#bad things usually mean progress

[kermiekermie]

had my first autistic meltdown in like . a year and a half over fuckass broccoli today

[daemonbrain]

Part 2

1.8k, cw: ghosts a pervert, smut, readers husband is piece of work, not proofread.

Simon Riley who first saw you at the butcher's shop on the phone. 

You were a pretty thing. Wearing a pink little yoga set, one arm holding your mat and the other holding your phone to your ear as you wait for the butcher to bring out your cut of meat.

Which was taking a long time

Simon would’ve had it chopped and packed to go by now. Though, he can’t complain with the view he has of your ass- you. The man was touch starved. He hadn’t been back home in a while, back-to-back deployments keeping him occupied. His only company being his calloused and scraped hands roughly jerking himself until he came, bordering on unpleasurable. Not what some could consider enjoyable, but try being in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere for weeks on end and see if you care so much about gentle.

The borderline perverted look you were blissfully unaware of was tracking down your form. He stared at the way the material tightly clung on to every bit of you in a welcoming way, a second skin. The sweat on you from your little session.

Just how flexible does yoga make a bird like you?

It was only when he heard a grating sound come from your phone that he snapped out of his trance. Even with his bad ears from all the bullets whizzing past him, bombs going off within meters of him, and the usual shit show he did for a living he could hear the voice which bled through your phone's speaker.

"Get me a steak this time. Nonna that nasty shit from last time!"

You hurriedly turned your volume down as it blasted in your ear, startled by the voice. Chewing on your lip you pivoted towards the counter to see if your order had been brought out; the motion to no avail as the employee continued chopping away in the back room.

It was only when your other hand came into full view from the motion he noticed the absolute rock on your finger.

"Honey, I thought the salmon was pretty good." That prick clearly firing something back as you winced away from your phone once again. Gritting your teeth as if biting back your arguments, looking around to occupy your time as the man on the phone continues to speak. "I know... I'm sorry. Don't worry, it'll be ready by 7." You placatingly cooed.

"Listen, I have to go. I love y-" You began, but the moment the words tumbled from your lips you pulled the phone fully from your cheek to see a blank screen with the time staring back on you. The asshole hung up!

What a fuckin tosser.

Simon hears the butcher finally call your name with familiarity and with a sigh you step towards the counter. 

He leaned on to the wall further as he had been the entire time. Silent. Unsettling. A stark contrast to your bright appearance in the shop, the larger man brooded in his corner waiting his turn.

“See ya’ next Friday!” You still managed a bright smile at the butcher who handed you your meat.

A mild thing like you really shouldn’t be talked to so thoughtlessly, some guys are fuckwits though. He never liked the type. Why lock a bird down with a ring if you were gonna be mean to her?

“S’cuse me sir, i’m just gonna push past you here” You asked. With widened eyes, Simon gruffly mumbled a “Yeah,” out before creating a stupidly small space.

Maybe he really did want you to push past him. Or just push up on him but oh well.

Sweeping past him, you give him a toothy smile as you had so sweetly done to the butcher, as if you hadn’t got yelled at less than five minutes ago. God you really have no common sense, beaming up at the lurker in the corner at least twice your size. A girl as pretty as you should really stick to herself.

From that interaction on, Simon found himself being guided by the memory of you back to the butcher shop the next Friday.

And the next…

And the next.

Every week progressively standing closer and closer to you as you picked up your usual order. One day you had taken the liberty of starting small talk with him after recognizing his unmistakable stature. After all, there were only so many people you had seen in this shop and none so… large.

You could not deny you found this mystery man disquieting. Always dressed in dark colours, not so much as a word coming from him. Like clockwork you would come in after hot yoga, greet the butcher, he would come in, silence would ensue as you both waited for your meat, and you would leave with a quick smile.

It was rude. He had never even said a simple hello to you! Though, you suppose that it could be due to your own curt exits. The thought of the unkindness you might’ve exhibited subconsciously sent your mind into a spiral, leading to your abrupt introduction.

After all, who were you to judge! Kindness is and should always be the response in your books.

At this kindness, Simon swore he had to take a breath in as you politely outstretched your hand and spoke your name casually. Tilting his head down to your face he raises a brow skeptically, and then firmly shakes your head.

He failed to hide the shudder which wracked his body. The way your hand effortlessly slipped into his. Soft and manicured engulfed in his.

“Simon.”

“Well it’s good to meet you Simon” With the twinkly little smile you would grace him as you hauled it out of the shop. He felt the shiver go down his spine a second time when you spoke his name for the first time.

And then- it happened.

You giggled. A soft thing, no doubt intended to be small. It wasn’t to Simon though. It reverberated throughout the room, rang so prettily in his ears. Fuck. He would remember that sound later on tonight.

“Are you cold? You keep shivering. It’s pretty harsh out there right now.”

“Nah. Not really.” His accent thick as he shrugged.

Letting out a little “mhm” you nod and look back to the counter.

“I was freezing outside! Usually I walk home-” Simon already knew that “-but today I called my husband to come grab me! Way too cold!”

That visibly made him stiffen. Of course. Perfectly normal that guy is coming to get you, he’d be an idiot to leave you walking home alone in the cold.

If you were his girl, Simon wouldn’t have let you out of his sight. Fuck sakes you practically had “come mess with me” written all over you. There were creeps all over the place nowadays, (thought the creep).

He would’ve carried everything for you, scarfed down whatever the hell you had taken the time to prepare him. That husband of yours doesn’t like your salmon? Simon would. Hell if he didn’t, he’d cram it down his throat with gratitude anyways. He doubted anything could be worse than some of the rations he’s eaten on duty. 

That train of thought is pretty redundant when he takes note of how you wouldn’t be able to leave the bed to make anything.

Maybe you’d cram something of his down your throat in gratitude.

Shaking his head subtly, he hears the bells of the store door opening. He watched your face fall as you step away from him and it’s when he sees your husband's look of complete irritation he understands why.

You had grabbed your order swiftly and with a quick wave goodbye you were on your way back to your husband. Simon could only register your husband's whisper-yell as he disapprovingly glared his way. “The fuck are you doin talking to him?”. And with that you were hurriedly ushered out.

You deigned it necessary to continue greeting Simon, have little chats about the weather, any plans he had for the weekend. Tossing in your stupid jokes that he would laugh at. You interpreted it as something closer to a breathy snort-hopefully positive- and it went on as such for weeks

And every time he returned home Friday night, he came home with only one thought after. You.

As he laid in bed the same thought persisted as he slipped his cock out of his boxers, red and weeping for some sort of stimulation. He took to his usual harsh pace. You’d be so much softer.

You’d be so nice to him wouldn’t you? Coo some compliment as he lets you tug at him. Fuck he wouldn’t know what to take first.

Would you give him a blowie or a hand job? 

No. You wouldn’t be on your knees- not yet. If you’d let him have you, you’d be on your back in an instant. He’d rip the stitches of those leggings right down the middle, your panties next.

“Fuuuuuck” he moaned into the quiet of his room. He’d stick it in slow, he’d try. It would be torture not to ram himself right up to the hilt, but he’d do it for such a good girl.

That’s what you were, weren’t you? Always a nice word for someone? What would you say to him when he began to rut into you like a madman. When you would feel the pummeling intrusion, his head knocking into the deepest parts of you.

He’d be able bend you into so many different positions that you’d better hope that yoga has taught you well. Split your legs open to accommodate his imposing body size as he’d take purchase between them. Then you better hope your cunny can accommodate his other size when he spears you open on his cock.

Would you take it smiling? Would your tears roll down your cheeks, the prodding bordering too much? You’d take it either way, he knew you could. He’d rub at your clit with such tenderness he never afforded himself (as gentle as he could anyway). He’d make sure you begged to stay on his cock forever, fuck himself so deep you would be too stupid to pull away unknowing of where he ended and you started. Not that you’d have to care.

He’d flip you on to all fours and rip away your clothes entirely, pounding you from the back and instead of just his own labored breaths, the sound of skin slapping together would ring out.

In silent stoicism, he feels his balls tighten up at the thought of your perfect face stuffed into the pillows screaming your thank you’s. You probably were just as nice with someone stuffing themselves into your pussy.

At both his ruthless ministrations and boundless imagination, his release spurted all over his hand with a breathy sigh. When you were here he’d make sure to slam his hips to yours and keep them flush against you, coat your insides in hot cum better than your limp-dick husband ever could. That man wouldn’t be able to fuck you the way Simon knew he could. You deserve someone who could make you go stupid on his dick, not cry of frustration like you probably did everytime that knob who thinks himself a man rolled over after finishing himself off.

Not that you’ll have to worry about that soon

…

He wouldn’t be around for much longer anyways.

[byoldervine]

Types Of Writer’s Block (And How To Fix Them)

1. High inspiration, low motivation. You have so many ideas to write, but you just don’t have the motivation to actually get them down, and even if you can make yourself start writing it you’ll often find yourself getting distracted or disengaged in favour of imagining everything playing out

Try just bullet pointing the ideas you have instead of writing them properly, especially if you won’t remember it afterwards if you don’t. At least you’ll have the ideas ready to use when you have the motivation later on

2. Low inspiration, high motivation. You’re all prepared, you’re so pumped to write, you open your document aaaaand… three hours later, that cursor is still blinking at the top of a blank page

RIP pantsers but this is where plotting wins out; refer back to your plans and figure out where to go from here. You can also use your bullet points from the last point if this is applicable

3. No inspiration, no motivation. You don’t have any ideas, you don’t feel like writing, all in all everything is just sucky when you think about it

Make a deal with yourself; usually when I’m feeling this way I can tell myself “Okay, just write anyway for ten minutes and after that, if you really want to stop, you can stop” and then once my ten minutes is up I’ve often found my flow. Just remember that, if you still don’t want to keep writing after your ten minutes is up, don’t keep writing anyway and break your deal - it’ll be harder to make deals with yourself in future if your brain knows you don’t honour them

4. Can’t bridge the gap. When you’re stuck on this one sentence/paragraph that you just don’t know how to progress through. Until you figure it out, productivity has slowed to a halt

Mark it up, bullet point what you want to happen here, then move on. A lot of people don’t know how to keep writing after skipping a part because they don’t know exactly what happened to lead up to this moment - but you have a general idea just like you do for everything else you’re writing, and that’s enough. Just keep it generic and know you can go back to edit later, at the same time as when you’re filling in the blank. It’ll give editing you a clear purpose, if nothing else

5. Perfectionism and self-doubt. You don’t think your writing is perfect first time, so you struggle to accept that it’s anything better than a total failure. Whether or not you’re aware of the fact that this is an unrealistic standard makes no difference

Perfection is stagnant. If you write the perfect story, which would require you to turn a good story into something objective rather than subjective, then after that you’d never write again, because nothing will ever meet that standard again. That or you would only ever write the same kind of stories over and over, never growing or developing as a writer. If you’re looking back on your writing and saying “This is so bad, I hate it”, that’s generally a good thing; it means you’ve grown and improved. Maybe your current writing isn’t bad, if just matched your skill level at the time, and since then you’re able to maintain a higher standard since you’ve learned more about your craft as time went on

[rmview]

accidentally sending a nude, SKZ.

featuring — stray kids members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — what happens when the stray kids boys accidentally send you an inappropriate picture!

contents — crack, flirting, suggestive.

bang ⁺ chan

bang chan was known for being responsible and composed, but even the most reliable people had their moments. he had been working late, distractedly multitasking between responding to texts from the members, fans, and — most nerve-wracking of all — you.

you two had been flirting back and forth for weeks, and tonight was no different. your witty banter put him in a good mood, and before he knew it, he was sending a selfie from the gym, shirt drenched in sweat.

but in his rush, he didn’t notice that the picture he sent wasn’t the one he intended. instead of the gym selfie, it was an older picture—one of him just out of the shower, shirtless, with a towel slung dangerously low on his hips.

seconds later, he realized his mistake.

his heart stopped.

“oh my god,” he muttered, staring at his phone in horror as the “read” indicator popped up. his mind raced. should he delete the message? send a follow-up explanation? throw his phone into the nearest body of water?

before he could do anything, your reply came through.

...well, that’s not what i expected, but i’m not complaining.

his face turned a deep shade of red as he ran a hand through his hair, groaning in embarrassment.

“i am so sorry,” he quickly typed, his thumbs trembling as he sent the message. “that was not meant for you. i was trying to send a gym selfie. please ignore that. oh my god, i’m mortified.”

you replied almost immediately.

relax, chan. it’s not like i haven’t imagined you looking like that anyway. 😉

his jaw dropped. was this flirting? were you actually flirting back after he’d just humiliated himself?

“wait… really?” he replied, cautious yet intrigued.

really. but next time, make sure you send the right picture.

chan exhaled a laugh, shaking his head as he smiled at the screen. “noted,” he typed back, still mortified but secretly thrilled. maybe his mistake wasn’t such a disaster after all.

felix ⁺

felix was a bit of a perfectionist, especially when it came to interactions with you. he’d spent weeks carefully navigating the line between friendly and flirty, hoping to gauge your interest without coming on too strong.

so when he accidentally sent that picture, he nearly dropped his phone in panic.

he’d just finished a workout and taken a picture to check his progress — a mirror selfie of him shirtless, muscles taut, and a playful smirk on his face. he’d meant to send it to chan, but somehow, it ended up in your chat.

“no, no, no, no!” felix exclaimed, his freckles standing out against the sudden flush of his cheeks.

he stared at the screen in horror, the little “delivered” icon taunting him.

your reply came faster than he expected.

wow… nice progress, felix. 👀

he froze. were you teasing him? he wasn’t sure if he should laugh, apologize, or crawl under a rock. finally, he decided to address it head-on.

“i am so sorry!” he typed furiously. “that was not meant for you. please ignore it. i’m mortified.”

you replied with a laughing emoji.

it’s fine. honestly, i didn’t know you were this fit. guess i’ve been missing out.

felix’s heart skipped a beat. was that… interest?

“well… thanks, i guess?” he replied, still unsure how to handle the situation. “but seriously, i didn’t mean to send that. i’m usually more careful.”

well, i’m glad you weren’t this time.

felix smiled at your cheeky response despite himself. maybe his mistake wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

lee ⁺ know

lee know had always been careful about boundaries. he enjoyed teasing you and keeping things light, but he never pushed too far. that’s why, when he realized he’d sent the wrong picture, he felt a wave of panic unlike anything he’d experienced before.

the picture wasn’t obscene, but it was suggestive — a shirtless shot of him lounging in bed, his sweatpants hanging low, with a hint of his toned stomach on full display. he’d taken it to mess around with hyunjin but somehow sent it to you instead.

his phone buzzed immediately.

...well, this is a surprise.

lee know stared at your message, his ears turning red as he groaned, tossing his phone onto the couch. “i’m such an idiot,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands.

after a minute of debating whether to respond, he finally picked up his phone.

“that was not for you,” he typed, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. “sorry about that. just… forget you saw it.”

your reply came swiftly.

forget it? why would i? you look good, minho. 😏

his heart skipped a beat. “are you teasing me right now?” he replied, his confidence creeping back in.

maybe... or maybe i’m just being honest.

lee know smirked at the screen, his embarrassment fading. “well, if honesty is what we’re doing, then maybe i should admit that i don’t mind you seeing it.”

“good,” you replied. “because i didn’t mind seeing it either.”

for the first time that evening, lee know relaxed, realizing that his mistake might just have opened a door he hadn’t been brave enough to walk through himself.

hyun ⁺ jin

hyunjin had always been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, and his interactions with you reflected that. he adored teasing you with his flirtatious comments and playful winks, but he never imagined crossing a line — until tonight.

he was sitting in his art room, surrounded by scattered sketches, when he decided to take a break. swept up in a moment of self-appreciation, he snapped a quick mirror selfie to show off his post-dance practice glow — shirtless, slightly tousled hair, and his sweatpants riding dangerously low. he sent it off to his group chat with the caption, “behold: the main character.”

or so he thought.

when he saw your name at the top of the chat instead, his heart plummeted.

“no, no, no…” he whispered, fumbling with his phone. his fingers hovered over the “unsend” button, but it was too late — your message popped up almost instantly.

well, that’s something i wasn’t expecting tonight. 👀

hyunjin’s face turned crimson, and he buried his head in his hands. his mind raced with what to say, every option feeling inadequate. finally, he mustered a response.

“its not what it looks like,” he typed, his embarrassment palpable even through the screen. “i meant to send it to the group chat. i’m so sorry, seriously.”

your reply came faster than he anticipated.

aw, don’t be embarrassed, hyunjin. you look… good. really good.

he froze, rereading your message. was this real? were you flirting back?

“wait… are you being serious right now?” he asked hesitantly.

completely serious. but if you’re this shy over a picture, i can’t imagine how you’d react if i saw you in person like this.

hyunjin let out a breathy laugh, his embarrassment melting into nervous excitement. “you’re not making this easier, you know,” he replied.

who said i’m trying to make it easier?

he leaned back, a smirk tugging at his lips at your teasing response. “you’re trouble, you know that?”

don’t pretend you don’t love it.

hyunjin shook his head, his heart pounding. what started as a mortifying mistake was quickly turning into the most exhilarating conversation he’d ever had with you.

i.n ⁺

jeongin prided himself on being composed despite his age, but tonight, all that confidence vanished in an instant. he’d been lounging on his bed after practice, casually snapping a picture to capture the golden glow of the setting sun through his window.

the photo was innocent enough, or so he thought — a relaxed pose, shirtless, with the blanket barely covering his hips. it was meant for seungmin, who’d jokingly challenged him to “prove” he was resting properly.

but in his sleepy haze, jeongin accidentally sent it to you instead.

he realized his mistake almost immediately when your name popped up with a notification. his stomach dropped, and panic set in.

your message arrived seconds later:

uh… is this the kind of ‘resting’ you meant to show me? 😳

jeongin groaned, burying his face in his pillow. “oh my god, i’m an idiot,” he muttered. he typed back as quickly as his trembling hands allowed.

“i am so sorry. that was not meant for you. please, just delete it and pretend this never happened.”

you replied almost immediately, and his heart raced as he opened your message.

delete it? why would i do that when it’s such a nice view?

his mouth fell open, a mixture of embarrassment and disbelief coursing through him. he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or crawl under his blanket and never come out.

“are you seriously teasing me right now?” he finally typed, his cheeks burning.

maybe... but can you blame me? you’re not exactly making it easy to ignore.

jeongin let out a nervous chuckle, shaking his head. “you’re impossible.”

i know.

jeongin sighed, a reluctant smile spreading across his face. while the initial shock of his mistake lingered, he couldn’t deny that your reaction made it worth the embarrassment.

han ⁺

han had always been impulsive, and that trait extended to his texting habits. he’d just finished a late-night studio session and decided to take a mirror selfie to show off his new haircut. the picture wasn’t inappropriate, but it was suggestive — he was shirtless, his hair slightly damp from a shower, with a cheeky grin on his face.

he meant to send it to chan, but in his half-asleep state, he sent it to you instead.

it wasn’t until your message came through that he realized his mistake.

right in front of my salad? 🤨

han’s eyes widened, and he sat up so fast he nearly knocked over his coffee mug. “oh no,” he muttered, his hands shaking as he typed back.

“omg, i’m so sorry! that was not meant for you! i was trying to send it to chan. please just forget you saw it.”

your reply came a moment later:

why? it was a nice picture. you should send me more.

han’s jaw dropped, his mind racing. was this really happening? were you actually flirting with him?

“wait, are you serious right now?” he replied cautiously.

very serious. you look good, han. don’t be so shy about it.

his face turned red, but a smile crept onto his lips. “i’m not shy!” he typed back defensively.

sure, you’re not...

han let out a laugh, shaking his head. “you’re dangerous, you know that?”

says the guy with his tiddies out for the world to see. wait, i wonder how much i can sell this for on ebay...

he flushed and sighed, leaning back in his chair. what started as a mortifying mistake was quickly becoming the most crack-filled interaction he’d ever had with you. maybe his impulsiveness wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

seung ⁺ min

seungmin was always known for his sharp wit and calm demeanor, rarely letting things rattle him. but tonight, that composure was nowhere to be found.

after a long day, he decided to respond to a group chat message with a selfie he’d taken earlier — a casual, post-workout shot that showed him in a tank top, his hair slightly messy, and his usual confident smirk. the picture wasn’t provocative, but it was undeniably attractive.

except he didn’t send it to the group chat. he sent it to you.

seungmin froze as he realized what he had done. his usual sharp mind went blank, replaced by a surge of panic. before he could even think of a way to delete it, your reply came through.

well, i wasn’t expecting this, but i’m not complaining. 😏

he stared at your message, his ears turning red as he tried to come up with a response. this wasn’t like him at all — how could he make such a mistake?

“uh, that wasn’t meant for you,” he finally typed, his thumbs trembling slightly. “i was trying to send it to the group chat. my bad.”

your reply came almost instantly.

no need to apologize, bbg. honestly, it’s nice to see this side of you. you look good, seungmin.

his jaw clenched as he reread your words. you were complimenting him?

“i didn’t mean for you to see it,” he replied quickly. “but… thanks, i guess?”

why so shy all of a sudden? i didn’t think you’d get flustered this easily.

“i’m not flustered,” he replied, though your teasing and his red face told a different story.

sure you’re not. but for what it’s worth, you’ve definitely made my night.

seungmin let out a small, awkward laugh, his confidence slowly returning. “well, i’m glad my mistake could entertain you,” he replied.

it’s more… eye-opening, than entertaining. although my rose toy would disagree.

seungmin choked, rereading your words. maybe this wasn’t the disaster he thought it was.

chang ⁺ bin

changbin was naturally confident, his playful energy making him the life of any room. but even he wasn’t immune to moments of pure, unfiltered embarrassment — like the one he was having now.

it started innocently enough: he’d taken a mirror selfie at the gym to show off his progress, flexing his biceps with a grin that screamed, “look at me, i’m unstoppable.” it was meant for chan, who’d been teasing him about skipping arm day.

but in his haste, changbin accidentally sent the picture to you.

the moment he realized his mistake, his stomach dropped. “oh no,” he muttered, staring at the screen in horror.

your reply came faster than he could process.

wow, changbin… showing off for me now? 👀

he groaned, his confidence taking a nosedive. he quickly typed back, “that was not meant for you. i was trying to send it to chan. please ignore it!”

you didn’t ignore it. instead, you replied,

why would you send it to him? and why should i ignore it? you look amazing honestly, you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.

changbin blinked, your words catching him off guard. were you… complimenting him?

“wait… are you kidding me?” he replied cautiously.

of course not, i mean, if you’re gonna send me pictures like this, don’t blame me for appreciating them.

changbin let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “well, i wasn’t exactly trying to impress you, but… thanks, i guess?”

who said you didn’t impress me?

his heart skipped a beat at your tease, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “i guess if you’re not mad, i shouldn’t be so worried,” he typed, his confidence returning.

not mad at all. in fact, feel free to send more anytime.

changbin laughed out loud, shaking his head. “you’re trouble, you know that?”

and you love it.

“maybe i do,” he replied, surprising even himself with his boldness.

what started as an embarrassing mistake had suddenly become one of the most fun conversations he’d ever had with you.

notes: hoez in the house ( my smut fic is taking forever to finish :( )

[etaleah]

I think a lot about the fact that the real genius of Hbomberguy’s plagiarism video was not just the exposé aspect of it but the fact that it so effectively demonstrated WHY plagiarism is bad.

When teachers warned against plagiarism in school, they made it seem like the reason it was bad was because it got you out of doing work. Plagiarism was bad because it was lazy. And that is (1) not a very strong deterrent to students who are only taking this class and writing this paper because they’re forced to and therefore don’t care about the work, and (2) missing the real harm behind the action.

On some level, yeah, plagiarism is bad because it will prevent you from learning how to write well on your own. There’s a real fear that a generation of kids won’t know how to write (which means they won’t know how to think) because they’ll be so used to having an “AI” machine do it for them that they’ll be helpless without it. That is very much a concern. But it’s far from the only issue. Harry laid out the other problems really well:

1. Plagiarism is enshittification. When you have to reword stuff to hide that you’re stealing it, the writing will be clunkier, wordier, more awkward, and less natural-sounding. This makes the piece worse, which isn’t good for anyone. Who needs more bad writing in the world?

2. Plagiarism spreads misinformation. Again, stealing stuff usually requires having to reword things to get around plagiarism checkers. That can make it very easy to (accidentally or purposely) rewrite a sentence to now be false instead of true. This is made worse by the fact that hiding the source of the information makes fact-checking impossible.

3. Plagiarism is anti-educational. If the audience doesn’t know where something came from, they can’t go visit that source to learn more about the topic. They’re prevented from finding any additional knowledge, which makes research—and therefore progress—difficult.

4. Plagiarism makes it impossible for creators to earn a living, thereby making it impossible to create. Funnily enough, this means less material for plagiarists to steal from, so the whole scam is really just a snake eating its own tail. Like all scams, it can’t last long. When plagiarists can make huge profits by stealing and putting out content faster because they’re stealing, the real creators who actually do the work have no chance. They can’t compete because they can’t create as fast as a plagiarist can steal. So they don’t make as much money, which means they can’t live off their work, which in turn means they can’t create anymore. This keeps going until all that’s left is stolen garbage.

There’s a lot to love about that video, but this part in particular is my favorite by far.

[marauder-misprint]

Mystery Girl

Sirius Black x fem!Gryffindor!reader

5.7k words

cw: pining, bad flirting advice, fluff

You allow yourself to gaze in his direction for longer than usual. Your head is propped up on your hand, elbow resting on your desk, as you tap the tip of your quill to your lip in faux-thought. Professor Flitwick had announced the rest of class was to be used to work on the essay he assigned last class. Yours is about half done. You really should be thinking about what to write next, or looking up more information in your textbook. But, alas, you stare at Sirius with no real thoughts in your head. If anyone asked though, you would say it was just his general direction. 

Sirius isn’t even pretending to work. He’s having a full fledged whispered conversation with James, occasionally leaning forward to include Peter and Remus, the latter of which is attempting to finish his essay. You’re a bit surprised that Remus hasn’t finished it already, but with friends like Sirius, James and Peter, getting work done can be a challenge. 

Every once in a while, Sirius looks in your direction and flashes you his impish grin. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. You’re close friends; you’re one of the few that knows he’s an animagus. A few too many drinks one night got you that information. He recapped the whole process for you that night, which left you wondering how he managed to go through it all without mentioning it to you. The more you thought about it afterwards, the more you realized that his letters that summer were particularly odd. 

You became friends with Sirius during second year when you shared a detention with McGonagall. She had you scraping gum off the bottom of desks while Sirius was sweeping ash off the floor and then mopping and polishing. It was a long and grueling evening for two 12-year-olds. Through complaining and cracking jokes, you managed to survive and a friendship was fostered. It certainly helped that you continued to get assigned detention together over the years. 

Somewhere between here and there, you realized that you wanted more than friendship from Sirius, but with him being who he is, you had no way of knowing if your feelings were reciprocated. You buried them as deep as you could. You didn’t want any of your friends, especially the mutual ones with Sirius, to know that you had a crush on him. You’d rather live in the pain of watching him flirt with girl after girl that wasn’t you but have him as a dear friend than live in that same world except have him reject you and never speak to you again. 

His wild grin brings you out of your thoughts. He raises his eyebrows as you shiver violently. You look down at your essay, not giving Sirius any attention. You figure he’ll assume you were zoned out, which you were to a point. You don’t let your graze fall back on him for the rest of class, allowing you to miss how he looked back at you several times. 

Sirius catches up with you when Flitwick dismisses everyone. Not having worked on his essay, putting his stuff away had only taken him a moment while you carefully place your things into your bag. 

“Must’ve had some train of thought going,” he muses, leaning on your desk slightly.

 “What do you mean?” you ask, not looking up.

“Could’ve sworn you were staring right at me. I acknowledge you and nothing!”

You hum. “Then, yeah, I suppose. I was trying to make some progress.”

“And did you?” he asks as you leave the classroom and walk together to your next class.

“Not much,” you sigh. “Added a paragraph but it’s still too short. Can’t even bewitch my handwriting to be larger to make it close enough.” 

“We can work on it later. I have…” His voice trails off as he looks at the parchment hastily shoved into his Charms’ book. “Half of an introduction.”

You laugh as you gently bump into Sirius. You are mildly surprised that he even had that much done, but once he sits down and actually works on it, Sirius will finish his much faster than you ever could. At least he was offering to work on it with you. That meant you could ask him to look over yours when you finally finished. 

---

The common room empties out slowly as students head to bed. You’ve been sitting on the couch since dinner with your History of Magic textbook laying in your lap, open yet unread. Your eyes are unfocused, staring at the dancing flames in the hearth. Every once in a while you pick up sentences from your friends sitting around you. It’s nothing too exciting. The boys are discussing the intricate details for their next pranks on the Slytherins; the girls making plans for the next Hogsmeade weekend. And you were supposed to be catching up on the assigned reading.

It isn’t until Sirius falls dramatically into your lap that you tear your eyes away from the fire to see that everyone else has gone to bed. His dark hair splays across your book as he looks up at you with his stormy grey eyes.

“Did you finish the chapter?” he asks with a lazy smile. “Or were you seeking divine intervention from the fire?” 

“Divine intervention,” you reply, lifting his head ever so gently so you could remove your book, close it and set it aside. “The creation of the Being Division in the 1800s by some bloke Stumpy? End me now.” 

Sirius chuckles. 

“I’m glad Binns didn’t assign an essay on it. Imagine!” he says, making you smile. “There’s that smile. It’s not like it’ll be on an exam or anything.”

“Sirius, you know it will.” 

“And you can look at my paper. Or James’. Remus. Peter, wait… maybe not Peter. But Lily and Marlene would be okay.”

“And that’s cheating. It’s one thing on essays, but exams are another.” 

“Fine, study. Put in more effort than you need to.”

You ruffle his hair in response, earning you a noise of complaint from Sirius. You are allowed to play with his hair when it involves running your fingers through it or braiding it. Ruffling it and making it messy? Treason.

“Can I… talk to you about something?” Sirius asks as he adjusts in your lap. 

“I don’t know… Talking? Us? I don’t think we’ve ever done that before!” you tease sarcastically. 

“No, really, love. I need your opinion on something.” 

There is something more earnest in his voice that tells you it’s serious. You know he debated saying that it is but knew you would laugh and say that everything is Sirius with him. It was a dumb joke that you couldn’t get enough of. 

You nod somberly.

“Yeah, Sirius. We can talk about anything.” 

“So… there’s this girl.”

That one sentence is a punch to your gut. He wants to talk to you about a girl? While past girlfriends have come up in conversations before, it was always a fleeting topic, or they were key players in a story, like dates gone wrong. You thought it was understood that your friendship with Sirius avoided each other’s love lives - not that you ever had a boy to talk about with him.

“O-okay,” you manage to say. 

“I really like her. I just… I can’t tell if she likes me and the boys are no help.”

“So you’ve come to me because I’m oh-so-experienced in love?” 

“I came to you because you’re a girl. How do girls show that they’re interested when they aren’t obviously flirting?” 

You poke his cheek as you say, “Used to the obvious flirting, aren’t you?” 

He grins up at you. “Obviously.”

“Well, from what I know, they lean in when you talk, laughing at any and every stupid joke you make. When they touch you, they let their hand linger, especially if it’s on your hand or arm.” You demonstrate your point by touching his bicep and giving it a gentle squeeze. “A little more brazen, they’ll compliment you subtly. You should be able to see it in their smile. Maybe they’ll flutter their eyelashes at you if they are bold. Or desperate. They’ll also jump to your side if you’re alone.” You sigh. “Again, you know I’m too experienced with this flirting thing so…”

“Yeah, but you must’ve flirted with guys before. You’re no hermit.”

You exhale out of your nose. “I don’t flirt much.”

“Much! So you do! Your expertise shan’t be taken for granted!” 

Your expertise. Sirius really has you on a pedestal. You sit with him for a while longer, running your fingers through his hair to make up for your earlier ruffling. He closes his eyes as he enjoys the feeling. 

Over the next few days, you make a point to not do any of the things you listed off as flirting. You only lean forward when he talks at meals so you can have the excuse of needing to be able to hear him better. You rarely find yourself in a position to have your hand on his so that wasn’t an issue. You aren’t one to bat your eyelashes or stroke his ego. Your two vices are laughing and being at his side, but he’s your best friend. Could you really be expected to not spend time with him and enjoy yourself when you are with him? You think you’ve played it off fairly well.

Sirius thinks you’ve given him faulty advice. He is hyper aware of every interaction he has with this girl. He’s overanalyzing every move she moves around him, and every move he makes. What’s even more frustrating to him is that some of the things you listed off, he can’t imagine her doing. It’s just not who she is. 

He decides to bring it up again to you in the Transfiguration Courtyard after classes. James and Marlene are tossing a quaffle back and forth while Lily, Mary, Remus and Peter work on various assignments. You and Sirius are sharing a pack of cigarettes off to the side at Mary’s request. She claims she can’t focus when there’s a cloud of smoke around her head. There’s enough space between you and the rest of the group which gives Sirius the privacy he requires for this topic.

“You know that girl I was telling you about?” he asks you.

“The one you’re so in love with?” 

“Yeah, that’d be the one.”

“Then, yes, I know of her. You never told me who it is though.” 

“That’s not important right now,” he says, running a hand through his hair before immediately shaking it out. “She’s not doing any of those non-obvious flirting things you said.”

“She’s not?” you echo with your eyebrows raised. What girl could resist the temptations of Sirius? 

“She’s not. But now I’m wondering if I’m the problem?” 

You laugh loudly. Sirius’ firm gaze and stoney expression tell you he’s not messing around like you assumed he would be. 

“Tell me how you, you, could be the problem?”

“Like I told you before, I really like this girl. I do. She’s amazing, a real sweetheart, and I don’t want to mess it up before it’s gone anywhere. So I haven’t flirted with her the same way I’ve flirted with other girls.”

“Damn, Black. You must really like this girl.”

“I do. So much.” He takes a breath and leans in a hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong though. I know she wouldn’t like my usual flirting. She doesn’t respond to the new method. How do I get this girl’s attention?” 

You sigh and shake your head.

“It’d be easier to help you if I knew who it was,” you tell him. 

“Yeah, I know that, but I… I can’t tell you.”

“Sirius-” you chastise. 

“Love, I can’t tell you.”

“Have you asked the boys how to flirt with this mystery girl?”

“Sirius Black, master flirt, is not going to those virgins for help.”

You bite inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at the absurdity of it all: Sirius calling himself a master flirt, knowing damn well that James and Remus weren’t virgins, and that Sirius was willing to come to you, an actual virgin, for help. 

“So what do I do?” 

You can’t hold back your laughter any more. It breaks through. You expect Sirius to look upset at your laughing but instead he’s smiling at you. 

“I’m not trying to be mean, Sirius, but you do know who you’re talking to, right? A girl who’s never been flirted with? And you’re turning down asking Potter, king of pining, for advice? Like I’m one hundred percent sure that Lily knows he likes her.” 

You glance toward James and then Lily. You missed the flash of disappointment that crosses Sirius’ face when you say you’ve never been flirted with. He knows for a fact it isn’t true, but it wouldn’t help his cause now to tell you otherwise.

“I’m talking to my best friend who I think is more perceptive than she realizes,” he states. “Humor me: how would you like to be flirted with?”

How would you like to be flirted with? The question repeats in your mind as you think. Sirius can practically see the gears turning in your head. He waits patiently for your answer. It has the potential to change everything for him.

“I… I want genuine compliments. I want to be told that I’m pretty but also that I’m enough and to hear what they like about me, you know, beyond looks. I want them to choose to spend time with me. I want them to do all that chivalrous, gentleman-y things like carrying my books and holding doors,” you list off. As you continue your ramble, your face grows hot. “I sound like a spoiled child,” you laugh. “I want, I want, I want.” 

Sirius smiles at you with an adoring look in his eyes. 

“Maybe so, but I did ask you what you wanted.” He tucks a bit of hair behind your ear. “So no big, grand gestures for you? I’ll make sure to tell all your suitors.”

You roll your eyes as you’re fairly certain there are no potential suitors for him to tell. 

“I don’t know how you’ve been flirting with this mystery girl if it hasn’t been your usual tactics, but the little things really do add up.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I went from one extreme to the other?”

“Why, yes, yes I would,” you smirk. 

“Oi! Looks like rain, we’re going in!” Lily yells in your direction. 

Sirius stands up first and holds out his hand to help you up. 

Throughout the rest of the week, it’s like a switch flipped in Sirius. He’s more attached to you than normal. He’s always there to hold open a door for you, to offer to carry your books or put your supplies away. He starts using pet names with you more. You find it all a bit peculiar. He was spending so much energy on you rather than trying to win over his mystery girl. You try not to think too hard on it. 

When the weekend came, your whole friend group made their way to the quidditch pitch. It was nice when Gryffindor wasn’t playing so James and Marlene could jeer at the players, complain about calls and plays and explain moves to everyone. They bring a higher energy to the stands. But you couldn’t focus on their comments too much. Sirius is pressed into your side with how packed the Gryffindor section is. To make it more comfortable, he draped his arm loosely over your shoulder. His cologne overtakes the rest of the smells that accompany the stands. You’re not complaining about that, but it did make it hard to think about anything else. Again, you try not think too hard about Sirius’ mystery girl, or the fact that your body is much closer to Sirius’ than Lily’s, who was on your other side. 

After Ravenclaw beats Hufflepuff, you claim a table for yourself in the common room. You have an essay for Transfiguration to finish. Lily and Marlene had fretted earlier about your insistence on getting it done today when you had all of tomorrow to work on it and there was a party tonight. They certainly didn’t like you pointing out that it was Ravenclaw’s party so your presence wouldn’t be missed and you had more homework to do tomorrow. Merlin forbid school didn’t come easy to you. 

When they accepted that you were a lost cause for the night, they grabbed Mary and left. You are able to work in peace for a little over half an hour. Then the Marauders traipsed down the stairs. Their sheer presence sends energy pulsing through the room. You briefly look up as they pass your table. Sirius spins around after passing you and walks up to you, slamming his hands on the table.

“Why aren’t you at the party?” he demands. “Pretty girls belong at parties.” 

You feel your cheeks warm. You drag the feather end of your quill over the pages of the open book and essay in front of you.

“These essays. They never seem to write themselves.”

“So you’re just not going to the party?” 

“Padfoot! Come on,” James calls.

“Love?” Sirius asks, ignoring his friends. 

You sigh and look up at him. He’s looking at you so ardently. 

“Not until I finish this essay. So I’ll either be extremely late or I won’t go,” you answer him. 

He pulls out the chair across from you.

“Head over without me! We’ll catch up later,” he yells over his shoulder as he sits down.

Then he grabs your essay, scanning it to see how far along you are.

“Sirius, go to the party,” you tell him, reaching for your essay but he holds it out of your reach. “Your mystery girl is probably there. You could be making your move. My essay will get done.”

“Mystery girl will be there whenever I get there. However, your essay is more important than any party, and I don’t want to go if you’re not there.” He flashes you his wide grin. “How can you expect me to have fun when I know you’re back here, suffering?”

You sigh and lean back in your chair. With you no longer reaching for your essay, Sirius is able to finish reading it over. He hands it back to you and grabs your book. He flips a few pages before placing it back in front of you and pointing to a second you hadn’t looked at yet.

“You’re closer to finishing that essay than you think, love. You really just need a summary of that section and a conclusion. Then it’s upstairs to change and party time!” 

“Thanks, Sirius.” 

You lean over the desk to read the section he pointed out. After a few minutes, you glance up at him. He’s been watching you read and make notes. 

“You don’t have to wait for me. I’ll find you at the party when I’m done,” you say, although you have half a mind to crawl into bed when you’re done. Especially if Sirius’ mystery girl is at this party, you’re not sure if you have it in you to watch him flirt with her, a girl he seems to be in love with. 

“Please, don’t act like I don’t know you. If I leave now without you, you won’t go. You’ll finish the essay and then you’ll hide here. Nope. You’re going to have fun tonight if I have anything to do with it.”

“Fine…” you mumble, turning back to the book to reread the last paragraph. 

Another half an hour or so passes until you’re semi-satisfied with your essay. You set your quill down as you reread the entire thing, a frown appearing on your face. It’s not nearly as good as you want it to be. You should probably rewrite it.

“Ah, give it here,” Sirius says, holding his hand out expectantly. 

“It’s no good,” you reply, shaking your head. “I need to rewrite it.”

“Let me read it. I’m sure it’s fine.” He tilts his head while giving you a firm look. “Go change. I’ll read it while you’re gone. If it’s as bad as you think it is, we’ll work on it more. If you’re being hard on yourself, we’ll get you a drink to help you unwind.”

You sigh dramatically. You leave the essay on the desk for Sirius to grab, instead of handing to him. You trudge up the stairs to your dorm to change into something more party-like. Your indecisiveness means that you try on several outfits before finding something that you don’t hate. You don’t want to look like too much, too good. If you’re going to try to help Sirius get this mystery girl, you couldn’t be outshining her. 

When you return to the common room, Sirius has cleaned up all of your things into neat piles. 

“Oh, you look lovely!” he declares when he notices that you’re back. “And your essay, easily an E. Trust me. We ensure that Pete gets at least an A on every essay and that was better than what he’s turning in.” 

You roll your eyes at the ‘we’. You knew the Marauders often treated homework as group assignments. He holds out his arm for you to take, which you do with some hesitation. 

“Shall we go find your girl at this party?” you ask.

“We shall,” he says with a smile as he leads you out of the Gryffindor Common Room and toward Ravenclaw Tower. 

Once past the eagle knocker, Sirius is quick to get a drink in both his and your hands. You scan the room, seeing the rest of the Marauders and your other friends. You aren’t looking for them though. You’re trying to see if you can spot the girl who is so beautiful and desirable that Sirius would switch up his methods to diminish the risk of losing her. 

“Let’s find your girl,” you say, leaning into Sirius’ shoulder. 

He doesn’t say anything, but he guides you around the room. You pause to say hi to some of your friends in Ravenclaw. You expect Sirius to keep walking in search of the girl. He doesn’t. He remains at your shoulder, giving friendly smiles to the people you’re talking to. You lead him toward where the other Gryffindors are gathered. 

“Black!” Marlene yells as she grabs him by his shoulders. “Thank you for getting her out!” 

You’re taken aback by her comment, although it wasn’t uncommon for you to miss a party. You often found yourself reminding your friends that Hogwarts was in fact a school and not a party central. 

“Oh, it’s my pleasure,” he tells Marlene, grinning. 

He puts an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him. You feel your face burn so you try to hide it with your cup. Maybe you can pass it off as the room being too hot or being flushed from the alcohol. Only Sirius knows it’s your first drink, right? 

You try to focus on what your friends are saying and laughing about, but the feeling of Sirius’ arm, his hand and his body are too much. Your body feels like it’s being constantly electrocuted. You take slow sips from your cup, as if the drink will somehow alleviate the feeling. You can only imagine how this looks to his mystery girl. You pressed into Sirius’ side with his arm around you as he talks and laughs? You’re trying not to melt into his touch. You try to keep the idea of this other girl in your mind. But you like having his arm around you a bit too much. 

“Shit, this is a good song!” Sirius roars before lowering his voice to whisper in your ear, “Dance with me, lovely?” 

You look up with him with concerned eyes. “How will that look to that girl you really like?”

You hate that you have to keep reminding him that he was supposed to be looking for this girl and flirting with her, rather than spending all of his time with you. He just gives you his trademark smile.

“It will show off my amazing dancing skills. Come on, you didn’t say no!”

He pulls you away from your friends into the crowds of people dancing. Sirius is far more at his leisure than you are. You would much rather be on a bench off to the side, sipping on a new drink as the music fills your senses. At least, you think that until Sirius has his hands on your hips, helping you move to the music.

“Ah, there it is! She does have rhythm!” he cheers with his face close to yours. It’s close enough to feel the heat of his breath and to smell the spiked punch. 

Everything about the moment makes your heart pound in your chest. For a second, the idea of his mystery girl flits into your mind, but she is banished as Sirius spins you around. Your laughter mixes with his and the sounds of people around you, laughing themselves and singing along to the music. You never fancied yourself a dancer before now, but with Sirius so close and all of his attention on you, it feels right. You wouldn’t mind if you could live in this moment forever. 

When the music switches to something slower, you prepare yourself to see Sirius move back toward your friends. You don’t expect him to place his hands on your waist and pull you even closer. 

You don’t expect him to lean in and whisper, “Put your hands around my neck, sweetheart. That’s how you slow dance.”

You do as told. It makes it easier to hide your bright red face in his shoulder. You know how to slow dance; you just never did it with anyone before. You certainly hadn’t expected your first slow dance to be with Sirius. It made sense to a point though that it would be with your best guy friend, someone you were comfortable with. 

The song ends too soon for you. The next song is back to the upbeat rhythm that previously filled the room. Your heart beat is too loud in your ears to process it.

“I need another drink,” you tell Sirius before walking away from him.

You did need a drink, but you also need a moment away from him. ‘He’s in love with someone else’ is on repeat in your head. You can’t have yourself falling deeper in love with him when you know his heart belongs to someone else, someone he wouldn’t even tell you the name of. 

When you have a fresh glass in your hand, you turn to look for Sirius in the crowd where you left him. He’s not there. You spot him back with the Marauders. It makes you frown. He was supposed to be finding this girl and asking her to dance, not spending the whole night with you and the boys. You want to remind him of that, but something prevents you from doing it. You walk over to the girls, hoping that maybe they’re talking about something interesting.

“Isn’t this so much better than essays?” Lily asks, leaning almost all of her body weight on your shoulder as soon as you join them.

“I mean, I guess so,” you answer.

“Oh, please,” Mary laughs. “It looked like you were enjoying yourself with Sirius out there.” 

Your blush immediately returns.

“So is it a thing? You ‘n’ him?” she asks. 

Marlene turns her full attention to you at the question and Lily throws her arms around you in a hug. 

“It really should be!” Lily gushes, her voice far too loud in your ear. “You’d be so cute together! It’s obvious he adores you!” 

You smile as you shrug Lily off.

“Sorry to disappoint, but he’s infatuated with someone else,” you say, mockingly saying infatuated to make yourself feel better. You try to hold in a sigh. 

“Who?” Marlene demands. “We’ll take care of her!” 

“Dunno. He won’t tell me.”

Marlene and Lily don matching frowns and furrowed brows. 

“Darling! There you are!” Sirius’ voice booms.

The three girls glare at him.

“What’d I do?” he asks, his arm finding its place around your shoulders. 

“I’ll tell you what you did, Black,” Marlene starts.

“Nothing! You did nothing,” you say quickly, cutting Marlene off before she can say too much.

While you’ve never said anything directly about liking Sirius to them, you’re sure it’s obvious to them now and you’ll hear more about it tomorrow. 

“Well, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” he asks cautiously, eyeing the girls who are still glaring daggers at him. 

“No, you’re not,” you say firmly, also eyeing the girls. 

You really hope they don’t say anything right now that would embarrass you and possibly hurt the friendship you have so carefully preserved. 

“Then I’m sure they won’t mind if I steal you away again!” he says cheerfully and steers you away from them.

He takes you to a quieter area down a few flights of stairs and stopping on a landing. Based on the doors you’ve passed, you figure you’re by the dorms. You’re glad that he took you down rather than up because the air is significantly cooler. 

“Did you find your mystery girl?” you ask as he leans against the wall, sipping his own drink that he must’ve refilled at some point.

He nods. 

You cock your head to the side. “Then why haven’t you stolen her away to this little spot?” 

He chuckles. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

“You’ve already ditched her?” you ask accusingly. 

“No!” He stands up straighter and moves closer to you. “No, I’m with her right now.”

“But it’s just us here?” 

He takes another step toward you and tucks some of your hair behind your ear.

“Oh, darling, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you are so clearly not a Ravenclaw.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” you spit. “Are you calling me stupid?” 

He throws his head back, laughing.

“Yes! Yes, I am.”

You scoff and take a step back from Sirius. 

“Well then.” You turn to go up the stairs because why did Sirius steal you away to insult you?

“No, listen!” He reaches out to stop you from heading back to the party. “You’re not stupid. Blind? Maybe. A bit dense right now? Yeah.”

“You’re not helping yourself,” you say dryly. 

“It’s you. You’re the… mystery girl, as you’ve been calling her. It’s been you the whole time.”

You freeze for a moment. 

“What?” you breathe. That can’t be right. 

“When I asked you about how girls flirt? I was asking how to know if you were ever flirting with me. But then you never did any of those things. Maybe one or two once or twice. So I asked how I could flirt with you. I know you enough to know that you wouldn’t want me to use those cheesy or dirty lines on you. You wouldn’t want an overtly public declaration of love to ask you to Hogsmeade. But even with your advice, you don’t seem to respond to me.”

He stops talking for what feels like an eternity. He’s scanning your face for a reaction, for any kind of sign from you, but all he gets is utter shock and confusion. 

“What?” you repeat in the same quiet voice of disbelief. 

He takes a step toward you so that his body is almost touching yours.

“The girl I really like and don’t want to mess things up with? She’s you. She’s been you for a while now. And I’m asking you how you feel about me because you can be so hard to read sometimes.” 

His voice is so soft and honest. You blink slowly as you gaze into those grey eyes you love so much. 

“She’s me?” you echo his sentiment. 

“Yes. Please, love, I need to know. Do you like me or have I just made a rather large fool of myself?”

“That’s why you didn’t want to come unless I did,” you whisper more to yourself than to Sirius, ignoring his question and the way his eyes filled with uncertainty as you did so. “That’s why you’ve been complimenting me more and offering to carry my bag. Oh…”

“Love?” he asks with a wavering voice. 

You’ve never heard him so nervous before. His hand slowly reaches up to cup your face. 

“Please…” he whispers.

“This is all… real?” you ask, placing your hand on top of his. 

“Yes. It’s so real.”

You smile. It’s wide and filled with the most joy you’ve ever felt. But then it disappears as you glare at Sirius.

“Don’t you ever call me stupid again,” you say firmly.

“I won’t.” There’s a beat of silence. “Wait, so do you-”

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his. It was a moment of Gryffindor braveness that you usually didn’t showcase. It took Sirius by surprise. He takes a moment to process that you, the girl he’s been pining over for a while, is kissing him and that he should kiss you back. But he does and it’s everything you’ve dreamed it would be. All of those times you’ve thought about his mystery girl, you never really considered that she could be you. As much as you dreamed it, you never really believed you could be the girl he described as the sweetest, the most beautiful, the kindest and most wonderful, perfection. But you were and you felt it as Sirius wraps his arms around you to hold you close, even after you broke away from the kiss. 

“Oh, the girls were glaring at you earlier because I told them you liked someone else after they asked if we were dating.” 

“Hmm, too bad that someone else is you,” he mumbles against your shoulder, still not letting you go. “We can correct your misinformation later. You’re mine now.”

[drewswife]

summary — reader got a puppy and rafe is not to happy about it at first

warnings — flufff, rafe being a grump

a/n — last post maybe I'm SLUMPED aka tired asf this was a req so thank you anon!(also I'm trying to see what writing style i write better so if this is bad PLEASE lmk)

Honestly, I thought Rafe was going to have a full-blown meltdown. We'd talked about getting a dog for ages, and I was beyond excited when I finally found the perfect little puppy. I mean, who could resist a ball of fluff with oversized paws and a perpetually wagging tail? Apparently, Rafe could.

"Are you serious?" he grumbled as I carefully placed the carrier on our living room floor. "This…thing…is going to live here?"

"His name is Finn," I said, opening the carrier door. Finn, oblivious to the tension in the room, bounded out, tail whipping against the furniture like a tiny metronome gone wild. He immediately made a beeline for Rafe's feet, sniffing inquisitively.

Rafe recoiled as if he'd been bitten. "It's…sniffing me." "That's what puppies do, ray," I chuckled, kneeling down to pet Finn. His fur was unbelievably soft. "He's just saying hello."

"Well, tell him to sniff from a distance" Rafe said, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He looked like a grumpy cloud.

The first few days were…an adjustment. Finn was a typical puppy full of energy, sharp little teeth, and an impressive ability to find and chew on anything he wasn't supposed to. My shoes became his favorite teething toys, the corner of our rug mysteriously frayed, and house training was a work in progress, to put it mildly.

Rafe, bless his heart, was not a natural. He'd sigh dramatically every time Finn had an accident, jump when the puppy yipped in his sleep, and seemed perpetually annoyed by the tiny shadow that followed me everywhere.

"He's staring at my ankles" Rafe would complain while he was working.

"He just wants to be part of the family," I'd say, scooping Finn onto my lap.

One evening, I was trying to make dinner while simultaneously keeping Finn from unraveling the roll of paper towels. Rafe was on the couch, attempting to concentrate on a game on his phone, a low growl emanating from him every few minutes. Suddenly, Finn let out a sharp yelp. I turned around to see that he'd gotten his tiny paw stuck under the edge of the coffee table.

Before I could even react, Rafe was on his knees, gently maneuvering the table leg until Finn was free. He checked the puppy's paw, his usual frown replaced with a look of concern.

"Is he okay?" Rafe asked, his voice surprisingly soft. "I think so," I said, relieved. Finn licked Rafe's hand as if to say thank you.

I came home one afternoon to find Rafe sprawled on the floor, a half-asleep Finn nestled on his chest. Rafe was absentmindedly stroking his fur, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips.

"He's not so bad, I guess," Rafe mumbled when he noticed me.

@starrii-sturns @spencerreid66 @zenithsturniolo

[gvshing]

Streamer Vi . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

masterlist

→StreamerVi! started streaming as a hobby. She figured it would make gaming feel less lonely and unproductive. She had friends she would play with occasionally but on the days they weren’t able to game together she feared she was wasting the evening away. Playing with no one, to no one, yelling into the abyss, celebrating a win to herself. It was lonely, and she hated the feeling that made her feel she was being unproductive. Even though deep down she knows that indulging herself in something she enjoys is never a waste or ‘lazy’. 

→When she started gaining traction/viewers she was genuinely surprised. She didn’t think she was THAT entertaining. Her viewers enjoyed her reactions that seemed so genuine. Enjoying her rage, shock, tears of sadness and of laughter. Her overreactions to angering situations within the games made her fans cackle with her creative sling of words she spat at the computer.  "I can't believe you guys like to watch this. I mean I appreciate y'all tuning in, but I do hope you guys are in therapy."

→StreamerVi! mainly plays action games but she enjoys a cozy game every now and again. Finding the stimulation of the fighting and fast paced scenes more enjoyable typically compared to the relaxation of cozier games. Though she finds herself indulging in Animal Crossing and Stardew Valley in her off time.

→StreamerVi! Was bad at Minecraft. Not that she would ever agree with that statement. Her fans aren’t sure why she’s so bad at it. She’s usually amazing at fighting and surviving in games like that. It’s mainly the building she’s not great at. Her houses were made out of dirt, wood if she’s able to obtain that much, and were shittily built cubes. She tries to make more intricate things but her brain short circuits and she’ll eventually break it down and make another dirt cube in its place. As long as her house has a bed, crafting table, anvil and furnace, she’s set. 

→StreamerVi! would have an intricate story line on her Sims game that gets progressively more confusing as it goes on. “God, Shelley is such an idiot. I know I created her but Jesus. How the fuck did she end up burning the house down? I didn’t even know you could do that in Sims! First, she ruins her marriage by cheating on Esteban. Then, she loses her daughter? Still no clue where she went. Lastly, she burns the house down? That’s why I didn’t let her go to college… On second thought, maybe that’s why she’s doing all this.” 

→Her Sims characters are her babies, for sure. She cries for ten minutes straight when one dies. She’ll walk off camera and you can hear sniffling off camera before she walks back in. “Okay, how can I make them haunt the house? I know they can do it. I will pay any amount of money to have that happen.”

→StreamerVi! would put up a poll on what games to play next on her stream and would put a joke game on there that would end up getting the most votes. So now she’s stuck playing some weird simulator game that lags constantly and is crashing every 5 minutes. “Who the fuck would make a dish washing simulator? I’m doing chores as a video game? That’s fucking boring. Why did you guys have to pick this one? Do you hate me? Be honest."

→StreamerVi! is a rage quitter. 100%. She would scream and smack her headset down on the table, walking away from her PC fully. Leaving the stream for almost a full minute to take deep breaths. “I may have overreacted a bit. Maybe. That boss is still a bitch, what the fuck even is that?” 

→She would sit down back at her desk and stare into the camera, hands in a fist resting over her mouth in embarrassment. “Guys, pretend that didn’t happen.” She would boot up the game to retry and be done five minutes later when she still couldn’t beat whatever it is she couldn’t win. “Okay, that’s it. I’m done. Fuck this game. See you tomorrow stream, I’m going to go take a deep breath and touch some fucking grass.”

→StreamerVi! drunk streams... already drunk when streaming or getting drunk on stream. She's done both. It doesn't happen often but when it does it a nice treat of chaos. Slurring, hiccupping and hearty laughter that echoes thoughout her whole apartment. The fans love it.

→StreamerVi!’s desk is probably messy. It’s not overly messy but she definitely has a few cups littered around, and old takeout containers from her 8 hour long streams. She cleans it frequently. She just spends so much time sitting over that desk, hunched over in uncomfortable positions, that it gets messy the second it’s cleaned. She eventually puts a trash can and a tub for dirty dishes right next to her desk to prevent clutter. It takes one time spilling water all over her keyboard for her to implement something to help. 

→StreamerVi! would cackle at her own jokes while everybody in her chat groaned. “That was a good one! I’m such a funny guy. You don’t get it, guys. And that’s fine, you don’t see the vision. Stop calling me lame! I am not lame! I’m hilarious. You guys are the lame ones. You’re watching me, someone you claim is lame, so what does that mean about you? Yeah exactly, lame-o’s” They would also groan at her use of the word ‘Lame-o’. 

→StreamerVi! fell asleep on live one time and has never lived it down. She streams for so long and she’ll just fall asleep waiting for a cut scene to end. Head propped up on her arm, lulling over with every breath. Her hand would slip causing her head to fall and smack against her keyboard, the brand new one she got after ruining the other one with the spilled water. She would jolt awake and stare at her screen in horror, reading the chat coming in faster than normal. “Is she… sleeping?” “She fucking dead.” “Awww, she looks like a sleepy puppy.” “Why is her mouth hanging open like that?? Is she drooling?? Y’all oh my god” “Literally, what the fuck.” She reads her chat and sighs deeply. “Guys. I must go. I’m so sorry.” She would hit the ‘end live’ button and immediately scream out of embarrassment. “They will never let me live this shit down. Fuck fuck fuck.”

→ And her fans don’t. “Waiting for her to fall asleep every time at this point.” “It was one time!!” It annoys the fuck out of her, but she appreciates her fans so she doesn’t mind the stupid jokes. 

→StreamerVi! has a strict streaming schedule and she is ALWAYS on time. She sits at her desk 5 minutes before time, ‘Go Live’ button staring at her. Anxiously scrolling on her phone until the clock hits 5pm. Streaming for the past 3 years has been all she knows, yet the anxiety she feels before beginning is intense every single time. 

→Anxiety melts away within seconds of hitting the dreaded button. Chats streaming in of various ‘hello’s and ‘missed you’s. 

→StreamerVi! probably streams more than just games as well. She enjoys vlogging when she’s out and about doing random stuff, like when she’s travelling and trying new foods. “Okay, what am I about to put in my mouth? If you know, please tell me, because I’m lost.”

→StreamerVi! loved the spontaneous streams sometimes more than gaming streams. They were low pressure and less chaotic. 

→She would do mundane things around her house when streaming as well. “You’re coming with me to dye my hair. I need help doing the back.” While dying it she would turn around and ask chat if she missed any pieces. They were unhelpful, as always. “You suck at this.” “Uhhhh bestie, you missed a few chunks ngl” “Does she have nobody irl who can help her with this?? Wtf are we supposed to do?” She would roll her eyes at her chat’s unhelpful responses. “I can’t even tell if you guys are being truthful anymore. You all hate me. I have friends! I’m just not bothering them with it! You guys could help! You just don’t want to! What parts did I even miss??” She eventually would facetime somebody to help her find the missing pieces. 

→COOKING STREAMS!!! 

→She loves to cook on stream! She enjoys the company when cooking. Although chat has definitely distracted her a few times and she’s burnt things because of it. “FUCK! Guys! Why did no one say anything about the literal pan on fire behind me?” She would run the pan over to the sink, throwing it in and quickly turning the water on. Snuffing the fire out. “The pan was in frame the whole time and we were chatting! I know at least one of you saw it! I even said ‘why does it smell like something burning?’ and none of you decided to say anything? You guys want me to die?” She often finds herself lecturing her fanbase as if she were their father. “Dad Vi back at it again with the lecturing.” “oohh we’re in trouble this time.” “Are we grounded?” 

→StreamerVi! would start streaming less often and get interrogated in her chat. “Where have you been??” “She’s got a girlfriend, guys. Look at her glowing. We’re so cooked.” Vi would scoff at their invasive questions. “I don’t have a girlfriend! I mean… Okay. Yes, I am seeing somebody but they’re not my girlfriend!” She would defend, growing redder the longer she goes on. Not convincing anybody. “Vi lovers. We’re fucked. We lost our chance.” “No offense guys! But none of you had a chance. I’ve just been busy… ANYWAYS! So today’s game…” she would change the subject, afraid she was going to hard launch a relationship that wasn’t even official. 

→StreamerVi! would casually drop the word ‘partner’ every now and again after a while. Accepting that she would never convince anybody that she wasn’t seeing someone. She was and she’s not a liar. 

→Chat would go CRAZYYY. Demanding to meet her partner. “You lecture us like you’re our dad all the time, and suddenly you don’t want to introduce us to your partner??” She gets what her fanbase is saying, but it ultimately depends on what the girlfriend says. Not her. 

→StreamerVi! would beg everybody to be nice when she finally does introduce you to her stream. “Guys, be nice. Don’t be mean like you are to me.” Her fans are offended. “We’re so nice!!” “So this is how you treat people who pay your rent?” “Dad Vi again.”

→StreamerVi!’s fans are nicer to you than to her. “SO pretty!” “How did VI!!! Bag you????” “no offense but she’s out of your league vi.”

→StreamerVi! Is only a little jealous. “So you guys hate me and love them? Well maybe they can just have my channel and I’ll retire since y’all hate me so much.” She’s the ultimate pouter. And pouts even more when chat is seemingly chill with that idea. “Ok! Best idea you’ve had thus far!” “yippee!” She mutes chat after that. 

→You make sporadic appearances on her channel every now and again. Often enough that you’re a ‘recurring character’ on her streams. Her fans love seeing you. Eventually you make your own streaming channel. But you only stream like once a month and it’s usually with Vi there. It’s not your thing as much as it’s hers. And you don’t want to take that away from her. 

→StreamerVi! Doesn’t tell her viewers that she proposed to you. They just happened to catch a glimpse at the engagement rings in various streams over time. “YOO IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS??” “Vi and Y/N engagement era”

→StreamerVi! Keeps a majority of her personal life secret from her viewers. It’s not that she doesn’t trust them with the information of most of her friends or family, or what she does for a living outside of streaming. She just enjoys having that still be private. It’s the small things after getting an online fanbase. She appreciates her fans but they don’t need to know anything. Like the day you guys get married. That’s for her, you and attendees. But, she posts photos from that day whenever she can. One of her top favorite days of her life for sure. 

→StreamerVi! Loves this life she’s miraculously gained. The fans that bully her, the friends she’s made, the games she’s played that she might not have if it weren’t for the viewers pressuring her, and you. 

[ladybyakuya]

| HIGH IN LOW PLACES + natsuki seba & yoichi nagumo.

+cw. — fem!reader, headcanon + scenarios format, canon typical themes and elements, mention of alcohol and drinking,ex.plicit smut{ mention ofunprotected, oral acts }, slight angst and fluff.

+wc. — 2k.

+syn.— how do they generally spend their off day ? Is it any different when you're with them?

+notes. — my sk days debut post. yay! yay! i just caught up with it and im still making memes in my head ( yeah, its that bad </3)tap the banner for better quality </3 cuz tumblr made it so whack after upload. the title is from a song by beach weather ( one of my recent favs ). i have some more wips on sk days but lets see if the starts align or they go against me. wanted add two more characters but i got carried away while writing. so next two for next weekend ig. if you catch my favoritism, then good. go ahead & exploit it ;) | redirect to blog navigation.

✦ natsuki seba : 

The sun has not even kissed the horizon yet. It is still afternoon. Natsuki was busy building one of his work-in-progress weapons as usual even though it was an off day. The JCC is not exactly asleep but is surely a little doused today. JCC never sleeps. You are in his dorm room, waiting for him to finish his work at least to a certain stage and then have lunch with you but you doubt he is barely aware of what time it is. You are not exactly hungry, at least not for those wet soggy noodles but you do miss him even though he is right in front of you. There are times when you have to feed him lunch so that he can keep working. The dorm room is small for two but given the habits of you two, it always works out, somehow. You sleep when he is working while he sleeps when you are busy or out to get something. But currently, sleep is nowhere to be found at the banks of your eyes.

“Natsu, come eat with me,”

Seba turns his head at first and gives you a look; a look that clearly states: “Are you mad?” Do you know how ridiculous you sound? His eyebrows grow closer while his lips pucker forming a pout and then he goes back to working again. He is mocking you. He is working while you sit idle and flip through a porn magazine from his collection. It’s funny because the porn magazine is not his. It is from Shin. He was just looking out for him. Shin thought it was highly uncanny how a guy could make weapons all day and night, and be obsessed with something so odd that one forgets to masturbate. Doesn’t even have the urge? Or better does his curious side not think about such self-pleasurable prospects? Well, what would Shin know?

“Natsu, come eat me out,” 

At first, he looks up from the device he was working on and then spares a glance at you.

You make yourself busy flipping through the pages of that lewd magazine. He is staring. You can feel it.

He goes back to work again but a second later he puts the miniature parts from his hand beside the device and turns his chair towards you rubbing his chin as his elbow stands on the hand-rest of the chair. He is considering it. Holy Shit. You did not mean that.

“Really? Can I?” There is a thin layer of sneer laced underneath his voice.

You closed the magazine and stood up, keeping it on his table. He looks at the cover and a chuckle escapes from his chest probably remembering how he got it or why you ordered him to eat you out; not that he would mind . . . his eyes are back on you again. “Now that I’ve your attention. Finish your lunch and then work on your project.”

“I’m going out to meet someone,” You try to leave but he grabs your wrist pulling you back in front of the bed. 

“You're lying.” he snorts out a chuckle.

“You know,” Natsuki gets up and takes slow steps towards you as you back away cornering you as he still holds your hand. “eating you out . . . that might just be the thing I need to finish my project.”

Wait. what?

Before you can ask anything he just puts you on his shoulders, walks to the bed throwing you on the mattress. For someone who is a weapon engineer, who does not spend time on fieldwork he sure has a lot of strength.

“I didn’t mean it. I just wanted to get your attention that’s all.” you try to protest but it does not faze him, not even a little.

“Well you did a good job.” Grabbing your ankles he pulls you towards the edge of the bed before getting on his knees. He points to the cup noodles. “And, i’m not eating that.”

He pulls down your panties and shorts simultaneously. You do not stop him because you crave him as much as he needs this to de-stress or that’s how he would put it. Spreading your legs he places a trail of tender kisses along your thighs threatening your sanity, threatening the urge to push him away but you simply do not want to do that. You want this: him worshipping you like he used to. The moment his lips graze your entrance you arch back, hands resting on the mattress and crumpling the sheets as Seba gets more devoted to the cause. You put one of your legs over his shoulders as he buries his face deeper inclining his face a little to lap his tongue against your pussy lips. You bite your lower lip roughly before a whisper of words comes out of your mouth, “Ya know, you should return those magazines to Shin,”

“What?” he asks; nose glistening with your arousal, wet lips, cherry cheeks, and excited eyes. A curvature appears along your lips as you run your fingers through his hair and tug at it revealing his forehead forcing his eyes to close just for a second. He is still waiting for your response. 

“Nothing. Get to work,” you say and he listens to it like a good boy.

✦ yoichi nagumo.

“Is it that tasty?” Nagumo asks drinking an o-choko full of sake from your share. His face distorts feeling the strong fizziness. “How can you drink this?” his voice spikes up as he gulps it down. He hates it, hates this, that how you on every weekend would to go Sakamoto stores and buy liquor to drink out your misery. What a waste! He does not understand why you would spend your weekends drinking, especially when he is here. Sakamoto would often tell you to stop drinking but what’s the point? You nod like a good girl, buy some cup noodles and chips and after the store closes Shin arrives with the booze. Shin is knocked out on the floor already. But he is still keeping up with you not that he enjoys it but he is looking for an opportunity to make you stop and in that process, he ended up taking a few shots. He hates it, he hates this. He hates how you make drinks. It stings on his tongue. This is not because he wants to spend his off day with you. He rarely gets a day off and he can not go that to waste, can he now?

“Wanna fuck?”

You look at him with heavy eyes and a flustered face for a few seconds. “No.”

He is stone-cold sober. He is not even that drunk, to begin with. You are. You are still so dizzy and slumber threatening your eyes but you force them open divulging, “Too much work.” Ah! The slur. The slur in your voice. His head tilts as a smile breaks on his face like a plague.

“I’ll do the work.” Nagumo insists. “All of it.” His voice is low, slow. He wants to get through to you. “I’ll make you feel so good.” He does not want you to dismiss his words as just a drunken haze or something like that. He is already neck-deep in guilt for being unable to give as much time he wants, as much as the time you demand and crave from him. He can not sabotage your security but he would not deny that he likes meeting with you in secret; gives him some sort of thrill he thinks. “I promise,” he mumbly adds.

But he does not want to overdo it or wear you out. He can’t. He won’t. He is a good when he is with you. “Woah, careful.”

After moving the bottles and cups aside, now you are all on your fours crawling towards him like a cat. He can see your boobs, the nipples— everything. Wait, is that his tank top? He must have left it when he came to you here last time. He can’t remember when but he remembers he lost that one black tank top.

As you reach, your face inches away from him you lean for a kiss but he sways away. It instantly ruins your mood. He is smirking now as you are pouting. It turns into a snort. “Shin’s still here,” He points at the boy sleeping on the couch. You glance at the boy and then look at Nagumo. He is confused. You are impatient. Fuck it.

You hold on to his shoulders trying to get into his lap, legs sprawled apart and as you make yourself comfortable your legs get clamped around his waist. He does not lose his balance but rather helps you with it.

“Babe, Shin’s still here,” Nagumo repeats making you remember.

“Don’t care,” you shout and Nagumo covers your mouth with his palm while his index finger stills over his lips shushing you. You nod. It seems he got through to you.

You do not allow him to dodge him anymore.

You lean into his hand that is still over your mouth, nuzzling against his palm. He shoves his fingers into your hair, his index finger grazing behind your ears igniting your skin with goosebumps. His thumb roughly stretches across your bottom lip before you kiss the tip of it but he swats his hand away before you could suck on it; grabbing his other arm and you slide it under the blacktop. Nagumo does not squeeze your boobs. Not yet. He does not want to do it, not like this. Last time, both of you were sober and now both of you are drunk: you on alcohol and him on you. You buck your hips trying to get closer to him. 

“God Nagumo, why are you being like this? You said you'd do all the work. . .”

because it's amusing. The fact that you are scolding him with a whispering tone is making him tremble in mirth. He is barely holding it; you are frustrated, drunk, and horny. God! What is he going to do with you? Can he really hold himself back? Maybe he should not have proposed the idea in the first place. His hands are stretched, settled on the floor as he watches you: intently, nervously.

“Kiss me.”

And your lips instantly dance against his in a frenzy yet his hands are still on the floor. Even in this state, you manage to unbuckle his belt with one hand as the other works on the buttons of his shirt. It turns him on how swift you are too. You would be very skilled in his line of work. Maybe you are, too skilled that he did not even notice. Nah! you can't be a spy.

“Put it in” you command this time breaking the kiss. Nagumo was just starting to get to the good part of the kiss only to get deprived of it. He does not waste a second to abide by your said words. If he did, he might have to walk out thinking out the possibilities of how odd it was for a first meeting with you.

Strong hands against the plush of your hip as he adjusts his cock to your entrance. He pushes aside your panty before rubbing it against your entrance. Your hands squeeze the muscles of his shoulders.

“Without . . . condom?”

So, is that why he was delaying it? You thought he didn't want this but mentioned it for the sake of pity and now he is trying to get on your nerves to wake Shin up.

Your brain freezes after such a flow of info. You give him a nod.

Nagumo swallows before his cock goes inside without rubber. It's electric: the feeling of your flesh around his.

“Take me to that room,” you gasp out the words.

“What?”

“I said what I said.”

You become so handful when drunk not that he minds. He takes you to the room kicking back the door behind you to close before crashing onto the bed.

The next morning Shin has to buy a pair of black trousers for Nagumo and he does it without even questioning. He really does not wanna know what happened after he took you inside the room.

@underratedcharactercorner

@interstellar-inn

[occamstfs]

MuskMask Up

Found footage of the missing persons Eddie Leon and Bowen Chen, last seen vlogging at a new gym with a mandatory mask policy. Well documented is what seems to happen when one forgets theirs.

Mixing it up a bit! Diary entries within a short metanarrative police investigation- Meat of the story is coworkers bulking up at an advanced rate after borrowing masks from the gym, hope you enjoy! -Occam

The following footage was found by the now missing-in-action Detective Smith during a missing persons investigation of civilians Eduardo “Eddie” Leon and Bowen Chen. If you have any information on the whereabouts of the pair or Detective Smith please call APD with information.

February 1st:

The scene opens with Eddie’s face inches away from a tripod he’s setting up. Behind him, stretching outside the entrance to a gym, is coworker Bowen Chen. Eddie smiles once he sees the camera has begun recording and backs away to start the first vlog on his journey to better health. Hopping up and waving both hands with abandon, he does just that.

“Heyyy guys! Today’s day one of hitting the gym with Bowen! Obviously he knows what he’s doing so this whole thing should be a piece of cake- I mean look at him!” He gestures to his friend mid-drink of water and Bowen quickly chokes it down before shyly responding. Face blushing pink as he’s clearly not nearly as comfortable on camera.

“Ah, uhm- Yes. Hello, audience? I’ve been ah uhm, steady? At the gym for a few years now and Eddie was wondering if I could show him the ropes. Sooo, uhm.” Eduardo was very clear that he was going to be doing a vlog about the whole thing but Bowen had no idea how much a camera would put him on edge. Seeing him flounder and hearing every word come quieter than the last Eddie quickly picks up the slack.

“So yeah! We’re going to a new gym that opened up, all their ads brag about retention rate and quick results which is what I’m all about haha!” Seeing a man in a face mask come through the automatic doors behind him Eddie claps his hands and tacks on, “OH! They also still require face masks which, I don’t mind,” he playfully grasps his friend’s jaw causing blush to return over a shy grin, “it does mean you might be seeing less of this little cutie’s face but so it goes~ When in Brome hee hee!” 

Bowen’s phone goes off as a timer set to ensure the pair stretch for long enough comes to an end. He then chastises Eddie for spending so long of their prep time vlogging before crossing his arms and resetting the clock to make sure his trainee stretches. Eddie quickly turns off the vlog with a wink, “Yikes already on his bad side haha~ See y’all later!”

February 9th:

“Helloooo guys~ Took my mask off real quick to record this.” He pauses to sniff the air and almost gags as he smells the musk of the gym, usually covered by his mask. “God is this what all gyms smell like?” Looking down at his sweat stained body and glistening chest he grimaces as he guesses he’s certainly not helping. Shaking it off he returns to his vlog, “Hm. I’ll edit that out- Helloooo Guys! You would not believe how much progress I’ve made already!”

He does a small flex and it’s clear he has put on more weight than would be expected, or rather more weight in a week than should be possible. “No one tells you how much you have to eat to put on mass, guys! Or I guess- Bowen told me huh?” He giggles and then jolts upright and turns the camera to his trainer working at a machine. “Speaking of gains there Mr. Mass is himself.” Behind the lens Eddie continues, “I forgot my mask today so the sweetie let me borrow his. Hear that ladies? This hunk’s also a gentleman. Someone get a ring on that finger!”

As Eddie continues to film Bowen’s reps it’s clear that something besides the effort is causing him discomfort. In fact it almost seems like the workout isn’t bothering him at all as he rolls his eyes before bending down to put more weight on the machine. With a free hand he plugs his nose to have the slightest moment of freedom from the musky scent that must be distracting him. Then as soon as he grunts through his first rep at the new weight a figure appears behind him, wearing a mask over the whole of his head and taps on his shoulder before clearly preparing to confront him.

“Oop, oh shit-” Eddie whispers, too far from his trainer to know what exactly the little confrontation is about, but after a few gestures to his maskless face it’s pretty clear. The sound of Eddie quickly putting his mask back on can be heard behind the camera as across the gym Bowen clearly nods a few times, assumedly acquiescing, motioning to pack up and head back later. He apologies and gestures for Eddie to head to the locker room but then the sweaty masked man waves him off and pats him on the back, pulling out a mask from his sweatpants.

Bowen’s gasp is loud enough to be heard enough on camera as he backs into the machine in shock as the brute holds out a mask retrieved from his sweaty pants. He waves his hands clear as day that he’s not about to put on that must-be stained mask. Eddie quickly gets off his machine and starts to head over check in on his friend. He knows Bowen hates attention and is wont to fold at any confrontation but surely he’s not about to be pressured into putting on that dirty rag.

Keeping the camera trained on Bowen just in case, he’s too focused on the shot to really notice the fear in the man’s eyes as he stares up at the masked figure. And then, with a gulp, Bowen shakily accepts the mask, close enough to read lips one could just about make out Bowen’s whispered apology, “I’m sorry sir it won’t happen again” And then he does the unthinkable and puts on the dirty mask. Eddie reacts quietly enough only for the camera to pick up, “Jesus Christ- Bo!? What are you doing?!” 

After the masked man pats Bowen on the back, harder than one surely should, and offers a rough handshake, he departs. The camera captures a few more frames as Eddie walks the final few feet over. While not covered in sweat, it’s clear that the mask on Bowen’s face is wrinkled and has a small dark patch in its corner. Either from the workout or from the anxious confrontation, the trainer is clearly breathing heavily. 

With each breath his eyes begin to glisten glassy. Staring off into the middle distance he adjusts his pants and seems distracted as each heaving breath strives to be deeper than the one that came before, as each gasp of musky air tries to instill more of the essence trapped within the wretched mask. His eyes almost begin to cross in the last frame before Eddie puts his phone in his pocket, leaving the last few seconds of the recording audio only. “Uhhhhm, Hey Bowen? What the fuck was that?”

There is a few seconds pause followed by the sound of presumably Bowen swallowing saliva before he answers “Oh! Uhhh yeah? I don’t know dude?” “Dude?” “Sorry my head feels like it’s swimming, Eddie? That was so uhh, intense-” The sound of adjusting clothing again comes through, someone pulling on the elastic band of their underwear.

Realizing the whole confrontation only happened because he forgot his own mask, Eddie apologizes, “That wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t take yours. Look we can swap if you-”“NO.” Silence follows once more before Bowen continues, “No I uhm- don’t mind br- Eddie. How about we call it there and head home?” Eduardo agrees and the pair head off to the locker room. After a few steps the recording ends.

February 15th:

The image begins as usual of Eddie from afar, though the sound of weight’s clanging is far louder than usual. After a few false starts interrupted by the din of falling metal, the vlogger walks a few feet away and begins talking to the camera, “Hey everyone, quick update this time-” Flexing to himself he takes a moment to address his continued growth before in the distance he hears brash, deep laughter and what little of his face is revealed makes his worry clear as day.

“I’m still chugging along but Bowen has, well blown up? Ever since the last vlog when that asshole made him wear a dirty mask it’s almost like he’s a totally different person? Here, look-” Eddie quickly pans the camera over to a man almost unrecognizable resting on a bench. Beyond having arms as large as Bowen’s legs should be, the man’s demeanor is indeed entirely different. He flexes his arm and moans to himself as he sees a central vein pushing against the strained shirt sleeve.

“Is it steroids? Do you think? OH! He’s also started using the masks the gym provides- Are there like, inhale-y steroids?” The vlogger quickly heads to the web to research, paying no mind to what the lens catch as the camera unintentionally witnesses the massive man lumbering up from his bench, leaving an unwiped sweat stain in his wake.

Massive pecs bounce with each step and thighs strain his shorts as he makes his way over to Eddie, “YO! Edster- Come help me stretch!” Eddie flinches as he’s shouted at, groaning uncomfortably he obeys his trainer. Forgetting he was taking a vlog at all he sets his phone down. The air fills with groans, cracking bones, and almost deliberately loud grunts from Bowen.

“You know I seem to remember you wanting to not put on too much weight Bo?” 

There’s a deep guffaw, “Pshyeah, but y’know, when the muscle-bug bites huhuh!” The sound of his sleeves straining from a performative flex covers up his breathy moan from hyperextension. “Woah bro, why do you look so down?”

Clearly not thinking his mood would be caught by a man whose only gear has suddenly become self-obsessed, Eddie stumbles, “Well I don’t know, I guess? I’m just worried about- You just seem a little different is all.

“Huh.” There’s a long silence interrupted only by the buzz of music and clanging weights far off. Then there’s a quick gasp as in one motion Bowen stands and hoists Eddie into the air, “woAH! Bo! Put me down!” 

“Huhuh no bro I get it- You don’t know why you’re not seein’ results as good as mine I totally get it!” Eddie grunts and gags in arms that truly could snap him in half, “Ugh B- you’re so sweaty ple-ugh.” Squirming in the behemoth’s grasp his face is forced into sweaty pecs that promptly stain his mask a dark blue. “God you’re going to get your b.o. All over me dude-” 

There are a few more seconds of complaint before Bowen finally drops his little buddy. Picking up his phone there’s a look of concern or questioning on his face, any number of thoughts soar through his mind, has Bowen always been that tall? Why has he grown so much? What happened to him, is it going to happen to me? And then he takes a deep breath. A sigh in relief or irritation, it’s unclear, but it doesn’t matter. The camera gets a much better glimpse this time as the gym-goer breaths in the oh-so musky, mask filtered air.

Under the mask his mouth squrims into a grimace, but already eyes begin to give way to thoughtless longing. With another breath one twitches while the other falls open wide, wanting nothing more than to mainline the scent directly into his nervous system. Pupils dilate large enough to almost hide his cacao irises before a meaty hand pats him on the back, “Earth to Eddo- Bro? You comin’ to wash up or what huhuh!” Jarred back to sentience, Eddie nods and follows him, the recording ending a few moments after.

February 22nd:

The camera alights on someone unrecognizable baring his torso for fans he doesn’t yet have, though the glazed look in his eyes is more than enough hint to prove it is the vlogger before he introduces himself. “Yoooo guys! Back at it again with Bowen, how’re we lookin?”

Eddie flexes a thick bicep and smirks under his mask, adjusting it as he laughs. It’s deeper, slower, a far cry from his usual giggle. “oh yeah, I’ve been usin’ the gyms masks just like Bowen said. And I gotta say, I think they’re the real secret of this place, I’ve just been packin’ on muscle since I started borrowing them.”

Standing to his side, Bowen makes himself known, somehow even bulkier than last time. Veins criss cross his forearms and shoulders stretch wide enough that it’s a wonder he was able to even get the suctioned compression shirt om. The thin elastic straps of his mask almost snap as he speaks up, the meek camera-shy man he once was clearly erased from his mind, “I’m saying Ed! Don’t know why you were holdin’ out on trying them after seeing how much I’ve grown!” Bowen crosses his arms and his top is stretched to his limits.

Eddie laughs before his eyes go dull as laughter leaves him with no choice but to take yet another deep breath. Lost in a thought that seems to never come, his words are barely audible enough to be caught by the camera almost mistakable for a moan, it may as well be one. He whispers “need more.” Drawn out like a death knell his vocal chords creak as they lengthen. And then, the camera captures the impossible.

It looks as if it’s edited. Arms go limp as they hang lower, bloat larger, heavier, barely staying in their sockets before his shoulders similarly bulge into thick balls of muscle. Pecs that have existed for less than a month push his sweaty tank top to its limits. The bench on which he rests creaks under his weight as thighs send tears through athletic shorts that were already too tight to wear. 

Behind him, his massive trainer’s eyes widen as he pauses his workout to stare at Eddie’s growth. Hungrily watching as individual strands of muscle flex and surge. Were his own mask not already sweat-stained, the drool frothing from his mouth may be more apparent. Bowen lets his weights clatter to the floor as he staggers close and leans in close to Eddie’s neck, sniffing like a predator, releasing something in between a whimper and grown as his scarred palms clench at his prey-apparent’s biceps, still bulging larger in his hands.

Bowen’s chest, over doubled in size since he began frequenting this gym, produces a rumble low enough to barely register as words. Through his mask he teeths the man’s neck, “Think I got another idea to get some gains Eddie.” This stirs the man from his reveries though does not for minute stop his growth as he bolts to his feet, almost falling forward from the new weight on his chest. Surely he would have had the man about to work him out maintained the iron grip on his arm.

Not another word is heard from the pair as they swiftly retreat to the locker room. The tripod continues filming until Eddie’s phone dies and contains little else of note. Other gym goers wander around the background, all of them masked and many of them stare forward with the same glazed eyes as they sit at various machines, laughing to themselves, breathing heavily, and lifting more with each heaving rep. Just before his phone dies and the recording ends, the man who gave Bowen his mask collects the tripod, through his mask a smile is clear on his face.

On March fifteenth newly promoted Detective Archie Smith follows up on a lead from coworkers of the missing men that the pair had recently started hitting up the Musclerade Gym. something about vlogging. The detective didn’t care. Miraculously, almost immediately did he find a pair of men who identify as Eduardo and Bowen. The only thing is-both resolutely deny ever having worked in an office building. Beyond that, it barely takes a glance to tell that despite their names and races that they cannot be the men in question. By sheer body weight alone, it’s impossible

Sure Mr. Chen looks healthy enough in his license photo but that massive hunk that stands before him could punch straight through the Detective. With a gulp Archie finds his eyes desperately wanting to trace the powerful muscles, begging for his attention through spandex and strained nylon. He finds his attention drawn to his own crotch as he can’t help but trace the veins on ‘Eduardo’s’ flexing arms to a hairy armpit dripping with sweat. Before he’s lost to his lusts however, he comes to his senses as the acrid musk pouring from both men sears his nose.

With a grunt he shakes off the beyond unprofessional distraction and meets the eyes of both men, neither too pleased to see the officer in their space. He fakes a smile and turns to continue his investigation before being intercepted by a man who seems to be of some authority, pulling him off to the side. Only his eyes are visible which sets Archie on edge. “What seems to be the problem officer?”

He explains his case and the mystery man calls the pair over, their harsh glares soften and Eddie laughs as he’s reminded of his little vlogs. Apparently the pair are trainers at the gym which despite some strange ping at the back of his mind, ignoring something screaming from his gut, when he sees their sculpted forms, smells their noxious odors, he can’t help but believe them. The masked man even offers to give him the recorded film, that is as long as he’s okay adhering to the gym’s guidelines while he waits.

There’s a glint in the eyes of both massive men now standing behind him as they each dislodge wrinkled masks from stained pants that have clearly suffered at least one gym session. Prepared to suffer more discomfort than this to sate his curiosity he throws on one of the hopefully unused masks. It’s at this point that the case goes cold. 

This recounting of events, along with a copy of Eduardo Leon’s ‘vlogs’ were found sloppily scrawled on some magazines near the shredded uniform of Officer Smith. It doesn’t seem to be his handwriting unless he were racing quite hastily against, well. I haven’t quite the idea what. I suppose it is of some note that they were next to a bloated member of the gym who didn’t have any I.D. on him. His clothes seemed to be from a lost and found as they didn’t fit quite right. We were unable to further investigate his identity, but without a doubt it simply could not be Officer Smith.

The junior officer who retrieved the evidence could scarcely spend five minutes next to the man, and given Smith’s predilections towards order and cleanliness it simply could not be him. Unfortunately the state of the gym put the officer in such unease that he did no further investigation. It’s a shame as when an investigation team was sent the following day it was as if the gym was never there. I am not one for flights of fancy, it is my belief that the whole situation was simply some drug front, perhaps steroids. At any rate should you see, or perhaps smell any of these men. I advise caution. And under no circumstances should you borrow one of their face masks, obviously.

Included above are to our best knowledge are the most recent sightings of Bowen Chen, Eduardo Leon, and finally a third depicting Eduardo alongside who we believe to be the man of interest found nearby Officer Smith’s uniform. It seems they haven’t stopped growing, that is, if this all isn’t some wild goose chase. Again, if you have information do report to APD. Though please refrain from submitting any, biological material. We have lost enough of the forensics department to this mania as is.

[yokedtablet]

Ellie asks Abby for advice on how to up her strap game and Abby volunteers to help her practice before her date (with Dina?)

-🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

Off Limits

Contents: cursed roommate situationship, TENSION, teasing, minor humiliation, cheating, bad decisions, strap-on sex, strap sucking, dom bottom Abby, sub top Ellie, big clit Abby (it’s canon I swear), the boxers stay on during sex, overstimulation, unresolved feelings wc: 3.6k

“You’re wearing it wrong.”

This is the worst idea she’s ever had. 

Ellie’s standing in the living room, purple silicone strap jutting from her fully-clothed hips like a flag at half-mast. Abby leans over the kitchen counter, scrolling on her phone, eating chips with the other hand.

Ellie turns to head back to her room. Terrible, terrible fucking idea, asking Abby for help. “I’m just going to—”

“Don’t go anywhere, Williams.” Abby sets down her phone, stretches. She’s wearing a black tank top that clings to her abs, arms and shoulders on full display—not that she usually covers up around the house, anyway. “Let me see.” 

Ellie just stands there, face turning progressively more red as Abby crosses the living room with no urgency. And then she gets on her knees. 

That makes her feel something she absolutely, definitely, should not feel. 

Because this is for Dina. It was Dina’s idea in the first place, when they stopped outside the sex shop window and Dina dragged her in. Dina was the one that picked it out, and Ellie didn’t buy it then—she had to order it online, so that the cashier with the cool lip piercing wouldn’t know it was her. And also so she could surprise her girlfriend.

The problem is, she has no idea how to use it. Apparently, she doesn’t even know how to wear it.

Abby doesn’t seem to feel weird about this interaction at all, though. She tugs lightly at the harness, pulling Ellie’s hips toward her. Ellie tries to stay stable, balanced, as she loosens them, then pulls the strap downward so that it sits lower, almost between her legs. 

When Abby cinches the harness tighter, she feels the soft plastic settle against her clit, which is probably an indication that it’s in the right place. It also makes her suck in a breath, blush deepening. 

“Yeah, that’s better.” Abby stands and heads back to the counter, this time facing away from Ellie. She leans over to grab another chip, thighs and glutes stretching through jogging shorts. 

Ellie doesn’t really remember how to breathe. 

She reaches down, not really thinking, and strokes the shaft of the strap downward, testing the friction against her body. It gives her a warm, tingly feeling. Abby’s not looking—but she still shouldn’t be jerking off in front of her. 

They’re roommates. They’ve lived together for four years, and Ellie’s gone through several different girlfriends in that time. Dina for the past two. Dina is the only one who’s stuck. Abby never really warmed up to her, just kind of tolerated her presence through silent movie nights and awkward morning-after breakfasts. 

Why she agreed to help Ellie with her little problem, Ellie has no idea. 

Abby turns, still leaning over the counter. Her eyes flick to Ellie’s hand on the strap. Her expression doesn’t change. Not much.

“Do you know how to use it?”

“Would I have asked you if I did?” 

Ellie hates this, hates the way Abby needs to feel superior no matter what it is they’re doing—has to drag the admission out of her that she’s actually pretty lost and incompetent. Usually it’s about stupid things, like how Ellie doesn’t know what the check engine light on her dash means, or how to change the tire on her bike, or how to put together their IKEA coffee table. That night, Abby came home after she’d been working on it for hours, grabbed one of the legs out of her hands, re-attached the bracket she’d had on backwards, and handed it back. Then gave her a shrug to say, it’s easy when I do it.

Abby settles onto the couch, thighs spread wide, staring her down. “Show me.”

“You—what?”

“Show me what you’re going to do with it.” 

Ellie doesn’t know exactly what she’s asking for, and thrusting her hips into the air with the strap attached feels like potentially the most humiliating act on earth, aside from that one time she slipped and fell in the shower and had to talk Abby out of calling the fire department. 

Ellie groans, shoulders collapsing. “This is stupid. I’m not doing this.”

Abby softens, but just a little. It feels immediately condescending. “You need to get over whatever weird hangup you have about this if you want my help. Seriously. It’s not a big deal.”

When Ellie doesn’t react, she gives her a gentle nod. “C’mere.”

Ellie approaches, slowly, like she’s afraid Abby will reach out and bite her at any moment. 

“So, you want to surprise her. You want fuck her with it for the first time, like she’s been begging you to. Right?” 

The way she says it is so… clinical. Her eyebrows jump, waiting for Ellie to respond. 

“Yeah.”

“You’re gonna have to be more confident about it than that. Say it like you actually want to fuck her. Just pretend I’m her for a second.” Abby shifts on the couch, straightening her back, sitting more upright.

Ellie laughs. “Is that supposed to be Dina?”

“Yes. Shut up.”

Ellie hums in the back of her throat. She studies the purple cock between her legs. She shifts her hips back and forth lightly, making it swing a little. Then she steadies it with her hand, allowing herself just a little bit of brushing contact with her clit. “Yeah, uh. Gonna fuck you so good, baby.”

Abby collapses back against the couch cushions. “Jesus, Ellie. No.” 

“What?!”

“Does that usually work with girls?”

“I don’t usually talk… that much.”

“Okay, fine.” Abby composes herself again, trying and failing to look like she’s not enjoying this. “No talking, then.”

Ellie slumps onto the couch beside her. She feels completely stupid, utterly ridiculous. “Maybe I shouldn’t even do this.”

It’s quiet for a minute, before Abby’s warm palm meet’s Ellie’s thigh, just above the knee. She squeezes lightly. It’s a kind of tenderness Abby doesn’t usually show her. “Ellie. You’ve been talking about this for months.”

She has. She’s been practically bouncing off the walls with nervous energy, waiting for it to arrive, thinking over and over about how Dina will react when she sees it. The surprise, those dark eyes glinting darker. The thought alone makes something in her stomach twist. 

Abby’s hand slides up her thigh, over her sweats, then boings the strap with one finger. It vibrates against Ellie’s pelvis, sending waves of not-quite-enough pleasure through her core.

“Besides, I think you look kinda cute with it on.”

“Abby. Stop.” Ellie hides her face in her hands, trying to ignore the warmth in her stomach—which is inevitably spreading to her cheeks. She’s always been extremely easy to fluster, and Abby knows exactly how to take advantage of that.

“I’m serious.” From behind her hands, Ellie feels the change in Abby’s tone. No longer teasing or condescending. Like she actually means it. “You could be a real menace with that thing if you wanted to.”

Twist and click. Something settles in Ellie’s mind, some knowing she’s always had but never looked at head-on—like she can’t look at Abby now. She’d hoped, always telling herself this was off limits, it could never happen. It’s wrong because Abby’s her roommate. It’s wrong because of Dina.

But suddenly Abby’s coldness toward her first real girlfriend makes sense. Abby, ever dissecting, can see her starting to understand. Seeing the threads come apart.

“Abby—”

“You wanted me to show you, right?”

She’s always been impulsive. It’s how she ends up working odd jobs she hates, or smoking cigarettes with strangers, or driving out to the country for no real reason. She acts before she thinks. It’s very her.

So she nods, body reacting before her brain can process what this really means.

Abby stands, this time a little more stiffly. She spends an unnecessary amount of time tightening her braid, and then she settles into a low kneel—between Ellie’s legs, nudging them apart slightly to make more space. 

Ellie can’t breathe. She can’t move. She sits there, completely still, just staring. And Abby stares back, eyes so hard they burn. 

And then that hand on her thigh again—this time on the inside edge, this time inching upward slowly, as a question. 

“Tell me to stop.”

She wants to. She should. But her throat is dry and whatever the fuck is happening right now is something she doesn’t want to end.

The pressing thought of Dina flutters and dissipates the moment Abby’s hand reaches the base of the strap, holding it gently. Looking up. She gives Ellie one final moment to resist, then places a soft kiss on the silicone tip. 

Ellie slaps a hand over her mouth to cover the pathetic sound that was about to come out of her. It’s not like she can feel it. But it’s exactly the absence of feeling, the promise of feeling, that makes her shudder. 

Abby smiles at her, sharp and devious. “Jesus, you’re a mess. I haven’t even touched you.”

Ellie’s hips push into Abby’s hand, thrusting the strap toward her—asking, begging, for something more. She knows how pathetic she looks. She knows it’s exactly what Abby wants, and she can’t bring herself to care. 

Eyes never leaving Ellie’s, Abby lowers herself until her cheek rests in the crook of Ellie’s hip—the warm, heavy weight of her, dampened through Ellie’s sweats. Then she licks a slow stripe from the base of the strap to the tip. 

She can’t hold it in this time—a moan that’s half curse and half nonsense and half “Abby,” which is too many halves, because Ellie is in pieces. She grabs for Abby’s hair as some kind of anchor, pulling her head back a little too hard. 

Abby’s teeth are gritted, eyes hard. She lets Ellie hold her there for a minute too long, and then Ellie lets go, and Abby is pulling away from her, and fuck, Ellie feels like she’s been punched in the gut. 

Taller, bigger than she’s been, Abby towers over her. Her face is flushed with something like anger. 

“Room. Now.”

Words mean things, right? These words definitely mean something. Things that Ellie isn’t quite ready to make sense of. She is, however, leaping off the couch, following Abby’s fast clip to her bedroom, and stepping inside before Abby slams the door shut.

It’s warmer in here. The smaller space traps both their body heat against them in the layers of clothes on the floor and stacks of Abby’s books and bath towel on the wall and powerlifter posters on the walls. She feels Abby’s heat even before she gets close to her, and now she’s closing in, so close that Ellie can feel her breath on her forehead.

Thick fingers pinch the waistband of Ellie’s sweats. “You can keep these on, but it won’t feel as good.”

Ellie lets out a breathless laugh, trying hard not to press herself up against Abby’s toned body right now. “Are you trying to get me naked?”

Abby’s thumb brushes her jaw. “I don’t care—” Voice tense, full of care.

It shouldn’t be this easy. It shouldn’t feel this natural for Ellie to shrug the harness off her hips, and then her sweatpants, kicking them away, until she’s just in her boxers and a t-shirt that’s too thin. Abby’s thumbprint is searing into her skin, and she’s so close and too far away, and not touching her enough. Why won’t she touch her?

She doesn’t ask. She stands on her toes, reaching, and kisses her. Abby’s lips are hard, unresponsive for a moment, before they softly open. Ellie’s tongue slips inside. 

Firm hands pull at her waist, her hips, until their bodies are flush, and Ellie feels like she might catch on fire. She squirms, hand tensing in Abby’s tank top for dear life, when Abby dips a hand lower, between her thighs. She murmurs something into Abby’s mouth.

Her touch is blunt, antagonistic, fingers working over her underwear. Ellie’s knees give, only held up against Abby’s bodyweight. 

And then the touch is gone, and Ellie stumbles. Abby nudges her backward a little too hard, making space between them, just looks her over, up and down. Wipes her mouth on her forearm.

“That’s not what you asked me for.” 

It’s like a tearing, wrenching feeling in her gut. She fucked it up. She shouldn’t have kissed her. But then Abby’s eyes drift to the floor where the strap lies, discarded.

“Put it on.”

Abby peels off her tank top—she’s not wearing anything underneath—then her shorts and underwear in one smooth movement. And Ellie chokes on air.

It’s not like she’s never seen her half-naked. Abby’s not really huge on modesty. All those post-shower occasions Ellie ran into her in the kitchen, towel wrapped around her hips with nothing covering her top half, and tried incredibly hard not to stare. But now she sees it, the way Abby’s eyebrows arch—the way she dares her to look. It’s always been an invitation, a dare, and Ellie is the most oblivious fucking person in the world. 

She dares—allows—Ellie’s gaze to drift lower, to the light curls that start at the v-line of her hips and intensify over her mound, clenched between thick thighs. And—holy fucking hell. She’s imagined it, and she was actually right. The tip of Abby’s clit pokes through her curls, even standing like this. She would be on her knees with her mouth on it, right fucking now, if Abby didn’t clearly have other plans for her.

“Sit.” 

She makes it to the edge of the bed, just barely, before her knees give. She wants to collapse, but instead she props herself up, now sitting flush with Abby’s hips. There’s that thumb on Ellie’s jaw again. Brushing. It slips toward Ellie’s lower lip, urging her mouth open.

Then Abby is climbing on top of her, straddling her hips, weight sinking into the mattress. Her warm thighs frame Ellie’s, the weight of her hips coming to rest on Ellie’s pelvis. 

The purple strap rests between them, against Abby’s abdomen and mound. Ellie can only admire it there, the way it brushes soft curls with the gentle movement of their bodies. 

“If you don’t want—”

“Abby.” It’s all she can get out, and Abby knows exactly what she means. How fucking dare she think Ellie would back out now. 

That’s all it takes. 

Abby rises to her knees, all concentration and flexed muscle, and positions the strap where she needs it. The moment Ellie feels the tip meet resistance, base rutting low into her clit, she starts to whimper. She grabs onto Abby’s ass just to have something, anything solid to hold onto, and Abby hisses as she sinks down onto it, silicone stretching that ring of tight muscle. 

“Fuck, Abby.” Wetness spreads inside her boxers. She knows she’s ruining them. She’s just barely holding it together, because Abby is giving Ellie her full weight, the strap buried inside her. They barely move, Ellie just feeling the pressure against her, watching Abby’s chest tighten, her breaths get shallow. 

Abby grabs the back of her neck and pulls her into a kiss. She’s rough, needy, tongue searching. Abby lifts herself and sinks back down, and all the warmth and clenching sends ripples down the shaft and straight through Ellie’s core. 

Her hips rise to meet Abby’s—at first tentative, then giving her more. More impact, more depth, until she feels Abby growl against her throat. Ellie grips her ass tighter, soft and tense all at once, and uses it to thrust herself upward until she’s doing most of the work. 

Every thrust sends a spasm of need through her cunt, the strap hitting the top of her clit, not giving her enough. She’s sweating and Abby’s sweating and she needs more skin, so when Abby pulls her shirt over her head, she doesn’t resist. Abby’s fingers roll over her nipples, hard and pinching, like she’s trying to pull Ellie up into her harder. Her hips work frantically, not enough space under Abby’s, not enough—

“Can we—”

Abby’s nodding, stray hairs plastered to her scalp with sweat, and lifts herself off of Ellie’s lap slowly. Ellie nearly cums just from the sight of the strap, now slick with Abby’s juices, glistening. She pumps it in her fist, shameless, grinding the base into her clit and feeling her own wetness soak through her underwear. God, she needs this, she needs it so bad.

She needs Abby, who sprawls out on the mattress, knees bent so that Ellie can see exactly what she’s doing to her. 

She surprises Abby and herself, lifting Abby’s hips so they rest over her own. She wants to rush, heart and cunt throbbing in equal rhythm, but forces herself to slow down. To savor. She runs her hands up Abby’s thighs, thumbs coming to rest in curls that are already wet. Massaging slowly, inching toward the place Abby needs her most.

She watches Abby’s head fall back, abs clenching, hands grabbing blindly at the bedsheets. And Ellie is the one doing this to her. If she had known… If she had known, this would have happened a hell of a lot sooner. 

She sinks two fingers into Abby’s cunt in a way that makes her clench down instinctively. Fuck. The warmth, the sheer strength of Abby’s muscles, gripping her tightly. She can barely move inside of her, so she drags her other hand over Abby’s clit, which makes her hips buck into Ellie’s touch. 

It pulses against her palm. Abby makes low, desperate noises, hips grinding for more friction. Lost in it. 

Ellie savors this as long as Abby will let her. The teasing, the probing of Abby’s body for tender spots that make her twitch and whine. Using her wetness to slick her pulsing clit, stroking its underside, thumbing over the tip until Abby tries to jerk away, only succeeding in pressing herself harder into Ellie’s fingers. 

And she’s fed up pretty quickly, because Abby can be patient, but not that patient, and Ellie’s own need is rolling through her with a new intensity. So when Abby rasps out, “Just fuck me already,” Ellie does exactly what she asks. 

The strap sinks into her easily, this time with a thrust of Ellie’s pelvis, so hard it makes Abby gasp. There’s a momentary pause—a glance, a nod—another yes, another yes, I’ve been waiting, I’ve been trying to tell you, I need—

Ellie fucks into her fast and hard. This new angle brings the base of the strap against her perfectly, sliding against her clit until she’s climbing faster than she means to, nails biting into Abby’s thighs. Her pace gets erratic and reckless, knowing she should slow down, but fuck fuck fuck

She doesn’t mean to, she usually doesn’t, and it happens too quickly, and her own thighs are shaking under Abby’s as she comes, clit throbbing hard against the strap. She’s been holding her breath and lets it out, fingers scrabbling to ground herself, trying and failing—

Abby isn’t finished. She rolls her hips in slow circles, watching Ellie twitch and shudder. 

It’s too much. She burns hot, almost doubling over, but Abby’s ankles lock behind her. 

“Abby, I can’t—”

Abby pushes herself up just enough to yank Ellie down on top of her, legs still sealed around her hips. Ellie sinks deeper. Her open mouth meets Abby’s chest, tongue slick, tasting salt. 

“You will.”

Ellie tries to find her pace again, hips stuttering, head and gut swimming with too much, and she chokes out a sob as Abby rushes to meet her—harder, unforgiving. 

“Good, Ellie.” Her voice is tight and thick, and Ellie can feel her tensing erratically. “Just a— little more.”

And she tries, she really tries, redoubling her efforts, finding her rhythm despite the burning ache that threatens to rise up and overtake her. And it is, it will, she can’t—

She’s not sure if the wetness on her thighs is Abby’s or her own, because Abby grips her tightly, trapping her inside while she comes. Ellie can’t untangle herself, can’t possibly find her own limbs, the ends of her body, and doesn’t want to. She’s melted, fucked-out, not a thought in her mind besides this this this over and over. 

It’s Abby that moves, finally. Abby that lifts Ellie effortlessly off of her, out of her, Ellie whining at the loss of contact. Ellie can only flop into the bed as Abby draws herself up, stands naked in the room, lingers there.

“I need a shower.” She says it plainly, like she’d say to her any other day. Like she’s her regular roommate again, not the roommate who just fucked her until her brain stopped working. 

Abby grabs her towel, and then she’s gone.

Ellie listens—sounds of the faucet running, the shower turned on, water splashing at regular intervals. Abby washing her off. Her skin is still sticky with sweat, her lips raw, her boxers soaked with her and Abby all over them. She won’t ever take them off. 

This means something. There’s a shift, something falling, blankets sliding onto the floor. Ellie has broken something open inside herself with sharp edges that will cut whatever she touches. Abby, Dina, anyone who comes close. She knows this. She knows she’ll have to face it.

For now, she lets the rushing of the shower fill her ears, drown the buzzing in her mind. For now, she lets herself sink. 

-------

Taglist: @smellslike-updyke @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @cinnamonstrr @elliemulate @gardengnosticator @arabellyn @abbysreal-wife @winestainedwhiskers @thenameissnix @enmauchimaki @rareanduselessbird @justanotherabbystan @glass-apothecary @hostileplanets (reply to be added or removed!)

[skeletonh0e]

The boys in heat

Extremely self indulgent UT Sans x Reader, US x Reader, UF Sans x Reader, HT Sans x Reader, and UL Sans x Reader. Talks of impregnation, breeding and a lot of overstimulating. AFAB Anatomy but pronouns are gender neutral. NSFW obvs

No trigger warnings I think? Some minor blood & cnc play with Horror Sans + cum inflation with Underlust Sans but that's it

🔞 Minors DNI

Classic Sans :

Awkward is the best term to describe him during this time, Sans does not like being out of control of his body in any form and his heat especially as it progresses is gonna be an experience to say it lightly

Generally hard to be easy and laid back when your body is not uh....not that

He deliberately does not tell you about it, avoids sex like the plague, and is just generally acting weird, until you either put the pieces together or he genuinely thinks he might pounce on you at any moment

He personally admits he normally rides these out alone and doesn't know how he'll act around a partner

Now that you're here though, things are different

A brief chat mainly to ease him into it as you genuinely trust Sans regardless of what pheromones are doing to him

Once things get started well? It is a lot

Sans had previously been attentive during sex don't get me wrong, however he just kind of treats it like anything else he does. Chill and laid back.

During his heat? He's clingy, impatient and needy, going for several rounds at a time, begging to pump you full of his cum, groping at anything and everything.

Naturally rougher as a result, though it's less intentional and more out of sheer desperation because even without extreme horny brain you turn him on so fucking much

"sorry baby i can't help it-" being said as he fucks you through your fifth orgasm of the day, he's cum inside you many times at this rate but his body screams for more and for more of you specifically

When he does tire himself out or manage to calm his urges enough to think properly he does help clean up, order take out and cuddle. The occasional pun here or there, "i'd make a dick joke but that'd come across as cocky wouldn't it"

But per usual cool down periods do not last for that long, you have woken up before with him grinding against you nearly whimpering as he needs another round

Never been extremely heavy on dirty talk, but he's a lot more quiet during his heat cycle outside of grunts and moans. When he does speak it's normally making sure you're okay, praising you, telling you he's close.

Occasionally he'll mumble things to himself likely things he didn't mean to say outloud, stuff like how good you're gonna look knocked up, how much he wants to fill you right now, and that he wants to breed you so fucking bad

Kinda...protective in a way he just isn't, even when he isn't balls deep inside you. Hovering over you, attending to your needs outside of the bed room attentively, and on the off chance you need to speak with someone else. He is there, as if waiting for the moment he's needed to intervene.

Definitely some nesting behavior, that's pretty endearing.

Underswap Sans :

Does tell you about it beforehand, blunders a bit, sort flustered, but he wants a gameplan before anything else and he did not want to risk scaring you off.

You get the whole run down, how long the cycle lasts, what to expect, the likely good if a kid happening, etc, etc.

You start out very informed and you do prep for it accordingly, though Sans did insist that you could just sit this out as he is aware he becomes a lot during this period

And boy howdy was he not fucking joking

This man has some serious energy, combine that with his over energetic nature in general and his need to please you feel like you're basically rendered into his personal fleshlight as he pounds into you over and over

Anytime he cums, he simply just doesn't stop. Still hard and thrusting into you like jack hammer, as if the previous orgasm was just a little hiccup.

Don't worry he's just as eager to please you as he is himself

Sans has always been a bit of a worshipper in the bedroom regardless of who's on top (you two switch it up quite a bit), he really gets off on just knowing he's making you feel good and likes to praise you cuz he looooooves you

He's sickeningly sweet sometimes and on his heat

Every orgasm you have is getting milked outta you

He'll happily play with with clit and tits while pounding into you, man handling your form in passionate manner. Anything to make you moan louder and cum on his cock again

Very chatty too, not that he was ever quite but it's full force here. On and on about how pretty you look stuffed with his cum, how you're so tight, how he wants to never stop and how he's going to keep making you feel so good

Due to his high stamina cool down periods almost like never happen, he will still stop and tend to your needs when you're hungry or tired but he has a raging hard on the entire time.

You work on a compromise of him jerking off and cuming on your nude form either when asleep or utterly wrecked with your over flown pussy needs a break

Which while at first he doesn't seem that thrilled about the idea, changes his mind as he really likes the idea of you being covered and marked in his scent.

It's less out of jealousy and more out of pride to mark you a deliciously nude way

Underfell Sans :

Would have told you about his heat....if he remembered

You're both kinds thrown for a loop by it, you more than him honestly. But thankfully you at least knew monsters did have heat cycles so it wasn't as out of nowhere as it could be

Though at first it did just seem like just Sans but hornier

Sans seems to have two main moods that be flip flops in-between, VERY aggressive in which he fucks you with malicious almost violent intent telling you that he owns your pussy, that you're his little fuck doll and he's going make sure everyone knows it

And a big massive softie that's extremely sweet and lovey dovey to you. Something that was normally only happened in very small doses or when he's utterly shit faced

It's not just praise but adoring you, talking about how much he loves, you that he's lucky to have you, how he just knows you're going to make a great parent

The whiplash is real, especially since sometimes he'll change his tone half way through fucking you. It's never entirely clear what sets either side off, other than occasionally his sweet side normally happens once he's cum once or twice

Very...possessive during it all, constantly rambling about how you belong to him and he'll kill anyone that even thinks about doing this to you

You don't know how much he'll actually act on that threat, but it's probably a good thing that neither of you are able to get out much.

But frankly while he's like this he would be willingly to fuck you someplace public tbh

So. Many. Fucking. Hickeys. You're covered in them by the time it's all over.

Cool down periods he does his best for after care, but like....he's very quiet. Almost like he feels guilty, especially at the sight of all the bruises you have. Which you will have to reassure him that he didn't cross any lines and that you liked it

"you're really some kind of freak ain't cha?"

"Your freak."

Horrortale Sans ;

Primal and animalistic are the best terms to describe him while he's like this.

Before the famine heats were no big deal, now however the term "wanting to fuck like animals" has never been more accurate

Sans never told you he got them, but you learned about them via other monsters so you were prepared on some level and even a little intrigued

Once a monster sets his sight on a mate, they'll frequently hunt them or fight off any other possible suitors. And given how you and Sans like to play Prey and Hunter, this allows you take things up a notch

The moment you know he's gone into heat, you run, you hide and he comes after you. It's a hell of a thrill, especially since you know it guarantee a better pounding once he finally gets you

You shifting around in the forest, sneaking around before you hear a husky voice call out "i know you're here sweetheart-"

You attempt to book it the other direction but the only thing you can comprend is a simple phrase before you're pinned to the ground

"gotcha."

The way you're fucked is brutal, he's never been gentle really but this is something else. Your entire body quakes with his thrusts, you're screaming as his cock is jammed against your g-shot and nearly rendered to tears from it all

He bites too, not just bruising you but definitely drawing blood then lapping it up with the same feral hunger that he fucks you with

Not very talkative, mostly just growls and groans. Only occasionally barking out "mine" or a "you're not going anywhere sweetheart" if you attempt to squirm away from him

Not that you really want him to stop but the struggle turns both of you on, he likes working for it and you like driving him up the wall to be honest

You're brutally fucked outside, clothes ripped off you, covered in bloody bite marks, pussy full of his cum, on the verge of passing out until he seems to either we decide to let up or is tired himself. He'll drape his coat around your naked form then carry you back to his place

If anyone attempts to stop him they're killed on sight, this is his mate and no one gets to touch them during this time.

When you wake up there'll simply be a low growl of "told ya you weren't going anywhere" before the cycle continues.

He does halt to care for you, you're his mate after all, but again weirdly silent throughout most of it.

It'll be a while until he's more chatty again, it's best to reassure him you were into his somehow more violent and extreme side of him.

Underlust Sans ;

Literally just his entire personality dialed to his natural extreme

Also doesn't think to tell you simply because he forgets it's not a common thing and to be fair it takes you while to notice

It's not until you're ten round today that you ask if something it up as while yeah he's got serious stamina and loves to fuck normally his dick would be a little soft by now

"Babe please tell me you didn't take some monster viagra-"

It makes him laugh before he breaks it down for you but also assures you there's no shame in tapping out and that monsters down here have ways to handle this without a partner

You take it as a challenge especially as he tells you it's not a challenge

It's one you enjoy though

The shift is his personality are far more subtle, rougher, a bit more dominant, and extremely fixated on pumping you full of cum. Like extremely fixated on it.

And whether it's the heat or some other factor you're not accounting for he cums a lot more than usual. Sometimes you'll just pinned down feeling his cock gush waves of his seed for several minutes as it fills you up.

He praises you through it all, telling you how good you are for him, how you take it all so well, and reassures you when it's almost done.

Your stomach looks more than a little bloated with it glowing with all the magic he just pumped into you and he definitely has a toy blog that helps you keep all of it in there

When you need a break from getting your pussy filled, anal play and oral keep you mouth entertained. You try swallowing his massive load but you end up having plenty spill out then the rest paint your body

And Sans looks super smug after wards the entire time

Definitely likes to tease you when he can, "bet you've never been fucked this good before huh?" said playing with your overstimulated clit while your whole is still plugged with a belly full of HIS cum

Having the most control over himself and already being a king of after care you're pretty much set when you do need a break for real

But you can't help being cheeky when you two are cuddling then you feel his erection rising up again

"You having fun?"

"i dunno it's a little hard."

[partiallysame]

Socially anxious Konig didn’t mean to start stalking you. Or breaking into your apartment. He really didn’t, but that being said, he is usually much better at it. But somehow you know. Like immediately. And he’s panicking.

He was a creature of habit and it’s really not his fault that you were too. He noticed you walk past him and fell in love the first time and then again the same time next week. And then again the next week. It must’ve been the universe that willed his feet to follow you. Not a conscious choice to hide behind the corner so you wouldn’t see him ofc. Following you around was fun and all but he wanted to know you. Really know you. More than just the stores you went to. Or the restaurants you frequented. So he broke into your apartment while you were at work. A natural progression and not at all weird he told himself.

The large man found himself in heaven when he first stepped into your apartment and smelled you all around him. The first time he walked in and then left. Too overwhelmed to go in more than a few steps. But he worked his way up to entering your space a couple times a week. Going in further each time until he started touching things. Curiosity controlled his movements. He opened the cupboards, large frame reaching for the top of the door instead of the handle to pull it open and admire the dish-ware you had, wiping dust from the top of the cabinet onto his pants. Fully fascinated by the amount of makeup products you had. Even found himself sticking his finger lightly in some shimmer just to freak out when somehow he was completely covered in glitter. Picking up a brush or two to see how they felt. A few weeks into it he started feeling bad about his intrusions when his mind started to wander to his dirty fantasies about you. Sifting through your underwear drawer and pulling a pair from the back to tuck into his pocket. You won’t miss this one, it was hiding in the back. He noticed you only ever wear and wash the ones in the front. It had been weeks and he knew everything he could about you but he needed more. He needed to see you. So again, a natural progression and not weird at all, he planted a camera. He placed the small camera into a space in your bathroom, mixed in with all your makeup. He wanted to see you get ready (the fact that it was near the shower and you’d be naked was just an added bonus). Konig was practically giddy when he got home and turned the camera on. Hoping to see you soon but he didn’t know your schedule once you were home (yet). But his blood ran cold when he opened his computer and checked the camera to see you staring directly at it. Face unreadable, just staring for 5. 10. 20 seconds until your hand slowly reached towards the camera. Fuck fuck fuck. Everything’s ruined. He’s lost you for sure. But your hand passes the camera and grabs something from behind it before you started your bedtime routine. Konig let out the biggest breath of his life.

Returning from work, the moment you stepped into your apartment, the air was different. The faintest smell of something hung in the air. Hmm? You took out the trash and the smell seemed to disappear. Ok not a big deal. But then a few days later the smell was back. Not the trash this time. You couldn’t find exactly where it was coming from. Then you saw a tik tok about how no one ever dusts the top of their cabinets so that was on your agenda. Step stool and duster at the ready, your motion stopped to see large fingerprints in the (embarrassing amount of) dust that was there. Now the wheels in your head were turning. Time to finally break out that one dress that needs that one specific pair of underwear from the back of your drawer. Where the fuck did they go? Going to do your makeup the next day you reached for a brush but got confused when the face brush with sitting with the eye brushes. No you just organized it. You wouldn’t put it there. Ok fine whatever. Open up a brand new eyeshadow pallet to see a smudge and glitter all over the pallet. Ok that’s it. Spending days thinking about all the weird coincidences. Now you are getting ready for bed and there is a small black thing behind a jar you keep in the counter. You know exactly what it is. Don’t make it obvious that you know. The thought in the back of your head that someone had been in your apartment was now a fucking fact. Absolutely wracking your brain trying to figure out who. How. When. Why. Until you are out and about doing your daily things and fuck you think you left your phone in the bathroom at the coffee shop. An abrupt turn from you to quickly head back for your missing device made Konig stop in his tracks. You stopped so hard and fast he almost bulldozed right into you. You walked past him and then stopped again. A smell. Why is it so familiar? Konig can hear is heart fucking beating out of his chest. Too nervous to move from his spot. As he is staring at your back it’s like he can see the wheels turning in your head. Connecting the dots. Oh he was fucked for sure. Lucky for him the stress about losing your phone outweighed the need to confront the handsome giant standing behind you. It’s not like you won’t see him again if you let him go now.

[teaboot]

As someone who learnt english as a second language via textbook, I have to say "flying by the seat of my pants" is a hilarious idiom xD

It's the first time I've seen/heard it.

Could you share another one you like using?

Idk about idioms specifically, but there's a bunch of phrases I learned from my mom!

Lord love a duck! (Incredulous, like 'oh my god')

Lord suffer in sheep dip! (Sheep dip meaning sheep poop. Incredulous, but for annoying things- like 'are you kidding me?')

Is there a piano tied to your ass? ('Don't be lazy, do it yourself')

Someone's cruising for a bruising. (You're picking a fight.)

I don't give a rat's rip. ('I don't care'- a rat's 'rip' is it's butt crack.)

Pull up a stump! (Get yourself a chair, sit down.)

Everybody out of the pool! (Get out of the car)

I'm flying by the seat of my pants. (I have no idea what I'm doing, but I'm doing it.)

Don't go blowing smoke up my ass. (Don't over-compliment me, don't flatter me, don't stroke my ego, don't tell me positive lies)

Looks like it's gonna rain on our parade. (A storm is coming.)

Sorry to rain on your parade. (I've given you bad news- can be used sincerely or sarcastically to denote sympathy for incurring a bad mood.)

Better button that lip. (Stop talking.)

Someone's gonna stick a boot up your ass. ('Stick a boot up your ass'- fight you, beat you, kick your ass.)

Stick that lip out any further, and a pigeon'll shit on it. (Stop whining.)

Suck it up, buttercup. (Stop whining.)

Dumber than a fence post. (Very stupid.)

The back forty. (The wild or forested area behind a rural home. The 'forty' being forty acres, or farmland.)

Don't go begging for a fat lip. (Whatever you're saying or doing is going to bother people and get you in trouble.)

What on God's green earth (What the fuck)

I'm sweating like a pig in a porta-potty (like a pig in a plastic outhouse- I'm very warm, it's hot here)

He thinks the universe flew out of his ass. (He thinks he's more impressive than he is.)

Your mouth wrote a cheque your ass couldn't cash. (You promised more than you were capable of providing.)

You've got a horseshoe up your ass. (You're very, very lucky.)

Taking a dirt nap. (Dead.)

Pushing (up) daisies. (Dead.)

Give me forty acres to turn this rig around. (I need time and space to move this large, heavy, or unwieldy thing. Usually about navigating a vehicle. Taken from a song lyric.)

Jesus take the wheel. (God help me, I can't handle this, I give up.)

Gone belly-up. (Has died.)

We've got a floater. (This one is dead.)

Herding cats. (Trying to organize chaos, managing an impossibly complicated situation.)

I've got a black thumb. (I am bad at growing plants, all my plants die- reference to having a 'green thumb', or being good at growing plants.)

Stop trackin' floor cookies. (Floor cookies are bits of animal shit that fall off your work boots- 'tracking floor cookies' means wearing your boots in the house; take your shoes off at the door.)

Running around like a headless chicken. (Frantic, disorganized, stressed out by many tasks or panicked by a big situation.)

Spinning my wheels. (Waiting around for something to happen, getting nowhere, frustrated by inactivity, not making any progress towards a goal.)

He's gonna blow a gasket. (He's going to lose his temper, he's going to be angry.)

They'll tan your hide. (They'll punish you severely; usually through violence. Specifically in reference to a spanking.)

He's a few bricks short a load. (He's not clever / he doesn't think things through / he's crazy)

Not the sharpest tool in the shed. (Not the smartest person. Very dumb, clumsy, or absent-minded.)

I'm not going to bail you out. (Not going to save your sinking boat- not going to help you out of your bad situation.)

Looks like things are going south. (The situation is growing worse.)

I'll start making tracks. (I'll leave now, I'll start working, I'll get going.)

He's fucking the dog. (He's not being productive, he's doing a bad job, he's made things worse, he's screwing around.)

He's making puppies. (Less graphic version of 'fucking the dog'.)

Plant your ass. (Sit.)

Playing grab-ass. (Procrastinating- accomplishing nothing, slowing people down.)

He couldn't find his ass in the dark. (He's stupid, ineffective, underqualified, or incompetent.)

He couldn't pour water out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel. (He is unbelievably, comically dumb or ineffective. He can't do anything right.)

One foot in the ground. (Dying, or half-dead.)

I'm kicking rocks. (I'm not doing anything productive.)

I'm hauling ass. (I'm running away.)

Madder than a wet hen. (Very, very angry.)

Like I said I'm not sure that these are all idioms but they're all the phrases and sayings from my childhood that I can remember right now

EDIT: Cannot BELIEVE I forgot my mom's favourite

52. Wish in one hand, shit in the other, see which gets filled first. (Wishes don't come true by themselves)

Plus some more I forgot:

53. You make a better door than a window. (You're in the way of my view.)

54. You can take a long walk off a short pier. (Go fuck yourself.)

55. He's about as sharp as a bowling ball. (He's stupid.)

56. Scoot your poot. (Move over.)

57. Not my first rodeo. (I know what I'm doing.)

58. He's built like a brick shithouse. (He's broad and sturdy and very strong, solid.)

59. I smell bacon. (I saw a cop nearby.)

60. I don't want to hear a peep. (Stop talking.)

61. You're thinking with the wrong head. (You're making bad decisions because you're horny.)

62. I'd lose my ass/head if it wasn't tied on. (I'm very absent-minded, forgetful.)

63. That went down like a lead balloon. (That situation was bad.)

[cherry-coffees]

gamer!Caitlyn hcs ♡

cw: 837 words | gamer!Caitlyn x gamer!reader, established relationship, fluff, PC games mentioned but these can apply to any type of gaming

Gamer!Caitlyn who isn’t a gamer at first. She’s never played a video game in her life, as Cassandra usually dismissed them with a wave of her gloved hand, saying there were much more productive things her daughter could be doing.

Gamer!Caitlyn first gets into video games because you really want to play with her. She starts to protest when you bring it up, listing her seemingly endless paperwork as an excuse, but eventually caves to your pleading eyes. She grumbles when she downloads the game on her high-quality hextech computer, but she doesn't really mind. Not if it makes you happy.

Gamer!Caitlyn smiles adoringly at you while you explain all the mechanics of the game to her. She can’t help it. You’re just so cute, rambling about the controls and how she can access her inventory. Though, being that she’s never played any video games, she assures you that she’ll catch up. “I’ll figure it out, darling. I’m quite good at investigations, you know.”

Gamer!Caitlyn who actually does figure things out. She struggles for the first few minutes, having bad aim when you face off against enemies. She’s extremely annoyed about this given her talent as a sharpshooter, and it only motivates her to become good. So she does.

Gamer!Caitlyn starts playing nightly after her fumble. She spends her time practicing so she can catch up to you, learn all the skills you seem to naturally possess. So when you spend the night at her place a few days later, you walk into her bedroom to find her with headphones on, furiously clicking her mouse. You jaw goes slack with shock, and you have to blink a few times to entirely process how quickly your girlfriend became a gamer.

Gamer!Caitlyn is so proud of her progress. Caitlyn prides herself in being a composed, proper woman, but she’s beside herself the next time you play together. “Look, darling!” She beams, pointing to her rapidly increasing levels and full inventory. She's like a child that wants to show off their underwater handstand at the pool. “Now we can win together!”

Gamer!Caitlyn who becomes better than you, much to your annoyance. You sulk when she outscores you in matches, teasing you with her proud comments and a nudge to your side. She softens, though, when you spin your chair around to face away from her. “Love,” she complains when you’re hidden from her view. She tugs your chair towards hers, spinning you back around so she can kiss your cheeks. “I should be thanking you. Without you, I would have never played a video game in my life.”

Gamer!Caitlyn doesn’t understand trash talk. She doesn’t know the culture of playfully fighting with people on chat, arguing about who will come out on top. So when someone starts chatting you gloating about a win, she is not happy. You have to grab her hands and pull them away from her keyboard, but by the time you do, she’s already scolding them for how badly they had performed. Even when you (gently) explain that it’s part of gaming culture, she sends you a glare. She does not tolerate anyone bad-mouthing her beautiful, beloved girlfriend.

Gamer!Caitlyn buys you any game you want. You fall in love with a new skin for an avatar? Caitlyn’s logging on to buy it the second you mention it. You want to go out shopping for a new game that caught your eye? Caitlyn’s handing you her card. The second Jayce tells her about the newest hextech PC, it’s in a package at your doorstep, along with a note written in Caitlyn’s neat cursive. “I have some meetings today, darling, so let’s play together tonight. I love you.”

Gamer!Caitlyn ensures that she’s still true to being a morning person. No matter how late she stays up with you, she’ll be up and ready in the mornings, leaving a steaming teacup at your bedside with a kiss on your forehead.

Gamer!Caitlyn who, on the flip side, loves staying up late if it means you get sleepy. She glances over when the battle ends, noting your slow blinks and limp posture. “Oh, my love,” she coos, unable to help herself because you’re just so cute. “Let’s get you to bed, hm?”

Gamer!Caitlyn sits you in her lap when you need a break. Even if you just want to skip a round to eat something or drink some water, she’s already tugging you into her lap, wrapping her arms around your waist as she hits the controls on her keyboard.

Gamer!Caitlyn loves video games because of you. Not only playing with you, but how your whole body lights up when you explain a game to her, or how big you smile when your favorite game hosts a special event. Mostly, though, she loves the bond it creates. She adores you, always has. She’d fall asleep next to you every night if she could. She just loves the layer it adds to your relationship: a shared passion that allows for even more time spent together. 

Gamer!Caitlyn adores video games, but it all stems from her adoration for you.

Inspired bc I love video games (and playing them with people I like teehee)

Anyways! I hope everyone is doing well! Thank you for all your patience while I work through my mental health struggles and for all the birthday wishes this past week. My readers are so lovely, ily guys <3

~Cherry 🍒

[zhelin-thames]

Danny and Dex-Starr saga

Read the prev parts Masterpost (Lantern corp)

Dex-Starr eyes the glowing ecto-snack, his glowing red aura flickering with hesitation. After a long, tense pause, the angry cat cautiously snatches the snack with one paw and inspects it.

Dex-Starr: [Grumbles, sniffing] “This better not be poisoned, ghost-boy.”

Danny: [Scoffs] “Seriously? Like I’m gonna waste good ectoplasm on poisoning a space cat. That stuff’s hard to make!”

Dex-Starr takes a tentative bite, his furious expression softening for a moment as the snack melts into a satisfying glow in his mouth.

Dex-Starr: [Mumbles through chewing] “…It’s not bad.”

Danny: [Smirking] “See? Told ya. You’re less scary when you’re not hangry.”

Dex-Starr glares at Danny, but the intensity has dulled into something more akin to annoyance than murderous rage. He floats closer, his red aura dimming slightly.

Dex-Starr: “So what’s your deal, anyway? You don’t smell like the rest of these humans.”

Danny: [Floating backward slightly] “Uh, thanks? I’m kinda… half-dead, I guess. Half-human, half-ghost. It’s complicated.”

Dex-Starr: [Narrowing his eyes] “Half-ghost? That explains the weird energy.”

Danny: [Shrugs] “Yeah, it’s a whole thing. But I’m still technically alive, so... anyway, why’re you so mad at everyone? Space cats don’t usually hang out in sewer systems plotting doom, right?”

Dex-Starr’s plasma flickers again, and his posture stiffens. He looks away, his growl returning faintly.

Dex-Starr: [Quietly] “Humans killed my human. The only one who ever cared about me. They hurt her… and they took her from me. Now all I have is rage.”

Danny’s casual demeanor falters as he processes Dex-Starr’s words. His own memories of losing loved ones flash in his mind—the times he felt powerless to protect them.

Danny: [Softer] “…I’m sorry. That sucks. A lot.”

Dex-Starr: [Snapping back] “I don’t need your pity!”

Danny: *“It’s not pity. It’s just… I get it. I lost people too. Felt like the world was out to get me for a while. But staying mad forever doesn’t fix anything. Trust me, I tried.”

Dex-Starr hesitates, his claws retracting slightly. The flicker of anger in his eyes doesn’t disappear, but there’s a hint of something else—doubt, or maybe curiosity.

Dex-Starr: “…And what fixed it for you?”

Danny: [Grinning awkwardly] “Uh, I mean, I’m still figuring that out. But helping people, even when it sucks, kind of makes it suck less? Plus, I’ve got a ghost dog who keeps me company. That helps too.”

Dex-Starr tilts his head slightly, his red aura dimming further.

Dex-Starr: “A ghost dog?”

Danny: “Yeah, big guy named Cujo. He’s kinda like me—half-alive, half-ghost, 100% lovable.”

Dex-Starr: [Grumbles] “Hmph. Sounds ridiculous.”

Danny: [Floating upright] “It totally is. But hey, if you’re ever tired of being mad all the time, you could come hang out with me and Cujo. I bet he’d like you, even if you are a walking rage ball.”

Dex-Starr stares at Danny for a long moment, his tail twitching. Then, with a huff, he turns and starts to float away.

Dex-Starr: “Don’t count on it, ghost-boy. But… I’ll think about it.”

Danny watches the glowing red light disappear into the sewer tunnels, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Danny: [To himself] “Progress. Angry space cat progress.”