#but my boss is basically scheduling me full time

[just-a-creep-babe]

aaa bummer you can't participate in kinktober this year ☹️ luckily your previous work is still engraved in my mind 🙏🏻 goodluck tho! it's quite understandable how hard it must be having to balance college with doing god's work in here 👀

Yeah, im also bummed about it—no kinktober, no inktober, nothing :<

I don’t even have time to schedule my usual birthday/Halloween party 😪

I’d love to try to do it next year though! Maybe whip out the polls to get everyone to decide what they wanna read ^^

But we’ll see, we’ll see 😉

[chradi]

I'm strexcited about potentially working at a school in the next few months/year and being paid a minimum of 22$/hour

[southislandwren]

okay gang dont forget theres a lunar eclipse tonight starting at 4am central time. full eclipse is at 5am central time!

[charliemwrites]

Mafia!au part 5!

A bit of fluff, a bit of drama, a bit of Soap!

Content: Attempted Gaslighting, Violence

“Gooood morning, sir!” you sing as you sweep into Mr. Price’s office. “And happy birthday!”

His head shoots up from whatever he was brooding over, brows arched high in genuine shock. Surprise is a good look on him.

“How the bloody hell did you know it’s my birthday?” he demands, sitting back in his chair.

You beam, sauntering right up to his desk. His eyes flick to the round white box balanced on top of your tablet. Nothing big, a little something you baked at home after a couple dissatisfying trials.

“It’s my job to know,” you reply easily.

He blinks– a habit you flatter yourself thinking he might have picked up from you. “What else do you know about me?”

You tilt your head at him, a smug curve to your lips.

“Just the basics. Your full name and birthday,” you demure. Hold up your free hand and start rattling off on your fingers. “Height, allergies, tea preference, pastry preference, blood type, drink of choice…”

You set the box in front of him and resettle your tablet in the crook of your arm. He stares at you for a beat, expression bleached from surprise to outright shock. You spin your stylus around your fingers.

“Which is why I made you a marble cake with whiskey instead of rum.”

His eyes lock onto the unassuming white box. It’s not a big cake by any means, about six inches in diameter and only one layer. Just a small something for Price to have for himself. God knows the rest of the boys (and Farah) get enough treats from you as it is.

“You made this?” he asks, leaning a bit forward.

“Yessir,” you declare, “and I’m pretty good at it too. Perks of stress baking.”

He runs a hand down his face, as if his beard got ruffled. “Christ, you need a raise.”

“Yes. Anyway – I’ll get you a plate after I’m done,” you say, swatting at his curious hand. He huffs but sits back to give you his full attention. You smile in reward and begin reciting his schedule for the day.

He listens, only interrupting when he needs clarification on little details. You try not to be too endeared by the way his eyes occasionally flick to the covered cake. When you finish, you twitch your nose at him knowingly.

“I’ll get you a plate before I get started on that expense summary,” you say, turning on your heel.

You hum in surprise when a large, calloused hand catches your wrist. It’s not the hand of a businessman, you think, but a man used to work. A man who does the hard things for himself. Before meeting John Price, you would have scoffed at the thought of a rich man knowing labor. Price though… well, he’s been proving to be a welcome exception since the very start.

“Thank you for this, love,” he says, voice hitting that tone and pitch that makes your insides squirm. He caresses his thumb over the tender skin before releasing you. “Really.”

You can already feel the blush climbing up the back of your neck, over your ears, creeping onto your cheeks. Can’t ever catch a break with him.

“Well, don’t thank me ‘til you’ve tried it,” you try to deflect.

“Weren’t you the one saying you’re decent at baking.”

“Yeah, well… maybe I poisoned you or something – for that time you closed my skirt in the door.”

He sputters a bit. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling at the indignance on his face. Such a handsome, almost regal man. You love to rile him up.

“I apologized. Profusely.”

And offered to buy you a new skirt entirely. The way you’d shrieked that that was not an appropriate response made Soap choke with laughter as people stared.

“Yeah, well, I hold a grudge,” you reply, shrugging.

It’s true, but not about things like that. Graves and his assistant? Oh, that’s practically a blood feud at this point. A silly little accident where your boss left a crease in your fourth favorite skirt? That’s not even something to forgive him for, but you sure as hell will never forget. Especially when he still seems mildly sheepish about it.

“You wouldn’t be the first,” he grumbles. You’re not sure if he’s talking about grudges or poisoning, but the dramatics finally make you laugh.

“But I could be the last,” you call over your shoulder as you flounce out.

Not for long though, returning with a disposable fork from the breakroom. There’s something amusing to only you about a man in a thousand-pound suit using cheap plastic.

“Come to see me keel over for yourself, then?” he asks.

“Well, I can’t have you getting cake crumbs on the expense reports,” you reason.

He’s already got the lid open. No icing on the cake – you’re shit at decorating, so you chose a recipe without icing. The flavor of the whiskey and sugar should be plenty. To make up for it, you folded a tiny placard and wrote “Happy Birthday, Boss!” in your best loopy cursive.

He takes the fork, fingers brushing yours in the process. You remind yourself not to snatch your hand away like a scandalized Victorian lady. Christ, you really need to get it together.

“Tell me how you like it,” you say, making to leave again.

“Come try it yourself,” he protests.

You pause, give him an amused look. “I didn’t actually poison it, sir. You’ve not done anything that heinous. Yet.”

He snorts, carefully digging out a respectable bite from the edge. “If you see fit to toss a little rat poison in, then I’ll likely having it coming.”

You hum. “Arsenic is more my style. Classic.”

In the corner of the room, Simon makes a little noise you’ve come to recognize as repressed laughter. You shoot him a quick, amused look, before shifting your attention back as Price gestures with the fork.

“Regardless, you should get a little taste of the fruits of your labor,” he offers.

The fruits of your labor, you think with a bit of regret, will be his enjoyment of your baking. You’re not sure when his admiration became your favorite part of the day, but you’re spoiled for positive feedback from your otherwise stern boss.

“You first,” you insist, “it’s your birthday after all.”

He keeps unnerving eye contact as he brings the bite to his mouth, tongue flicking out to catch any spare crumbs. He hums, eyes closing a for a second in enjoyment, before opening and fixating on you again.

“That’s bloody brilliant, love.”

He scoops up another piece, brings it right to your mouth. You hurry to put a hand beneath in case it falls; don’t even think before parting your lips. Sugar and whiskey, chocolate and vanilla, burst across your tongue.

“Oh!” you hum, hiding your mouth while you chew. “That is pretty good.”

It only occurs to you as he takes another bite for himself, a twinkle in his eye, that you just ate after him. Used the same fork like it was nothing, like that’s an acceptable thing to do as his assistant. You’re not squeamish by any means, no. It’s just… it’s gotta be crossing some sort of professional line. You can’t imagine any of your previous bosses ever sharing with you like this.

“Let me tell you, if you did poison it,” he muses, “I wouldn’t mind it being the last thing I ate.”

You roll your eyes, swat lightly at his arm again. “I told you; it’s not poisoned.”

“I know, you just took a bite,” he answers smugly.

You click your tongue at him, playing at exasperated. “I’m going to work now.”

“Ta, love.”

--

“Oi, li’l miss?”

You glance up at Soap curiously.

(Recognize, in the back of your mind, that it’s a nickname that’s not only spread – thanks, Simon – but that you’re responding to as quickly as your own name now. You should probably feel some type of way about that. Probably righteously annoyed or something. You don’t.)

Soap is standing at your desk, shifting from foot to foot. Uneasy. But the expression on his usually friendly face isn’t nervous. It’s… something else. Something you don’t know how to decipher but makes you sit up a bit straighter, alert.

“What’s up, buttercup?” you ask, voice light.

“There’s some bloke down in the lobby, says he’s got a date with you?” he explains, frowning deeper than you’ve ever seen.

It gets deeper – and angrier – when he sees the blood drain from your face. You push your chair away from your desk to hide the tremble that’s trying to infest your hands.

Absolutely not. This is your place of work, dammit. Where you’re calm and collected, the person anyone can turn to for solutions. You’ve worked so hard to craft this sleek vessel of professional grace and you’re not about to have it sullied like this.

“He does not have a date with me,” you state, keeping your voice flat and tight. “Would you come down with me, please?”

“’Course,” he replies instantly.

You stop by Price’s office, knock twice, then poke your head in when he calls for entry.

“I’ve just got to pop out for a mo’,” you explain, “I’ll be right back!”

He nods and you duck out again before he can notice anything amiss. For a rich bastard, he’s too observant of others. (Especially you.)

“What’s he here fer, then?” Soap asks in the elevator.

You let out an annoyed puff of air. “A reality check, I assume.”

He side-eyes you but doesn’t ask any further before the doors open.

Sure enough, standing in the lobby, is the last man you want to see. Your ex, Brandon.

“There you are, bunny. You’ve been keeping me waiting for—”

“One, do not call me that. It’s inappropriate,” you interrupt, crisp and sharp. “Two, I haven’t been keeping you waiting, because there’s nothing to wait for. Three, get out.”

He rolls his eyes, that smarmy curve to his lips never leaving. You don’t think he’s even noticed Soap just behind you yet.

“Look, I know you’re still in a mood about everything,” he says, “but that’s why I’m taking you out. To smooth things over. Clear the air, and all that.”

“You’re not taking me out,” you repeat. “Get out.”

He crosses his arms, tilting his head in that condescending way you’ve always despised. It sets your teeth on edge, makes you burn with anger.

“This isn’t your building,” he goads, “you can’t kick me out.”

“Might as well be hers, mate,” Soap interjects, “she could kick out the goddamn queen.”

Brandon’s focus shifts to him. You feel a curl of vindictive satisfaction when his expression curdles a bit. Soap may not be a particularly tall man, but he can be intimidating. Built thick and strong, doesn’t bother to conceal his physique at all with his sleeves rolled up his forearms. And you’re not oblivious to his looks either. Soap is a handsome man. A walking ego bruise for a man like your ex.

“Fine,” he huffs, “then come outside so we can talk like adults.”

You click your tongue, fold your hands behind your back to conceal the way your fingers clench into fists. “We did talk like adults. You just failed to listen like one.”

And ohhhh, the petty satisfaction that bubbles through you at the way his teeth click in shock, a flush of embarrassed anger curtaining his face.

“Now, I’ll ask one more time and then my coworker is going to toss you out himself.” Soap chooses that moment to crack his knuckles. “Leave this building. You’re not welcome.”

You drop your arms and turn on your heel, ready to get back to work and compartmentalize this until you’ve got a fuck-off sized glass of wine in front of you.

“Hey, we’re not—”

Even if you did see what happened, you don’t think you could have followed. It happens so fast. One second, Soap’s eyes are on you. Burning with questions and fury on your behalf, checking that you’re okay. The next, he’s darted past you. There’s a scuffle, fancy shoes squeaking on polished floors, a thick, wet pop. Then Brandon is shouting in pain.

You jump, twist to see what the commotion is. Soap’s got a white-knuckled grip on Brandon’s extended wrist – though now it’s bent at an awful angle, you realize he must have been reaching for you. Your skin crawls.

“Away ‘n bile yer heid,” Soap growls, shoving Brandon back roughly.

He doesn’t fall on his ass but it’s a near thing. With the eyes of reception, a few employees, and you on him, he spits a curse at Soap and retreats. You stare after for a moment, lips parted in shock.

“All set, miss?” Soap asks, adjusting his sleeves.

“Um, yeah,” you say. Blink and pull yourself together. “I mean, yes. Let’s head back up before the boss misses us.”

He places a hand on the small of your back on the short walk back. It feels grounding rather than proprietary; you’re grateful for it. He lasts until the doors close before turning to you.

“The hell was that about, lass?”

You sigh, smooth your skirt down for lack of anything else to do. “That was my ex. He wants to… reconcile, I suppose. And he’s quite keen on getting his way.”

Soap mutters a few choice words under his breath. Scottish slang, you suspect. You’ll have to get him to teach you sometime.

“Anyway, thank you for your help,” you continue, eyes on the elevator doors. “I can’t believe he showed up here. I’m so embarrassed.”

“You’ve nothin’ to be embarrassed about, hen,” he protests. “He’s the creeper here.”

You sigh. “I know, I just… you don’t think less of me, do you? That I didn’t… take care of him myself.”

Soap’s expression softens. He draws you into a quick one-armed hug. “You did take care of ‘im, far as I’m concerned. I was just there to enforce. No need to mess up yer pretty nails, aye?”

You smile, small but genuine. “Thanks, again.”

“Anytime, li’l miss.”

The elevator chimes as it reaches the top floor. You turn to Soap just before the doors open.

“Oh, and please don’t tell the boss.”

[evieskiesss]

Can u plz write a dom bill smut? theres a lack of bill smut lately and its so devastating + i LOVE ur writing 😭❤️

QUIT YOUR JOB- BILL KAULITZ.

𝙎𝙊𝙁𝙏 𝘿𝙊𝙈 𝘽𝙄𝙇𝙇:)

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙥 𝙞𝙣 𝙫, 𝙨𝙤𝙛𝙩𝙙𝙤𝙢!𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙡, 𝙨𝙪𝙗!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧, 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙚𝙭 𝙩𝙤𝙮𝙨, 𝙥𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙚, 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙙𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙘𝙪𝙩𝙚 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚, 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙥𝙞𝙚, 𝙘𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 (𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙖?):)

a/n: hiiii and YESSS OFCCCC. I DEFINITELY NOTICED THE LACK OF BILL SMUT SO INHAD TO FIX THAT RQ😘. AND OMG I LOVE ALLL THE REQUESTS IVE RECEIVED, i’m sooo glad that you guys are actually sending them in🥹. please give me some time as i’m super busy but i will definitely try to do everyone’s requests as soon as i can!!

-

    It was a tough day at work. A day full of bulky paperwork, long calls full of appointments and nasty complaints, as well as some harsh scolding's from your boss.

     Bill came out from the kitchen, a warm smile on his face. "you're home," he grinned, walking toward you to plant a sweet kiss to your lips. You kissed back softly, not having the energy to reciprocate as much passion.

      He pulled away , his eyebrows furrowed at your state. Your face was flat, eyes hollow with turned down lips. Your shoulders were slouched while your hands sluggishly undid the buttons on your white blouse.

    "bad day at work?" he asked, a hint of sadness in his tone. You nodded slowly, your expression not changing as you continued to undo the buttons. "yeah," you replied flatly, the weight of everything now suddenly becoming heavier.

    He frowned a little, pulling your arm to let you sit on a kitchen stool in front of the island. "tell me, what's wrong?" he asked, leaning forward as he was eager to hear what might've turned your day so sour.

    You sighed, rolling your eyes a little as you remembered everything. "so much fucking paperwork, did about 150 pages. i had to take so many calls today, so many of them were just pure bullshit. this one lady called complaining about our policy and began insulting me as if i was the one who fucking created it. my dumbass boss basically yelled at me in front of everyone because of an appointment I scheduled when he specifically told me to do it for that day! apparently he didn't want it anymore and just assumed I was a fucking psychic that reads minds- and i can't get this fucking button off!"

    Your tone becoming more frustrated and aggressive as you spoke, nearly shouting as you almost ripped the shirt apart. Bill shot up from his seat next to you, quickly pulling your arms apart from the blouse. "okay, okay- just relax," he said softly in a soothing tone.

    You let out a frustrated breath, your hand coming up to rub your face. Bill's fingers gently began undoing the buttons, careful enough to not tug on the fragile thread.

     It was silent until he was about half-way, "i think you should quit." You chuckled, almost scoffing, "i wish." You kept your hand over your eyes, trying to ease the now throbbing headache.

    Bill shrugged even though you couldn't see him. "i'm serious. i think you should quit," he replied, now a bit more serious. "and do what? become a stripper?" you joked. He laughed, the smile coming up on his face. 

    Even if when extremely tired and annoyed,

you kept your humor. "i cant quit, Bill. how else will i-"

    "me. i'll give you everything you need. you don't have to work, y'know," he said with a smile, undoing the last button. You chuckled at his silly idea, "i cant do that," you shook your head, now taking the blouse off.

    Bill gently pushed the fabric back, helping you slip the blouse off before setting it on the island, now leaving you in your bra and pants. "why not?"

   You chuckled again, a small smile coming from his selflessness. His hands came to rest on your hips as he stood in front of you, admiring you entirely.

     "Bill, i'm not going to let you do that," you tried, your hands now running up his arms.

    He cocked his head to the side slightly, his eyes narrowing slightly. "well, why not? i mean," he kissed you softly, "-we already live together," he kissed you again as he spoke against your lips.

    "and," kiss, "i don't work by making all this music for nothing," he tried to reason with you. He caught your lips in another kiss, his lips pressing against yours with love.

    You let out a small sigh through your nose, pulling away as you looked at him with an uneasy smile. "i don't know, Bill.. i don't want you to feel like i'm just with you for money or something-"

    "nonsense!" he cut you off. He gave you a slightly pleading look, "you've been with me for years now, even before all of the money & fame. i would never think that," he reassured you.

    You looked up at him, your face still uneasy. He pursed his lips slightly before sighing, "just think about it, baby!" His face came closer to you again, noses brushing.

    "no paperwork, no calls, no mean bosses," he started, kissing you softly. "no waking up early, no dumb complaints, no stupidly tight blousesss," his voice trailed off jokingly as you laughed lightly.

   He smiled, catching your lips in another kiss. "waking up late, going out whenever you want, you can lay in bed all day, go get your nails done, your hair, anything you want," his voice became a quieter the more he listed things.

    "i'll give you anything you want," he whispered, kissing you again. The kiss was slightly harder, slower. His grip on your thighs becoming tighter. You moaned softly into the kiss, Bill's tone of speaking now getting to you.

      You hummed, pulling away just enough for you to speak. "I need to think about it, billy," you whispered back, your fingers gently playing with his hair.

    He looked down at you, nodding softly as he took his lower lip between his teeth. "maybe you just need some more convincing," he suggested, his voice becoming lower.

     His hand moved your hair to one side, exposing your skin to him fully. "what d-do you mean?" you breathed out, feeling Bill's lips give open mouthed kisses to your neck.

      "you're going to quit," he mumbled, "let me convince you." You didn't have time to respond before his teeth gave your neck a quick nip, you winced at the sudden pain which somehow bled into pleasure.

     "you're okay," he whispered, continuing to kiss down your neck. His hands went up to your sides, rubbing them. You let out a soft moan as he sucked on your sweet spot, now leaving a dark hickey.

      "c'mon," he whispered before grabbing your legs, suddenly carrying you into your shared bedroom. You kissed his neck as he walked you there, his scent invading your nose in a calming manner.

        He closed the door the behind him, gently placing you down on the mattress with him on top of you. You let out a small moan, his hands now undoing your pants.

        He slipped them off with the help of your legs, discarding them somewhere before slamming his lips against yours again. Your hands found the hem of his shirt, pushing it up slightly to indicate you wanted it off.

     He followed with a chuckle, tossing his shirt off before leaning back down. His hands gripped your sides, pushing you more up on the bed so that your head lay comfortably against the pillows.

      You both breathed heavily, his lips finding yours again as he kissed you slower, but with passion. His hand slipped behind you, undoing your bra before discarding it. He quickly fondled your breast, his lips ghosting over your ear, "i'm gonna make you feel good, okay?"

     He caught your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it as he felt it harden. You let out soft moans, your hands tangling themselves in his air as you arched your back.

     He chuckled, now moving to the other nipple. His tongue swirled around it, gently taking it between his teeth to tug on. You let out a light hiss at the sting, before being soothed by his warm tongue running over it.

     You let out a small whine, your hands reaching the buttons on his pants to undo before he stopped you. "let me take care of you. i know you've had a hard day," he whispered, kissing your breast.

      You bit your lower lip gently, nodding as his fingers looped around your panties, dragging them down your legs and away to the ground. He spread your legs open, holding them apart by your thighs.

He let out a low groan as your area glistened, his thumb coming up to meet his tongue for saliva. His thumb pressed itself against your clit, causing you to jolt as he rubbed slow circles against it.

     You let out a low moan, loving the slow pleasure he gave you. His fingers came down between your folds, collecting some of your wetness before pushing in two fingers.

A silent groan came from your throat as he slowly stretched you out, his fingers pushing themselves in until they hit the knuckle. The tip of his fingers gently ghosting over your spongey spot.

He slowly pumped his fingers in & out, pushing up against your g-spot as he curled his fingers. You moaned as his thumb continued to rub your clit, his lips coming down to swallow your moans.

You let out small breaths as you felt his fingers go deeper, now curling harder. He kissed you again, making it hard for you to kiss back as you felt the knot in your abdomen grow tight.

“feels nice, doesn’t it?” he asked against your lips, his fingers perfectly hitting your g-spot. You whined, feeling your orgasm grow closer. He bit your lip rather harshly, causing you to hiss.

“i asked you a question,” he mumbled huskily, his fingers going faster & rubbing your clit harsher. “yes, yes!” you closed your eyes tightly, feeling your orgasm approach.

You let out a dragged out groan as your orgasm hit, cumming on his fingers as he slowed his pace. “good, so good,” he whispered as he pulled his fingers out.

He licked his fingers up, enjoying the taste of you. He came down to kiss you again, his lips tasting of you as his hands sweetly rubbed your thighs again. “think you can do another?” he asked.

You nodded, half-lidded. He smiled, pecking your nose as he turned over to grab some toys. When you fully opened your eyes, you were taken aback by the items.

A vibrator set next to your thigh, as well as a dildo. You were familiar with the vibrator, but not with the dildo. You looked up at him, slightly uneasy.

He chuckled at your expression, his fingers gently caressing your abdomen. “you trust me, right?” he asked. You nodded again, of course you did. He smiled, “then trust me. i’ll be gentle,” he whispered.

You felt a slight burn arise in your area again, you were nervous but excited. You two hadn’t experimented quite fully with toys, so it would be a different experience.

He situated himself on his knees, between your legs. Your legs were spread open for him, your cunt still wet from your previous orgasm. He grabbed the vibrator, turning it to a low setting before pressing it firmly on your clit.

Your hips jolted at the sudden sensation, his hand quickly coming to hold your hip down. “ah,” you breathed out as it vibrated against your bundle of nerves.

He slowly rubbed it up & down, your hips bucking up as the feeling bled into intense pleasure. You closed your eyes, loving it. Suddenly, you felt a cold object at your entrance.

You looked down to see the dildo, lathered in a thin layer of lube. Bill looked up at you with a warm smile, “relax,” he whispered. Your jaw hung low as he began to push it in you, your walls stretching as you felt yourself adjust to the foreign toy.

It wasn’t that big, obviously not as big as Bill’s cock, but the dildo was decorated with various thick faux veins. A whine left your lips as he pushed the rest in, letting you adjust before he began pumping it.

He maintained a slow pace, only pushing it out slightly before pumping it further in you. The short thrusts mixed perfectly with the vibrations.

Bills finger discreetly pushed on the button, leaving it at a higher setting. You whined again, Bill’s wrist now thrusting the dildo in a bit harsher.

He occasionally rotated the dildo in you, making you squirm as you felt your second orgasm approaching. You bucked your hips up, meeting the thrusts of the dildo as you felt your thighs slightly begin to shake.

“do you like that?” he asked, looking up at you through his lashes with a playful grin. You only managed to hum back before your orgasm came crashing down, your hips shuddering.

“good fucking girl, you listen so well,” he cooed.

You arched your back, feeling him now tone down his movements in an attempt to drag out your orgasm. You panted heavily as you recovered, wincing slightly as he gently pulled the dildo out.

The toy was covered in your juices, a smirk on his face as it glistened. “so fucking hot,” he mumbled, now setting the toys aside. You tried to regain your breath as you laid there, your body covered in sweat.

You were deep in your mind, not realizing the sounds coming from in front of you as Bill undressed himself. He took his pants off, along with his boxers as he kissed up your chest to your lips.

“one more for me, okay?” he whispered, pure lust flowing from his voice. Your eyes snapped open, one more? He chuckled , “c’mon, baby. you’ve been doing so good, last one, alright?” he reassured you, pecking your lips repeatedly.

You let out a shaky breath, nodding as you felt his body come on top of you. His hands on either side of your head, his chest against yours and the tip of his cock right at your entrance.

He pushed his hips forward, his cock stretching you out, more than the toy. You let out a small moan at the burn which bled into pleasure as he buried his cock further into you.

He groaned as he bottomed out into you, his face in the crook of your neck. His small breaths tickling your neck. His tip pressed firmly against your spongey spot, god was he big.

He pulled back slightly, snapping his hips forward before slowly pulling back again. He kept a slow pace, making sure to bury his cock as deep as he could into you.

His short thrusts made you writhe, the way his cock would just barely give you a break as he pulled back, only to shove himself deep into you again, making you feel incredibly full.

“so tight. just for me,” be breathed out. He moaned and licked at your neck, his teeth gently grazing your sensitive skin as he continued to fuck himself into you. Your hips bucking up to match his thrusts.

He groaned as you did this, making his tip ram into your spot harder. “fuck, just like that,” he sighed, a burn in his hips starting as he started to grow tired.

But the way your walls would clench around him, the soft sounds of him thrusting into you and your moans, there was no way he was going to stop.

Occasionally, he would take small breaks by shoving himself entirely in, rotating his hips for friction. You wailed at this, his entire body weight practically shoving his cock in deeper into you.

His finger trailed down your body, finding your swollen clit as he rubbed soft circles on it. “fuck! i’m gonna cum,” you hissed, throwing your head back.

He panted heavily, now thrusting himself harder. “me too, baby. fuck- so close,” he mewled before he felt you gasp, your legs suddenly shaking.

Your eyes rolled back, nails digging into the skin on his back as you cummed. Your walls tightly squeezing around him caused him to let out a deep groan, his cum squirting in you.

He let out strings of curses, his hips now slowing down. You whimpered as he continued, his head dropping slightly to watch his cock easily slide in & out of you.

His cum threatened to seep out, but didn’t as he grabbed your hips, angling them upward to keep it in. “B-bill,” you moaned out softly with a scrunched face, his eyes fixated on your cunt as he fucked his cum into you.

“just making sure it stays in,” he whispered back, laying back on top of you without pulling out. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing your forehead lovingly. “gonna stay inside for a bit longer.”

You chuckled, kissing his chin, nodding.

“i’m gonna quit my job.”

[tarjapearce]

Chapter 7: Silent Violence is Humbled

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: Tension, Angst, emotional discomfort, fluff and comfort towards the end, Strained friendships, verbal abuse, character introspection, character study, anger, hurt, family dynamics.

Summary: Karma keeps it's siege, and a new milestone hits the mark.

Previous

A/N: So. sorry for the delay, had to make some reports for my internship (I'm almost done and out with it 🥹 yay.)

Leaving the hospital wasn't precisely good. A new debt was added to your already trembling credit and to top it off, you were left with meds, a scheduled appointment with a therapist and a plethora of vitamins and supplements.

Of course you had reported everything but the gruesome details to your immediate boss. Not that she didn't sound convinced, rather shocked you were in the hospital.

You only could hope complications wouldn't be a regular guest in your life and bank account.

"I can hear you thinking from here. You ok?" MJ mumbled as she stirred a couple of eggs into the pan. You stared into the endless and spiralling void. Picking at the hospital's pale blue plastic band around your wrist.

You had spaced out as soon as you got  home, the remnants of the perilous encounter with Miguel somehow still remained etched to your skin and mind. Unable to let go completely.

"I think I'll start looking for a better paying job somewhere else."

MJ watched you for a second, "You'll quit Alchemax?"

With a groan, you slouched on the dining table, placing a hand ontop of your head

"I'd love to, but I can't yet. Not until I have something certain anyways. Gotta suck it up for a bit more."

"I'll help you look up on other companies, who knows maybe we find a better thing for you. I don't feel comfortable with you being there with that crazy asshole working in there too. Do you want extra bacon?"

"Pretty please. Thank you, MJ. And yeah, if you're not a scientist in Alchemax, you're basically another exploited worker."

"Stop thanking me. You're my best friend. And I'll help, let me ask Peter if he knows about something somewhere."

She served the breakfast and placed the plate before you. Mayday announced her awakening with a mumble, her tiny hands rubbed her eyes to then look around sleepily, until her blue eyes met MJ.

You couldn't help but stare at the motherly displaying ritual.

Mayday's eyes lit up, shining brighter as MJ approached with a genuine smile that only matched her daughter's.

Your best friend enveloped her little girl in her arms, showering her in affection, earning her a couple of lovely squeals.

"Rested well, sweetheart?"

"Ma ma"

Those syllables alone made your heart leap as a myriad of emotions flooded your brain. The concept you had of it wasn't nothing alike what you were witnessing. There wasn't unnecessary yelling, cussing or physical abuse. All the opposite. A little rush of envy coursed through, but it faded quickly as it came.

It was odd, really. To behold such intimate moment of bonding between the both. It came so natural, full of love and everything you, sometimes at your age still were getting acquainted with. Patience, understanding and caring.

Mayday rested her head on MJ's shoulder and stared at you. Like seizing you for the first time ever, paying attention to your very moves, curious, scrutinizing your soul with her lovely and innocent eyes, leaving no room for disingenuous acts.

You gulped

"Hello" You waved coyly and your heart trembled with something unknown as she giggled your way, approving of your presence. She knew no evil nor judgement. Mayday didn't judge you. Just like her mother. She was pure joy.

"When's the shrink's appointment?"

MJ's voice snapped you out of your mutinied thoughts.

"Uh in a month or two." You mumbled while digging in your breakfast. It tasted like utter love and heaven after having nothing in your stomach for more than a day, and your stomach tolerated it well.

"Are you nervous?" MJ fed Mayday with the bottle, your mind subconsciously took notes of the way she held, fed and talked to her.

"Very. Not a fan of spilling my issues to strangers, even if it's their job."

"I know it might be difficult for you, considering the shitty attention you had before with them. But if the doctor says so, you must do it."

"I know." Your lips sighed, heavy with resignation to then purse into a tiny smile, " I just wanna move on, you know?"

"You will, I know so. You're strong, sweetie. Now eat up and drink your vitamins."

You chuckled, feeling her maternal instinct through the table.

"I think I'm already gaining weight."

MJ chortled as she wiped Mayday's cheek and lips, to then kiss the tip of her nose.

"Wait until you get your feet swollen, the hormone changes. Acne on your back, and the need to jump on-"

"Ok! ok, got it." Your cheeks flushed as the redhead just laughed now at your embarrassment.

"It won't be easy, but you'll get used to some stuff. You'll see."

-----

If there was something that Peter wouldn't openly admit, was the fact he disliked Miguel's sense of disposition of his time.

Sometimes his friend's hubristic demands had him juggling between his own time and his family.

Peter hated when Miguel simply let him know he was on his way. He didn't care if he was busy or was about to be, but also meant one thing. Stress was eating Miguel alive and he, as his best friend, was the only he could rely onto to take away such heavy burden.

With a sigh, Peter prepared mentally for the night. Specially to give his ever patient wife an explanation of a sudden visit. As if the universe made sure MJ and Miguel to never properly meet beyond pleasantries. If they had seen and meet eachother a couple of times was too many.

MJ was either out because of work, leaving him and Mayday alone, or the days and hours Miguel visited were when MJ was already asleep or too busy to sit and socialise with her husband's friends.

Peter has known Miguel for a couple of years by now, and still things didn't change.

He put a couple of beers to cool, then stirred the pasta. Miguel wasn't a picky eater, yet it made Peter stress over the food choice. But MJ wanted pasta and he was none to ignore his wife's whims over his friend's.

How long has it been since he saw Miguel? Months? Half a year? He didn't remember, but hoped that he wouldn't stay too long. Work had chewed, ate and spat him on the floor way too many times to count today.

His shoulders slumped, defeated before hia daughter's sweetness when Mayday gave him a toothy grin, he returned the smile, although tiredly.

"Let's get you some dinner."

He held his daughter in one arm, as he served a bit of noodles in her favorite spider-ham bowl and somw juice in her sippy cup. Peter put her in her chair and placed the food before her  just in time as the doorbell rang.

"It's not that I don't like him, you know? I'm just tired today." Peter mumbled to himself and Mayday as he scratched his stubble and walked over the door.

May could only look at him, curious, bur the bright colors of her cup demanded her attention. To his little surprise, the man in question was there, scrolling through his phone in the meantime. Dressed in a casual button shirt, dark jeans and dress shoes, holding a small bag of sweets as a gift.

"Could you please start letting me know when you're coming over from now on? It's not that hard."

Peter's frustration wafted through his words as Miguel chuckled and followed him, the smell of cologne tickled the host's nose, almost a bit too pungent.

"Had to. Needed a distraction. Here"

He handed the paper bag to him, full of artisanal mexican sweets. At least this time, Miguel was thoughtful enough to bring something he knew Peter liked.

But it also meant one thing. A long night ahead.

With a sigh and defeated shoulders, Peter went to the kitchen, rummaging through the simple glassware to fetch a couple of glasses.

"I have... soda, apple juice, can't give you the beer until Mayday's asleep."

Miguel just quirked a brow and went for water. It was kinda bothersome for him how something so trivial as drinking a beer was a forbidden thing among parents whenever their children were around.

Overprotection and alienation from such things would only make them curious if anything. At least that's how it worked for Miguel. Still, it was Peter's home, and he had to play by the unspoken parenting rules his friend followed to a T.

How inconvenient

Miguel's eyes wandered through the table to land on Mayday. As a happy kid she was, the sauce was smeared all over her cheeks and chin, even her hands and forearms. Some noodles hung on her chin.

Even though his logical side appealed towards a scientific fact about babies discovering everything through their hands and mouth, the sole idea of having to deal with it on a daily basis and probably at every hour the kid would be awake and eating, made his eyes to tear away from the child and sigh, relieved he didn't have to cope with that sort of problem.

He had done his part, and against all logic, you had decided to keep the baby.

Pendeja. (Dumbass)

He huffed, annoyed to none but himself.

What would you do? It wasn't his problem anymore. He had more important things to think about than you and your stupid choices. His jaw clenched.

" You're gonna scare Mayday if you keep glaring like that."

Peter spoke as he cleaned up his daughter after feeding her with some bits of sausages. Miguel sighed as his arms untangled from his chest. A habit he subconsciously adopted as he was way too deep in negative thoughts. He gave his body some slack. He had came here in order to relax amd distract himself.

"Wanna tell me what happened or you wanna wait by having some pasta?"

In fact, now that Miguel was here he could take a good look at the scene before him. Peter had changed so much to the point of transforming himself into a completely different persona.

There was no more staying up past one am, lost in beers and talking about whatever thing alcohol made him spill out of his mouth. Reluctantly, good days. And now Peter was serving him some overcooked pasta that somehow tasted good. Even for him.

Hypocrite.

His mind reprimanded himself. He had wanted kids once but now seeing how it changed and rewired the brain chemistry and your fiasco, the thought of them had been shoved to the very back of his priorities. He had a career and money to make, not play house amd happy family with a stranger.

As much as Peter was his only true friend, he didn't want to look awful and perpetually tired because of a kid, like him.

With a sigh he dug on the food while staring at the both. The tangy smell of the sauce induced the little hunger he ate the pasta. A couple of minutes later passed when the key's tinkering echoed from the main door, revealing none other than MJ balancing a couple of paper bags in hands.

Miguel watched as Peter immediately rushed to her side and helped her out, while welcoming her with a kiss.

"Smells good!" MJ chirped and made her way towards the kitchen, Mayday's eyes lit up as soon as she saw her mama. A bubbly squeal received her when MJ ruffled her fiery curls and took her in her arms, rattling Miguel's ears.

"Hello there, precious" MJ kissed her cheek but then focused her gaze on Miguel. He tensed briefly to then give a polite smile.

"Hey."

MJ nodded and gave her respective hello back. Peter came into the dinning table with an awkward smile. He didn't need to explain the presence of his friend to his wife, as she quickly picked up the cue to get Mayday to sleep.

For some reason, the energy in the room was suffocating. As if Miguel was the black hole sucking the life and energy out of everything even without intending. Yet, Peter tried to shoo the negative aura that lurked around ominously by unpacking the groceries as he talked to MJ

"How was your day?"

"Good, a bit tiresome. But definitely better now than I'm home."

"Want extra cheese in your pasta? Oh! Miguel got us some candies."

MJ smiled politely at him, "Thanks for that. I loved the eh... Maz-uhpan?"

"Mazapán." he corrected gently.

"That thing. Peter, dear can you get the tub ready for May?"

It was Peter's cue to meet her in private.

"Excuse me." She took Mayday and Peter followed, leaving Miguel alone for a moment. Giving him a break from unwanted displays of family dynamics.

Once in the bathroom and away from prying eyes and ears, MJ cleared her throat

"Before you get angry, I didn't know he was coming until fourty five minutes ago."

MJ quirked a brow knowingly and huffed.

"I know. Still, the least he could do is to let us know he's coming over, Pete."

Peter nodded while rubbing his face, tiredly.

"I'm sorry, ok? Will make him go away soon. He's not having a good time right now."

MJ rolled her eyes while Peter added some soap to the water.

"Yeah, he only comes for a visit whenever he needs something out of you."

"MJ" Peter grunted the silent plea. 'Not now.'

She chuckled and kissed his cheek, "You know it's true. But, if it works for you, then ok. Just don't stay up past one. You snore too loud whenever you get little sleep."

"Relax, he probably just want to ramble, take a beer and leave."

"Alright, alright. He could tone his perfume a bit though. I can smell him from here. Go have fun."

-----

The beers clinked in the table, their taste numbed briefly Miguel's throat and tongue. It burned good as the sour liquid rolled down his esophagus, while Peter rambled on about the many pictures he showed him of Mayday.

Not that he didn't appreciate Peter's attempt to make him forget whatever problems were pestering his mind. But if honest, he grew tired after the sixth photo.

"You should have another."

That made Peter shut up and he chuckled.

"No no. With her is enough."

"You sound regretful."

Miguel mumbled as he finished his beer, Peter shook his head vehemently.

"At all. I know I look like shit, Mig. Still, would do it all over again. Like, look at this!" Peter got the screen close to his bored face with another picture and Miguel pushed it away softly.

"Yeah, she's a pretty girl. Got it."

"You don't get it. Once a kid shows up, everything changes."

You've got no idea...

His mind replied, as his body tensed once more.

"Have you talked about this with Dana?"

The name only made the urge to down the other beer in a go, but his mind almost slapped some sense into him and reminded him this wasn't his home.

MJ's steps alerted both men briefly as she came for her extra bowl of soggy pasta and wash Mayday's bottles.

"We broke up." He stated simply with a disdainful shrug

"What the fuck?

MJ turned to Peter, a brow quirked at his choice of words but focused again on the bottle.

"Miguel, you texted me, saying you were looking for wedding venues with Dana. And now you're single again?"

MJ's breath hitched.

Dana

Oh God

Dana D'Angelo.

Miguel's fiance. And the one that slapped you.

MJ had been so busy with work and her motherly duties that totally forgot about her husband's companion.

Miguel.

The man that only relied on her husband's company whenever life was too much for him. An acquaintance that she had only seen a couple of times and shared the same roof as her, although briefly in the few times Peter invited him over.

And also, the man that had gotten you pregnant, and had sent you to the hospital in a fit of rage. The very man that was causing you so much pain, had taken a place on her table, with her family and now was talking comfortably with her husband about his failed love, thanks to none other but himself.

Her heart wrenched and beat so fast in between powerful contractions that it made her breath shaky.

A monster was in her home. A terrible man had waltzed into her safe space and was tainting with his rottenness everything he touched, with his pungent and hubristic smell. His cologne and attitude only made her stomach churn.

"It didn't work out."

She turned to see him, unbelieving in her green eyes. So well behaved, ever polite and not an ounce of guiltiness in his judging stare. Entitled even, as if the world owed him just cause he existed. MJ understood now why it was so easy for you to fall into his trap, but the anger that clawed at her brain was greater than anything she had experienced before.

How dared he come into her home and play the victim when he had forsaken you and his child? How dared he disrupt the natural balance in her house with his mere presence?

"She was getting too annoying for me, anyways. Always behaving crazy." Miguel gestured with a terse movement of his hand before slicking his dark brown strands back.

Oh, how dared he. Those last words made her patience thread to stretch impossibly thin, that it broke.

"Well of course she'll act crazy! You fucking cheated on her!." MJ's hands balled tight at her sides, and glared daggers at Miguel.

Both men snapped to look in her way.

Miguel's eyes widened and Peter blinked almost stupidly at his wife and then at his friend that seemed like a deer caught in the headlights. Few little things in life managed to surprise Miguel, and MJ exposing his dirtiest secret to the only person he trusted outside Dana so carelessly and abruptly, had definitely caught him off guard.

"W-What?"

"He cheated on Dana, Peter."

Miguel swallowed thickly, a shaky breath turned into a steady one, anger coursing through his veins, his mahogany eyes narrowed.

Not them too...

He rubbed his face and hair again, trying to remain composed. If Dana had came for him and gave him no truce, MJ went straight to the jugular. Remorselessly for the kill.

How did she know?

A new wave of fury washed over him at the sudden implication his mind was brewing with, his hand clawed at his bouncing knee.

Did she know you?

What a sick, twisted and small world he lived in. Of course she did. Or else he wouldn't be here, trying to come up with a reply to his shocked friend. But he was cut short from everything, even thinking.

"You don't know shit." Miguel couldn't help but hiss, and his words were enough to throw Peter's patience out the window.

"That's my wife you're talking to, pal." Peter scowled, flabbergasted at Miguel's words as he stood with a warning finger waving at his... friend?, "Tone it the fuck down."

"She doesn't know what she's talking about, Pete!"

Miguel felt ridiculous, not only cause the now constant need of explaining himself, but the absurdity of the situation. He was holding his friend's arm, trying to get Peter to believe him, just like he did with Dana.

But Peter was focused into getting MJ calmed down as she kept cussing his way

"Of course I know, asshole!" She spat, "I know enough of you to say how much of a piece of shit you are!"

That definitely earned her a growl "Whatch your fucking tone"

"Or what?! You'll try and hurt me too like you did with (Name)?! My friend has been suffering nonstop because of your pathetic excuses of being a man!"

If the many years prior to marry MJ taught Peter something, was that if she used foul language meant she was beyond pissed, and rightfully so. She wasn't one for cursing, and things surely would end up terribly wrong.

"You cheated your fiancé, got my best friend pregnant and demanded her to get an abortion-"

"Wait... You... you did what?" Peter's eyes widened and hardened, Miguel was cornered as Peter faced him, still containing his wife.

"No, no. That's bullshit!" Miguel's hand gestured as the other anchored to his hip. His poor attempt of bravery did nothing but set the fire ablaze in its full glory, it all had caught him so off guard he barely could think of comebacks to fend for himself.

"God... You're such a fucking liar!" Peter held MJ back as she seethed, trying to get a hold of Miguel, "I was there at the clinic with her! Cause she tried to correct your fucking mess!"

"I tried to fix-"

"You don't get shit fixed by writing her a fucking check and tell her to get rid of your child! Man the fuck up already! She's so under so much pressure now-"

"Because she's so stupid and chose to fucking keep that thing!" roared Miguel. Tired of being cornered without his usual pretense of control. Shoulders heaving with shaky and wrathful breaths, realizing the mistake he just did.

Peter glowered at him. Not only had he dared to yell at his wife but had been lying to him this whole time. And Mayday was crying. The commotion had been too great that woke her up.

Another pillar in his life was crumbling around, shaking the little constants he still remained with, to their very core.

Peter seized with him a look he had never seen before in his apparently dumb face. Disgust. He was about to protest but Peter's question only brought him to a too bright and unwanted spotlight.

"Is that true?" The tinge in Parker's voice held nothing but utter disbelief, not accusing, but skeptical. As if realizing he was being fooled this whole time as well. Peter slapped Miguel's hands away as he tried to reach for him again.

Shit

His aloof act had spreaded way too fast that didn't give it time to properly root and settle on his inner's circle brains ro control later. Peter growled at the stretching and pregnant silence.

"I'm fucking talking to you." The hard push of his hand made him sway softly, "Is that true!?"

Miguel's eyes widened. Peter's bravado and anger was something he didn't know until now. If honest, Miguel thought of him a complete goof that did everything his wife told him to. A complete mandilón.

If MJ told him to bark, he would and even do a flip while at it. But this man before him was different. Confident, authoritative, honorable, pushing his patience to new limits and oh so disgusted at his actions. A true father and man, unlike him.

A reluctant daddy.

Miguel really had a hard time grasping the magnitude of his doings and how they affected others, cause his remorse was absent. Everything he should be feeling at this collective verbal berating was gone. He was more focused in the defensive than offensive, and he failed.

Upon Miguel's silence, Peter just stared at him and sighed. He wasn't worth it.

"You need to leave, Miguel."

Ash soured the aforementioned throat. A thick lump knotted tightly on Miguel's windpipe.

"What? You're believing every word that comes out of her just like that?"

The question itself was stupid, he knew much so. But Peter didn't budge, in fact, he didn't even look at him as MJ went to fetch her daughter.

"You gotta be kidding me, Parker"

"Am I fucking joking? No. Leave." He shimmied away from Miguel's grasping hands with a disgruntled growl

"Look, I know I fucked up, okay-"

"Damn right you did" Peter pushed him away once more

"Can you listen?! " Tanned fingers sunk on Peter's arms forcefully, preventing him from escaping further, but that only earned him a powerful shove that made him nearly fall. Unlike you, that barely moved him an inch .

"Not this time. I talk and you listen. My home, my rules. Don't like it, get the fuck off." Peter hissed, the day's misfortunes and stress had piled up in his brain and Miguel's actions did nothing but set it all on fire.

"You can't just come into my house unannounced, yell at my wife for calling you out and your bullshit and expect me to remain quiet." His hands moved frantically, "You can't go around acting stupid, being a shitty friend, hurting people and believing the world owes you shit, Miguel!"

Peter turned his back on him, breathing deeply, trying to control the rising anger, finally breaking contact. His shoulders slumped with defeat.

"I knew you were an asshole, but c'mon man... Your own child? Really?" His blue eyes felt like an iceberg caressing upon seizing him a over his shoulder.

"Y dale con la misma pendejada... I did what I thought was right, okay?!" Miguel protested, trying to appeal to that good side that definitely lacked right now.

Peter turned again and stepped in a few strides closer to him, fear lacked in his glare, instead a fiery and scorching fury burned within

"Manning up is the right thing." His calm seething only made Miguel gulp, "Owing your mistakes is the right thing to do!" Peter's voice raised an octave louder

"What kind of fucked up logic is to think you can choose to cheat but choose to not face the consequences?!" Peter jabbed with force his index finger at the treacherous man's chest before him as he hissed every word.

"Funny thing is that you always saw me as a clown. Always bragged on how perfect your life was and thought of me a man child." Each word that came out from Peter was like a stone hitting Miguel,

"And look at you now, acting exactly like that!. How ironic that the roles reversed now." Peter's voice trailed off.

Miguel rolled his eyes so hard it hurted "No me jodas, Parker. Don't fuck with me with your shitty morals You didn't want children either, remember?!."

Disappointment and repugnance plastered all over Peter's face as he shook his head.

"People can do something called change, Miguel. Call me whatever you want, but at least I can say I am a man, cause I owe my mistakes. I don't go around screwing people over and then leave them to fend for themselves."

Peter went to the main door and opened it, with nothing else worthy to spill at Miguel, "Get out."

"You're an hypocrite. When you didn't want kids, everything is alright, but when I do I'm a fucking monster?"

He wasn't welcomed comed anymore. And this only added a couple of more weights in his already heavy bag of burdens, igniting his arrogance even further.

"Are you seriously playing the victim right now?" Peter huffed, "Grow a pair, Miguel. You need them. Get out."

Peter was done, all the energy that had been left was sucked out of him and the stranger before his presence was his biggest leech, he awaited for Miguel to leave, which made the exposed man's chest tighten uncomfortably. The friendship had crumbled. There wasn't anything left for him to salvage anyway.

"Fine." He took his jacket with a forceful grab, "Have it your way then." He spat and left the house with a slam that shook the doorframe.

Your eyes raked over the cream colored walls, as your back nested comfortably against the stretcher. Silence reigned with such deliciousness it soothed your underlying nerves.

A month and a half had gone by ever since yiu had that unwilling visit to the hospital, hitting the sixteen weeks of pregnancy. Your meds worked relatively good, and so did the vitamins to the point of getting a bit more strength and color in you.

But today was different. Everything felt different ever since you woke up. The sheets felt divine, the mattress had the right amount of hardness to help with the lumbar area.

The water in the shower felt heavenly on your skin, it was as if the universe was preparing you for a surprise after so many tough times.

Whatever it had planned, you hoped it was good, or at least, digestible enough to not choke you with it.

The doctor, Mrs. Vincent, typed some information in her computer, then stood to whir the machine alive.

"Lift your shirt up, please." Once you did, she smeared a dollop of blue gel on your naked belly, something you barely had the chance to admire, too busy trying to adapt to the emerging changes in your body.

Some clothes had stopped fitting and if they did, they were a chip too tight. The baby bump wasn't enormous like you had thought, but it wasn't small either, after all, Miguel was a big man. It had enough curvature to make your belly poke out from any clothes you had.

I feel like a walking avocado...

MJ was sitting next to you. Although you felt guilty because of the scene Miguel created at her home, she was more than happy to put him in his place, and so her husband. Peter.

Bless him.

You haven't properly known the man but that action alone of standing up for you against his friend of years, made you a bit hopeful.

You weren't looking for a partner, much less a father to the creature growing within, the least you wanted to do was to complicate yourself even more and add another thing in the already long lists of stress you went by.

But in truth, you wished to be there to see his downfall. Not that you were spiteful, but karma surely was a beautiful thing to watch. And the thought of him being this scared and uncomfortable man, the opposite of what you had seen and experienced, made your lips curve into a satisfied smile.

Life had heard your pleas and you were thankful.

Your breath hitched as soon as the machine's accessory made contact with your skin. Cool plastic, like the cold gel all over your skin.

"Let's see", Dr. Vincent mumbled as she adjusted her glasses in her nose bridge. The white light illuminated well the, place, her faint smell of vanilla perfume tickled your nose, it wasn't an offensive perfume, but it made you a little queasy.

It definitely shut down the medicinal smell you had been received with.

Dr. Vincent's gloved hands took the transducer and gently moved it around your belly.

"Does it feels cold?"

You nodded with a nervous smile, "A bit, yeah."

Mayday's giggles echoed behind you, MJ shushed her with some gentle words and her breath hitched when she looked at the screen.

The redhead looked like was experiencing so many things for the first time again, yet she held your hand with excitement thrumming in her skin.

"Look at that, Mama"

The word still made you uncomfortable, but the way the doctor had spilled it felt oddly soothing. The baby was there, etched forever to your womb, growing within your guts each passing day, squirming like a little worm, making it's presence known with a kick.

MJ could only watch as you chuckled. Your features softened the more you stared at the screen. But then your eyes widened at seeing the baby's 3D image.

Resting against one of your womb, comfortably, squeezing it's little hands over and over.

And if honest, curiosity had gotten a vice like grip on you. The way the baby moved and nested within you was equally disturbing and beautiful.

The transducer moved all over as Dr. Vincent looked up the right angle. Breath grew short and caught in your throat at the doctors next words.

"There she is"

MJ gasped, excited and your eyes turned bleary.

A girl. You were having a girl.

"Congrats, Mama." The doctor printed the pictures.

The little bean inside was a girl. There was no longer an it, no longer the creature, or the baby.

Despite the though times you've endured, she was healthy. Perfectly developing, a bit underweight, but healthy.

A myriad of things crossed your mind, panic, admiration, fear and so much confusion. They all swirled inside your jumbled head, fighting over the control of your emotions.

MJ squeezed your hand as soon as she noticed the red-ish hue blooming in your nose and the glossy eyes.

A little sniff was stifled. The doctor smiled at your apparent emotional reaction.

"It's ok to cry. I've gotten too many boys in the week, seeing a girl a was a change of pace. Thank you for that, hun." Dr. Vincent spoke with a sweet voice.

You couldn't help but sob silently. Digesting every second of what had just happened. The nauseas had subsided momentarily, as if sensing you needed your strength for something else.

It didn't help your hormones that Mayday took a hold of your finger, big blue eyes staring at you with pure child like wonder as if demanding your attention. Your lips quivered, and when she cooed your way, you broke.

It's alright.

She'd surely say. MJ held you close, rubbing your back in soothing circles, letting you absorb the news at your own pace.

"You ok?"

You nodded, holding onto her tightly.

"It's a girl, MJ"

Your best friend smiled sympathetically your way, "Indeed. And she's healthy. You've done a fantastic job in keeping her that way, sweetie. I'm proud of you."

Her words did nothing but make you cry harder.

"I'm so scared, MJ"

"I know. But it's alright. I'm here and Mayday too, remember?"

You chuckled in between tears and sighed, while wiping your tears.

"I'm so scared cause... I don't wanna repeat things all over with her."

"Then let's make them differently, ok? I'm here. You're not alone."

You hugged her once more.

"Let's celebrate, yeah?"

"I... I don't know if I should even do that, all things considered."

MJ chided your name gently.

"You deserve it. You've faced so much already, this little girl right here" She placed her hand in your belly, "has stayed healthy and perfect because of you. You've done so much. So let's celebrate that, ok?"

Even if you thought yourself undeserving of such thing, you nodded and followed her.

You wouldn't admit it, but a deep deep part of you bloomed with a little seed of curiosity and excitement.

-----

Taglist:

@serpentstarr @randomnobody187   @8xbygirl   @del-ightfulling @iytatsworld @moonzuzuu @huehuehuehuehehe @ryk-mt @deputy-videogamer @sizeablysized @katitakenway @stealyourblorbos @beingdeluluisthesolulu @death-moth-art @obsessedwithromance @crybabiixo @spiderpapi2099 @tremendouswolfsaladranch @cherrycosmos392 @sbrn0905 @xylianasblog   @elgatofx @eepiebeepie @vonev @tatatida @freehentai @scaryplanetdestroyer @minalovesyoubabes @emeloyy @migueloharastruelove @jdbxws @m4dyy @nyxzoldyck6 @fruitychae @francesca-the-1st @siidmm @ana-paulinathe-arts @artyanimi @damhanallagorm @lauraolar14 @what-is-your-wish @oharasfilipinawife @jellyboob @aockskcw @ittybxttykxttytxtty @smartyren @plumplum2099 @angel-of-the-moons @reader-1290 @kaidxra @kimmis-stuff @amberpanda99 @orangemango7

[l3irdl3rain]

I don't mean to be offensive I'm genuinely curious but what do you do for work to pay for all these little guys?

I work full time at a vet clinic and then I also have a part time job I occasionally work at night. I have no schedule at the night job and can just go in whenever / however much I want, which is so very convenient with how busy my pets keep me.

The biggest key to my pet care is that any vet care I get through my job is free. Doc and his wife are lovely people and bosses. I definitely couldn’t afford all these animals otherwise.

Medications and foods can still add up though. And John’s emergency visit was basically $300 just to walk in the door, so it’s still pricey. I don’t really have a ton of other expensive hobbies though, I’m perfectly content to put most of my entertainment money into my pets.

[brostateexam]

Have not been saying much for a while because everything is hard.

I. My BiL has had c diff three times now and after the third time the oncologist decided to take a damn the torpedoes approach because they were wasting weeks that should have been devoted to chemo because he was too sick and too weak to withstand outpatient treatment. I haven't seen him irl since December but my mom says he looks rough and if his immune system is so messed up that he keeps getting c diff idk that I really want to visit him. What if I get him sick?

All of this is background to me, though, because mostly I'm invested in my sister. She wants to divorce him. He needs to be better enough that she won't face ostracization for doing so. I am invested in him getting better enough for that to proceed for her sake.

II. Something about my relationship with my mom has been bothering me and I finally figured out what it is: everything is equally important to her. She doesn't prioritize anything. If I am having a tough time and ask for help she'll say "well I'm busy every day this week but I can come over next week in Thursday for ninety minutes" and then when she comes over I ask her what she was up to, both to make conversation and because I'm nosy, and it's like... she volunteered for a clothing drive at the synagogue. She went grocery shopping. She went to a farmer's market. Thanks for fitting me into your schedule, I guess! Glad to know I am on the same level as farm fresh tomatoes.

III. I have been having a really tough time of it for the last few months. The vacation in Mexico was... Not restful. Shane had a seizure on the plane and I spent the first two days managing logistics related to that (and navigating the extra ~$2k I spent covering his medical costs while on the trip). His back is still fucked up almost two months later and so I get to do extra housework and chores because he can't lift or bend without being in pain.

IV. Resultant to III, I had a really awful period of about a month with an online friend who started being super short and terse with me because I've been around online less. It was really clear he felt like I was ditching him to go hang out with my cool friends or something, instead of the reality of the situation: I'm cleaning litter boxes and doing yard work and changing the sheets on the bed aka #livingthedream. I told him about all the stuff that was going on but it was clear he didn't believe me or resented my absence nevertheless. This came to a head with me basically texting him an essay about why he was being a bad friend. In a turn of good news, he listened, and apologized, and we mended fences. That was nice because I just don't know how much more bad news I can take right now.

V. I've been struggling with work but really it's just. My boss. My coworkers like me. My project sponsors like me. My skip level likes me. My exec likes me. It's just him. We don't have a good relationship and I don't know how to fix it. I don't know that it is fixable. This is a problem because this is the guy I need in my corner to advance my career and I don't know that he'll do that for me. The alternative is leaving my company, which sounds attractive on paper but in practice the job market is so so bad and it's just so discouraging. The idea of a new job sounds incredible. I wish I could do that. Maybe even a career change.

VI. Unfortunately, that's not gonna happen because of financial pressures. NGL, as much as I like my house (and I do -- I love its little windows, I love my pink dining nook and green bedroom, I love the mature fruit trees and pretty backyard full of wildflowers), I wish i had the cash in hand, instead. I feel trapped here, and like I'm making the most of it. That's a shit feeling to have.

VII. I've started regaining weight. Not a lot. Fifteen pounds since October. But it's scaring me. It's making me wonder if this whole surgery thing was pointless because I can't seem to stop myself from wanting to eat myself to death. So I'm trying to beat it back without resorting to "diet culture behaviors" (read: disordered eating) and that's tough.

There could be a separate post for things that are going well perhaps, but this is what's going not so well and it feels like a lot. Sometimes it feels like too much.

[alwaysbethewest]

Triple Frontier fic: A Pilot for Christmas

It's @pedrostories Secret Santa day!! My assignment was for @frannyzooey, who requested domesticity, roommates-to-lovers, and fluff or smut 🥰 I had some of the most fun EVER writing this fic, so I hope it will make you smile, too, Kelli. Merry Christmas!! 🎄 Thank you to @mourningbirds1 and @fleetwoodmactshirt, both of whom I—not to be dramatic but—basically can't live without at this point, and at the very least couldn't have written this fic. And she's not a Pedro fan so I can't imagine she wants to be tagged in this, but thank you to my friend Alyssa for kindly helping me with one of the very few pieces of actual research I did for it.

Title: A Pilot for Christmas Pairing: Frankie Morales/f!Reader Rating: Mature Word Count: 4.8k Content/warnings: roommates to lovers, hot single dad Frankie, pining, yearning, lusting, questionable romance novel smut, compromising positions, sexual content, fade to black, food, domesticity. Unbetaed, so please let me know if you spot any typos/errors!

There’s a note for you on the kitchen table, written in Frankie’s even, boxy print: Mac + cheese + trees in fridge if you want some.

Your schedules never align on Wednesdays; your boss’s mandatory mid-week team meetings inevitably keep you late and Frankie is always on his way to Laura’s place by the time you get home. You haven’t met his ex-wife, but you think she must be nice enough since he’s usually in a good mood when he gets home from their weekly family dinners. They’re co-parenting, as he’d explained when you first moved in, and along with providing dinner on Wednesdays he does his part by taking their daughter on the weekends. He’s given you a break in the rent to make up for sharing your apartment with a three-year-old two days a week.

This is technically a sublet, and it’s technically temporary, but you get along well enough with Frankie that sometimes it feels a little like kismet. His old roommate had landed a contract overseas for a year just as you were moving to town, and a mutual friend had connected you. There are four months left on the contract, but you’d heard from the roommate recently that he was expecting the position to be renewed, so most likely you’ll get to stay longer if you want to. Nothing is official yet either way, and you’ve decided to give yourself another month before you start to worry about it.

Having the apartment to yourself once a week is the perfect opportunity to watch your favorite guilty pleasure TV shows without fear of male judgment—not that Frankie gets really rude about it but his silent raised eyebrow speaks volumes—and you happily warm up a bowl of macaroni and cheese and “trees” (broccoli; it turns out toddlers lose interest when you use the B-word) and settle in on the couch.

Living with Frankie has gone better than you’d feared it might. Knowing he was the friend of a friend of a friend had alleviated some of your anxiety about moving in with a stranger, and he’s turned out to be a mostly quiet, respectful roommate. After maintaining clear-cut boundaries for the first couple of weeks, you had both relaxed a little bit and settled into something of a shared routine. He likes to cook but doesn’t enjoy grocery shopping, so you often take his list along with your own to the store—and reap the rewards on nights like this when he keeps you well-fed. You both like to keep a tidy home, and neither of you minds the other person throwing in a few items when you’re doing a load of laundry. You’ve even mostly gotten over the embarrassment of the time Frankie had delicately handed you a pair of thong underwear he’d found trapped in the sleeve of one of his clean shirts. The barely-contained amusement on his face had haunted you for a full week.

When you’ve finished your dinner you pause the TV to go wash your bowl, and while you’re in the kitchen you take a few minutes to put away the dishes Frankie had left drying in the dish rack. It’s an easy symbiosis, you muse, a give-and-take that seems to suit you both. Underneath his note, you write back: Delicious!! Thank you, and sign it with a heart.

Most of the time your editing job allows you to maintain a reasonable work-life balance, but this month you’ve found yourself scrambling to get everything done before the upcoming holiday break. Your co-worker Deandra is off on an unexpected leave, and after taking on a share of her work on top of your own, the projects have started to form an intimidating pile. One Monday, two weeks before Christmas, you compromise your typical boundaries by logging back onto your laptop after dinner to work on a manuscript. Frankie is watching a game with the volume on low and it makes for comfortable background noise while you work from the opposite end of the couch.

Deandra’s specialty is romance, and while you’ve had to get used to covering a new genre, having some variety has been interesting. But a detail in this book is bothering you. You glance at Frankie, whose expression is quietly focused. His team is leading the scoreboard by a healthy margin. You don’t think he’ll mind a brief distraction.

“Hey. I could use your piloting expertise. Can I ask you a weird question?”

Frankie raises an eyebrow and shrugs his assent. “Go ahead.”

“Okay, so—is it logistically possible to have sex in a cockpit?”

You have his attention. He slowly turns his head to give you a long, wide-eyed look. After a moment of silence, he narrows his eyes, contemplating. “What kind of aircraft are we talking?”

“Like a regular… A commercial passenger plane?”

He nods, pursing his mouth and tilting his head up so he can gaze off into space, like he’s visualizing it. He glances at you again.

“Two people?” he checks.

“Two—yes, it’s—” he’s surprised you a little, and you fumble for words. “It’s not a cockpit orgy,” you tell him.

He laughs. “Pilots like to party,” he says opaquely, and now you’re the one narrowing your eyes at him, but he’s ignoring your questioning look. “Okay, is it possible? Theoretically, sure. Especially if the other person is short. Is it comfortable, though?” He pulls a face. “It wouldn’t be my choice. It’s a cramped space. Someone’s gonna end up hitting their head, or accidentally kicking the instrument panel, or…” he trails off, shaking his head in disapproval. “It’s… inadvisable.”

“Got it. Thank you.” You make some notes in the Word document on your screen, still internally recovering from his follow-up question, and Frankie turns his attention back to the TV, where the opposing team is starting to close the lead.

You’re no prude, but the genre you usually work in fades to black more often than not, and this author’s penchant for smutty detail has you feeling slightly in over your head. You’ve made it past the cockpit quickie but four chapters later Frankie’s team is on the cusp of winning their game and your protagonist is finally about to have her tall, dark, and handsome pilot love interest in a real bed.

“This love scene is… really something,” you comment. Frankie looks over in interest.

“Read it to me.”

“It’s dirty,” you warn him.

Frankie smirks. “I think I can handle it.”

You take a breath and start to read aloud from the page: “Isabella’s heart raced in excitement. Roderick was standing so close she felt as though his breath was entering her lungs with every inhalation. He took her hand and pressed her palm to himself, making her feel his turgid cock stirring in his pants—Obviously that needs to go—”

“Which part, the turgid cock?” Frankie asks. “I like it.”

“You like it?” you ask, incredulous.

“What?” he says. “A guy can’t enjoy a turgid cock now?”

“Jesus,” you laugh. Your face is starting to feel warm. “Isabella’s petite hand could barely fit around Roderick’s girthy length and it made her whimper with arousal. Roderick smirked down at her. ‘I can’t wait to be inside you,’ he rasped hungrily. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her flush against his body. ‘Tell me you want it,’ he growled.” You glance at Frankie and see he’s got one arm slung across his chest and the other hand resting at his mouth, thumbnail running distractedly over his lips. He’s staring at the TV without really watching it, and after a moment of silence he finally blinks and meets your eyes again.

“It’s weird you get to read porn for work,” he says dryly, and you bury your face in your hands and laugh.

When the game ends, Frankie switches on an episode of Star Trek that he seems to be half watching while he does something on his phone. On your laptop screen, Roderick has you stymied.

Roderick’s muscular arms tossed Isabella onto the bed like she weighed nothing. “Ohhh,” she moaned. “Give it to me.”

“Give you what, baby?” he rasped. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Give me—” Her pale cheeks blushed prettily. How could she say it out loud? But he was looking at her with such lust in his eyes that she knew he only wanted to make sure she was ready to turn herself over to him, to let him use her any way he liked. The thought of it made her shiver with anticipation. “Give me your cock, Roderick. Make me yours.”

With a growl from deep in his chest, Roderick dragged her hips down the bed so that she was balancing on the edge, where his body loomed over hers. Turning her onto her side, he leaned down to nose under her ear, nipping at the delicate skin of her neck and making her moan. His broad hand clutched her thigh, maneuvering her leg to tuck her knee around his hips, and his other hand he ran tantalizingly down her back until he reached her other thigh. He opened her legs, like an explorer unveiling the treasure he’d been seeking, and he straightened up, lifting her ankle to rest against his shoulder, and grinding his hard member against her core.

You go over the last few lines again, whispering the words under your breath to yourself as you try to picture the position. You feel like you need a diagram.

“I’m lost,” you declare.

Frankie glances up from his phone. “Hm?”

“I don’t understand where these limbs are going,” you tell him. “I don’t know if my brain just isn’t working because it’s 9 PM or if this passage needs rewriting. Or if this sex is too advanced for me.”

He laughs and makes a grabbing motion at your laptop. “Lemme see.”

You hand it over, standing up to stretch while he reads it to himself.

“‘He opened her legs like an explorer unveiling the treasure he’d been seeking,’” Frankie reads out dramatically. “Really?”

“Don’t get caught up in the simile,” you say. “Focus on the legs. Is that position even feasible? For someone who isn’t a contortionist?”

“Maybe in the next chapter they reveal she was raised in the circus,” he suggests, but he squints at the screen again, reading through the text. “I think I get it. It’s like—” He gestures with his arms, posing them to mimic Isabella’s legs. It’s borderline incomprehensible.

Later, you’ll blame the late hour and your overworked brain for what happens next. If you’d been running on all cylinders, you would have thought through the boundary-crossing implications of this and stopped yourself, but as it is you frown down at him and say, “Show me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on,” you urge him, already heading down the hallway to your bedroom. He hesitates, but then follows a few paces behind, and it’s then—the moment he crosses the threshold behind you—that your brain finally catches up to your actions and you begin to realize this was a terrible, terrible idea.

But somehow, coming up with an excuse to turn back feels more mortifying than plowing forward. You sit on the edge of the bed, trying to focus on the matter at hand. Frankie is hanging back, but you give him an expectant look and he takes a step towards you. He clears his throat softly.

“On your side,” he says. It shouldn’t sound like a command—he offers it gently, a reminder of the scene you’re playing out—but something inside you can’t tell the difference and you feel a spot deep in your core go hollow and needy. You turn, obediently, and lay on your right side. He touches the knee of your right leg, urging you to pull it forward.

“This leg around me.”

He steps into the crook of your knee, between your thigh and your calf, and looks down at your other leg, tucked awkwardly between your bodies.

“This is where it gets weird,” he says, and you laugh out loud. The sound dies out when you feel his fingers firmly wrap around your ankle and slowly maneuver your left leg, straight in front of you and then pivoting towards the ceiling. You feel the stretch in your hips, your body turning to follow so you’re halfway between your back and your side. It’s awkward, and he must see your face twist in discomfort, because he stops midway through the movement and rests your foot on his left shoulder. His body is solid and warm against the back of your leg.

“I think in the book it was over here,” he says, tapping his right shoulder. “So maybe she is a contortionist.”

“Or I need to do more Pilates,” you lament. He looks amused.

“Does this position even make sense? Would this work for you?” you ask him, regretting the question as soon as it’s left your mouth. He blinks down at you and his eyes rake down the length of your body to where you’re tangled around him. His hand is still resting over your ankle.

“Your bed is too low,” he says.

It’s—You’d meant the question in a more hypothetical sense. With some other partner, in some other scenario, would this position work? The knowledge that he has taken in the question and assessed the situation—looked at your two bodies in relation to each other, here, in your room, and thought about whether he could fuck you like this—makes you lose your breath.

“Plus—” he continues. He nudges at you to roll you onto your back, carefully lowering your foot from his shoulder so he’s standing between your open legs, nothing between you but empty space and a secret, aching want. He leans in, bracing his hands flat on either side of your body, not touching you but close enough he would only have to lean in. “I like to be able to kiss someone when I make love to them,” he says softly.

He shoots you a smile that could almost be a smirk as he stands up and heads out of the room, leaving you clutching the duvet cover as the world around you tilts on its axis.

It’s not like you’ve never noticed Frankie is attractive. Anybody could see that he is. He’s boyishly cute when he’s playing around with his daughter, their matching, dimpled smiles on display; smoldering when he gets cleaned up to go out on the town with the guys, if a little less runway-ready the morning after; and confusingly, unrecognizably handsome on the occasions he goes clean-shaven. But he’s been so firmly relegated to “platonic male roommate” status since you moved in that you’ve never, even for a second, thought about pursuing anything more. Lusting after your roommate can only end in awkwardness and moving boxes.

So discovering that the man you live with isn’t just good-looking, but has the ability to leave you wet and aching with desire, without even trying, has you looking at everything through a new lens.

On Tuesday, mid-morning, your phone lights up with a text from him. It’s a picture of a small plane cockpit interior, just two seats and a display of navigational instruments.

See how tight she is? he’s written.

You blink at your phone. SHE??

…

She = the plane. Sorry, pilot speak.

Mortifying. You nearly pull up the local apartment rentals page on Craigslist right then and there. You dive into your work instead—not Deandra’s romance, but the grisly thriller in your regular docket. Roderick and Isabella need to give you some space this week. It’s not them, it’s you—and the images of Frankie and you in compromising positions that had popped into your mind when you attempted to pick back up the draft.

He’s like a specter, haunting you.

Wednesday evening is your night with the apartment to yourself, and you’ve never been happier to be alone. He’s left you dinner, again, and you almost don’t eat it on principle—you’ll have to get used to feeding yourself, after all, once he kicks you out for making it too blatantly obvious you want to jump him.

But it would be an actual crime to pass up his enchiladas. You savor the plate. Maybe he’ll give you the recipe as a parting gift, if you ask nicely.

You pour yourself a glass of wine and catch up on one of your shows, and some of the tension you’ve been holding starts to drain from your body. But underneath is a familiar, restless energy buzzing through you, desperate for a different outlet, that you can’t ignore.

You go to bed early. What you need is just a little quality time with yourself, to reconnect and remind your body that you’re perfectly capable of satisfying it on your own—or with the no-strings-attached assistance of a vibrator.

It’s a valiant, miserable attempt. Every tried and true fantasy keeps rerouting back to Frankie. You turn your toy to its highest setting and the sensation still pales in comparison to the thrill of his fingers wrapped securely around your ankle, the line of his body pressed against your legs, and his low, deadly voice telling you how to move.

You go to sleep more frustrated than when you started, only to dream of him. He’s hovering over you, pressing you into the bed, his hot mouth on your neck and sucking on your tits and working his way down to eat you out and bring an orgasm crashing through you—and you wake up at 3 AM with your cunt throbbing between your legs.

One of the things you’ll miss most about this place when you inevitably have to move out due to your incurable roommate attraction is the in-unit washer and dryer. Perhaps in solidarity with your own resolve and self-control, the dryer abruptly breaks in the middle of the week.

“Do you want me to call the landlord, or will you?” you ask Frankie, but he immediately shakes his head.

“Let me take a look at it,” he says.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek.

Two hours and one trip to a hardware store later, he’s on his knees in front of the machine, working quietly save for an occasional soft grunt of exertion when he has to fit something into place.

There’s a bare strip of skin on display where his shirt has ridden up, and a black waistband peeking out from under his jeans. Your mind drifts, imagining away the denim and picturing how the tight boxer briefs would cup his ass and grip his muscular thighs, until your own thighs are clenching and you force yourself to go clean the kitchen instead.

“I’m moving out,” you call over your shoulder as you go.

“I promise I can fix it,” he says, like he thinks you’re just fed up with one broken appliance, not your own internal breakdown.

If only.

It’s 7 AM Friday and you’re fixing your coffee when Frankie ambles into the kitchen, bare-chested and barefoot and wearing nothing more than a pair of low-slung pajama bottoms. If you allowed yourself to look, you would see the soft curve of his modest belly and the sparse line of hair trailing down to disappear enticingly under his waistband. His voice is early morning-deep when he mumbles a good morning. His hand steadies casually on your wrist when he stands next to you to grab a mug from the cupboard just to your left, and you hope he can’t feel your pulse quicken under his touch. When his coffee is ready and he takes his first sip, he lets out a satisfied groan. You want to die.

“You must be doing this on purpose,” you say, dismayed.

He blinks at you over the rim of his coffee cup. “Doing what?”

You gesture helplessly, at his naked chest and effortlessly rumpled bedhead. “Just—being all—”

He glances down at himself, then back at you, raising an eyebrow. “Being all…?”

“Just—sexy, I guess,” you finally admit.

For a moment, he looks surprised. Then an amused smile spreads slowly over his face and he takes a step towards you, clever eyes taking in how your body straightens and your breath picks up.

“I didn’t realize it bothered you,” he says. “Didn’t you say you were going to move out, anyway?”

“I am,” you say. “I can’t stand you anymore.”

He takes another step closer.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “I could give you a reason to stay.”

You slump against the counter at your back, helplessly wanting him.

“Please,” you tell him.

He touches you carefully, one hand skimming your hip and the other on your arm. He cocks his head, looking skeptical.

“You really think I’m sexy?” he asks.

You nod miserably. “It’s torture.”

He laughs and you are desperately endeared by the way it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, and the hint of a dimple peeking out under his beard.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says, and he leans in, and the touch of his lips to yours makes you feel like you’re floating, like your body might drift up to the sky if not for his sturdy frame anchoring you in place. Like your legs might give out, sending you sliding to the floor, except that he’s pressing close enough now that his body is touching yours, bending you back just enough to easily reach, and his hand has crept up from your arm to wrap around the back of your neck, holding you securely even as he finally pulls his mouth away, leaving you breathless and dazed.

You think you understand the overwrought prose of Deandra’s romances now.

“I can’t stand you either,” he says quietly. “You were torturing me the other night, with all the dirty talk from that book and then making me go to your room. Christ.”

“Sorry,” you say, not really meaning it. You’ve never felt this intoxicated this early in the morning. You’ve never looked into his eyes this close up. They’re a rich, deep brown that you feel halfway hypnotized by.

He glances away and must spot the microwave clock, because he pulls away with a look of regret. “I need to get ready for work.”

“Take a sick day,” you suggest.

He smiles ruefully and shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says. “But what would you do if I did?

You take a deep breath. Your eyes drop to his waist, and you touch your fingertips gingerly to the soft skin on display there. You lift your gaze to meet his own.

“I’d ask you to take me to bed,” you tell him.

He forces himself to leave. You watch his fingers clenching as he turns away, closing around the empty air as though he wishes it was you.

You go to your own room on unsteady legs and finish getting ready for work, thinking of Frankie’s mouth for your entire commute and almost missing your exit as a result. This time, opening Roderick and Isabella’s romance is a whole new kind of torture, and you end up claiming a headache by 3 o’clock to go home early, not caring if your boss can see through the lie.

Getting home early means you have plenty of time to shower and shave and moisturize with intent this time instead of your regular lazy girl morning routine. You’re soft and smooth and clean, in the kitchen making a snack of crackers and cheese to distract your anticipatory nerves, when Frankie comes home.

He gives you a small, familiar smile and sets a grocery bag on the counter between the two of you.

“You pick which comes first,” he says, nodding to the bag. He steals a cracker off your plate while you peer inside.

He’s brought you two pints of Ben & Jerry’s and one box of condoms.

“All the essentials,” you observe, and he grins. You pluck the condoms out of the bag and hand them to him meaningfully. His smile turns a little sly and he leans in and kisses you, too briefly for your liking, before pulling away again.

“I have to take a quick shower,” he says. “Wait for me?”

You let out a sigh, turning to put away the ice cream. “Don’t take too long,” you joke, gesturing to the pints. “I’ve got two other men waiting for me.”

“Ha, ha,” he says, already halfway down the hall.

Out of the shower, he comes to you with damp hair curling softly around his head, dressed simply in a navy t-shirt and dark grey sweatpants, and looking so good you think you might combust. After a moment of flirtation—your room or mine?—you finally find yourself in his bedroom. He leans in to kiss you and he takes his time this time, cupping your face in his large hand, teasing gently at your mouth, sliding his tongue along yours to deepen the kiss. When he pulls away to trace his lips down your jawline, you take a breath to steady yourself—and then squint in confusion. There’s a familiar scent in his hair.

“Is that—did you use my shampoo?”

He goes still for a moment, caught, and then laughs.

“Mine ran out,” he admits, a little sheepishly. He pulls in closer, nosing at your neck. “Yours is nicer, anyway. I always like how it smells on you.”

“We can share,” you say generously. “I’ve never been one of those roommates who labels all their shit.”

“Good,” he murmurs, mouth hot against your collarbone. “‘Cause I also ate your leftovers.”

You make a sound of exasperation and he tackles you to the bed, promising apologetically that he’ll make it up to you. And then proceeds to do so.

Very thoroughly.

You awaken to find a note on the pillow next to you, in Frankie’s familiar printed handwriting: Going to pick up Baby M. See you soon.

You give yourself a minute to luxuriate in his bed, enjoying the calm, satiated feeling in your body, and the warm scent of him in the sheets, and then you straighten up his bedding and scurry back to your own room to get dressed before he arrives home with his daughter. You’re just pulling your shirt over your head when you hear their voices in the living room, and you go out to greet them. He’s juggling a Starbucks tray in one hand along with his keys and her travel bag. She’s munching contentedly on a snack and doing her part by carrying her favorite stuffed seal plushie.

Over her head, he shoots you a warm, intimate smile. You feel a giddy thrill bubble up in your chest and you grin back at him.

“We made a coffee run,” he says, nodding to the drinks. “Someone wanted a cake pop.” The toddler tips her face up to offer a beatific, icing-smudged smile. Frankie sets her bag on the couch and leads the three of you into the kitchen.

“That one is yours,” he tells you, pointing to one of the cups. Then, to her, “You want some real breakfast, mija?”

You look at the label on the drink and your jaw drops in surprise. “How did you know London Fogs are my favorite?”

He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, but you catch a self-satisfied smile on his face as he turns away. “I notice things.”

He keeps a platonic distance while his daughter is in the kitchen but when she leaves to go put her stuffed animal away in her room, he pulls closer, nudging your hand with his. “You alright?” he murmurs.

You rub your thumb across his knuckles. “I’m really, really good.”

“I convince you not to move out?” he asks. You pretend to think about it.

“Almost. I think you could tip the balance if you make me some eggs.”

He clicks his tongue in affirmation. “Got it.”

Later, when the three of you have settled at the breakfast table with piles of fluffy scrambled eggs and buttered toast, his face changes like he’s just remembered something.

“Hey, how did that book end up, with Roderick and what’s-her-name?” he asks you, taking a sip of his coffee. “You never mentioned it after Monday night.”

You haven’t actually made it to the end yet, but you already know the answer.

“They lived happily ever after,” you tell him. “It’s a staple of the genre. The couple always has a happy ending.”

“Huh,” he says. He gives you a small, private smile, and taps his foot against yours, out of sight under the table. “That’s good to hear.”

[revletter]

In the SMRPG remake, Geno is still around for the postgame fights. Here's a simple and awesome way they could explain that.

(I SO hope they do something even loosely resembling this. I have so many feelings, I made gifs about it.)

Up to this point, we know that there'll be post-game content where you get to fight bosses over again. And look, our blue guy, there he still is!

From this, it's safe to assume that in the remake, after Geno leaves to repair the Star Road, he turns right around and comes back.

Which is KIND OF A BIG DEAL. Because in the original game, it's heavily implied that for all practical purposes, he's certain this goodbye will be forever.

(😭)

For some time, I've had a little theory. I kind of desperately hope for some version of it to be part of the remake. Here it is:

Due to the events of SMRPG, ♡♪!? gets a merit promotion. Maybe, at the beginning of the story, he's not a full-blown Star Spirit (or whatever verbiage). But - as the one little star guardian valiant and capable enough to go down to the world to help save the entire Star Road - now he's become one!

And that comes with more freedom. Just imagine him crashing back down to Earth like "Yo GUESS WHAT PEOPLE, now I'm a STAR SPIRIT (or etc.) and I set my own schedule!" He can go back and see his friends! It's amazing!

And it fits exactly! With not a single caveat I can think of!

IN FACT, you might even say it's supported by a little discrepancy in some 27-year-old pixel art:

Remember the difference between Geno's first appearance and his last? He goes from this tiny lil twinkle guy... to a much bigger 5-pointed star. This is never explained....

((( Read on for my rationale, more gifs, and even more feelings )))

(the doll being bigger is not explained either, but humor me)

(and yes that IS him lighting things up like the Main Street Electrical Parade. I noticed that almost exactly a year ago and it rocketed this fandom back to the front of my So Cal Disney Kid brain so hard that I can't believe it took me so long to make this blog)

(only fitting that he would also usher in the remake reveal after an end like this. :'''D)

... But to me, it seems plausible that the little star's gotten stronger and grown! 💙

In the remake trailer, because I'm the kind of dweeb who does this, I went frame by frame trying to spot any telling differences -

(^ the scene where he's possessing the doll - this could just be a homage to the little twinkle he looks like in the original. even if that's all, I love the devs for it)

(more five-pointy? maybe? rev, did you just superimpose all the frames where Geno looks most five-pointy just so you could not quite prove anything? ABSOLUTELY)

Make of that what you will; all I can say so far is that we only see him kind of blobby. But what I'm secretly hoping is, maybe that's on purpose, so they can make it clearer in the game for the purpose of some big reveal like this. 😀

Anyway...

Wouldn't this be such a fitting and meaningful thing for Geno's character arc? I know one of the complaints among people who consider Geno overrated is that he doesn't really have an arc. Of course, his fans (myself included) either aren't bothered by that, or straight-up disagree, since he's central to the entire plot and goal of the game, and also literally the Mario universe equivalent of an angel, and maybe he was so reserved because he was trying so hard not to get attached even though we all know he totally did,

and also if he got an arc anywhere near Mallow's he'd be so compelling that he'd basically be the main character and they'd have to call it Super Geno RPG BUT ANYWAY,

I can't fully express, no matter how long I make this post, how much I hope they take a narrative route like this. It would be the actual best. My nerdy little heart would never be the same.

[systlin]

how does one get a job telling people they can't come into a building? is there something i need to put on my resume (very contrary, good at sitting, etc) to make hiring managers find me more appealing for the role?

So my actual day job is as a security officer; I'm the supervisor for my shift.

Telling people to go away has been an integral career skill for me. Telling angry people who are screaming to leave and not come back is a job skill. The best part of my job is that it is an express part of my job to NOT BE NICE TO RUDE ASSHOLES.

Now, tbh being a contrary asshole won't make you automatically good at the job. You still have to get along with your co workers, the clients at the site you work, ect. And for access control, a good deal of it is perfectly innocuous service providers or deliveries who have all the proper permissions and training and you just make polite small talk with them as you contact their site contact and direct them back to wherever they're going.

When I applied for the job....fuck, was it 8 years ago? No, fuck, 9...when I applied for the job nine years back, the things I put on my application that caught the hiring manager's eyes were

Customer Service skills

Willing to work nights and weekends (we don't get weekends or holidays off; sites are usually manned 24/7/365. Schedules vary, but I work 12 hour shifts and that works out to 3 days on/3 off, 4 days on/4 off. I do often work holidays. Holiday pay is higher.

Multitasking skills

Can keep calm in chaotic situations

Not easily intimidated

Basic computer skills. This last one is huge. You would be amazed how many people I've had to coach step by step through saving a word document during training.

MOST of the time, I am perfectly nice and pleasant. I've received regular commendations and bonuses from the security companies I've worked for because so many people comment on how nice and helpful the security lady was. Most people who show up at sites have a job to do there and want to do it and get paid, same as me.

HOWEVER, despite that at least weekly I deal with an asshole. My shift lets me. My boss jokes that it's like rolling a pumpkin full of ground beef into a lion enclosure. Best part of my job. I once worked retail, and telling asshole dudes to get off company property before I have them removed and/or banned from every other location of the huge multinational company I am stationed at is SO excellent.

Now. The important thing to remember as well about security is that yes, a lot of it is sitting for hours watching cameras or doing rounds through the same place over and over. It can be monotonous and boring.

HOWEVER, then sometimes you get a call like "PLEASE SEND HELP THE ENGINE IS ON FIRE" from a driver getting loaded in the plant. The plant which is filled with explody shit and human lives. This happened last Thursday. That, friend, is where I earn my pay.

I did my job. Sounded alarm, notified fire team, locked down the plant to keep anyone else out, ran accountability to make sure everyone in the plant had checked into shelter areas, all that stuff. Fire was out in 5 minutes. But you have to be able to not panic in that moment when you get that call, because otherwise everything can go to shit VERY fast.

So. Hope this helps!

[catboybiologist]

Random actual vent that is probably more venty than my usual random little things, but occasionally I have to step back and think how asinine the salary system for PhD students can sound to people outside of academia. I really just want to like... lay it on the table, because it really is fucking dumb and I occasionally want validation that its fucking dumb.

Note that this is all coming from a traditional lab sciences, in the US perspective. Also, I'm really fucking ADHD and have a really, really shitty brain for bureacracy, so this is a rant and isn't really intended to be informative and might be wrong in places, its just me word vomiting.

Let's start with something straight off the bat- grad school isn't really school. It's work that creates value for the university, and you happen to take one or two courses on the side that the university has determined will make you better at that work (your mileage may vary). It's an entry level job, essentially. You create value for the university in one of two ways- you either contribute to research that gets them grant money, or you teach undergrads that pay tuition. We'll get back to how that affects you later, but first lets talk about something else: what the university claims they pay you vs what you actually get paid.

On paper, my income is approximately 3 times as much as my actual, take home income. There's two reasons for this. The first is that I am technically charged tuition by the central university, which is then immediately paid off by the source of my income. In official job titles, that's technically included in what you're getting paid, although most universities don't even bother advertising that. The other confounding factor is that you're literally always considered part time. The exact % time varies depending on your exact schedule, and of course your university, but its actually weirdly consistent even between universities. Technically, the work you do on your thesis isn't "work", and the university doesn't technically pay you to do it. Even though the work you do on your thesis literally generates revenue for the university in the form of grant overhead. But we'll get to that. If you're a researcher for a given appointment term, you're expected to also do research activities that are unconnected to your thesis- which is ridiculous, because there's no lab in existence where the work isn't all interconnected in some way.

Half time appointments are common, but lots of different percentages exist.

So, if you ever see a figure that says that a grad student position is paid at about $80k a year, that's whats going on. The highest take-home income I have EVER heard of in the US for PhD students is $54k, at Stanford neuroscience. I think its a bit higher now, but that at least gets you a ballpark. Most STEM PhD students on the high cost of living coasts are paid 30-40k ish, and in cheaper areas you can expect to take 5k off of that. These are for degrees that usually make six figures on the job market.

And then there's the other convoluted problem- the source of the funding. This is where the academia salary model really has a unique brand.

Basically, when you're a PhD student, you're not working one job for the full 5-7 years. You're constantly flipping between job titles within the university, and who exactly is paying you changes as a result.

The most basic distinction is researcher vs teaching assistant. TA is easy- you work "part time" (but oh my god those workloads are not part time sometimes [although the class I'm TAing now is very chill so its w/e][fuck you molecular genetics at my master's uni tho]), and the department you're teaching for pays for your tuition and your salary as a result.

Researcher is a bit weirder. Basically, each lab is conducted as its own independent financial unit, managed by a Principle Investigator (PI, or to any grad student, the professor/boss/research advisor/liege/monarch/authority of the lab). The PI is constantly writing lab wide grants to supply the core funding of the lab, including the salary of the grad students. Grants can be pretty general, but there are also very specific ones that check in how the money is being spent. These include training grants/fellowships/tbh the name is arbitrary for a lot of these. Those are grants that are written to supply the salary of a specific grad student.

Couple things to note- the university charges the PI in a lot of ways on this. Notably:

They charge tuition on every grad student, as mentioned previously, which under a researcher appointment is paid from the PI to the university.

They charge overhead on grants- basically, they take money out of every grant the PI gets.

If the previous two sources aren't enough, oftentimes universities will pay rent on the amount of building space a lab takes up (although this is very inconsistent between universities)

Researcher appointments are considered favorable to teaching appointments, because they mean you can spend more of your time on your thesis. But, its dependent on whether your PI has the funding to pay you all that, which is a big if. So, every quarter or semester or year or however much your university decides to renegotiate it, you essentially switch jobs, in a way. Obviously its a lot more simple and streamlined than actually switching jobs, but your title, responsibility, source of income, and sometimes your actual pay changes constantly.

And to anyone who has been through a PhD, you're nodding along like this is all the basic stuff, because all this is so NORMAL. Like this is all the normal system, and this is the bare basics of it as well. And it's weird that it's normal, right? Like, most of my career has been tied to academia, so I don't have a fantastic benchmark for this, but this isn't how it works outside of academia like... at all.

Over the course of late last year and bleeding into this year, multiple graduate student unions have had strikes or negotiations regarding pay scale, but its been a very difficult situation for the average grad student to untangle because of how weird the source of pay is. Because technically, even though you functionally work a single, salaried job with slightly changing obligations, what's happening behind the scenes is that you're essentially hopping between jobs every couple of months. In an ideal system, those jobs always have the same pay, but that's increasingly becoming not the case. Sometimes that means getting paid more overall, sometimes slightly less. Union negotiations have made this pay slightly higher overall, but its still a mess of a system.

And obviously, there's paperwork associated with so many of these steps.

So in my last post, when I said "getting a grant", that was what I was referring to- applying for training grants that will guarantee that I don't have to teach extra or get extra money from my PI for the time I'm here. I'd love to get more teaching experience, but ofc I want to do it when I want to, not when I have to. I'm applying for multiple training grants over the next couple of months that will hopefully fund my salary specifically, and hopefully I'll get at least one of them. And tbh, I don't even care that much about teaching, I more want them because it'll dramatically simplify all this for me.

I love what I do to death, but untangling this shit is what gives me imposter syndrome more than anything. I think my arrogant streak shows when I can genuinely say that I've never felt imposter syndrome based on my scientific knowledge. I have felt it over two things- my motivation/productivity (which is a different rant entirely), and the fact that I am really, really bad at untangling the level of bureaucracy required to just... exist here. Just give me my fucking paycheck and let me do my science, and tell me when you want me to teach.

[catierambles]

Feral Instincts Ch.20

Pairing: The Rogue’s Gallery (Geralt, Syverson, Mike, August Walker, Walter Marshall) x Stephanie Daniels (OFC)

WC 1651

Warnings: Some racy bits in the beginning, but nothing overly explicit. Recalling prior domestic violence

Sy had been a man of his word and she had woken a few hours later to Walter's fingers moving between her legs as Sy eased into her. They took turns with her until all three of them were spent, collapsing into an exhausted pile and going back to sleep. Her alarm went off to start getting ready for work and she stayed awake only so long as to call out before falling back asleep with Walter's arms around her.

August and Geralt had been equally as insatiable and she lost count of how many orgasms they pulled from her. Good thing she couldn't have kids anymore, or there definitely would have been a bun in the oven after this, possibly more than one. They always made sure she was prepared for them, always made sure she came first, taking care of her needs before their own.

She lay on the couch, scrolling through her phone when the text came through from her supervisor.

Got the email that you called out. Can you walk at all?

She paused before typing out the reply.

No and shut up.

LOL yeah Alphas are like that on the full moon, especially with their Mates.

And I got four testosterone disasters keeping me occupied.

Wait…four?

Technically five, but Mike isn't an Alpha. He's back at the apartment, I spent it with the others.

But you have four Mates? The only wolves I've heard of having multiple Mates are female Alphas.

Heather. I am a female Alpha.

It took about half a second after hitting send before her name came up on caller ID.

"You're what?!" Heather exclaimed before Stephanie had the opportunity to say hi.

"I'm a female Alpha." She repeated.

"I mean, we were notified that you took over the pack occupying your apartment building and the one next door, but we figured you were just a proxy for one of the others." She said, "It's not uncommon for an Alpha to take over a territory and assign a proxy to run it if they can't be there in person. We all figured you were a Beta as they tend to be the proxy."

"No, Heather, I'm not a Beta. Mike is the Beta, he's my Beta. I'm his Alpha." Stephanie said.

"Shit." She said and sighed, "I honestly shouldn't be surprised, actually, just based on how you were before getting infected. Stubborn with a problem with authority figures. Makes sense, you are an authority figure."

"Yeah, they thought I was going to be an Omega before my first shift." She said and Heather gave a heavy snort on the other end of the line.

"You? An Omega?" She said, "I can sort of see how, but not hardly."

"They weren't feeling the protection fuzzy-wuzzies because I was an Omega…"

"They were feeling it because you're their Mate."

"Apparently."

"Well, shit. I'm gonna have to tell my Alpha that we were wrong." Heather said. “Knowing him, he’s going to want to schedule a get together. Does it with all the packs with territories touching his, foster good relations and all that. The previous Alpha of your territory basically told him to fuck off when he extended the offer.”

“I’ll talk to the others, but I don’t see why we wouldn’t show up.” Stephanie said, “Based on the number of people in my pack, I would say maybe a cookout at the park? There’s kids and I wouldn’t want them cooped up while the boring adults do boring adult things.”

“Sounds like a great idea, actually.” Heather said, “Weather has been nice, bring out the grills for food and games for the pups. I’ll pitch it and let you know what he says.” Stephanie covered the phone with her hand, pulling it away from her ear.

“Hey, Sy!” She called out.

“Yeah, doll?” He called back.

“How do you feel about a cook out with my boss’ pack? Our territory touches his.”

“Sounds like a fun time. We can have it here, lottsa room.”

“Thinking more about the park? Neutral ground and all that.”

“Yeah, that makes better sense. Don’t need him goin’ on the defensive straight away.” Sy said and she pulled her hand away, putting the phone back to her ear.

“He says it’s cool.” She said, “Still have to talk to the others, but again, I don’t see why they would have an issue with it.”

“Awesome! I’ll let him know and we’ll coordinate a day and time.” Heather said, “Is it okay if I give him your number? I’ll text you his so it’s not a mystery.”

“Go for it.” She said and a familiar feeling crawled over her mind right before she was jumped on, the wind being knocked out of her lungs. “Jesus!”

“What?”

“I just got ambushed by a buck fifty of wiggling Beta. I’ll talk to you later.” She wheezed and hung up, letting the phone fall to the floor as Mike squirmed in excitement, his wolf jet black and leaner than the others. He licked at her face excitedly, letting out happy whines as he scrabbled on top of her. “Mike! Cool it! You’re gonna break something! That something being me!” He finally settled, laying belly up between her and the couch, paws tucked against his chest. She held him, pressing kisses to his head and blew a raspberry at him when he licked at her face again. The fur under her hand turned to skin and he moved on top of her, looking down at her with a wide smile.

“Hi, sweetcheeks!” He said and she snorted, pulling him down into a kiss. He giggled against her lips, his hands going to her waist and pushing up her shirt. "Missed you."

"Apparently."

"Walter came and got me." He said and kissed her again, pushing his hands up her shirt to palm her breasts through her lounge bra, squeezing gently. He shuddered as she ran her fingers through his hair, but halted when he saw the wounds on her wrists from the silver chain. They were healing, but still ugly, the skin mottled and blistered. "Steph…"

"Hey, it's okay."

"It almost wasn't."

"But it is. I'm here, right now, with you." She said and he laid his head on her chest, his hands going to her waist. She held him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing her lips to his hair.

"I almost lost you."

"But you didn't."

"If I hadn't--"

"Stop. No "what-ifs", okay?" She said and he was quiet.

"Okay." He said finally, nodding against her.

"Stephanie." Geralt said, coming into the living room. "Mike."

"Sup." He said, waving at him with a couple fingers before settling again.

"What's up?" Stephanie asked.

"I need to ask you about Lewis." He said and she went quiet.

"What about him?" She asked finally.

"How long were you two together?" He asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"Almost two years." She said.

"And in that time you never suspected anything was wrong with him?" He asked and she went quiet again, only this silence held weight. "Sweetheart?"

"He always apologized." She said and Mike picked his head up to look at her. "Yeah, I know how that sounds, but it's true. He told me he loved me so much it made him crazy. We would fight, he would hit me, and then he would apologize saying his love for me made him unable to control himself."

"You knew he was a wolf." Geralt said and she nodded.

"He was open about it from the beginning." She said, "He would keep me locked up in my apartment for days at a time, telling me he was doing it to protect me from the other wolves in the area. I finally had enough and I told him we were over, we were done."

"And he suggested a camping trip." Mike said and she snorted.

"Not right away. I think he knew if he did I wouldn't have gone with him. Girl breaks up with an abusive boyfriend and agrees to be alone with him out in the middle of nowhere? Yeah, she's never being seen alive again. He begged me to reconsider, said he would do better, he would try to control himself better. Just give him another chance. As if I didn't already give him more than enough chances."

"It was bullshit, wasn't it?" Geralt asked.

"Actually, no. He did change. At least, he appeared to. He started being nicer, more attentive, he'd diffuse arguments before they started, let me see my friends again. He was a whole new Jordan." Stephanie said, "Six months later and then he suggested the camping trip. Just the two of us. It'd be nice, romantic, good to get away from everyone and everything." She stopped with a shrug, "You know the rest." Sy and Walter had frozen in the kitchen while they had listened to her talk, August halting at the top of the stairs. "I don't know if he planned on killing me, or if he was always planning on infecting me as another way to control me. I suppose it doesn't matter."

"And when we find him," Geralt said, his eyes hard, "He won't be hurting you or anyone else ever again."

"Tripped and exploded on impact." She said with a small laugh, recalling when Sy had said it. "August told me the Pack Council wants him alive."

"The Pack Council won't be there." August said, stepping onto the landing at the bottom of the stairs. "I was going to kill him just for using silver on you, but now…" He stopped with a low growl, "I'm going to take my time with him."

"Get in line." Geralt said through his teeth that had gone sharp.

“I’ll make popcorn.” Mike said and she snorted with a smile, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

[ladykyriaa]

A KPOP (CPOP?JPOP?) Idol Jinshi X Doctor's assistant Maomao

Now on Ao3!!

how he fell (hard?)

The sound of cheers could be heard even outside the stadium. Hundreds of thousands of people gathered in the arena, all waiting for the performance of a lifetime. At least, that’s what they’ll tell their families and friends. In truth, it was probably to get a once in a lifetime chance to spectate the three dazzling shamelessly beautiful men about to perform. Celestial, just as the name suggests, is a group of three with looks that could rival even the Greek gods themselves.

Rihaku with his incredible upper body mass muscles like those of wrestlers, and yet possessed the gentle gaze and a nature that was less intimidating than that of a golden retriever. Rikuson, who had managed to captivate the girls for his “gentleman behavior” whenever he got out and about. To give an example, he once went trending over the internet for several weeks because he held open a door for a mother and child that had their hands full, and then proceeded to help them to their car. Lastly, Jinshi who had managed to not only catch the eyes of both men and women, but also those from the older generations. “He reminds me back to my younger days” is what they would say when asked while giggling and blushing like maidens in love. It was truly a sight.

the men had been together for about 4 years. Jinshi, of course has had the longest career out of all of them being that he started as a child actor. And now at 24 years old, he’s become one of, if not, the most sought-after celebrity by young men and women, their parents and even their grandparents. But of course, just because you’ve been trained from a very young age and have become basically the epitome of grace and elegance, doesn’t mean you’re not prone to accidents yourself.

How did this even happen? Jinshi questioned himself as he sat waiting in the ER. In all his 18 years of career, this was probably the biggest blunder he’d ever made. Even when he was found drunk and passed out in the park that one time couldn’t have been worse than this. No, maybe that was worse. The big boss certainly gave me enough grievances to last a lifetime. He looked at his presumably, no definitely sprained ankle and thought if he could ask for the rest of his schedules to be canceled. He deserved the break, did he not?

“Sorry for the wait.” A gentle, wispy voice called out as they entered the room. The man that entered look to be about 50-60 years old and had wrinkles all over his face, despite that he looked to be a gentle soul. “We’ll run over some tests just to make sure none of the bones are shattered. But at the very least, this is sure to be sprained. I’m afraid you’re going to have to cancel all your activities for the next month or so.” Well, Jinshi didn’t have any problems with that. He was actually quite glad with the chance of a proper break. His manager, Gaoshun, however…

“Maomao, dear. Please run some blood test for me.” It was only at that moment that he realized someone else was in the room with them. A thinly, pale freckled girl was holding a tray with what he presumed to be medical tools on it. Wait, blood test? Isn’t that-

“After you’re done you can change into the hospital gown that is provided. Someone will come and get you soon.” The Doctor said and promptly left the room. He still couldn’t wrap his head around the word blood test. Was it truly necessary though? Jinshi didn’t quite think so. In fact, “You know I can just tell you what my blood type is, we don’t have to run a blood test.” he gave his best smile that usually was able to get people, no matter who, the things he wanted. He was expecting some swooning, maybe a bit of giggling and blush. Disgust, however.

That was the farthest thing from his mind.

Huh? Why isn’t it working.

The girl, Maomao, looked at him like he was the lowest of low, worse than a caterpillar itself. In fact, Jinshi thought, she might look at a caterpillar with more fondness than she did at him because why isn’t it working?? She managed to school her expression into a flat one before he could voice out his indignancies, however.

“You know that’s not how it works” she said, unimpressed. “Now, your arm please.”

“Can’t we just skip this whole part? I think this is quite unnecessary, don’t you?” Jinshi was not one to give up, and so he’ll keep trying however many times he could. No one could ever resist his inhuman beauty. No one. And so, he smiled. The brightest and sweetest one he could.

The girl did not budge. Not an inch. Nada. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, “sir, are you terrified of needles by chance?”

He can feel his smile stuck in place. “Whatever made you think that?” keep smiling, keep smiling, just keep smiling. “Surely you don’t think, I, a 24-year-old man, am scared of a mere silver, do you?” just. keep. Smiling.

She shrugged, “You may be surprised, but it’s actually quite common. Depending on the severance of those fears, one might even try and ­­jump out the window.” She said with such nonchalance you would think she’s talking about the weather. Jinshi was honestly tempted to try. “Hm. How peculiar.” He kept his eyes on the window. He thought she may have noticed because she walked towards it and closed it.

“You know, you look quite familiar. And that’s saying something because I don’t even remember the faces of my colleagues two months into the job.” Mouth agape, He nearly scoffed.

 familiar? does being 18 years on tv only got him to the point of familiarity??

This is outrageous. Did their marketing team have not done enough?

He was sure if he were to ask the girl’s grandma wherever-she-may-be about who he was, then he was sure even she would’ve given a better answer than “you look familiar.”

It would’ve been better if the girl hadn’t known of him at all because hey, maybe she grew up without the internet because there is no way in hell he could’ve looked just familiar. That would imply that she didn’t even bother to pay attention.

“You’re all done.” What?

 “What?” he blinked out of his musings, only to realize she was already packing her tools except the hospital gown that was left for him.

“You’re done. I’ve gotten the sample.” Done? He looked down at his arm and sure enough there was a small bandage covering the part where he supposedly got injected. “Make sure to change into the hospital gown. Or do you perhaps need help?” She can not be serious. He could feel his face burning and judging by the disgust look that appeared on her face, seriously what is up with that. Maybe she took notice. “I can bring your bodyguard in.”

“No, no. I uh, I can do it myself” seemingly satisfied, she began to leave the room.

“Wait!” The girl stopped and raised an eyebrow. “Did uh, was your question only to distract me? From the injection that is. Was it a genuine question?” she seemed to ponder for a minute, thinking of the best way to answer him.

“Well, yes and no, I suppose. But it did work on you, didn’t it Mr. Jinshi?” and then without further ado, she left.

And maybe she took something else with her along the way, Jinshi mused to himself.

.

.

I AM CACKLING. THIS HUNK OF A MF. started because i cant stop imagining modern au jinshi as a kpop idol wtf.

Guys you dont understand i have AN EXAM ASSIGNMENT DUE TOMORROW. I've nEVER EVEN WRITTEN A FIC BEFORE. ALL MY LIFE. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME

oh my god this obsession has got to stop im being so serious rn

whoever came across this sorry excuse of a story i am so sorry but i wrote this in one sitting, literally no draft no thing. nada. I just wanted to get this out of my chest

finally i can continue my assignments. i think. hopefully.

[fuck-customers]

I wish there was a way I could convince my boss to get on board with the idea of a suggestion box, so that all of us employees could anonymously write suggestions for how to improve the store + things we'd like that might make us more productive, feel more appreciated, etc. But there's no way for me to bring it up without making it seem like the reason for the box is because she's such a fuckup as a manager. (Because that is the real reason lmao) She's also the type who would read a legitimate constructive criticism and scoff and wave it off as us asking for something extremely unreasonable or make up some bullshit about how xyz can't be done to improve the store because there's not enough hours, or crew, or money in the budget, whatever. I can actually picture her doing that.

The past few days I've been obsessed with this idea (mostly because I had a nightmare shift that would've easily been avoided had she done her job and managed correctly and assigned people to do the setup work beforehand) but I can't think of a way to get her on board. I've considered just making a box myself and putting it in the breakroom with some pens and paper scraps, but I predict it wouldn't even be a full day before she tosses it out.

So, just to get some off my chest, I'm going to put some of the suggestions I WOULD'VE written here.

•Either bring back the stocking crew that came in at 5:00 a.m. before the store opened or schedule extra people on delivery days to stay in the stockroom and unbox all products and sort them by department/aisle BEFORE putting product out on the sales floor.

(This one is a direct reference to the stocking shift I recently had that was a nightmare because none of the stock had been pre-sorted by department, which was done in the past by the stocking crew, so we had to open boxes and sort them on the sales floor while simultaneously stocking items, while the store was open and we were constantly interrupted by customers. This made stocking take at least double, if not triple the time it would've taken. That delivery was a week ago, and the boxes are STILL sitting on the sales floor, half-stocked)

•While stocking, have each employee price tag each individual item, as our stock does not arrive pre-tagged, so that customers are not confused about the prices, since upper management removed the store scanners.

•Assign the ASM or a lead to exclusively do the schedule so that the schedule is regularly posted the 3 weeks out, as required, not 3 days out.

•Assign a lead or promote a non-management employee to be a trainer to correctly train the new hires.

(As of right now, new hires are hired and then basically thrown on the floor and told to figure it out and fend for themselves, obviously leading to many mistakes that need to be unfucked by the rest of the crew, they'll ask other employees for help, but most of those employees were "trained" in the same method, so they'll show the new hires the wrong way, the blind leading the blind, essentially)

•Schedule more than 1 person per department, this way there is adequate coverage in the event of a rush, plus in downtime, one employee can assist customers while the other does go-backs/recovery and makes the department look neat and presentable.

(The store looks like a tornado hit it currently) (I also know this one is probably a union-busting thing, but honestly? Remember KM@rts and how messy they always looked? My store makes KM@rt look like a model store)

•Do some morale boosters. Every employee in the store looks like they're in prison. (We kinda are) We literally got an online review (that SHE HERSELF PRINTED OUT) that stated that we all looked miserable and looked like we needed a moral boost. We desperately do. The real solution would be better pay and hours, but we know you, the SM don't have that much control over that. You could do small things, though. The previous ASM would regularly bring in snacks for the breakroom for us, would regularly have potlucks on holidays that brought us all together, she would also make sure to regularly tell each of us that we were appreciated and would recognize our hard work. Even if it was bs, it still raised morale.

ANYWAY, thank you for letting me rant. ✨️🙌

P.S. I know obviously none of you know my boss, since I'm anonymous and didn't specify where I work (for obvious reasons) but do any of you think the suggestions box thing has even a slim chance of working? In my head, I wasn't going to tell her it was my idea or ask permission, I was just going to set up the box in the breakroom and throw in a few of my own suggestions and see if any of my coworkers add their own. Because I felt if I asked permission or told my boss my idea, she'd take offense that I was indirectly calling her a fuckup (she is) and undermining her authority or some bullshit like that. Or do you guys think if I just do it without telling anyone, she might be curious and at least look at a few suggestions? Or should I ask her to set one up? I really don't think that would go well, personally.

Posted by admin Rodney.

[joshslater]

It started with coffee

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It started with coffee. I was the occasional frappuccino drinker, basically caffeinated milkshakes, but he wanted us to drink the real stuff. He mocked me out of milk and sugar, so soon I was on his schedule with a cup in the morning and after every meal.

That wasn't enough though. He said he wanted me to be properly addicted and told me to have a cup at 10 and one in the afternoon as well. I complied of course. It shocked my body a bit at the start, and I had to use the bathroom quite a lot more often, but after a month and a half it settled down into a routine. I even started to enjoy the nuances of different bean roasts.

That's when he brought up the singlet. It wasn't the exhibitionist version I'd seen some people wear to pride and nightclubs that were cut low for easy access to everything. No, this was a proper wrestling singlet that went down a third of the thigh on the bottom part and had arm and head holes just big enough that you could slip the straps over your shoulders and shimmy your way out of it. It was flexible as nothing else I owned, thank God, or else I don't know how I would have gotten into it.

"I want you to wear this all day, every day," he said. "What?" I said surprised, as I enjoyed the feeling of the glossy material on my body. If I showed up like this the boss would take me aside and ask if I needed help or if he should fire me right away. "Not only, stupid. Just put your shirt and pants over it. Now we know it fits I'll order more for you," and that was the end of the discussion. It all came as a surprise to me, but I was excited. Immediately I saw one difference because the stretchy singlet did nothing to hide my erection. He smiled.

I was feeling very self-conscious the next morning at work. I had checked thoroughly in the mirror at home that nothing revealed what I was wearing underneath, but even if some of the colors would shine through that wouldn't really be an issue. But it felt forbidden somehow, and unprofessionally sexy, as I could feel the grown-up clothes slide across the slick surface.

After my second coffee though I ran into a problem I hadn't even thought of, though I'm sure he had. I went to the men's room and realized I couldn’t just take a piss like normal. I had to remove my shirt completely, drop my pants, and wrestle my way out of the singlet until that too was at my ankles. A one minute piss turned into a 10 minute undress/dress cycle, and with my new coffee habit that by now was a full blown addiction it would be impossible to go from my typical four bathroom breaks a day to below two, if even that.

"You did this on purpose!" I accused him when I got home. He smiled mischievously. "You have to be more specific. I do an awful lot on purpose." When he handed me the adult diapers a month later it felt like such a relief to get all of that time back, I didn't hesitate one second to wear them at the office.