#you goddamn collaborators

[bookwyrminspiration]

me, of my own free will, clocking into the kotlc tag every morning to see what we’re arguing about this time

[ardentpoop]

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[simplydnp]

when phil said "ny sphere goes over your sphere" about their personal spaces in dan is leaving me video...LIKE SHUT UPPPPP WE GET IT I'm so lonely

their sphere's do go over each other and it makes me emotional. dan's 'zone of collaboration' makes me laugh, as if he isn't getting all up in phil's space all the goddamn time. get a room!! (i say, while they are literally in their room)

on the more serious note, physical touch is really important, and coming from someone who is touch-starved, i highly recommend going to your local animal shelter to play with the animals there!! mine has a booking process, but they're also super chill about you just showing up and asking politely. get those endorphins!!

[godisasimp]

[acebytaemin]

the fucking shitshow i experienced today…

[mqfx]

what is it with women named jing and lesbianism. I haven't met a single straight one

not sure so i tried looking up the etymology but um. i would like to state for the record that i did not name wan jingwei after wang jingwei, the president of the japanese-backed puppet government. that was an unfortunate but interesting coincidence for those who know what my jingjing's been up to before the start of this fic

wan jingwei is named after the flame emperor's daughter nüwa who fell into the sea and transformed into the legendary bird. this IS thematically relevant

also i believe it's the reason for this little jing lesbian situation

[harfblarf]

extremely niche au concept: Stanley is a Lets Game It Out-style gametester/video maker and The Narrator is a member of an indie dev team and/or churns out lots of little indie games on his own and DESPISES Stanley to an unreasonable extent

(Everyone else Narrator has ever worked with or talked to thinks Stanley is just a funny little guy who pushes the limits of games but Narrator is horrifically offended because Stanley "deliberately and maliciously goes against the design direction of every game he touches")

[blueish-bird]

writing a Part 1 CSM fic where everyone’s just hanging out, but I can’t work on it for too long or it makes me sad and lonely and a little hopeless because. at least they have each other and an apartment/home and know how to make food lmao.

[spirit-sys]

saw a hyper aggressive post criticizing the addition someone made to "here it is, the life i've always longed for". the person who made the happy "good ending" addition probably made it because they experienced the same thing the artist did and gained that life. idk. is growth and changes in your life not art. is viewing your life through the artist's lens and style not art. i dont think you guys like art as much as you claim

[likesummerrainn]

.

[tuckerwooley]

today, @thepeoplesjoker finally sees a theatrical release, starting in NYC and spreading like wildfire to theaters across the country and almost certainly beyond. here are some non-spoilery screenshots of my scene!

i’m honored to have been asked to be a small part of this film; i animated a scene right in the middle of the movie in 2021 while i was finishing my senior year of college, as well as matte paintings used as backgrounds throughout - and recently i got to animate the logo, designed by @michaeldeforgecomics!

all movies take a herculean collaborative effort to get made, but the people’s joker has been supported by the good will of so many people just to get seen. @veradrew22 and @brilerose have made THE true trans comic book movie, equal parts funny, thrilling, emotional, and reflective of modernity. it’s been one of the most artistically rewarding experiences of my life, and i’m beyond excited for y’all to finally see it. i’m obviously biased, but this is my favorite movie, and it would be even if i didn’t work on it. she’s finally free and getting her due, and i couldn’t be happier!

if you somehow want more of me waxing poetic about TPJ, check out the review i did on my letterboxd. and to see other people do it instead, peruse one of the fuckmillion articles that have been out in major publications throughout the production; it’s been in indiewire, variety, the hollywood reporter, polygon, @brokenpencilmag, even the goddamn new york times! that’s wild. the whole thing is wild.

do yourself a favor and see this movie; it represents the possibilities of embracing outsider art, and of a world where IP law is less “for narcs, by narcs.”

[freedomfireflies]

Off the Shelf*

Summary: The second part to 404*

The one where you hate working with Harry and can’t ever seem to agree.

Except on one thing.

Word Count: 3.9k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

(Note: This edit is not mine!! I believe the @ is on it, but full credit to the incredible creator! It's so perfect!!)

“And what seems to be the problem?”

Instantly, you and Harry are at each other's throats.

“I told him two fucking times to check his email for confirmation—”

“She wouldn’t shut up about the goddamn code—”

“—like that’s somehow my fault when he’s never on time—”

“—already in the middle of fucking rewriting the last sequence—”

“—which is ridiculous because I already told him—”

“—can’t do fucking anything when she’s yapping in my ear all goddamn day—”

“Okay, okay, all right,” Mr. Prescott sighs, raising his palms in surrender. “Let’s just take a breath—”

“She’s fucking up our project,” Harry interjects before leaning back. “Sir.”

Mr. Prescott rests his arms on his desk and glances between you. “From what I remember, the two of you agreed to work on finalizing the AI program. Comb through the bugs and whatnot.”

“Yeah, well, that was before he decided it was a waste of his time,” you retort, ignoring Harry’s obvious glare.

“That’s not what I said,” he huffs. “I said that we need to be working on expanding the GUI—”

“Except that wasn’t a part of our job, so—”

“Oh, and what? I can’t try to make the program better?”

“Maybe if you knew how—”

“I got hired for the same fucking job you did—”

“A job you don’t even want to do—”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t do it—”

“Oh, bite me, Harold—”

“All right, all right,” Mr. Prescott interjects, running a hand down his cheek. “Listen, the two of you are more than qualified for the position and perfectly capable of executing the sequence you were designing. I understand it can be hard to collaborate, but this is what you agreed on—”

“I don’t mind collaborating as long as he does what I need him to do,” you correct while Harry scoffs and uses his knuckle to shove his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “He just doesn’t like to listen.”

“If what you were saying was worth listening to, maybe I would,” he agrees. “But until then, I’d like to handle my shit and you can handle yours.”

Stuck without much dispute, you bring your attention back to Mr. Prescott, eager for his response. 

The poor, older gentleman crosses his arms and studies you both, seemingly unconvinced but perhaps too exhausted to fight it. “That’s fine by me. As long as you’re reporting your progress to your supervisors – and to each other – I don’t see why you can’t work on different aspects of the sequence.”

“Thank you, sir,” you exhale, glancing toward your partner who’s already turning around on his heel. “Uh, we really appreciate it. And we won’t cause any more trouble. We swear.”

“She swears,” Harry calls, already halfway out the door. “I don’t swear anything.”

Biting back a snort, you scurry after him and toss Mr. Prescott one final, “Thank you again!” before the door falls shut.

Harry is rounding the corner when you finally catch up, hands shoved into his dark jean pockets, and shoulders slightly tense. It’s not unusual, you suppose. He’s always tense. Muscles rigid beneath his clothing. Lip perpetually stuck between his teeth as he gnaws on the pink fibers until they tear and bleed. And glasses that are always about halfway down his nose from the bouncing of his knee.

He’s striding through the lab like he’s got somewhere important to be, and it drives you fucking mad because he’s technically done for the day. The only thing the two of you have left is a staff meeting with your supervisor before everybody is allowed to head home, and that shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.

But you don’t like when he walks like that. You aren’t sure why, but it’s always irritated you. Like he thinks he’s so goddamn special – so important. Like his presence is so valuable. And even worse, he’s always walking away from you. Like your presence isn’t.

However, instead of going straight to his desk – his favorite hiding spot – he rounds another corner and disappears into the next hall.

You pause, unsure whether or not to follow. He had to have known you were right behind him, so is he leading you somewhere? Or is he simply trying to escape you?

Either option seems likely.

Curiosity outweighs logic, and you continue after him until you manage to find where he’s disappeared to.

He’s hiding in the shadows of the abandoned walkway, lurking near a door you don’t recognize, his eyes now on you.

You skid to a stop, confused and a little cautious of the smirk on his face. “Uh…what? What are you…the hell are you doing?”

“You are so fucking annoying, you know that?” he scoffs, nodding his chin at you. “‘Oh, Mr. Prescott, Harry’s being mean to me. Oh, Mr. Prescott, Harry won’t do what I want.’”

Your eyes narrow at the falsetto tone of voice used to mock you. “Fuck you, I’m just trying to get our shit done and over with so we can move on—”

“Clearly,” he hums, but it’s riddled with sarcasm. “No, yeah. You wasting time going through the same data I’ve already been through is a great use of our time—”

“I’m going through it because I’m trying to make it better—”

“I made it. It was already better—”

“God, you are so fucking dumb—”

“Yeah, and you’re a cunt,” he retorts before he’s reaching for the door and swinging it open. “Get in.”

A bit stunned by the sudden and strange command, you blink. “...what?”

“I said, get. In. What, are you deaf and stupid?”

“Harry, it’s the middle of the goddamn day—”

“Get in the fucking closet, Tinkerbell, before I come over there and make you.”

Your eyes roll but you aren’t about to pretend you aren’t intrigued. Despite your revulsion for him, he seems to be in possession of the cheat code to your sex drive. All it takes is a look or a suggestive comment (or a rather rude demand for you to get inside a tiny storage closet) for you to fall victim to his intentions.

And it’s been that way since you met him. 

Which only makes it that much more infuriating.

You obey – with a pointed scowl – striding past him and into the small space as he follows suit and pulls the door shut.

A light flickers on overhead, allowing you to see Harry’s amused expression as you huff, “Now what—”

He kisses you. Instantly and without a single moment of pause. His palms quickly press to the wall beside your head, caging you between his arms as he takes your tongue between his lip and sucks. 

His glasses are cold against your face. You remember how they used to scratch you when the two of you first started this little arrangement but they don’t as much anymore. You think he might have changed the frames for this very reason, but you aren’t sure.

After all, that would be nice, and Harry isn’t nice.

“Harry—” you pant during a quick gasp for air. “We don’t have time—”

“I’m making time,” he counters, pressing his hips into yours while his mouth moves to your neck.

You want to snort your exasperation, but you’re too far lost in the feel of his body. “I thought you had shit to handle.”

“I do,” he replies smoothly, his hand now curving around your cunt until he can squeeze it tight in his grasp. “This is me handling my shit.”

His touch is unforgiving but incredibly welcome, and you whine softly before quickly reaching for his hair. “I thought I was annoying.”

“You are,” he says, sucking bruises into the space below your ear. “But there’s something about the way you stomp your little foot and tell on me that gets me all hot and bothered.”

You yank on his curls until he hisses, although he’s still much too smug. “So this has nothing to do with the girl who dropped by earlier? Or the fact that you apparently couldn’t finish?”

His eyebrow raises but he’s biting back a smile. “What girl?”

“Ha. Very funny. Are you gonna fuck me or are you gonna try to be cute?”

“Why can’t I do both?” he retorts, grinning wildly before pressing his lips to yours once more. 

It feels familiar, this routine. This dance you’ve so quickly memorized, and it becomes increasingly easier to play along as you scratch your nails against his scalp and tug on the loop of his pants.

His hand slips into your jeans, the tips of his rough fingers smoothing down the front of your panties. A teasing touch, and you jolt in his hold before grabbing onto him harder.

“Harry,” you sigh, lashes fluttering as your head falls back into the wall behind you. “God, just…hurry. Please—”

“No.” It’s an easy response. Cruel, almost. But he’s focused on you. On your body and the way it responds to him. “I’m working right now, Tink. Leave me to it.”

He crouches down, pulling on the fabric around your legs until it pools near your ankles. He seems tantalized by the way your pussy sits so close to his face. The way it looks behind the pale blue cotton with the tiny bow. 

He surges forward and presses his mouth to you. Lapping at the material until there’s a rather obvious wet patch – either from you or him, you can’t really be sure – while making your eyes roll back.

“Shit,” you whimper, once again grabbing onto his curls for stability. “God, Harry…we don’t have time for this.”

He smirks against your cunt before dragging his tongue over your covered clit. “D’ya want me to stop?”

Your lips form around the word, “Yes,” but what comes out is a very strained and breathless, “No. Please, no.”

He grins, large palms kneading on the flesh of your thighs to keep them spread before he lands a firm smack to your leg. “Good girl.”

His technique is sinful. Ruthless yet mesmeric, and you look at him with a kind of wonder you can’t explain.

Harry isn’t anything like what you expected. He’s incredibly smart and focused. He cares about his work to a point of obsession. He’s a perfectionist, through and through. He’s diligent and has a great attention for detail.

And yet this man has the most insatiable appetite for sex. 

His list of kinks is a mile long. He’s out almost every night at bars, at clubs, at parties. He likes degradation, he likes pain, he likes bondage. He likes to bend you over your desk and spank you until your skin is raw and red. He likes to yank on your hair and drag his teeth down your throat. He likes to go deep – likes to go hard and slow. 

You aren’t sure why you assumed he’d be docile and a bit vanilla in bed. Perhaps it was the glasses or the way he always corrected your grammar. Which you know wasn’t exactly a fair assumption, but you didn’t have much else to go on.

Well…until the first time.

“You’re holding your breath,” he murmurs from beneath you, forcing your attention back. “Stop doing that.”

Sucking in a quiet inhale, you oblige. “Sorry.”

You have a rather dangerous habit of taking in large gasps for air when he’s eating you out or making you feel good and then forgetting to release them. Which is all fun and games until you begin to feel a bit lightheaded and nearly pass out. In fact, one time you almost did, and it had scared Harry so bad, he refused to touch you for about a week.

Glancing up to make sure you’ve obeyed, he nods once. “Attagirl.”

Your cheeks warm slightly at the praise – another nasty habit you wish you could break – before he’s diving back in.

Despite the way the seconds are ticking by on your watch, Harry continues to revel in the taste of you, even through your panties. He hums until your legs shake, head bobbing to accompany his mouthing at your pussy.

He enjoys eating you, even like this. He always has and you can’t say you quite understand it. Perhaps it’s the power it gives him. The way you whine and whimper. The way you grab at him and give him everything you have to offer. The way you fucking hate him…yet you still let him in.

“Harry, please,” you nearly groan, tugging on him again. “If you’re gonna fuck me, then fuck me already. We don’t have time.”

He makes a tsking sort of noise before nudging his tongue against the front of your underwear. “God, you’re no fucking fun, you know that? And to think I was actually gonna take my time with you.”

Your expression is playfully unamused, but you can’t deny you’re somewhat curious.

He lands another spank to your leg and stands back up. “But that’s not what you want, huh? You just want me to be quick. Want me to fill you up and send you on your way. Don’t want me to play with you.”

You watch as he flicks his belt open and steps closer to you, a rather salacious look in his eye.

“And wouldn’t that be a shame?” he whispers, long fingers sweeping up the inside of your thigh. “For you to go into that meeting with my cum dripping down your leg? When you can’t do anything about it?”

You feel your breath catch, throat going dry at the way he drags the tip of his nose along your jaw. You want to resist him – you should resist him. And yet… 

“Maybe it would be,” you reply coyly. “If you could get it up.”

To accompany your taunt, you reach down and press your palm to his cock, smirking when he sucks in a sharp hiss through gritted teeth.

“Seems you’ve gone soft on me,” you murmur, squeezing once more for good measure before releasing him. “That’s the real shame.”

The hand beside your head smacks against the wall. “S’cute, Tink. Real fucking cute—”

“Is it because of her?” you ask, straightening up until you can ghost your lips along his. Close, but not close enough. “Could she not take your tiny, little dick down her throat?”

You notice the way he swallows. The way the muscles in his arm flex beside you. The way his lashes flutter angrily from behind his glasses.

“Or could you not get yourself off?” You reach for him again. He's already beginning to harden from your touch – your voice – and despite yourself, your ego swells. “Was it when you were fucking your fist in your car this morning? Were you thinking about her? Is that why you couldn’t get hard?”

Something finally snaps, and instantly, you feel his fingers slipping around your throat. Just hard enough to make you grin. “What if I was thinking about you?”

“Mm. I don’t think so. Said it yourself. If you’re thinking about me…you’re always hard.”

He’s amused by this, squeezing your neck before surging forward to kiss you again. “Naughty little Tinkerbell.”

You smile.

With this, he spins you around and tosses you toward the empty and somewhat dusty bookcase in the corner of the closet. His touch is firm and unrelenting. Perhaps even a little cruel. The way he tugs on your hips as though to punish you. The way he shoves you until you’re bent over the shelf, allowing him access to your body like it’s his right.

And you don’t mind. This is the kind of dominance you’ve come to expect from the quiet yet horny man you work with.

Your underwear is yanked to the ground, the sound of a ripping stitch echoing throughout the small space. You frown but you don’t comment.

His palm smooths along your pussy, cupping it somewhat gently before his thumb flicks across your clit. He just wants to see you jump. Make you whine and push back into his touch. 

You hear him chuckle. “Easy, princess. Gotta make sure you’re ready first.”

“I’m ready, just go,” you huff, staring down at the dust beneath you. 

His finger slides inside your cunt, feeling you out for only a moment before retreating. “I don’t know. Seem a little tense.”

“If I’m with you, I’m tense,” you retort, making him smile. “Go already.”

“Now, now,” he warns, slipping in a second finger. “You wouldn’t rush Picasso, would you?”

You groan. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Harry—”

“What?” He’s enjoying himself. “I’m the painter, and you are my art.”

“No, you’re fucking irritating, that’s what you are.”

“Oh, come on, I thought girls liked sappy analogies like that.”

“No, they like to get fucked. So, hurry up already.”

He lands another smack to your ass before dipping down to whisper, “As you wish.”

You hear the sound of him pulling himself out before you feel the tip of his cock dragging through your arousal. Collecting every drop while slowly pushing in.

He’s right, you are tense. And the stretch that accompanies his large size is enough to make you wince, yet…you love it.

Despite the slight pain, it feels good. Full in every sense of the word, and you focus on the deep breaths you’re taking as your nails begin to curl into the shelf. 

Through clenched teeth, Harry calls, “You okay, Tink?”

“Mhm,” you hum, lashes fluttering shut. “This is easy. In fact, you could go faster, actually.”

He exhales a strained laugh, readjusting his hands on your hips. “Funny.”

“Yeah, I’m hysterical.”

He pushes in a bit further but still slow. He knows your body well enough to know what it can handle. And he understands his size is a touch above average. 

Although he never lets you forget it.

“Being so brave,” he coos with a playful air of condescension. “My brave girl, yeah? Taking it like a champ.”

“Bite me, Styles.”

“Yeah? Just tell me where.”

You get ready to respond, but your remark is ripped from your throat when he suddenly drives in to the hilt. Ripping off the band aid and giving you exactly three seconds to adjust before he begins to fuck you.

The push and pull is everything. The pace, the anger, the pain. His hand is against your scalp, keeping you bent and pliable to his intentions. He’s grunting softly, slowing down just to speed back up. He listens to the noises you make, the way you clench around him. And he uses that to decide what he does next.

Your heart is hammering in your chest and your stomach is doing cartwheels. It’s as though this is the first rush of relief you’ve felt in weeks. Your hands can’t do it. Your vibrator can’t do it. Not even the guy you met at the bar could do it. 

Nobody can do it like he can.

And you fucking hate it.

He lets go of your hair to reach around and slip his hand up your shirt. Finding your tit and giving it a nice squeeze before slapping his palm along the tender flesh. “Oh, you like that, princess, don’t you?”

You nod faintly, whimpering from the subtle sting, silently requesting he do it again. 

So, he does. “S’cute how much you love when I hurt you. Makes me think you might even like me.”

You manage to scoff between unhinged whines. “Shut up, Harry.”

“What? It’s the truth, isn’t it?” he continues. “You like me more than you think you do. That’s why you always do what I ask. Like a good girl.”

You sneak a glimpse over your shoulder, studying the crooked angle of his glasses, and the slight smirk on his face. 

He’s cute, you think. He’s always been kind of cute, but he’s especially cute when he’s ripping you apart from the inside out.

He meets your eye and travels his fingers down to your clit. “Need more, don’t you?”

But you don’t just need more. You need everything. 

He pinches you tight and readjusts his stance to make sure he’s fucking into you at just the right speed. Just the right place to make your back arch and your toes curl. 

“Gonna have to cum for me,” he grits, the graveled request woven between your anxious moans. “You wanted quick, so be fucking quick.”

You nod your agreement, the pleasure at the base of your spine building until it becomes your singular focus. 

You hadn’t realized you were this worked up. Hadn’t anticipated being so close to release after such a short amount of time but maybe Harry was right about something else. Maybe fighting with him is your aphrodisiac.

The first few sparks explode behind your eyelids, taunting you with more as he begins to groan softly from behind you. 

“Fucking shit—” His hips are slapping into your ass, the sound of your arousal being fucked into you by his cock like music to your ears. “There you go, princess. Just like that – keep squeezing me. Yeah…fuck.”

He’s close and you clench around him to get him closer, needing to feel him fill you more than you need air in your lungs. 

When he does, it tips the rest of the dominos. One after the other until everything is falling apart. The warmth of his cum inside of you, the pulsing of his cock in your pussy, the scattering of pleasure between your thighs.

And he sounds so beautiful. Rough and exceedingly desperate. The most perfect, delicious sound and it makes your stomach flip in the most excruciating way. You could listen to him for hours. Could get off to his voice alone, the way he grunts and moans for you. The way he says your name through a heated curse and spanks his hand along your ass.

“S’fucking good, Tink,” he exhales, tightening his hold on your waist to keep you upright and steady. “Milk me, baby, come on. Fucking take it.”

You can feel him dripping down your legs. Can feel the heat and the soreness already settling but you thrive off it. Indulge in the way he takes care of you for a moment more before finally pulling out and turning you around.

He checks your face for signs of distress. Brows furrowed and expression scrutinous from behind his glasses. You can tell he’s got another sarcastic comment locked and loaded but before he can fire it, you reach up, and slip the frames from his nose.

Then, you kiss him. Hard and with fervor. It’s oddly passionate – perhaps filled with the lingering frustration from your previous altercation. But you don’t mind. It feels like him.

After a minute or two, you pop off his tongue, return his glasses to nose, and shove him back. “And now we’re gonna be late.”

He smiles to himself, stepping closer once more to run his thumb just beneath your eye. Collecting what you assume are dried tears and runny mascara. “Oops.”

However, before you can pull your jeans back on, Harry is crouching down and grabbing onto the material for you.

He pulls your panties up and secures them around your hips, ignoring the sticky cum beginning to seep out of your pussy. 

Confused, your eyes narrow. “Har—"

“I told you,” he says calmly while zipping your jeans. “You’re gonna go into that meeting with me inside you.”

You feel your heart skip.

“But maybe if you’re good,” he whispers before looking up with a devious wink, “…I’ll do something about it.”

Next Part:

~ SnakeBite*

Previous Part:

~ 404*

~ Full 404 Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

~ Blurb Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics

[eggcats]

I know everyone's already said this, but Vox is so funny because he's quite literally the most competent and professional Vee.

EXCEPT for when it comes to Alastor.

Like, HE’S the one who had to calm down Valentino and keep him from making a scene. (Especially because, yes, it looks bad if they can't control their employees, but - even in hell - it looks even worse if their top pornstar has to be dragged to the studio vs walking in on his own).

Velvette doesn't give a shit about professionalism. Like, Vox wanted to talk to Carmine about Angelic Security, and you think THAT'S how he wanted Velvette to treat her to try to guarantee them working together? Absolutely not.

(Also, Vox being able to immediately turn the tide of the paparazzi harassing him about news that JUST broke? Granted, he did use his hypnosis, but it wouldn't have worked if he didn't immediately come up with something on the fly. He knows how to keep his company running AND looking good, as WELL as being innovative enough to create new things with little to no notice.)

The other two Vees? I would not trust either of them to be the public speaker or the face of the company the way Vox is. Do you think either Velvette or Valentino would have been able to come up with a solution to the moved-up Extermination date in a way that pleased the general public?

But then. Some old timey radio deer shows back up and he immediately breaks down and can't plan for shit.

He sings a silly little song and immediately gets owned to the point he loses power to the entire city.

He plans to break in using a dude they KNOW is incompetent, and his only response when it (obviously) fails is to fucking gamer anon hate with "hahaha kys loser!" and the second he is confronted with Alastor’s face he can't do anything. He doesn't even try a single other thing after this point, cutting his loses entirely.

And THEN he avoids the meeting sending Velvette instead, potentially fucking up their ability to collaborate because he can't handle seeing Alastor.

This bisexual wreck of a television doesn't fucking leave his gamer dungeon once since Alastor is back, doing everything he can to avoid seeing him in real life.

Like, imagine what dealing with Vox is like from Alastor's perspective. HE never sees the professionalism or competence - he ONLY ever gets the pathetic mew-mew Vox!

Alastor is constantly being told how competent Vox is with his company and shit, but the second he's in the same room with him Vox is glitching and can't walk in a straight line without running into a wall or something. If I were Alastor, I'd have fun teasing the television too, because, like, what's wrong with him? It's funny!

Like, does Alastor register that this treatment is only for him, or does he think the rest of hell is pathetic enough to not notice or to just accept it? Does Alastor think Vox is like this all the time, and he's using his hypnosis to make everyone else forget about it?

Vox is just such a funny man, he has one weakness and it's just Alastor - and Alastor isn't even doing anything, he's just nearby minding his own goddamn business, lmao.

[jamneuromain]

Ari's Payback

Mob!Ari Levinson x Reader

Warning: Mob!Ari, Wife!Reader, Ari being petty, a lot of cursing

Summary: As your husband, Ari did what he does best: annoy you.

A/N: Happens right after this event. Part of Venomous Vows series in collaboration with @biteofcherry

Ari cursed silently in his mind.

There was an intense debate going on about whether or not he should do this.

The brain cell of stupidity argued: Do it. Let’s give her hell.

The sane part of his brain said: Let’s just kill her instead.

Okay. Maybe he shouldn’t leave both his brain cells wandering in his mind after a few too many glasses of scotch.

Plus, killing her meant that he could only enjoy the look on your face once. While initiating the plan, on the other hand …

He reached for the box, and snatched the object inside with ease.

A part of him grew curious as to why his wife did not wire her stuff.

Then, at the back of his head, a slurred, drunken voice of his own reminded him that it was his home. It was your home. It was your shared home.

Ari watches as you rummage through the house, ask the maid (he forgets her name once again, Charlotte or Shari or Shar-something) to help you rummage through the house. A while later, the valet is commandeered. Then your chauffeur.

Together, the four of you search every inch of your bedroom, your bathroom, your walk-in wardrobe, and your second walk-in wardrobe with handbags.

He pulls out his phone to take a look at the time.

Ten minutes to eight pm.

He could imagine the guests murmuring, glass clicking, heels clattering, air thickening with his men huffing out cigarette smoke.

He could imagine the guests glancing at their wristwatches – having received a pat-down at the entrance and removed all electronic devices such as their phones like taking some friggin’ SATs – and getting all disturbed, wondering if they should bolt or would FBI come surrounding this goddamn place as this could very well be the largest mob family gathering along the east coast.

Yet, he muses, they should grow accustomed to your tardiness, as there hardly were times when you weren’t late for this annual gathering since your marriage.

He finds a box of cigars in one of the drawers of the coffee table and a box of matches to go with it. He lights the cigar and enjoys the rich spicy odor of it, feeling particularly like a club owner from the 1920s, watching in the dark as the mime continues in front of him.

Well, not a mime-mime, but a –

“It can’t be just gone.” You snap at no one in particular, though it is clear as day that you are not in a good mood, while the helps you’ve summoned keep their lips shut.

Ari allows a small whiff of cigar smoke drift from the corner of his lips.

Poor them. But it’s not like you are going to bite their heads off.

“Charlene, please check my jewelry box again. Marco, my coats. George, my handbags.” You grit your teeth tightly, “It’s a necklace with a ring of pearls and a fuckin’ big-ass pink diamond in the middle. It can’t be gone.”

And it is lying in the deepest darkest corner of his safe in the study. The pleasant bitter taste of the cigar filled his lungs, ghosting Ari’s face with a faint smirk. He takes time to pour himself a glass of scotch, knowing that this fiasco will last forever since he was the thief who wants payback for your last not-so-peaceful encounter when you decided to sabotage his online meeting with the loudest porn.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am. It’s not in the jewelry box.” Charlene exits your bedroom a couple of minutes later, apologizing even if it was not remotely her fault.

“Sorry, Ma’am.” Ari’s valet, Marco shakes his head and refuses to meet his eyes with yours after coming back to the living room.

“Sorry, Ma’am.” Your driver George echoes.

You stand in the middle of your living room, hands resting above your hips, full make-up and properly dressed, with a beautiful strapless on you, and on your neck – nothing, nada.

Ari savors his scotch with his eyes closed.

First of all, in his defense, you look beautiful in anything, even a rag. Despite his hatred towards you, he is not blind. And you certainly do not need one specific necklace to bring it out in you.

Second of all, that necklace was a gift from a man before your marriage. A man who is not Ari Levinson (nor your father, for that matter). A childhood friend, to be exact. Ari has always suspected you felt a thing towards that man. Luckily, that man was off to some adventure in a godforsaken jungle in the middle of nowhere.

Ari prays that the friend of yours dies there. He could send a team of armed mercs to annihilate his opponent, but he chose not to. Ari Levinson is not a complete monster, just fyi.

Last of all, it was so worth it, making you mad.

“Fucking stupid goddamn pearls I swear-” You ignore Ari being all suited up on the couch, heading to your bedroom to check under the bed again, cursing under your breath.

The soles of your heels click on the floor hard enough to poke a hole in it.

“Fuck fuck fuckity fuck FUCK!”

He hears you lash out your fury into the soft beddings. He hears your anger pent up with no one and nowhere to aim at. He hears you curse louder.

Ari puffs the silvery smoke into the air.

See? The brain cell of stupidity tells him. Totally worth it.

[pennyellee]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

title: champagne confetti pairings: heartthrob!jk, yandere!jk x fashion employee f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s word count: 14K beta read by @chaoticpuff17 release date: 24.1.2024 23:00/11 PM CEST - 17:00/5 PM EDT

summary: You, a determined fashion designer, find yourself entangled in a collaboration with the irresistibly charming and egotistic heartthrob, Jeon Jungkook. Will this partnership remain strictly professional, or will he make the lines blur?

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, emotional distress, teasing, unprotected sex, jk is selfish af, jk is delulu, oral (fem and m receiving), spanking, implied cum swallowing, creampie, soft yandere behaviour, obsessive behaviour, choking, rough sex, pussy pounding, bruises, manipulation, gaslighting, strong language disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, oppressiveness, which we do not condone.

author's note: so, ehm, this story got way outta my hands, it was supposed to be a goddamn rom-com with enemies to lovers trope - i wanted to build around the character trope of Rachel Green from Friends because she is my favourite character of all times, what i wanted to build around was how Rachel was offered a job at Louis Vuitton but it was in Paris - that was supposed to be the whole plot (with slight changes ofc), well and somehow it went in a different direction. Nonetheless I really enjoyed writing this fic and i hope you'll enjoy reading it as much. See you on the 24th chummers, love you! 🩵

“I know you took it,” you said, crossing your arms on your breasts. The heels of your black leather boots echoed in the apartment when you turned to face him.

“Took your breath away by that heated kiss, sexy, certainly. Otherwise I did not take anything.” Jungkook scoffed, crossing his arms defensively. The tension in the room was palpable as you square your shoulders, refusing to back down. You blinked twice at his cheesiness. The tip of your tongue moved to rest on the bottom of your upper teeth, your smile spreading on your face. The chuckle came out of you so naturally, laughing at his ridiculously ridiculous behaviour.

“Don’t play dumb, I know it was all you. You malicious sabotaging petty boy—” You retorted, articulation perfectly clear while the words laced with underlying frustration and anger.

He sighed, weariness settling over him. “You think I stole your portfolio to sabotage your career? You’re giving me too much credit, love.” Here he comes.

“I said nothing about my portfolio, Jungkook.” You said playing with his name on your tongue. A tense silence hung in the air as he considered your words, clicking his tongue, clearly annoyed and you were just getting started.

“I managed to figure that out. A drink?—” He offered, shrugging her statements of like snow in summer whilst he moved to the small bar that was a part of his spacious living room.

“I don’t want a drink, Jungkook. I want it back now,” you replied, your tone cutting through the casual offer. The anger in your gaze intensified, fuelled by the frustration of dealing with his nonchalant attitude.

“Let’s talk, baby.” He gestured towards the living room, as if trying to usher you into a more comfortable setting for the impending confrontation. He knew this was just a little shower, the real storm was still far away, giving him space to prepare.

As you moved, you couldn't help but notice the contrast between your demeanour and his. While your arms were still crossed defensively, his posture exuded a calm confidence that irked you further.

You took a seat on the edge of the sofa, not willing to fully settle into the illusion of camaraderie. Jungkook, on the other hand, sprawled onto a nearby chair, the picture of nonchalance.

“I need that portfolio to get a job because a certain someone has to be bitchy and sabotage my whole career because his big ass ego cannot take rejection. Give it to me,” you fired off, your words sharp and accusatory. He leaned back in the chair, smirking.

“Those are very bold words, Y/N. I would prefer to think of it as a wake-up call for you, not sabotage.” Your incredulous glare only intensified.

“Are you fucking serious Jungkook? A wake up call? You’ve just jeopardised everything I’ve worked for, and you’re calling this a wake up call?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze locked onto yours.

“I can get you a better job.”

You scoffed. The audacity of his response fuelled the simmering anger within you.

“You can’t get a shit, so give it back to me, and I’ll be on my way,” you requested.

Jungkook’s smirk remained, an infuriating mix of arrogance and nonchalance.

“No,” he said, smiling. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, the frustration reaching a boiling point. He leaned back, seemingly unperturbed by your rising anger.

“What do you mean no?!” you shot back, your voice sharp.

“You were about to make a decision that would have consequences beyond your imagination. I had to intervene.”

“What the fuck are you on again?” Jungkook’s gaze remained fixed on you, the intensity of his stare almost unnerving while your voice went an octave higher. Your frustration reached its peak, and you stood up, pacing the room as you ranted. You were breathing heavily, trying to calm yourself.

You needed that portfolio, it was a collection of years of a work and your best work to be specific. The lousy new version won’t get you a job at no high-profile fashion brand and you cannot afford to go lower than your last position.

“Alright—” You said defeated, turning yourself to face him again, you put off your black leather jacket and fixed your low ponytail, slumping back to his sofa. Spreading your arms on the backrest and cross your legs.

Jungkook took a moment to breathe in the sight before him; he was throbbing for you.

“—what do you want?” you asked. He leaned back further into the chair, putting his masculine tattooed arms to rest on the back of his head, showing his abs from under the white tank top he is wearing.

“What do I want?” he mused, as if contemplating the question but he already knew.

“Spill it out.” You barked and he chuckled at your eagerness. He got up from his seat and dangerously slowly walked towards you.

When he reached you, both of his arms pressed to the leather of the sofa inches from you, caging your body. Your breath stammered as you looked at him towering over you, the golden chain around his neck hanging.

“Firstly, I want you to be my good girl, apologise for being a brat the other day and admit there is an “us”. Secondly—” he whispered seductively, closing the approximate distance while doing so. He was right in your face, looking over at your lips evidently he was controlling himself to not attack them. He invaded your personal space. The sudden shift in atmosphere left you breathless, and you could feel the heat radiating between you.

You squared your shoulders, refusing to succumb to the intoxicating energy he exuded. “I won’t apologise for any shit, now secondly?” You said while trying to hold your horses. You hate to admit your pussy was clenching and leaking under his gaze. He was attractive, and no one could deny that.

His fingers grazed your cheek gently, a teasing touch that sent a jolt of electricity through your body. You swallowed hard, trying to maintain a semblance of composure.

“I want these feisty little plump lips wrapped around my thick cock—”

.

.

.

read here

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: @pamzn - @jaedayy - @mylyus-blog - @vanillacupcakefrosting - @jjeonjjk7 - @darkuni63 - @jeonaraathedreamer - @urlovelily - @kissyfacekoo - @looneybleus - @btspurplesky - @seokseokjinkim

ps: lemme know if you want to be additionally tagged! 🩵

lots of love, 𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

[captain-hawks]

Hello hello! I've recently discovered your writing and am going absolutely WILD over it, especially your kn8 fics!!

But I would love to request Kenma Kozume(timeskip) and bathroom/shower with the reader as his roommate and helps him destress after a long day of working for his company and youtubing !!

collaboration

kenma kozume x f!reader

Kenma's nearly content to ignore his accidental discovery of your late night activities...until the sight of you wearing one of his shirts snaps the last remaining fragile threads of his willpower.

wc: 1.1k

c: 18+ only, and they were roommates, streamer!kenma, camgirl!reader, (guilty) masturbation, handjob

SPICY SLEEPOVER WEEKEND — PART V

It’s a miracle, Kenma thinks to himself as he lays one palm flat against the smooth tiles of the shower wall, that he’s lasted this long.

His cock hangs erect and flushed between his legs, precum leaking from the tip, and a satisfying flood of pleasure surges through him when the fingers of his other hand close around its girth.

Eight months he’s lived with you in this two-bedroom apartment, eight months of soft, mumbled ‘good morning’s over coffee and late nights spent watching bad movies and playing video games on the couch. 

You’re his roommate.

You’re his friend.

And he’s spent the last two months trying to forget about his accidental discovery of what exactly you’d fucking meant when you grinned at his streaming set up the first day you moved in, idly commenting that you “stream on occasion, too.” The answer to his question, though incredibly belated, came in the form of your tits on his computer screen late one night as he fervently searched for material to quell the aching need tented in his sweatpants. 

He didn’t realize it was you, not at first. Not until you moved over just enough as you began to finger yourself to reveal a familiar, brightly-colored collage of posters behind your bed. 

Kenma likes to think he’s been a decent roommate—he’s gone to whatever lengths necessary to think of anything but the swell of your perky tits and the sight of the slick arousal staining the inside of your thighs while he’s jerked off in the days since. He even blocked his own access to the website you stream on to avoid any future misclicks driven by selfish temptation and curiosity.

(Kuroo laughed so hard he cried when he told him and proceeded to call him a masochistic idiot.)

He might have even been able to move on past the entire thing unscathed…if he hadn’t stumbled out of his room today after streaming a grueling, infuriating six-hour-long raid to the sight of you bent over in front of the fridge wearing nothing but a t-shirt and pale pink cotton panties.

That still was nearly a recoverable offense, if not for the goddamn fact that the black t-shirt in question was his.

Even now, with his eyes firmly screwed shut as hot water pours down his back, the sight of KODZUKEN written in large, white letters across your shoulders is an insistent, hungry echo against the darkness of his eyelids. 

Just this once—

Kenma lets himself remember the way your tits bounced as you scooted back across your mattress, the shape of your pert nipples, the way your hips arched up off of the bed when you slipped two fingers into your cunt. 

All the blood in his body rushes to his cock. His head drops against the tiles, water sliding down the damp strands of his hair as steam fills the room. His balls ache.

He’s a fucking terrible roommate.

Kenma strokes his cock and bites his fist and wonders if you’d let him come all over your tits. 

(He wonders if you’d wear that shirt while he fucks you.)

He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be fucking his fist wishing he was sinking his cock into the tight, wet heat of your cunt. His chest shouldn’t be heaving at the thought of burying his face between your thighs and lapping at your swollen pussy until you’re whimpering from overstimulation.

And suddenly, as disasters often go, a few unfortunate events occur simultaneously—

The bathroom door Kenma left unlocked in the midst of his frustration bursts open.

You loudly announce that you need to brush your teeth quickly.

And Kenma groans your fucking name while he’s pumping his throbbing shaft, the sound easily carrying across the bathroom tiles.

Kenma freezes, and everything goes silent, save for the sound of the running water pouring from the shower head. 

“Don’t stop on my account.”

He gapes, turning to look at the shadow on the other side of the frosted glass of the shower door.

“Can I help?” you continue when he doesn’t respond.

Kenma knows he’s never quite had a way with words, but now he’s well and truly at a fucking loss in this moment. 

“Why?”

Your soft laugh goes straight to his dick. “Because I want to.”

When the shower door slides open partway, you’re still wearing his shirt, and Kenma allows himself a brief moment to freely take in the sight before him. 

“Hope you don’t mind I borrowed this,” you tell him, lips quirking upward in a smile as you tilt your head to the side slightly. “I may have accidentally left something in your drawer to make up for it.”

Kenma blinks, but he doesn’t have time to ponder over what you mean, because a moment later, you’re leaning into the shower just enough to wrap a hand around his shaft. He exhales roughly, taking a step backward, the door of the shower pressing into his shoulder blades as he turns his head to the side to glance at you.

He’s so hard, it hurts.

You run your teeth over your bottom lip as you stroke him, fingers deftly sliding up and down his length, breathy sighs leaving your lips as he gives in to the urge to rock his hips forward into your touch.

“Have you been watching my streams?” you ask him, lips hovering against the shell of his ear.

“Once,” he exhales sharply as your fingers clasp his balls before stroking from his base to his tip, thumb sliding over the precum that continues to steadily leak out.

You smile at him, like you know how fucking hard he’s been trying to maintain some modicum of respect for you as his friend. And then you send all of his good intentions spiraling in to a fucking ditch—

“That’s a shame. Personally, I like watching yours right before I stream.”

He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s never been this hard in his life, not when your fingers are wrapped around his cock in the shower while openly admitting that you livestream yourself masturbating to him playing video games.

And because you clearly know no mercy, you tack on, for good measure:

“We could collaborate…”

Kenma comes so hard he nearly blacks out, his hips sloppily jerking into the grip of your fist as he slams both hands against the wall and groans, hot, sticky ropes of cum spurting from his cock and painting the gray tiles below.

—

Later, after Kenma finds a lacy, red thong nestled amongst the shirts in his dresser, he doesn’t feel bad at all when he fucks his fist with it wrapped around his cock.

—

And while he’s not quite ready to run the risk of someone on your streaming site recognizing Kodzuken while you’re whimpering and gasping as you ease yourself down into his length, his viewers are none the wiser when you take his dick into your mouth from beneath his keyboard in the middle of his next raid.