better. but i argue no jester is as pathetic as i.

it hit me then, god, you were my king. there is no equality in our dynamic. i was to serve, give everything im worth a shit for. all to you. the being i revered on the throne.

maybe it’s a sense of being. an imposter of some sort. and i am foolish to think we are on equal ground. for whenever i stand tall, you seem to have grown a little more. for whenever i win. it seemed that you had done it first. and i was content with being second. even in your heart and mind.

you were the first in my heart, and I didn’t even make it past your thousand.

this is NOT the “she” in my past thingy, don’t worry they are different people :)

“She” will make an appearance soon elsewhere.

@jeahreading @tamanna-and-her-struggles @schrodinger-ka-billa @ravenwordss @lotuseaterwhowistlesthedark @shinchansbitch @im-on-crack-send-help @zeherili-ankhein @your-dazzling-sun @abyssmita @debacleofdaemons @unhinged-as-hell @mireyaaaaaaaaa @idk-here-for-the-escapisim @depressed-bi-twerking

[ladythornofrivia]

The Devil’s Tongue (pt. 3)

a/n: i’m alive! i have been busy for the past few months and have been struggling with my health, but i’m doing okay. i’m here. i never forget about you guys. here’s part 3 of the devil’s tongue. hope you enjoy. i kinda forgot how to use tumblr for a second, but it’s all coming back to me. 💚

warnings: smut, heavy implied smut, dirty talk, horny reader, nerdy michael stalking, profanity

Another set of roses.

This was the second week of full package right outside of your doorstep at the dorm, brick television blasted through the walls, and those who live nearby could hear it.

“Who the fuck delivered this shit?” you asked aloud, ludicrous.

You were hoping for new packages of big dildos. But who the hell delivered flowers at night while you’re deeply focused on finishing a boss battle on a Kingdom Hearts game?

Obviously somebody annoying, you assumed, but it comes with a certain consequences and package.

Since you garnered more attention from males audience, you have received more than $1000, each day before classes, and nights before going to sleep, less stressed, less fucked out.

Lets still sore, and your pussy getting pounded by a plastic dick helps to forget the idiotic moments from a guy who won’t stop pursuing your pussy.

Up until now, you still didn’t know who kept sending you flowers—gets larger and more obnoxious. Moreover, having alongside of candies in the packages. Each time it gets bigger.

Annoyance.

As soon as you looked into your messy room, you’re fucked. There’s no way, a college staff would allow childish presents and compliments. Although once you did give it away by pretending to send package to someone’s door, but magically ended up at your doorstep.

More annoyance.

Oh, it’s getting worse, although you haven’t seen the worst yet.

You hated roses, but you love the color and its fragrance, so preserving one would suffice and threw the rest into the trash—attraction of flies and other infested bugs. Though roses weren’t wasted if distribute to some lonesome women who yearn romance with their inner Shakespeare, or those who are fond of things that wither too soon for a perfect Edgar Allen Poe quote to go alongside it.

Either too romantic or too gothic would suffice—perfect in a sense they’re almost the same, but different font.

The first day you arrived in college—in England—it was stupendous. Away from folks, from cultish family and liars you once called “friends”. Crisp air and crisp sips of tea and munching scones and a full English breakfast and cup of excellent tea you’ve heard so much, from the vast side of the other world—with a profound lack of research, and a town stuck in their own ways.

When traveling, the possibilities are endless. And to unpack and trash all things annoying, family and even old friends.

Friends…

Pfft!

Friends are such a stupid thing of annoyance such as hope to cling hope. “Friends” can only lead to disappointment and betrayal, so why keep them, they’re just baggage needs to be dumped. And who needs friends when you have a large attraction of male audience and big time cash deposited into your fat bank account? And what better way to end interactions than focusing on how to finish junk food in less than 1 minute?

Money wins in the end.

Money prevailed and endured—an ongoing reward for self-pleasure.

Money buys happiness.

Always.

And food. But both were just as good as previous. Stacked on goods and snacks for a late night somber mood would do a trick.

Except it wasn’t.

Junk food has been forgotten when the flowers and a box package of your favorite candies and chocolate decided to show up on this very hour. There was no name, no phone number, no signature. Not even a compliment was showing.

“Who the fuck sent these during my gaming hour?” you asked yourself, guessing. Probably that no good piece of shit you hung out with last time. And with a small grunt, you picked it up and slammed—locking—the door, thinking about buying a sign of “no soliciting/tresspassing” from an online store.

“Ah. Better than nothing,” you added, appeased as you were closing the front door.

Thank god.

~~~

Numbing cheeks stretched to a giant yawn during a productive hour was the worst thing ever occured after the video game night. Couldn’t stop rethinking of last night’s gift from a secret admirer.

Trying to come up with conclusions on who sent numerous gifts by your door. Could it be the recent guy you dumped or was it an ex friend? An ex-friend wouldn’t do this. They’d automatically give you an intense cold-shoulder and fuck you stare on their eyes and spread false gossip about you behind your back.

Unless if it’s an ex-boyfriend you have back in America. But boys in America lack romantic aspects.

Unless if it’s a family member, or members, then they’re sick fucks in the head that needs to be douse in gasoline and set them alight on fire.

Hence why your mind was running. And it didn’t help. Hence why you came and moved into England. Starting fresh without bringing the mentions past scars would be the best course of action.

Nothing is simple, nothing is easy, but traveling far is duo-able.

After a long session on studying Italian culture and a long-dead language Latin, it has been quite some time since the cultish collection of flowers kept you occupied. You haven’t found a way to make a use of the flowers yet.

Hand tucked under your chin as you sighed, unfocused and relented at your current studies, unaware a lean hand distributed a chocolate crunchy bar.

Gazing upwards, there you saw none other than Michael Gavey.

Michael, Michael…

Michael.

The cute nerd you wanted to see.

To fuck his glasses out of his aquiline nose bridge, squeezing at the back of his head while riding your drenched cunt against his face. The boy—the nerdy college boy—to moan equations under your grasp, showered him with your squirt like how your dreams went.

Your recent dreams have been wet.

Frequently wet.

From the innocent acts until escalated to frequent fucking in college’s library to the college class, to the kitchen counter in the dorms, then the bed, once cold now warm with squirt and jizz. Fun and erotic sights to see in your dreams and yearn for an experiment and watch the outcome resolve itself.

Up until now, the roses had come up subconsciously, an urge to unveil the mystery.

“Michael…” you uttered low, trying to maintain eye contact as possible without the possibility of crushing over someone who is a weirdo who loves math equations.

“You look exhausted,” he assumed.

But he assumed wrong.

“I was up. I was up all night,” you managed to say.

“Studying, I assume.”

“Playing video games,” you said. “I can’t stand quietness around the dorm. Makes me feel isolated.”

He hummed.

“I figured you wanted a krunchy,” Michael said, one of the little corners of his lips turned upward, seeing your eyes twinkled at the chocolate.

“I—I do,” you stuttered. “I love chocolate, especially with juicy jizz—glaze! Glaze! I just love glaze! Especially with donuts with nice glaze with nice ultimately sweet goopy filling on the center inside!”

Stomach coiled in embarrassment that you might as well tuck yourself to shame somewhere no one finds you on this earth.

You sighed, as Michael quirked his brow, unreachable but slightly—ever so more—confused. Even with shut eyes, the glint brightness of his nerdy glasses were glaring at you.

Daring to look at his long glance, your shoulders tensed. “Sorry, I had something on my mind since yesterday. It got me busy,” you explained, sighing, thinking of the afterthoughts of what to do with the flowers. Still useless of decorating, still useless with charitable case of donation. “I didn’t have coffee this morning.”

Knowing that in England, people prefer nice plain organic tea and biscuits or scones.

Distracted, the heat on your cheeks arise.

“Quite a little spectical, I’ll give you that,” Michael said with a dry chuckle, as your legs crossed, one foot making little kicks while Michael came and sat down beside you, almost with disinterested, but a peak of intrigued, hopefully not with a daunting comment.

Hoping he doesn’t know what jizz is. Better yet, a whole language of slang from the west.

For days you have been searching videos at the porn website. Masturbating over the spare time became quite useful for someone who’s randomly horny as you. Day or night.

Horny and desperate from wanting to touch you, but the moment some guy touches you, you instantly kicked him to the boot—nothing more.

They say every guy’s hands are experienced. But what experienced does a guy have other than being insensitive and dull and careless?

They offer nothing to the table, offered no speciality that could qualify or overreached your expectations. Every boy are dull, dull after dull. Nothing is exceptional.

Unless…

Michael’s red sweater kept you more occupied with a rather distinct distraction. It was a nice shade of rich red. A burgundy. Reminded you of the vibrant roses from previous nights.

Nearly groaned at the sight of his top, your legs crossed and clenched tighter. Lips bruised from your teeth clutching, no gash leaking over your lush red lips, as eyes wandered and admiringly over a single spectate.

He looked good in red. For a good, weird nerd.

I wonder if I bruise him good, too.

A good nerd. A weird nerd. Obsessed about equations and numbers.

I bet I could make him cuss out during sex. Moaning in numbers and letters while bucking yourself against does seem tempting. Not a typical guy who touches women, but does the lusty temptation escalated.

But he’s so stubborn.

Red scars and red bruises.

Red tears, maybe.

You fear as if your invisible red horns were sprouting on your head. Not that you dislike red horns. You fear someone might see it. In shadows, in daylight. You like to think yourself as a perverted, moody devil who’s in for a good long fuck. Except you haven’t had a proper date on a long run.

“There’s a Halloween party coming up soon,” Michael’s voice barged into your occupied thoughts. “Have you been looking into that?”

“Um, no,” you said stiffly.

“But I have. Apparently, only those who are qualified enough to go to party. As if I’m going with those looosersss.”

But you knew he’s been longing on being a cool kid but doesn’t know how.

Shoulder shrugged. “I don’t care much about the party. Not really my style.”

“I thought you’d go.”

“What makes you say that?”

He stared over your shoulder, and the indication is clear. Both Felix Catton and his cousin—what’s his face? You didn’t know.

“I saw them speaking to you in the morning.” Michael’s lips pouted.

Cute as fuck.

“Who? Them?” you scoffed. “I don’t know those fuckers. They just came up to me and I thought they’re trying to sell drugs or something.”

“But they were inviting you,” he persisted.

“So? I don’t care much the party life. If I actually want to go, I would’ve said yes and would fuck them in some way. But then again, I did say I’m going to think about it, just to make them back off. Especially that weirdo cousin.”

Michael’s brows tucked. “Fuck?”

Fuck. Wrong phrase.

“Anyway, it’s not my business…I have other plans to go for. Just not in the mood with parties for now. Unless….you’re going?”

Michael scoffed, taking out his math textbook and notebook.

“Guess not.” You went back to concentrate on your unfinished homework.

“What happened to your boyfriend, by the way?”

You shot at him with a dirty look. “Wait, that ugly fuck? I don’t care much about the dude.”

Talking about exes is a no-no, on a girl’s standard and rule when talking to the opposite sex. Especially when the said opposite you found oddly attractive with equation.

After shoving you out of the elevator, a dealbreaker has set in and decided to break things off as if you consider the guy exist.

You don’t even recall his name.

Michael’s relaxed hand recoiled to a fist. It was subtle.

Your eyes softened. “So…I do need help with something. Something that I’m having a hard time with, and I need some assistance with sums. Does that ring any bell?”

Michael smirked, his fist hasn’t uncoiled. “Math.”

You flashed a wink at him. “So, are you going to help a damsel in distress, or are you going to sit there and be emo?”

Michael’s eyes flickered. “Emo?”

Thank god he doesn’t know the slangs. He’s cute. I can feel my red horns are growing.

“Just help a poor girl out, please? With a red cherry on top?”

My cherry was dying to get out. I want Michael to pop my cherry.

Michael hummed, watching you. “Listen carefully, (Y/N). I’m not a patient man.”

“I can take the pain. Whatever you give me,” you said, winking.

Thank god Michael is oblivious to my pervy statement.

Michael hummed again. “The sooner we do this the better.”

You nodded and get the math textbook, but you knew it wasn’t enough, so you’re planning on gathering textbooks. But Michael is already a walking math textbook. Maybe he would explain things better.

“You’re nails. They’re red,” he said.

Your heart palpitated. “You like them?”

Michael hummed.

You wanted to tackle and jump on his face with your wet cunt.

Despite the randomness crossing your mind, you took it as a yes.

Dear Diary,

I want to shove my fingers in his mouth as I bounce on his cock.

~~~

It’s been hours since Michael taught you with math problems, including xyz and triangular shapes and parentheses. As much as you despise the numbers and the math’s creator, you watched Michael’s lips formed in soft curls and once in a while his tongue peaked out.

I want him to lick my hot, wet pussy.

Make this perverted girl happy.

Lick my wet cherry.

Not long before, the library is almost empty. And thus, the conclusion of tutoring session is over. So you devised a plan.

“Instead here, why don’t you go at my dorm? You know, we could study there. The library is too echoey and I hate it when my voices gets suddenly too loud. How does that sound?

You swore you saw Michael’s eyes suddenly glinted, like a pouted cat turned mischievous, almost naughty. But in plain sight.

Without Michael saying anything, you said, “Great. I’ll see you there. Don’t forget your smart pants when you meet at my dorm.”

~~~

Michael’s plan came into a fruition. He knew that offering for a tutoring session could get closer to you. With that annoying boy-toy you used to hookup with has been nagging in. As he knocked on your door, you opened, revealing your bright smile and welcoming, realizing she kept all the flowers he gave you, hoping you enjoy the gift.

His heart skipped a beat.

The closer to you, the more chances to get a glimpse of your personal life. The more he’ll see the true you.

His heart skipped a beat.

As for the boy you casually hook up with, hopefully no one finds his body.

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