#call me technically-no-resolution

[technically-human]

Wherever I see your art on my dash I get so happy. I love all the ongoing little stories you have and I'm always excited to see more of it. You're art style is also just so ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ the expressions? *Mwah*

I also absolutely adore pebble's eyes. They're the biggest and wettest things I've ever seen. Just beautiful 🪨🥚

Aaah thank you!!!

I honestly don't know how I ended up with so many stories, that was never my intention! And although I love working on them and adding stuff, I should probably warn you guys that I rarely give my stories any romantic resolution.

(Incredible that the ones to break that pattern are pebble and egg, of all possible versions...)

[alsaurus-loves-dean]

.

[mediumgayitalian]

He hears him four cabins away. At minimum.

The thing about Will is that he is not a sneaky person. He tries to be — gods does he ever try — but it is so antithetical to who he is as a person that it never works out. He breaks out into hives if he lies, for Hades’ sake. Sometimes even when he withholds the truth. It’s hilarious.

Anyways, he wakes Nico up.

He hears the cream of the opening window and shoved his face into a pillow. There’s a way to open them without so much as a peep — Piper knows how, and Percy, and probably ninety-two percent of the rest of camp — but Will, in all honesty, probably can’t even hear it, as high-pitched as it is. The scuffle of his shoes on the smooth obsidian walls are equally as loud, somehow, and the oof he lets out as he lands on the marble floors face-first echo all the way to the lake.

It’s a wonder the harpies haven’t come squawking, honestly. Or maybe good karma.

“Psst,” Will actually, genuinely hisses. “Psst, Nico. You up?”

“No,” Nico lies. “I am sleeping ever so peacefully and ignoring the obnoxious intruder of my space.”

“Well, get up.” His feet have started to tap. Nico smothers his stupid widening grin into his hand — it’s not cute, it’s not. It’s dumb and embarrassing and ridiculous. Gods. What a freaking theatre kid.

Nico peeks one eye open, and Will is standing, shirt on backwards, scratching his calf, staring at the faintly-glowing altar in the back corner. His pupils are dilated.

“I want ice cream.”

Nico does not, technically, have much to do tomorrow.

There’s training. But there’s always training, really, and also he went to Tartarus, so how much worse can it get, really? What else is he training for? Tartarus Two: The Torture Trudges On? And there’s of course his afternoon class, but he can definitely sleep-walk his way through that one. He’ll wear sunglasses and tell the kids he’s evaluating them based on the level of maliciousness he feels in their energy. It has worked for him before.

He can go out for three in the morning ice cream.

But the principle of the thing.

“It’s witching hour, William.”

“You like witching hour.” 

Fair. 

“Plus! Ice cream.” He turns to face Nico, and he still can’t see, that at least Nico knows for sure, but he tilts his head and cocks his hip like he can. “Ice cream, Death Boy. Three a.m. bad decisions. Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not frothing at the mouth.”

Nico makes a show of patting down his dry face, just to bother him, except he realises he was in fact drooling in his sleep and has to then resist the urge to throw himself off a building. Gods. Will is lucky it's blacker than actual night in here or Nico would genuinely have to kill him and then himself. 

"Fine," he says hastily, rolling off his bed and slamming onto the floor. "Begone. I will meet you outside."

“You have two minutes,” Will warns, tapping at his watch. He turns resolutely around. He pauses. He turns again, sighs, then turns, or at least tries to, back to Nico’s general direction, but where he is actually staring, hands on his hips, is the wall, this time Nico does not even bother to hide his smile in his hands. “Could you maybe point me in the direction of the door, Mr. Vampire Freak?”

Nico puts gentle hands on Will’s shoulders, guiding him towards the ornate doorway. He offers absolutely no resistance, leaning into the pressure of Nico’s palms as he stumbles forward.

“Calling me a freak is going to restart my trauma,” Nico says loftily.

“Shut up.” A beat. “Sorry.”

“I’m teasing, you doofus.”

“Still. That was uncalled for.” He nearly brains himself on the doorway trying to turn around to face him. Nico darts out and tucks a protective hand over his forehead, just in time. Will butts his head into the hold affectionately. “You are not a freak.”

Something gross and gooey and soft melts in Nico’s sternum, and his lips twitch, and his chest warms, and fondness bleeds from him, from his pores, wrapping Will’s shoulders like shadow and blinking like gentle flame.

“I know that,” Nico says, shaking his head. “You are so strange. Get out of here. I need to put pants on.”

Will blinks. Nico counts four seconds. Will glances down, and his face heats something awful.

“You!!!” he whisper-shouts, over Nico’s snickering. “I’m going to!!!” He waves a hand. He waves again, ending in somewhat of an accusing point. “Ah!!!”

He rushes out the barely-open door, tripping over the front step and sprawling on his ass on the porch. Nico leans against the doorway, grin widening, arms crossed over his chest. Will stays curled on the floor, face in his hands, muttering to himself. It is so loud it — echoes. Right across the common. Two separate lights turn on.

He does not notice.

Nico loves him so much he envisions grabbing his pillow and beating him to a coma with the force of it. Instead, he rushes inside and pulls on the first pair of jeans he sees.

“Okay,” he yawns, nudging Will’s prone form with the toe of his shoe. “Let’s go.”

“Finally,” Will mumbles. He stays in his ball of misery for five seconds. He gets up. He pauses, breathing in, breathing out. He, realisinf Nico has left him behind, scrambles to catch up, tripping over a rock and very nearly pitching right down Half-Blood Hill. “I want — soft serve.”

“No,” Nico says easily.

“It’s better! It’s — smooth!”

They reach the road. Nico raises a hand as if summoning a taxi, barely managing to grab Will’s collar and yank him back from the road before a shiny, shadow-black SUV melts into existence at the speed of Fast and kills him dead.

“It’s a disgrace, William. It is an abomination of modern hubris.”

“You’re — you’re just like your father, you know that, you —”

Nico’s jaw drops.

“That’s is an evil fucking thing to say to me —”

Will is so loud, he can’t help it, everywhere he goes, he stumbles through doorways and trips over air and whistles as he walks and tap tap taps his ever-moving fingers. Will is loud, he is lively, Will is life, personified, every inch of him glows golden.

The issue is that Nico is loud when he’s around him, too. Like he forgets to keep quiet.

“—that’s that, Solace.” He yanks the sliding door open, hovering in the frame. “Hard ice cream or no ice cream for you. That’s that.”

Will huffs. It’s just barely bright enough outside — there’s moonlight — for him to be facing the right direction, this time, back to Thalia’s tree, as he crosses his arms and taps his foot and pouts like that will get him anywhere.

Nico stares right back, back to the SUV, ignoring Jules-Albert’s grumbling.

He will not give in this time. 

He will not.

“I really just think soft ice cream will help the homesick,” Will mumbles. He kicks at the too-long grass. “It’s — tour season. Mama and I always went to DQ during tour season.”

“Oh —Jesus fucking Christ.”

Will has won and he knows he has, because he can muffle a smile but he’s never been able to fight back that victorious little giggle, because he is loud, and Nico hates him.

Toujours il te déjoue, et toujours, tu lui permets.

Nico scowls.

“Your job is to drive, Jules-Albert; if I wanted a critic I would have summered Ebert.”

Jules-Albert smiles at him. Due to the rotting flesh and tooth decay, it is horrifying, but unfortunately not horrifying enough to distract him from Will’s smug lean, his bright smile.

“If you don’t stop humming We Are The Champions I’m going to fucking gut you,” Nico threatens.

“Mhm. Perhaps. But then you would have no one to bully you, and you will be miserable.”

Jules-Albert barks a laugh, and offers Will a high-five.

“I will crack a chasm open onto this road! I swear to the gods! I will blow up this car!”

———

It takes twenty-two minutes to get to the nearest Dairy Queen.

Nico practically flees out of the car.

“I thought you were too tired for ice cream,” Will teases, jogging after him.

Nico scowls at him. “I am never doing anything with you ever again as long we both shall live.”

“Sure thing,” says Will absentmindedly. He links their arms together, humming at the menu. Nico’s lungs shrivel up and retire. “I’m only friends with you for the infinite credit card, anyway.”

“Oh, shut up.”

The Dairy Queen is silent at nearly four in the morning. Even the machines hold their breath, sole employee communicating entirely in nods and slow blinks.

Will’s laugh is like rolling summer thunder.

Nico feels like he is suffocating, like the humidity of the air churns solid in his chest.

———

In the cold of the late-night DQ air, table sticking to his elbows, a flip-flopped foot kicks his ankle.

“Hey.”

“What,” Nico grumps, shoving a spoonful of Oreo Blizzard Extreme into his mouth. It is mediocre.

There is a dot of ice cream on Will’s nose. Unrelated, there has been an endless loop of anguished screaming yearning in the back of Nico’s mind for the past seven minutes.

“Thank you.”

“Hmph.”

Will smiles. His nose scrunches with it, and the ice cream smears across his freckles. Nico’s heart explodes, just like that. Probably due to the ice cream. Sugar clogs arteries, or something like that.

“I mean it. Thank you.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you need a ride home. And because I paid, you broke pain in the ass.”

He smiles wider. His blue eyes shine darker than midnight, darker than Oreos, and for a desperate breathless moment Nico drowns in his pupils.

“True. But also.”

He kicks Nico’s ankles again.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

The half-frozen brownie lodges in his throat, and Nico swallows, and swallows, and swallows. Will’s eyes ger brighter, and brighter, and brighter.

“Yeah,” he says, reedy. He swallows. Will ducks his head. “Anytime.”

[foone]

AAA games? Pfft. Indie games? Double pfft.

I only play games from the alternate history where Hillary Clinton was elected in 2008 and banned all video games. You can only imagine how weird their underground gaming scene is. People like to call unlicensed games "bootlegs" but they've got actual bootlegged games! I've played games about helping your grandmother in hospice care realize she's a lesbian by reading Sappho to her, at 2am in a speakeasy in Baltimore. The cops raided it the next night, hundreds of Gamers were arrested. They posted pictures all over Friendster of the Baltimore PD destroying the arcades with axes.

I nearly got busted once because I was imaging old disks from a 386 and someone tipped off the gaming cops that there was a copy of Commander Keen in there. I had to prove that I didn't know it, I was imaging the disks blind and then indexing them later, and I would of course turn over any contraband to the proper authorities.

I was already on a watch list because I'd been known to have some gamedev-related activities pre-ban. They can't arrest me for making games back in 2007 when it was still legal, but they do want to keep an eye on me since I have the skills to break the law.

Anyway that universe's bootlegs are mainly PC games. Can't really have console games if there hasn't been a console release since the Wii/PS3/360 era. At one point Nintendo threatened to release the Wii SDK so game devs in the US could make unlicensed games, but that didn't happen as there were quickly no functional Wiis left in the US, except for very rare holdouts that never move. PC games are easy to distribute samizdat and hide on a USB stick or CD-R labeled "nickelback".

Japan's games industry is still going, so the later Nintendo and Sony consoles still exist, but Microsoft got out of the business of course. They sold the franchise to Sega who were hoping to release the 360 successor (the Xbox One in our universe) as the Sega Phoenix but it never materialized, either through their own financial incompetence or because of pressure from the US. There's a lot of international treaties that the US has pushed "and this aid only goes through if you ban games" clauses into. That would have been an official UN resolution if the USSR hadn't vetoed it. For once, thank God for the security council, eh?

I mainly get my gaming news through Japanese gaming sites (through a set of VPNs, since they're blocked at the border firewall), and some tor onion site run by a weird guy in Minnesota who is obsessed with documenting all the underground US games.

There's a lot being worked on, but it's always a tricky trade off. Too much attention and the police might be able to track down the creators, and it's basically impossible to fund underground games, as the VISA/PayPal etc funds get seized immediately. There's a whole task force for that.

Anyway one of the weirdest differences between our two time lines is that they've gone back and edited out gaming from a bunch of movies. Those that they can, of course. War games was just banned because they couldn't remove the tic tac toe ending. The Net just removed the scene at the beginning where she's playing Wolfenstein 3D, by recording some new screen footage and a new voice over. She's fixing a spreadsheet in the new edition.

(Yes, I've seen The Net from this alternate timeline. On Laserdisc, of course. I'm just that kind of person!)

They even edited Star Wars. You know that scene where R2-D2 is playing holochess with Chewie? They edited it to be a board game instead of holograms, because that made it too "video gamey".

Technically it's not illegal to show gaming in a movie, but it needs to be an 18+ film and you have to show the deleterious effects of gaming and/or the gamesters coming to a bad end.

This has affected films less than you'd think, to be honest. They were never great about showing video games even before they banned them.

Anyway, go have fun playing your AAA games with hundred-million-dollar budgets. I only play indie games made by people under a constant threat of arrest for their art.

[luciaintheskyainthi]

I just realized that May never got the chance to show Peter's baby photos to Jason... and now I need some shenanigans where Peter is turned into a child and Jason needs to take care of him.

I've had this sitting in my inbox for TOO LONG but I wanted to write a little drabble for it and needed the spoons for it!!! I'm finally forcing myself tho because this is getting embarrassing.

"Okay, so don't be mad."

"Says the guy I'm about to be real mad at," Jason predicted, not even bothering to look up from his favourite grappling gun. The trigger felt sticky on the last swing and Jason wasn't dumb enough to take any chances.

"It's Peter."

That got Jason's attention. His head snapped up and Dick took a step back, hands up like he expected Jason to shoot him with the grappling gun.

"What about Peter," Jason said, choosing to be the bigger man. He didn't set the grappling gun down, though. Dick eyed it nervously.

"So... you know how there was that rumour about a new magic user kicking around Burnley?"

"You're right, I am about to be mad."

"I didn't even-- I told you not to be -- crap, doesn't matter. So Peter and--"

Jason held up his hand. The one with the gun. Dick's mouth snapped shut.

"Start from the beginning," he commanded, "and maybe I won't be earning my way to the tippy-top of the sibling food chain."

"I mean, technically, Cass is older than you--"

Jason tilted his head and cocked a brow. Dick caved.

"Okay, so Peter and Steph were patrolling Burnley when they came across the magic user--"

"They're calling themselves Wild Child," piped up a Tim who had up to then been doing a very poor job of pretending not to be listening in.

"Yes, thank-you Timmy. So they tried to apprehend Wild Child while they were attempting to rob a bank."

Jason frowned. Stopping the robbery of a bank at night wasn't especially Peter's style. Victimless crimes and all that. But he allowed Dick to carry on. He was feeling temporarily magnanimous.

"Pretty sure Steph just wanted to mock them about their choice of name," Tim explained, catching Jason's disbelief.

And -- yep. Yep, that made a whole lot more sense. Seriously, who thought pairing Peter and Steph together was remotely a good idea? Granted, they had excellent results -- most crooks turned right back around the moment word got out that Spider-Man and Spoiler were on the hunt together -- but Gotham was just as likely to end up embroiled in chaos as it was a resolution with those two in cahoots.

"So they came across Wild Child turning an ATM into a cow. " Dick grimaced. "Engaged before they could take a knife to it."

"Cash cow. Seriously?"

"They took the name Wild Child. Do you expect any better?"

"If you're about to tell me that Peter and Steph got--"

"Jason!"

The high-pitched voice -- a child's voice -- stopped Jason in his tracks. He'd shoved the grappling gun away before he'd even located the origin of the speaker.

Alfred had emerged in the cave, carrying a tray of -- milk and cookies? Didn't matter. What mattered was the pair of tiny children -- what the fuck, when were kids allowed to be that small? -- skipping along beside him, as cool as you please despite the fuckass dinosaur and the giant coin and that stupid fucking jester card that by all rights should have stolen their attention.

A blonde and a brunette. The latter had big brown eyes and a grin that was far too familiar.

Jason turned on Dick with dread. The metal stairs thundered as the kids flew down. T-minus ten seconds.

"Tell me they fucking didn't," he begged.

Dick's grin was wincing. "They absolutely fucking did. Sorry?"

"Language," said Tim, smug enough Jason would have thrown hands then and there were it not for the children.

[carakook]

Shut Up .・。.・゜✭・.

╔═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╗

“If I fuck you, will you calm the fuck down and listen to me?”

🔞FOR MATURE AUDIENCES🔞

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Synopsis: After taking a job as a co-writer, you quickly find that you and your “boss” just don’t get along. Constantly butting heads, disagreeing on things, and he isn’t even nice about it. He’s a fucking dick. He’s always criticizing you in embarrassing ways, but you’ve tried to be patient, ride it out. Over the short time you’ve worked here, the tension has built quickly, and it is clear both of you cannot stand each other. Unfortunately, today is the day you reach your limit after he humiliates you in front of several of your coworkers… and the “conflict resolution” is definitely something you did not expect.

Genre: Enemies to lovers (or hookup in this case), workplace affair.

Pairings: Boss/Writer!Namjoon x Co-writer!Reader

Word count: 7.5k+

Warnings: 18+, Heavy smut!! Hate sex, protected sex (wrap it up), rough sex, face fucking, light slapping (not in the face), a bit of spit play, face fucking, cussing, crying (sort of), heavy conflict, degradation, arguing, name calling, a bit of teasing, cum eating? (Sort of), dry humping, face humping, being slapped with dick (lightly), Let me know if I missed anything!

⚠Disclaimer⚠:This story does not in any way reflect the character of those who are mentioned, it is totally fiction and just for fun. Please don’t take it seriously.

A/N: Hiiii! This is my first one shot. I’ve actually had it in my drafts for a long time but never posted it, I decided to finish it recently and post it here. I hope you like it! I love writing, have soooo many drafted one shots/full on fanfics with each of the boys. A looot of them are with Jungkook, can’t help myself. He’s my lover… 😭 Anyway, if you guys end up liking this I’ll post more. Thank you so much for reading if you do!

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

There aren’t many things you regret in life. Because if you allow yourself to regret things, you overthink. Overthinking is never a good thing.

See, it wasn’t awful at first. But the moment you met Kim Namjoon, you could tell he had a problem with you. What? You didn’t know. You still don’t know. But he never bothered hiding it.

You powered through, because this was sort of like a dream job for you. You loved writing music, writing lyrics. It was hard to even find a job like this to begin with. So when you got the callback, you jumped at the chance. You were so excited to be working here, and you were familiar with Kim Namjoon. You thought his songs were beautiful, his writing style seemed similar to yours.

Boy, you were wrong.

Not even a week into working here he was heavily criticizing you. But again… you pushed through. Because you were new, he had a right to be picky. This was his studio, he was technically your boss… technically. So you tried to be patient and listen to his criticism.

Which didn’t last long. Because he was not subtle. Arguably, there is a difference between constructive criticism and being blatantly rude and picky. Namjoon was straight-up rude. And at times it was embarrassing.

Nothing you did seemed to satisfy him. Every single time you brainstormed with him and the team, he disagreed with you. Every time you proposed lyrics, he rejected your ideas. Every time you so as much opened your mouth, he had an issue with what you had to say.

You tried to be patient… you genuinely did. But you don’t like feeling disrespected or embarrassed. And you certainly don’t take shit from anyone. So the last two weeks you’ve both been bickering, and the tension is noticeable not only to you and Namjoon but to the entire damn team.

The worst part about it all? You are so fucking attracted to him. He makes your tummy swoop with butterflies. He smells good. He’s tall, his dimples are fucking adorable, and his body… god, he is to die for. The sexual tension is prominent.

If only he wasn’t such a dick.

Today pushed you to your limits. Never in your life have you been more embarrassed.

It all started with a song he was working on. He played the beat, and immediately you were inspired. You got excited. Your attitude was bright, and you immediately jotted the lyrics down on your paper when they came to mind. You seriously thought today would be the day he’d be proud. He would agree. You felt good about it.

Only for him to burst out laughing when he read the lyrics. That wasn’t even the worst part. It’s bad enough that he laughed at you in front of the entire team. But what he said next is what made you lose your shit.

“Oh- shit. You’re serious?”

He stared at you for a moment, taking in your very irritated expression. And then he fucking laughed again.

“Fuck, Y/N. I thought this was a joke. God, I wish it was a joke because it would be hilarious if it was. It sounds like a fucking kids-bop song. You can’t be serious.”

And that’s when all hell broke loose.

You went off on him. In front of everyone. For three minutes straight you cursed him out, waived your hands around, and made it clear how much you cannot stand him and how rude he has been. How humiliated you feel. You’ve always been praised for your writing, so why the fuck doesn’t he like it? You are fucking pissed.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to cuss your boss out in front of everyone… but at this point, you don’t care. If he gets you fired by the company, oh-fucking-well.

Namjoon stares at you for a moment once you’re done. Your chest is heaving, your cheeks are red, and your brows are furrowed angrily. Clearly, he didn’t expect your outburst. His nostrils are flared and his jaw is tense, it even does the little tick thing that drives you crazy. Fuck him for being so hot. Fuck him for being so damn hot and such a dick.

He raises a brow at you, tongue in cheek, making that angry face that would be incredibly attractive if it weren’t directed at you. He lets out an angry huff of air before speaking.

“Studio. Now.”

He points at his studio as he says this as if you’re too stupid to understand his words. This pisses you off even more.

“You’re not my fucking boss.”

He scoffs at you, briefly smiling at your bold choice of words. You infuriate him just as much as he infuriates you.

“Actually, Y/N, I am. Studio. Now.”

You know that technically, he is your boss. But you refuse to listen to him after how humiliated he made you feel. In front of everyone, how dare he speak to you this way? Regardless of his weird hate for you. Besides, he can’t fire you. He may be able to request it, but you know that he won’t. From what you’ve heard, It took forever to fill this position. He was picky when it came to hiring someone… which makes this more confusing. You can’t figure out what his issue is with you, especially when he is the one who helped pick you for the job. Regardless, you know that he doesn’t have the patience to do it again. He’s full of shit.

You stand your ground. You won’t back down this time. You’re tired of the disrespect.

“No, Namjoon. Whatever you want to say, you can say it here. You’ve already embarrassed me, so go ahead, do it some more. I’m sure you get off on it.”

No longer smiling, his gaze is dark. He’s pissed. Now he’s a bit embarrassed… that’s what he gets.

“I won’t ask again. You can march your ass upstairs, or I can carry you. Your choice.”

You say nothing, surely he wouldn’t do that. He’s bluffing. Regardless of how harsh he has been towards you, you know that he wouldn’t cross that line. You hope that he doesn’t. The last thing that you want is for him to touch you. Not because he makes you uncomfortable, but because you already have enough dirty thoughts about him. You hate him, yet he turns you on in a way you’ve never felt. Lust driven by pure hatred, it’s a dangerous thing.

But of course, you were wrong, and he never ceases to surprise you. Never underestimate Kim Namjoon.

You stay silent, secretly hoping that he will just back down and continue the brainstorming session. But is Kim Namjoon the type of man to back down? No. He never has been.

He strides over to you quickly, taking big steps in your direction, causing you to miss your chance to run.

He swiftly grabs your waist and hoists you over his shoulder, his fingers digging into your thighs. You don’t even have time to react before he starts carrying you upstairs to the studio. He has no trouble doing so either, carrying you as if you weigh nothing.

You come to your senses and swat at his back while you yell profanities at him, demanding that he put you down, threatening to report him, and telling him that he’ll be fired by morning if he doesn’t stop.

But you know that he won’t. This company would never side with you, no matter what Namjoon did. They relied on him. They didn’t rely on you. You were replaceable, even if it would be difficult. Namjoon is not replaceable.

“Resume the session. If you finish before we’re done, you’re free to go. This may take a while. Don’t interrupt us.”

Hurried nods are sent in his direction, no one dares protest him or intervene. Cowards.

He kicks the door open to the studio, entering with ease, making sure not to hit your head on the doorframe as he walks in. You wish he would have hit your head, knocked you out, hell even thrown you over the staircase. Anything to avoid this humiliation he has cursed you with. You almost wish you would’ve just kept your damn mouth shut.

But the damage is done now. No point in backing down.

He throws you roughly on the couch sitting opposite his desk and then closes the door, locking it before facing you.

You glare at him, chest heaving, heart beating out of your chest. You’re just as pissed as he is. Yet, you still find yourself clenching your thighs together, irritated at the fact that he turns you on so much. You shouldn’t be horny right now… yet you are. The way he squeezed your thighs… fuck. Fuck him. God, fuck him to hell. You hate him.

“What the fuck was that?” You nearly growl at him.

He stands in front of you, arms crossed, looking down on you as if you’re nothing more than a pesky roach that he wants to squash.

“I told you, you could walk, or I could carry you. You made your choice, clearly.”

Fuck him.

“Fuck you, Namjoon. This is ridiculous.”

He laughs. He laughs at you.

Fuck him.

“You are ridiculous, Y/N. Why are you even here, if you can’t take criticism?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I can take criticism, constructive criticism, something that you are apparently incapable of giving. You’re so fucking mean to me and I’ve done NOTHING to you.”

“No, I-“

You cut him off, unable to control your mouth.

“And another thing, it’s only me that you speak to this way. I’ve yet to see you speak to anyone else the way that you do me. What is your issue with me, why do you hate me so much?”

“Maybe if you-“

You cut him off again, and his jaw does the tick thing. He’s getting angrier, but you do not give a fuck.

“No, this isn’t on me. I earned my spot here, I was hired for a reason, and everyone else respects me, why don’t you?”

“Because-“

Again.

Fuck him.

“There is no reason, you obviously have some sort of sick vendetta against me. You’re fucking insufferable!”

“Me? No, you-“

Again.

And he’s had enough.

“No, fuck you Namjoon, fuck you and this weird ass game you’re playing, you—“

He borderline growls before he pins you on the couch.

You don’t even have time to register what he’s doing, and if you did, you’d slap the shit out of him.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

His lips crash into yours as he hovers over you, one knee perched in between your legs, while his other leg steadies him. He grabs your face with force, so rough that you swear he could break your jaw if he gripped you any harder. His other hand is on the back of the couch, steadying him the same and pinning you in place.

The kiss is no different. His lips assault yours, and he wastes no time in forcing his tongue into your mouth. He kisses you with vigor. A kiss unlike any you’ve ever experienced before. You’ve only ever been kissed like this in your dreams, the same dreams that wake you up in the middle of the night leaving you touch-starved. It’s fucking aggressive and rough.

And of course, you kiss him back. You don’t want to. Yet you do. You don’t want to give in to him. But you do. You can’t help it. As soon as he made his move, you were under his control. He has that way about him, he’s easily able to affect people. You were a different story. You always defied him, disagreed with him, challenged him. Yet, this is the way that he tames you, even if only for a minute. Shit. You’re weaker than you thought.

He nips your bottom lip before pulling back, your jaw still in his grip. His nostrils are flared and his breathing is rigid, as if he’s just as shocked as you are at his actions.

And he is. He has no idea why he just kissed you. He has no idea what came over him. He just wanted you to shut the fuck up, and he acted on impulse. And now he has a raging hard-on, which pisses him off even more. He doesn’t want to want you, in the same way that you don’t want to want him. But you both do.

He whispers, searching your face, studying your reaction.

“Do you ever just shut the fuck up and listen?”

You clear your throat, still trying to come down from the rush of the kiss, adrenaline running through your veins.

“I-“

“Do you know how fucking irritated you make me?”

Suddenly, you have no fight left in you. You feel intimidated. Fuck him.

“Then why-“

“Am I gonna have to kiss you every time you need to shut the fuck up?”

You blink at him, unable to respond. You have no idea what to do, or how to react, and are becoming distracted by the puddle seeping between your thighs.

You haven’t had sex in over a year. You haven’t been able to grow interest in someone enough to give them that piece of yourself again. Your last situation-ship left you simply sick of men. Sex wasn’t appealing enough to go through that again. But, of course, as if the universe is punishing you, Namjoon awakens your sex drive.

You nervously bite your lip and clench your thighs, not even realizing what you’re doing. You’re on the verge of tears, overwhelmed with anger and lust. And this doesn’t go unnoticed by Namjoon.

He looks down at your thighs, and you immediately unclench them. Your cheeks betray you by reddening, thanks to the smirk that very clearly gives away that he knows exactly what you’re feeling right now.

He keeps his eyes on your thighs for a moment before looking up at you. He smirks, raising a brow, giving you a crooked smile that tells you he knows your dirty little secret. Your jaw is still firmly in his grasp.

“Is that it? You’re sexually frustrated? Is that why you’re being such a bitch?”

You try to wriggle from his grasp, embarrassed, angry, horny. You’re starting to wish he would just fire you. Anything to save you the embarrassment of his knowing glare.

“Fuck you.”

He chuckles, bringing his face closer to yours, so close that you can feel his breath touch your lips.

“Yeah? Fuck me? If I fuck you, will you calm the fuck down and listen to me?”

You blink at him again and say nothing. You want to protest, tell him how gross he is, tell him how much you hate him, tell him that he’s the worst. Yet, his idea just makes you hornier. You’ve never had hate sex, and oh fuck, you’re sure that it would improve your mood, even some of the tension between you two.

But it pains you to even admit that. It’s humiliating. He has humiliated you enough.

He moves his hand to the back of your head, angling it upwards so that he has better access to your neck. He places his lips on your jaw, running his teeth up it, leading to the crook of your neck, keeping his lips on you as he speaks his next words.

He grabs your wrist with his other hand, leading it to his crotch, coaxing you to feel him. And he’s hard. So hard that you’re certain a button will break on his jeans. Fuck. He feels giant… You’re so fucked.

“Do you see what you do to me? Never in my life have I had anyone piss me off to the point of getting a fucking boner.”

You can’t help but whimper at his dirty words, but you make sure to bite your lip, preventing yourself from begging him to take you as you so desperately want to. You aren’t one to beg for anything. And you hate him even more for bringing you to that point.

“I’ve thought about fucking you so many times, Y/N. Fucking you to the point that you don’t even remember your own name, and my name is the only thing that you can scream. I just wanna fuck you until you shut the fuck up.”

“Please, just… do it then.”

Word vomit. You thought it but didn’t intend to say it. Yet, you said it. Of course, you did. You’re on the brink of cumming just from his filthy words.

He kisses your neck before speaking. And you can feel him smile as he does so.

Fuck him.

“Oh, Y/N, baby, hearing you beg makes it so tempting. I never thought you’d be the type, considering the amount of shit you talk.”

You croak out, suddenly feeling defensive, “I’m not. I don’t beg for shit.” You weakly push at his chest, even though you both know damn well you don’t want him to stop.

He laughs, pulling back to look at you, keeping his face close.

“Yet, here you are, begging for my cock like a desperate whore.”

You frown at him, feigning offense, when in reality his degradation is making you even more desperate. Why? You don’t know. You’ve never liked being degraded, in fact, nothing turns you off more than being called names… but hearing it come out of Namjoon's mouth? Fuck.

“I’m not a whore.” You whisper.

He tilts his head at you, amused.

“Fucking obviously, you’re acting like you’ve never been touched before. Are you this needy with other men?”

“There are no other men.”

He studies you for a moment, carefully calculating his next move. The way that he looks at you makes you feel insecure, as if he’s a judge on one of those cooking shows, trying to figure out whether he likes the taste of you or not. You have the urge to push him away and take off, his gaze is too goddamn intense.

He is too intense. Never met a man like him.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You mumble, looking away from him.

“Like what?” He asks, furrowing his brows. Amused.

“Like you think I’m the most vile thing on earth.”

He’s taken aback by your response, almost looking offended. Because that is the last thing he was thinking. If only you knew.

“Vile? Baby, I’m so hard for you right now that it hurts, do you know how hot you are when you’re pissed? Fucking annoying, but soooo hot.”

You squirm, your cheeks pinking again. You didn’t expect that. You expected him to laugh in your face and agree. He grunts as he takes in your facial expression. If only you knew what you truthfully do to him. He closes his eyes and scrunches his brows, taking a deep breath before he pulls away from you, leaving you considering getting on your damn knees and begging for him to touch you again.

He chuckles while shaking his head, eyes still closed as he speaks. As if he’s in pain from pulling away from you.

“Yeah, fuck, and you’re cute when you blush. This is fucked. I can’t stand you, yet you’re so fucking cute. What the fuck are you doing to me? Huh?”

Fuck. He’s making this hard. You’re so overwhelmed. So pissed, so horny, you wanna push him away and cuss him out some more, but also you’ve never wanted another man more in your life than you do him right now.

Both of you stare at each other silently for a moment. His jaw keeps doing the tick thing, and you squeeze your thighs tighter, rubbing them together to relieve some pressure. His eyes flick to them, and you don’t even bother hiding it this time. As humiliating as it is, his cock is hard and bulging out of his jeans. So you can’t find yourself caring too much at the moment.

What really makes his resolve waver is the way you’re looking at him, which you don’t even realize. Normally you look at him with such disdain, as if he’s the vile one. But right now? Your eyes are wide and glossy, your lip stuck between your teeth. You’re looking at him almost sweetly. The desperation in your gaze is impossible to hide.

He loses it completely.

“Ah, fuck it.” He declares before grabbing you by your hair again as he sits on the couch. He tugs you roughly into his lap and starts devouring your mouth again.

You let out a little huff of air as he does this, not quite used to the rough handling. But god, it’s fucking divine. You feel as if all of the anger you’ve held for him comes rushing out in the form of kisses and touches. He feels the same.

His hand leaves your hair and he grips your hips, roughly grinding his hard cock onto your pussy. Dry humping like fucking teenagers as you make out aggressively.

Your hands come to rest on his face, framing it as they tremble slightly from the overwhelming emotions. You don’t hold back this time either, licking into his mouth wantonly, letting out little grunts and mewls that make his cock strain and twitch inside of his jeans.

His hands leave your hips to grip your ass, and he fucking groans into your mouth. He slaps it once, testing. When you let out a whine, he slaps it much harder this time, making your body jerk slightly.

He laughs into your mouth and says breathily, “Fuck, you really are a whore aren’t you?”

You bite his lip hard when he says this. You hate it. You love it. You grind down harder onto his clothed cock. He reaches back up to grip your hair and tugs your head back, pulling on it harshly and pulling you away from his mouth.

He grins when he hears you whine at the loss of his lips. “You wanna fucking bite me, huh? Uh-uh, fuck no you don’t.”

He pushes you off of his lap and lets go of your hair, you look up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and confusion. Honestly, you already look fucked out and he’s barely done anything. You’re just touch-starved, so every little kiss and touch is fucking you up. You’re craving relief from both your sexual frustration and the building irritation he’s caused you over the last month.

Before you even realize what he’s about to do, he grabs your hair again, his grip much firmer this time. It actually kind of hurts… yet you don’t stop him. He pushes your face roughly into his clothed cock, and grinds onto your face as he spreads his legs wider on the couch.

Oh fuck.

He grunts as he starts nearly smothering you. When he feels a bit of your drool gets onto his crotch, he yanks your head back, he laughs again, “Bet your big fucking mouth is great at sucking cock. Should we find out?”

You just glare at him. Don’t wanna give him the satisfaction even though every single thing he has done so far has made you borderline cream your pants.

He clicks his tongue, “No? Don’t have anything to say now? Isn’t that funny…”

Fuck him.

He keeps his grip tight on your hair as he uses his other hand to fumble with his zipper and button. Once it’s undone, he whips his cock out. It hits the fabric of his rumpled shirt and is already dripping precum.

Holy. Fuck. His cock is huge. A good nine inches.

He yanks your head forward again, literally smearing your face all over it, humping your face again. His head falls back and he grunts at the feeling. Your skin is just so soft, and the way your makeup is already becoming fucked up is making him go crazy. He’s always loved sloppy sex. And you are fucking gorgeous like this, he thinks.

He grabs his cock with his free hand as he tilts your head back, starts slapping your mouth with it, your cheeks too. The precum starts stringing from your cheek to the tip of his cock, and you can see his pupils dilate even bigger, he almost looks like he’s about to lose control.

He says uncharacteristically softly, “If you want me to stop, pinch my thigh real hard, yeah?”

If you had even a single moment of free thought, you would’ve probably been thankful that he gave you an out. You know despite him being a huge piece of work, he’s not a bad guy. So the fact he’s setting boundaries in your favor, even in the heat of the moment, is comforting. He cares about your safety and comfort. It’s the bare minimum of course, but most men lack even that. It’s why you stopped having casual sex to begin with.

But you don’t have a moment to think because pushes your lips down onto his cock abruptly, your mouth opens on instinct and he shoves himself inside. Doesn’t even ease into it, he just straight up plows his cock inside of your mouth until your nose is pressed against his pelvis.

You cough, and gag, already drooling all over him. Fuck it’s hot. You’ve never been face fucked like this before, but you’re starting to think maybe you’ve been missing out on good sex if this is how good rough sex feels.

You can’t even imagine what his cock would feel like inside of you if it feels this good in your mouth.

When he sees tears start to form, he pulls your hair back, strings of spit and precum connecting from your mouth and onto the tip of his cock. Fuck, it felt so good feeling your throat constrict around his cock. His resolve is wavering heavily. But he’s trying to remain patient. He smirks at you, stroking his spit-covered cock lazily directly onto your lips, causing beads of precum to escape his tip and cover your lips like lipgloss.

“Fuck, look at you. And you haven’t said a damn word. So pretty when you shut up.”

Your cheeks flush and you say petulantly, “Fuck you.” Because even now you don’t wanna give him the satisfaction.

That’s short-lived though because he starts fucking your mouth again. He shoves his cock inside and starts thrusting into your mouth as if it’s a goddamn sex toy. He hits the back of your throat with every thrust, causing you to gag and cough, your hands squeezing his thighs hard but not pinching.

You can take it.

He grunts out, “Fuck… I swear to god I’ll fuck your pretty little mouth every goddamn time you mouth off from now on Y/N, since nothing else has worked so far.”

Each word punctuated by a harsh thrust, he grunts our, “Just shut. the. fuck. up. Fuuuck.”

He keeps fucking up into your mouth, not easing up even for a second. Your eyes roll back in your head, and all you can do is take it. His thrusts only become sloppier and wetter. His head is thrown back and his abdomen starts clenching hard. But he knows you need to breathe. As much as he wishes he could just cum down your throat; he has other plans…

He pulls your head back again, he’s already feeling a bit too close to cumming. He doesn’t wanna cum too fast, he’s certain it would give you more to talk shit about.

He gazes down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his mouth parted slightly and his breaths coming in fast. You look utterly fucked. Your makeup is ruined completely now, your eyes are red and teary, and your pretty pink lips are swollen. His stomach flutters, because he thinks you have never looked prettier.

He’s always thought you were so pretty. It’s one of the reasons he can’t stand you. He isn’t supposed to want you. You’re his coworker, technically his subordinate.

But none of that matters now, does it?

He doesn’t look much better, his shirt is covered in wet spit and his boxers are ruined too. He should’ve taken his clothes off… but luckily, he thinks it’s so much hotter this way.

His cock twitches against his belly, and he strokes your cheek with his free hand. He murmurs, “You good?”

You nod stupidly at him even as drool dribbles down your chin and your mascara runs onto your cheeks. There’s nothing to say really. You’ve never enjoyed having a dick down your throat so much. And he has effectively shut you up.

He nods and guides your head up, kisses you deeply. His eyes roll back as he tastes his precum on your tongue. So fucking good, he thinks.

He guides your pliant body to lay down on the couch, and then he settles in between your legs, his hands stroking up and down your thighs as he looks you over. God, there is so much he wants to do to you. He wants to use you but also wants to make you come undone as many times as possible.

Maybe then you’ll be more tolerable. Maybe this is what you both need, he rationalizes.

But he’s getting impatient. His cock is standing tall as he looks down at you, visibly pulsating, jerking upward now and then. And fuck, it’s making you impatient too. So much so that you whine at him, “Fuck, stop looking and just do something.”

His jaw ticks. He’s getting irritated. That’s what you think, anyway. But in reality, he’s preening on the fact you’re just as impatient as he is. It gives him an excuse to cut the foreplay and fuck you stupid.

You want him to do something? Oh, he will.

He lets out an almost mocking laugh, “Yeah? Want me to do something about it? You sure?”

You groan and roll your eyes at him, scooting your ass closer to his pelvis on the couch, his cock dripping so much precum, you have no idea how he’s not losing his mind right now. You certainly are. In fact, he’s starting to piss you off again.

Right as you’re about to talk shit, he can immediately tell. He grabs the front of your button-up and he rips it open. Doesn’t unbutton it like a normal person, but fucking rips it open, sending buttons flying on the floor of the studio. You let out a grunt, and blink at him in surprise with your mouth open.

You liked that shirt. Fuck him.

“Fucking seriously? You’re ruining my clothes now?”

Your patience is almost nonexistent at this point. You have drool and precum drying on your chin, you’re so horny it hurts, and he just ripped your shirt open like a wild fucking animal.

But him? It’s like he’s not even paying attention. His eyes are averted downward, tongue flicking over his lips. He looks almost stupid like this. What the fuck?

You look down to see what he’s gawking at, and… Oh. Oh. Kinda slipped your mind that you aren’t wearing a bra today. You were running late this morning and forgot to throw one on. Oops.

Namjoon doesn’t even look at your face at this point. His eyes are glued to your tits. He feels kind of ridiculous, getting this worked up over tits. He’s seen tits many times, it’s nothing new. But something about yours has him salivating, has his cock jerking upward.

He reaches down and starts lightly slapping the sides of your tits, watching them jiggle with a gaze full of hunger, he rasps out, “Not the only thing I’m gonna be ruining.”

One hand remains playing with your tits like they’re fucking stress balls, and Namjoon would argue that they absolutely are. The other hand reaches down and lifts your skirt, causing it to pool around your waist. He looks down a bit further, begrudgingly tearing his eyes away from your perfect tits, his other hand pushing your ruined panties to the side. He groans, nearly growls when he notices how wet you are. Fuck. He’s so close to losing control.

He dips a single finger into your sopping heat, just barely. Moves the creamy juices around before pushing his finger fully inside, squeezing your tit hard in his other hand. Your hips buck up involuntarily and your head falls back against the couch. You fucking hate yourself for the desperate noise that claws out of your throat.

Namjoon is no better, the moment he feels how wet you truly are, he lets a sound that sounds no better than the one you just let out. His breathing picks up, his heart starts beating faster, and his cock is so hard at this point that it’s actually painful. God, you are just so tight. Your pussy is clenching around his finger as if it’s trying to swallow him whole.

“N-Namjoon— please. Fuck. Please.” You beg again, don’t even care how pathetic you sound. A single fucking finger isn’t enough for how badly you want him right now. Want to be filled up and fucked hard. He’s barely moving it too. Just lightly grazing your walls, and it’s so frustrating. You just want to cum. Get it all out.

Namjoons resolve finally breaks when he sees a trickle of creamy white drip out of your pussy and onto the couch, he can’t take it anymore. He genuinely wanted to tease you, make a fucking mess of you. Make you beg and cry for him because of how much you piss him off. But not even he is strong enough to stall, he needs you. Now.

One last slap to the tit, he pulls his hand away and hastily reaches over for his wallet on the side table next to the couch. He pulls a condom out, brings the wrapper up to his mouth, and tears it open. And fuck, that’s so sexy. Your pussy clenches his finger again at the sight, and then he jerks it out of your pussy with a grunt.

You whine at him, almost feeling offended. But Namjoon knows damn well he’s going a little crazy because he just got jealous. Jealous of his own fucking finger. Should be his cock, not his finger. What the fuck are you doing to him?

He doesn’t warn you before he stuffs the same finger, accompanied by another finger, into your mouth. Nearly making you choke just like you did on his cock. Then he tosses the wrapped condom onto your bare chest, “Put it on me. Quick.”

You don’t even hesitate, you grab the condom with shakey hands and fumble it out of the package, all while sucking his fingers clean of your own juices. It only turns you on more, tasting yourself on his skin.

You reach for his cock, grab it with one shaky hand and his hips buck into it a bit. He lets out a little hiss through his teeth because of how sensitive it is, neglected for too long. That’s how it feels, anyway.

You roll the condom onto his cock snuggly and then look up at him expectantly with a desperate but wrecked look. Give him the best ‘fuck me’ eyes you can muster up. He keeps his fingers in your mouth. Doesn’t even move. Again, drawing it out. Attempting to, anyway.

You whine against his fingers, and would probably be begging him if you could talk. But Namjoon can’t take it anymore, lucky for you. He moves his hips forward and uses his free hand to position his cock at your entrance.

The moment the tip is sucked into your tight hole, he snaps. Literally, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt. You cry out even with your mouth around his fingers, sounding muffled and wet. Your back arched obscenely because fuck you didn’t expect him to just go in like that.

You’re not complaining though, fuck no.

His head falls back like yours, and he stays like that for a moment, his teeth grit and eyes clenched shut. He removes his fingers from your mouth and grabs your face with one hand, smooshing your cheeks, the other hand coming back up to your tit and squeezing it harshly, as if he just can’t help himself. Squeezing so hard that it kinda hurts. But fuck, it feels so good. You’re starting to realize maybe you have a thing for shit like this.

Doesn’t help when you feel his cock twitching inside of you. It’s just enough stimulation to make your pussy start throbbing around him.

It’s pathetic how close you already are. But god, it feels like he edged you for hours. Even though he barely did anything. You guess you just kinda forgot what actual dick felt like compared to your fingers or a toy.

He starts moving his hips slowly, trying to be patient while your pussy adjusts to his size. But your patience left the moment he entered you.

“Fuck. Go faster, please.”

Your voice sounds high-pitched and a bit loud which you don’t even realize. You can’t control it. He clicks his tongue at this, gives your face a little shake as he says, “Thought I told you to shut the fuck up? Unless you want all of your coworkers to know you’re letting your boss fuck the shit out of you like a whore? That what you want?”

He pulls back out and then slams in again. You let out another cry, body jolting at the force. And he starts just pounding into you.

You asked for this.

How the fuck are you supposed to be quiet when he goes from 0 to 100 like that? Holy fuck.

“Oh, so you do? You want them all to know I’m making you my slut after humiliating you for your shitty writing? C’mon, speak up. Can’t hear you. Use your fucking words.”

All while snapping his hips harshly into yours, out one moment, deep inside the next. You can barely take it. You swear you can feel him in your fucking stomach. Hardly even register his degrading words because you can’t think, can’t speak, can’t even control the loud noises coming out of your mouth, although you desperately try.

Tears prickle your eyes, not because it hurts but because you’re overwhelmed. He’s so hard to figure out. Acting like he’s gonna tease you one moment, and then fucking you like he’s trying to split you in half the next.

He lets out a grunt at your lack of response and ends up squishing your cheeks harder, forcing your mouth open. He leans down slightly and fucking spits in your mouth and then stuffs his fingers back in your mouth, “Actually, just shut the fuck up. Keep your mouth busy and shut the fuck— ah, fuck— the fuck up.”

Fucking disgusting. Fucking hot.

The way his words falter and he loses train of thought for a second makes your pussy clench deliciously around him. Because it’s confirmation that he is just as affected as you are. Just as fucked up right now.

You both look a mess. Your shirt is torn open, your skirt all crooked and pushed up to your waist, and your panties aren’t even fully off. His shirt is still damp with spit, his pants only halfway pulled down and now there’s a creamy white stain on the front of them from your juices dripping down his dick.

It’s heaven, honestly. Or maybe hell. You aren’t sure. But it feels so fucking good.

His hips piston into your cunt hard and fast, and you do your best to focus on sucking his fingers, but the pressure is building fast. You can feel your pussy start to flutter, your clit throbbing, begging to be paid attention to. He can feel it too, it’s making him go crazy because of how responsive you are.

He slams home one more time before staying there, swiveling his hips in a circle so that his pelvis brushes against your clit each time, giving it the minimal amount of attention that has you nearly seeing stars, almost there, but not quite.

“Need more?” He pants out.

You nod your head quickly, his fingers covered in your saliva at this point. Dripping in the essence of you just like his cock. He nods back, removes his other hand from your hip, and settles it at the bottom of your belly, pushing down and placing his thumb over your clit. He starts flicking it fast and starts fucking into you again, picking up the pace so that the room fills with wet squelching noises and skin slapping.

The way he’s pushing onto your tummy while rubbing your clit, Jesus fuck… it’s intense. Makes it feel like he is inside of your stomach. So fucking deep.

Yup. That does it. The stagnant pressure starts building rapidly, he can feel it too. Your pussy starts tightening and fluttering beautifully around his girth. You’re making the prettiest noises, still quiet thanks to his fingers stuffed in your mouth but he can hear you the perfect amount.

God, it’s so perfect, he thinks.

You, you’re not thinking at all. He really is fucking you stupid. Your eyes are continuously rolling back and your hips buck into his thrusts desperately, quickly approaching your climax.

He flicks your clit back and forth, fast but precisely, “C’mon baby, give it to me. Fucking cum all over me. Make a mess. Ungh— god you’re such a fucking slut.”

And that sends you. Out of everything, something about Namjoon calling you a slut just fucking does it for you. You let out a muffled moan, that would be a scream most likely if his fingers weren’t sheathed into your mouth. Your legs tremble and your body shudders through the force of your orgasm.

Your pussy throbs violently, walls rippling around his cock as you finally see those stars. It feels fucking amazing, makes tears fall down your cheek. You can barely breathe because of the force of how fucking good it feels to cum on his cock.

This is his end too. He simply can’t hold back when he feels the vice grip of your pussy desperately trying to keep his cock in place, the rippling of your walls nearly feels like vibrations. He lets out another groan, but it almost comes out like a whine. Very subtly. His face is scrunched up and his mouth open as his hips stutter, his cock spilling and filling up the condom.

It goes on and on. Neither of you thinking about how much you hate each other, only thinking about how good it feels to be together like this. He swears he’s never had sex better than this. You feel the same.

The reality of it all is hate sex is unmatched. Especially when tensions build for so long and you both act as if you can’t stand each other… who knew a fuck could’ve helped with that?

At the last twitch of his cock, when your pussy becomes overstimulated and sore, he collapses on top of you. Both of you panting harshly, catching your breaths as your hearts beat in unison.

He removes his spit-covered fingers from your mouth, and he places lazy little kisses on your skin. He isn’t even sure where, too fucked out to pay attention, just anywhere he can reach while he rests on top of you. It’s an oddly tender gesture. A little sweet, even.

It’s silent for a few minutes. And you both start to realize what you’ve done. You just fucked your technical boss… he just fucked one of his co-writers.

Definitely shouldn’t have happened.

He can’t find himself regretting it though. He feels so light, that he could almost smile. As much of an excuse as it was at first, it genuinely helped with the tension. He’s not quite as irritated with you. Does he like you now? Fuck no.

But the more post-nut clarity comes to fruition… the more he thinks he can tolerate you. Maybe even work with you, compromise with you.

You on the other hand… you don’t know how to feel. You don’t regret it, because fuck, it did help with the tension. You feel lighter too. Not as sensitive. Not as hateful.

Maybe it was for the best. It’s not like anyone has to know, anyway. It’s like couples counseling sort of… except you’re definitely not a couple, and you both still cannot stand each other.

But you can tolerate each other now that most of the tension is gone for the time being.

“You good?”

He tears you away from your thoughts, and you look up at him with bleary eyes. It makes you feel sort of warm and fuzzy inside knowing despite his dislike for you, he’s still checking to make sure he didn’t cross any lines.

Well, he crossed several lines. But, you aren’t complaining. You’re glad he did. Glad he reduced you to this.

“I’m fucking great.”

That earns you a little chuckle. He sighs a breath of relief, was worried he went a bit too hard or did too much, especially since you didn’t set any boundaries beforehand. But you took what he gave you and you took it like a fucking champ, he thinks.

He reluctantly gets off of you because now that you’re both a bit more clear-headed, the couch feels a little too small, and he doesn’t wanna crush you.

His softening cock is still inside of you, so he braces a hand on the couch and slowly pulls out, both of you hissing at the feeling. He watches in awe as your juices flow freely out of you. God, what a pretty pussy, he thinks.

He dips a finger back into your heat, causing you to let out a little noise of surprise. But he removes it quickly, brings his finger up to his mouth and sucks it clean.

“Mmm. Yummy.” He says, wiggling his brows.

Ugh.

He pats your thigh before getting off of the couch, taking the condom off, and tying it up to chuck it in the trash. He stuffs his soft and sensitive cock back into his underwear and pulls up his pants, feeling utterly satiated now. Bubbly and light, even though he won’t show it. He makes his way to the little fridge in his studio and he grabs two bottles of water, tosses you one which you barely catch.

You gulp down the water gratefully, parched considering he stole most of your fucking spit. Asshole.

He begins walking into the bathroom attached to his studio as he says, “C’mon let’s go get cleaned up. Then we can look at those lyrics again and see if it still sounds like kids bop now that I’ve fucked you stupid.”

At your immediate glare, he lets out a laugh, and shrugs innocently, “What? Pussy is magic, can change a man’s mind about a lot of things. Now hurry up, you’re a fucking mess.”

And with that, he’s stepping into the bathroom.

Yeah. Fuck him. Still insufferable.

But god, you really do hope to fuck him again.

[optics-anddesign]

I’ve seen a few people say Gemma and Mark have to end up apart bc someone on the team (dont remember who) said that he wants Mark to have to process his grief, and allegedly that can’t happen if he just gets his wife back. But like, oh yes it can, and it must actually, and there’s no other way around it and it will be ugly and heartbreaking. Mark says it’s easier to pretend she never existed, which means bro is not processing any emotions at all, he’s pretending none of it ever happened. But if Gemma and him end up properly reuniting he will have to acknowledge that it happened, that he loved her and she was gone for 2 years and that he let it destroy him because he thought he’d never have to be okay again. He’ll have to grapple with the fact that he believed she was dead even though it wasn’t true, that he went on dates with other women and that technically that was the right thing to do with the information he had, anyone would’ve called him crazy if he said she was still alive, but she was and he didn’t. Like just getting the person you were grieving back isn’t going to make those emotions go away, in fact it’s going to make dealing with them a whole lot more imminently important bc how are you supposed to be there for your wife who’s just escaped from a kidnapping if you’re still caught up in all these emotions, ur brains default resolution to how much u love her has been pretending she doesn’t exist, for 2 years, and he’s going to have to actively unlearn that. There is no magic release that will undo those 2 years now that they’re together, the emotions and behaviors and grief that they picked up with continue to be carried with them until they actually sit down and deal with it.

Like yes ‘Mark gets Gemma back and everything’s fine now’ would be boring as fuck, but you can’t look me in my eyes and tell me that’s genuinely how you think they would play it, that’s not how life works and in the show that’s like 40% Grief Plotlines I’m willing to bet they know that. Also will throw in that Mark moving on with Helena, would not in of itself be processing his grief, again it’s not smth u can just circumstance ur way out of, no matter what happens or where the show goes Mark Scout is going to be emotionally fucked up by losing Gemma until he actually actively acknowledges and deals with his emotions surrounding it. There is no out.

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Technically they love you both equally

Barbie dolls: Rosekiller x gn! Animagus! Reader

Word:Abt 900

Summary: Evan and Barty argue over who you live more bc you cuddle Barty in animagus form (you're a cat)

Warning: uh cat, Evan and Barty smooch that's it

Naps with your boyfriend, either one or both might you add, were always enjoyable. However, they were just a little more enjoyable when you were in your animagus form and they ran their fingers through your soft fur. Though all things considered, life seemed a little brighter in cat form. 

After his classes, Barty found you waiting for him on top of his covers. You were curled up like a little shrimp with your legs pulled towards your head. He was mindful slipping into bed, tugging you on top of him. You let out a disturbed meow and pulled yourself up onto his chest. You curled into a ball, facing him. Barty cooed and gently dragged his fingers between your ears. Your eyes slowly closed as you fell back asleep. Barty felt himself relax as he continued to pet you, your soft fur lulling him to the brink of sleep. 

Then Evan had the audacity to open the door, rather loudly in Barty’s opinion. Your ears twitched and your eyes slowly opened. Evan floated across the room in his usual creepy Rosier twin aura towards his bed.

"Hey, Rosie." Barty muttered. Evan's shoulder shot up to his ears at Barty's voice. Evan dropped his shoulders, recognizing Barty by the nickname he used. Evan sent him a glare before it quickly disappeared when his eyes landed on the ball of fur on Barty’s chest. Evan immediately cooed and dropped his school bag by his bedpost. 

Evan beelined for you, gently dragging his finger between your eyes. You meowed in response, lifting your head. Evan scratched under your chin, making you purr. Evan hummed at your pleased face. It was hard to gauge your feelings while in cat form but your ears were relaxed and your eyes were closed. Evan always loved the scraggle tooth that poked out under your whiskers, almost like you were smiling. 

“Why do you always sleep on Barty, huh babe?” Evan whispered. Your eyes slowly opened and you let out a big meow. Evan’s eyebrows raised in surprise. He huffed, still dragging his hand through your fur. Barty looked up to Evan with a proud smile. 

“They said it’s ’cause I’m better than you. Love me more and all that.” Barty said. Evan glared at him, quickly leaning down to lightly peck your little cat forehead. Evan spun around, kicking his shoes off and dropping into his bed. Barty whined, staring wistfully at Evan wrapped up in his blankets. 

“I don’t get one?” Barty asked, frowning greatly. Evan shrugged a small and devilish grin spreading across his lips. 

“Nope, not until you apologize and they cuddle me instead. You know they love me more.” Evan said. Barty narrowed his eyes, turning his head to the other side so Evan couldn’t see his face anymore. 

“I already made a New Year's resolution that I wouldn’t lie, until at least March,” Barty said, staring at the wall instead of his hot boyfriend. Evan scoffed. You seemed tuned into the argument, already getting restless. Your ears swiveled to point to whoever was talking, your tail flicked back and forth momentarily. 

“Seems to me you already broke that one, Bee,” Evan muttered, curling up on his side to make a C-shape. Perfect for a curled-up cat to lie cradled in. Barty let out a loud gasp. That startled you fully awake, lifting your head from his chest and glaring at Barty. 

“How dare you suggest such a thing!” Barty snapped, clutching his metaphorical pearls. You meowed in a tone that made Barty feel scolded, reeling his head back. You stood up, jumping down from Barty’s bed.

Barty flopped to the side of his bed, reaching out for you. He called out to you like you were floating away at sea. You curved your back up, your tail twitching up after you. You let out a yawn, showing off all your sharp teeth. You pranced away from Barty. His hand shot out towards you, trying to pull you from the crashing waves. He called after you again. Your tail gently brushed against the tips of his fingers before you slipped into the ocean, heading straight for Evan. 

Evan cooed, leaning over the edge of his bed to pull you up into his sheets while Barty shook his fist at the sky. You gently settled into the curved wall of Evan’s body. You curled yourself into a ball, earning coos and pets from Evan. You laid your head down, finally being able to relax again.

Barty started rustling and creaking as he left his covers. Your ears twitched and Evan looked up. Barty joined you two in bed, getting in behind Evan. Evan turned his head back, giving Barty a warming smile. Well, Barty would classify it as warming, any other student would find it jarring and unsettling. Barty kinda liked that.

Barty dipped his head down, kissing the smile off Evan’s lips. You yowled in response. They pulled apart looking down at you. Evan quickly dropped his head down, pressing a light kiss to your forehead. You meowed happily, tilting your head up at Barty. He leaned over Evan and pressed a peck to your forehead, petting it after. You meowed again, giving him approval before dropping your head back onto the mattress. Barty curled up behind Evan, holding him closer with an arm around his waist. Barty kissed Evan’s shoulder, staring at your fur raising and falling with your breaths. 

[sexhaver]

a few nights ago i went to my city's town hall meeting because they were voting on a resolution to call for a ceasefire in Gaza (mostly symbolic but our rep is close to biden) and like. jesus fuck dude participating in democracy is so exhausting

dude at the pre-meeting rally/speech session was passing out flyers about Bob Avakian. i vaguely remembered that being a cult so i googled it and ended up accidentally downloading a 256-page pdf titled "Against Avakianism". i love leftist infighting so much

one of the council members said he would be abstaining from voting because he's technically in the army and doesn't want to piss them off even though it would technically be legal for him to do

another one (George Scarpelli) said he would be abstaining and then immediately followed that up by reading a bunch of letters that "concerned constituents" had sent in to him about this bill. every single constituent was a zionist saying that calling for a ceasefire would "sow division" (?). this was in a format where public commentary was limited to 2 minutes per person, but council members had unlimited time, so these zionists were also bypassing the time limit because they know a guy on the council. eventually the moderator told him to cut that shit out so we could actually start

someone in the audience yelled "read letters from palestinians" and he replied something to the effect of "i talked to them but none of them submitted comments to me" and i shouted "gee i wonder why" and then he got really visibly mad and then the moderator moved everything along

only three people out of 40+ during the public commentary spoke against it. all of them mentioned "sowing division" (???). two of these people called in via zoom but one was dumb/brave enough to do that in person and everyone just stared at him in silence as he went back to his seat

the moderator had to stop three different people during public commentary to tell them that they technically weren't allowed to "address comments directly at any one member of the board". all three of these people were mad at George Scarpelli

multiple Palestinian speakers literally older than Israel talking about their friends and family who were killed and running up against the two-minute time limit because there were so many of them to list

Scarpelli ended up voting against it even though he said he would abstain

it passed anyways

i just learned this now while googling his name for this post but Scarpelli is a democrat? jesus fucking christ

[quicksilversnails]

I think it's neat how many of ISAT's tracks have very similar titles, only using parenthesis to differentiate themselves. It's a structure that actually reminds me a lot of the dialogue in-game. Even though the game's events and dialogue repeat over and over, Siffrin's thoughts, written in parenthesis, change with time.

So what if the parenthesis in the titles actually represented Siffrin's thoughts while the track plays? Looking at some of the tracks with this in mind:

Friend Quest vs Friend Quest (Solo). The added parenthesis are technically accurate, as the track is actually transcribed to solo piano, but they also generally invokes the idea of a solo performance. You could interpret Siffrin as the soloist, performing his script with a growing sense of detachment from his family. Alternatively, the party members could be the soloists, being the only ones developing in these scenes, the only ones emotionally present.

Do You Remember (King's Theme) vs (Our Country) vs (We've Been Through This Before). It starts out as a simple descriptor assigning the theme to the King, which is also used for Loop's Theme or the Battle Theme. The later two tracks uses the added text as a continuation of the question (Do you remember our country? Do you remember we've been through this before?). While the question in (King's Theme) is initially asked by the King to Siffrin, the later tracks leave more ambiguity: (Our Country) could be asked by either, while (We've Been Through This Before) could be from Siffrin to the King, or even Siffrin to themself. There's also something about how the question itself - Do You Remember? - can be spoken, but the subject of it can only be thought, never said out loud

The House (Floors 1-3) vs The House (Trapped). Similarly, the simple descriptors of the floor numbers shift with Siffrin's mental state. The floors can no longer be differentiated from one another; it's all the same prison anyway

Game Over vs Game Over (Don't Leave Me Alone Here). This one is genuinely so sad to me, with the parenthesis containing a cry for help, calling out to somebody, anybody, nobody. By the nature of it being in parenthesis, it remains in Siffrin's mind, left unspoken and unheard.

It's Finally Over... vs It's Finally Over... (Reprise). Finally one with a positive spin lol. The choice of the term "Reprise" here is really interesting to me because it refers to the repetition or return of a musical idea, when this track only plays once the loop is finally broken. They're often used in musicals to call back to earlier events and highlight any changes or development since the first iteration of the song, which is fitting for Act 6. Even though they're at a similar place compared to the end of Act 2 (King defeated, loop (seemingly) broken), Siffrin's changed so much since then. He's suffered immensely, but he also finally got to share his wish... there's much more resolution to the Act 6 ending and the music reflects this.

[maxiemumdamage]

So, I’m thinking about it, and…I’m not sure if Blake has never had a true, proper, solo song. A musical theme all her own.

From Shadows should be it, obviously, but…even as it’s her musical theme, I don’t think the song as a whole is actually hers. Because the lyrics and more intense instrumentals and just…everything after the beat drops is so clearly not Blake. It’s Adam. If not his voice, then his influence on her.

That’s not to say nothing there was Blake’s. The piano at the beginning and end of the song — before Adam appears and after Blake leaves him — are clearly her own style. Her own motif. But…for the most part, when that song recognizably reoccurs, it’s not for Blake alone, but for her in conjunction with Adam. It’s in the context of their toxic, abusive relationship and the way he corrupted her worldview.

Like Morning Follows Night is definitely more about Sun as Blake’s supporter and interlocutor — I mean, we don’t really learn much about him in canon outside of his relationship with her. But that’s still ultimately a song about Sun as Blake’s supporter (and, within the rap part of it, his unrequited crush on her). Yes, part of it is her processing/being called out on her own issues and trauma, but that’s still done largely in Sun’s voice.

Wings is…tricky. It’s clearly about Blake, but I don’t think it’s her own perspective at all — it’s either Weiss or Yang (depending on the interpretation, though given when it occurs in the actual show I actually think Weiss is the likelier suspect) talking about and to Blake. And I don’t think it’s exactly a complete picture.

Similarly…BMBLB and All That Matters are Yang, singing to or about Blake. And she’s coming at it with her own emotions and perspective, meaning that while Blake is part of the song it’s not her song. Not hers alone.

Nevermore and Worthy are literal, explicit duets, and Treasure still has room for ambiguity in whether it’s Blake or Yang or both of them together. (Wow, the Bees have a ton of songs.) Blake has a voice for sure! But it’s not about her alone.

…writing this made me realize how while Blake may not have a single solo, she’s still very well-represented musically. There are so many songs Blake has where she’s dueting and/or sharing the themes with someone else! I think that’s a reflection of both her multitude of interesting relationships and her role as a leader in her own right. But more on that part later.

Touch the Sky from Volume 7 is probably meant to be for Blake, but like…not distinctly, not beyond a doubt, and not with any specificity. You COULD read it as a Weiss song just as easily. Hell, it applies to everyone among the main cast to an extent. Which makes it hard to argue that it’s a Blake solo song.

And from the same Volume’s soundtrack…Brand New Day is absolutely Blake’s, specifically, but she shared it with Qrow. It’s about how both of them are changing and lightening their worldview and feeling freer. And again, could technically apply to even more people. But it’s explicitly at least two of them.

But there’s one duet that I still think is Blake’s first and foremost — This Time from the Volume 5 soundtrack.

It’s definitely got a heavy presence with the male vocalist/lyrics as an interlocutor, but first and foremost it’s a resolution to the issues Blake has been wrestling with. She’s putting her past with the White Fang behind her and instead is organizing a new Faunus rights movement.

Some people do argue that the interlocutor’s identity is ambiguous — which I disagree with, I think it’s definitely Ghira, since Sun isn’t actually very invested in the Faunus rights storyline. (Probably a symptom of him being from Vacuo, where no one can afford to be racist.)

But Ghira being the accompanying support and backing vocals for his daughter does work well with RWBY’s themes of legacy and generational trauma and making things better for those who come next. Ghira is back on the wagon because his daughter inspired him to get there — Blake’s not subsumed in the duet by any means.

I would still very much like to see a proper, complete, solo Blake song at some point. But I worry the ship may have sailed by now. She’s reached…maybe not an endpoint, but she’s getting close to fully realized and confident in terms of character development. Plus, I suspect her romantic relationship and the Faunus rights movement are her next major plotlines, both of which don’t much lend themselves to solo ballads.

…but also, a lot of Blake’s songs are also Bumbleby songs, and I can’t say I’m mad about it.

[winwintea]

how dreamies would react to bailing you out of jail

PAIRING ▸ dreamies x reader 

TAGS ▸ none, except jail and chenle being rude at first, and oh karen renjun

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ i have never been arrested, i am a lawfully abiding citizen. have a nice day. i am perfectly normal and sane.

Mark Lee

Mark has never had to deal with the legal system before, so when he receives the phone-call from you, he’s really confused. “You’re… where?” He makes you repeat yourself and how you got in the situation. “What do you mean you can… ‘bail’ yourself out? Don’t you… have to be tried, like in front of a jury?” You have to explain to Mark how bails work, and eventually he begins to understand. “Don’t worry y/n… I’ll get you out, give me a second.” You can hear him leaving his room and running out, “CHENLE ?? CHENLE !! I NEED SOME CASH.” 

Huang Renjun

Renjun is a little annoyed at first when he realizes that it’s the police station calling him and it involves you. “Well, what’d they do?” He asks, carefully, and as he listens to what the officers say, and his temper slowly starts to rise. “And you put them in jail for that?” He’s pissed off now. Not only was his day interrupted, but you got arrested for such a stupid reason. There was absolutely no reason why he needed to be involved either, so if they wanted him involved he would get involved. “You will be hearing from my lawyers…”

Lee Jeno

Jeno, like Mark, would be extremely confused on what exactly was going on. While he listened to you rant about what happened, and how you got put in jail, one thing would be on his mind: Were you a criminal now? He’s still technically trying to process everything that’s going on, nodding and expressing some “Uh-huh”s here and there to let him know you were listening, but his eyes are wide with concern. He really didn’t want you to become a criminal and agreed to buy your bail. (poor jeno)  

Lee Donghyuck

Haechan cannot remain serious for once. He immediately lets out a giant laugh as soon as he hears what happened, “Yo, can you send me the mugshot? I might make some memes with it.” Obviously you aren’t too happy with this at all, and promptly hang up the call, stating that you were going to call someone else. 5 seconds later though, Haechan calls back, apologizing profusely, “SORRY. SORRY. I’LL PAY, I’LL PAY, SORRY”

Na Jaemin

Jaemin is both disappointed in you, but still worried for your wellbeing, so obviously he agrees to come bail you out, “Are you okay? I’m coming… to pick you up, don’t be scared.” When he arrives at the cell, he immediately scolds you, which he deems as appropriate payment for him having to drive over and rescue you. However, Jaemin will absolutely defend you all the way. Once he pays the bail bondsman, he then turns his attention to the officers, “Look at that face officer! Does that look like the face of a criminal to you?” It’s not until you beg him to leave that he finally gives up arguing with them. 

Zhong Chenle

Chenle does not want to help you at all, “I don’t have time sorry.” (okay rude) But Chenle’s biggest mistake was calling you on facetime. You started crying and rambling about how your life was over, and how you were going to get sentenced to jail time, and this did the trick. “Okay. Fine FINE. I’M GOING.” He ends up paying a hefty sum to get your name cleared from the records and so there will be no trial for you! He doesn’t even ask if you did it or not. This is lowkey illegal and corrupt, but Chenle just doesn’t want to see you upset, and who are you to complain?

Park Jisung

Jisung is somehow so calm about the situation? Like, hearing that you got arrested doesn’t even phase him, “Where you at, send me the location, I’ll pick you up.” You’re shocked too, because you expected him to be in panic mode, but he just comes, does the whole bail process like it’s nothing and takes you home. When you’re in the car with him you can’t help but ask why he was so resolute about the whole situation. Jisung just gives you a nonchalant look, “It’s not the first time I’ve done this. Don’t do it again though.” 

[folkdevilfables]

✑ Tech Inquiry | Simeon x gn!reader

drabble (0.6k words) | sfw | gn!reader | domestic fluff

cw: minor swearing, the consequences of Simeon interacting with tech unsupervised

You open the door and enter the apartment above the Angel’s Halo Cafe.

Simeon appears in the kitchen door frame, a dish towel draped over one of his shoulders and holding a spatula.

"Welcome home. I made lasagna."

Indeed, the delicious smell of minced meat and cheese was wafting through the entire apartment.

However, there was also something else. A very alarming sputtering noise coming from the living room.

"SIMEON-"

He let out a nervous chuckle. "I’m in trouble, am I not?"

You wordlessly drop your bag at the entrance and walk past him into the living room. The angel quietly follows suit like a scolded puppy.

The sputtering noise is of course coming from the living room computer. Apart from the personal PC in your office (which Simeon at this point was prohibited from even thinking of touching), there was also a second one in the living room. Technically intended for both of you to use, but in practicality its sole purpose was teaching the angel how to handle tech. Or at least regular attempts were made.

"I tried writing an email like you taught me to, but I think I accidentally clicked on something..."

You take a look at the computer screen. No computer sounded or looked like this after simply clicking on something.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes for a second.

Diavolo knows I don't even get paid for this shit.

Despite that, you still sit down in front of the PC and try to fix the issue with your limited tech know-how.

After a brief inspection of the current state of affairs, you pretty quickly realize that the mouse cursor on the screen didn't budge one bit. Additionally, the desktop was frozen and even pressing the escape key as well as other combinations Levi taught you resulted in absolutely nothing.

At this point the incessant noise coming from the PC sounding like its final death throes threatens to drive you insane, so you simply turn the computer off and resolutely pull the plug.

"Did you fix it?"

Sighing, you shake your head. "Not really. I will try again in a couple of days and if I can't figure anything out, I will call Levi for tech support."

"I’m sorry, MC. I didn’t mean to burden you with yet another problem." Simeon glanced at you, looking genuinely miserable.

You close your eyes and take a couple of deep breaths to calm down.

"It's okay, Simeon. I struggle with a lot of things as well. No one is perfect after all... Although I do sometimes wonder how an angel that could probably mow down hundreds of soldiers in the space of five seconds manages to completely wreck a computer to hell and back in the exact same amount of time."

"Ah, the mysteries of life..." The angel chuckles softly. "Also, I don’t think it can make up for the troubles caused, but I made cinnamon rolls for dessert."

You let out a hum, rubbing your temples.

"Are you mad at me...?"

"I'm not mad... Just disappointed. And tired."

"Oh no, that's even worse."

Exhausted, you let out a small huff. "We’ll manage. Let's just get into the kitchen and eat. Please."

A soft smile appears on your face as you feel Simeon gently press a loving kiss onto your cheek whilst he passes you on his way back to the kitchen. Shortly after, you hear the clattering of plates being put onto the table.

Eyeing the now silent computer for one last time, you turn around and follow him.

Unknowingly, Simeon had just pushed back the date of you telling him that the PC in the living room was running on Windows 98 and wasn't even connected to the internet, as well as what you taught him to be 'writing emails' simply was opening Microsoft Word and starting to write a text file another couple hundred years.

Unedited Simeon icon can be found here | Divider by @/saradika | all right reserved and reblog banner by @/cafekitsune

[mysims-mod]

Unused Essences - Part 1

Seven(!) years ago I wrote about the unused Hedgehog essence and mentioned that there was one other noteworthy unused essence to write about at a later date. It is now later.

But in the seven(!) years since I wrote that post, I discovered a whopping six(!) more unused essences that were previously unknown! I won’t be saving those for later though, I don’t want to wait until 2032! 😩

I originally wanted to do this all in one post. But I hit the 30 image power post limit! So instead I am splitting this into two parts. Part 1 will cover two essences that were previously known but I hadn’t written about here as well as two new unused essences and how these new discoveries were made. Part 2 will cover the remaining four new unused essences.

This is still going to be a long one, so without further ado, here’s Part 1 below the cut.

So first up we have Wood! Just wood.

This essence itself isn’t technically unused. But it isn’t accessible like other essences.

When building an object in the workshop in addition to using essences as paint, you also have access to a “default” swatch.

This is treated by the game as an essence of its very own, complete with its own DEF file and a unique <IsDefault> tag not seen in other essences. 

By copying most of its properties over to a brand new essence file, it can be used like a normal essence!

The only things of note though is the flair model and the icons which are otherwise unused and never seen by the player.

The flair icon, strangely enough, is the same as the paint icons that can be seen in-game. The paint icon showcases an earlier style where they resembled actual paint pallets, as seen in some early footage.

The paint icon also showcases an earlier set of textures they planned to use. Unfortunately the textures for these no longer exist in the files though.

Fun fact about the wood essence model, is that it can be seen in some different early footage. Which is pretty neat!

Next up we have the Acorn, an actual unused essence.

This essence does not have any leftover data, and has to be reconstructed to be accessible in-game. Something that will have to be done for all of the remaining essences to discuss.

By copying and modifying an existing essence file, we can load it up in-game and see that it has a paint set! Sort of. The two patterned swatches work, while the flat swatches are pure white, just like the hedgehog essence.

There’s also a flair model leftover as well! Giving us a good look at what the Acorn essence would have looked like if it was finished.

These are the essences that have been known about already, in fact they have been on the Cutting Room Floor page for several years now. But these next five essences were completely unknown even to myself until just recently. But before I discuss the next few essences, let me explain how I was able to find them in the first place.

These new discoveries were actually made possible thanks to the Cozy Bundle, after “obtaining” a copy of the game, I was able to dump the ROMF, and look through all of the files. From there using Switch Toolbox, I could export all of the new HD textures to regular .PNG files, and amazingly enough, the original file names were intact!

Amazingly enough, all of the essences received new high-resolution textures, even though they are unused. Which is what I will be using for this blog post because seeing these in high resolution is just so much more pleasing to the eye.

Previous methods of dumping textures from the 2008 PC version of MySims did not retain the original file names. While all of the files necessary for these few next essences are inside the 2008 PC version, since the file names were unknown, they couldn’t be reimplemented, until now of course.

This little guy, called ‘applewood’, has a full paint set with fully working flat swatches unlike the previous essences, making it more complete than the other essences discussed so far.

There is also a paint icon leftover! But no flair icon to be seen…

Now internally while it’s referred to as ‘applewood’ the leftover text strings refer to it as ‘Light Wood’ instead, suggesting it was either an earlier incarnation of the final Light Wood essence, or had its original text strings overridden before a new entry made was made for the final Light Wood essence.

This next one is called ‘oakwood’, and with this one we’re back to only having two full pattern swatches and pure white flats.

But thanks to a leftover paint icon, we do know what they would have looked like. And it's brown and beige.

Interestingly this also has the same quirk as Applewood, where internally it is referred to as ‘oakwood’ but the leftover text strings refer to it as ‘Dark Wood’. Suggesting it was either an earlier incarnation of the final Dark Wood essence, or had its original text strings overridden before a new entry was made for the final Dark Wood essence.

Unfortunately This is where I have to cut off for Part 1.

Part 2 will have even more unused essences to discuss, and they get much, much more interesting from here.

You can read Part 2 here.

[ginnsbaker]

Bulletproof (8/10)

Part Summary: The walls of the hideout, though homely, start to feel like a prison as the days go by. Wanda's presence is omnipresent, and there's a comfort in that, even if the situation is far from ideal.

Chapter word count: 3k+ | Tags: Light Angst, Still unresolved feelings, Still gay, Still sharing a bed, Wanda has a confession to make

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader

Next Part | Series Masterlist

-

The soft glow of morning light sneaks through the worn-out curtains, nudging you awake. Blinking slowly, you take a moment to recognize where you are. As you stretch out, you instinctively reach for someone next to you, only to be met with the cold absence of the bed. This feeling of waking up alone, strangely enough, feels like a distant memory.

You push yourself up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing your eyes. Soft murmurs reach your ears, pulling you out of your disoriented state. You follow the sound and find yourself moving silently toward the kitchen. Before you get there, however, hushed whispers halt your approach. You linger near the entrance, peeking just enough to catch sight of Wanda, her back turned to you, engaged in a quiet but intense conversation with someone.

You lean against the door frame, observing her, wondering who is on the other line. The conversation continues for a minute before she seems to reach a resolution, ending the call swiftly.

Wanda turns around, startled when she sees you standing there, eyes wide with surprise.

“I didn't mean to eavesdrop,” you say quickly, “I just woke up and—”

She cuts you off with a sigh of relief, “It's okay. I just... wasn't expecting you to be up so soon.”

You tilt your head at her. “Who was that?”

Wanda hesitates, taking a deep breath before replying, “That was Vision.”

“Vision?” The name sounds familiar, but you can’t quite place it. 

She nods slowly, her gaze searching yours for any spark of recognition but there’s none. “He thinks he has an idea about the organization that attacked you. He's already informed Steve. For the time being, I'll be here with you.”

“Steve? As in... Captain America?”

Wanda gives a small nod. “Yes. And about me staying here... technically, he didn’t exactly allow it. I've been suspended for breaking protocol.”

“Suspended? Wanda, what did you do?”

“I shouldn't have intervened when they were relocating you, but I couldn't... I couldn't stay away. Not after everything that happened.”

You step closer to her, feeling your heartbeat pick up. “So you're risking your position, your status, just to be here with me?”

Wanda lifts her head, her eyes filled with a determination and sincerity that leaves you breathless. “In a heartbeat.”

There's no denying the strong connection you and Wanda seem to have; everything in you feels like it naturally gravitates towards her. But you can't just trust your gut on this one. She's kept you out of the loop for quite a while. Jumping in and giving her your full trust might be jumping the gun a bit.

But for now, one question burns in your mind.

“Why are they after me?” you ask.

Wanda grins, her gaze flicking to your tousled hair and the crease marks on your cheeks. “How about some breakfast first? I cooked up some bacon and eggs. And there’s coffee too,” she says.

The mere mention of bacon weakens your resolve, and you find your stomach growling in agreement. 

“Yeah, I’d love some, thanks.”

Wanda's face softens into a relieved smile as she moves towards the kitchen. “I thought a hearty breakfast might help,” she mutters over the sizzle of bacon. “You always loved a good meal to start the day.” The comforting aroma fills the space, and for a fleeting moment, everything feels almost... normal.

But as you're settling into the comfort, Wanda's tone changes, becoming more somber. “Look, I'm not entirely sure why they’re after you, but I've got a hunch.” Suddenly, her hand darts out, grabbing a knife from the counter. Alarm surges through you, and you can't help but step back, hands raised defensively.

“Whoa, Wanda!” you exclaim.

“Do you trust me?”

“I... I don't know yet,” you confess.

A flicker of disappointment crosses her face. But then, without warning, she suddenly drives the sharp end of the knife into her palm, drawing blood.

Your eyes go wide and you yell in panic, “What the hell, Wanda?!”

“Heal me,” she states, her voice unwavering.

“Are you out of your mind?” you retort, trying to keep your composure even as you're reeling from the suddenness of it all.

“Trust me, Y/N. Just... heal me,” she pleads.

Your heart races as you process what Wanda has just done. Despite the urgency of the situation, memories you can't quite grasp trickle at the edge of your mind. You know you've done this before—healed someone—but you can't recall when or how. The knowledge is there, like a distant song, but you can't make out the words.

“Y/N, please,” Wanda implores, bringing you back to the present.

Wanda's unwavering faith in you, however, gives you the push you need.

You reach for her bleeding hand, memories or not, driven by the undeniable need to help her. Gently cradling her wounded hand in yours, you close your eyes, reaching deep within to tap into a familiar yet forgotten energy.

It starts as a soft tingle at the base of your spine, traveling upwards, through your heart and then branching out into your arms, pooling at your fingertips. The sensation intensifies, almost as if you're redirecting a current, focusing it all on Wanda's wound. A heat emerges, gentle at first, then building to a searing warmth that you fear might be too much.

“It’s… scorching,” you mumble through gritted teeth. But just when you think you should pull away, the heat starts to wane. 

Opening your eyes, you pull your hand back. The wound has completely vanished, replaced by smooth, unblemished skin. The bloodstains, too, are gone, as if they were never there to begin with.

Wanda rotates her hand, marveling at the restoration. Then she smirks and says, “I was right.”

You shouldn't find that smirk on her so attractive, but even though you think it's not really the first time, seeing that look now makes your mouth go dry.

“Do you recall any occasion that you got hurt but the wound healed incredibly fast?” Wanda asks.

You think for a moment, remembering a recent incident. “Well, I got a papercut at work last week.”

“Anyone see it happen?”

“Yeah,” you answer. “Louisa and a customer were right there.”

“I already ran a background check on your friend; she’s good. It must be that customer.”

You frown, trying to recall the customer's face. “He was just some random guy, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, sandy blonde hair. He didn't seem all that interesting.”

Wanda's eyes sharpen, “Did he have a particular symbol or tattoo anywhere? Anything you noticed?”

You shake your head, “I don't think so. I wasn't really paying much attention. Why? Do you think he's related to all this?”

Wanda pauses for a moment, “There have been a few... incidents lately. People with abilities are being targeted—mostly former H.Y.D.R.A agents—but we're not entirely sure why or by whom. This guy might just be a scout or someone low on the hierarchy, but we need to be careful.”

You nod. So, this isn't a simple matter to resolve, especially when what they're after seems to be an intrinsic part of you.

“What happens now?”

“I... don't know,” Wanda admits. “Vision advised that we should stay put for now. The others are handling the situation. As much as I dislike it, I think waiting is our best move at the moment.”

A week ago, being stuck under one roof with your crush felt like a fantasy. Now, you're not even sure how to feel about it.

Your life teetering on the edge isn’t exactly how you envisioned yourself getting close to Wanda.

-

The walls of the hideout, though homely, start to feel like a prison as the days go by. Wanda's presence is omnipresent, and there's a comfort in that, even if the situation is far from ideal.

On the fifth day, as Wanda hums softly to herself and prepares what smells like another delicious breakfast, you can't help but blurt out, “You can’t keep me here forever, you know?”

She stops momentarily, looking over her shoulder with a half-smile. “I know. It's just... safer here. For you.”

Your eyes trace the movements of her hands as she expertly flips pancakes on the stove. That's when you notice it — a faint scar on the back of her left hand. It looks old, but the irregularity of it draws your interest.

“How'd you get that?” you ask, pointing to the mark.

Wanda freezes, seemingly caught off guard by the question. She places the spatula down and turns to you, the smile from earlier fading.

“This?” She touches the scar gently. “It's a reminder.”

“A reminder of?”

She chuckles lightly, but there's no humor in her eyes. “Of my own stubbornness, I suppose.”

“You never were one to elaborate much, huh?”

“A minor accident while preparing dinner for the team. And someone I knew offered to heal it. But I declined.”

“Who?”

She looks away for a brief moment, taking a deep breath before she answers. “You.”

A baffled look crosses your face. “Me?”

“We were having one of our group dinners. I accidentally burned myself while serving. I excused myself and headed to the bathroom. You... you followed me, out of concern.”

Suddenly, the scene plays vividly in your mind: the lively chatter in the dining room, the accidental spill, Wanda's quick exit, and your concern driving you to follow her.

“I think I remember,” you whisper, stunned by the sudden clarity.

Wanda's gaze sharpens. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you say, lost in the memory. “I tried to heal the burn. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

She sighs, a bittersweet smile forming on her lips. “And in my pride and... well, jealousy, I brushed you off. I was upset about something Daisy mentioned earlier. Took it out on you. Told you that not everything needed your 'magic touch’.”

An old sentiment surfaces, and you repeat words from the past, “...’Let it scar then, see if I care.’”

Wanda looks down, her voice soft, “Yeah, those were your words. I felt horrible right after.”

“So, everything you've told me, everything you've said about us, about me being an Avenger... it's all true?” Other than your powers manifesting a few days ago, it’s only now that you’ve recovered a fragment of your lost history, that you can begin to fully grasp everything Wanda has said in the past few days. 

Wanda nods. “Every word.”

You sigh. Wanda never pressed to fill in the gaps of your past, and you've been deeply appreciative of the space she gave you to think and decide whether you wanted to learn more. 

Now, you believe you're ready.

“Tell me more?”

Wanda tilts her head, regarding you with that adorable expression. “About...?”

“About me? About them? And,” you clear your throat, “about us.”

Instead of answering immediately, Wanda places some pancakes onto your plate and slides it over to you. She serves herself next. Carrying two steaming cups of coffee to the dining table, she gestures for you to start eating.

“Alright, where to begin?” Wanda starts. “Your introduction to the Avengers wasn't typical. You weren’t recruited or asked to join. It was... well, more complicated.”

You take a big bite of your pancakes, humming in delight at the taste. Wanda's face lights up with a smile as she watches you eat, before she continues, “H.Y.D.R.A had you captive for years. They were relentless in their experiments, pushing the human body and mind beyond its natural limits. It's there you gained your unique abilities, a power to heal, not just yourself but others. When the Avengers conducted a raid on a H.Y.D.R.A base, we found you. Confused, scared, lashing out.”

Pausing to meet your eyes, Wanda’s gaze is soft, filled with empathy. “Steve saw past the brainwashed soldier H.Y.D.R.A had tried to mold. He saw a person in need. And he’s always had a knack for seeing the best in people, even when they couldn’t see it in themselves.”

“He approached me?” you ask, your mind swirling with half-formed images of a shield, and strong, kind eyes filled with determination.

“Yes, and he offered you a choice. Redemption, a chance to do good with the powers that were forced upon you,” Wanda adds.

“And the team...?”

“For a while… you were the only Avenger who slept in a cell.”

She grimaces slightly, “They weren’t all onboard initially. It’s not that they doubted Steve's judgment, but... there were trust issues, understandably. So, for a short period, you were kept in a secure section of the compound. Not as a prisoner, but more of a... precaution.”

You swallow hard, the idea of being confined again hitting a nerve. Yet, you nod for her to continue.

Wanda takes a moment, her cheeks flushing deeply as she remembers, “But... things took a turn one day when... when I was in a tight spot. A mission, it... it didn’t go as planned. They knew we were coming. It was an ambush. We were cornered, completely outnumbered.” She hesitates, recalling the memory painfully but with mild fondness for what she says next, “And then... you were there, seemingly from nowhere. You stepped in, putting yourself directly between me and a sniper's bullet, oblivious to the risk... all to protect me.”

Your eyes soften, trying to picture yourself in that scenario, “I... I did that?”

She nods as her own glistens at the memory. “You did. Your bravery that day changed everything. The team started seeing you differently, not as a potential threat but as one of our own.”

“So, that's how...?”

Wanda sighs, eyes darting everywhere but you. “Yes, that’s how we began...uh, sharing a bed.  It wasn't, you know, because you... saved me, that I... sort of, maybe, asked you to my room. I mean, it wasn't an invitation-invitation, or at least not as a... thank-you-for-saving-my-life kind of thing.” She continues to fidget, inadvertently mangling her pancake with her fork. “It just seemed... wrong, having you in a cell when there wasn’t a proper room ready for you. So, um, I might have, you know, kind of offered to... share mine. Just temporarily.”

Your eyebrows rise in amusement, and you can't help but let out a soft laugh. “I was actually asking if that's how we became friends.”

Wanda's face turns a brilliant shade of crimson. “Oh,” she murmurs, wishing the floor would just swallow her whole at that very moment. “I thought... I mean... never mind.”

“I didn't even realize we'd shared a bed before,” you comment, not quite letting her off the hook just yet.

“Uh, about that…” Wanda starts, then hesitates, pushing herself back from the table as she stands up.

You put down your fork, picking up on Wanda's rising anxiety. For a split second, you almost expect things around you to start shaking from the intense vibes she's giving off.

“There was one night. The lines... they were blurred while we were both sleeping,” Wanda says.

“What do you mean ‘lines were blurred’?”

“It's... complicated,” Wanda sighs, running her fingers through her hair in frustration. “You felt so guilty afterward that you went back to your old cell.”

Your mind races, trying to piece together that night and your actions. “Why would I feel guilty?”

Wanda gulps, her voice barely above a whisper. “I trespassed into your mind while I was sleeping. And in doing so, it inadvertently allowed you to see my thoughts about you.”

“And what thoughts would those be?” You press, hanging onto her every word now.

Wanda’s eyes dart to yours, a vulnerable honesty in them. “Thoughts that should’ve stayed inside my head because of their... explicit nature.”

Your eyes widen in realization, feeling the weight of her confession. “You were having… dreams about me?”

She nods, her cheeks flaming red. “Yes. And you saw them, felt them, and that’s why you felt guilty. I shouldn’t have let that happen. It was an intrusion.”

You sit back, processing everything. Every time you slide into your side of the bed at night, the palpable tension, the fleeting glances exchanged between the two of you, and the way Wanda cares for you—unlike anyone ever has—it all seems to have been building to this very moment.

Wanda looks as if she's bracing herself for a storm, her gaze downcast and fearful.

“Look,” you finally say, voice filled with regret. “I'm...I'm sorry, Wanda. I don't know what happened, but I'm so, so sorry.”

She looks taken aback. “Wait, why are you apologizing?”

“Because it seemed like I was the one in control. That I let it all happen,” you say, staring at your unfinished meal. “I deserve to be locked up in a cell… not cooped up in this safe haven.”

Wanda suddenly looks frustrated, shaking her head vehemently. “You've got it all wrong,” she says softly.

“How?” you whisper, feeling completely lost.

“Because,” Wanda's voice trembles, her eyes glassy, “if I weren't asleep, it still would've happened.”

“Oh.”

Wanda looks away and takes a few steps back, trying to create as much distance between the two of you as the confines of the small kitchen permit.

“Listen, I have to leave. Steve, uh, is expecting me today, so—”

You aren't buying her excuse. “Wanda—”

“I'll be back later tonight, alright?” she interrupts, brushing past your objections.

Before you can react, red tendrils envelop her, causing you to halt in place as she swiftly exits the hideout.

You sink into the couch, your thoughts more jumbled than ever. It's evident that there's mutual attraction between you two—perhaps even deeper feelings. But if that's the case, why did Wanda keep you at a distance? Why did she let you forget her?

She makes you feel important right now, but you can’t help but wonder if she merely doesn’t want to hurt your feelings by being truly honest about hers.

[butchcarmy]

Blood Orange (Ch 2: The Bathroom)

Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18, MDNI)

Rating: E (5.7k)

links: fic playlist, pinterest board, ao3 link, ch 1

Chapter Summary: No more fucking your boss. That’s what you’ve been telling yourself, but he doesn’t make it easy, even as you find yourself wanting to scream. Somehow it all falls away when you lower yourself to your knees before him. You don’t know if there’s any stopping this anymore. 

Content Tags: work sex, blow jobs, mouth fucking, CUM PLAY, dom/bossy carmy, coworkers with benefits, carmy being difficult, mental illness, they/them reader, gender neutral reader, the usual

A/N: WHEW. It’s here! Thanks for waiting y’all. I think I embarrassed myself writing this one (flushed emoji). It’s ramping up. Next chapter is gonna be big one. Let me know what you guys think, and enjoy! <3

Before you go to work the next morning, you make yourself come on your fingers. It would've been twice if you had more time. 

You open your eyes waking from a dream with his ghostly blue eyes and low voice, and you already know you're wet before you even touch yourself. The pads of your reaching fingers chase the tender spot Carmy stroked inside of you, but they don't quite make it. Of course they don't. 

Fingering yourself eases the ache for a little while. On the early morning transit with headphones over your ears, you still manage to find yourself aching for him. The music doesn't cover up the sound of his voice, and you catch yourself grimacing in the faint reflection of the dirty metro windows. 

This is not a good way to start your second day at work.

Since you left the walk-in yesterday, Carmy's been following you around like a mosquito in the summer, whizzing around your head, buzzing in your ears. You can't rid your thoughts of him. When you close your eyes, you're trapped in the fridge with him, again, and his fingers are deep inside you. 

Fuck. You're standing in front of the restaurant, willing yourself to go in. Just stop it, you think to yourself. 

You really should be more mad at him. He technically never apologized for insulting you, but you suppose you didn't expect him to in the first place. You didn't usually get apologies at places like this, from people like him. You don't want to get in the bad habit of expecting good things from broken people.

No more fucking your boss, you think resolutely to yourself, and that's the thought you meditate on as you open the door. 

By this time yesterday, there were already a couple of people floating around the kitchen. Today, you find dim lights and silence. Your footsteps feel too loud on the white linoleum as you walk to the lockers to drop off your stuff. You can’t pretend to understand the schedule yet.

“Carmen?” You pace around again as you secure your apron with a tie. No response. Surely he's here, at least. Someone had to open the place. 

You take a couple more steps when you hear his voice. 

“No, I'm not—that's not what I was sayin’.” The direction of his voice sounds like it's coming from his office. “Of course I miss him. Sugar—” A pause. “I know. Yeah. It's bullshit.” He laughs then, you think. You can't measure how genuine it is. “You're bullshit. Look, I'll call you back later, okay? And I'll—yeah, I'll look at it. Promise. Yeah. Bye.”

It's quiet after that. You're standing there, not sure what to do with yourself when you hear footsteps. Sure enough, Carmy pops out of the office, and you catch just a glimpse of something haunted in him before surprise takes over.

“Hi,” you say at the same time he says, “Jesus Christ.”

“How long have you been here,” he asks, as you go, “That's an interesting way to pronounce my name.”

“Um,” you start, and he stares at you blankly, unreactive to your joke. Too early, you guess. “I just got here.”

“Okay. Cool. Uh…” Anxiety radiates off of him, making his hands fidget and run through untamed hair. Not that you were looking at his hands at all. “You’ll be doin’ prep again.”

“Alright.” You expected as such. You’ll probably be on prep for the rest of the week, if not the month. That’s how most places go, but this isn’t most places. 

“Your station was dirty when you left yesterday.” You walk up to your station, and it’s spotless. “I had to clean it before I left.”

“Ah. I’m sorry about that,” you apologize quickly. I was preoccupied with other things, you think bitterly to yourself, thinking of locked doors and heated kisses. Not that you’ll mention it. “I’ll make sure to clean it this time.”

“Prep’s gonna be a bit different today,” he says, completely ignoring your apology. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from snapping. “You’re gonna inspect produce, and then you’ll prep the stock again. Correctly this time.”

“It was nearly perfect, I just misplaced it,” you mutter under your breath.

“Yeah, nearly.” Looks like he heard you this time. Asshole. He places a box of onions on your station, rattling the table slightly. “Do I have to tell you how to sort out the bad ones from the good ones?” You’re honestly not sure if he means that as a jab, but the way he says it makes your insides sizzle with irritation.

Don’t take it personally, you remind yourself. Don’t. Take. It. Personally. 

“How about you show me just in case? Just so we’re on the same page.” It’s a wonder how calm you keep your voice. To your surprise, Carmy doesn’t roll his eyes, doesn’t sigh, he just nods and proceeds. Every time you think you’ll predict him properly, he does the opposite. 

You follow the line of his callused finger pointing to brown splotches on some of the onions. Intently, studiously, you examine the dark spots (indicative of mold), the sprouts (initial stages of deterioration), and the mushy areas (a sign of decreasing freshness). He’s talking about details as he seems to do when it comes to food, even elaborating on the farming process, but you don’t quite pick up that part. You just pay attention to the parameters you need to follow.

No more fucking your boss, you remind yourself again, because you catch yourself aching at the sight of his fingers. Your eyes have a hunger of their own, flickering up and down his muscular arms. God damnit. Maybe there’s another reason you can’t quite pay attention today. 

“Are you listening?” Carmy’s pointed question snaps you out of it. Fuck. You hope he didn’t catch you staring at his fingers again.

“If I can save it and just chop off the bad parts, then I should,” you regurgitate on instinct. “Those are the best ones to use for the stock. Otherwise, I should just toss it.”

For a split second, all he does is fix you with his focused stare. You feel the intensity of it in your chest, your beating heart fluttering with its weight. No matter how many times you scold yourself for finding him attractive, your eyes can’t ignore what’s right in front of them. You find yourself counting his moles. 

“I caught you staring,” he murmurs, “for real this time.”

“I—uh—” Your eyebrows are so raised you’re sure they’re bound to shoot off your warmed face. He’s smiling like he knows something you don’t. You weren’t going to mention yesterday, and after your first interaction this morning, you were sure he wasn’t going to, either. Guess you were wrong again.

“I’ll be in the back if you need help. The others should be here soon.” He’s moving on without giving you a chance to recover. Your brain can’t process the shock. “Just call if you need anything."

Before you get a chance to scrounge up anything to say, you’re alone in the kitchen again. 

This time I'm really gonna do it, you fume internally. Because you have a healthy amount of anger management, you don’t let yourself continue that thought.

Sydney is the third person to show up after you and Carmy. You give her a nod and a thin smile as she walks in, and she waves back. Soon after she arrives, the others trickle in one by one. As you're learning to expect, the quiet never lasts for long. 

There are tasks circling you just like yesterday that you don't fully grasp yet. Everyone seems to be instinctively following their own schedule, their circadian rhythm matched to the chaotic ecosystem of the kitchen. It’s just as suffocating as it was yesterday. You remind yourself that as a new hire, you don't need to understand the madness yet. Nonetheless, an invisible pressure presses down on you. 

“Hey, d'you mind telling me where this produce goes?” A triple stack of filled containers sits heavy in your arms. With Sydney out of the kitchen, Marcus is your next safest option in terms of coworkers. His head flicks up from where he was focused on kneading dough. A streak of white flour is across his nose. 

“Oh, that one's bottom shelf, near the back.” He claps his dusty hands together, flour falling between them like snow. “Here, I'll just show you. You know where the walk-in is?”

With Marcus, it doesn't feel like there are any stupid questions. It's a gift you don't take for granted, especially around here. You let him lead you to the fridge again, even though you remember where it is. It doesn't hurt. 

“Thanks. I'm, uh, still having a hard time figuring out where stuff goes,” you say after you put the produce away. 

“It’s cool. It's only your second day, right?” You nod. “Just takes time. Don't sweat it. You ever work in a restaurant before?”

“Yeah, a couple of times.”

“Then you know what you're gettin’ into.” That makes you laugh. 

“Sorta.” You shrug. “To be honest with you, I just need money, and I like cooking enough, so…now I'm here.” You're not quite as honest with how desperate your situation was on the verge of coming, but it's fine. Not really the time and place for it anyway. 

“I gotcha. That's how it was for me too, actually.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. Well, that's how I started at McDonald’s. That was a while ago now.”

“I see. It's better here, I hope.”

“Hard to say,” he says, but there's a little smile on his face. “For the most part, Michael was cool, but—”

“Michael!” You blurt out, startling the both of you. “Holy shit, I'm sorry. I've just been trying to remember the name of the previous owner for forever now and—wow, sorry. I didn't mean to shout.”

“It's fine.” Marcus has this amused expression, but it dissolves quickly. “You met him?”

“I did. I came here a couple of years ago when I first moved. Just once, but—anyway, what's his deal?”

“His deal?”

“Yeah, like, why'd he give the restaurant away? Carmy said he didn't want it anymore.”

“Oh.” You can't read the way Marcus’ face shifts. “That's what he said?”

“...Yeah?”

“I see. Okay. Uh…” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, I know how this sounds, but just try not to bring Mike up for now. It's still kind of a sore subject.”

“Ah, my bad.” Your brain instantly supplies stories of estranged families, sibling spats, and stolen money. You suppose it's a sour sort of relationship—something you're intimately familiar with. “Can I ask what happened, or…?”

“I'll tell you later,” he replies evasively. “You know what else they got you training on today?”

“No idea,” you answer honestly. The nosy part of you wants to hear more about the Berzatto family, but the responsible part of you reminds you to cool your jets. “Carmy just told me I was on produce. Know where he's at? I peeked into his office, but he wasn't there.”

“Oh, he just left.” Your blank stare makes him elaborate. “He's off doing Carmy things.”

“Doing Carmy things?” Looks like the person in charge has abandoned you yet again.

“Business stuff, probably.” Marcus shrugs. “He does that sometimes. He probably won't be back for a while, so I can help you with training for now if you want.”

“That would be great.” There's a remark on the tip of your tongue about poor management, but you hold it. “Is Carmy a better boss, at least?”

“Compared to Michael?” You recognize sadness in Marcus’ pinched brows, even if it's only momentary. “I dunno. It hasn't been long, but this place has been running more smoothly since he started doing things.” Your shocked expression makes him laugh briefly. “I know, it used to be worse if you can believe it.”

“I'm not sure that I can,” you admit. 

. . . . .

The next several days at work continue to test your patience. While Carmy keeps you on prep, keeping your tasks simple, he continues to find ways to keep you on edge. You stiffen up every time he enters the kitchen, waiting for him to point out yet another mistake. 

Chef, this cut's too uneven. Chef, you're taking too much time on this. Chef, you should’ve cut this part off. Chef, you’re creating too much waste. 

Yes, Chef, you always reply, even as his comments become more and more grating. A childish part of you wants to do a worse job out of spite, but another part of you is hungry for his approval far more than you would ever admit. You wonder if he's this tough on everyone. 

The incident in the walk-in does not get mentioned again. A childish voice in you wonders if Carmy has forgotten about it. Of course he hasn’t, but every time he critiques you, you wonder about the Carmy who kissed you. You wonder what that Carmy's thinking, because you have no clue. 

Has he been thinking of you, too?

This is how things should be, you remind yourself after you touch yourself for the fourth night in a row to the thought of him. Your fingers are wet, and your wrist is embarrassingly sore. I can't have sex with my boss again. I just can't. 

Would it be different if he also touched himself to thoughts of you?

You desperately suck your own cum off your fingers, and you wish it were his fingers instead. It doesn't taste the same. 

The bright lights are irritatingly bright when you come in this morning. It looks like you're the first person here again, other than Carmy. You hear his irritated voice as soon as you enter, which is clearly a good sign. 

“I appreciate you thinking of me, I do. I do. It's just—” He sighs. Looks like he's having another phone call. “I can't come back. Not right now.” Silence. “No, uh, won't happen for a while, I think. The place's fucked.” A shaky breath. “What? What did you say?

“The head chef asked about me?” Carmy's voice has gone tight. “I see. Of course he said that. No, it's fine.” Pause. “...I know what they've been saying. I figured they'd look down on me.” His laugh is hollow and painful. “Look, I got shit to do. Thanks for asking me, but it's a no. I can't.” Another pause, drawn out and tense. “Sure. Bye.”

After he hangs up, you hear him muttering to himself. You can't pick out any of the words other than the curses, but it sounds bad. As you put your things away, you silently pray to the abstract idea of a god to give you both strength of patience. Seems like you'll need it today. 

“Morning,” you tentatively greet him when he sees you. He's not surprised by your presence today, it seems. He nods back. 

“Morning.” His eyebags are dark with a lack of sleep. Upon closer inspection, his whole everything screams sleep deprivation, perhaps a bit more so than usual. His messy hair seems particularly unkempt today. “You're doing prep again today.”

“I figured.” 

“You need to get better about cleaning your station.” His words are full to the brim with irritation. “I keep having to clean it after you.”

“I thought I was—” You stop. Calm down, you think, but it's getting harder and harder to repeat. “Sorry. I didn't realize.”

“I told you the other day that it was dirty. Were you even paying attention?”

“Of course I was!” Annoyance bubbles over inside of you, potent and unbridled. Carmy barely reacts to your raised voice. Somehow, that pisses you off more.  The cap on your contained anger has popped off, and there's no fitting it back on. “Are you always like this towards your employees?”

“Like what?”

“Like an asshole?” You're too irritated to hold yourself back. 

“Depends. Are you always like this with your boss?” He retorts immediately. 

“I don't usually have sex with my boss, so no, I suppose not,” you respond stupidly, and that makes him go dead silent. He narrows his eyes, fixes you with his gaze. Like you're a new problem that needs solving or something like that.

God damnit, you think to yourself. Why'd you have to say that?

“You've been thinking about it.” The air feels thicker, suddenly.

“I never said that.”

“Then why did you mention it?” Shit. “You said you were going to do better.”

“And I have been. I've been trying to do everything you've been telling me to do.” You don't know why you take a step towards him. “You said you were gonna be nicer.”

“And I have been,” he echoes, and his sincerity makes you roll your eyes. 

“Bullshit! You've been nit-picking me all week!”

“We have standards here, and you need to learn how to follow them. That's all.”

“You're right! I'm learning,” you argue, throwing exasperated hands up in the air. “Cut me some fucking slack!”

“Then learn. Improve.” He slams a hand down on the aluminum surface next to you, enclosing you partially in. Being this close to him, you can really see how dark his dark circles are. You could easily move to the side if you wanted to, but something in you stays put. “There's no excuse for a dirty workspace in a kitchen. I thought you would know that already.”

“I'm so fucking sorry, chef,” you spit back with about as much venom as you can muster. Which, right now, is a lot. 

That shifts something inside him. You see it flash across his face—surprise, anger, and then…something else.

“Dirty work station and a dirty mouth,” he murmurs. His voice is lower, quieter, and it sounds just like how it did in the walk-in. You hate how that change instantly makes your heart pick up speed. “You think you get a pass to act like this because of what happened in the walk-in?”

“You motherfucker,” you hiss, meeting his glare with your own. “So now you're going to acknowledge it? And for the record, I get to act however the fuck I want. Especially with someone like you.”

“Someone like me.” He doesn't ask you to elaborate. He just laughs, breathy and condescending, and he's so close you can feel his breath fan across your face. “You think you're above all this, don't you?”

“What?” The question takes you so off guard that it almost dissipates the strange mix of anger and arousal simmering in your gut. 

“I know it doesn't feel good to have to take orders from someone you hate, but here's the thing. You have to.” He's not smiling, but you swear he's getting some sort of sick satisfaction from all this. Why else would he be saying any of this shit?

“I could leave right now if I wanted to,” you threaten him. “You won't be able to find anyone else that wants to work in this shithole of a place.”

“You're right. You could leave if you really wanted to.” His eyes narrow curiously at you. “Then why haven't you?”

You’re well within your right to leave already—it checks all the boxes. Chaotic work environment. Awful management. General workplace misconduct. Unprofessionalism between coworkers. You suppose you're partially to blame for that last one, but still. 

If it's bad, I'll just find another job, you told yourself. You're not sure why you're not listening to your own advice. The simple truth of the matter, though, is that other jobs won't have him. They won't have the man that's been keeping you up at night, the man that you want to simultaneously devour and destroy. They won't have Carmen Berzatto, and for some reason, that's all it's going to take.

You don't understand yourself. It scares you, but not enough. Not enough to leave.

“...I don't know why I haven't left yet,” you say quietly after a while. “I have no clue.”

“I see.” If he's dissatisfied with your answer, he doesn't show it. “Then for the time you're here, let's make one thing clear.”

“What is it now?” You sigh.

“I'm in charge here,” he whispers. His other hand is on the counter now. You're completely blocked in. “I'm the one who runs this place, so you're going to be good and listen to me when I speak.”

“You're not really giving me a lot of incentive, chef.” You lower your gaze to the counters next to you. “Maybe if you gave me something to work with.” You don't mean for it to come out as suggestive as it does, but with him surrounding you like this… 

“Incentive?” He brings a hand to your face, tucking his fingers under your chin to pull your gaze back to him. His touch is achingly gentle, but it forces it to look straight into his eyes. Your fidgety gaze catches glances of the dark blue speckles that border his pale iris. “Hey,” he whispers, “look at me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Your heart's pounding like sprinting feet thudding on concrete. You can't place what feelings are excitement or anxiety or both, but maybe no separation exists. Shutting your eyes was a weak attempt to temporarily block him out, but now all you can focus on is the sensation of his rough hand on your hot face. 

Hesitantly, you open your eyes to face him. Ice blue and dark circles. His intense stare is difficult to match, but you try. 

“What do you want from me?” You ask quietly. 

“I want you to clean your station. Think you can do that?”

“Don't patronize me. Of course I can. I just—happened to forget.”

“Hm.” He smiles briefly. It's just a bit mocking. “You don't have a good track record so far, so you'll have to prove it to me.”

“...And how would I do that?”

“Depends,” he replies vaguely. “Depends on what you want.”

“What I want? I thought you were supposed to be in charge.”

“When I touched you, you told me you wanted to touch me.” The realization clicks in your head. “Do you still want that?”

You hesitate. Memories of the walk-in flood in. You remember the silhouette of his tight jeans over his bulge, and you ache. You shouldn't say yes. You really shouldn't. A distant voice says, you don't want to do this. What have you been telling yourself? This is a bad idea.

Unfortunately, it's far past a matter of want anymore. It's a matter of need.

“Yes,” you whisper back. Your fate is sealed. “I do.”

That's how you find yourself in the cramped bathroom with him. It's dark with one of the lightbulbs having gone out, making it feel even smaller. An eerie green cast coats the room. 

“You're going to show me that you can listen. That you can clean up after your messes.” He's leaned up against the wall, broad hands unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes shamelessly zero in on the motion. “Think you can do that much?”

“Of course I can,” you reply, but it comes out a lot softer than intended. 

“Good.” You force your eyes away from the outline of his bulge in his boxers to look at his face. His darkened eyes are trained on you. “Get on your knees.”

Oh, you think. So this is how it's gonna go.

You wish you could say that you hesitate even a little bit, that there’s even a shred of contemplation left in you. However, there isn't any of that remaining. Obediently, you fall to your knees, resting them against the cold, hard bathroom floor. You're at eye level with his unbuttoned jeans. Slowly, you raise your eyes to look at him. 

His downturned face is framed by wild strands of hair. Looking down at you casts darker shadows across his face, but not enough to hide his expression. It's an odd mix of hunger and what you think to be admiration. Surely not, but that's immediately the thought that comes to mind. 

“Waiting for directions, chef,” you murmur. 

“Mm. Right,” he says, like he was lost in thought. “You look better like this.”

“Watch it,” you warn him. “I could still bite your dick off.” To that, he just briefly smiles, and then it's gone.

He's pulled his black pants down just enough to let his clothed bulge hang over the waistband. The sight of it goes straight to the simmer starting in your gut. You watch his veined hand disappear into his boxers. He's doing this far too slowly for your taste. 

Finally, he pulls out his cock, nearly completely stiffened, and you can't deny the way you begin to salivate. 

You were right. It's big, though not just in length. His cock is thick. You immediately know you won't be able to take the full length of him into your mouth, but what fits is going to be a stretch. You're already imagining how those bulging veins are going to feel against the flat of your tongue. 

“Use your mouth for something other than talking back to me. Make me come,” Carmy orders quietly. “Enough direction for you?”

“Shut the hell up,” you mutter, ignoring the feeling of the growing heat inside you, and you pull the reddened, shiny tip of his cock between your lips. 

His pre-come mixes with the saliva on your tongue. You savor the taste of his salty musk, suckling slowly, and you hear him exhale shakily above you. Looks like you've been given something of an opportunity to get him back for the walk-in. Not repayment—payback. The distinction is important. 

When you pull back, thin strings of spit connect the pink head to your glistening lips. One of your hands moves to hold the base of his cock as you close the gap again. You drag your tongue down the side of his length, licking the thick vein you were eyeing earlier. You feel him twitch. 

“Do that again,” he breathes. Without question, your tongue retraces its path, running back over the line of spit it created. That gets you a quiet, strangled moan, and it's music to your ears. 

“Is this part sensitive?” You ask as you stroke the vein with your thumb. You suck your way down the vein again, making small, wet seals of pleasure. 

“Somewhat.” He sounds good like this, breathless and flustered. A smile twitches on your lips. You lick across the inside of your hand, wetting it before lazily curling it around his cock. He slides effortlessly in your grasp. 

“You gonna come already?” You can't help but tease. He's surprisingly reactive, more so than you would've thought. It's not that you're complaining—it's not that at all. The sound of his low groans is making you drip. 

“Hah—no. You'll have to work harder than that.” You feel a hand pushing back your hair, and that makes you raise your head towards him. His touch is surprisingly gentle. You watch the movement of his lips when he speaks. “Open your mouth, and stick out your tongue.”

You can't quite figure out what it is about all of this that makes you submit. Just moments ago, you wanted to wring your hands around his throat. It was far too easy to abandon your anger and kneel in front of him. Maybe it's the incomprehensibly part of you that undeniably needs his validation. Maybe it's the soft, low tone of his voice, gentle yet commanding. Either way, it has you obeying with a thought in your mind. 

You do as he says. You part your lips and extend your tongue. As your eyes flutter upwards towards him, you're struck with the impression that you must look obscene. 

“Perfect,” he whispers, and just the one word sends something of a euphoric rush through you. “Doin’ so good for me.” 

You soak up the praise, basking in the warmth of it. Then, Carmy spits onto your tongue, and his saliva slides towards the back of your mouth. 

You can't hide your surprise. Your breath hitches, but you don't say anything. Fuck, that should've made you angry, but it just made your clit throb painfully hard. 

He drags his thumb down your tongue, slow and sensual. You have half the mind to suck on it until he glides the head of his cock on your tongue, leading it into the heat of your mouth. 

“Ah—” You lose the words you were going to say, along with the empty space in your mouth. The tip of his cock's nearing the back of your throat. You breathe shakily through your nose. You were right again—you can't take him fully in. It's enough of a stretch as it is. 

“Fuck, that's it…” Carmy sighs. “Just like that…”

His hand holding your hair turns into a tighter grip as you begin sucking up and down his cock. It's an awful mess, the size of him forcing spit to drip down your chin. It's not just that, though. He's thrusting his cock back into your mouth quicker and quicker. You wish he would slow down so you could lean back and suck on his dribbling tip, but his hand has you anchored. 

Time slows as he starts fucking your mouth. Your hands fall to your hands. Your knees are starting to hurt. You care surprisingly little about that fact, instead opting to care about rubbing your clit as quickly as possible. When you get your hands under your underwear, you find your whole pussy already smeared in wetness. You've seeped through the fabric. 

When he pulls his cock out of your mouth (or rather, when he tugs you off), you think he's going to give you a new order. Or that he's going to say something. You don't realize what's really happening until it's too late. 

You watch him bring a hand to his cock. He strokes it twice, keeping his hand tight in your hair, and with a low groan, he comes.

With his hand on you, you can't move away. Not that you try. When the first glob of cum streaks your cheek, you freeze. All you can do is pause as he comes on your face. Even your hand under your pants has frozen, your palm pressed up tight against your pulsing clit. 

With each rope of cum across your face, you feel yourself throb. Carmy is a sight to behold as he comes, long-lashed eyes falling shut with his parted, gasping mouth. He's jaggedly fisting his cock as he just keeps coming. You feel the cum starting to drip down the slopes of your skin, even your lips. 

By the time he's come down, he's left your face an absolute mess. Your jaw feels heavy, and his cum is hot against your swollen lips. You've come down as well, and it's left you with the irate realization that he just came all over your face without asking.

“You could've at least told me you were gonna come on my face,” you snap. Your cheeks are burning. Your argument feels weak with how worked up you feel over watching and feeling him come, but the irritation is still very real. 

“Clean your station, chef,” he responds, infuriatingly smug even as he catches your breath. “Practice makes perfect.”

“Are you kidding me?” Of course. That's what this all was. A fucked up lesson, a twisted sort of discipline. 

“I'm not.” He uncurls his fist from your hair. “Stand up—your knees must hurt.”

You pause for a second before you shakily get back up on your legs. One minute he's messily fucking your mouth, and the other, he's worrying over your sore knees. He continues to become more and more confusing. 

“You're gonna make me clean up your mess.” You catch your face in the small, shitty rectangular mirror hanging on the wall. God, are you a filthy sight, cum and spit all over your face. 

“I had to clean up yours for the past week, so yeah.” He's zipped himself back up. He's clean, not a drop of anything on him. Unlike the mess parading itself on your face. At least there's not any in your hair. 

“This is not the same. This is—” You frustratedly search for the right words. He's remaining as stoic as ever. “You didn't even kiss me,” you blurt out, and as soon as you say it, you regret it. 

Carmy stills. You can't tell what he's thinking with his unmoving expression. You're sure he's about to insult you again, but then he’s leaning in and sealing his lips against yours. 

You're stunned. A small noise escapes you as he kisses you deeply, thoroughly. His tongue drags up a trail of cum and spit up your chin and back into your mouth. Or back into his. You're unsure, with the way they're all blending together. 

“There,” Carmy murmurs against your lips. When he pulls back, you see his tongue running across his lips, collecting the pearlescent sheen that was on them. 

“Um—” You start and immediately stop. You’re speechless. 

“Now clean up.” You hear the sound of distant company. Your other coworkers must be arriving now. “I expect improvement now, chef. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” you reply bitterly. “I suppose I met your expectations, then?”

“Sure. Closely enough, anyway.” Potent aggravation hits you like a cast iron pan. He drags his thumb in one last infuriating line across your cheek. He sucks it into his mouth and cleans it off. “Don't take too long. I have a lot planned for you today.”

Without waiting for a response, Carmy leaves. He leaves you alone in the shitty bathroom with a now flickering lightbulb, left to clean his cum on your face with water, hand soap, and thin paper towels. You don't know if you've ever been so angry before. 

The anger doesn't make the arousal go away. You rub your needy clit to orgasm, your back pressed up against the wall like Carmy's just a moment ago.

As you come with Carmy's cum slowly trailing on your face, you wonder if there is any coming back from this. If there's anything left to be done to stop whatever's happening. You can't come up with any solutions or suggestions. Only one thing is undeniably clear:

You hate Carmen Berzatto, and you're already thinking of ways to get his cock in your mouth again soon. 

~

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