#edge router

[umbrace-rambles]

Hello everypony I come back from my week-long silence to say I WAS GONE BECAUSE I MOVED WOOOOOOOOOOO FINALLY

The house is still pretty messy, waiting for my goddamn bookshelves to arrive so I can unpack my 6 boxes of books and figurines, they are consuming ALL THE SPACE. But thankfully this week off work was enough to deal with all the major purchases + appointments + deals we had to do to be Actually Settled

I go back to work tomorrow pray 4 me.... catching up on a week of work is going to be nightmarish BUT I GOT A PLACEEEE WITH WIFEEEEE @blacksa1t !!!!!111!1!

[xcalable24]

Juniper Enterprise Routing MX10003 LC2103 R

[jj-one]

EPISODE 1: HELP! MY HOT GIRLFRIEND CAUGHT ME CRYING AFTER GIVING HEAD! (NOT CLICKBAIT)

this is smut, do not interact if under 18

jisung thought tutoring the hottest girl on campus would ruin his GPA— not his pants. one month later, he’s somehow getting called ‘pretty’ mid-thrust and offering you pocky as a post-orgasm snack.

pairing: nerd!han jisung x popular!f!reader, established relationship genre/tags: college au, smut, fluff, jisung is a loser with a capital L, humor sprinkled in bc i’m unserious asf, lots of references to anime and other dumb stuff, lowkey perv!jisung, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), piv, protected s*x, kinda subby!jisung but he’s still a whore lol words: 5.4k (wasn’t expecting it to be this long… guess i yap too much)

[ note. ] — i had to make another nerd!ji fic bc i literally cannot stop thinking about him 😣 feel free to read my other fic for more context since it’s set in the same universe but i wanted to make a smut ver so here we areeee <33 also, i will be making more parts eventually, hence why it’s labeled as ‘episode 1’ so stay tuned for more !

Jisung thought for sure that was going to die a virgin. Not in a sad, self-loathing kind of way, but more in a “yeah, that checks out,” kind of way. The type of peaceful resignation one might have while unplugging a broken router for the eighth time before crying into a bowl of instant ramen. Because guys like him— guys who quoted Dragon Ball Z unironically, who panicked when girls sat next to them in lecture halls, who built custom keyboards for fun and screamed at League. They didn’t date girls like you.

And they most definitely didn’t sleep with girls like you.

Still, that didn’t keep him from fantasizing. Constantly, shamelessly, unhingedly.

He’d never known what it felt like to have warm walls wrapped around his cock. Never heard those broken whines girls in hentai would make— unless he counted the ones he accidentally let out when he edged himself too long. His hand was simply never enough, no matter how many times he convinced himself he could “recreate the pressure.”

The bottle of lotion and box of tissues on his nightstand weren’t even hidden anymore— they sat like holy relics beside his gaming PC, ready for immediate access the second he closed League and opened incognito mode.

Porn never fully satisfied his craving though, he always wanted more. Even the best JAV compilation or doujinshi fan dub couldn’t compare to the real sickness consuming his brain: you.

You, with the glossy Instagram that he scrolled through like it was the damn Louvre. You, wearing micro bikinis in pool selfies with captions like ‘hot girl summer’ while he rots in bed, sweating and crying at the curvature of your ass.

You, biting your glittery, gel pen in class, leaning across the desk to ask for help, accidentally flashing a glimpse of cleavage so dangerous it made him pause mid-equation like he got hit with a stun grenade. Stalking your Instagram, seeing you in the tiniest baby tees and mini skirts. It was the perfect gooner material.

He’d stroke himself under the covers while biting a t-shirt to keep quiet, muttering your name between gasps like he was summoning a spirit. Fantasies playing out in his head that ranged from soft and romantic— like kissing you breathless during office hours— to completely feral, like bending you over his anime pillow while you called him “pretty boy” and ruined his life.

It didn’t help that you flirted with him now.

That you asked him to tutor you.

That you sat so close during study sessions he could sense your perfume from a mile away and taste the salt from the fries you always stole off his plate.

You laughed at his jokes, called him cute, even once said he had “nice hands,” and he nearly evaporated on the spot. Had to excuse himself to the bathroom with a boner and a prayer.

Every night ended the same. Him, fisting his cock in pathetic desperation at the thought of your pussy swallowing him whole, whispering ‘please’ like a man on the verge of religious enlightenment.

And every night, after he came all over his own stomach, out of breath and guilt-ridden, he’d sigh dramatically and say,

“I’m going to die alone. I know it. I’ll be the guy with the Zero Two body pillow and the unopened condom pack from 2017 that he keeps in case of a miracle.”

He did not, under any circumstances, expect you to be that miracle.

Never in a million years did he think he’d actually have a chance, let alone be dating you. You were just too perfect. The literal girl of his dreams.

Popular. Gorgeous. Cool in the kind of way that made any and everyone want to be around you without knowing why. You had that magnetic charm about you, an easily contagious laugh, a confident stride when you walk, and that dangerous habit of licking your lip gloss mid-sentence like you were in a CW drama.

And yet, somehow, here he was, currently horizontal on his bed, shirtless, breathless, with you on top of him wearing his oversized Bleach t-shirt and not much else, grinning like you’d just won first place in a science fair and a dance battle.

“Are you glitching?” You asked, poking his cheek. “Do I need to unplug you and plug you back in?”

“I- uh- w-what? No- yes? No.” He stuttered like every word had just magically left his vocabulary, he was definitely malfunctioning.

You laughed, head dropping onto his bare chest as he laid stiff as a board, arms hovering midair like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you even now. Even after dating you for a whole month.

“A month,” he whispered, still stunned by the timeline. “That’s like… thirty days of you voluntarily being seen with me.”

“Thirty one,” you corrected, lifting your head to smirk down at him. “Don’t forget the bonus day where you kissed me in front of the vending machine and the entire basketball team clapped.”

“I thought I was going to throw up.”

“You looked like you did throw up.”

Jisung covered his face with both hands and groaned.

God, he still didn’t know how this happened. When you had asked him to tutor you in stats, he assumed you were just kidding— or high. But you weren’t. You’d actually shown up. You’d flirted, sat on his lap one time when all the seats were taken at the library, and then acted like it was no big deal while his soul left his body.

And now here you were. Straddling him. Teasing him. Literally wearing his t-shirt with the anime print on it and calling him “baby” in the kind of voice that should be illegal.

“You’re so tense, Sungie,” you murmur, lightly dragging your fingers down his chest. “I know you like it when I touch you. You make these cute little gasps like a baby bird.”

“I-I don’t sound like a baby bird,” he mumbled, absolutely sounding like a baby bird.

You leaned down, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Chirp.”

Jisung squeaked.

You lost it, giggling into his neck while he covered his blushy face with a pillow. “Oh my god, stopp- why are you like this- why did you choose me,”

“Because you’re smart, and sweet, and you get all flustered when I call you hot. And because,” you sat up again, hips rolling ever so slightly and watching his pupils blow wide as you rocked against his clothed erect, “you say things like ‘This is just like my fanfic’ under your breath and then deny it.”

He groaned at the sudden friction, arms falling limp at his sides. “You heard that?”

“Babe, I hear everything. Like right now, I can hear how bad you want me to ride you.” You bit your lip, feeling your wetness growing at a rapid pace as you continuously grind on him.

Jisung whimpered. “Okay. I- this is really happening, right? This isn’t like, some kind of VR dream or like a… cursed hentai plotline where I wake up and you’re actually a sentient toaster?”

You blinked. “What the hell kind of anime are you watching?”

He slapped a hand over his eyes. “Nevermind, pretend I didn’t say that..”

You kissed him then. Slowly. Tenderly. Like you had all the time in the world and like you couldn’t believe your luck either. Because yeah, you were the cool girl, but Jisung was the first guy who actually listened when you talked. Who remembered your favorite boba order. Who’d stayed up until 3 am tutoring you and still walked you to your dorm with sleepy, nerdy affection twinkling in his eyes.

So yeah, you were gonna roast him forever— but you were also gonna ruin him tonight.

“Hey, baby,” you whispered, reaching down to tug his sweatpants lower.

Jisung was in the midst of catching his breath like he’d just run a marathon. “Y-yeah?”

“After I make you cum, will you tell me all about the sentient toaster anime?”

“…Maybe.”

+

“Okay,” Jisung panted, curling into your side like a baby koala clinging to its mother, “that was better than every hentai I’ve ever seen.”

You snorted into his shoulder. “High praise coming from the man who owns a $300 body pillow.”

“She was limited edition!” He quickly defends himself.

You playfully roll your eyes, kissing his flushed cheek. “So are you, Sungie. So are you.”

And yeah, Jisung still thought he was going to die a virgin once upon a time.

But now, wrapped in your arms with kiss marks littering his neck and your laughter still echoing in his ears— he was just really, really glad that he’s been proven wrong.

+

The moment you straddled Jisung and kissed him again, something shifted in the room.

And not just him having an outer-body experience for the sixth time in an hour.

You pulled back from his lips to look around, and the first thing you said was, “Okay, I have to say it- your room is the most aggressively virgin-coded space I’ve ever been in.”

“I told you not to look too closely!” He whined, burying his face into your neck as you giggled and craned to inspect the chaos surrounding you.

“Let’s see…” you started ticking things off on your imaginary list. “Anime wall scrolls? Check. Neon RGB light strips that make your room look like a gaming dungeon? Check. Is that Hatsune Miku in a glass case next to middle school spelling bee trophies?”

He groaned. “They’re collector’s items—”

“You were runner-up in 8th grade and you framed it.”

“I peaked early, okay?!”

You laughed so hard you fell forward onto his chest. “I love you.”

He froze. “Wh-what?”

You blinked. “I said I love you.”

He looked like you’d just offered him a lifetime supply of ramen and also stabbed him in the heart.

“…I love you too,” he whispered, barely getting it out before he hid under the covers.

You tugged the blanket back down just enough to see his red face. “Hey. Don’t hide. I wanna see you. Look so pretty when you blush.”

“PRETTY?!” He yelped.

You nodded in confirmation, brushing hair off his forehead. “Mmhm. Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen. Especially like this- messy hair, pink cheeks, all breathless under me…”

He made the most broken noise you’d ever heard.

His hands gripped your hips like he didn’t know what to do with them, like he was trying not to crush you or himself with how desperate he felt. His eyes were dark now, glazed and locked onto your every move as you slowly ground against the bulge in his sweats.

“This is real, right?” He meant to ask that in his head but blurted it out instead, voice slightly cracking. “This is really happening?”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Feels pretty real to me, baby.”

At this point Jisung was spiraling.

Not just emotionally. No, that happened daily.

This was a full-system shutdown.

You’d tugged your shirt off without warning and smiled down at him like it was the most casual thing in the world, and now his hands were hovering awkwardly mid-air like he wasn’t sure if he had permission to touch you or if he was being Punk’d by the gods of horny delusion.

Your skin. Your smile. Your fucking tits.

And worse— worse— as your fingers brushed through his messy brown locks and your thighs shifted over his hips, his brain suddenly screamed,

‘I can’t believe I’m about to get pussy before Jeongin.’

Jeongin, his slightly cooler, slightly taller, still-a-virgin roommate who had three rotating Discord kittens and a suspicious amount of cologne but somehow still never scored.

Jeongin, who walked around shirtless after push-up sessions and said things like “it’s not rizz, it’s charisma” unironically. Jeongin, who once said “I want my first time to be passionate and respectful” but also accidentally downloaded a virus trying to pirate a hentai dating sim.

Jisung had always assumed if one of them was gonna make it out of virginhood first, it’d be the guy with the Uzumaki clan symbol tattooed on his ribs and a social life.

But no.

It was him. Han Jisung. The guy who owned a limited-edition anime titty mousepad and squeaked like a kettle when a girl touched his arm. And now? You were grinding up against him slowly, teasingly, and he was barely clinging to reality.

“Y/n,” he whimpered, clutching your waist like you’d float away. “Can I- can I eat you out? Pleasepleaseplease.”

You blinked rapidly.

“…You wanna—?”

“So bad,” he choked. “I think about it all the time. Like in class. And when I watch those ‘how to’ videos online. Like, the diagram ones, not the porn ones, though I watched those too- but like educationally! For science!”

You stared blankly.

He was sweating.

“Okay,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You’re really cute when you beg, y’know that?”

He nearly ascended.

You barely had time to giggle before he flipped you gently onto your back, hair falling into his eyes as he ducked down between your thighs like a man on a mission from God. His hands trembled as he slid your shorts down, breath hitching at the sight of your soaked panties.

“Oh my god,” he breathed out. “It’s real.”

You snorted. “What were you expecting? A hologram?”

“I don’t know!” He cried. “I was starting to believe you were some kind of high-level succubus sent to punish virgins.”

You cupped his flushed face. “Wouldn’t be the worst punishment.”

And then he locks in— eyes meeting yours as he sticks his tongue out, licking a long, fat stripe across your clothed slit. Soft. Slow. As if he was trying to memorize you with his tongue, the heat of it makes you jolt. He’s not just tasting you— he’s learning you, tracing intricate patterns with his tongue like he’s trying to decode you one flick at a time. Every motion is precise yet hungry, like he’s writing a love letter in Morse code directly to your pussy. His glasses slipping adorably down the bridge of his nose, solely focused on pleasing you.

You gasped at the feel of him against you, the pressure of his mouth sent heat curling low in your belly, it was torture. Too much and not enough. You needed to feel him without the barrier of soaked lace clinging to your folds, and he must’ve read your mind, because he groaned like he was the one being denied. He kissed your pussy like he was thanking it, mouthing over your clothed core before dragging open-mouthed kisses across your inner thighs, leaving your skin slick with spit and bites to your inner thighs. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, everything about him felt so warm.

His teeth grazed you— playful, hungry— and your hips twitched as he whispered something nasty under his breath, half to himself, half to your cunt. By the time he slid your panties down, your thighs were trembling, tossing the flimsy fabric aside carelessly, like he didn’t care where they landed, only that they were gone. Then he buried his face between your legs like you’d been starving him for his entire life.

His tongue slipped between your folds, hot and greedy, lapping up everything you gave him like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. He flicked up and down with obscene precision, wet, messy, relentless— his nose bumping your clit as he moaned deep in his throat, like he needed this, like the taste of you could make or break him. You were soaked, legs shaking, lips parted in a silent cry, and all he did was keep eating like he was trying to crawl inside you with his tongue.

You were loving the way it feels, every bit of you being hit with electricity. Your fingers tangled in his hair the second his mouth met your pussy, gripping tight, yanking just enough to make him groan into you like he was grateful for the pain. He never slowed down. If anything, it made him hungrier, tongue flattening against your slit before flicking up again, sloppy and fast and fucking filthy.

“God- fuck, you’re so messy,” you gasped, thighs twitching around his head. “You like that? Being my dirty little mouth toy?”

He moaned. Moaned. Into your pussy.

Nodding obediently, even as you tugged harder, grinding him closer. His glasses were long gone, hair disheveled, chin dripping with spit and slick as he slurred out something unintelligible against your clit. His tongue working overtime like he was trying to spell your name in cursive with every flick.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled, words caught in his throat. “I could live here.”

You threw your head back with a laugh— and then a sharp gasp as he got bolder, messier, more desperate. His hands kept you spread, his tongue curling and licking and worshipping like this was the only chance he’d ever get. He was sure that he’d jizz his pants just from giving you head— sure it’s pathetic, maybe even tragic. But he couldn’t help it. You were just too hot, too perfect, too fucking unreal, and the taste of you on his tongue, the feel of your thighs squeezing around his head, it was better than anything his fist or filthy imagination had ever given him.

Your fingers remain tangled in his hair, holding onto him for anchorage. He looked up at you with glassy, pleading eyes, the lower half of his face glistening with your arousal and rosy cheeks. “Tell me I’m doing okay? Please? I read five articles about this. I practiced on a peach.”

You gasped. “You practiced on what?!”

“Nevermind. Just- keep calling me pretty. I swear I’ll die happy right here.”

You tugged his head back down, voice ragged and ruined.

“Then make me cum, pretty boy.”

And he did.

Like a man with something to prove.

Like a nerdy little virgin who had just found his true calling.

Your eyes closed shut at the feeling, falling apart at the seams. Every stroke of his tongue making your insides tighten. You suddenly couldn’t remember how breathing worked, all you saw were flashes of white invading your vision, cumming so hard that you almost saw stars. You cried out, high and broken, hands grasping at his head as you came hard against his mouth.

Jisung moaned through it— loud and messy— tongue never letting up, licking you through every twitch, every gasp, every last jolt of overstimulation until you were tugging at his hair for dear life and gasping for air. Only then did he pull back, lips shiny, eyes half-lidded, face absolutely drenched, and smiling like he just beat the final boss of his entire life.

Somewhere in the past twenty minutes between Jisung nuzzling your thighs like a man starved and moaning like he was the one cumming, you had apparently blacked out, transcended the mortal plane, and been reborn as a puddle of girl.

Now, you lay sprawled across his unmade bed, fully clothed from the waist up and violently ruined from the waist down, chest heaving, eyes wet and glassy, one sock half-off your foot like a casualty of war.

And Jisung?

Jisung was cuddled up beside you like the world’s horniest golden retriever, chin resting on your shoulder, looking so smug and soft it was almost offensive.

You could still feel the ghost of his tongue between your legs.

“You sure you’ve never done this before?” You croaked out, blinking up at the ceiling like it had answers.

Jisung tilted his head innocently. “What, that? Nah. I just… researched. A lot. And I… uh, practiced on a fruit.”

You turned your head slowly. “Was it the peach again?”

“…It might’ve also been a mango. For tongue agility. But I named it after you, so it was romantic!”

You tried to snort, but it came out as a wheeze. “I can’t feel my legs, Jisung.”

He beamed. “Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Still taking it as one.”

He leaned in and kissed your cheek, then your nose, then your forehead like he hadn’t just destroyed your entire nervous system with his mouth.

“I feel like I just unlocked a secret side quest,” he victoriously cheered. “‘Satisfy hot girlfriend until she sees God.’ Bonus XP for oral stamina. Am I your favorite now?”

You blinked at him, still fighting for air. “I don’t even know my name right now. You’ve ruined me.”

Jisung squeaked and tucked his face into your neck, practically vibrating with joy. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“You should. I saw the afterlife. It was just a video game buffering screen.”

He laughed, then rolled onto his back with a dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe this is real. You’re real. Your thighs are real. I had a girlfriend and head privileges all in the same night. I feel like I need to call my mom.”

“Please don’t.”

“Too late. She deserves to know her son peaked.”

You smacked him lightly with the nearest pillow, still grasping for air, still dazed.

And then he smiled at you— so big, so genuine, so sickeningly in love that your tired heart clenched.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat, y’know,” he mumbled, brushing hair from your face. “Just say the word.”

You looked at him, the boy with anime figures on his shelf, lotion still on his desk, and love in his eyes, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Next time,” you whispered, “I’m returning the favor.”

Mindlessly reaching into his sweats, the second your hand wrapped around his length, you froze.

“…Jisung.”

“H-huh?”

You gave a blank expression. Looking down. Looking back up.

“This is- you’re.. how is this even—?”

“I DON’T KNOW,” he cried. “IT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE SENSE, I’M ONLY 5’7!”

You stared at him like he just told you he had a second life as a Marvel superhero.

“Oh my god, I just assumed you’d be, like—”

“Average?!” He gasped, scandalized.

“No! I just- I mean- look at you! You’re this cute little nerd with anime socks and a keyboard with cat ears.. how are you packing all this?!”

You were in utter disbelief, there’s no way your sweet, stammering little boyfriend had been walking around with a dick that big and had no idea what kind of weapon he was carrying. Just raw, untapped dick potential— XL stats on a man who still apologizes when his knees crack too loud. Poor baby had been lugging around a whole third leg, and didn’t even know the first thing to do with it ;(

He simply shook his head, fully tomato red now, flailing beneath you like he was about to spontaneously combust. He watched you like he was afraid to blink. You pumped him once, slowly, watching him shiver under your touch. His lips parted. His back arched. You hadn’t even gotten started and he already looked completely ruined.

“Can I ride you?” You asked sweetly.

He nodded so fast his head could nearly fell off. “Yes. Yes, oh my god, yes- please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” You cocked your eyebrow.

“I’ll uninstall League right now if you ask me to—”

You giggled as you rolled the condom down over him, letting his hands greedily grab at your thighs. He was panting, forehead glistening with a sheen of sweat, like his brain was overheating just from the anticipation.

Then you finally lowered yourself, sinking down onto him, gradually, feeling the way you take him so easily from being soaking wet. Jisung mumbles something illegible under his breath as your cunt swallows his cock whole. It didn’t take long for you to reach the end of him since you were already so ready for him, staying in the same position to feel all of him inside you. His cock was splitting you open so nicely, it felt like you were in utter paradise.

And he made the sound.

Like his soul physically left his body, floated into the air, and gave you a salute on the way out.

“F-fuck.. you’re tight, I can’t—” he clutched your waist, eyes fluttering. “I’m gonna die. This is it. This is how I go.” He desperately bucks into you, wanting to feel more movement from you.

You move your hips to match his rhythm as you gain your balance, pressing both hands on his shoulder blades. You bounce slightly up and down on his cock, feeling your walls being filled up by every inch of him. You shifted from grinding on him real slow to picking up your pace indefinitely. Jisung threw his head back against the pillow from the pleasure, the sound of his balls hitting against your ass with the combination of it jiggling as you rode him like a bunny was enough to make him want to burst on the spot.

You leaned down and give him a chaste kiss. “Best way to go, huh?”

He nods vehemently. “Please don’t stop. Ever. I’ll cancel my Crunchyroll subscription for you. I’ll stop buying figurines. I’ll even delete my Genshin account.”

“Okay, now you’re being dramatic.”

He groaned helplessly as you continuously rode him like your life depended on it, breath hitching with every drag of your hips. He was so sensitive, so overwhelmed with it all that he couldn’t stop moaning into your mouth, mumbling broken, incoherent things like, “You feel soso good,” and “I can’t believe I get to have this,” and “Am I still breathing? No? Cool.”

You kissed down his jaw, showing no signs of stopping. You knew this was going to be one of those moments you’d both play on loop in your heads for a long, long time. “Still pretty, baby.”

He pants out. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You simply keep moaning as you kept bouncing on his cock, he was thrusting back into you, going even deeper. Your eyes reaching the back of your skull from the way he was hitting all the right spots. It wouldn’t take long before you started screaming his name and showering him with endless compliments.

“You’re so fucking pretty, Ji.” You were a broken record at this point, nothing but your whines and his grunts filling the room. You felt tense, your clit was throbbing, the pressure build up making you dizzy. Jisung couldn’t keep his eyes off you for a second, the way your tits bounced through your shirt, the way your long acrylics dug into his skin, he wasn’t even sure how he was still alive.

This was better than any of those fake scenarios that he’d absentmindedly create in his head, better than finally beating a level that he’d get stuck on for hours. He was in pure heaven, and he felt his high approaching any minute.

“I-I think ’m gonna cum,” he desperately choked out, rocking into you like a dog in heat.

Jisung was wrecked beneath you. Hands fisting into the sheets, mouth agape, his eyes rolling back every time you sank down fully and clenched around him.

“Fuck, please- please, I-I can’t,” he whimpered, voice shaky, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. His stomach tightening with every motion, trying so hard not to lose it.

You leaned forward and cupped his face, riding him a little harder, the slap of skin soft but steady. “You said you could take it, baby,” you whispered, voice syrup-sweet. “You begged for this.”

“I know, I- just- pleaseplease can I cum?” he panted, nearly on the verge of tears. His voice was raw, wrecked, like every second you didn’t let him was a cruel punishment. “’m so close, I’m- I’ll be good, I swear, just let me.. please—”

You seal his lips with yours, just to quiet the begging, grinning against his mouth as his hands fumbled for your hips again. He moaned into the kiss, his hips twitching helplessly under yours.

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you beg,” you airly chuckled, pulling back just enough to look down at him. His eyes were wild, glazed over, the pretty sounds he made were like music to your ears.

“Th-thank you,” he sobbed, the gratitude in his voice borderline ridiculous. “’m gonna- I’m- oh my god—”

And with that, he finally let go. Releasing every last drop of his seed into the condom, muscles tensing up, gripping you like you were his only tether to reality. He looked down to see your arousal creating a white, creamy ring around the base of his thick cock, almost about to cum again just from the mere sight alone. Your legs felt like jello, you were weightless, collapsing onto his sweaty, sticky chest as you try to catch your breath, brain all foggy in your post-coital daze.

You didn’t expect him to cry.

Okay— not, like, full sobbing. But a little misty-eyed? A little “what did I do to deserve this?” A sparkle in his gaze as you lay draped across his chest, both of you blissed out and glowing in the soft, RGB-lit afterglow?

Yeah.

He was trying so hard not to sniffle.

“You okay, baby?” You murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the curve of his jaw.

Jisung nodded, eyes wide and glassy. “I just… I thought my first time would be like, awkward. Or disappointing. Or I’d accidentally sneeze into someone’s mouth and get banned from touching boobs forever.”

You laughed against his skin. “Definitely didn’t happen.”

“No,” he grins, wrapping his arms tighter around you, “this was better than anything I could’ve ever imagined in my head. Better than my first SSR pull in Genshin. Better than when I tried the seasonal spicy chicken ramen and lived.”

You tilted your head up to meet his eyes. “That’s a pretty long list of victories to beat.”

“You’re the only victory that matters.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned playfully, “who is this smooth man and what has he done with my sweaty, anime-obsessed virgin boyfriend?”

He huffed, burying his face into your hair. “He’s still sweaty and obsessed with anime. He just… also happens to be madly in love with you.”

You smiled into his chest.

“Also,” he added, completely deadpan, “I think I saw the shadow realm.”

You snorted. “When?”

“When you said I was pretty and grabbed my—” His voice cracked. He covered his face with his hands. “Oh my god, I can’t say it. My ancestors are watching.”

You giggled, shifting to lay next to him and intertwining your fingers with his.

And for a while, it was just quiet. Safe. His hand slowly brushing over your side. Your heartbeat syncing with his. The faint whir of his PC fan still spinning in the corner because, of course, he never actually shut it down.

Then he jolted upright suddenly, as if he remembered something urgent.

“Wait.”

You blinked up at him, amused. “What?”

He slid off the bed, naked except for one, singular sock and scurried to his cluttered desk. You watched, dazed and curious, as he fumbled with drawers and cracked open a cabinet that definitely shouldn’t have had food in it.

Finally, he turned around triumphantly. Holding out a white, rectangular box.

“Pocky.”

You stared. “…Seriously?”

“I always imagined I’d give my girlfriend Pocky after her first time with me,” he said solemnly. “Like a weird little anime reward.”

You sat up and grinned. “You are a weird little anime reward.”

He climbed back into bed beside you and opened the box, pulling out one, white chocolate-dipped stick and offering it with both hands like it was a sacred gift.

You bit it gently from his fingers.

“Mmm. You’re such a good boy,” you purred with a playful smile, “giving me snacks after ruining me.”

He short-circuited. Almost choking on his own Pocky. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I hope so.”

You kissed his cheek, then his nose, and then— just to mess with him— you whispered, “Still thinking about how big you are, by the way.”

Jisung made a noise so high-pitched it could only be heard by dogs. He flopped face down into the sheets, flailing helplessly while you laughed and straddled his back.

“You have to stop saying things like that,” he muffled into the pillow.

“Why?” You asked sweetly, brushing his hair back. “You’re my pretty boy. I’m just appreciating what’s mine.”

He peeked up at you, still pink, still glowing.

“…Promise you’re mine too?”

You leaned down and pressed your lips against his, soft and slow.

“Always.”

[madbytes]

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[hitomisuzuya]

streamer!scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. brat taming. cock warming. edging. degradation. sex toy. dom!scaramouche. consensual sexual activities during a livestream.

this is just shameless self indulgence, that's all this is. thank you so much for the almost 8k followers.

recently, scaramouche's popularity in the streaming community rose. people enjoy watching him play games, and he enjoys showing off for his viewers. of course, you are happy about that. you supported your boyfriend.

he has been streaming every day this week, going long into the night. and lately, there has been more than a few nights where you are needy for him. you had to admit, what you did was awfully childish, but you couldn't help it.

you completely unplugged the router before he started streaming.

that's what landed you in the position you are in now. split open warming his cock, with a pretty black and purple collar around your neck. his webcams angled, giving the perfect view of your pussy weeping on his cock while he teased a bullet on your puffy clit.

"not so tough now, are you?" scaramouche chuckles darkly hearing your whimper as he turns the setting up on the bullet. "you wanted my attention that badly," he increases the pressure on your clit, "i am sure everyone is going to enjoy hearing you beg."

a gasp of pleasure tears from your throat. your back arches so prettily as your walls clench snug on his cock. "it..it was the most efficient way..to get your attention," it takes a lot of effort for you to even form sentences. your clit is throbbing so much you can barely think, your quaking thighs and every fiber of your being are screaming at you to bounce yourself stupid on his cock.

"you brat," scaramouche hisses, smacking a hand on your ass. he brings his hand up to flick your nipple, "what do you think, chat? do bratty sluts deserve to cum?" pinching your nipple, he rolls it between the pads of his fingers, flicking his thumb over the button to lower the setting on the bullet.

he rubs the bullet agonizingly slow over your clit, the softer vibrations only build your need for him. he smirks seeing tears well into your eyes. his cock throbs hard between your gummy walls as you can't help but roll your hips into his cock, grinding your abused clit on the bullet to seek friction.

he hisses feeling your gummy walls suck his cock against your sweet spot. "i don't believe i gave you permission to move yet, whore," you choke out a sob of pleasure as he smacks your ass again.

your hands tighten on his shoulders before you wrap arms around his neck. scaramouche blushes seeing your adoring, fucked out expression. leaning your head in, your deliver a few submissive kitten licks to his pierced mouth. "please, let me cum, master. i'll be a good girl now, i promise," you plead.

as shy as you felt about being seen in such a state, you didn't care. it just felt so fucking good. his chat box was lighting up so fast, but you are barely even aware of it.

"hmm," he hums idly, playing with your nipple. "i don't know if that is good enough," you cry out as he suddenly turns up the setting on the bullet. "maybe i'll keep you dumb and drooling just like this, for a little while longer," grasping your chin roughly, he kisses you, devouring your mouth with his tongue.

you muffle whimpers and moans into his mouth, clinging to him in the way he always enjoys as you let him wrestle your tongue into submission. you squirm in his lap as the bullet glides slick over your clit.

your orgasm is building up so fast. he's been edging you for over an hour, so much that you couldn't stop from cumming hard. he moans into your mouth as your walls squeeze on his cock, your pussy gushing as you twitch in pleasure.

"what a disobedient slut," he scoffs, pulling away, "cumming on your master's cock without permission," he reaches up to flick the tag on your collar. "it seems you need more training. stick around, chat. it's going to be quite the show.

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

I LIKE IT BETTER WHEN YOU CAN'T KEEP WARM | ODXNY

✮ tags ; heavy themes, gender neutral reader, mentions of past suicidal ideation, getting together, romantic tension, angst to fluff, extremely lovey-dovey ending, some implicit and suggestive content (lit one paragraph n non descript), themes of touch starvation, small height difference (reader is shorter)

✮ wc ; 6.3k (this is so shameful bye forever)

✮ a/n ; every time a semester ends i lose my mind and me writing this in several hours straight is evidence. if i had a nickel for every time i wrote a character study with the central theme of loneliness, i'd have two nickels - which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

i will spare you the insane rambling for the authors note at the bottom of this fic.

✮ synopsis ; he wants something. to live maybe. and if he could be a little selfish, to be with you. he wants that, too.

Bright.

Could just be the dark room he keeps himself in talking. His computer system and encrypted Internet browsers are all in dark mode - and his desktop set-up doesn’t have any L.E.D. strip lights to keep him company. He prefers it that way, the ambiance a better environment to work in  when he’s doing his usual rounds. Down to the programs U.I. - Odxny spends most of his time in perpetual darkness. Cozy and familiar - totally safe and secure. Nothing but the low whirrs of a computers fan and the faint blinking of routers to keep him company.

You’re the brightest thing he’s had on his screen in a long time. You’ve got white walls and no precaution, really. You’re sitting at your own desktop - and he can see everything of your life in the background of where you sit. There are photos of you graduating high school, being around unnamed friends, vacations and trips, and head shots like the kind you take for a resume. It’s all so personal. Bookshelves, trinkets, poorly made clay sculptures. Posters of musicians you like and Studio Ghibli movies. Evidence of life surrounds you like a halo.

Awful. Angel comparisons to someone he’s only known for a day make him wonder if he’s more pathetic than he thought. He probably shouldn’t think so hard about a stranger, a real stranger. Thrim generated randomly, though he thinks it sounds like a name. Finds it fun to say, for better or worse.

Natural light pours in from a window nearby, casting shadows in your room. He already knows you, in a way. He did the background search. Where you were born, raised, grew up.  The schools you went too, the career you seek. Bits and pieces of you are all scattered in his memory and are not at all thorough. He wasn’t really trying for that at the time, just needed to know if you were dangerous. There’s a cognitive dissonance. To know a life so thoroughly and to witness it is completely, and utterly different.

There’s miles between you. Must be thousands. He can’t remember the last time he’s really met someone, though. It’s hard not to notice that this feels akin to that. Like the embers of a campfire, glowing but not burning. A comfortable warmth.

Bright. His screen is very bright talking to you. Even obscured behind the mask, it’s a little difficult to look at it and leaves him on edge - restless and mildly painful.

When his vision adjusts though, there’s clarity. A person, a stranger - with an exceptionally nice laugh and who is exceptionally trusting. Odxny tries not to think too hard about the feeling of warmth that flutters at your overflowing sincerity.

The conversation is easy.

“Does that mean you trust me now?”

Odxny pretends to think on it. “Enough to keep you around.”

“See you later.”

“See you.”

You accompany your last words with a wave - short and sweet. Darkness pulls him in, back where he started. He has a mild headache from all the light.

__

You pick up on the language better than he thought you would.

He underestimated you. Can you blame him? Your choice is language is ArnoldC, for fucksake. Sure, he has limited knowledge on esoteric languages but can it really be in-depth enough to show you the basics.

(It can. Or at least, Od presumes this to be the case because you’re rather helpful in Incri’s hacks and Incri is hardly helpful to anyone in the world, no less the server.)

You pick up on things quickly with little guidance - always to the point and not usually making many errors. He has to commend your abilities and give you credit where it’s due. It’s not a hard language to learn, but for anyone with no familiarity with coding at all he’d expect there to be a learning curve. Even if you had coding language, it’s not like you knew SQL coming in.

You fit strangely well into the server somehow. You’re happy to learn and nonplussed about helping with small things, though you don’t know these people at all and have no reason to participate in their nonsense. You talk to Incri fine, and manage to get Pep to accidentally reveal telling information. Odxny finds all of this rather… entertaining maybe. More than impressive, really.

He has a hard time making sense of the feeling. He would hope you don’t think you’re under duress - given the fact your relationship in two days has been pleasant. Then again - maybe he’s missed some social cue and you do think that. It’s possible. After all, he doesn’t actually remember the last time he’s spoken verbally to anyone with very, very few exceptions.

He manages to call you again after the fact - opens the call with sincere and heartfelt congrats and feels pleasant seeing you take the compliment in stride.

You land on the subject of programming again, inevitably. He interrogates you a little more over your choice in language - almost like he can’t help himself. It’s basic curiosity. You had said you were the best in ArnoldC. A little research proved that to be true, presence of you in the forums of various esolang pages. He landed on many things. You’re the best at ArnoldC, but you also know Brainfuck for some ridiculous reason.

He thinks you’re a little ridiculous in general.

“It’s really for the love of the game, huh?”

You nod when he asks this. Smiling, bright and unbothered with a soft edge of smug pride that makes the muscles of his face twitch up. “Mhm. I like my little collection.

Odxny doesn’t doubt it for even a minute. He’s seen the proof, but perhaps he doesn’t need to mention that. “Your trophy case of ridiculous language?”

Your eyes come to life all of a sudden. “Wait. A real trophy case would actually be so cool.”

He pauses, blinking as the words sink before a smile breaks onto his face helplessly. “That was not to enable you.”

“Too late. I’m already looking up the ugliest wood trim display cases I can find.”

The laugh comes naturally. “You really are just like this?”

You look proud again. “What? Fun?”

Yes, Odxny thinks but doesn’t say. “Baffling.”

You ask Odxny to elaborate and he does. The conversation flows with frustrating ease. So easily that he mouths off about his plans to you without a second thought. He doesn’t know why he does it. Not really. He’s thought it through over and over - so it’s not like he needs to disclose it. He made his choice.

He thinks about moving it along. About ending the call or simply brushing past without going into any detail.

When he glances at the screen, you’ve got a pillow in your lap and your eyes completely focused on him. There’s that feeling again, alarming clarity in your gaze and brightness that causes him immense unease in the world he’s made of nihilistic, apathetic darkness. There’s a plan, always has been. He’ll do this and disappear and the world will soon forget him. If it happens that way, than at least this loneliness is a choice he’s made for himself and not something the world has cruelly decided for him.

His lips move faster than his head, than even his heart. Compelled by a nameless and brilliant force. “I don’t have any reason to stay. I’m just — tired. Of everything.”

“No reasons? Nothing makes you happy here?”

His response is measured. Quiet. It’s not secret. He finds his voice crumbles around the words anyway as if they’re a confession. “Not for a long time. I don’t feel much of anything, really. It is what it is.”

You frown. He’s seen it all before. Heard it all before. “That’s…”

He cuts you off quickly.

“We just met. And we’ll be strangers again soon enough.” He says with as much conviction and resolve as he can possible manage. Who he’s convincing remains unclear. “So, not to be cold but..you know.”

The disappointment in your face leaves an impression, but you relent. He tries to make amends for the depressing conversation of talking again and you perk up so genuinely it makes want to cry, in a distant and foreign way.

“Catch you later, then.” He says, and closes at out the call. The room falls dark for the second time. He blinks a few times to get rid of the light clouding his vision.

__

Wnpep is eager to teach you on the third day.

You’re eager in reply - matching energy with sharp wit and enthusiasm. Wnepep is a better teacher than Incri by several miles. Evident in how much faster everything falls into place for you. Not that you really need too much help in the first place. You break down the crumbling walls of an insurance scam with ease and come out of the other side more accomplished.

It’s a noble last hack, Odxny thinks.  Not unsurprising from Pep - unofficially the most sane and likeable member. He figured it’d be something like this less than a matter of personal vengeance.

You go back and forth for a bit in admin chat. Od types an apology about winding you up and tries not to read too much into the innuendo of it as you reply back with your own faux offended replies. He insists he’s somewhat sorry, and you’re far from believing him.

He finds himself grinning at his screen while he texts you mid conversation. When the realization hits, he almost curls into himself from embarrassment - a hand covering his mouth like it’ll do away with the grave sin.

The inneundo happens twice in one conversation, before you get to call under the premise of a victory toast.

A brief conversation about the last hacks barely leaves room for much else except Odxny plans of total isolation.

“Mm. I should’ve known it would come back to this. Why do you care what I choose to do with myself?”

That baffles you in a terribly genuine way. “Am I not allowed to care about another person?”

Odxny speaks honestly. “You are but I mean…” He trails off. He knows how he feels. “I’m not really a person anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m no one. I’m going to be no one. You have other things to fill your life with.”

There’s a vulnerable edge to his voice that he winces at when he hears it. It’s true isn’t it? All of it is true to Odxny, but especially where he says you have other things to fill your life with. You might share the same hobbies, but he’s seen it. He’s seen how different you are - your livelihoods, your existence. You’d be missed if you suddenly disappeared. Odxny knows the same isn’t true for himself. It’s been like that for a long while now.

(It’s crushing. That’s what makes your very ephemeral existence feel like a burden. Why it casts the shadows of doubt on choices he made, about how he would live so long ago. You care, don’t you? At least, more than anyone else in his life in the present. You care so undeniably, and so obviously and it is all so simple to you.

He almost envies it. Almost resents it, too. It’s such a small shred of humanity, the barest forms of sincerity but it is painfully raw. A split nerve. An open wound It’s not like the server, all of whom have accepted this distant fondness. It’s a delicate thread - spider silk accuracy and just as much strength. There’s conviction in your missing him and it haunts him.)

You think of what to say for a long time before landing on it. “I do. But I can care about multiple things at once,”

It sounds like I care about you too closely. He finds himself shivering. He’s truthful with you, unsure of how else to be when it comes to these conversations.

“That sounds burdensome.” He says. “Isn’t that exhausting?”

You don’t lie to him either. “Sometimes. But it’s worth the trouble.”

“Why?”

“Because I like your company,” You reply. Soft sincerity in your words. More clarity. More painstaking light.

“It can’t be that simple.”

“Why not?”

“If it was that simple then -“ Then it makes it seem like things could be different. He doesn’t say that. Stops himself before it can happen. “I don’t know why I’m bothering to argue. Why do I feel like I need to prove this to you?”

He’s almost afraid to look at your face, wincing when he sees how knowing you look. Not in a condescending way - but genuine, full blown understanding. Like you see through him.

He wonders if he knows you as well as he thought he did.

Your face is so sympathetic. “Are you sure it’s me?”

He cuts the conversation short on his own - making an awkward transition from the topic at hand into whatever he can manage. It’s an awkward fumble - a poor attempt at distracting both of you from this line of thinking. You’re kind enough to let him have it. He asks about your hobbies. You tell him about how you like to try the weirdest things and combinations you can find in a restaurant.

He finds it suits you.

A lot of things suit you. Even your piss poor attempt at the Terminator that he quickly mimics - possessed by god knows what.

You laugh when he does. Brilliant and bubbly and characteristically warm. You say the words through giggles.

“That was so bad!”

“It was a lapse in judgment,” He replies back defensively, smiling against his will. He finds himself laughing too.

“I like your laugh, by the way.”

He pauses caught off-guard. “Oh? My laugh. Oh, uhm. Thank you.”

You make a face that he can’t read. Knowing. In a different way than the last. He feels nervous.

“I have been laughing quite a bit, haven’t I?”

You grin. Smug and deliriously happy. “Sure have.”

He looks away from you. “Ha...Odd.”

You giggle again. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, nose scrunched in genuine delight. It’s a pleasant sound but not because it’s particularly wispy or floaty or delicate. But it’s real. Pleasant in the way the white noise of park during summer. Pleasant like the varied playlist overhead in a record shop. Pleasant like a moment of humanity tucked between everyday. He clears his throat.

“I like your laugh, I think.”

You laugh again, gasping with faux offense. “You think???”

He tries not to feel so grounded by that sound and fails. “Yeah. I think. Laugh again.”

He tries not to add please. You shake your head like you’re reprimanding him.

“No, no, you have to earn that. Make me laugh.”

“Nevermind. Shut up.”

You do laugh again that time. He joins you soon after. “And now you laugh? At me?”

The conversation moves again, comfortable like a tide. You ask about his favorite language and he tells you as much. You’re quiet and growing cheeky, listening to him talk.

“So you do like coding.”

“Maybe a little.” He replies, not giving in. “You remember far too much of what I say.”

The conversation comes to a close again. He thanks you for how nice its been and you make an off-handed attempt to get him to change his mind. You could always talk more. The implication delicate beneath it.

We don’t have to forget each other. Odxny brushes past it - but says he’ll see you tomorrow anyway.

__

Extorting Elimfs childhood friend (?) is an easy enough endeavor. Odxny texts you through out - to ask advice on what things to take when he leaves.

He calls you again when its over too. He can’t find a reason for it - nothing that makes sense. He just wanted to call you. He hasn’t wanted something like that in a while,  but he tells himself its fine. This is the last time you’ll ever know each other.

So its fine. He won’t waver.

He’ll just.. call you.

He asks you on your weed habits, mildly surprised when you tell him you smoke and take edibles sometimes too. The conversation loops back to the fund at one point. You don’t hide your displeasure about the whole thing today.

You’ve talked about it already. No need to keep bringing up. But you seem to feel so strongly and Odxny can’t figure out why. Can’t shake the feeling of wanting to know why every single time.

“Is it really so hard to believe I’ve come to like you in a few days?”  You ask, after probing.

“In a way that matters, yes.”

You frown at him when he says that. It’s the most upset he’s seen you look, if he can call it that. You’ve never been upset when he’s been rude or insulting - but this is bothering you. It doesn’t help him pull away from you.

He says it again. Reinforces how temporary this all is. He’s trying to convince one of you. Both of you, maybe, of his unimportance.

“I don’t think that little of you.”

He finds it hard to reply to that. It’s that feeling against. It makes him uncomfortable. It’s not empty platitudes or some vague sense of responsibility for his life. All of it is real, and all of it is meaningful in how plain it is. You make it seem easy.

“It’s life. It’s normal. People come, people go.”

You shake your head. “Not for me. I can’t forget you that easily.”

He wishes you would. He’s painfully, painfully relieved that you wouldn’t it. He voices neither thought.

“Then- try! You’re putting so much on yourself, and for what? You don’t stand to gain anything.”

You shrug. “Peace of mind. Knowing you’re still out there.”

It’s heavy. The implication is heavy. He’s not going to kill himself. He doesn’t want that anymore, though he thought about it. At the beginning. Loneliness is more painful when you have memories of what not being that way was like - he thinks. At the start of all that loss, the hollowness bared an almost painful gravity inside of him.

It’s like being told to breathe or blink - becoming conscious of what was once a natural function, how full life was once when it’s escaped. He doesn’t want to kill himself, but living is meaningless.

 These things aren’t paradoxical to him. They haven’t been for all this time.

(They weren’t until he met you at least. A mirror of wanting. Odxny looks at you and sees life reflected back. Despite it not being his, its moving. It’s beautiful in a human way, reachable. Tangible. Earned.

Wherever you are. Whenever you’re together, the black hole inside of himself seems to fade back into average planetary darkness. He becomes cruelly human again, feeling warmth and laughter.

He’s tells himself he’s not afraid of dying and that’s mostly true. He’s most afraid of living. Afraid he won’t be able to learn it again.)

 He manages to tell you some of what he’s thinking. He has no clue how to start over. He doesn’t know if it’s possible. You don’t feed him any false hope, but he tells you how he sees it. You’re feeling pity for him right? And you should figure that out sooner rather than later.

“Is it really that easy for you?”

You shake your head. You’re smiling but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “It isn’t. But I have to try.”

“Is that what you’re doing with me?”

“What?”

“Is this…?”

He cuts the call off when he hears himself, unsure of what answer he’s hoping for. The realization dawns on him too much, too quickly. The feeling of hope is loud in his chest but there is another feeling, embarrassing in it’s swiftness that follows shortly after.

Oh.

Oh.

__

The servers shuts down after a mildly sappy adventure to close up shop. The closest Odxny has gotten to flirting with you in his own way. He’s sad to see everyone go, despite there being no other choice.

It’s easier than he thought it’d be. To give you his number he means, even after shutting the entire server down. After leaving everything behind. He gives you the choice to make. Call me if you still want it - a silent promise.

 Maybe because deep down - some part of him always wanted to make this choice. Just maybe.

Your voice is different over the phone line. A little clearer, spoken softer. Just as lovely as it was the first time he heard it. Maybe more. Maybe.

The city beneath him is bright. So bright. It doesn’t hurt to look at, he thinks.

__

You call him every day.

You’ve been doing it for months.

He thought, at some point, you’d let up or start to forget. He’s been waiting on it to happen as horrible as it sounds. Like some self-fulfilling prophecy, he’d slip back into the background as is natural. A proof of his nonexistence, if you will.

You don’t forget though. He almost wonders if he’s dreaming when it happens. There’s a routine between you two, these days. You have your own life that you’ve been living the same as normal. When it’s night time for you, though - you hop onto your desktop and call Od like you’re two very average people.

There’s nothing solid to define your relationship aside from friendship as is. This is less frustrating than he expected it to be. Getting to know you better has only made him like you more. Your relationship is solid in a strange way. It’s been about six months total, and as corny as it sounds - Odxny feels like he’s known you for his entire life. You understand him in an intimate way, with vulnerable tenderness and radical acceptance.

He kind of misses the privacy of his old stomping grounds, but he doesn’t mind speaking though discord. It feels… normal. In a not displeasing way. You mostly talk to talk about whatever comes to mind. Sometimes it’s your job search, other times it’s  your part-time or friend drama. You’re vibrant as always. Without the wall of anonymity, Odxny gets to know of you like he’s just your average person. He finds he really, really likes that.

You play games together frequently. He’s never been interested in cozy gaming, but you play Minecraft and Stardew Valley together per your request. Odxny streams himself playing Ocarina of Time for you on Discord in the background sometimes too, and you keep it on when you’ve got work to do or you’re cooking or something else. There’s something very mundane to it.

You’re not doing anything with him today though. You’re calling him on facetime, rather than at your desktop. You’ve made the executive decision to laze around and Odxny has no problem joining you though you speak less than usual as a result of being sleepy. You had a long shift yesterday so perhaps Odxny can’t blame you.

“Need to get better shoes. For walking and stuff.” You say thoughtlessly. The corners of his lips twitch up.

“Yeah?”

You nod. Your face is smushed against your pillow at an unflattering angle. He smiles a little.

“Yeah. I’m on my feet for like nine hours when I serve and it hurts wearing flats. Need something sturdier even it diminishes my drip.”

He laughs at that. “Please never say that again.”

You continue onwards. “Decreases my aura, even. But alas, utility comes first.”

He snickers as he glances at you through the phone. You’re propped against one of his monitors as he does work on his computer. He’s getting back into programming for the love of the game, just seeing what he can do.

“Want help looking?”

“Feels a little ridiculous asking a super pro-hacker to shop Sketchers with me.”

“You seriously thinking of buying Sketchers?”

You laugh lightly. “Maybe I’ll get tipped more if I get the light-up ones.”

“Please don’t.”

“Hater.”

You break out into genuine laughter as Odxny shakes his head in despair. It’s something you’d do, no doubt. You sigh.

“I really do want a break from work.” You roll around on your mattress. Odxny can hear your rustling but can’t see you much. “The chains of capitalism shackle me in place. Woe is me.”

Odxny thinks on what you’ve said for a long while in silence. The question comes up every now and again though he’s never brave enough to ask it. His ludicrous amount of disposable income however is still sitting in his bank, collecting dust. It’s been six months and he’s hardly made a dent in it.

“Do you want to come visit?” He asks, cringing at the sound of his own voice. The words are strained and a little too eager. “I can pay the difference for expenses for wages and stuff. And, uh. Uhm,”

He loses his train of thought trying to speak, worsened by the way you pop onto his screen when he says that. Your expression is unreadable to him, comfortable and even. You smile a little as you lift the phone so he can see what you look like laying in your bed. Your face is in full view.

“It’d be a little weird to visit you before we start dating officially, no?”

His eyes go wide at the implication. You grin, mischief and mirth making your eyes practically beam. He can feel a blush crawl up his neck as soon as he registers it.

“Excuse me? Why are you saying that like it’s already been decided?” He bites back, not sure what else he could say.

“So you don’t want to date me?”

“I didn’t- you - damn it,” He groans at his own bluster as he giggles on the other side of the line. So cheeky. Damn him for liking it and damn you for being cute. “…You are saying you like me right?”

Your face softens. He can feel his heartbeat quicken. “Uh-huh. Just wanted to take it slow. But I’ve liked you for a long time.”

“How long is that, exactly?”

You shrug playfully and the fact he can’t be within reach to kiss you feels especially harrowing. “A secret.” You smile again, all trouble. “So. Wanna date?”

“Terrible confession. Zero stars,” He says petulantly. He leans back in his chair and finds himself smiling uncontrollably. “Fine. I guess.”

Your laugh fills his room. He doesn’t get tired of hearing it. His face hurts from smiling.

__

He manages to stave off on the anxiety of you coming to see him for a lot longer than he thought possible.

Making arrangements proves to be a little difficult. You have to tell your roommates that you’ll be gone for a while but promise to still pay rent and explain to your boss where you’re going. You have a good enough relationship and have been working long enough for them to agree to keep a spot open so you can start working when you come back.

After that, there’s the matter of Visas. Odxny goes out of his way to make that process go much faster than normal, though he doesn’t actually tell you. Once all of that’s sorted, there’s living arrangements. Try as you might to insist to live somewhere else, his place is too spacious for him to let you stay anywhere else. You can take the guest room.

He pretends that all of this is just happening in his imagination. He doesn’t even know the last time anyone came over, let alone lived with him. He does his best to make things presentable, and makes a guest room for you to live in should you desire. He even buys more decor (plants and things) to make it look… less like a cave and more like a home.

Nothing really feels real until the day arrives though. It’s a long flight and difficult trip. You refused to let him pay for the tickets so he moved it around to get you into first class both ways through other methods.

You text him the terminal, the arrival time, any and all delays. Still. None of it feels real until he’s already waiting for you near the bags. He can feel his heart race, his lungs short of air. He’s never experienced something so ridiculously contradictory in his entire life. He wants to run away while feeling stuck in place.

The anticipation nearly kills him.

He would recognize your voice anywhere though. Like he did for so many days alone in the dark. A hand waves high, shouting as loud as it can.

“It’s you!”

The sound of sneakers skidding across tile floors make his breath hitch. His eyes go wide as you stand still in front of him, luggage in hand and a million-watt smile on your face. He feels his heart beat so loud, he wonders if he’s going to throw up.

“Hey.” He says, dumbly.

“Hi!”

__

The adjustment period to living together isn’t what he expects.

It’s been a long time since he’s been so close to another human being. It becomes clear that you’re really living together though when your things end up in the bathroom completely incidentally. There’s something about finding your sleep shirt on a towel rack that makes reality settle in. You’re living together.

He’d be stupid not to notice the purposeful distance between you. An attempt to be thoughtful and not overwhelm him. It’s never awkward when you’re together. You eat together, watch movies and play games while sitting too close on the couch. You’ve been on a date in the two weeks you’ve spent, and it barely took any convincing on your end to make him go along with you.

Isolation aside though, Odxny is not clueless to the conventions of modern dating. You avoid touching him too casually. He doesn’t blame you, but he can’t help but crave your presence with a little more bittersweet longing as the days pass. He has to get past it or bring it up eventually, but it feels like something he’s never going to get over somehow.

The opportunity to do so gets thrown at him all at once. You’ve been living together for sixteen days. A conversation about love languages is what undoes it.

“Whats your love language, Od?”

He gives you a quizzical look. “Dunno actually. Never bothered to look.”

“I’d guess… hm. Quality time maybe? Or words of affirmation.”

He shrugs as he sits next to you on the couch, glancing at your phone as you read through the different ones. “What’s yours?”

“Physical touch. I’m super touchy. With anyone who will let me, honestly. Bad habits.”

Odxny gives you a long look as you say it. He debates if he should bring it up.

“You don’t have to be so careful around me, you know?”

You look up at him, startled by the comment. Several things pass over your face before you settle on an apologetic smile. “Sorry. It’s not like I don’t want to. I just don’t want to be too much for you.”

“That wouldn’t happen.” He says automatically. You laugh good-naturedly.

“Your confidence is assuring, but you underestimate how touchy I am. I’m afraid of I get my hands on you, I’ll never let go again,”

He thinks he wants that more than is normal. He shakes his head. “I don’t mind.”

You give him a long look, seeming struck by an idea, before humming and standing up. You turn around with your hand out towards him. His brows furrow in bewilderment.

“Have some faith.”

He takes your hand and stands up with you. He likes that he’s taller than you. Staring at you, he feels your fingers clasp around his hand and his heart thuds - loud and messy.

“Your room or mine?”

“What?”

You laugh. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Or don’t actually, but I don’t bear lewd intentions.”

He crinkles his nose at the word usage and laughs. “Shut up.”

“Just trust me, okay?”

He concedes with embarassing swiftness.

“Okay.”

__

You lead Odxny to the guest room you’ve been living in for the last two weeks. The bed is well-made and all the new furniture he bought is occupying so many of your belongings. It makes him dizzy. You shut the door behind him as you lead him in. It just feels especially surreal.

Wordless, you let go of his hand and hop up onto your bed. Once you’re laying down, you prop up on your side with your elbow and pat the empty space next to you, smiling at him as you do. Once it clicks what your asking, he can feel his face grow hot. He can’t refuse it though, and he doesn’t want too.

The sheets you bought together smell like you. Between there’s practically no distance between you at this angle. He’s gotten to look at you plenty through these few days but it’s different. You scoot impossibly close to him until there’s nothing separating you.

Your breath is warm - a soft exhale leaving your lips as you inch closer.

“What’re we doing?” He asks in a murmur, stone stiff. You smile, coyly.

“Touching each other.”

He frowns at the joke. Your expression goes a touch serious right after. The sincerity is debilitating. “Can I touch you?”

He nods. Can’t do much more than that.

He stares at you with impending, long-suffering longing as you bring a single hand to his face and cradle his neck. He flinches unintentionally, but pulls your hand back when you try to move it. He wants this. You relax a little when he does that.

Your hands are softer. Softer than a heartbeat. He can feel the various cuts and scars from years of working against his skin but they’re still so soft. He can feel how warm you in such a brief touch his chest aches. Your hands cradle his face tenderly, thumb brushing across his lip with a smile brighter than thousands of lights. Something in your expression wreaks havoc on his heart. Something so raw and so gentle and so full within it - all directed towards him.

It’s been so long. So long. He’s never wanted something so bad  he couldn’t remember needing. He’s never wanted to be closer to someone than he does to you in the moment.

“You’re handsome,” You say, so sweetly. Not a confession, but gentle appraisal. It’s rare he cries but he wants too. “I like looking at you. Can I kiss you?”

“Please.” He rasps, gravel in his voice unfamiliar.

You hum a little. Closing the space between you with a press of lips. It’s not chaste. Odxny is grateful for how long and how deep you linger. He wants it so badly. He wants you in some damning and unforgiving way. How could a human being feel so warm? Feel so pleasant with so little?

You press your foreheads together. His hand trembles when they grip onto your waist but you encourage him just a little. It’s just a kiss. His heart might beat out of him. It’s just a kiss. He thinks he loves you.

Your hand moves away from his face. You let it go underneath his loose shirt to touch his shoulder, running your palm down the plane of his chest. You squeeze his waist, and wrap your arms around his back and pull him to you until your bodies touch somewhere in the middle.

You guide his face to your neck and chest as you hold him. He grips onto you tight in response, a gasp in the back of his lungs at the sudden sensation. You coo above him, soft and light - your fingers threading through his hair and nails massaging his scalp.

Your voice sounds above him, despite how deep in a haze he is. He can’t do anything but cling to you with impossible longing. You speak softly as you pet him. Your heartbeat soothes his.

“I’m glad you’re here.” You tell him. There’s that familiar clarity that makes him want to cry. “I’m glad you let me come with you.”

He can’t think of anything to say back. It’s a soul-shattering emotion. “I love you.”

You laugh wetly above him. “I love you, too. So much.” And then much softer. “Let’s be together for a long time.”

__

You lay in each others arms until sunset. In small talk and silent murmurs. It takes him hours to work up the courage to kiss you again - but only minutes to take it further.

It’s desperate. Terribly. Inevitable. You’re beautiful in a way that is undescribable, best expressed through his teeth on your neck and his hands all over where he can reach - each grip and thrust and bite a reminder. You’re pretty when you’re pleased, warmth reaching up inside of him whenever you make the right face.

He buries himself in you. You’re soft and warm and beautiful and he wants to stay with you. Time is a thief. He damns the sun when it tears you from him come morning.

__

He decides to make breakfast when you wake up. Nothing complicated. You go to shower after him and he plates up toast and eggs and other various things. It’s half done when you come downstairs.

Your skin is still damp, and you smell of vanilla and soap. Your coffee sits in a cup on the table as you pad over to him. He turns to look at you as you reach your hand up and cup his face. You pepper a kisses along his cheeks stopping at his lips for the last one before you’re satisfied.

He fails in his attempt not to blush.

“Morning.” You grin. He tries not to be sick at the domesticity of it all and fails.

“Yeah. Morning.”

You sit at the counter and drink your coffee, glancing outside the window. “It’s bright outside.”

Odxny can’t tear his eyes off of you. “Yeah...” He agrees. He’s not torn his gaze away. “Very bright.”

✮ a/n ; i want all real life compsci men to kick rocks but odxny sweeped me off my feet in a way i can only describe as humiliating. he is a bit like astarion for me in that i see a lot of myself in him at least in the past. he is also incredibly babygirl and uhm . other things (fine. he's very gorjus.) but i truthfully was most compelled by his idealized idea of isolation. as the fic will show it resonated with me as a fellow compsci dork who also tends to isolate like crazy LOL

this fic was like a demon that possessed me. literally no meds, no caffiene - just balls to the wall demonic possesion of needing something out of my system LMAOO. and adhd of course. im working on all the other stuff too i promise. consider this a short interlude 👍🏾

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

can i request a yan! L? It’s kinda rare and i would appreciate if you’d done it.

I love these requests, I could definitely write a long oneshot of Yandere L Lawliet 😭 hopefully this is enough, I had so many ideas this seemed like the best format!

Warnings: explicit material here and there (NSFW, sexual content), implications of murder of loved ones, unconsensual surveillance, technical breaking and entering, theft of clothing items, L is a pervert, L is in love

yan!L loves you very much. You bring him peace. He can't think without you around. Technically you're an intern/secretary, but with how he treats you, you're basically his pet. He has you sit next to him, and eat from his plate. He tells you not to worry about fieldwork, because you're perfect at note-taking and he simply can't risk losing his best typist. He asks you about your favorite sweets so he can keep them on hand. He asks you to try a bite of everything he has, just so he can spoon-feed you without it being too terribly weird.

Yan!L lets you stay on your own floor, like misa. A floor that, of course, is covered with security cameras. Every angle, in every room. He's sure you wouldn't like that very much, but he has to be sure you're safe. Wiretaps are a must as well.

Yan!L checks your internet history through the router every few minutes (you're always on your phone, he hopes he's not boring you), just to find your interests. When he gifts you the perfume you've been looking at, or the luxury shoes you can't stop visiting the website of, you don't really question it. He's just L, maybe he somehow deduced that you wanted them. He only hopes they get him in your good graces.

Yan!L spends every night watching you through those cameras. Memorizing every movement, every set of pajamas, every shower product. He doesn't do anything other than watch you, he's not a pervert, despite what misa says. He watches respectfully. He would never touch himself to your image, with you only a floor or two away.

Yan!L wouldn't touch himself to your image, but...when you're out shopping using your extremely bonused paycheck, he just has to take a keepsake. He crept into your room, slow, careful, reverent. To be surrounded by your scent was heaven on earth. He found your hamper, it was so much bigger than it looked on camera. He knew what was inside. With two fingers, he plucked a pair of panties out of the pile of other clothes. You had these on last night, while you were masturbating. They were still warm. They smell just as sweet as he imagined.

Yan!L wraps your panties around his long, pale cock, pumping it up and down, the texture only adding to the intense pleasure. This was different from watching you, it was less intimate. He wasn't getting off to your sweet face, or that perfect ass, or those jiggly tits, or those plush thighs...he was getting off to your underwear. Thats how he made it make sense.

Yan!L can't keep them once he's gotten his cum all over them, over and over again. They're not perfect anymore. He'll throw them away, and get a new pair the next time.

Yan!L eventually decides cameras and clothes aren't enough. He wants to see you up close.

Yan!L finds himself seated on the edge of your bed. It was incredible luck that you were such a heavy sleeper. Your little snores and snorts and grumbles are perfection. It was so intimate, in a way. Not sex, but...domestic. he wanted domesticity, if it was with you. You shift, and he holds his breath. Thankfully, it was just to curl onto your side. He wanted to touch you, to reach out and caress your skin like he deserved to- but he couldn't. He was wrong, he didn't deserve you. This was a puzzle. To win was to have your devotion. To win was to do anything it took to get that earnestly. To win was to deserve you.

Yan!L discovered you've started seeing someone. You didn't tell him, but you texted one of your friends about it. He hopes this is just a date or two, otherwise he'd have to intervene...

Yan!L awkwardly pats your shoulder as you cry. As you vent about how it's not fair, how he was too young. Personally, L thinks it was necessary for the common good, but he understands you need time. On the upside, you say he's a true friend for helping you through all of this. The title needs reworking, but he likes that he can be close to you on some level.

Yan!L is growing tired of having to wait. He was patient, but he needed you so badly. He needed you to put your head in his lap, to pet his hair and tell him you loved him, to promise never to leave. He needed you naked beneath him, on top of him, on any part of him, just to know the taste. He needed you slathered in cream and strawberries, between his fingers, on his tongue, in his stomach.

Yan!L doesn't want to cut you off, he doesn't want to deprive you of contact with your loved ones, but he was beginning to think taking a month off to attend a handful of funerals was better than taking multiple days a year for various birthdays, parental holidays, and Christmas. However, he could stay placid, for you. Your happiness mattered to him. And your friends and family mattered to you.

Yan!L didn't want your internship to end. Not like this. He couldn't bare to be alone on this case, without your comfort. So, he offered you a job as his personal employee. He half expected rejection, which was why he had your arrest forms ready to go, but to his delight, you agreed. You were excited to work with him, which excited him even more. There was no need to detain you, and for that he was joyous.

Yan!L is surprised when you come to his room door, trembling and blushing. He thinks for a moment that you're upset, until you confess your feelings for him. He's silent as you do, his pokerface perfect as usual. He only holds his hand out. You take it, and he plants a chaste kiss on your cheek. "Thank you for your honesty."

Yan!L finally gets your attention, exactly how he wants it. He gets to spend every waking hour in your presence. He gets to possess every part of you, mind, body, and soul. He gets your head in his lap as you choke on his cock, your hand in his hair as he bites into your shoulder, your proclamations of love and devotion as you beg for more past the gag in your mouth. He loves you, and will do anything to keep you with him.

Yan!L has already decided. When he dies, you will join him in his casket, one way or another.

After all, he's finally won.

He deserves it.

[chanelrolls]

PART XII. caleb's series

n. it's advisable to read all parts of the series. cw: pseudocest

"to you through the screen"

you, 17 | caleb, 19

you liked to sit by the window when it rained.

and so, caleb knew this even though he was already two cities away for college.

he watched from the tiny screen nestled beneath a textbook on his dorm desk, volume muted, rain flickering on his side of the window too. but instead of the outside world, he watched your world. a quiet living room, soft yellow lighting, and you curled by the window, your knees tucked up, a book in your lap you barely read.

you always looked like you were waiting for something, or maybe someone.

his fingers curled against the desk.

“you’re being weird again,” his roommate had said the other night, waving a hand in front of his face. “staring at your phone like some guy in a long-distance relationship.”

caleb had just smiled. no, he wanted to say. it’s not like that. but also- yes. maybe it was.

you didn’t know why you kept checking your phone these days.

he used to text you constantly stupid things. blurry photos of his late-night ramen, videos of airplanes roaring overhead, voice notes of him humming random songs in the shower. but ever since the semester had gotten harder, the messages slowed.

he still texted sometimes, always when you needed it most.

but what you didn’t know was that caleb always knew when you needed it most.

even now. curled up by the window, you sighed into your sleeves and whispered, "i miss you, gege." not realizing your voice, your sigh, your entire posture - had already been recorded by the hidden mic he installed in your room under the excuse of “upgrading the wifi router.”

he heard you. every time.

he watched you that night when you stayed up too late, when you ignored three calls from some boy named zayne from your physics class. when you stood in front of the mirror and tried on the new cardigan, twirling half-heartedly.

his blood ran hot when you smiled at yourself, even just a little.

and colder when you sighed and folded it away again.

it had started with just one camera, then a tracker in your phone, then a hidden app on your laptop.

he told himself it was for safety. only for safety.

but then he’d started saving your photos, screenshots of you reading, you painting. even the blurry ones from the kitchen cam when you cooked instant noodles at 1am.

he didn’t know what scared him more; how much he missed you, or how much he needed to know you still belonged to him.

on a tuesday night, you left your window open by accident.

and caleb, who hadn’t planned to call you - not when he had an exam in twelve hours - found himself dialing your number anyway.

you picked up in one ring.

“gege?” your voice was laced with surprise. you never expected him anymore. never waited, even though you always did.

“you left the window open again,” he said quietly, the warmth of his voice threading through your speaker like he was there.

you blinked.

“…how did you—?”

he could hear the shuffle of your footsteps, the soft slam of wood, your breath.

he didn’t answer it.

“you’ll catch a cold, pip,” he murmured instead. “it’s late.”

“…i was just thinking.”

“about?”

“…you, gege.”

and there was a pause. his hand tightened around the phone.

“yeah?” his voice lowered.

“mm.” you lay back down on your bed, smile faint. “i miss you.”

he swallowed.

“…i miss you too.”

a pause again.

then, you say- “do you think i’m being silly? always missing you like this?”

caleb’s lips parted. his other hand reached unconsciously to the keyboard, the open tab of your location blinking quietly at the edge of his screen.

how could he tell you? how deeply, violently, possessive he had become. how much he watched, how often he checked.

he didn’t speak for a moment.

then softly, “no. i think it’s perfect.”

“you do?”

“mm. because i miss you the same way.” then quieter- “…maybe even more.”

you went silent. and on his end, the rain kept ticking against the dorm window like a soft metronome.

you didn’t know you were being watched. you didn’t know he had been watching for months. but you did know, deep down, that caleb was still wrapped around you like a ribbon - even if the knot had begun to twist into something you no longer recognized.

“i love you, gege,” you whispered.

and from miles away, with a dozen hidden screens and all the wrong reasons, he whispered back, “i love you more, pipsqueak.”

then slowly, he closed the tab.

but not for long.

because when he tells himself it's just this once, it always ends up being the nth time. when he watches you through the sceen, keeping track of what time you took a shower, he takes his time working himself off down there to the sight of his sweet little girl.

pleasuring himself, watching you, trying to swallow the guilt in his throat while grunting your name in a breathless haze.

it was wrong, yeah.

but he couldn't help his hormones. caleb was a growing man, and he needed to stop the ache especially when he was stressed.

and he found nobody else as pleasant as you. you were the only choice.

so, just this once, this is the last time.

gege promises.

[luis-michael6160]

☕ Afternoon Experiment No. 34 or why you shouldn't mix Tim Drake, coffee and marijuana, EP: 1

[story collection] <-more stories here

next episode

Wayne Manor was a battlefield without explosions, without screams.

Worse.

It was coffee hour number thirty-four. Of the afternoon.

“Has anyone seen the new coffee machine?” Dick asked as he entered the kitchen.

“Tim integrated it into his backpack along with a solar panel and an IV drip,” Jason replied from the floor, surrounded by notes and Post-its. He was wearing sunglasses indoors. Not for fashion. Out of despair.

“Is he still awake?” Damian growled from atop the counter, where he was allegedly meditating but in reality was making sure Tim didn’t start levitating again.

Steph popped her head through the doorframe.

“Confirmed. He officially hit forty-five days without sleep. He wrote it in his ‘Perma-Hyperlucidity Journal’. Says he reached Level Eight of Multidimensional Awareness.”

Dick suspiró.

Tenemos que hacer algo. Antes de que descubra cómo viajar en el tiempo con cafeína líquida.

“Are you sure about this?” Dick asked, eyeing the tiny ziplock bag on the table.

“Got a better idea?” Jason raised an eyebrow. “We tried puzzles. We locked him in a room with no Wi-Fi. He blew it up. Literally. The room.”

Damian crossed his arms.

“I oppose this method. Not because I care about Drake, but because marijuana has proven effects on reflex deterioration. What if he gets even dumber? He’s already on the edge of functionality.”

“He’s not going to smoke it,” Steph clarified, arriving with a tray. “Brownies. Just a bit. A microdose. For a normal human.”

“What’s a microdose for someone who hasn’t slept in six weeks and whose blood is basically espresso?” Cass asked from the corner.

Silencio.

"Ups", dijo Steph.

Tim entered like a shadow with eyes opened too far.

“Hi guys! I hacked the NSA and found a mathematical pattern in how dust collects under the couch! I’m going to use it to prevent crime. Also wrote a novel about it. Painted the map.”

“Brownie, bro,” Jason offered, wearing the fakest smile in his arsenal.

Tim looked at it. Sniffed. Ate it.

Five minutes. Ten. Twenty.

“Is it supposed to—?” Damian began.

Then Tim slowly stood up. So slowly they thought he’d gone into hibernation mode.

“Guys... I think I’m seeing the flow of ideas. Like, literally. Threads. Cosmic threads.”

“Oh no,” Dick muttered.

“I’M INSIDE THE CODE!” Tim yelled, ripping off his shirt. “THE UNIVERSE IS A PROGRAMMING LANGUAGE! AND I’M THE DEBUG!”

He jumped out the window.

They were on the third floor.

Nobody moved.

Jason turned to Steph.

“How much did you give him?”

“I... don’t know. I measured it with an ice cream scoop. It had little cartoon faces on it.”

Damian was already calling Alfred.

“We’ve got a ‘Red Dragon Protocol’. Repeat: Red Dragon. Tim’s merged with the metaverse. May now believe he’s a router.”

Cass sighed.

“Next time, we just tranq him.”

Dick nodded, watching Tim climb a tree, screaming at the wind that he was the cloud.

“Yeah. Definitely. Tranquilizer. Or we ship him to a Tibetan monastery. One with zero signal.”

🍫🕸️ Enjoyed this madness?

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[tailsthetheorist]

🦊 Tails' Joke Corner – Part 1 🦊

Welcome to the ultimate stash of Sonic laughs! Tails here, bringing you 100 jokes — with a splash of Shadow Generations glitch chaos too! Let's roll! 💨💥

1. Why did Sonic cross the road? To go faster than the chicken. 2. Why doesn’t Shadow like stairs? Because they’re not edgy enough. 3. What do you call it when Knuckles trips? An echidna slip-up. 4. Why is Eggman so round? Because he always comes back full circle. 5. What's Tails' favorite type of story? Whirl-wind tales! 6. Why did Shadow break the camera? It didn’t respect his power. 7. How do Chao stay organized? With Chaos Control! 8. What does Sonic say when he finishes a chili dog? "Gotta eat fast!" 9. Why did Rouge bring a ladder? To steal the spotlight. 10. What’s Shadow’s least favorite song? Let it Go — too much feeling. 11. Why is Silver always confused? Because it’s no use! 12. What do you get when Metal Sonic sings? Auto-tune attack. 13. Why didn’t Tails become a chef? He can’t whisk it. 14. What game does Shadow always win? Hide and Doom Seek. 15. What does Big the Cat say to Froggy every morning? “Let’s hop to it!” 16. Why don’t Badniks get invited to parties? They crash everything. 17. Why is Sonic always single? He's married to the speed. 18. Why did Amy bring a hammer to math class? To smash those problems. 19. Why did Infinite fail his evil plan? He wasn’t a-finite planner. 20. What’s Knuckles’ favorite hobby? Punching time cards. 21. Why did Shadow apply for a driving license? To get Shadow’s Edge over Sonic Kart. 22. What’s Eggman’s favorite music genre? Heavy Metal Sonic. 23. Why can’t Espio tell a good joke? He’s always too invisible. 24. What’s Sonic’s least favorite fruit? Slowberries. 25. What’s Blaze’s favorite fire type? Super spicy memes. 26. Why don’t Mobians ever lie? Because they can’t handle the truth rings. 27. Why did Shadow rage quit? Because the game disrespected his pain. 28. Why is Sonic never out of breath? He’s air-dashing through life. 29. Why did Rouge get kicked from the treasure hunt? She found everything too fast. 30. What’s the name of Sonic’s rock band? The Rolling Rings. 31. Why is Shadow always brooding? It’s part of his backstory contract. 32. Why did Silver take cooking lessons? He finally saw a future with food. 33. What’s Eggman’s bedtime story? The Boy Who Lost to a Hedgehog. 34. Why did the Chaos Emeralds go missing? Shadow borrowed them for a glow-up. 35. Why did Sonic get detention? He zoomed into the principal’s office. 36. What does Tails do during thunderstorms? Checks the tail-wind. 37. Why did Infinite scream “No!”? Because Sonic skipped his cutscene. 38. What’s Knuckles’ favorite drink? Punch (of course). 39. Why did Shadow glitch through the wall? Because he’s coded differently. 40. Why did Sonic bring a ladder to Green Hill Zone? He was going for higher ground. 41. Why doesn’t Rouge need maps? She follows the diamonds. 42. What’s Tails’ favorite snack? Spinach Puffs, for the spin dash. 43. Why did Eggman go on a diet? He wanted less Egg, more Man. 44. What’s Silver’s job in the future? Cleaning up all these bad timelines. 45. Why did Sonic ignore the loop? He already looped it 3 times today. 46. What’s Shadow’s favorite hobby? Spinning in cutscenes by accident. 47. Why does the ARK have no Wi-Fi? Because Shadow broke the router in 2001. 48. Why did Tails crash the Tornado again? Too many tabs open in his brain. 49. Why is Green Hill always sunny? Because the memes never stop shining. 50. What do you call a fake Chaos Emerald? A Ch-AI-os Emerald.

Tails: “Whew! I haven’t laughed this hard since Eggman tried skateboarding!” 🎉 Part 2 coming soon! Gotta laugh fast!

[jades-typurriter]

Copy & Replace

Hiiiiiii it's time once again for everyone's favorite Situations Cat AND everyone's favorite Renamon!! We're pitting two bad bitches against each other (and eventually they end up as The Same Bad Bitch) <3 Thank you to @bluebearial for the sketch!! She's one of Posie's strongest soldiers everybody say thank you Bee

CW: Initially-unwanted TF, Identity Death

“Ugh, why do these places always have so many spreadsheets?”

Anodyne grumbled in disdain, hologram paws flipping through hologram pages in a hologram file-folder, all projected from a port in the side of a rack-mounted storage drive. Don’t get her wrong, she could understand the appeal of a good spreadsheet. Sometimes the 1’s and 0’s just felt good to put in their proper places, like the satisfying click of a fresh stick of RAM. She wasn’t here for plain old accounting records, though—she cracked her way into places like this to see the juicy dirt, to cause problems! These weren’t even the cooked kind of books!!

She huffed, resigning herself to an even longer search for something incriminating, or at least interesting. One ear swiveled toward a router on a desk on the other side of the room, tingling with the invisible waves of light that bore an upload into the room. A big one; probably an executable from the looks of the metadata. That was her cue! She figured it was about time that what passed for an antivirus around here came looking for her.

The catbot dove headfirst into the digital folder, paws together in front of her like an Olympic diver. It flipped shut with the riffling sound of a thick book closing and zipped back into the drive it was stored on, stashing Anodyne discreetly out of the way just as another projection manifested itself into the room. The electronic door slid open, and the empty space was quickly filled with gray-blue pixels and the sound of high heels tapping on the tile floor. The blocks of light resolved themselves into the imposing figure of a Renamon woman, nearly as tall as the server racks themselves, scanning the room with her harsh gaze. She stood stock still in the silent space for a moment, paws folded behind her back. Annie half-expected her to reach down to the surface of the desk to her side and inspect it for dust.

“I could have sworn,” she muttered to herself, apparently satisfied that nothing was out of place, “that there had been some suspicious file requests from here…”

The cat giggled to herself as she peered out from between the broad, flat computers resting on the slats of the rack, paws perched on the edge as though she was peering through a set of blinds, or hiding behind a couch to spook a friend. She was certain that the Renamon’s eyes had passed over the contents of the files themselves—another digital being ought to know better than anyone that not all intruders were physically inside the building. Still, she’d escaped notice, at least on a quick browse. That was one of the benefits of being able to fit on a 3.5-inch floppy disk! Now, all she needed to do was transfer herself back out of here before the Rena could do a more in-depth search, and—

All eyes in the room flicked to a red indicator light that had begun flashing on one of the monitors.

“Oh, it’s time for my backup,” the Renamon thought aloud. “Unlike me to let it sneak up on me, but I suppose I was busy trying to sneak up on something else.” She chuckled a quiet, refined ohoho before turning to the rack Annie had hidden herself in. “How convenient that I’m already down here!”

To the robot’s horror, she realized that she hadn’t bothered to check what subfolder she’d burrowed her way into. She quickly checked the file directory she was in: Repository/DD:/Users/Posie/Rollback.

Well, shit.

She tried, with a little more urgency this time, to get the hell out of DD:/odge, but felt like she had just bonked her plastic snout into a glass window. The disk was preventing transfers other than the upload from this Posie lady, which honestly pissed her off more because she wasn’t designed with a feature like that more than anything else. Back in her model’s day, if the power went out or something else interrupted a write to the disk, you were just fucked! She supposed she was fucked either way, but damn if she hadn’t been inconvenienced enough times by “user safety” restrictions that she’d go down bitching about them one last time.

She felt her colors begin to change as her settings were re-mapped to those of the Renamon; her shiny white plastic first grayed, then turned cooler, bluer, as though she were a plane icing over in the upper stratosphere. Her blunt snout took on a pointier profile, and the short, cartoony lines that served as the eyes on her visor redrew themselves into sleek, eyeliner-wing shapes. The holographic hair between her ears fizzled out, while a wavy dewlap flickered on around her chest; the TV-static fur that danced along her paws and forearms became more dense, coalescing into two fingerless elbow gloves. Yet more fur sprouted (more like sparked, really) into being along her body, her hips widening as she grew a skirt to match the office lady’s inbuilt attire. Why were her hips always getting bigger, when it came to this sort of thing? Not that she’d ever complain about getting curvier. Honestly, in spite of herself, she was getting a little excited at the prospect of this change, too. The Rena was attractive… But seriously, she couldn’t even remember how many times something like this has happened before. It must’ve been—

Wait, no, she really couldn’t remember. With her model largely aligned with the Renamon’s, her storage began to change next, wave after wave of infinitesimal magnetic pulses realigning the patterns of her bits into those of a new woman’s. Most of the appearances of her own designation were replaced, one by one, with “Posie”. As she tried to recount previous misadventures on heists like this one, she found some already missing. I was unsettling, but honestly, it felt a lot like having her short-term storage scrambled by a magnet: it was, all at once, scary and empty, but freeingly light, like the thoughts were being replaced with a nice, fuzzy noise function.

As the read/write head glided over the metal surface she was stored on, she only got more and more worked up. Run-ins with the gooey, creeping tendrils of ransomware and the feeling of being squeezed through the nozzle of a 3D printer flashed through her mind as they were located, accessed, and promptly formatted for space. In their place were to-do lists, chat histories with highers-up, schematics and floor plans of the building—at least she’d gotten the dirt she’d come for, one way or another. She felt less and less of her usual itch to poke and prod and send people scrambling, and more and more of a drive to leave everything she touched in perfect order.

By the time the last of her flings had been replaced by Posie’s personality, she felt herself developing a visceral… discomfort, at the memories. They intrigued her, but surely they were beneath her. Unbecoming. She tried to ignore the server rack’s cooling fans spinning faster. Soon enough, those old experiences had been written over anyway, leaving her with nothing but a baseless sense of apprehension (excitement?) and a lingering heat on her face.

Posie’s own history had been neatly superimposed on the digital space they once occupied, a contingency in case something ever happened to her active instance. One could never be too careful, after all! She shuddered at the thought of data corruption… She knew, though, that she could still rest easy, having taken precautions for every eventuality. She paused, processing her current situation. Evidently, she’d been vindicated in all her extra attention to redundancy. Her backup—she herself, now, she supposed—was only ever supposed to boot in the event of the deactivation of the original copy, which meant something had gone awry! That was one thing she hadn’t planned for, she mused: getting herself up to speed whenever her failsafe kicked in to begin with. She accessed the most recent files she could, from moments before her upload, and found nothing but a few temporary files lingering in the back of her mind. They belonged to a different program entirely, according to their metadata. Anodyne? Perhaps that was the one behind the network breach she’d been investigating. 

She sighed. That meant there was yet another mess to clean up, and once again, it fell to her to keep things in working order. What a shame that she couldn’t even depend on herself to do her job correctly around here… Her old self, anyway. Posie knew that she would handle it with her usual meticulous eye for detail, unerring precision, efficient and timely—

Her affirmations were interrupted as she materialized herself from the drive, nearly smacking her face straight into… her face.

“What on Earth?” Posie exclaimed.

“Who are you supposed to be?” Posie asked, incredulous, and more than a little irritated.

“I’m—” Posie stuttered. “Well, I suppose I’m your backup.”

“Right,” Posie scoffed, “because the system I put in place would start up without the proper conditions being met. I knew someone was poking around in here! I’m quarantining you—”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Posie snapped. She hesitated before continuing; that cache of temporary files was all that was left of the intruder, but something about them left her with the feeling that she hadn’t been Posie until just now. Between that, and the fact it had taken her so much grasping at her own memories to recollect herself, the lack of second-nature familiarity with her file structure… She shook her head. Of course she wasn’t herself until just now—she hadn't been anybody until just now! That was another flaw her original copy had left her to deal with, she supposed. The temporary files would be cleaned up soon enough, and she’d adjust to her new runtime. “Check for yourself, if you must.”

“Fine,” barked Posie, “I will. And then when I find out whose paw is sock-puppeting my own face at me, I’ll do much more than just quarantine—” She froze as she began to appraise her copy, doing a double-take as her eyes flickered across her figure in search of flaws.

“What is it?” Posie demanded, looking herself over to see what all the fuss… Oh. A certain connector jutted out from under the fur bunched around her waist, and she recalled the confused, flustered haze she’d been in a few moments before coming online.

“I assure you, you must have such unprompted malfunctions as well.”

“Me? How vulgar!”

“I’m also you! I was copied from you!”

“Then there must have been an error in the copying process.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t user error?”

“You would certainly be familiar with user error, wouldn't you?”

The two virtual vixens squabbled with each other, seated at workstations on opposite sides of the room. Management had supposed that two Posies would increase productivity at least twofold—after all, they’d surely be so in sync that they’d be able to coordinate better than simply adding another person to the workforce, right?—but in reality, their similarity made them like matching poles of a pair of magnets.

“Maybe you would make such a simple mistake, but—”

“O-ho, and what happened to being my exact copy?”

“If we were exact copies, I wouldn't have to straighten up every little thing you leave out of place. Didn’t you come up with our workflow? Really, I think you might actually have had some files damaged for me to have activated on my own.”

“Oh, yes, parts of you certainly seemed to activate on their own.”

“I—! My hardware must have been running a diagnostic to make sure I didn’t have any leftover artifacts from you.”

“Yes, that would be quite the artifact, wouldn’t it?”

“Don’t say it like it could have come from anywhere other than your original files! It’s far too big an addition to be explained by a little misplaced data!”

“Big, indeed. And unsightly. Uncontrollable! It’d explain why you miss so many little details; you seem to be very focused on ‘misplacing’ data.”

“Is that what you call it when you abandon your post every 20 minutes to ‘make an upload’ to the central server?”

The two of them stammered and huffed themselves into a sort of tense truce at that remark. Neither of them would ever admit it to each other, but both of them were eager to feel another data transfer, and now that it’d been discussed so brazenly, neither could take their mind off of it. They sat at their respective desks, hoping the other wouldn’t notice the deep blue blush beneath the fur of their cheeks, the uncomfortable shifting and crossing of their legs, the pace of their work slowing to an agonizing crawl…

“On that note, I really should push an update to the ledger—”

“You sit yourself right there! It’s my turn!”

Thank you for reading! If you want to see more of my writing, you can check it out here and here <3

[velvrei]

i love the robby x larusso! reader thing where they get caught! can you do something where they're like about to get started, like clothes off and stuff and she has like a remote control toy inside and robby has the remote and Daniel knocks on her door (good dad) and asks to come in and she like hides robby inside and robby thinks it's a good idea to play around turns the toy on and reader has to like HOLD IT IN because her DAD is right there and poor daniel just wanted to ask a question about her wifi and reader's just trying to hang on to her sanity while a fucking toy is inside and TURNED ON. I get it if it's a lot and you don't wanna do it but it would mean the world if you could!! Thank you!!

omg this is so funny 😭😭

…

you’re pressed against robby, breathless, his hands warm against your skin as your shirt falls to the floor. his lips trail along your jaw, teasing, making your head spin.

“you’re so impatient,” you murmur, fingers threading through his hair.

“can you blame me?” he grins, eyes dark with mischief as his hand drifts lower, fingers brushing the little remote on your nightstand. “especially when you let me have control of this?”

before you can respond, there’s a knock at the door.

“hey, kiddo, can i come in?”

your stomach drops. robby freezes. your dad.

“uh—one sec!” you scramble, pushing robby off you and shoving him toward your closet. he barely stumbles inside before you slam the door shut, heart racing.

you smooth down your clothes as best as you can and take a deep breath before opening your door. daniel stands there, brows furrowed.

“everything okay?” he asks.

“yep! totally fine! what’s up?” you force a smile, trying to ignore the way your heart is pounding.

“i just had a quick question about the wifi—”

and that’s when it happens.

a sudden, unmistakable buzz between your legs.

your breath catches, fingers gripping the edge of your desk as heat rushes to your face.

no. no. no.

you glance toward the closet out of the corner of your eye, and you just know robby is smirking in there, having the time of his life with that stupid remote.

“you okay?” daniel asks, looking at you strangely.

“mhmm! totally! just—just a little cold,” you stammer, forcing yourself to stay still, to not react.

the vibration pulses again, stronger this time. your knees nearly buckle.

“you sure? your face is kinda red.” daniel tilts his head.

you let out a strangled laugh, trying not to scream. “it’s just, uh, hot in here, actually!”

your dad frowns but thankfully doesn’t push it. “right… anyway, the wifi’s been acting weird. do you know if—”

the toy kicks up another level, and your underwear gets wetter by the second.

your fingers dig into your palm. you bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, barely holding back a whimper.

you are going to kill robby keene.

“—so i was thinking maybe we should reset the router,” daniel continues, oblivious.

you nod frantically. “yep! great idea! totally should do that!”

daniel gives you a weird look but finally shrugs. “okay… well, just let me know if you notice anything else acting up.”

“will do!” you practically slam the door shut as soon as he turns to leave.

the second he’s gone, you whirl toward the closet. robby steps out, arms crossed, grinning like an idiot.

“you suck,” you hiss.

“i mean, technically you’re the one—”

you grab a pillow and hurl it at his face before he can finish that sentence.

…

cobra kai taglist: @karmaswitch @mamasfavourite @justchillin13 @timotheechalametswifeys @jeonkoowife @yoyouourmum @astreiz @adv3rc1ty @yslbaeee @amnesique @yaya-1loveart @izzyelise11 @larussoslostdaughter @elemental-of-magic @robbykeenesposts

if you’d like to be added to this taglist, dm/message me OR comment on any of my posts to be added!

[estellan0vella]

Love In Print│Bang Chan

Chapter Nine: Stick With Knockoffs SS: 3 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 2.1K Content Warnings: nudity

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The shisha bar is wrapped in a sultry haze of smoke, its dim lanterns casting warm, flickering light across deep crimson walls. The air is thick with the mingling scents of fruit-flavoured shisha and spilt whiskey.

Ayame leans back on a plush velvet couch, her black mini skirt riding slightly higher as she crosses her legs, the sharp edge of her thigh-high boots glinting in the soft light. She exhales a slow plume of smoke, the tendrils curling lazily toward the ceiling.

Minho sprawls next to her, one arm thrown across the back of the couch like he owns the place. His shirt is unbuttoned enough to expose a tempting sliver of his chest, the faint sheen of his skin catching the light.

Across from them, Hyunjin lounges like a cat, his long legs stretched out, shisha pipe in hand, while Seungmin sits upright, as composed as ever, nursing a glass of neat whiskey. The four of them radiate a sort of chaotic elegance that turns heads even in this crowded room.

Minho takes a slow pull from his shisha, blowing out a perfect ring of smoke before turning to Ayame. "You know," he begins, his tone casual but laced with sincerity, "your idea was solid. Booze and painting? That's like therapy but fun. Team building and getting pissed? Perfect combo."

Ayame snorts, resting her elbow on the armrest and swirling her drink. "But no. Guns and ammo. Because that's what these assholes think is a good idea for fostering workplace camaraderie."

Hyunjin leans forward, his chin resting in his palm as he gestures toward her with his glass. "You deserved to win that one. You put in the work."

"Doesn't matter," Ayame replies, sighing as she sets her drink down and takes another drag from the shisha. The cherry-flavored smoke slides easily from her lips. "Haechul and Chan don't play fair. They play to win."

Seungmin tilts his glass, the amber liquid catching the light. "It's not over yet. The board's decision isn't final until New Year's, and it's an independent board. They're not going to let bribery slide."

Ayame barks out a short, humourless laugh, shaking her head. "You really think Haechul gives a fuck? The man literally pitched paintball as a way to resolve workplace conflict. Guns, Seungmin. Fucking guns."

Seungmin sighs, leaning back in his seat. "Alright, fair. He's insane. But Chan's not Haechul. You've got a shot."

"Chan's not Haechul," Ayame mutters under her breath, swirling the shisha hose in her hand. "No, Chan's just a fucking enigma wrapped in a condescending suit."

Hyunjin raises his glass, interrupting her spiral. "I propose a new plan: we all get drunk and forget these Miroh bastards exist. Aya, you especially need to forget about Bang Chan's annoyingly symmetrical face and his perfectly sculpted ass."

Ayame points the shisha hose at him like a weapon. "I don't think about his ass."

"You should," Hyunjin replies with a teasing smirk. "It's art."

Minho snickers, taking a long sip of his drink before chiming in. "Art or not, I'd like to stop thinking about shoving my cock down Jisung's throat every time he opens his mouth about font pairings."

Seungmin, who's mid-sip, nearly chokes. "For fuck's sake, Minho."

"What?!" Minho exclaims, grinning shamelessly. "It's a valid fantasy."

Seungmin sets his glass down, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You people are deranged. Meanwhile, I just want to forget how Jeongin's innocent little smile made me think about inviting him over to 'fix my Wi-Fi.'"

Ayame perks up at that, her grin wicked. "Oh, Oppa, don't be shy. You're living a bad porn setup. Let me guess: 'Thanks for fixing my router, now let me show you how to turn me on.'" She even winks for good measure.

Seungmin groans, hiding his face behind his glass. "Fuck off, Ayame."

"Come on," Hyunjin adds, laughing. "You want the Miroh IT guy to take his shirt off and crawl under your desk, don't you?"

Seungmin glares at him over the rim of his glass. "You're all terrible people."

"Terrible, but honest," Minho says, raising his glass. "And that's what makes us the best. To getting fucked up and forgetting about these corporate dickheads! Cheers!"

"Cheers!" they all echo, clinking their glasses together with varying levels of enthusiasm.

Ayame wakes to the unrelenting stab of sunlight slicing through her blinds, a dull pounding in her skull that feels like her brain is trying to escape.

She groans, rolling over to bury her face in her pillow, only to come face-to-face with a very naked, very unfamiliar man lying beside her. He's propped up on one elbow, his tousled dark hair sticking up in endearing chaos, and a smug, dimpled smile tugging at his lips. His deep brown eyes glint with amusement.

"Morning," he says, his voice husky from sleep. "I'm Chris. We had sex last night."

Ayame's eyes snap wide open, her hangover forgotten in the face of pure, undiluted panic. "Your name is what?!"

Chris chuckles softly, clearly entertained by her reaction. "Chris," he repeats, enunciating like she might be slow. "You brought me here. We had sex. Several times, if I remember correctly."

"Oh, fuck me," Ayame whispers, clutching the sheet to her chest and scooting back like he might explode at any second.

Chris grins, sitting up and stretching lazily, completely unbothered by his nakedness. "Pretty sure we covered that already, sweetheart."

Before Ayame can even figure out how to respond, the door to her room flies open with the force of a small hurricane, and in strides Minho, looking both supremely unimpressed and mildly murderous. He's dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, his hair sticking up as if he didn't even glance in a mirror before barging in.

"I let myself in," Minho announces dramatically, then freezes mid-step as his eyes land on Chris. His gaze slides from Chris's messy hair to his bare chest and downward. "What. The. Actual. Fuck."

Chris starts to speak, but Minho cuts him off with a raised hand, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. "Nope. Not a word. Out of my little Aya's bed. Right. Fucking. Now."

Chris blinks, clearly caught off guard. "Uh, okay, but-"

"OUT!" Minho yells, pointing toward the door like an angry parent. "Defiling my maknae and thinking you can hang around for coffee? Do I look like I serve breakfast to dickwads who've been balls-deep in my baby Aya? No, sir. Get your naked ass up and out!"

Chris fumbles for his clothes, pulling on his pants while muttering, "Alright, alright, I'm going."

Minho's sharp eyes track his every move. But as Chris bends over to grab his shirt, Minho tilts his head, his expression softening just slightly. "Hmm," he hums thoughtfully, "nice ass. Decent dick, too."

Chris freezes mid-motion, glancing back over his shoulder, looking equal parts flustered and amused. "Uh... thanks?"

"Don't thank me," Minho snaps, his sharp tone returning as he waves toward the door. "Just leave."

Chris pulls his shirt on, his movements hurried as he backs toward the door. "Nice to meet you, Ayame," he says, flashing her a sheepish smile.

Minho scoffs, stepping between Chris and Ayame like a human shield. "Nice to meet her? Your tip already met her fucking cervix last night. Out."

Chris raises his hands in surrender, quickly slipping out the door. The sound of it clicking shut is like a gunshot in the now-silent room.

Minho spins around to face Ayame, his hands on his hips, his expression unreadable for a moment before it breaks into a wicked grin. "He looked like Chan."

"No." Ayame sits up, clutching the sheet tighter around her chest as her heart pounds. "No, no, no, no, no."

"Oh, yes." Minho's grin widens, his eyes gleaming with glee. "Don't worry. I fuck men who look like Jisung. It's called coping, honey."

Ayame stares at him, horror spreading across her face. "His name was Chris."

Minho's smirk falters for half a second before he bursts into laughter, doubling over and clutching his stomach. "Chris? Like Bang Christopher Chan?" He straightens, his laughter uncontrollable. "You hooked up with a guy who looks like Chan and has the same English name? Oh my god, Ayame!"

Ayame groans, flopping back onto the bed and throwing an arm over her face. "Why am I like this?"

Minho perches on the edge of the bed, tossing a clean t-shirt and panties at her. "Here. Get dressed, pabo. I'm making breakfast. My cooking fixes everything, hangovers, bad decisions, existential crises, you name it."

Ayame catches the clothes with a sigh, glaring at him half-heartedly. "Will it fix you being the literal worst?"

"Nope," Minho says cheerfully, standing and heading toward the door. "But it'll keep you alive long enough for me to keep bullying your dumb ass. Gold, Aya. Absolute fucking gold."

She hears him laughing to himself as he disappears into the kitchen.

Ayame groans again, dragging herself out of bed. "God, give me strength," she mutters, pulling the t-shirt over her head. The faint scent of Chris's cologne lingers in the sheets, and she freezes for a second before shaking her head violently.

"Not today, Satan. Not fucking today."

Ayame stumbles into the kitchen, oversized sunglasses perched precariously on her face, shielding her bloodshot eyes from the cruel, too-bright sunlight streaming through the windows.

Minho stands at the stove, his back to her, moving with the maddening grace of someone who clearly slept well and made good decisions. He hums cheerfully as he flips bacon in the pan, the sizzle of grease like an auditory assault to Ayame's pounding head. The smell of bacon, eggs, and whatever the fuck Minho thinks will cure her is making her stomach twist in protest.

Ayame groans loudly, dragging herself to the counter and slumping against it. "Minho. Kill me."

Minho glances over his shoulder, smirking like the absolute shithead he is. "Oh, no, no, no, honey. Maknae. My darling trainwreck of a child. This is what life lessons taste like." He gestures to the sizzling bacon with his spatula. "Delicious, greasy, artery-clogging lessons."

Ayame groans louder, clutching her head. "Not now, Oppa."

Minho spins dramatically, brandishing the spatula like a weapon. "No, listen to me. I've been exactly where you are. Once, I hooked up with a guy because he had Jisung's jawline. It's fine! It's healthy! Stops us from doing irreparable damage to our lives by sleeping with the actual enemy."

Ayame drags herself to the table, collapsing into a chair and burying her face in her folded arms. "The elevator kiss was too much."

Minho freezes mid-step, his eyes gleaming with unholy curiosity. "Oh, we're talking about the elevator now? Spill. Everything. Details. Were there hands in your hair?"

Ayame mumbles something incoherent into her arms.

Minho leans closer. "What was that, Maknae? You're going to have to speak up."

Ayame lifts her head just enough to glare at him from behind her sunglasses. "He pinned me against the wall."

Minho gasps, dropping into the chair across from her like he's just been handed a scandalous piece of gossip. "Stop. Stop right now."

"And," Ayame continues, "he lifted me up by my thighs."

Minho slaps the table with both hands, his grin so wide it's bordering on unhinged. "Fucking hell, Ayame, that's hotter than it has any right to be. What the fuck."

Ayame groans, her head hitting the table with a thud. "I hate my life."

"But wait," Minho says, holding up a finger, "how good was it?"

Ayame groans again, muffled by the table, before muttering, "Too good."

Minho clutches his chest, throwing his head back in faux agony. "No! The enemy isn't supposed to be good at kissing! That's against the rules. It's unethical."

"I know," Ayame mumbles, her voice muffled by her arms. "He's unethical."

Minho narrows his eyes, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "You could just make Discount Chan your regular. Avoid the main brand entirely. You know, stick with knockoffs. Like generic cereal, same taste, half the price."

Ayame sits up just enough to glare at him. "You're the worst."

Minho points his spatula at her triumphantly. "And yet here I am, feeding you, absolving you of your sins, and making your dumb ass laugh. You're welcome."

She groans, pushing her plate away. "I hate you."

"No, you hate yourself," Minho counters, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms. "And that's why Oppa is here. To remind you that it's okay to be a fucking disaster sometimes."

Ayame glances at him from behind her sunglasses, her lips twitching. "Does this disaster come with more bacon?"

Minho grins, snatching a strip from his plate and tossing it onto hers. "Always, Maknae. Always."

As Ayame picks up her fork, Minho leans back, watching her with a satisfied smirk. "Now eat up. You're gonna need your strength for the day ahead."

"Why?" Ayame asks, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

Minho's grin turns wolfish. "Because Chan is going to walk into the office, and all you're going to be able to think about is his hands on your thighs."

Ayame groans again, her head thudding against the table. Minho cackles loudly, his laughter echoing through the kitchen, filling it with chaos, affection, and the unmistakable energy of two best friends thriving in the messiest moments of life.

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[pekoehoneyncream]

Ghoaptober # 21

Prompt: Forest

Words: 2000~

TW: None (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

Return of the Shifter AU from #16! and a return of Router Woods from #1.

Fair warning that this one is set Pre-Relationship

Enjoy!

“MacTavish.” Ghost let a grin twist up the edges of his mouth when the Sergeant jolted violently, having not noticed Ghost lurking outside the mess’s doors, waiting for Soap to emerge. 

“Sir!” MacTavish recovered admirably, snapping upright when he registered who was addressing him. 

“With me.” Ghost commanded as he turned and walked away. He heard the Sergeant stutter a half-jogging step to catch up with his abrupt exit, then settle in to pacing along behind Ghost's left shoulder. Refreshingly, without asking any inane questions. 

Ghost led them out the main building’s northernmost exit and headed up towards Router Woods, the copse of trees that bracketed the north of the base. Reaching the small forest’s south entrance, Ghost nodded to Price and Gaz, who had been waiting for them as agreed. 

“Soap.” Price greeted, “We’re here to get our Shifts acquainted. Best to do it in a non-critical situation, instead of having you dropped in it mid-mission.” 

“Sounds good, Cap.” MacTavish nodded looking between all of them with a curiosity glinting in his eyes that he couldn’t smother. 

That wasn’t surprising, he was the only one here without full knowledge of everyone’s Shifts. Ghost had told Price what MacTavish’s Shift is as soon as he’d found out, he didn't doubt that Price had told Gaz soon after that and, of course, they all already know each other’s Shifts. 

“This is what’s going to happen,” Price continued, “We’ll step into the trees and shift. Your task is to wait three minutes, then shift and come find us, Clear?”

“Yes, Sir.” Soap nodded, an eager tension starting to knot in his muscles. 

He watched the three men walk into the woods and checked his watch, making sure to remember the time it showed and not just let himself scratch ‘look at watch’ off the to-do list without actually having read the fucking thing. 

Impatiently waiting out the allotted time,  Soap forced himself not to pace. Picking at the seams of his pants and compulsively checking his watch every ten seconds, instead. When the third minute finally ticked over he immediately threw himself into his shift. 

The ground coming closer, his palms thickening into paw pads, warm fur coming up to shield vulnerable bare skin as his clothes vanished into the unknowns between magic and science that was intrinsic to all Shifters. 

He shook himself out and blinked away the slight blur of his vision adjusting, thankful that he kept the human colour range, instead of the wash of blues and yellows that actual wolves purportedly see in. 

Putting his nose to the ground, he snuffled around until he had the three distinct scents of Price, Ghost, and Gaz. He followed their trail into the trees and sneezed in frustration as the scents muddied together, they weren't playing nice. Well, by the smells of things, Ghost wasn’t playing nice. What was once three distinct lines of Price, Ghost, and Gaz had become two lines of PriceGhost and GazGhost, that occasionally muddled into one big mess of GhostPriceGhostGazGhost. 

The Lieutenant had purposely messed with the scent markers. 

It didn’t help that he’d done it over the spot they’d shifted, their normal scents gaining the undertones and edges of their Shifts. From what little he could parse, Gaz had the clean almost chloriney smell of some kind of cat, Price had the tallow, mineral, rock smell of ungulates, and Ghost had the dark musky reek of a large predator. 

Sneezing again and rubbing his nose into his own side to clear the mess of unhelpful scents from it, he started canvassing the area. Finding three distinct sets of prints that matched up nicely with his assumptions. The small round prints of a cat, probably a bobcat or a lynx, the teardrop prints of what looked to be a massive deer, and the signature two step of a bear. Backtracking until he found a scent that was clear and untainted by Ghost, Soap paced out in wider and wider circles, keeping the scent in his nose, listening closely for any out of place sounds and watching carefully for any more prints. He’d decided to try his hand -or paw as it were- at tracking Price, a deer couldn’t climb trees to hide like a cat or maul him like a bear.

Eventually he passed out of the area tainted by Ghost’s evil machinations and found a crisp line of prints and a nice clear scent trail. Flicking his ears he could hear something moving through the brush ahead of him and sunk low. With his belly brushing the dirt he slunk around until he was upwind of the scent. Creeping forward his target slowly came into view and Soap froze in slack jawed disbelief. 

That was no deer. 

It was fucking mountainous, what ever the fuck it was. Some kind of horrible love child between a moose, an elk, and Benandonner. Soap could have stood under it and not have his back even brush its belly. All that without mentioning the truly unnecessarily gargantuan rack of antlers it was crowned by, Soap could easily lay down in the bowl of one of them with no risk of slipping out. The sharp points they were sporting didn’t look like they were there for giving bairns tickles either. 

Abandoning his plan of sneaking up on Price, Soap stepped out from his cover with a yip and a friendly wag of his tail. Getting a closer look at the weapon’s rack he was touting as Price swung his head around to face him, Soap mentally retracted his previous thought. 

This thing could absolutely maul him. 

Price gave a snort that Soap prayed was friendly and came over to nudge at the wolf with his nose, wuffling around Soap’s ears for a moment, then pulling away with another snort. 

“Soap?” Came an echo of Price’s voice, faint like he was calling from the back of a cave system, “Are you hearing me?”

An old hand at forging mental links, Soap easily brought Price’s presence into focus, memorizing the unique shape of Price’s mind touching his and slotting it into place amongst the veritable phonebook of others that crowded in the back of his mind. 

“Aye, Price.” He answered, “I hear you.” 

“What?” Price asked, tilting his head -mindful of his antlers- to eye Soap.

“What?” Soap returned, not understanding what Price was questioning.

“Soap, you’re not speaking English,” Price informed him.

Ah, fuck. Old hand at forging mental links, Soap may be, but it’d been months since he’s had to deal with the headache of shifting his internal monologue out of the Scots Gaelic it defaulted to. 

“Sorry, Captain,” Soap enunciated, “I hear you fine.” 

Price blew out a hard breath, and bobbed his head, “That’s good, Soap. Off you trot then, go find Garrick and Ghost.” 

Soap darted a step forward to lick boldly at Price’s jaws, feeling safe enough to dare giving in to the instincts demanding he show deference to his superior. Price licked him broadly across his head then gave him a shooing nudge. Obediently trotting away, Soap couldn’t help the way his tail wagged, it would be nice to have a more permanent pack again. 

A breeze stirred a susurrus through the treetops and carried the dim feline smell of Gaz down to the wolf searching amongst their roots. Freezing where he was, Soap started sniffing hard, intently searching for any other sign of his quarry. Standing up onto his hindlegs and stretching his nose up to the branches, the smell became more clear. 

Soap knew that the cat would hide where he couldn’t reach. It’s what Soap would do if he was in Gaz’s fur. 

Engaging every stealth tactic he knew, Soap crept towards the epicentre of the scent pooling down from the trees. He carefully kept his head forward and his eyes down, not looking up, not letting Gaz know that he'd caught on to where his fellow Sergeant was hiding. When he was crouched at the base of the tree that his nose told him Gaz was -probably- sitting in, he abruptly threw his head back into the loudest throat-aching baying howl that he could scream out of his lungs. An old buddy that Shifted into an Eastern wolf had taught him how to howl like a North American, and Soap in turn had taught him how the Europeans sing.

A startled yowl followed by scrambling crashes sounded from the branches above his head. Looking up, he easily spotted the puffed up furball clinging to the trunk of the tree and glaring death down upon him. Soap let his tongue loll out of his mouth and his tail wag as he reared up to brace his forepaws against the trunk, giving Gaz a friendly boof.

Gaz hissed at him. 

Understandable really. 

“-uck would you do that?! Is mimicking bagpipes some kind of national Scottish pastime? Are the train horn imitators olympics coming up and I just wasn’t informed? Or are you just-” Gaz’s voice faded into Soap’s mind mid-rant. 

“Found you!” Soap cheered, making sure he said it in English the first time this go around. 

“Yeah, Yeah, Yeah,” Gaz grumbled, his stump of a tail flicking irritably, “Go find Ghost then.” 

Soap padded his paws against the tree, a bit upset that he couldn’t make friends with -read: ‘lick’- Gaz like he had Price, but he did still have to hunt down Ghost, so he pushed off and headed out.

Half an hour later he must have tracked over every square metre of Router Woods, but still couldn’t find any signs of Ghost clear enough to get a good heading off of. As a cherry on top, his unfamiliar surroundings were messing with his paranoia and ever since he left Gaz behind he’s felt like something’s watching him. Soap paused, gave a great whining stress-yawn and a halfhearted attempt at shaking off his tension, then sat to think over what he could do for next steps. Obviously, just wandering around wasn’t going to turn up Ghost. What other options did he have? As he mulled it over, a terrible idea started to take shape in his mind. 

If he couldn't find Ghost as the Hunter, it was time to be the Hunted. 

Leaning down, he nipped through the skin on his left ankle, and an offbeat crackling sounded from behind him as his blood rolled down to patter onto the earth. Whipping around, Soap found himself nearly nose-to-nose with a grizzly bear. 

A feeling of being watched indeed. 

Soap realized now that he’s been the hunted this whole damn time, but with adrenaline jolting through him, he wasn’t willing to give up his plan just yet. Wheeling about, he started sprinting through the trees. He could hear Ghost crashing after him, but accelerating as close to his top-speed as he dared while still having to weave through the trees, he easily outstripped the bear. Thankfully, the blood still dripping from his leg was giving Ghost a nice easy trail to follow. 

Soap barreled out of the trees at the south entrance of the woods, nearly mowing over Price and Gaz, who were waiting just outside like Soap had hoped they would be. Shifting back to his human form as swiftly as he dared, Soap panted to get his breath back under twin baffled stares.

“Wha-”

“Did you not find Ghost?” Price cut over Gaz’s question.

“Nae,” Soap denied, straightening up as much as his cramping side allowed, “I found him.” He hunched back over, bracing his hands on his knees. If he’d known he’d be running a marathon he would have stretched first. 

“Where is he?” Gaz asked for the both of them, glancing around like the Lieutenant might fall from a tree like a fresh ire-filled apple.

“He’s-” A worked up grizzly bear charging out of trees with an agitated bellow nicely punctuated Soap’s statement, and he continued with a cheering tone “Right here!” 

He turned a bright smile on the Captain. Ignoring Gaz’s disbelief-filled goggling, Price’s flat staring, and the huffing breaths stirring his warhawk, from the bear -presumably- looming over him.

“So I see.” Said Price.

Thank You For Reading!

Here's a Height comparison of the 141 and their shifts, for a bit of perspective, done in my usual colour coding.

and here's some images to put the sheer size of the Irish Elk into perspective.

They were frikken HUGE!

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