#& if I try to multi-task it will definitely fuck with the schedule.

[oorpe]

fuck certificate mills

Jesus Fuckballs Christ is ITIL certification a grift and a half. The job wants me to get certified on this basic ITIL 4 thingy. That means I have to install the official peoplecert proctoring spyware on the company laptop. Don’t really want to install god knows what surveillance crap on there but hey, not my property so fuck it. It’s not like they haven’t already breached our entire organization with this shitty software. I wouldn’t trust it but again, not my call. I already took the training course last spring, but I’ve been putting off scheduling the exam because I can’t stand reading the intentionally confusing jargon and nested, byzantine multi-level definitions of incredibly samey-sounding concepts. But alas, now I’ve officially run out of time on the test voucher I got last year. So I had to begrudgingly schedule the exam for the level 1 or whatever it was called for next week. I had the training a year ago as stated, but I doubt I’d remember any more had it been yesterday: the lecturer was absolute dogshit. It was in it’s entirety just a 2-day slog of him reading out poorly made powerpoint slides and me dozing off and leafing through the mock exams. It was the last thing I did before going on summer vacation last year. It sucked ass.  So, as all good students do, I procrastinated until the last possible moment, and then started looking around the peoplecert website yesterday for the actual course materials. And holy fucking shit you guys, what shifty anti-user nonsense their little course book app is! It’s a characteristically clunky browser-based “ebook reader” that allows you to add bookmarks and highlights and annotations in limited capacity. It’s pretty bog-standard features-wise, but what really pissed me off about it was how it fucks with page printing in a really underhanded way. I usually print any longer reading materials out, partly because I can’t stay on task when reading off a computer screen, and partly because I just like it better that way. So I print my reading materials liberally, that’s why I bought the stupid laser printer after all. And let me tell you, this company fucking hates the fact that browsers let you print web pages out. There’s an in-app print to pdf prompt, sure. But this is actually a trap designed for maximum frustration. The in-app print option arbitrarily restricts printing to 2 pages at a time. There’s a 40-60s “progress bar” before the download starts (as expected, this is complete bullshit, it only sends a request for the pages after the timeout has elapsed.) The printed pages are unnecessarily rendered into incredibly poor quality .png with impairingly large and up-keyed incrimination-focused watermarks all across. Judging by what I gleamed from the http requests made, there’s a hidden cap on activating this “print” feature of a 100 activations, and this isn’t disclaimed, so you might spend hours trying to laboriously print out what you need to read, only for it to tell you to go eat a dick 90% through the book. In short, it’s the worst print button the world has ever known. I hate this print button with great passion. So, I figured, fuck that. I’ve used a browser before, I’ll just print from the browser prompt on every chapter (the app loads the book into view chapter by chapter) and that’s that. Well, not so fast! The browser’s print preview just shows a blank page with a shit-eating little <p>don’t you know it’s impossible to print html?!? what are you even doing you dog-brained fuckstick, now go use our awesome print feature little donkey</p> (paraphrasing only slightly) plastered on top.

Fuck me, these people really don’t want people reading their garbage book, huh.

Ok. Let’s dig a tiny bit deeper, what is it doing here?

It turns out that the app registers a few event handlers for the beforeprint event, so that when you open the browser’s print dialog, it can remove and re-add the main content iframe. That in turn displays only their little passive-aggressive message, until some logic clears it a moment later, and the actual chapter becomes visible. Of course, the browser’s print dialog tries to print the current state of the page, and only captures the single paragraph that is visible at that moment, hence the preview from before.

Well, that’s annoying and profoundly anti-user. Let’s continue. Eventually they have to give my browser workable markup in order to display this stupid thing, it’s just a matter of digging.

It turns out the chapters are rendered via two nested iframes (some other dickish obfuscation scheme I’d assume), so I grab the inner one and quickly look over the markup. Yup, fantastic, the buck stops here. I can just open the src= of the inner iframe in a new tab and use devtools to drop a few fuckery-inducing script tags and the style tag that hides the page contents initially. A presto, the chapter is suddenly entirely printable with minimal hassle! Someone really should let these people know that it’s actually not that hard to let their users print out this material. In fact it takes some pretty grifty fuckery to screw with a basic browser feature in this way! Anyway I didn’t actually read a goddamn word of the material because I was so pissed off about this comprehensively wrong-headed approach to basic accessibility. But I did manage to download and re-collate the stupid book into a single file today, which was naturally a lot more fun than reading their godawful business management wank, so all in all a decent day of “work”. At least I’ll have the materials fucking accessible for the inevitable round 2 after I botch this stupid exam.

[diversityvin]

I need to bingewatch the scream movies again or I will die right now.

[plasticnightmaredoll]

Can we all just take a moment to appreciate how delightfully sassy Riddler/Edward Nigma was in “Batman: Arkham Origins?” I mean, he cracked me up in all four games with his comments, and in “Arkham Knight,” he was so fucking extra and an attention-starved diva (I adore “Arkham Knight” Riddler, by the way) 🤣🤣🤣

However, seeing as how Eddie was definitely at his most mentally stable in “Arkham Origins,” I think his witty commentary is abso-fucking-lutely GOLDEN 👌👏👍

“I mean, this one’s practically BEGGING to be taken offline and you still can’t hack it. Pun intended, of course.

“Congratulations are in order! Maybe you’re not as stupid as I’ve been led to believe.”

“Oh, boy! You sure showed that grate who’s in charge!”

“Another day, another door. They’re just no match for you!”

“Typical. I mean, why apply cognitive resources to a problem when you can just throw crap at it!”

“You know, if you’d asked nicely, I’d of opened [the door] for you.”

“Careful now! That’s public property you’re destroying!”

“I bet steering that thing requires a whole lot of concentration--” *sound of stuff falling* “OOPS! SORRY ABOUT THAT!”

“Oh, that poor door! You really should apologize.”

I would be terrible dealing with this little shit. I’d be too busy trying to flirt with him 🤣 I’d fail as a vigilante at this endeavor but, oh, what fun it would be:

Me: “Enigma, where are you?” Enigma: “I’m right here! Well, figuratively speaking anyway. Disappointed I didn’t choose to meet up in person?” Me: “Yes, actually....I was hoping to show you just how much I appreciate your wit.” Enigma: “Ha! Words of praise will suffice, My Dear. Go on...I’m all ears!” Me: “Well, you’re really cute and quite charming despite your smugness. I honestly want to blow you.” Enigma: “.....You didn’t just seriously...offer....?” Me: “Yes, I did. 😁” Enigma: “......Dear God, you’re a perverted idiot then.”

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

Enigma: “With everyone’s deepest, darkest secrets about to go on public display, I’ve got a feeling tomorrow’s going to be a very busy day for you.” Me: “I was hoping to be busy tomorrow with you.” Enigma: “Wait, what? With me? Are you suggesting you’ll actually be able to track me down and turn me in? Ha!” Me: “Actually, I was hoping to track you down and bring you home with me. I mean, I can’t blow you if you’re--” Enigma: “STOP IT!”

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

Enigma: “Ready for round three, then? Let’s see what you can do. Oh, right. There are also some things we should discuss--” Me: “Like kinks? Turn-ons and turn-offs?” Enigma: “NO, DAMMIT!”

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

Enigma: “I thought you had a city to save? So what are you doing, wasting time with me?” Me: “Well, I can multi-task, you know. And I don’t want to fuck the city. I want to fu--” Enigma: “Don’t! Don’t you dare finish that sentence!” Me: “......” Enigma: ..........” Me: “.....” Enigma: “......” Me: “I want to fuck you, is what I was going to say.” Enigma: “ARRGGH!”

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

Enigma: “Keep it up -- and you’re going to be very, very sorry.” Me: “Ooohh...my safe word is, ‘apple. 😉’” Enigma: “What? No--that’s not--I’m not talking about....ugh!”

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

Enigma: “Now don’t get too comfortable. You see, I learned something else tonight. The nastiest, dirtiest little secret you can imagine. It puts the rest of my collection to shame. But I’m going to wait to release it -- if only because it means I get to watch you squirm as you wonder what on earth it is...” Me: “Ok, ok, you got me.” Enigma: “Finally surrendering, huh?” Me: “I admit it: I have a collar kink, ok? There. I said it.” Enigma: “What?! Why--what are you--?! Why did you give me that information?!” Me: “Oh, so you didn’t check my browsing history?” Enigma: “NO!” Me: “Huh, I thought that was the big secret. Oh well!” Enigma: “I don’t want to be on this planet anymore....”

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

If you think that’s bad, then you don’t want to know how it’d go down with Telltale Riddler! 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Telltale Riddler: “You’re ahead of schedule. I’m a little busy right now but I’ll see if I can fit you in.” Me: “I’d appreciate it, Daddy.” Telltale Riddler: “What?” Me: “What?”

Yes, I would probably be tempted to flirt with Telltale Riddler even though he’s sadistic af 😂

[museswithinx]

❛ it’s late , you look tired . ❜ { Hades for Tristan bc just trying to dad Seph's kids nbd, sure Adrian loves it }

𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬'𝑺 𝑨𝑳𝑾𝑨𝒀𝑺 𝑨 𝑫𝑶𝑾𝑵𝑺𝑰𝑫𝑬 .

After safely seeing Marlene home for the evening, Tristan busied himself in some work. They had an enhanced version of the dagger with a source to power it as well as some other weapons that were in the works, but he thought he'd double check some good sources to see if there was anything else they could throw into their basket. Then there was his duties to the pack as well, which needed their alpha and second-in-command now more than ever. So his sessions with Chance and all others would resume tomorrow as scheduled.

Multi-tasking between research and lesson-planning, Tristan barely noticed the passage of time till someone came to peak over his shoulder. At first he had thought it was Berry or possibly Mom coming to check on him and send him to bed. Dad would already be in bed. However, it was neither as an unwelcome presence commented to him, ❛ it’s late , you look tired . ❜

"Fuck!" He was startled by Hades, slamming the book shut as he moved to stand and face the source of all their current problems. His heart hammered in his chest from the surprise but as soon as it passed, his eyes narrowed at the man who had stolen choices from his mother, tried to kill his father, and sought to tear apart their whole family.

"Thanks, but I’m good on parents. Even if I wasn’t, definitely wouldn’t pick you for the job. I already have a father to scold me and he’s the best that there is, so you can shove that 'fatherly concern’ right up your ass. I know exactly what you’re trying to do and it isn’t going to work on either of us.” Tristan retorts to Hades’s piss poor attempts to ‘parent’ him like he had any right to even try.

It was unbelievable how delusional and obsessed this man was. His mom marrying his dad and having two kids with him was a very clear indicator she’d made her choice. Hades didn’t fit into that picture, he never had and never would. Yet still he persisted under some delusion of love and he was willing to destroy everything for it. 

“If you had ever loved my mother at all, you would have just let her live her life the way that she chose to live it. That’s what real love is, it’s selfless and it’s respect. It means letting go. It also means leaving us the fuck alone. But you’ve never really been selfless, have you? No. You care far more about what you want than what she does and that’s never going to change. All those decades to reflect and you’re still selfish to your very core.”

[kokobussy]

Location

warnings: smut, dirty talk, sexting

summary: lately you’ve been missing your boyfriend jaehyun a little more than usual so you decide to give him a call. 

It’s around 2am when his phone goes off just underneath his pillow.

Yoonoh scrambles to grab it, to shut it off, before Donghyuck wakes up and whines about the whole thing. He doesn’t want to deal with that. No one wants to deal with that. There’s a clatter of noise, metal meeting wood, as his phone lands on the floor and continues to ring incessantly. Yoonoh hangs off the side of his bed and tries his hardest to grab it. His fingers brush against the screen briefly; he nearly has it in his hand now. He can hear the rustle of Donghyuck’s pillows as he begins to wake up, a complaint already on the tip of his tongue.

But suddenly it all ends.

Yoonoh prays, very very hard, that whoever tried calling will just give up and try again in the morni— there it is again.

“Hyung.”

His phone lights up once again, illuminating his face in the darkness of his room, and reveals who is bothering him this late at night. The screen reveals a name that makes his heart flutter and a picture that makes him smile despite Donghyuck’s muffled whining. With one last heave of effort, Yoonoh manages to grab the device and climb back into bed. He swipes across the screen, lifts the phone to his ear, and answers,” Mmmlo?” Your excited voice comes through instantly as you nearly shout,” Babe!”

Despite the volume, Yoonoh doesn’t mind your shouting. It’s not like you get to hear his voice, the real one, often. “Hey, baby,” he mumbles sleepily, taking the time to check on the lump of blankets that is Donghyuck from across the room. ”Everything okay?” Of course everything is okay, you insist, why wouldn’t it be? There’s nothing particularly wrong, you just wanted to talk. As you begin to tell him a story, something about a girl named Lisa at work, Yoonoh settles back into bed once he realizes this call might take a little longer than he thought. He rolls over on his stomach and hugs the pillow underneath him; his legs tangling in the thick duvet beneath him.

He makes sure to get comfortable as he listens to you get distracted from your story about Lisa and wander off into your day and how it’s going so far. While he can fall asleep just like this, Yoonoh doesn’t want to. It feels like forever since he’s last heard your voice and would rather get 4 hours of sleep than not hear your voice the entire day.

As he listens, Yoonoh tries to picture you the way that one does while on the phone. He thinks about the last time you saw each other, the confession of feelings in Newark International Airport, and the resulting kiss in front of security as the two of you said your goodbyes. He was just in the US working on some promotions for the next album and visited you in what little free time he had. Most of the week he spent there was dedicated to trying to figure out different ways to confess to you without getting hurt; lots of arguing when one person unknowingly got jealous over the other; and late conversations that always dabbled in “what ifs” and “maybe somedays”.

On the very last night of his vacation, on the very last minute just before he had to go through the security check line, Yoonoh confessed. He told you of his years of pining, told you he loved you and never wanted to let you go, told you that you meant the world to him. The two of you kissed right there in front of everyone standing in the queue at Newark airport.

Yoonoh didn’t care.

You didn’t care.

You made out in front of a ton of strangers right up until they announced his plane was boarding. So when Yoonoh thinks of you now, he doesn’t think of his best friend from childhood. He hasn’t for a while now, even before you guys got together.

Now Yoonoh’s mind drifts to other things so easily it’s nearly painful. Now Yoonoh thinks about you when he wakes up, hand already down his pants to handle his morning-time friend. He thinks about you after he’s spent and wonders how your day went. He thinks about you throughout the day, fleeting moments where his longing for you weighs down too heavily on his chest. He thinks about you when he’s eating, remembers moments that he’s cherished long before he realized he was in love with you; like that one time the two of you got ramen and you spilled the broth all over the table and yourself. He thinks about you at night, when he’s showering the day off of his body; with a hand wrapped around his cock while trying to remember what you look like in his favorite bathing suit. The white one that outlined your form beautifully; to the point where Yoonoh had to cover you up with his flannel when the two of you walked on the boardwalk. He still remembers glaring at guys walking by, and some times girls, who stared after you with lust in their eyes.

It was ultimately his fault.

He didn’t take a chance earlier, didn’t tell you how he felt; wasn’t brave enough to kiss you and tell you all of the things he’s wanted for years. “Holy shit!” you cry suddenly, his ear ringing with the volume. “What time is it over there?” Yoonoh stifles a laugh, turning over to glance at the unmoving city just outside of his window despite the light surrounding it,” It’s 2am here.” “I’m sorry, baby. Why didn’t you tell me? I can let you go if you want.” He shakes his head. Then remembers that you can’t see him. “No,” he replies softly,” I wanted to hear your voice. I miss you.”

It’s been far too long since he last saw you. Yoonoh’s busy being Jaehyun and you’ve been far too busy to come to Korea for a visit. Ever since then the two of you have talked on the phone when you can, texted each other as long as the timezones would allow, and then some. Even though the two of you talked every day, it never felt like enough. Yoonoh cherished each minute, each second he could spend time with you even if it was just in front of a screen. Which is why, instead of sleeping and getting ready for his schedules tomorrow, technically today, he’s on the phone with you. “How much do you miss me,” you ask, uncharacteristically quiet for once. Yoonoh hums, feigning thought and moves a little more of the blanket between his legs to get more comfortable. He answers plainly and honestly without any fluff or bullshit,” I think about you all the time.”

Even as Yoonoh remembers the curves in your bathing suit and the way you pressed against him for an innocent hug, he can also pay attention to your conversation. Jung Yoonoh is capable of multi-tasking thank you very much. But then he remembers his most recent shower session; just a few hours ago to be exact. The beach episode was a gold mine for spank bank material if Yoonoh wanted to get off as fast as possible but still enjoy himself. Although it worked almost every single time, this time around Yoonoh embellished a bit of the memory for a different kind of experience. As you coo at his response, Yoonoh’s mind travels to other things at rapid speed. Things that make his cock stir with interest in his boxer briefs. In his altered memory of the time you spent together, Yoonoh not only covers you with his flannel but takes you between two carnival stalls and fucks you against the harsh wood. You cover your mouth as he pounds into you from behind; one of your breasts falling out of your now incredibly skimpy bikini top from the force of his hips. Yoonoh imagines cumming in you, hot and sloppy, as you cum on his cock for the nth time. But what made this so hot wasn’t the idea of you squirting or the repetitive bounce of your breasts as he fucked you, what made this so hot was the fact that Yoonoh could have this if he wanted; if you were willing.

If the two of you managed to find some time together, Yoonoh could fuck you until you squirted (maybe) or fuck you so hard your tits rocked with the effort. The two of you, maybe not officially together, definitely had feelings for each other and so could engage in intimacy this way. That’s what made Yoonoh cum so hard he nearly blacked out, the possibility. Yoonoh finds himself shifting a bit in his bed and trying to get comfortable yet again. Comfortable enough to begin grinding against the small mound of duvet between his legs; comfortable enough to get the slightest bit of friction going. “Do you love me?” you ask abruptly.

You ask him on the very edge of his movement, just as the small pleasure he’s been building peaks, and he grunts out,” So much.” Does he feel like a bad boyfriend for getting all hot and bothered while you’re trying to talk about your day? Of course he does. Is that going to stop him? No, not really. It doesn’t stop the heat unfurling in his tummy as pleasure begins to bloom and spread to the top of his thighs. It doesn’t stop his hips from moving to seek after that pleasure and turn it into something more. It doesn’t stop when you keep talking so sweetly to him; like how much you miss him and how much happier you are now that the two of you are finally together. All the while Yoonoh’s hips build a steadier rhythm, his breathing slowly changing as the pleasure begins to be unbearable; until he has to do something more than just hump the bed. It takes him a minute to realize that you’re not even talking anymore, possibly distracted by something he can’t see. He checks his phone quickly anyway; just to see if you’re actually still there.

Finally, just as he’s about to give up and call again, he hears your voice. “Babe, what are you doing?” Yoonoh feels bad then. He feels really really bad. All you want to do is talk to him and here he is acting like a total asshole. “I can hear you breathing all weird,” you say quietly, maybe even pouting a little. Despite the slight throbbing he begins to feel as his cock begs for attention, his hips stop altogether the minute he hears your question. “In bed,” he answers, secretly hoping he doesn’t sound as guilty as he feels.

But you can read Yoonoh like a book; you’ve always been able to. You don’t let on right away that you know his not-so-well-kept secret. Instead, you play along and act aloof to the way your now boyfriend huffs into the phone as he presumes doing whatever he’s doing. “Hey,” you pipe up suddenly,” I’m gonna send you a picture of this shirt I like. I can’t tell if I should buy it or not.” Despite how horny he is, Yoonoh — ever the dutiful boyfriend — waits patiently for the picture to arrive. In the time he waits, he begins moving his hips again; the constant drag on his cock makes him embarrassingly and fully hard before he realizes it. As soon as he adjusts himself, the tip of his cock peeking out of the waistband of his boxers, a familiar ping goes off. He pulls the phone from his ear and taps away at the device until an image appears before him.

It’s not a screenshot of a shirt nor is it you wearing the shirt. It’s actually you in a dressing room, probably at the mall which you vaguely mentioned earlier, lifting your shirt and revealing the swell of your chest in your bra. His mouth waters at the thought of tasting them, of teasing you until you can’t take anymore, but that’s all it can be for now. A thought; A fantasy that he has to imagine over and over again until you finally visit him in Seoul. With all the excitement and newfound spank material, all he can say is, “Fuck.”

So Yoonoh isn’t exactly the most elegant person at 2 in the morning, but he is outrageously hard. Is it going to happen? Are the two of you going to sext for the first time? Briefly, Yoonoh thinks of how tired he’s going to be in the morning and how he should soon go to bed, but one glance at the picture again has his cock twitching with effort. He hears laughter from his phone and a series of muffled words as he puts his phone to his ear again. He asks hurriedly, impatiently, nearly stumbling over his own words to get it out,” What did you say?”

Everything seems muffled suddenly as he takes another look at the picture. “I wanna hear you,” you repeat easily. His cock aches with the implication of your words. Although Yoonoh wants to go ahead and jack off, he also wants to make sure that this is what you meant; that this is what you want too. As Yoonoh grabs his headphones from his nightstand and untangles the mess of wire, he asks,” what do you mean?” He misses the first half of your response by plugging in his headphones and getting comfortable again, but he does catch the last half. A statement that must’ve turned filthy just at the very end. “-play with your cock.” Yoonoh sits up then, leaning back against the pillows behind him, and adjusts the pile of blanket taking up most of his bed. “Donghyuck’s sleeping,” he murmurs lamely, pulling his cock out of his boxers anyway. Donghyuck is still an unmoving lump under a series of blankets; there’s nothing indicating that the kid is actually asleep and not just pretending so he can be nosy. Yoonoh can only assume and hope that he doesn’t quote any of this conversation later on.

“That’s your problem,” you say suddenly, jostling your boyfriend from his thoughts,” not mine.” Yoonoh snorts before his fingers encircle his cock. He gently pumps the length in his hand; his touches are tentative and unsure as if trying to decide if this is ultimately worth it. His silence must be deafening and unwelcoming because he can hear you sigh over the phone; Annoyance, impatience. “You’re not doing it right,” you huff again. Your boyfriend can’t help but laugh at your antics.

He’s definitely sexted before, but never with his best friend. Everything just seems like it should be so awkward and weird. The fact that you know everything there is to know about Yoonoh only makes this task more daunting. He can’t be the cool sexy guy he usually is with all the other people he’s talked to. He can’t put on a front. He’s just Jung Yoon Oh, that boy you grew up with until he left America with his family.

“Wanna tell me how then?” Yoonoh asks, with amusement still laced in his voice. He doesn’t expect you to give him advice or tell him how, genuinely, but you manage to surprise him anyway. Your voice lowers a bit as if you’re suddenly nervous,” Hold it tighter.” Just like that, his grip tightens. “Go slower but like...drag it out if that makes sense?” It doesn’t really make sense, but at this point, he’s willing to go along with the interpretation. Have you always been this way? So pushy and insistent? Such a pervert that you could get off just from hearing Yoonoh like this? Before any sort of movement, Yoonoh grabs the bottle of lotion by his nightstand and pumps a copious amount into the palm of his hand. It’s then and only then that Yoonoh truly begins, much to your pleasure. His pace starts out slower than before, but his grip is harsher. His hand is now a tight moist vice and while it’s good, it’s nothing compared to the real thing. But having you on the phone listening to every sound that he makes is enough to keep him going. Yoonoh’s hips snap at the very end of each pump from his hand, a deliberate and intense rhythm building.

Even though Yoonoh is controlling his own movements, the purposeful strokes are almost unbearable. He’s never really been a loud guy in bed. He mostly grunts and sighs, allowing small groans of pleasure only when he’s about to cum. But this time it’s different. With Donghyuck sleeping just a few feet away, it’s somehow harder to control his moans; the whines that bubble in his throat are barely swallowed down. But being so close to the microphone, Yoonoh knows you can hear every single noise. Every sigh, every grunt, every groan that spills from between his lips. Even though it’s risky, the fact that you’re in on it too makes it so much more worth it. In the middle of it all, he can hear the pout in your voice as you mumble,” I wish I could see you right now. I bet you look so pretty...” You sound so genuinely disappointed that your boyfriend finds himself considering it; really considering turning on the lights and risking his dongsaeng waking up just so you can see him; hair messy and face flushed and cock dribbling precum.

Instead, he makes the least manly noise in response.

Yoonoh whines, desperate and strained, as he hangs on to your every word. Without inquiry he picks up the pace, barely containing the resulting moans. He wants you to hear everything; wants you to know what you do to him. He can hear your gasp shortly after his whine, can feel the slight tension at the very end of it all that reveals you’re just as desperate — if not more so —  than him. All your boyfriend has to hold on to is this picture of you, frozen in time, and the harshness of your breath at every noise he makes. Yoonoh feels a power with all of this that rivals your own predator-like intent; the ability to get you all riled up even though you can’t even see him right now.

Suddenly you pipe up, almost as desperate as he sounds,” You gotta describe everything to me okay, baby?” You’re so hurried in your demands that he can barely keep up. “How good do you feel? How close are you?” For a moment your boyfriend laughs; a genuine laugh that makes you stop in confusion for a minute. Yoonoh laughs through the shudders from each pull and takes the time to pour a bit more lotion into his hand before pumping at his shaft again. “Slow down,” he whispers, chancing a glance at the unmoving lump in Donghyuck’s bed,” You sound pretty needy yourself.”

He can picture you now, thighs tightening to relieve the harsh ache between your legs; getting yourself all riled up in your quest to hear him get off. “I miss you,” is all you say, but it isn’t in a way romantic way. This “I miss you” sounds wanton as you wholly crave something that’s 6k miles away but seemingly just out of reach. Yoonoh groans at the thought and squeezes the head of his cock with his thumb and forefinger, and tries to gain some control over the situation. He doesn’t want to cum too quickly; pleasure pools in the very pit of his stomach with a heat that’s nearly unbearable. “Talk to me, baby,” you say softly in his ear. “Tell me how you’re feeling. It’s really good right?” Yoonoh simply whimpers at first before opening his mouth to speak, “F-feels...good.” Yoonoh regrets not touching you now; regrets trying not to focus on the way your hips looking in your bathing suit bottom out of respect for his best friend. Because now he has no real reference except casual brushes against your skin and the way he held you before he left for Seoul. He can’t remember what your body feels like against his; doesn’t truly know how soft your skin is.

Yoonoh finds himself asking,” What are you wearing?” To which you respond, coyly,” Technically just a sweater. I’m in a fitting room right now.” You giggle and maybe it would be funny if he wasn’t absolutely rock hard right now. It takes him a minute to remember that you’re at the mall with your friends shopping for some dinner party or something. Do your friends know where you are? Do they know what you’re doing? Just when he thinks about calling you back in a bit to get rid of the annoying pressure, you become serious for a second. “Can I see you?” you ask, your voice lowering a bit again. “We can FaceTime for a bit.”

“It’s dark,” Yoonoh tries, briefly wondering if you’ve always been this brave,” Hyuck is sleeping.” It’s not like he really cares about Hyuck right now in this moment. Yoonoh just wants to see how much you want this. You unknowingly rise to the occasion; you’re still persistent in your mission to hear and apparently now see him get off, “Isn’t he a heavy sleeper? Turn on the light for a second.” It’s not a good idea at all. What if Donghyuck wakes up in a confused haze again and sees Yoonoh with his dick out? They’ve caught each other jacking off twice and both instances were horrible enough that Yoonoh wouldn’t want to repeat them. As if you can hear his train of thought, your voice suddenly gets a little higher. That airy light takes over it once more as you say,” I wanna show you something.”

Yoonoh hopes, prays, it’s your chest or slutty panties, something that he can just gape at and jack off to like the caveman he is right now. Before he realizes it the light in his room is on and he’s waiting patiently for your face to appear on the screen. Weirdly enough he feels nervous as he realizes that you’re going to see his cock for the first time on some iPhone camera. You answer just as quickly as he sent the request, your beautiful face appearing on the screen with mirth hidden in the very corners of your eyes. “Hey,” you mumble, hearts filling your eyes as you take in your boyfriend. He’s absolutely sure he looks the same as he looks over your face. For a few seconds, Yoonoh almost forgets why he called in the first place until another unconscious twitch from his cock brings him back to the matter at hand. He can hear the slamming of stalls and far off pieces of conversation as people leave and come into the dressing room. More importantly, he sees the air pods in your ears as you adjust the camera; your sweater now slightly undone.

“Did you stop?” you ask suddenly as your face comes back into view. You pout, almost as if you’re upset by the idea of him stopping. It’s so cute that it somehow becomes sexy again. “Don’t stop.” Despite the command, he’s a little hesitant to continue. Now that you’re here in front of him — kind of — he doesn’t want to cum yet. He wants to see what you’ll do, what you’ll say, now that you’re somewhat face to face. “Why don’t you help me out?” it sounds like one of his typical fuckboy lines and he knows it, but he doesn’t care. Yoonoh just wants to see you. You roll your eyes at the question, but even as you stare at the camera in faux annoyance he can see your fingers approach the very buttons of your sweater. As you unfasten the first few, his breathing hitches. His hand begins moving on its own once more now that there’s something to look forward to. After a little bit of rustling, and putting the phone down on what Yoonoh presumes is a shelf, your sweater is off. He finds himself licking his lips at the way your nipples harden from the cold. His cock twitches harshly as it begins leaking once again. Fuck he needs this; needs you more than anything in the whole fucking world right now. Briefly, Yoonoh considers buying you a ticket and coaxing you into coming just so he can fuck your mouth and cum so deep down your throat that you’ll taste it for weeks. “Like what you see?” you laugh as you look at the camera.

You set up the camera so that Yoonoh can see most of you; the way your tits bounce as you turn around and pose, glancing over your shoulder for effect. He can see your ass in some ridiculous skirt with the tag still on it; hugged gently enough to remind him just how fat it is. “You miss me?” he asks, sounding more desperate than ever,  already knowing the answer. The two of you have been saying it back and forth like a mantra. You face the camera once more and pout before nodding. It’s all an act, you both know it is, but it works.

Yoonoh’s hand begins moving once again in the same tight fist that you had previously demanded. You say something offhandedly as you glance at something off camera, but he doesn’t hear it. All he can think about is cumming on your pretty tits or even on your mouth to ruin that pretty lipstick.

All he can think about is the noises you’d make, the soft whimpers that would turn into gorgeous moans.

What makes your toes curl?

What makes you scratch at his shoulders?

What makes you cry out in pleasure?

Although these thoughts race through his mind, he musters all of the eloquence and grace he has at this moment to say,” Wanna fuck you so bad. Are you my pretty baby?” Your eyes widen a bit, not used to seeing this side of him, but you can’t help it. “I’m your pretty baby,” you mumble shyly, eyes falling to the floor briefly. Fuck. He can’t control it anymore. All Yoonoh wants to do is cum. All he can think about doing is cumming. The grip on his shaft goes slightly higher than before. He focuses strictly on the head of his cock, his pace fastening at the feeling.

It’s almost too much. Your tits, all of the attention on his cock, and now your ass as you turn once again to lean against the wall of the stall. Yoonoh thinks of fucking you there, of absolutely pounding into you at a brutal pace you can barely keep up with. Your boyfriend thinks of cumming on your ass as you pant for air you can barely catch; he finds himself getting lost in it, not really able to control the volume of the noises he’s making. Without a care in the world, groans tumble out of his mouth faster than he can keep up with. You have to remind him softly in his ear to be quiet, to bite his lip to keep the noises at bay. And so he does. It’s right there.

Yoonoh can feel everything coming to a very swift end as you face the camera again and smile into it. As if you sexting your boyfriend in a Zara fitting room is the most normal thing in the world. “Mmm...m’ gonna cum,” he whispers, eyes closing briefly as he prepares himself. You nearly bounce up and down with excitement as you say,” Let me see!” A quick tap of his thumb has the camera flipping and revealing his cock. He watches your eyes widen at the sight of it and briefly remembers that this is your first time seeing it.

Before he can comment, Yoonoh cums hot and fast. Rope after rope spills on his hand and on the tops of his thighs; each one stronger than the last until it’s finally done. There’s nothing left. He taps the camera back to his face, revealing his flushed cheeks and blissed out smile, and hums,” You’re so hot.” You shrug easily as you pull on your clothes with ease; as if you’ve been waiting for him to finish this whole time so you could leave. At 2:30 am Yoonoh isn’t ashamed to admit that he finds an old shirt from the floor and uses it to wipe away the cum all over his hands. After tossing the dirtied article across the room near his basket of dirty clothes, he curls underneath that stuffy duvet and positively basks in that familiar and calming post-orgasm glow. He doesn’t even realize he falls asleep until he’s face to face with you in his dreams, replaying the very first time you kissed over and over.

[meganshinsou-tm]

Shared Walls. (m)

↳ chapter three: enji todoroki

❧ genre: pro-hero shouto, coworkers to lovers, happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: none

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

You groaned and huddled more under the covers trying to escape the ear piercing sound of the alarm clock. Even after a few days the sound never got easier to wake up to, maybe a few more months and you'd get into a routine.

After two minutes of the constant sound you finally crawled out from your warm shelter and banged a fist on the electronic clock, making the noise cease to exist, at least until the next work day. Sitting up in bed, covers draped around your body like you were an Eskimo trying the escape the cold wind,  you smacked your dry lips and yawned.

"I wonder if I'll meet Mr. Enji today."

It was Friday and Endeavor still hadn't made it back in from his trip which put you at ease but also kept you on edge at the same time, anxious to meet the #1 hero any day now. But Friday also meant that at five, you were off until Monday morning. You had to admit your schedule was pretty lax, Monday through Friday, eight to five. You had weekends off but at the end of each month you were required to go in on a Saturday or Sunday to gather up all the heroes monthly reports and file them away and prepare for the new month. Not to mention you got paid extremely well with benefits, plus you got to work with genuinely friendly heroes.

Your feet finally touched the cool plush rug on the floor and you decided it was time to get ready for the day. Shower first, hair and makeup, clothes and a quick breakfast. Before leaving your apartment you did one final check to make sure you had everything you needed before heading out the door. 

In the quiet hall of the building you looked at the apartment door next to yours while locking the door. It was almost two – maybe three weeks now since you've moved in and still you had yet to meet your neighbor. Whoever it was you figured they just must be extremely busy. Shrugging your shoulders you danced down the stairs and towards the station. Soon you were sitting comfortably on the train, scrolling through different app and quirked a brow when a text message popped up. 

It was from cute little Haru, working with him the majority of your week at the agency had you quickly becaming friends and you found out that the guy was extremely gay when he commented on how "fucking delicious" one of the heroes looked one day.

➥ Haru-Boo: Hey, I won't be coming into work today, I've got major food poisoning. So if you need anything, please feel free to call or text! Have a good day, Miss Todoroki! (;

You cackled and rolled your eyes at the text and went back to scrolling. 

The black haired male had this ongoing joke about you and Shouto being star crossed lovers destined for each other. It was a dumb thing really, just because he would notice certain looks the two of you exchanged and how you seemed to be the only person who could legit make the half and half hero crack a smile or laugh. You'd be lying if you said you weren't crushing on Shouto but you didn't worry about it, you were a go with the flow type of girl now, whatever happens, happens. Plus you weren't sure if you were even the mans type, you were quirkless and plain, he was powerful and breathtaking, his father owned one of the most successful hero agencies in Tokyo, whoever Endeavors son brought home probably would have to be a real catch!

Shouto sighed as he poured himself a cup of tea and walked about the agency, waving and greeting all the heroes who were arriving for their jobs one at a time. It was almost eight, meaning that one certain set of (h/c) locks should be bouncing through the main offices doors any second now. 

Over the past week Todoroki had grown rather fond of you, he looked forward to seeing your bright and smiling face in the office before he had to go out on patrol. When he'd come in for a break or lunch he'd find you either in the lounge or break-room, eating or running around the office doing things for the other heroes. Sometimes he'd even walk into his fathers office to find you sitting in front of the large window you seemed to adore so much. He found it cute actually, always asking what you'd do once his father got back and took his office back as well. "I'll just butter him up and get on his good side, then maybe he'll let me sit in here whenever I want to,"  you told him.

Todoroki liked your determination to win his father over, despite how you seemed to tremble in your skin at the sound of his name, he figured it was just you wanting so desperately to be accepted by him. Shouto knew his father wasn't really a big softy, sure he's made improvements personality wise since getting and holding his #1 hero ranking, he's become more social and like-able towards the public, so maybe if anyone could 'butter him up', it would be you. Either way he was excited to see where your journey at his agency would take you.

The heroes thoughts were interrupted when the phone in his pocket started to go off, he took it out and answered. 

"Good morning father, everything okay?"

"Shouto, I'm just calling to let you know that I'll finally be back in the office today. How are things there?" Endeavors deep voice spoke on the other end, genuinely curious as to how his agency was running.

"Everything here is running smoothly, we even hired that extra help for the office, she's adapting very well to her tasks, she's definitely what the agency needed," Shouto answered with a sort of ring to his voice once he talked about you.

He swore he could hear a hum on the other end and a possible smirk from his old man.

"She huh? Hmm, so are you going to tell me more about this young lady that seems to have caught your eye?"

"Good morning Shouto,"  you called out walking into the locker room of the agency to put your bag and items into your assigned locker.

The hero jumped in place as he turned around to look at you, he faced the other way again, mumbling a few words before hanging up his phone and turning back around.

A chuckle left your lips and you opened the locker, "Sorry to scare you, I didn't mean to interrupt your call."

Shouto shook his head and placed his phone back into his pocket. He was already dressed in his hero getup, making you blush at the sight of him. You had to admit, you loved seeing him in his suit, it was simple but so good looking on him. Your favorite part was the clasp that connected the ends of his collar, looking like he wore a choker.

"I wasn't scared, just startled," the hero replied as he walked over to you and leaned against the lockers and sipped his tea.

"Is there a difference," you asked while closing the door to the locker and looking up at the tall man, squinting an eye and half smiling.

Shouto smirked and crossed his arms, "Slightly, scared is to be fearful or frightened. Startled is to be shocked or alarmed."

You rolled your eyes and placed a hand on his cheek giving him a look that displayed you weren't really buying the bullshit.

"You're really reaching with that one Shouto, but I'll let it slide!"

A puff of steam escaped from the males mouth as he exhaled a chuckle, you laughed at his quirk acting up like it always does when you touched him and pinched his cute little chubby cheek making him blush.

"Hey can I ask you something?"

Shouto hummed and quirked his white brow at you.

"What are these," you asked and reached for the little objects that hung from his belt and tugged on it, pulling his hips forward.

The male seemed taken back at your complete lack of personal space with your hand being so close to his crotch. A light blush crossed his cheeks and he struggled for a bit to find his words as you didn't let go and inspected the object, leaning down to get a closer look.

"Uh – they're just random containers that hold vials of water, painkillers, disinfectants or other medicines that I have on hand. You know for rescue situations."

You let the container fall from your grasp and stood straight up again with a smile, this guy really was thoughtful and sort of 'mom like', it was really cute.

"That's really cool of you to have Shouto, its very admirable how seriously you take your job and are always thinking ahead."

The half and half man nodded with a smile at your compliment. "You know, one time I had a kid call me 'Five Pee-Pee Man', he said these looked like ... well you know."

You bit down hard on your lip and crossed your arms, one hand covering your mouth as you tried your hardest not to die laughing. Todoroki could see the struggle you were going through and let you know it was okay to laugh, so you did. It was a hearty laugh making the corners of your cheeks rise high and crinkle the corners of your eyes. Shouto hadn't seen you laugh like this before but he enjoyed it, and wouldn't mind making you laugh like this often.

He chuckled in response and looked at his watch to see the time, internally he groaned knowing he really needed to head out but not wanting to leave the sight before him.

You noticed him looking at the device and wiped the tears from your eyes, "I'm sorry I'm keeping you from work Shouto, I really should get going myself, I'm alone today so I have double the work."

Todoroki nodded and uncrossed his arms and walked out of the locker room with you until you both came to the end of the hall that split, one way going back towards the main lobby and the other going towards where the heroes would exit from. You faced each other and smiled, looking at his face you noticed an eyelash about to fall into his vision.

"Hey Shouto, lean down for me, you have an eyelash about to impale your eyeball."

He did as instructed, one hand cupped his cheek and the other brushed his hair out of his face, your fingers threading through his soft and fluffy bangs making you giggle and making him look at you with question.

"Sorry, I've just always wanted to touch your hair, don't mind me. I'm gonna lightly hold open your eyelids, can you look up for me please?"

Your fingertips held apart his top and bottom lids as he looked up and you very lightly blew air into his eye, causing the lash to move out of his vision and under his eyeball. You removed the rouge lash from its place then released him, he blinked rapidly and looked at you, both hands cupped his face now and your thumbs brushed his soft and pale cheeks as you looked back into the beautiful light grey and ocean blue eyes.

Your breathing hitched as he stayed there, staring back at you and letting you touch him so intimately. You were able to take in the sight of his burned flesh that you honestly never even noticed. Your fingers brushed above his red brow and felt the scare tissue left behind, a puff of cold air came out from Todoroki's lips and made you realize what you were doing.

"Oh, Shouto I'm - I'm sorry, I shouldn't,"  you went to retract your hands but his own grabbed your wrists and held them in place.

"Please, it's okay, this is actually rather ... comforting."

You were shocked but didn't complain, your heart was beating so fast and you could hear it in your ears. You honestly wanted to stay this way forever, looking into those gorgeous hues and running your fingers through his soft locks, until you realized the two of you really needed to get back to work. Smiling, you started raising his head in your hands to make him stand straight again, both of your hands sliding from his face and to his chest, his own hands never leaving your wrists. Todoroki's thumbs brushed your soft and delicate skin in his grasp as he looked down and searched your eyes before looking down at your plump and soft lips that you seemed to lick before giving him a soft smile.

"Be careful out there okay! I'll see you at lunch," you asked somewhat sure and somewhat unsure.

Shouto smirked and brushed your cheek, "I'll see you at lunch!"

➥ You: OH MY GOD! I just like held RokiRoki's face in my hands!!! 0_0

➥ Haru-Boo: *gasps* Was it a magical moment? :0

➥ You: It was something, I'll call you when I get home, we may need to get drinks!

It was now around ten in the afternoon, the agency was quiet and pretty much dead. Heroes on break or on lunch flooded in and out. All your major tasks were done for the moment so you went to the break-room to get coffee. It was pouring outside and chilly in the building, so a cup a two seemed fitting. You placed a cup in front of the air pot and went to press the pump down, groaning when nothing came out. You grabbed the pot and walked to the kitchen to make another fresh batch. While waiting for it to brew, you went and got a box of chocolate Pocky from your bag, walking around while snacking on it and checking the place out for any messes or things that needed to be tended to. After about five minutes the coffee should've been done so you walked back to the kitchen, as you got closer you could hear something that sounded like water running.

"That's weird I didn't – oh my god, holy shit!" 

You screamed upon walking in and seeing the coffee pot overflowing as more just kept pouring out from the spout of the machine.

Freaking out you didn't know what to do, dropping the box of Pocky in your hand and scrambling for paper towels and dish towels to cover the soaked floor. Next you tried to locate where the problem was coming from and just completely unplugged the machine in order to turn off the water source, making you get on your hands and knees and reach underneath the table it was on in order to do so. Growls and profanities dripped from your mouth as you cleaned up the floor with the now dark brown towels.

"What on earth is going on here?"

Your body stiffened under the table at a loud and booming voice, craning your neck to turn and see who it was. All you could see was dark dress shoes and khaki pants, so you crawled backwards out from under the table and went to sit up, bumping your head in the process and crying out.

"Oh sh - here, let me help you that sounded like it hurt!"

Massive hands picked you up effortlessly by the waist and placed you on your feet.

You rubbed the back of your head wincing with eyes screwed shut, "Oh man, yeah I'm gonna be feeling that for a good bit, thank you tho – ngh!"

You stood in shock as your eyes opened and laid upon the one and only Enji Todoroki. Swallowing harshly you looked up, he towered over you like the very building you were standing in. The man was built like the damn Hulk.

His fierce ocean blue eyes looked down at you with curiosity as he raised a brow. His quirk was deactivated, making him look a tad bit less intimidating but he was still a big and scary dude, but he was also very handsome which made you notice you were staring for far too long at the hero.

Quickly your frame backed up and bowed before him, "Endeavor! Uh – I'm sorry, Mr. Todoroki!" you sputtered and looked around at the mess in the kitchen, hoping the floor would open up and swallow you whole. "I'm so sorry you had to return to this mess, I honestly don't know why this is happening!"

Enji seemed to look around himself and groaned. 

"I told them to order a new coffee maker weeks ago and I see it hasn't been done, it does this sometimes. Don't blame yourself, it's just a simple malfunctioning machine."

Your body immediately went back to cleaning up the mess as you became a mess yourself. "Mr. Todoroki, I'm so sorry! If you want I can order a new one immediately once I get this cleaned up."

Enji smirked and grabbed a mop from the corner of the kitchen and handed it to you, "Here, I'll lift this table and you should be able to clean the floor easier."

Shocked by his urge to help, you nodded and did as instructed when he lifted the heavy table with ease.

"Teamwork makes the dream work sir," you blurted out before being able to stop it, wanting to die of embarrassment from your word vomit.

You were surprised though to hear a hearty chuckle escape from the scary hero though.

"You're funny, who are you by the way, you know me but I haven't seen you around here."

You finished mopping and moved out of the way so the man could sit the table back down. "I'm sorry Mr. Todoroki, I'm (Y/N) (L/N), I just started working here Monday."

A light-bulb went off in Enji's head and his mouth parted into a silent "oh".

"So you're the one my Shouto hired! Well it's nice to finally meet you, I've heard a lot about you! Please you can drop the honorifics and just call me Enji."

[bililireinhartarchive]

Riverdale: A High School Musical. Chapter 1: Start of Something New.

Hey babes!

So what has been promised has come to pass. Was it wise to start another multi-chapter while I still have Roses and Tiaras? Probably not, but it’s happening.

I had a lot of help with this fic. So thank you lovely beta @wherearethecloudsnow (I usually forego betas, because I’m an impatient asshole, but she was incredible.)

Thank you to the amazing @stark for helping me with the ideas for this fic. And without her, this fic would be very different. Thanks, babe.

And, of course, without @livelovebughead this fic might not exist. Because she was the one to suggest HSM to me.

So, obviously, it’s on AO3 here, if you prefer: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13510944/chapters/30987957

And I hope you like it. :)

People often say that opposites attract, but who’s ever seen it in practice? Who knows if this adage is true everywhere, but it’s definitely true in Riverdale. After all, where else could you see such a band of opposites coming together to make the greatest winter musical?

~~~

Cheryl Blossom, perfect in every way. Perfect to all but her parents. That honor was saved for her twin brother, Jason. He was always the golden boy, never made a mistake in their parents' eyes. Now they were left with a failure.

That summer Jason had died in a tragic drowning accident while taking Cheryl on an early morning boat ride. Cheryl missed her brother more than anything, and there was nothing she wouldn’t give to have him back.

The Blossom twins couldn’t have been closer if they were attached at the hip. They shared everything together, and she was plagued by unending guilt. She threw herself into her academics, to try to take the pain away for a minute, a second, as long as it would stay away. But everything changed when her red convertible rolled right into Riverdale High School.

~~~

Betty Cooper was the perfect girl next door. Editor of the school paper, cheerleading team member, top of her classes. However, despite all of this, Betty hates the word perfect and hates the fact that it’s what she aspires to be all the time. As is the case with a lot of families they never see eye to eye.

What Betty wants to be in her life makes no difference to her mother, Alice Cooper. Studying hard, looking good for college, being so damn spotless is all that matters to her. That, and having control over Betty.

For as long as Betty could remember her mother has been telling her who to be, what to do, and how to do it. It didn’t matter that what if Betty didn’t want to be a journalist, or what if she didn’t want to be at the top of all her classes. Maybe all she wanted to do was dance, for now, but it didn’t matter.

All thoughts like that had been banished from Betty’s mind long ago, along with her toe, tap, and jazz shoes. All Betty had left that was truly her own idea was cheerleading, and, God, did she hold onto that fiercely.

She’s always volunteering for everything you could imagine, which is why she was tasked with showing Cheryl Blossom around the school.

~~~

Veronica Lodge, spoiled little rich girl. Used to always having her way, never cared about anyone but herself. Everything has to be perfect in her eyes, otherwise, don’t get caught in the crossfire.

Veronica is the “It” girl in Riverdale, always has been. She thought no one would ever take her place at the school, at least until Cheryl Blossom with her perfect red hair and gorgeous lips rolled into town.

~~~

“Welcome to Riverdale High, Cheryl Blossom. I’m Betty Cooper,” she said with the perfect smile.

“I don’t care, can I just have my class schedule? I’ve seen stables bigger than your puny high school,” Cheryl said with a bored expression and crossed arms.

“Of course, I took the liberty of compiling your list of classes, and a separate sheet of paper of all the extracurriculars our lovely school has to offer,” Betty said, the smile still etched on her face.

“Thank you, I suppose. I doubt I’ll join any clubs, I want to spend all my time studying,” Cheryl said.

“Well, Riverdale High has several academic clubs, if you’re interested,” Betty replied.

“All I’m interested in is you hicks leaving me alone with solitude,” Cheryl said.

“Of course,” Betty said, her smile faltering for only a moment, “I hope you find what you’re looking for here in Riverdale.”

Betty started to walk away.

“Hold up. Would you just get that fucking smile off your face and help me find my homeroom?” Cheryl said, her face turning the shade of her hair.

“Yes,” Betty chuckles with a genuine smile on her face.

~~~

Jughead Jones, a person no one truly knows. A writer, an observer, and, most surprisingly, Veronica Lodge’s faithful puppy.

When Jughead was seven and his sister was only one, their mother ran off. FP Jones, having no steady job and a steady flow of alcohol, asked his only living relative, Hiram Lodge, to care for his two children. Veronica saw this as an opportunity for fun.

~~~

“Jughead, chop, chop. We must get to planning the winter musical,” Veronica said, walking ahead of him.

“Veronica, there’s almost two months until then, why are we starting now?” Jughead asked.

“Because Lodges always need perfection, and we won’t be involved in anything that isn’t perfect,” Veronica said, giving her sleek black hair a toss.

“Right, whatever,” Jughead said, sticking his headphones in his ears.

Jughead honestly didn’t know why he was still even listening to the crap that fell from Veronica’s lips. Mostly just because he felt like he owed her something, he supposed. Even though, ever since he arrived at the Lodge doorstep, Veronica hadn’t done anything to warrant a loyalty from him. Except the fact that she treated Jellybean like her own little sister, and protected her as such. That was the only reason he hadn’t just run off to someplace besides Riverdale. And, at least, the Lodges were kind to him. They always made him feel welcome in their home, they celebrated his birthday, and gave him an allowance. Like a real family.

If only he didn’t have the lingering memory in the back of his mind of his real family. He still remembered, vividly, the screaming, and occasionally even the breaking of things during their fights. Jughead really didn’t know what they were fighting about really, hell, he wasn’t even sure that they knew. All he really knew, for sure, was that he woke up on some Tuesday morning to the sound of his father sobbing, and he never saw his mother again. Occasionally, he saw his father, every two months or so, and it’s a miracle when he’s sober.

Maybe that was why he still listened to Veronica, to feel accepted, to feel wanted, to be noticed.

~~~

Cheryl and Betty became fast friends that day. Maybe what drew them to the other was that they both had a hole that needed filling, they had both lost someone. Sure, Betty still had Archie Andrews in her life, but he was always so busy with practice and training. And he didn’t understand the emptiness inside her, and even when they first met, Betty felt that Cheryl did.

~~~

Now there was a story, Archie Andrews. For all intents and purposes, Archie was perfect. Maybe he wasn’t the greatest student in the world, but, boy, this guy could play football. He was basically the king of the school, everybody loved him, but even he felt something missing in his life. And he knew what that thing was.

Music.

Over the summer he spontaneously decided to learn how to read music and play the guitar. And not only did he do that, he fell in love. With playing, with singing, with writing. But what would everybody think if he suddenly dropped football, and started playing music? They’d all think he was crazy for giving up the many opportunities that playing football gave him.

So he gave it up, and now it felt like he was missing an arm.

~~~

Kevin Keller. The complete opposite of Archie, he’s completely out of his love for music, but there’s something that he isn’t out about.

He’s gay.

Kevin’s known this about himself for a long time, but he’s been afraid to come out. How will this change how people view him? Will they still allow him to write all the songs for the school’s shows? It’s reasons like these that keep him in the closet, he hasn’t even told his father.

[deanssexplorations]

“There Was So Much Going On I Didn’t Always Know Who Was Between My Legs” (Three-Couple Dinner and Sex Party Part 2)

Ah, where to begin on this one?  I recently blogged about my friend Calliope and me conspiring to throw a three-couple dinner and sex party, one of her big bucket list items. There was a bit of a back and forth to get the guest list all settled, but in the end we had an all-star line up. Adam and Jennifer, Eve, and my young, new friend Chuck would all be joining us at at the Airbnb Calliope had rented for the occasion. A lovely spot near the beach. 

It was a great group, and I was confident it would be a great night.

After weeks of anticipation, the day finally arrived (this was last Saturday as it turns out). A last-minute flurry on our Kik thread saw Chuck again generously offering to bring whatever we needed, while Eve wondered if there was a pre-party because she was so ready to fuck, like now. Adam and Jennifer confirmed their wine selections. All was set.

Until Eve let us know, about an hour before the scheduled arrival time, that she had accepted an offer to hang out with one of her new friends, naked on the back of his motorcycle, while he and his buddies paraded, also naked on their motorcycles, down the streets of Santa Cruz. I guess they do this once a month or so. It was a bucket list item that Eve couldn’t pass up.

She told us to start without her and she wouldn’t be more than an hour late.

I got there a bit early and caught up with Calliope while we finished preparing and got the music set. Jennifer, Adam, and Chuck arrived on schedule, and soon we were enjoying delicious hors d’oeuvres (Calliope, remind me the name!), listening to our Mad Men-inspired playlist, and sampling the wonderful selection of wine Jennifer and Adam had brought.  And the delicious Zinfandel that Tony and Michelle had donated in our honor.

That Michelle and Tony. So generous of them.

Appetizers led to dinner, a delicious three-course affair. Calliope started us with a bright fall salad, followed by pan-seared halibut and roasted potatoes, then a refreshing pomegranate-based dessert. Adam poured the perfect pairing for each course, and we enjoyed lively, sex-charged conversation throughout.

Eve texted updates, including a selfie of her and her guy friend naked on his Harley. Right around when we were finishing dinner she texted that she was outside the front door. Opening it, I saw that she was wearing a short, sexy black overcoat that showed off her fabulous legs. And bright red come-fuck-me stilettos. I offered to take her coat, but learned she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

Did I mention I love how Eve rolls?

As Eve caught up with the plate we had saved for her we launched into an STI/testing/limits conversation (everyone was recently tested, no one was reactive, and we were very compatible in terms of limits and desires). I then launched us into a (single) round of Never Have I Ever, which I was planning as a bridge from dinner to the bedroom, having been stymied before by one too many awkward “who moves first” group dynamics. As it turned out, I needn’t have worried as everyone was a pro, or at least was very game, and all it took to get people going was a glance at my watch and a suggestion that we move to the sex part of the evening.

That said, we did learn that our 30-year-old, second-time-having-sex-in-a-group friend Chuck was the only one there who joined the Mile High Club.  That in the midst of one of the most sexually uninhibited six-somes I’ve ever been part of.

Nicely done, Chuck!

Everyone stood up from the table, paired up and began kissing. Adam started kissing Calliope, Chuck was kissing Eve, and I was enjoying Jennifer’s tall stature and luscious lips. As clothes started coming off I discovered that the dress Jennifer had chosen that evening was equally apropos. It had a single tie, which when loosened opened the entire front of the dress, only to reveal that she too was wearing absolutely nothing underneath.

I guess Jennifer and Eve were fortunate that I hadn’t chosen strip poker as our way to ease into the bedroom.

After ducking out to prepare the adjoining bedroom (those candles were not about to light themselves), I took Jennifer by the hand and led her to the waiting king-sized bed (which Calliope and I hadn’t been entirely sure would handle all the bodies that night!)

Normally I’m pretty zoned in during sexual encounters, doing a good job paying attention to what’s going on around me, and I’m usually also good at reconstructing the chain of events. But this night was crazy epic, with a flood of sensory overload that made it impossible for me to keep track of all the details.

I know I started out by going down on Jennifer, which I had been really looking forward to. In the several times we’d played together, I’d only gone down on her once, and that was a learning experience as much as anything as I got to know her pussy’s hot buttons. I was excited to put my knowledge to work, and that excitement seemed to be contagious, as she started out with what seemed to be a very nice orgasm.

From there it starts to become a bit of a blur. At various points of the evening, I fucked each of the women, I went down on each of the women, and each of the women sucked my cock. Each woman paired up with each man in every imaginable coupling, and each woman played with the other women in some way, shape, or form. I am pretty sure they all went down on each other at some point, but it was beyond my ability to keep careful track.

It was crazy. It was wonderful. It was epic.

But even more than the individual couplings, of which there were many, the defining dynamic of the night was the multi-person group play, of which there was a copious amount. Our session lasted for about two hours (we started a little after 10:00 p.m. and wound down a bit after midnight), and for most of that time people were engaged in multiple simultaneous couplings. Just a giant pile of writhing bodies.

We would spend a few minutes in some particular configuration, and then people would fluidly, organically shift to the next position, to the next person. There were times I wasn’t sure whose ass was next to me or whose tit was in my hand (well, that’s maybe a bit of hyperbole but you get the point). And everyone was just as interested in giving as receiving. No one was neglected, even for a moment.

Or as Calliope said when we were texting the next day, “there was so much going on I didn’t always know who was between my legs.”

But even against the Caligula-like pastiche of naked bodies sucking and fucking, a few moments stand out. During dessert Eve told us she likes being restrained, to which Adam replied that he can bring out a rough edge if the situation warrants. We were taking a bit of a break about three quarters of the way through the evening when she invited him to restrain her while she tested his beast mode by trying to escape. Watching the two of them writhing around on the bed was crazy fun, with the added bonus that we got an amazing view of Eve’s gorgeous pussy and ass. (She did escape, but only because he suffered a small cramp in the tussle. We’ll have to do a rematch one day and see which wins out - the irresistible force or the immovable object.)

A second vignette came when someone - maybe Eve, spotted the candles burning in the windowsill and thought it would be fun to drip a little hot wax on each other. Eve dripped some on Calliope, and Chuck driped it on Eve’s chest and tits. She yelped a bit with each drop, but said it hurt so good and asked him to continue. I even did a drop just to see. It definitely had a bite. 

Adam had to remind me that I (almost) made Jennifer squirt. I had been fucking her, then pulled out to start fucking Eve, when Adam saw Jennifer was at the edge and reached between her legs. With just the right touch, he helped push her over that edge to a gusher. She normally holds back because she can soak a bed - and occasionally has - but just the right stimulation in the right order, combined with multiple explosions earlier that night, all made it happen.

I should probably mention that I love how Jennifer rolls.

Another vignette, around that same mini-break, came when Jennifer and Eve left to get a drink of water, leaving the three men on the bed with Calliope. My motor was still going, and so was Chuck’s, so I asked Calliope how she would like to have three cocks all to herself. Now keep in mind that we are still working to give her her first MMF experience, so my proposal was to sort of bypass that and go straight to an MMMF!  Calliope was more than game, and lay on her back while I fucked her, and she sucked Chuck’s cock and played with Adam’s with her hand. I suspect that particular memory will remain with her for some time to come. 

I do love how Calliope rolls.

But maybe my favorite moment, even more than Calliope and her three cocks, came at the very end of the evening. We were winding down and Jennifer and Adam were talking about hitting the road when Chuck spoke up to mention that he had never had a double blowjob. Which he had asked me about during the run-up to the event, and I told him that the attendees would probably be delighted to give a young man a bucket list item. Jennifer and Eve gladly obliged while I luxuriated on the bed, enjoying the lovely embrace of Calliope’s lips around my cock. Probably my most indelible memory of the evening is watching him stand there in pure bliss as the two women knelt before him, taking turns enveloping his cock with their mouths while the other ran her lips up down his shaft and cradled his balls. 

He told us it was so amazing that he couldn’t decide who to have suck his cock, and we told him that wasn’t his job to worry about, and to relax and leave everything up to the two lovely ladies.

Finally we did wind down, dressed (an easy task for Jennifer and Eve), and bid each other good night. I felt (slightly) bad about leaving the place such a mess - dishes still on the dining room table, hors d’oeuvres spread around the coffee table, the kitchen a mess, and the bedroom in shambles. But I knew that Calliope would be basking in the afterglow as she straightened up the next morning. 

And I knew she would relish every moment.

[Post-script: in the days following the party as we we were exchanging memories, compliments, and pictures via Kik, Chuck let us know he had come down with flu-like symptoms and asked if anyone had been to China recently. No one had. Then Eve came down with it, followed by Calliope, Jennifer, and finally Adam. Only I - for whatever reason - had been spared. And it’s not for lack of kissing the other lovely dinner guests, I can guarantee you that. 

As we were comparing notes and commiserating over everyone’s ailments (and by the way, it’s not coronavirus, at least according to the doctors Chuck consulted), Calliope pointed out that it’s possible to be contagious with the flu even when you feel great, adding that “everyone in my life has gotten the flu this year. I am the last to fall.”

Responded Adam, “But what a way to fall.”]

[unintelligible-screaming]

ill met by moonlight, part 3/?

vrisrezi, fae vriska au

(part 1)(part 2)

the fic about how terezi opens a gateway to the fae realm in a 7-eleven at 2 a.m. partly influenced by @hypeswap​ and also that one “if you blow a fairy, do you owe them a debt?” post.

it’s about a month late, due to travel and lack of internet and all that jazz, but it’s here!

this chapter is twice as long as the ones before it, and the last half is very nsfw. if that’s not your thing, read until they start making out, then stop and pick it up at the next chapter.

////////

“Here we are!” announces Miss Blueberry.

You flail and push yourself upright, blinking away sleep. There’s a flicker of a dream on the edge of your mind, the taste of something awful and strange on your tongue, but you’re not thinking about that right now. “What? Here? Where?”

Up ahead is a vast storm. Clouds shake with thunder, darkness roiling in their bellies, and lightning keeps shattering the sky. The rainfall is a wall laid across the horizon. It approaches with impossible speed.

You grip the armrests. “We’re headed right in the middle of that thing!”

“Yes we are!” she shouts gleefully, slamming the gas.

You squeak at the sudden acceleration. “How fast are we—?”

“Who’s counting?”

The tumults and eddies in the seething storm are stomach-droppingly magnified as they approach. Clouds tower into the sky, looming above, no chance of escape. It swallows you.

Weightlessness. There’s the crack of thunder and the roar of buckets’ worth of rain hitting the roof all at once, and then nothing.

Eventually, you become aware that the car is moving again. The road is smooth and there is no sensation of movement, so you’re not sure how you know the car is driving forward, but you do. It’s moving down a long stretch of road, and when you inhale, your heart jumps.

Thousands of stars lie overhead. It’s as if a jug of diamonds was spilled across the sky, littering the black velvet with pinpricks of light. Sounds assault your ears—car horns, motorcycles revving, pedestrians chatting, drivers shouting.

“Miss Blueberry,” you say. “Are we in Unseelie?”

“Yeah, bu—what did you just call me?”

You ignore her and roll down the window, sticking your nose out like a dog. Now Miss Blueberry’s car makes a harsh engine sound, and the street is jammed with traffic. There are buildings along the sidewalk, but everything moves so fast that they’re merely a multicolored blur. It’s an abrupt contrast to the Seelie lands’ wavering unreality; everything feels so physical, so real, that it beats anything the mortal realm could ever put forward. It makes your head whirl, and you start to grin. The Unseelie really put the “life” into “nightlife.”

The car in front of you stops a little too abruptly, and your faerie companion hits the horn irately. “Fuck you too, pal!” she shouts.

“I hope not all of these people are headed for the Court,” you say. “Otherwise we’d be spending a few hours in traffic.”

She shrugs. “Good thing we’re not actually going to the Unseelie Court.”

You whip your head around. The car jerks to a stop in front of a red light. She looks more disgruntled about the red light than her derailment of your contract.

“Excuse me?”

She grimaces. “Sure, we’ll get there eventually, but I’ve been awake for like forty-eight hours. I need some sleep before I offend the Queen with your presence.”

“The deal was no unnecessary detours.”

“Oh come on, this counts as necessary! I have business to take care of at my home, and then I’m sleeping. Besides, it’s already past midnight. The Queen won’t allow visitors to the Court until the sun sets tomorrow.”

You chew on your lip. Faeries can be sneaky, but they can’t lie to your face, and you smell only honesty and the faint aroma of day-old pudding. “And we’re just, what, gonna have a sleepover at your house until tomorrow night? Will there be hair-braiding? Fingernail painting? Trauma-inducing games of truth or dare?”

She groans. “I’m taking you to the Court, what more do you want?”

“I can’t stay in your dwelling.”

You don’t need to enumerate the reasons aloud. Her words imply an offer of hospitality, a place to sleep when you have nowhere else to go. A faerie’s dwelling is not somewhere you bring someone you don’t trust, not unless you are under extreme duress, so you don’t think she’s trying to trap you into owing her, but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t come out of it with a debt you couldn’t repay.

Silence for a while. She grits her teeth, and you can actually hear the tiny grinding sound of enamel. “Even your silence is pointy. I hate that,” she mutters.

You’re startled into a laugh. “That implies that the rest of me is pointy.”

“You are pointy.”

“My glasses, maybe. The rest of me not so much. ‘Soft’ or ‘round’ would be a better descriptor.” You poke your tummy for emphasis.

She looks confused. “What? No, I wasn’t talking about your corporeal form. I meant the way you say things. Your written contract fixation. Your mind.”

“My mind is… pointy?”

“Sharp and edged. It doesn’t like to stay still, or be held.” She shifts abruptly to the right lane without hitting her turn signals. A jam-packed bus honks at her as it zooms past. “Anyways, I’m heading home and you fucking know what? You don’t want my hospitality, you can sleep in the car.”

“A car is still a safe space that belongs to you. The results would be about the same.”

“Then what you’ll owe me for sleeping in my dwelling will cancel out what I owe you for whatever ‘assault and battery’ is supposed to be!”

“No.”

“No?”

“We made a contract—that’s more stable than a normal debt. It can’t be nullified until it’s fulfilled. I’ll owe you a separate debt, but it won’t cancel out the first one.”

“Oh, fuck you,” she says. “I was hoping you'd forget.”

You raise an eyebrow teasingly. “I thought you said I was sharp?”

“Do you know how tired I am? Do you know?” Her face starts to go red, and you realize you just pushed a button. “I spent a whole thirty-six hours awake on a single hunt in the mortal realm, and then the Handmaid, that awful little Seelie time sprite, shows up and is like, hey, you know you owe me this massive life debt and now I can literally control your every action? How about you do this totally humiliating task!”

“How—”

“And then you show up, with your pointy little words and your pointy little thoughts, and suck me into this stupid repayment cycle. I’ve never been in debt to a mortal before. Do you know how embarrassing that is?” She throws her hands up in the air, causing the car to swerve dangerously before she yanks it back again.

“Um—”

“And I know, I just know, that the Orphaner’s going to see me when I show up at the Queen’s Court dragging you along, and he’s going to get all snotty with his little simpering w’s, and the entire Court is going to watch it and it will be humiliating.”

Her driving is increasingly erratic. “Uh, maybe you should watch the—” you try.

“You know what? Fuck it. I nullify any debt payments required by you seeking shelter under my roof within the next day/night cycle. There. It’s done.”

“…thanks?”

She jerks the steering wheel to the right. You yelp, catching yourself just before your nose smashes into the windowpane.

The city lights streak by increasingly fast, then dissolve into smoke. There’s an acrid tang on the roof of your mouth.

Something happens, another strange fae shift, and the car screeches on the brakes and halts in front of a tall, lone building.

“Home sweet home,” she snarls.

The building’s rooms are stacked haphazardly, like a structure of wooden blocks made by a child. Twelve-paned windows glow with yellow light. It’s several stories high, the walls dark grey cement.

Miss Blueberry gets out of the car and slams the door behind her. She manifests a set of keys and marches toward the front door. “Are you coming or do I have to drag you?

You scramble to follow.

She unlocks the door and shoves you in. You catch your balance and look around. It’s a living room furnished like a high-rise apartment out of a real estate commercial, with polished floors and a sleek black leather couch and an elegant modernist coffee table. Everything is in black, grey and white, with hints of cobalt blue here and there.

You inhale. The air is thick with cloying sweetness, and you recognize it as her signature scent. A giant multi-paned window looks out onto an impossibly lush green forest landscape, dewdrops like crystals on each perfect leaf on each perfect tree. It looks real enough that it probably is, even if the forest isn’t physically connected to the true outside of the house.

“Is a grand tour scheduled?” you ask, walking up and hooking your arm through hers.

She sighs deeply and rubs at the circles under her eyes, but she lets your arm stay where it is.

She leads you to the hallway and points at the doors. “That is the spare room, this is my bedroom, and there is a door you will not enter for any reason.”

The last door she points at is mahogany and has a total of eight gigantic padlocks, each glowing with the same menacing light as the sword she almost decapitated you with. You nod. “You’re right. I will definitely not be entering your eldritch faerie sex dungeon.”

“Fu—” She catches herself and glares. “I have business to conduct in my private affairs, so just… don’t destroy my furniture, okay?” She unlatches herself from your arm and goes to the locked door. She drags a finger down each lock; they click in succession.

You sniff discreetly as the door swings open. You catch a draft of air with the tang of dried blood and cold iron.

“HEY!” shouts someone hoarsely. “LET ME—”

The words dissolve into pained coughing, and then the faerie slams the door shut behind her. The smells cut off abruptly.

Now that you’re alone, your senses heighten. The air seems colder than before, and it presses down on your skin. You may have been invited, but that does not make you welcome, and the house knows that.

You lay an ear against the mysterious mahogany door, but it’s soundproof. Disappointed, you wander back toward the living room.

It’s kind of weird—it doesn’t feel lived in at all. You seriously doubt that the house’s inhabitant is interested in modernist furniture or such excessively clean floors. Maybe she spends more time somewhere else? She did say that she’d spent thirty-something hours in the human realm on a single mission.

You wonder what her bedroom looks like. You decide to investigate.

A poke at her door allows it to swing silently open. You raise an eyebrow at what you see inside. The furniture is all leather and expensive wood, and the queen-size bed is draped in black silk, but it’s completely filled with random junk.

Clothes are strewn everywhere, doodles on sketchbook paper are scattered across the desk, board games are in haphazard piles on the floor. There’s even a bunch of broken 8-balls in a corner for no apparent reason. It looks like the bedroom of a ten-year-old who was never told to put their toys back after playing with them, but there’s something about it that makes you want to step inside… take off your jacket… sit down… relax your muscles… You can’t even tell if it’s magic or not.

In this place that feels so strongly like her, your thoughts drift to her hair falling over her shoulders, the regal line of her nose. That brief moment of warmth when her skin touched yours.

The faintest of shivers graces the back of your neck. Perhaps it’s a bad idea to be so incredibly attracted to a faerie who has already tried to kill you.

(Then again, you did your research, and you know there are ways you could use the situation in your favor, if you play your cards right—)

“What are you doing?”

You jump. Miss Blueberry is standing behind you, looking exasperated. Flakes of what appears suspiciously like blood cling to her hands. She wipes it off on her coat.

“Just looking around,” you say, taking in the twist of her lips, the way her eyes keep darting up and down instead of meeting yours directly.

“Yeah, well, whatever you’re planning, it’s not—”

You take her face in your hands and kiss her.

She makes a shocked little “mmh!” sound, and then you feel her hands in your hair. There’s a row of tiny pinpricks that can only be her claws. She bites down on your lower lip, sharp teeth almost breaking skin, almost instinctive, and kisses back hard.

Your thumb moves in a circle over her cheekbone. She pulls back a little, repeats, “Whatever you’re planning, it’s not gonna work.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say, tossing your glasses to the floor and pressing a kiss just below her ear. Her skin looks like polished stone, but it’s as soft as satin under your lips. She smells so sweet.

She makes a doubtful sound, but half a second later her hands are sliding beneath your shirt. “This is a bad idea,” she says, but she doesn’t sound very convinced. She’s beginning to flush, tinting her cheeks a faint blue. It’s kind of weird and also cute as fuck.

“All the best ideas are,” you say, a little breathless, and just when you’re about to say something else to correct that stupid thing you just said, her mouth is on yours again. Her tongue slips between your teeth; she tastes like pure sugar. You feel dizzy. Electricity sparks in your veins.

You shake off the threads of her glamour and tug at the lapels of her coat. She steps back and shrugs it off, then returns to rubbing circles into your waist. You drag your mouth from her lips to her neck, lingering at her collarbone.

She pulls your shirt off and unhooks your bra, then swipes a thumb over your breast. You shiver. You’re heating up all over, prickling from the cold air and burning like flame where she touches you, nerves pulsing with sharp pleasure.

You fumble at the the hem of her pants. After a few seconds of watching you struggle, she pushes them down and discards the rest of her clothes swiftly, then returns to overwhelming your senses.

Her teeth catch your tongue, and your own blood floods your mouth, turned thick and sweet by some fae magic. You gasp. The grip on your breast tightens, her claws pricking tiny wounds into your skin. The pain dances along your nerves, metamorphosing into a thrill of delight.

She’s not wearing underwear. Your fingers play with the dark curls emerging at her waist, dip down, tracing along the edge of a faint line of wetness. She twitches lightly.

She starts walking you backward, kicking junk out of the way until your legs collide with the bed. Your knees fold. She settles in your lap, and you take in the feel of your bodies pressed together.

“You’re like charcoal. Something that burns,” she murmurs.

In response, you curl a finger into her. She moans into your mouth.

You bite down on her lower lip and swirl your finger back and forth. So warm, so warm, oh. She rises up to kneel over you, and you take the opportunity to swirl your tongue around her nipple, watching her areola flush brightly.

The heat under your skin settles into a heady rhythm, pounding from your toes to your head. You clench your thighs and fail to quench the ache in the wet spot between them.

She bucks forward, insistent, pushing herself down onto your hand, and you retract a little in surprise. She breaks off the kiss to huff at you. Her pout is adorable.

“Sorry,” you say, unapologetic. You start stroking her again. Offhand: “You know I heard a rumor that faeries had, like, tentacles down there?”

She makes a choking sound. She stops moving. “What the fuck?!”

“I figured it was unlikely,” you defend.

“You thought faeries had what?” She looks horrified.

“I said it was just a rumor, and—”

Her eyes dart downward. “So what you have down there is—?”

“Same thing as you, seems like.”

She opens her mouth, probably to say something snarky, but you decide you’ve done enough talking tonight. You take two fingers and spread her, slowly, methodically. Her breath hitches.

You slide back and forth and she’s so slick she practically glides. Whatever thought she had before is gone; she’s rocking to meet your rhythm, entranced, lips open in a perfect round O. One of her hands is gripping your shoulder, the other grasping your breast, tight enough to bruise. You throb with soreness and pleasure, the sensations tangling with each other inseparably. You want her so bad.

You shift impatiently, wishing you could reach down and get to work on yourself a bit. But no. That’s not the plan here.

You try running through the list of things that make a debt in your head, the one you memorized over and over, but she’s shaking at your touch, and you don’t even get through a single repetition.

You scissor deeper into her with every stroke, and she gasps a little louder every time. The cloying tang of her faerie magic fills the room like smoke, clinging to your lungs. “Oh god,” you murmur. “Oh god.”

You drag your teeth along the vulnerable skin under the curve of her breast. She shudders for you, grips you closer, almost proprietary. “That’s it, that’s right,” you gasp.

Ngh. You need a better position to do what you really want to do. You wrap an arm around her waist and turn a little, nudging her onto her back. She makes a sound of protest, rubbing against your stomach, but you keep nudging until she gets the hint and falls onto her back. She spreads her limbs out on the bed, and she’s so strikingly beautiful like that that your thoughts desert you for a moment, and you just stare, dumbstruck.

Her lips are swollen and her face is blue-tinted from exertion. Shreds of glamour shimmer at the corners of your sight—you’re not even sure she’s consciously controlling it at this point. The scent filling the room takes on a hint of licorice. Her chest is heaving with breathlessness, but she smirks anyway. “Enjoying the view?”

That snaps you out of it. “Really, Miss Blueberry? A cliché like that at a time like this?”

“Are you really in a position to be insulting my conversational choices right now?” she asks, and you shut her up by sliding four of your fingers inside her at once. Her hips stutter upward, lifting off the bed. You hold her down with your other hand.

You skim oh so slowly through her wet heat. She whines. “Oh come on.” She writhes, body curving so deliciously against the sheets, breasts bouncing, gleaming with sweat.

A pang of insecurity hits you, seeing the stark difference between her body and yours, with your stocky frame and round stomach. Then you remember that she’s out of her mind for your touch, you’re bringing a faerie of the Unseelie Court to the edge, she’s getting whiny and impatient for you. You grin. “You have no patience,” you say, dragging blunt nails against her inner wall, feeling her shudder around you. “It’s more satisfying if you wait.”

“Fuck you,” she mutters. She reaches down and grips your wrist with her needlelike claws, shoving your hand insistently downward. You’re sharply aware of how dangerous she is, how capable of rending your flesh, and the need pulsing between your legs only grows.

God, you might just be aching as hard as she is, but there are rules about debts and orgasms, and you have to stick to them, even if your arousal is telling you to throw it all out the window.

You dip your head down and press your tongue to her quivering flesh.

She actually kicks at that, and you narrowly dodge her foot. “Whoa there,” you say, voice vibrating against her delicate tissue. She twitches, moaning.

She’s soaking wet. You press teasing kisses against her inner lips, tasting the fluids coating your mouth. She’s sharp and sweet, like blackberries drenched in syrup.

It tingles on your tongue, muddying your head, and you have to concentrate to avoid getting high off magic-laced faerie cum. “You taste so lovely,” you tell her.

Her feet scrabble for purchase in the silky sheets. Your tongue swirls around and around, and her hands land in your hair and pull. You groan into her inner warmth, eyes fluttering closed, pain blooming through your roots, agonizing and magnificent.

She begins to rock against you, and you open your mouth and comply. Your tongue swipes out to lick at whatever is in reach as she leans upright and uses her grip on your hair to fuck your face. You’re rutting against the edge of the bed, too desperate to control yourself, as her liquids coat your cheeks and you let her do what she wants with you.

She moves fast and hard, barely letting you breathe, muttering nonsense, saying “Good, good, oh you’re so perfect you little wondrous mortal, oh you’re so good, I’m so lucky I found you, oh—”

She yanks you up an inch and your lips close around her clit. You suck at her, tongue rubbing frantically—she gives one final, drawn-out gasp.

Her claws clench in your hair, scraping harshly across your scalp. You feel the shudders run through her body, the smell of her glamour eddying through your senses.

You watch, rapt, as she collapses onto her back. Her legs cease to twitch. Her breasts tremble and go still.

It takes a moment for you to realize it’s over. Especially since you’re still incredibly aroused. Your heart pounds in your chest, your palms, the soles of your feet, and your wet, throbbing ache won’t go away.

You grimace. You didn’t even get to touch yourself, not even a little, and the thought is so tempting that you almost reach down and do it. She would still owe you for giving her an orgasm and then not getting you off in return, right?

But no, the debt wouldn’t be as strong, and you need all the advantages you can get in this place.

As if on cue, Miss Blueberry tilts her head to face you. Her face is swollen and tired. “Mmh. Do you need… I can… uh.” She furrows her brow. “I forgot.”

She sounds a bit like a confused kitten. You pat her on the knee, ignoring the twinge in your parts. “We can talk about it later,” you promise. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a cold shower.”

[tracedandreplaced-blog]

Termination of Employment or the Time Lithium Exploded my Brain -bipolar storytime 2

I'd been working in the buying office of one of the largest high end fashion retailers in the country for about six months when everything went to shit, but let's hold off on that for now. It was the best job I'd ever had. It paid very well and exposed me to an exciting industry I'd never been apart of. I felt like I was performing at a high level (which I was at first), and it seemed that I fit in well. My coworkers were ultra high functioning people and fun to be around. They were sharp dressers and I learned to dress well too. Disconnected undercut, check. Skinny tie with tie clip, check. Overly shortened tight slacks exposing brightly colored "statement socks" under monthly shined wing tips, that too. I took the commuter train downtown everyday and read snobbish mid century east coast intellectual literature through dark sunglasses even in the tunnels to complete the look. I boarded buses and strutted, really strutted, down the Seattle sidewalks at a million miles an hour. My confidence was going through the roof, which was important after coming out of my last job, which I didn't exactly fail at, but never really did as well as I hoped.

It took a few months to come out of the "learning period" and really be expected to take on responsibility and perform. I did that at about the right time and for awhile there, my team was impressed. They felt lucky they landed one of the good ones to support them. I handled product set up and clearance promotion execution. It was the lowest rung on the ladder in the buying office, but still a lot of pressure, for if I didn't do my job right, no one else could do theirs. The products had to be in the system, and they had to be right. It was a shit ton of data. I probably got 200 emails a day.

But after I'd been really pulling my weight for a couple months, the headaches started. They didn't seem normal. They weren't I drank too much headaches, they weren't pop a few ibuprofens and carry on with your day headaches, they were ice picks driving into my skull and then being lit on fire headaches. Anytime they'd hit, usually in the afternoon, I'd be sidelined for the rest of the day. I'd stay at work and pretend to be okay, but I was really just sitting at my computer clicking back and forth to random emails and spreadsheets, doing absolutely nothing. I saw a doctor and she said they were cluster headaches. Migraines that came in cycles and caused extreme pressure and stabbing pains. I tried heavy duty anti inflammatories, steroids, and even oxygen therapy, but nothing worked. Until Lithium.

For some reason, explained the doctor, Lithium was able to usually break the cycles of these particular types of headaches and patients could cease taking it after a month or so without the headaches returning. They didn't really know why, but there you go.

My headaches went away about a month after starting the Lithium. It was a miracle. I assumed I would get right back on the horse after this minor bump in the road and fix what ever few mistakes I'd made during said bumps. Then I'd keep kicking ass. What I didn't foresee however, was that the undiagnosed and completely unknown to me bipolar disorder would erupt like Mount St. Fucking Helens when I quit the Lithium. It was a nightmare.

The first things everyone learns when getting to know manic depression is of course the mania and the depression. These cause the scariest and most damaging consequences of the illness. But what most people massively underestimate is the impairment in cognitive functioning. Inability to focus, loss of short and long term memory, decreased pattern recognition, terrible organizational skills, inability to multi task, poor follow through, disruption of routines, and no sense of prioritization. Simply put, I started fucking everything up. My product set up information was consistently wrong, if even done at all. I would forget or mess up live dates on essential promotions that went out to all stores and online. A dozen or so unanswered emails consistently filled my inbox for months. They were action items for me and always caused major fallout. For some reason, I always felt like they'd just resolve themselves if ignored.

I would take extra long lunch breaks almost every day and maniacally speed walk all around the city, headphones in and hopping buses back and forth in the train tunnels or wandering through shop after shop in Pike's Place Market. I became obsessed with music I would never have listened to previously, but like the snooty academic literature, it enhanced and defined this new identity I had adopted. I used it to induce near trance like states while working or commuting to and from. I would catch other commuters staring when I came to and opened my eyes, slack faced with my gaping maw practically drooling through incessant head bobs.

I was losing the company money. A lot of money. When you're in a position that essentially starts the process of getting goods from suppliers and vendors to customers, you can miss out on hundreds if not thousands of dollars with one keystroke. If the product isn't live, it cant sell. This happened over and over. My bosses boss became aware. HR became aware. I was given a horrendous review and put on a performance plan. The beginning of the end was when I simply forgot to tell my boss that I'd be taking two weeks paternity leave for the birth of my second son, not one like previously discussed. I told him a couple days before I was supposed to come back by text. That doesn't fly.

When it was obvious I was going down in flames and probably weeks away from getting fired, my wife suggested I try and get some help. There was definitely something going on here. I was a smart person, she kept saying, but something was causing it all to breakdown. I needed to go to a psychologist.

After a few visits, he diagnosed me with bipolar disorder. That's a story for another time, but I can at least say that I now had hope for the situation. I thought it wasn't too late to save my job, all I had to do was get on some drugs and go see a shrink. But it was too late. Ironically, I wan't able to get my Lamictal prescription filled for the first time until the day I was officially terminated. Initially I thought they wouldn't be able to fire me at all. Like that would be some sort of discrimination. I mean, I was disabled now, right? But in fact they have no legal obligation to continue employment if I am unable to do the job effectively, illness or not. I discussed welfare, disability, and leave of absence with HR when the first rumblings of action were taking place. I had a family to support. But HR couldn't help me with any of that. I hadn't worked there long enough and my situation didn't fit the specific requirements. I left and got a part time job in retail that didn't cover half of daycare costs.

During my very first appointment with my Psychiatrist, which was weeks after the first Psychologist appointment due to a patient intake administrative error, the doctor confirmed that my brief relationship with Lithium probably did in fact trigger a downward spiral of manic depressive cycling. It was because of this that my cognitive functioning went to hell. It also didn't help that I'd been on anti depressants for the last 15 years, ever since high school. That most likely caused many of the manic episodes, which I was having much more than depressive ones. She and my Psychologist estimated the illness had manifested in my mid twenties based on the past behaviors I described, especially the drinking.

My confidence was shattered after the firing. I questioned if I'd even be able to handle part time retail, let alone get a "real job" ever again. The schedule that had me working evenings and weekends in a completely random fashion put an incredible strain on my wife, having to handle child care alone and never connecting with me outside of stressed and resentful late night conversations after the kids went to bed.

We found a solution a few months later, thank God. I became a stay at home dad, which I still am today. It's the greatest and hardest thing I've ever done. She makes just enough money to keep us comfortably afloat, and since there are no daycare costs, we're not losing money for me to go to work anymore. I'm improving everyday with medication and therapy, and I think I can say my cognitive functioning is back where it belongs, but I definitely have a whole new set of fears. What if this illness gets worse, a lot worse, and I can't effectively care for them day in and day out? What if we have to send them back to daycare and I can't find a job? What if I get a job and fail miserably because of it? What if I can't do anything at all and have to go on disability? Or can't get disability? There probably is a good chance, a great chance, that none of these things will happen, but that doesn't mean I don't sit up at night playing the situations over and over in my head.

Maybe in reality getting fired was the best thing that could've happened to me. After all, it led to my diagnosis and has put me on the path to better mental health. Most days are pretty damn great and I now have the tools to work through the days that aren't. I definitely miss being a part of something so exciting, staying at home with the kids can of course get a little repetitive, but I know it wasn't the right fit for me. I remember my psychologist saying once that simply put, I can't do that type of job. A high stress, high performing office job where hundreds of emails with multiple tasks to juggle at once coming through daily will quite literally drive me insane. Even if it didn't, my brain is just not wired that way, and it is very likely I wouldn't succeed.

I have no idea what sort of work I'll do once the boys are in school, but I've got a few years to figure it out. I'm probably more suited to doing something with my hands, but have no training in any trades. Who knows, I might just stay home, cook and clean. My wife will probably be making even more then and we'll be just as comfortable money wise. Or I suppose I could just sit around and write stories no one will ever read about manic depression. It'll be like that Jimi Hendrix song, but with more trips to the doctor and less guitar solos. Thanks for reading.