#its not like. good. but hEY ITS A LEARNING PROCESS

[pineapplesaresweet]

You got a lil something there man might wanna check that out

[spamtoon]

i would take their poison

Sketch + Line Art for those Clicking Under the Cut(tm) (archival purposes honestly)

[skitskatdacat63]

So many people in my real life keep being like "omg I watched dts and I totally understand your obsession with f1!!" NO YOU DON'T 😭😭😭

I try not to be a snob in this way but it's like, I know these people have no intention to actually watch races so it's so *eye twitching* when I get told this. And it's like, yeah I myself got into f1 thru dts technically, but I watched a couple eps, then an actual race, and found the actual races way more interesting, and the rest is history. And I hate how it's like "I got so invested!!" ...yeah with the storyline Netflix is telling. Maybe I'm just an annoying purist, but 😭 I can't keep doing this bcs im not built for responding in a good way djkfkg. I guess for me, I don't understand how dts can be that enjoyable. I didn't really like it too much before I knew much about F1, and I don't like it now bcs I know TOO much about all the actual going-ons. I mean, like there's a reason why I force myself to watch full old races 😭

Okay sorry this is quite bratty of me 😭 I'm just a control freak who's like "stop getting into my hobby not in the way I want you to get into my hobby!!!!!" It's the same energy as people telling me they know wags before they know drivers names. I do not care unless you're interested in watching actual races 😭😭

[seafoam-taide]

You know I thought for awhile that I was just a rare type of person who sure, liked people well enough but was okay being alone didn't necessarily need anyone and NO. NO. NO. OH MY GOD . YOU GIANT DUMBASS. NO HAHAHA NOOO NOPE

[widevibratobitch]

1:0 to my mother for pulling the wildest uno reverse card on me. what do you mean you're suicidal. IM suicidal. we cant both be suicidal. get your own thing stop copying me woman

[shotmrmiller]

pornstar au

f!reader x simon 'ghost' riley

3.7k words (sorry)

tw: teacher-student relationship but it's just a scene for porn. explicit. horrifyingly so.

You burst into the classroom and stride purposefully towards your professor, who is seated in his leather chair, engrossed in his work. Impatiently tapping your foot, you waited for him to finish marking essays. However, after 5 minutes, your patience with this unbearable man ran out.

"Professor."

He hums, a deep sound coming from the back of his throat yet doesn't look up from what he's doing. A real piece of work, he is. How fucking aggravating.

"Professor Riley," your voice takes an irreverent tone.

The hand that had been writing non-stop comes to a sudden pause, and he finally directs his attention to you. Meeting your gaze, his dark eyes are hooded, his lips set in a firm line. His job is to literally deal with students, yet he dares to look annoyed.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong 'r am I gonna have to learn how to read minds?" he states.

Taking in a calming breath, you clench the crumpled essay in your hand. "Can you explain to me why you failed me on this? I did exactly as you asked!"

He must know precisely what you're talking about because he simply turns back to the papers on his desk.

"Tha's your problem. You did exactly as I asked, with no thought behind it. Just wrote the bare minimum, if you can even call it writin'. It's copy-paste," Professor Riley sets the pen down and leans back in the chair.

"I need ya to use tha' head o' yours when in this class. Otherwise, you'll fail the rest o' your classes too."

Fucking hell.

Professor Riley shifts in his seat, seemingly done with the conversation, and finishes, "If tha's all."

Shit. Your pause is too long, and the director calls it. Fuck.

"I'm really sorry, Ghost, I didn't mean-" Your words of apology dissolve into thin air as his strong hand finds its place on your hip— giving it a gentle, but firm squeeze.

"S'all righ', love. Mistakes happen. Matter fact," his eyes drift from you to behind you to beckon someone with two fingers. "C'mere, you."

It's the set assistant, and he's brought the script with him. Ghost swiftly stops him from handing it to you, instead pushing it onto the assistant's chest. "Won't be needin' tha', thanks. Tell the director tha' we'll be ad-libin'. Now sod off."

The assistant follows his command in haste, scurrying off to follow Ghost's instructions.

"Hey," he murmurs. Your eyes meet his, feeling the intensity of it quickens your heartbeat. "Say whatever you like, just remember to follow the storyline, alright?"

Follow the storyline. In porn. The irony isn't lost on you, but you bite the side of your gummy cheek to keep from laughing. "Yes, sir."

He drops his hand from where he held you slowly, seemingly almost reluctant to let go. "Ready?" Ghost's thin lips curl into a smirk when you nod at his question. "Good girl."

Your fingers tightly grip the flimsy material of your uniform skirt at his praise, and warmth pools in your lower belly.

His good girl.

A high-pitched voice cuts through your thoughts, signaling the restart of the shooting. You exhale a long breath, unclenching your hands in the process.

Action.

"If tha' all." Ghost reaches for his pen when you frantically grab onto his Oxford sleeve.

"Wait, Professor, please! I can't," you stammer, "I cannot fail this class! My parents would kill me if I studied abroad only to flunk. The tuition—"

His tone is authoritative as he abruptly cuts off your lengthy excuse. "Enough. Nothing can change the mark I've given you."

Your ears pricked up at his wording, and the corners of your lips pulled up into a roguish smile. "No?" Ghost stills before turning to face you, countenance blank. "Nothing at all, Professor?" With a coy tilt of your head, your wide, doe-like eyes meet his as your fingertips trace an alluring path from his forearm down to his knuckles.

"I really can't convince you in any way to change that grade for me?" You lean on the edge of his wooden desk— skirt so short it doesn't even graze the surface of it— and lightly curl your hand around his pointer finger. "It can be our little secret, Professor Riley," you purr.

Ghost lifts a single brow, and settles back into his seat, arms crossed over his barrel chest as his eyes travel from your feet to your exposed cleavage, fixating on the soft skin peeking out from your uniform top.

"Please?" his hushed voice reverberates inside your skull. "I promise to be a good girl."

That catches his attention, eyes flashing to yours, the fire behind them hot— you hope it burns you.

"'Sat, right? Tha' changes things now, doesn't it?" Ghost rolls his chair back, away from his desk, and spreads his thick legs apart in invitation, arms resting on the rests— the dictionary definition of casual. "Convince me then, pet."

"Yes, sir." Sauntering to stand in between his legs, you swallow thickly— the bulge in his groin was quite frankly, intimidating. You've had large, but this was in a league of its own.

"You gonna do it from up there? I know I'm bigger than average but not tha' big." A huff escapes from your lips. A whole comedian.

Knees pressed into the cold, tile floor, you expertly undo the button of his trousers and with his help, pulled them down along with his pants— just enough for his cock to spring free.

Bloody fucking hell.

His cock is monstrous. It rested against his belly, heavy and thick. The pink tip slightly peeking from under his foreskin. There was a groomed thatch of coarse hair at the base, and his balls were also heavy— one hanging lower than the other.

Ghost leans forward and cradles the underside of your jaw with one large hand, fingers gently caressing the delicate skin of your cheek, while the other pumps his rigid cock in anticipation. "Not scared, are ya?" His grin was wicked. "I promise it don't bite."

Grabbing his wrist, you maneuver his hand so that his thumb now rests on your soft lips. "Might not, but I do, Professor." And catch the tip of his finger between your blunt teeth, the subtle sting of it making him hiss.

"Perfect, pretty girl," he says, almost inaudible. His words of praise are for you alone— not for the scene, nor the camera. You peer up at him through your lashes, mewling softly at the expression on his face.

His brow was set, hooded eyes sultry, a rosy hue across his cheeks and nose, and lips parted as he panted quietly.

Delicious.

Ghost then pushes his thumb further into your slick mouth and hooks it behind your bottom teeth, delicately pulling you closer to him as he tips his head down— taking his thumb out with a pop. His warm breath fans across your face as he moves closer until his lips connect with yours. He slid his tongue into your mouth, tasting of frosty mint and his own unique taste.

Your hands come up, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs when he grasps your wrist and moves it to the focal point of his desire— his breath hitching when you give his cock a firm squeeze. Ghost bites your bottom lip before breaking away, a guttural noise escaping him when you begin to stroke him. "Tighten your hand around—" he breaks off, moaning against your kiss-swollen lips when you comply.

He threads his fingers through your hair that sits at the base of your skull, curling them into a fist and tugging back— craning your neck, hair pulled taut.

"So obedient. Jus' f'me, love?" you hum cheekily, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

"Would you hold it against me if I said no?" he chuckles under his breath, the grip on your hair tightening marginally.

"I'd say tha' you're lyin'." He sucks in a breath when you press down lightly onto his slit with your thumb. "Cheeky."

He loosens the hold he has on you, feeling your scalp prickle with tender relief, and relaxes back into the chair. "All yours, sweetheart."

That light wasn't getting any greener, so with a grunt, you shifted your weight, ignoring your aching knees, and wrapped your lips around his cock.

Barely.

The salty bite of his arousal and musk spread on your tongue as you took him in deep, stilling once he hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, look at me."

Slightly tipping your head back, you do as he says, your throat closing around him as he slips in even further.

"Fuckfuckfuck," a hiss, "such a hot little mouth, just swallowin' me righ' up." Your lungs burn with the lack of oxygen, forcing you to pull back to gasp for air. Ghost squeezes himself at the base and taps your cheek with his saliva-coated length.

"A dirty slag like you, jus' takin' me like a professional. Tha' what you are? A professional cock sucker, love?" he taunts. Your pussy clenches when he calls you a slag, pressing your thighs together in the hope of some friction; Something to alleviate the throbbing ache in between your legs.

Ghost with eyes as keen as ever, notices. Damn.

"Oh? Little harlot likes to get degraded, does she? Reminded of her place? How I'd love to teach you exactly where you belong, but tha' wouldn't be you convincin' me to change your bad grade, now would it?"

His cock taps on your swollen lips. "Another time, hm? Now open. Make me see reason."

Ghost's wish is your command. With enthusiasm, you take him in your mouth, slowly bobbing your head, place a hand right under your lips, and twist with every push and pull.

It's sloppy, spit covering your hand, dripping down to his balls. Your jaw aches, a burning pressure a little under your ear, but what gives you the strength to continue is the loud moans coming from Ghost. He holds nothing back, his hand engulfing the crown of your head while he gently pushes you down. A performer down to his very bones.

You were about to pause the recording, the pain in your mandible and knees almost becoming too much when he suddenly pulled you off of him.

"Wha—?" Ghost seizes you by the upper arms, forcibly bringing you to your feet, disregarding your pained whimper, and places you on the sturdy desk.

He's curling his fingers into the waistband of your frilly knickers, slipping them down your legs and pocketing them. There's a quiet popping sound when he bends his knees, going eye level with your bare cunt.

In a hushed tone, you say, "This isn't part of the scene." Ghost drags his eyes from your glistening slit to your face, gaze suffocating, smothering the very air in your lungs.

"Just a taste, love." He curls one hand under your thigh, lifting it to perch it on the edge of the desk, the other he throws over his strong shoulder. The only sound in the room is your soft moans as he expertly slides his warm tongue through your slick folds, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

By god does he eat pussy like it's his job. Peering down at him, you can't stop the sounds that spill from your mouth when his tongue visibly splits your pussy lips open, flicking at your clit, lapping up your arousal like it is honey. You take hold of his short hair, tugging at the strands as each swirl of his talented tongue pushes you closer to your peak.

His eyes cut to yours when he presses a thick finger into you, drinking in your desperate expression as you keen, begging for more, blabbering about it being so good, yet not enough, please god more.

Ghost curls his finger, only taking a second to find your sweet spot, and pushes— bursts of light flashing in your peripheral vision. You begin to rock your hips unconsciously, chasing your ecstasy, and Ghost simply flattens his tongue, letting you grind against it.

You teeter on the edge of bliss, a tightening in your stomach, right under where his finger is. Shaky exhales leave you, the leg that's on the desk visibly trembling from the tension that threatens to snap you in half.

He presses a kiss to your sodden pussy, and croons, "Gonna come f'me?" You jerkily nod.

"Yes fuck yes, I'm gonna come for you, just for you, Professor Riley pleaseee—" your blathering turns into a high-pitched squeal as he lightly sucks on your pearl, hips lifting off the desk as a blinding orgasm crashes into you, pleasure bursting through your very core, cunt pulsating with every wave of ecstasy around Ghost's finger.

He wastes no time in rising to his feet and slotting his mouth over yours, the taste of your slick strong, potent on his tongue. Ghost breaks away, his breath smelling of your desire. "Exquisite, like ambrosia. Addicting."

Ghost's hand cups your sensitive quim and whispers, "Think you can take me? Tha' orgasm took a lot outta ya."

Silly question. "I'm a big girl, Ghost. I can take it."

He licks the front of his teeth and glances down to where his hand rests. "Course you can, love. Turn around f'me."

Your movements are sluggish as you turn over onto your stomach, rising to the tip of your toes as you present yourself to him.

Ghost grabs the sides of your waist, and flips your skirt up, tucking the edge into the waistband of it. His hands palm your cheeks, thumbs digging into the meat of your ass to spread you open, completely exposed to him.

"Fuck me if tha' isn't the prettiest sight I've ever had the pleasure of seein'." He doesn't acknowledge your scoff as he spreads your hands out, placing them flat on the table— enveloping your hand with his own, intertwining his fingers with yours.

His leans over your semi-prone body, cock gently prodding at your entrance, gliding easily through your folds. "Ready?"

Arching your back, his tip slips inside, just barely. That's your answer.

You can hear the smarmy grin that spreads on his face, and wanted to snark back but you're rendered mute when he pushes in. Your eyes cross at the stretch of his cock, a feeling so sublime you know that no one will ever be able to duplicate. Your fingers tighten around his as you mewl when he bottoms out, hips flush against your arse.

Ghost sucks in a breath through his teeth when you shift your weight, and whatever you did has him sliding in deeper— turning his hiss into a guttural groan. "Fuck, you have no fuckin' idea how good you feel."

Probably not, but you have every idea how good he feels.

"You okay, love? Took me so well like you were made jus' f'me. So warm and soft, tight like a vice around my cock. Pretty pussy split wide open, stuffed full of me." He speaks unfettered filth to you, dripping over your ears like molasses, thick and syrupy. Your head feels heavy on your shoulders— dizzy, drunk on his scent, his cock that's got you tearing at the seams.

Then he begins to move, pulling out until an inch remains inside, and pushing in until he's nudging the plug of your womb, feeling a deep pinch under your navel.

This is what it's like to get fucked by Ghost. The one everyone covets after, hoping he drags down the very heavens with his bare hands and lays it at their feet. And here he is, fucking you. A newbie, a fresh face no one knows yet, a name that'll probably never grace the front page.

You doubt his motives are altruistic, but goddamn does it not matter; Not with the way he's carving a space inside of you that only he will ever fit in, or the way he's curling his free hand around your neck, thumb pressed right over your racing pulse.

He lowers himself until his strong chest is to your back, his teeth nipping the tip of your ear. "The moment I saw you gettin' fucked by Johnny, I knew I had t'have ya." Your walls clamp down on him involuntarily, wrenching a pained noise from him. "Fuckin' hell, I knew this pussy would be magical."

Ghost's lips skim over the shell of your ear before pressing a chaste kiss on it. "Lemme hear how good I make ya feel, pet. Don't hold back on me now." He grinds into your arse, going in so deep that it feels like he's trying to push past the entrance of your womb. "S'alrigh'. I'll jus' have t'pull 'em outta ya."

He releases you, placing both hands flat on the desk, on either side of your shoulders. "Take em for myself, make 'em mine." Straightening all the way, he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your waist.

"What a view. Perfection." He rolls his hips, rhythm languid, loud squelching noises coming from where he fills you. "Drippin' cream all over my cock, pet. Can't tell me this isn't 'cause of me."

How the fuck can he still talk? How is he coherent? Why isn't his brain turned into mush like yours is?

"Fuckin' ya speechless, am I? Oh, sweetheart, but I'm barely gettin' started." Ghost slowly pulls out, and curls his hand around your shoulder, nudging you to turn over. "On your back, now."

You lazily flip over, hair sticking to your sweat-slick skin, and he hooks his arms underneath your legs and drags you to the edge until your arse hangs from it. "I wanna see that pretty face when you come." He wastes no time in sheathing himself back inside your swollen channel, walls fluttering at the invasion.

Ghost hooks one leg over his shoulder to lean forward, pinning you to the desk with his upper body, and maneuvers your other to wrap around his wide waist. "That cock drunk look on your face makes my balls tighten, what a fuckin' expression you've got, christ," he growls. "Knowin' I put it there makes it all the better."

He gives you a chaste kiss on the lips and gives you a smile that is all teeth. "Now let's make you sing."

Grunting, he straightens. plants his feet firmly, stance wide, and begins to fuck you. The videos of the famed Ghost you saw are nothing, nothing, in comparison to real life. His full weight is behind every spine-jarring thrust, it makes your teeth clack, it rattles your brain inside your skull. He does it so perfectly because at no point do you feel any discomfort, not even a twinge. It's all a pleasure that blazes, an all-encompassing heat that threatens to swallow you whole, burn you from the inside out.

His cock punches the breath out of your lungs, wails clawing out of your throat, and it's so good, so fucking good— god, maybe he is god, you don't know, everything is so blurry, hazy—

All senses focus on the sudden touch between your legs, an expert thumb drawing tight circles on your slippery clit and there's no way you're going to survive this—

"There she is, the girl I saw in the video. Tha's an expression I see in myfuckin' sleep. Give me what's mine, pet. Let me feel you, cream all over my cock."

He's relentless in his pursuit of your climax, a wave of pleasure so intense, it just might drag you out to sea, drowning you.

Ghost, the fucking god of sex, stops his ministrations to spit on your pussy. Spit. From his full height, a glob of warm saliva drops to your mons, and he smears it with his fingers over your pussy lips before rubbing your clit. His thrusts slow in pace, turning into a firm snap of his hips, making sure you feel every ridge of his cock, and in less than a minute, your spine arches off the desk.

Your mouth opens into a silent scream, lids snapping shut as you break underneath him, warmth gushing from where he's continuously sinking into you, a steady, slow rhythm that never ends.

"Came all over me, didn't ya? Bet you didn't know you could even do tha'."

You didn't.

"Jus' for tha', I'm gonna give you somethin' in return, yeah? A little reward for bein' so good," he praises.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, swollen and thick, and unconsciousness creeps at the very edges of your mind.

All you can do is lie there and take it, his sloppy thrusts, his harsh panting until he moans, "'m close, so fuckin' close," and with whatever remnants of strength you have left, you use to squeeze him tightly— unwilling to let go because his come is yours now, you've earned it.

"Come in me, Ghost," you whimper.

That does it. He slams his hands on either side of your head and borderline roars out his release, cock twitching inside of your used cunt, filling you with his spend.

Cut.

Ghost's breathing is labored, a harsh pant that fans over your overheated skin, damp with sweat.

His brows are furrowed, his eyes squeezed shut, gulping in air and shivering in the aftershock of his climax.

To be fucked by Ghost is to see the Garden of Eden behind your eyelids.

Now you understand. You understand why he has no equal. He is unparalleled.

Jesus Christ, you're fucked. So, so fucked.

He slowly opens his eyes and peers down at you with a wolfish grin.

"Perfection."

--

A week later, your video with Ghost is the most viewed on the entire website. Not one other video even scratches the bottom of where your video sits.

Ghost truly is the king.

Curiously enough, your friend is the one who lets you know that Mr. life-altering cock himself never kisses during work. Not once in any video of his has he ever kissed, apart from a short pressing of lips to skin.

Your heart traitorously flutters at the thought of it meaning something more. Catching feelings when you get fucked for a living is not the move. But there's no stopping it from misbehaving, especially when you receive another script, to make another video with Ghost.

Another. one.

Fuck. Fuck!!

You cannot wait.

@mishaglass

[sohyxn]

STAY IN VEGAS ( OR IS IT? )⠀───⠀JANG WONYOUNG.

SYPNOSIS : wonyoung and yn entered into an impulsive six months marriage trial, but as times progressed, they realized this drunken marriage was not a mistake after all.

TAGS : wlw, fluff, continuation of what happens in vegas, strangers to lovers, just them falling in love, kinda rush ending.

NOTES : this was fun to write omg

"I'm sorry, but according to the law, you two have to be married for at least six months before you can legally get divorced," the attorney explained, giving them an apologetic look.

"six months?" wonyoung exclaimed, her eyes wide. "but that's ridiculous! we got married drunk, for goodness sake. this was never meant to be a real, lasting marriage."

yn placed a comforting hand on wonyoung's arm. "hey, it's okay. we'll figure this out." she turned to the attorney. "is there any way we can expedite the process? maybe a week or a month?"

the attorney shook his head. "I'm afraid not. the six months waiting period is firmly in place. unless there are extenuating circumstances, you'll have to wait it out."

"this is such a waste of time," wonyoung grumbled as they sat in the stuffy office for their first meeting. exams were coming up and she was already overwhelmed with studying.

yn nodded in agreement, shifting uncomfortably. "I just want this to be over with."

their eyes met for a brief moment, and despite the tense situation, they couldn't help but share a small laugh at the absurdity of it all. the ice slowly started to break.

over the next few weeks, wonyoung and yn tentatively began spending more time together, deciding to make the best of their forced proximity.

they went on casual "dates" - dinners, walks in the park, trips to the movies. at first it was stilted and awkward, but gradually they started to open up to each other.

one night, as exam season hit full swing, wonyoung was holed up in her apartment, surrounded by books and notes, stress levels at an all-time high. yn had been trying to call her, but wonyoung was too consumed with studying to answer.

concerned, yn decided to pay her a visit. when wonyoung opened the door, she looked utterly exhausted.

"yn? what are you doing here?" she asked, bewildered.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," she said softly, stepping inside. she took in the cluttered apartment and wonyoung's frazzled appearance. "you look like you could use a break."

wonyoung sighed heavily. "I'm just so stressed with these exams, I can't think straight."

yn gently guided her to the couch. "then let me take care of you for a bit." she disappeared into the kitchen, and soon the aroma of fresh-baked cookies filled the air.

when she returned, she handed wonyoung a warm, gooey cookie. "eat up. you need to take a breather."

wonyoung took a bite, the delicious treat melting in her mouth. she felt some of the tension leave her body as yn sat beside her, rubbing her back soothingly.

"mmm, these are amazing," wonyoung said, moaning slightly in delight. "you know, having a wife isn't too bad after all."

yn raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "oh, so I'm your wife now, huh? I thought we were supposed to be getting a divorce."

wonyoung rolled her eyes, nudging yn's shoulder. "shut up, you know what I mean." she took another bite of the cookie, savoring the flavor. "but seriously, these are the best cookies I've ever had. where did you learn to bake like this?"

"secret," yn teased, winking at her. "maybe I'll have to teach you someday. make sure you keep that wife of yours happy, you know."

wonyoung couldn't help but laugh, the stress of her exams temporarily forgotten as she basked in yn's comforting presence. "deal."

“I'm here." wonyoung sent the message to yn.

lately it has become a routine for wonyoung to 'pick up' yn at her workplace whenever the latter have free times.

as usual, its a busy night at the bar where yn worked, and she was bustling around, serving cocktails and chatting with the patrons. she was so focused on her work that she didn't even notice wonyoung slip in and take a seat at the end of the bar.

wonyoung watched yn with adoring eyes, taking in the way she moved with such confidence and grace behind the bar. she couldn't help but feel a surge of pride, knowing that this beautiful, talented woman was hers, even if it is only by paper.

as wonyoung was lost in her thoughts, she couldn't help but notice someone at the bar eyeing yn appreciatively.

wonyoung felt a flicker of possessiveness rise up inside her. she reached across the table and took yn's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"you look absolutely stunning tonight, you know that?" wonyoung said, her gaze locked on yn's.

yn flushed surprised by the compliment, a small smile tugging at her lips. "thank you, wony. you're looking pretty dashing yourself."

just then, the person from the bar approached their table, a flirtatious smile on their face.

"excuse me, I couldn't help but notice you from across the room. I was wondering if you might join me for a drink?" they said, eyes fixed on yn.

before yn could respond, wonyoung slid her arm around yn's waist and pulled her close.

"actually, she's with me," wonyoung said firmly, giving the person a pointed look.

the person's eyes widened in surprise, and they quickly backtracked. "oh, I-I'm so sorry, I didn't realize. please, excuse me."

they hurried back to the bar, leaving wonyoung and yn alone. yn turned to wonyoung, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"my, someone's feeling a little possessive tonight," she teased, giving wonyoung's hand a gentle squeeze.

wonyoung felt her cheeks heat up, but she didn't back down. "well, can you blame me? I don't want anyone else trying to flirt with my wife."

yn's eyes widened slightly at wonyoung's words, but she quickly recovered, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "wife, huh?"

wonyoung felt her cheeks flush at the implication, and she averted her gaze shyly. "w...well, technically, you're my wife. I mean, you know, we're...married by law." she cleared her throat awkwardly.

yn chuckled and leaned in closer to wonyoung. "is that so? and here I thought we were just friends" she winked, enjoying the flustered reaction she was getting from wonyoung.

wonyoung cleared her throat "anyway... ready to go home?"

"yeah, let's go wifey." yn teased the already flustered wonyoung.

over the next few weeks, wonyoung and yn found themselves spending more and more time together. what had started as a casual arrangement had evolved into a deep, genuine connection.

just like today, they cuddled on the couch watching a movie, when wonyoung turned to yn.

"you know, I've been thinking..." she began tentatively.

yn brushed a stray lock of hair from wonyoung's face. "what is it?"

"well, our six months are almost up. we're supposed to get a divorce, remember?" wonyoung said, biting her lip.

yn's heart sank at the reminder. "oh, right. I'd almost forgotten about that."

wonyoung sighed heavily. "I don't know, yn. the thought of us getting a divorce...it doesn't sit right with me anymore."

"me neither," yn admitted softly. she gave wonyoung's hand a gentle squeeze. "I've grown so used to having you in my life. I don't want that to end."

wonyoung nodded, her eyes shining with emotion. "same here. you've become such an important part of my life. I don't think I'm ready to say goodbye to that."

they fell silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. then, wonyoung spoke up again, a playful glint in her eye.

"so, what do you say we just...not get a divorce?" she suggested, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.

yn couldn't help but chuckle. "are you proposing we stay married, then?"

wonyoung nodded, snuggling closer to yn. "that's exactly what I'm proposing. what do you think, wife?"

yn wrapped her arms around wonyoung, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "well, in that case, I think I'd be a fool to say no, darling."

wonyoung beamed, her heart swelling with happiness. "good, because I don't plan on letting you go anytime soon."

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Gig apps trap reverse centaurs in Skinner boxes

Enshittification is the process by which digital platforms devour themselves: first they dangle goodies in front of end users. Once users are locked in, the goodies are taken away and dangled before business customers who supply goods to the users. Once those business customers are stuck on the platform, the goodies are clawed away and showered on the platform’s shareholders:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Enshittification isn’t just another way of saying “fraud” or “price gouging” or “wage theft.” Enshittification is intrinsically digital, because moving all those goodies around requires the flexibility that only comes with a digital businesses. Jeff Bezos, grocer, can’t rapidly change the price of eggs at Whole Foods without an army of kids with pricing guns on roller-skates. Jeff Bezos, grocer, can change the price of eggs on Amazon Fresh just by twiddling a knob on the service’s back-end.

Twiddling is the key to enshittification: rapidly adjusting prices, conditions and offers. As with any shell game, the quickness of the hand deceives the eye. Tech monopolists aren’t smarter than the Gilded Age sociopaths who monopolized rail or coal — they use the same tricks as those monsters of history, but they do them faster and with computers:

https://doctorow.medium.com/twiddler-1b5c9690cce6

If Rockefeller wanted to crush a freight company, he couldn’t just click a mouse and lay down a pipeline that ran on the same route, and then click another mouse to make it go away when he was done. When Bezos wants to bankrupt Diapers.com — a company that refused to sell itself to Amazon — he just moved a slider so that diapers on Amazon were being sold below cost. Amazon lost $100m over three months, diapers.com went bankrupt, and every investor learned that competing with Amazon was a losing bet:

https://slate.com/technology/2013/10/amazon-book-how-jeff-bezos-went-thermonuclear-on-diapers-com.html

That’s the power of twiddling — but twiddling cuts both ways. The same flexibility that digital businesses enjoy is hypothetically available to workers and users. The airlines pioneered twiddling ticket prices, and that naturally gave rise to countertwiddling, in the form of comparison shopping sites that scraped the airlines’ sites to predict when tickets would be cheapest:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/27/knob-jockeys/#bros-be-twiddlin

The airlines — like all abusive businesses — refused to tolerate this. They were allowed to touch their knobs as much as they wanted — indeed, they couldn’t stop touching those knobs — but when we tried to twiddle back, that was “felony contempt of business model,” and the airlines sued:

https://www.cnbc.com/2014/12/30/airline-sues-man-for-founding-a-cheap-flights-website.html

And sued:

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/06/business/southwest-airlines-lawsuit-prices.html

Platforms don’t just hate it when end-users twiddle back — if anything they are even more aggressive when their business-users dare to twiddle. Take Para, an app that Doordash drivers used to get a peek at the wages offered for jobs before they accepted them — something that Doordash hid from its workers. Doordash ruthlessly attacked Para, saying that by letting drivers know how much they’d earn before they did the work, Para was violating the law:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/tech-rights-are-workers-rights-doordash-edition

Which law? Well, take your pick. The modern meaning of “IP” is “any law that lets me use the law to control my competitors, competition or customers.” Platforms use a mix of anticircumvention law, patent, copyright, contract, cybersecurity and other legal systems to weave together a thicket of rules that allow them to shut down rivals for their Felony Contempt of Business Model:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

Enshittification relies on unlimited twiddling (by platforms), and a general prohibition on countertwiddling (by platform users). Enshittification is a form of fishing, in which bait is dangled before different groups of users and then nimbly withdrawn when they lunge for it. Twiddling puts the suppleness into the enshittifier’s fishing-rod, and a ban on countertwiddling weighs down platform users so they’re always a bit too slow to catch the bait.

Nowhere do we see twiddling’s impact more than in the “gig economy,” where workers are misclassified as independent contractors and put to work for an app that scripts their every move to the finest degree. When an app is your boss, you work for an employer who docks your pay for violating rules that you aren’t allowed to know — and where your attempts to learn those rules are constantly frustrated by the endless back-end twiddling that changes the rules faster than you can learn them.

As with every question of technology, the issue isn’t twiddling per se — it’s who does the twiddling and who gets twiddled. A worker armed with digital tools can play gig work employers off each other and force them to bid up the price of their labor; they can form co-ops with other workers that auto-refuse jobs that don’t pay enough, and use digital tools to organize to shift power from bosses to workers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/02/not-what-it-does/#who-it-does-it-to

Take “reverse centaurs.” In AI research, a “centaur” is a human assisted by a machine that does more than either could do on their own. For example, a chess master and a chess program can play a better game together than either could play separately. A reverse centaur is a machine assisted by a human, where the machine is in charge and the human is a meat-puppet.

Think of Amazon warehouse workers wearing haptic location-aware wristbands that buzz at them continuously dictating where their hands must be; or Amazon drivers whose eye-movements are continuously tracked in order to penalize drivers who look in the “wrong” direction:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/17/reverse-centaur/#reverse-centaur

The difference between a centaur and a reverse centaur is the difference between a machine that makes your life better and a machine that makes your life worse so that your boss gets richer. Reverse centaurism is the 21st Century’s answer to Taylorism, the pseudoscience that saw white-coated “experts” subject workers to humiliating choreography down to the smallest movement of your fingertip:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/great-taylors-ghost/#solidarity-or-bust

While reverse centaurism was born in warehouses and other company-owned facilities, gig work let it make the leap into workers’ homes and cars. The 21st century has seen a return to the cottage industry — a form of production that once saw workers labor far from their bosses and thus beyond their control — but shriven of the autonomy and dignity that working from home once afforded:

https://doctorow.medium.com/gig-work-is-the-opposite-of-steampunk-463e2730ef0d

The rise and rise of bossware — which allows for remote surveillance of workers in their homes and cars — has turned “work from home” into “live at work.” Reverse centaurs can now be chickenized — a term from labor economics that describes how poultry farmers, who sell their birds to one of three vast poultry processors who have divided up the country like the Pope dividing up the “New World,” are uniquely exploited:

https://onezero.medium.com/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs-b2e8d5cda826

A chickenized reverse centaur has it rough: they must pay for the machines they use to make money for their bosses, they must obey the orders of the app that controls their work, and they are denied any of the protections that a traditional worker might enjoy, even as they are prohibited from deploying digital self-help measures that let them twiddle back to bargain for a better wage.

All of this sets the stage for a phenomenon called algorithmic wage discrimination, in which two workers doing the same job under the same conditions will see radically different payouts for that work. These payouts are continuously tweaked in the background by an algorithm that tries to predict the minimum sum a worker will accept to remain available without payment, to ensure sufficient workers to pick up jobs as they arise.

This phenomenon — and proposed policy and labor solutions to it — is expertly analyzed in “On Algorithmic Wage Discrimination,” a superb paper by UC Law San Franciscos Veena Dubal:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4331080

Dubal uses empirical data and enthnographic accounts from Uber drivers and other gig workers to explain how endless, self-directed twiddling allows gig companies pay workers less and pay themselves more. As @brianmerchant@mastodon.social explains in his LA Times article on Dubal’s research, the goal of the payment algorithm is to guess how often a given driver needs to receive fair compensation in order to keep them driving when the payments are unfair:

https://www.latimes.com/business/technology/story/2023-04-11/algorithmic-wage-discrimination

The algorithm combines nonconsensual dossiers compiled on individual drivers with population-scale data to seek an equilibrium between keeping drivers waiting, unpaid, for a job; and how much a driver needs to be paid for an individual job, in order to keep that driver from clocking out and doing something else. @ Here’s how that works. Sergio Avedian, a writer for The Rideshare Guy, ran an experiment with two brothers who both drove for Uber; one drove a Tesla and drove intermittently, the other brother rented a hybrid sedan and drove frequently. Sitting side-by-side with the brothers, Avedian showed how the brother with the Tesla was offered more for every trip:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UADTiL3S67I

Uber wants to lure intermittent drivers into becoming frequent drivers. Uber doesn’t pay for an oversupply of drivers, because it only pays drivers when they have a passenger in the car. Having drivers on call — but idle — is a way for Uber to shift the cost of maintaining a capacity cushion to its workers.

What’s more, what Uber charges customers is not based on how much it pays its workers. As Uber’s head of product explained: Uber uses “machine-learning techniques to estimate how much groups of customers are willing to shell out for a ride. Uber calculates riders’ propensity for paying a higher price for a particular route at a certain time of day. For instance, someone traveling from a wealthy neighborhood to another tony spot might be asked to pay more than another person heading to a poorer part of town, even if demand, traffic and distance are the same.”

https://qz.com/990131/uber-is-practicing-price-discrimination-economists-say-that-might-not-be-a-bad-thing/

Uber has historically described its business a pure supply-and-demand matching system, where a rush of demand for rides triggers surge pricing, which lures out drivers, which takes care of the demand. That’s not how it works today, and it’s unclear if it ever worked that way. Today, a driver who consults the rider version of the Uber app before accepting a job — to compare how much the rider is paying to how much they stand to earn — is booted off the app and denied further journeys.

Surging, instead, has become just another way to twiddle drivers. One of Dubal’s subjects, Derrick, describes how Uber uses fake surges to lure drivers to airports: “You go to the airport, once the lot get kind of full, then the surge go away.” Other drivers describe how they use groupchats to call out fake surges: “I’m in the Marina. It’s dead. Fake surge.”

That’s pure twiddling. Twiddling turns gamification into gamblification, where your labor buys you a spin on a roulette wheel in a rigged casino. As a driver called Melissa, who had doubled down on her availability to earn a $100 bonus awarded for clocking a certain number of rides, told Dubal, “When you get close to the bonus, the rides start trickling in more slowly…. And it makes sense. It’s really the type of shit that they can do when it’s okay to have a surplus labor force that is just sitting there that they don’t have to pay for.”

Wherever you find reverse-centaurs, you get this kind of gamblification, where the rules are twiddled continuously to make sure that the house always wins. As a contract driver Amazon reverse centaur told Lauren Gurley for Motherboard, “Amazon uses these cameras allegedly to make sure they have a safer driving workforce, but they’re actually using them not to pay delivery companies”:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/88npjv/amazons-ai-cameras-are-punishing-drivers-for-mistakes-they-didnt-make

Algorithmic wage discrimination is the robot overlord of our nightmares: its job is to relentlessly quest for vulnerabilities and exploit them. Drivers divide themselves into “ants” (drivers who take every job) and “pickers” (drivers who cherry-pick high-paying jobs). The algorithm’s job is ensuring that pickers get the plum assignments, not the ants, in the hopes of converting those pickers to app-dependent ants.

In my work on enshittification, I call this the “giant teddy bear” gambit. At every county fair, you’ll always spot some poor jerk carrying around a giant teddy-bear they “won” on the midway. But they didn’t win it — not by getting three balls in the peach-basket. Rather, the carny running the rigged game either chose not to operate the “scissor” that kicks balls out of the basket. Or, if the game is “honest” (that is, merely impossible to win, rather than gimmicked), the operator will make a too-good-to-refuse offer: “Get one ball in and I’ll give you this keychain. Win two keychains and I’ll let you trade them for this giant teddy bear.”

Carnies aren’t in the business of giving away giant teddy bears — rather, the gambit is an investment. Giving a mark a giant teddy bear to carry around the midway all day acts as a convincer, luring other marks to try to land three balls in the basket and win their own teddy bear.

In the same way, platforms like Uber distribute giant teddy bears to pickers, as a way of keeping the ants scurrying from job to job, and as a way of convincing the pickers to give up whatever work allows them to discriminate among Uber’s offers and hold out for the plum deals, whereupon then can be transmogrified into ants themselves.

Dubal describes the experience of Adil, a Syrian refugee who drives for Uber in the Bay Area. His colleagues are pickers, and showed him screenshots of how much they earned. Determined to get a share of that money, Adil became a model ant, driving two hours to San Francisco, driving three days straight, napping in his car, spending only one day per week with his family. The algorithm noticed that Adil needed the work, so it paid him less.

Adil responded the way the system predicted he would, by driving even more: “My friends they make it, so I keep going, maybe I can figure it out. It’s unsecure, and I don’t know how people they do it. I don’t know how I am doing it, but I have to. I mean, I don’t find another option. In a minute, if I find something else, oh man, I will be out immediately. I am a very patient person, that’s why I can continue.”

Another driver, Diego, told Dubal about how the winners of the giant teddy bears fell into the trap of thinking that they were “good at the app”: “Any time there’s some big shot getting high pay outs, they always shame everyone else and say you don’t know how to use the app. I think there’s secret PR campaigns going on that gives targeted payouts to select workers, and they just think it’s all them.”

That’s the power of twiddling: by hoarding all the flexibility offered by digital tools, the management at platforms can become centaurs, able to string along thousands of workers, while the workers are reverse-centaurs, puppeteered by the apps.

As the example of Adil shows, the algorithm doesn’t need to be very sophisticated in order to figure out which workers it can underpay. The system automates the kind of racial and gender discrimination that is formally illegal, but which is masked by the smokescreen of digitization. An employer who systematically paid women less than men, or Black people less than white people, would be liable to criminal and civil sanctions. But if an algorithm simply notices that people who have fewer job prospects drive more and will thus accept lower wages, that’s just “optimization,” not racism or sexism.

This is the key to understanding the AI hype bubble: when ghouls from multinational banks predict 13 trillion dollar markets for “AI,” what they mean is that digital tools will speed up the twiddling and other wage-suppression techniques to transfer $13T in value from workers and consumers to shareholders.

The American business lobby is relentlessly focused on the goal of reducing wages. That’s the force behind “free trade,” “right to work,” and other codewords for “paying workers less,” including “gig work.” Tech workers long saw themselves as above this fray, immune to labor exploitation because they worked for a noble profession that took care of its own.

But the epidemic of mass tech-worker layoffs, following on the heels of massive stock buybacks, has demonstrated that tech bosses are just like any other boss: willing to pay as little as they can get away with, and no more. Tech bosses are so comfortable with their market dominance and the lock-in of their customers that they are happy to turn out hundreds of thousands of skilled workers, convinced that the twiddling systems they’ve built are the kinds of self-licking ice-cream cones that are so simple even a manager can use them — no morlocks required.

The tech worker layoffs are best understood as an all-out war on tech worker morale, because that morale is the source of tech workers’ confidence and thus their demands for a larger share of the value generated by their labor. The current tech layoff template is very different from previous tech layoffs: today’s layoffs are taking place over a period of months, long after they are announced, and laid off tech worker is likely to be offered a months of paid post-layoff work, rather than severance. This means that tech workplaces are now haunted by the walking dead, workers who have been laid off but need to come into the office for months, even as the threat of layoffs looms over the heads of the workers who remain. As an old friend, recently laid off from Microsoft after decades of service, wrote to me, this is “a new arrow in the quiver of bringing tech workers to heel and ensuring that we’re properly thankful for the jobs we have (had?).”

Dubal is interested in more than analysis, she’s interested in action. She looks at the tactics already deployed by gig workers, who have not taken all this abuse lying down. Workers in the UK and EU organized through Worker Info Exchange and the App Drivers and Couriers Union have used the GDPR (the EU’s privacy law) to demand “algorithmic transparency,” as well as access to their data. In California, drivers hope to use similar provisions in the CCPA (a state privacy law) to do the same.

These efforts have borne fruit. When Cornell economists, led by Louis Hyman, published research (paid for by Uber) claiming that Uber drivers earned an average of $23/hour, it was data from these efforts that revealed the true average Uber driver’s wage was $9.74. Subsequent research in California found that Uber drivers’ wage fell to $6.22/hour after the passage of Prop 22, a worker misclassification law that gig companies spent $225m to pass, only to have the law struck down because of a careless drafting error:

https://www.latimes.com/california/newsletter/2021-08-23/proposition-22-lyft-uber-decision-essential-california

But Dubal is skeptical that data-coops and transparency will achieve transformative change and build real worker power. Knowing how the algorithm works is useful, but it doesn’t mean you can do anything about it, not least because the platform owners can keep touching their knobs, twiddling the payout schedule on their rigged slot-machines.

Data co-ops start from the proposition that “data extraction is an inevitable form of labor for which workers should be remunerated.” It makes on-the-job surveillance acceptable, provided that workers are compensated for the spying. But co-ops aren’t unions, and they don’t have the power to bargain for a fair price for that data, and coops themselves lack the vast resources — “to store, clean, and understand” — data.

Co-ops are also badly situated to understand the true value of the data that is extracted from their members: “Workers cannot know whether the data collected will, at the population level, violate the civil rights of others or amplifies their own social oppression.”

Instead, Dubal wants an outright, nonwaivable prohibition on algorithmic wage discrimination. Just make it illegal. If firms cannot use gambling mechanisms to control worker behavior through variable pay systems, they will have to find ways to maintain flexible workforces while paying their workforce predictable wages under an employment model. If a firm cannot manage wages through digitally-determined variable pay systems, then the firm is less likely to employ algorithmic management.”

In other words, rather than using market mechanisms too constrain platform twiddling, Dubal just wants to make certain kinds of twiddling illegal. This is a growing trend in legal scholarship. For example, the economist Ramsi Woodcock has proposed a ban on surge pricing as a per se violation of Section 1 of the Sherman Act:

https://ilr.law.uiowa.edu/print/volume-105-issue-4/the-efficient-queue-and-the-case-against-dynamic-pricing

Similarly, Dubal proposes that algorithmic wage discrimination violates another antitrust law: the Robinson-Patman Act, which “bans sellers from charging competing buyers different prices for the same commodity. Robinson-Patman enforcement was effectively halted under Reagan, kicking off a host of pathologies, like the rise of Walmart:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/27/walmarts-jackals/#cheater-sizes

I really liked Dubal’s legal reasoning and argument, and to it I would add a call to reinvigorate countertwiddling: reforming laws that get in the way of workers who want to reverse-engineer, spoof, and control the apps that currently control them. Adversarial interoperability (AKA competitive compatibility or comcom) is key tool for building worker power in an era of digital Taylorism:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

To see how that works, look to other jursidictions where workers have leapfrogged their European and American cousins, such as Indonesia, where gig workers and toolsmiths collaborate to make a whole suite of “tuyul apps,” which let them override the apps that gig companies expect them to use.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/08/tuyul-apps/#gojek

For example, ride-hailing companies won’t assign a train-station pickup to a driver unless they’re circling the station — which is incredibly dangerous during the congested moments after a train arrives. A tuyul app lets a driver park nearby and then spoof their phone’s GPS fix to the ridehailing company so that they appear to be right out front of the station.

In an ideal world, those workers would have a union, and be able to dictate the app’s functionality to their bosses. But workers shouldn’t have to wait for an ideal world: they don’t just need jam tomorrow — they need jam today. Tuyul apps, and apps like Para, which allow workers to extract more money under better working conditions, are a prelude to unionization and employer regulation, not a substitute for it.

Employers will not give workers one iota more power than they have to. Just look at the asymmetry between the regulation of union employees versus union busters. Under US law, employees of a union need to account for every single hour they work, every mile they drive, every location they visit, in public filings. Meanwhile, the union-busting industry — far larger and richer than unions — operate under a cloak of total secrecy, Workers aren’t even told which union busters their employers have hired — let alone get an accounting of how those union busters spend money, or how many of them are working undercover, pretending to be workers in order to sabotage the union.

Twiddling will only get an employer so far. Twiddling — like all “AI” — is based on analyzing the past to predict the future. The heuristics an algorithm creates to lure workers into their cars can’t account for rapid changes in the wider world, which is why companies who relied on “AI” scheduling apps (for example, to prevent their employees from logging enough hours to be entitled to benefits) were caught flatfooted by the Great Resignation.

Workers suddenly found themselves with bargaining power thanks to the departure of millions of workers — a mix of early retirees and workers who were killed or permanently disabled by covid — and they used that shortage to demand a larger share of the fruits of their labor. The outraged howls of the capital class at this development were telling: these companies are operated by the kinds of “capitalists” that MLK once identified, who want “socialism for the rich and rugged individualism for the poor.”

https://twitter.com/KaseyKlimes/status/821836823022354432/

There's only 5 days left in the Kickstarter campaign for the audiobook of my next novel, a post-cyberpunk anti-finance finance thriller about Silicon Valley scams called Red Team Blues. Amazon's Audible refuses to carry my audiobooks because they're DRM free, but crowdfunding makes them possible.

Image: Stephen Drake (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Analog_Test_Array_modular_synth_by_sduck409.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

 — 

Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

 — 

Louis (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chestnut_horse_head,_all_excited.jpg

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/deed.en

[Image ID: A complex mandala of knobs from a modular synth. In the foreground, limned in a blue electric halo, is a man in a hi-viz vest with the head of a horse. The horse's eyes have been replaced with the sinister red eyes of HAL9000 from Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey.'"]

[sinning-23]

Baby Mama (OPLA HEADCANNONS)

In honor of mothers day, here some little headcannons I cooked up for our faves! Hope yall enjoy lol

Luffy

-This mf was like...actually capable of conceiving a child lmao.

-There was really no like initial shock, it was more like overwhelming joy? There was honestly no need to reveal it to the rest of the crew since the second you told him he shouted it loud ad fucing possible.

-"Luffy, uhhh I think im pregnant." You huff, hand over your forehead as you try to figure out the next course of action.

"YOURE PREGNANT?! THATS GREAT!"

"Y/N IS WHAT?" Nami gasps, eyes flitting form you to Luffy, then to your belly.

"YOU’RE PREGNANT?! HOW?" Usopp questions, only to have Sanji interrupt,

"Well Usopp, when two people love eachother- or well... lets talk about he birds and the bee-"

"I KNOW HOW THAT WORKS DICKHEAD-"

-Luffy is a.....he's a great dad, just a little uhhhh...wild?

-You have to explain tho him that this baby cannot fucking eat solid food.

-He's learning and that’s all that matters. He knows when to get serious about his kid and when its okay to be a lil silly.

-Oh and be prepared for when your kid hits about 6-7 cause they're so much like their father its crazy-

Zoro

-He's thuroughly convinced its your fault because he knows for a fact he has impeccable pull out.

-"That’s not mine." He hums, pointing at the newborn with a raise brow.

The fucking liar this baby is his spitting image. Like your genes didn't evens stand a chance. The baby even fucking mean mugs like he does, that lil stoic face.

-"This isn’t yours?" You question, holding the baby up side by side with his obvious father.

"Nope"

-Once he’s like fully processed and accepted the fact that your pussy just so happened to weaken his pull out game, he will claim the child and make sure he's being helpful with both you and the infant.

-It was actually pretty fucking hilarious to see the baby try and latch to his nipple cause his tits are fucking massive. Heeee didn’t think it was that funny tho💀

-Just let the kid grow up a little bit and they’re all about their father, and even though he may not show it all the time, he adores his baby. And they will always be a baby in his eyes. And he things you’re a phenomenal mother even though it was sort of a surprise.

Nami

-You had come aboaded with a toddler. And sure enough they latched to Nami in a heartbeat.

-“AHT! No, you stay with me and let them work.” You reprimand, giving a quick apology to the tangarine haired girl.

“Oh no they’re okay. Hey, you wanna see something cool?” He hum, taking the 2 year old by the hand before you can protest.

-Auntie Nami accidentally turned to ‘mamami’ (Mama Nami) andddd it just stuck.

-one night the three of you had fall asleep in Nami’squarter and she had woke up and just, admires you both. She couldn’t help the way her chest squeezed when she thought about raising this child with you or how much she loved being a part of your lives.

Your eyes flutter open and you give her a knowing look, her face already tinted pink.

“Nami,” you begin, your free hand pushing hair behind her ear as she hold your wrist, placing a kiss there.

“Thank you, love you.” You hum, letting yourself fall back asleep.

-yeah she’s stuck with you two for life

-unironically calls you her baby mama

Usopp

-is literally the best fuckinf dad. Literally ever.

-he wants to make sure he’s an active part of your child’s life, being sure to keep you both in good health and high spirits.

-when you broke the news he was terrified. How good of a father could he be? He just don’t want to let you down.

-“W-What if our kid hates me?” He voices one night, hands holding your tummy.

“I doubt that’ll happen. You’ll be okay Uso.”

-Guess having impeccable aim runs in the family because by time your child is year they’re already throwing projectiles with phenomenal accuracy.

-you can’t tell me he doesn’t make most of your babies toys.

-he loves seeing you just have little moments with your baby, he definetly cried when they took their first steps.

-keeps a picture of the three of you tucked away

-hints at wanting another one from time to time

Sanji

-fainted when you told him.

-honestly he’s a little shocked. He didn’t really put ‘father’ on his goal list but here yall are lol

-he’s very supported and knows that morning sickness is a bitchhhh

-“how’re my girls…or boy” he greets, pressing a kiss to your tummy then to your lips.

-much to his surprise, he was right on both parts because you’re having twins! Yayyyyy

-you cuss him out when your in labor.

-“SANJI YOU ASSHOLE! YOU DID THIS TO ME! WHY DID I FALL FOR YOUR DELICIOUS FOOD YOU FUCK!”

-he’s not allowed in the delivery room lmao he fainted again when the nurse asked if he’d like to see what was goin on

-after 6 horrendous hours, your baby boy and girl are finally born and he’s too delighted.

-“good job baby.” He praises, peppering your tired face with kisses.

-when the kids are older he’s always falling victim to their puppy eyes and begging when they ask for dessert before dinner

-“please dad! We won’t tell mom! Pleaseeee!”

-he loves being with you and loves that he’s been blasted with a wonderful wife and two beautiful children

Shanks

-oh the minute he found out he was stunned! He was sure he already had an illegitimate baby somewhere but for one of the baby mamas to actually let him know was, a bit of a surprised?

-and that’s it. He doesn’t really go out of his way to go visit and see if it’s true. He goes on about his business truely.

-one day, he comes across a lady at a bar, her bright red hair thrown up and she waits tables, her gaze almost immediately locking on his as she frowns

-….what the fuck she looks just like him.

-she goes to a couple other of the waiters/waitresses and the minute they catch his gaze they’re nodding profusely at her.

-it took, shit you not. 3 hours for them to get a table and that was only because her boss came in and MADE her seat the crew.

-“what do you want.” She huffs, her notepad clenched so tight it crumples the paper.

Shanks only further studies the girl, her rage ever present as she slams the notepad down.

“I SAID, What. Do. You. Want. Quickly, or I’m leaving you here to wait 3 more hours. Spit it the fuck out you old bastard.” She spits, leaving him somewhat shocked.

-“How about the-“

-“we’re all out. Deadbeat.” She finishes, dropping her apron and notepad, then walking out.

Safe to say that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting.

-when he finds where you guys live and YOU answer the door thank god, he firstly apologizes (which you don’t accept right away) and explains how he already met your daughter.

Speak of the devil she had just rounded the corner asking who it was.

“Don’t let this fucker the house mom, please.” She begs, gaze flittering form you to her sperm donor.

-yeahhhhhh this is why he hardly ever makes the effort to see his unsuspecting kids. Doesn’t quite pan out how he thinks.

Mihawk

- you’re not the only one at all. He’s got plenty fucking kids running around and you’re fully aware of that, having run into more than one child that looks just mf like him.

-he won’t deny any of them, but he doesn’t feel like he owes them anything either? It’s weird and you usually feel bad that he picked you and your child when he could very well have done that for the rest of them.

-he often assures you that we’re were one night stand situations he hardly remembers after being so damn drunk.

-he’s a good dad though and a great husband. He makes sure you’re taken care of even is he’s gone a lot of the time. When you told him you were having a baby he didn’t leave from your side.

-when the baby is born he’s a bit suprised they don’t look like him but as soon as they open their eyes he’s so mf smug. Those eyes are a dead giveaways that’s his baby.

-don’t let that baby ask for something be used Mihawk will without a doubt give it to them no matter what.

-“Honey I-“

-there standing in front of the fridge, in laminated with its light are your husband and child. Their eyes wide like an owls, staring directly into your soul.

-“We wanted ice cream.”

Buggy

-he loves his babies. Hands down loves his fucking babies. Plural because of course you were blessed/cursed with triplets.

-two boys, one sweet girl, and not one of them look like their daddy, besides that faint tint of blue in their hair.

-and he’s maddddd, well. not at you but at his genes.

-“honey wait, they might just grow into it?” You encourage, trying not to laugh as he tried to figure out why his kids don’t look like him.

-thank god you were right because by time they were all 4/5 that blue had brightened and the little red glow of their noses were ever present.

-he’s so attentive with you, taking care of the three of them when you need rest or just in general cause how gorgeous wife needs rest after making three gorgeous babies

-freaks his babies out when he takes his head off

-then they won’t leave him the fuck alone about it and will often take pieces of him while he chases them around for them back.

-his babies get their own spot on the show and it fucking adorable watching toddlers dance to circus music with face paint they insisted they do themselves

-best dad buggy 100%

[504py]

A day in a life with Ivan. [ONESHOT]

Warnings below the cut 。。。

⚠️ NSFW, yandere content, alcoholism, reader got tradwifed, stockholm syndrome, domestic violence, Ivan is very blatantly sadistic, size difference, dacryphilia, vague breeding kink, no use of Y/N, forced feminization(?), gender neutral reader.

hey yawll!! i drew this since i wanted to play more with the painting style and color palette i did in my last post, but since i hit 800 followers recently, i decided to write something to go along with it too!

thank you guys so so much for putting up with my bs and enjoying the slop i create LOL. hopefully this will be enough to thank you all and to satiate you guys till i come back from hibernation again 🩵🙏

also!! while this is a gender neutral reader, ivan still refers to you as a housewife. this is pretty much an extension of the headcanon post i did on him.

MAN I NEED TO RECONNECT WITH NATURE AFTER THIS 😭😭😭

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

The average heart rate of a rabbit is a hundred and eighty beats per minute. Much, much faster than a human's at only a hundred, the little hearts of rabbits pump virile blood into their vulnerable bodies in order to outrun the cursed life of a prey animal they have no choice but to live.

Living with Ivan feels the exact same way. You, a human, were reduced to nothing but a prey animal whose only line of defense was either freeze or flight. Ivan prefers the freeze response. Tries to squeeze it out of you as much as he can.

The morning begins normally. You wake up next to his large, minimally clothed body, while you're bundled up as much as physically possible. You don't understand how he's so comfortable in the cold, but you've learned not to liken him to humans. You gently wake him up before you leave the bed– you learned that he doesn't like waking up to an empty bed without any prior notice. It takes a while for Ivan to wake up, he's a heavy sleeper, but when his violet eyes finally open and dilate at the sight of you, the first thing he does is smile and pull you in to trap you in a strong bear hug. Don't struggle, he'll just tighten his grip. Then he kisses your cheek, and just holds you there without saying anything. He'll grumble a little when you tell him you have to leave bed to make breakfast, but he eventually will let you go.

It's a little sick how your current living situation makes chores the best part of your day, given how it allows the most proximity between you and Ivan. Cooking in the early morning is your favorite, since it takes Ivan a long time to recover from his hibernation. Thinking about what to cook is a bit of a meditative process as well, allows you to think thoroughly about anything other than your way of life and the man keeping you here.

Today, you decided to make something simple and similar to something you ate growing up. Luckily, Ivan is not a picky eater, even though he rather obviously prefers Slavic food. He'll eat whatever you make happily, but he'll be in even better spirits if you make something familiar to him.

You do not cook in silence. Silence has quickly become one of your biggest pet peeves since your captivity, and you do anything to drown it out. This damn empty mansion, the way Ivan is so terrible with his words and chooses instead to crush you with his actions, the bleak snowy landscape that greets you if you dare try and find any solace outside of this cage and your captor– It's enough to drive anyone insane. So, you pass the days by drowning out your thoughts with music and movies.

Ivan doesn't allow you a cellphone, or anything remotely modern at all. His home has a terrifying dedication to being so analog, you'd think you'd been transported to the 90's if not for the TV with a few streaming services on it, the only modern piece of technology he allows. He likes to collect cameras, radios, and old phones. Ivan's menagerie of antique goods is so expansive that it earned itself its own room. It's almost like a small museum, and you're very glad he allows you to look at and touch them as you pleased– with care, of course. He can actually be rather charming when he acts as your "museum guide" in this room. One of the few times you find yourself thinking anything remotely positive about him.

Ivan's voice is soft, it always is, but when he talks about these things he's so passionate about and so engrossed in, it takes on a bit more of a stern, confident tone that is easier for you to listen to. And when he's looking at the objects he's explaining, you can admire his side profile more openly. He's caught you multiple times (he has surprisingly sharp senses), and you're met with a flustered smile instead of the usual so-sweet-to-the-point-it-looks-fake type of smile.

"What are you looking at?" He'd ask, his voice quieting back down to that syrupy tone.

"Just you." You'd reply, which makes him pause in surprise for a second, before it earns a soft giggle from the towering man.

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Vanya." The nickname makes him melt. "You just looked pretty."

The smile falls from his face, and his cheeks redden even more than you thought possible, before his grin returns tenfold. He laughs and looks away.

The memory of such interactions make you feel like buttering up to the man instead of rejecting him so much, then you realize you're just describing stockholm syndrome. As crazy as it is, it feels like, at this point, it'd be better to let it happen than to be aware and hateful every day you live here.

As if your thoughts had alerted him, you hear Ivan's deceptively soft footsteps descend the stairs. He doesn't say anything, and just makes his way to the kitchen to watch you.

He's dressed in more clothing now, a dark blue sweater and gray sweatpants. His neck is left bare around you. When you first met him, his clothing that purposefully covers his neck always went unnoticed by you, because such clothes fit him so well, like they were always meant to be there. It was only after your capture, when he took off his scarf and you saw the bandages around his pale neck did you start to question it.

You've never outright asked him, you worry the subject is too volatile. He just... decided to stop hiding it one day. It was after a shower when you first saw it, the ligature marks around his neck and a few faded pink scars on the front of his adam's apple. Ivan noticed you staring, and you've never seen him look so small and insecure before.

"Is it bad?"

"No." You shake your head. "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore."

And that was that.

You finish plating up two dishes, one with a significantly heftier portion than yours considering how much he eats. You quickly place the chopping board and all the pans you used in the sink to wash later, and you bring the dishes to the table.

Ivan yawns, rubs at his eyes, and without much event, just picks up a knife and a fork and starts eating. You do the same only after fetching some tea from the samovar.

Breakfast is always quiet besides the background noise of whatever media you chose to play.

"Mm. Ёжик в тумaне?"

"Yeah. I like this one."

"A little somber, isn't it?"

"The hedgehog is cute. I relate to it a little bit."

Ivan takes his eyes off of the television to look at you, and ponders what you said a little more. He doesn't say anything, and continues eating.

"What will you be doing today?" You ask, in case you needed to iron some clothing or prepare extra food for guests.

He hums in thought for a moment. "I'll be going out in the evening to drink with the other nations."

"What will you be wearing?"

"What I usually do."

You nod, "I'll have it ready soon."

"What about you?" He asks.

"Hmm... I'll wash the dishes, then iron and press your clothing. After that, I'll think of what to cook for lunch while cleaning the house, and I'll prepare a meal for you before you leave. Then while you're away, I'll clean up some more and prepare dinner. And if I have some time, I'll sit and watch some more movies."

Ivan hums in satisfaction. He enjoys how strict to routine your lives were. Familiarity and stability are what he desires most, and he believes you're the only one who can grant him that wish.

"Perfect." He smiles, petting the crown of your head with a large, broad hand.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You adjust the dusty pink scarf around his thick neck after finishing wrapping the scars on his throat with bandages. You do it neatly and comfortably, as opposed to how Ivan does, quickly and efficiently, learned from decades of routine, yet it's still so much more uncomfortable compared to when you do it.

"How is it?" You ask. Ivan replies by taking your smaller hands in his and leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"You do it perfectly, любовь моя." He sighs, before pouting slightly. "I wish I could just stay home."

"You'll be alright, Vanya. Alcohol is like water to you anyways."

He snickers and rolls his eyes. "That just means it'll be boring for me, then."

"Just try to have fun and relax. I'll be safe and quiet here."

A mousy smile appears on his pink lips. You've said exactly what he wants to hear. "Alright. I'll just get it over with." He presses one last kiss to the top of your hair before leaving.

"Don't cause any trouble!" Ivan sings, before exiting the living room and closing the door behind him. You get a glimpse of the blindingly white outside world, and a gust of stinging cold air brushes against your skin like a warning.

You let out a taut breath, finally feeling like you're able to breathe without his crushing presence. You dust off your hands, from nothing in particular, before going off to do just as you said to him earlier. It bothers you how much he still affects you without even being around.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The sky is dark, and all that is heard is the droning of soft music and the burbling of something boiling on the stove. Its tranquility is broken by the door opening with more aggression than usual.

"Vanya?" You call out, hoping the sweet usage of his nickname would quell whatever spawned this roughness within him.

All you hear is something vaguely resembling a groan and a sigh, and his heavy, thudding footsteps. Your heart starts to race a little.

"Is something wrong, Vanya?" You ask meekly, approaching him with caution. He reeks of alcohol, and his movements seem all sluggish. Jesus, how much did Russia of all people need to drink in order to get this wasted?

"I'm alright." He huffs, taking off his gloves and his coat with slight difficulty. You step in closer to help him undress, taking off his scarf. You don't miss how he tenses up, so you freeze and meet his constantly intense stare to gauge his expression. His eyelids are low, pupils contracted, eyes darker than usual, and cheeks flushed like they always are. He seems to be pouting a bit. He doesn't do much else, so you continue, stripping him of his large overcoat. All he's left in now is a black sweater and thick brown slacks.

"I've made dinner. You can just sit wherever you want and I'll bring it to you–"

Ivan leans in so quickly, you couldn't even register it in order to dodge or deflect his kiss in time. This time, it lands on your lips. He doesn't do this usually at all, unless he was planning something. The blood drains from your face when his large hand finds the back of your neck, and holds it stiff, preventing any chance of backing out.

His skin and the inside of his mouth are impossibly warm, and the bitter, sterile taste of vodka is the only damn thing invading your senses. You grip the fabric of his knitted sweater, it makes him part from your lips to pant like a dog and take said piece of clothing off, now left in a dark gray shirt.

"V-Va– You taste like alcohol–"

"Get drunk off of me." He whispers, before grabbing the sides of your arms and kissing you tongue first, lapping at your lips, and at this point, you learned better than to deny him. With all the mental fortitude you could muster, you rigidly part your lips. Despite all your efforts to be as pliant as possible to try and guarantee your safety, you can't help the shiver of revulsion when his tongue invades your mouth like a parasite and rubs against yours.

It feels like time slows down, you can feel the milliseconds before your instincts kick in, and each millisecond feels like a year of dread. Unable to stop raw instinct, you bite down.

Your heart stops when you hear him grunt, and feel his grip around your arms tighten before he shoves you away. He gasps, cursing under his breath in his mother tongue before setting his sights back on you.

Doe-eyed and trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, you begin to plead.

"N-No, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Vanya, please–"

He approaches, kicks the back of your knees, before you are grabbed by the scruff of your shirt. The collar of your blouse is yanked back and presses the fabric tightly against your throat as he drags you to the front door. You're coughing and struggling to regain your footing, and the moment you can breathe, you beg.

"Please! Nonono– Vanya please don't do this I'll be good–" The words tumble out like unorganized clutter using the one short breath you were able to catch.

With one more harsh tug, you fall to your knees again, and the door opens. The sight of the snow immediately triggers something within you, and you begin sobbing.

Ivan takes a peak at you, seemingly taking pity.

"Only for a few minutes."

You shake your head in a frenzy, not believing a word he says. Even if he was saying the truth, you'd much rather continue to humiliate yourself over being outside for even a few seconds. What if he forgets about you? What if that door never opens again? What if you die a miserable death, separated from your survival by just a few inches of wood?

That's why, the moment he throws you out, you scramble to your feet and shove that damned door open before he can fully close it. You know you're in deeper shit when you hear the door slam against him, and the deep yelp that follows it. You run for your life into the confines of his house.

You quickly make way to one of the bathrooms, the only rooms in the house you're still able to lock from the inside. You knew even that meant nothing, since you're sure Ivan could and would break them down without a second thought. Yet, it was still your best shot.

You lock the bathroom door and sit on the flooring right next to it. You try to calm down your heartrate and your heaving so you could try and listen in on whatever was going on outside this room.

Eerie silence is what greets you. You hate it, hate it so much. Shuddering, you hold your breath and strain your ears just a little more.

And that's when you hear it.

Soft footsteps.

You have to bite back a scream from how much raw fear that little sound sends shooting through your nervous system. Makes your skin crawl so bad that it almost hurts.

Ivan's clearly not in any rush, but FUCK did you wish he'd just get it over with and sprint right at you. You're sure he knows where you are, he just likes to freak you out, you can tell. That sweet smile he always puts on is nothing short of sadistic, constantly has this look in his eyes, some kinda weird sparkle that tells you he enjoys watching you struggle beneath him. Knowing you'll be face to face with those very eyes shortly makes your ribs squeeze around your quaking lungs and heart.

The footsteps approach. You brace yourself for a rough kick to the door or a pipe slamming through it.

Instead, he knocks. This was wrong, what was happening? Oh, god, this was so much worse.

"I won't ask again."

Scrambling to the door, not even sparing any time to actually stand up, you open it. You wince when you strain your neck to look up and see the damage done to him by your outburst. A nasty, bloody bruise on the bridge of his tall nose and that same crimson liquid streaming down his nostril. Your chest shakes like a dying sparrow's.

"I-I'm sorry. Please."

And he smiles.

Ivan is actually, genuinely, extremely pleased right now. He's wanted this all along, for you to fear the outside world so much you'd do anything in the world to stay here, right by his side. He doesn't give a single shit about the injuries you've caused him now and in the past, he's strong, he can take it, and he'll always forgive you over and over again. Of course, it makes him annoyed, because what good housewife would beat their husband like that? But he understands that your circumstances aren't exactly normal, so he'll endure it with irritation. At the rate he's breaking you in, though, you'll soon be as pliant and obedient as he expects you to be. Perhaps you'll even start to love him back. Just the thought of it raises goosebumps on his porcelain skin and makes his hands tremble in excitement.

You don't understand why he's giggling right now.

He sighs your name, and crouches down to meet your stare. You flinch as a droplet of blood hits the tiles. Ivan's grin only widens when your shaking hands reach for his face and try to wipe the blood away.

"O-Oh, Ivan," You whine uselessly, getting up on boneless legs to grab the first-aid kit. He watches with bright, amused eyes. He knows you won't try anything anymore. He's confident in your compliance to him.

As carefully as you can, you wipe off the blood with paper towels, crying harder when it smears instead of going away completely like you'd hoped. It felt like your mistakes were going to be impossible to fix.

Ivan's cheery gaze never falters. Maybe this is the happiest you've ever seen him, despite the blood streaming into the gaps of his teeth and forming a grotesque image. Dusty eyelashes frame his smiley crescent moon eyes, cheeks ruddy as little alcohol-stained puffs of air pollute the cold atmosphere. You jolt when he chuckles throatily.

"What's wrong?" His voice is as sickly sweet as it always is.

"Y-You're mad– I made you mad. I'm sorry." You choke on your own words, trying your best not to drop the bottle of disinfectant in your weak hand.

"What did you do?"

"I–" You hiccup, "I d-didn't– I didn't listen to you. I wasn't good."

Unable to hide his pleasure, he laughs and leans in to give you a chaste, bloody kiss.

"It will be okay. I love you."

You're glad your crying masks the gag reflex that almost makes itself apparent when you know what you have to say next. You steel your nerves and dryly swallow the taste of Ivan's blood.

"I love– I love you too."

He gives you a pleased, closed-mouth smile, and presses a kiss to the top of your head before taking the bottle of disinfectant from you. He begins to tend to his own wounds.

"This does not mean I forgive you, though."

Just as you felt your whole world crashing down around you, Ivan saves you.

He breathes out a laugh, "No, I won't throw you outside again. It's much better staying inside with me, yes?"

You nod in a frenzy. "Yes! Y-Yes, much better. Please don't."

"Well," Ivan prefaces, disinfecting the cut on his nose before placing a bandaid on it. He turns his head to the side and spits out the blood left in his mouth. "You will have to tend to this wound. Kiss it better." And before you could even wonder what he meant by that, his tongue lolls out, brandishing the red bite mark from earlier.

Disgust registers for only a second.

Like an automaton made solely to serve, you lean forward, grasp onto his biceps, and press a needy, desperate kiss to his drooling tongue. He laughs while you lap at his tongue like a wounded dog, warm, alcoholic breaths brushing against your face.

After relishing in the feeling of your worship for a little longer, he gently pushes you to the ground and crawls over your jittery body, placing a hand against the small of your back to hold you up and closer to him, with the other gripping the outside of your thigh.

"You will not bite me this time?"

Nodding fearfully, praying the conviction in your eyes will be enough to warrant his forgiveness, you wrap your arms around his neck.

Sighing happily, he presses his cold lips against yours, taking the lead happily as he moans into the kiss. The sound was more out of the satisfaction of establishing his dominance rather than the actual physical pleasure.

Ivan doesn't usually indulge in sexual fantasies or acts, which surprises you considering how touchy the man is. His mind usually favors daydreams of a stable, domestic life with you. Ivan prioritizes establishing your relationship over anything else, so he doesn't really find the time to lull over menial things like sex. Marriage is one thing, but your total submission is another.

Then again, this doesn't mean that he fully doesn't have any carnal desires when it comes to you. It's you, for christ's sake. When his fantasies of dominance come into play, it seems only obvious that sometimes his thoughts wander into the bedroom.

Ivan fantasizes a lot about having you desire him as much as he does you. He wants you to need him like air. Wants to have you mewling his name and clinging to him like your life depended on it, which would quite literally be the case right now. Wants to see your pretty, pretty tears reserved only for him. Wants to see you fall apart in his arms over and over again while comforting you so meanly and kissing your crying face.

Ivan tries his best to not let these thoughts make themselves apparent, but fuck, do you make it so hard sometimes. How could any man not be affected by the sight of their adorable little housewife in an apron? Takes so much for him to not just grab you by your hair and bend you over the counter. Whenever you cry for whatever reason, he almost feels guilty over how instantly horny it makes him. Almost feels guilty when all he can think about is licking those tears off of your face and making himself the cause of them. God, he wants to play the role of a nice doting husband so bad, but he can't help but feel you up and breathe down your neck when you try on the dresses and lingerie he buys for you. He can't help grabbing your waist and pressing his erection against your ass– not on purpose, he just wanted to be close to you.

While aggressive in his approach, Ivan never forces any sexual acts that you refuse. Even if he's left high and breathing heavy, he still wants to be someone you don't completely hate. Be a good husband, be a good husband. He always chants to himself. All his prayers proved fruitful when he quite literally cried tears of joy during your first time together.

Ivan doesn't know what was different that day, he didn't expect anything, just to make out and have you reject him after a bit, but you just... kept going, until he was ramming into you, hands tight around your sweaty waist and fucking into you like you were just a fleshlight. He's never seen himself like this, moaning and gasping like a girl and feeling so fucking good that all that he wanted– all that he could think of was breeding you like a bull and how beautiful your family would be. God, the memory of you struggling, doing your best to take his thick cock and crying so cutely just trying to bottom out is engraved into the grooves of his brain. It makes his stomach feel all warm whenever he thinks of it. He wants to carve it under his eyelids so he can see it every time he blinks.

Ivan laughs a lot during sex, call him creepy, it's genuinely because he is just so damn happy that he can't hide it. Why should he hide it from you? He wants to show you just how much he loves you and how good you make him feel. You make him feel so damn happy and complete that all he could do was chant IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou– while whimpering, giggling, his tears dripping onto your face.

Maybe he'll get lucky again.

Without parting, Ivan carefully lowers your back to the tiled floor, straddling your body and snaking his long fingers under your blouse, resting them against your heated abdomen. He smiles into the kiss when you jolt away, tickled by how frigid they are.

The ends of his feathered gray hair tickles your wet face, your body shivering at all the different sensations attacking you simultaneously. The cold tiles, his freezing hands, his hot tongue, the faint taste of blood, the warm drool seeping out the side of your mouth, his arid breathing, the smell of alcohol–

Your hands, still by the back of his neck, reach up to ever-so-slightly tug at his hair to signal you needed a breather. Ivan makes a small noise of surprise, before pulling away.

He looks absolutely dazed, lips shiny with remnants of a spit trail, and lavender eyes heavy and glazed over with a feral lust. His breathing is labored, muscular chest rising and falling as he intently watches every minute expression your face makes. Despite the blatant lack of nudity, this might be the most erotic sight you've ever seen. Fuck, why does he have to look so good when you're supposed to hate him?

Right now, you were so exhausted you couldn't even remember what reason you'd have to hate him, despite there being enough that you could spend the rest of your life listing all of them down.

And just when you try to refuse by backing up, your thigh brushes against his boner and he lets out the most heated, breathy, shivery moan you've ever heard. The vocalization sounded like it was tailor-made to tantalize you, to tempt you into biting the fruit. And you know what? You were a sinner anyways.

"Bed– B-Bedroom."

A toothy grin appears on Ivan's face, and he exhales a breathy laugh. He looks absolutely delighted, and starved.

Without a second thought, he picks you up, and carries you to the closest one.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The next morning begins normally. Your body is sore, and covered in bite marks. That was one of the best sleeps you've had in recent memory. Ivan seems to think so, too, with his arms cradling your torso and a hand resting over your lower abdomen. The ache reminds you about what happened yesterday, you can still feel him in there somehow.

You woke up a little later in the morning compared to usual. Since you're still a little too exhausted to get up and begin cooking, you lay there for a while, listening to the quiet howling of the wind outside. You wonder when was the last time you heard any birds chirping.

Thinking of the outside world brings you a bit of dread, don't really like doing it. But when your life is so isolated and so alone, misery can become a form of entertainment.

The more and more days go by, the more and more do you forget what your life was like before meeting the Russian. The longer you live with Ivan, the more does it feel that he was just always there, and that your life before meeting him was a falsified memory. You're not even sure how much time has passed since, it's always snowing outside, every day feels the same.

That's the one thing you remember from before this life, the feeling of warmth. You're not sure you remember the feeling of it, really, but you're well aware of the absence it leaves behind. Maybe when spring finally comes around, you can open that door, and...

Eyebrows furrowing as a migraine starts to set in, you shake your head weakly. You didn't like thinking about the outside.

Turning over to face Ivan, you gently wake him up before you leave the bed– you learned that he doesn't like waking up to an empty bed without any prior notice. He eventually stirs from his sleep, hugs you, and you do not struggle.

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

[callsigns-haze]

Could you write a Tyler Owens x reader where he's helping the reader calm down from an intense school moment. Like in college for a tough major (architecture would be cool lol, not biased at all; maybe focusing on better built homes for tornados) and it's like the first day of classes and it's chaos already.

Study Stress

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Warnings: Study stress, crying, emotional turmoil

A/N: I study architecture so trust me I have 11 projects going on currently and I sit in tears

The first day of classes at the College of Architecture was supposed to be exciting—a fresh start, a new challenge. But as the hours ticked by, Y/N felt the weight of the day pressing down on her, each class piling on more expectations and responsibilities. The chaotic buzz of students around her, the endless syllabi full of demanding projects, and the looming deadlines were enough to make her head spin.

By the time her last class ended, Y/N was completely overwhelmed. The idea of spending the next several years in this intense environment, working on complex designs and innovative solutions, seemed daunting. And to top it all off, her focus on tornado-resistant homes—a passion project born from personal experience—only added to the pressure. The stakes felt incredibly high, and it seemed like everyone else was already miles ahead.

Dragging herself back to her apartment, Y/N tried to hold it together. But as soon as she closed the door behind her, the floodgates opened. She slid down to the floor, her back against the door, tears spilling down her cheeks. The stress, the anxiety, the fear of failure—it all came crashing down at once.

She didn’t hear the door open or Tyler’s footsteps approaching. She was too lost in her thoughts, in the panic that was rising inside her. But when she felt his arms wrap around her, pulling her into a warm, comforting embrace, she finally exhaled.

“Hey, hey… it’s okay,” Tyler’s voice was soft, soothing, as he gently rocked her. “I’ve got you.”

Y/N buried her face in his chest, her sobs muffled against his shirt. “It’s too much, Ty. It’s only the first day, and I’m already falling apart. How am I supposed to do this?”

Tyler didn’t respond right away. Instead, he just held her, letting her cry, letting her get it all out. He knew better than to try and fix things with words right now. Sometimes, you just needed to let the storm pass on its own.

After a few minutes, when her breathing started to even out, Tyler pulled back just enough to look at her, his hand gently brushing a few stray tears from her face. “You don’t have to do it all at once, you know,” he said, his voice calm and reassuring. “You’re going to take it one step at a time, one class at a time, one project at a time. And I’ll be right here with you, every step of the way.”

Y/N sniffled, wiping at her eyes. “But what if I can’t do it? What if I’m not good enough?”

“You’re more than good enough,” Tyler replied firmly, his eyes meeting hers with unwavering confidence. “You’re smart, passionate, and driven. You care about what you’re doing, and that’s half the battle right there. The rest… well, it’s just practice. You’ll get better, you’ll get stronger, and you’ll learn how to handle the pressure.”

Y/N wanted to believe him, but the doubt still lingered. “I’m so scared of failing.”

Tyler’s expression softened, and he took her hands in his, squeezing them gently. “Failure isn’t the end of the world, Y/N. It’s just part of the process. And you’re not in this alone. You’ve got your classmates, your professors, and you’ve got me. I’m not going to let you go through this by yourself.”

She looked into his eyes, finding comfort in the steady, reassuring gaze that had always been her anchor. Tyler was her calm in the storm, the person who could steady her when everything else felt like it was spiraling out of control.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N nodded, feeling a little more centered. “Okay… one step at a time.”

Tyler smiled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “That’s my girl. Now, how about we take the rest of the day off? We can order some takeout, watch a movie, and just relax. The work will still be there tomorrow.”

The idea of taking a break sounded like exactly what she needed. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

“Good,” Tyler said, helping her up from the floor. He kept his arm around her as they moved to the couch, where he pulled a blanket over them both. As they settled in, Y/N felt the tension slowly leaving her body, replaced by a sense of warmth and security.

With Tyler by her side, she knew she could face whatever challenges came her way. And for now, that was enough.

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

@teen-antisocial

@katiemcrae

[scudslut]

Ok hear me out. Reader and Daryl go on a run for supplies with a few other people. Reader makes a mistakes and almost gets seriously hurt/ near death experience. Daryl gets pissed at reader, maybe yells at her. Reader laughs it off and acts like she doesn’t gaf. Daryl later finds reader all shaken up and crying by herself. Love if you don’t, love if you do!

stay with me

daryl x fem!reader

wc: 2k

warnings: typical twd gore/violence, mentions of death, mentions of trauma/ptsd

a/n: absolutely love me some good fluffy angst, thank u nony❤️ i hope you like it:))

As much as you tried to prepare yourself for the inevitable situations runs would put you in, the blood-chilling reality of it never got any easier. No amount of mental prep could stove off the sounds and smell of the dead, nipping ravenously for a taste of your sweet living flesh.

Of course, over time you’d learned just to shut your brain off and fight. Fight as hard and tirelessly as you possibly could, but mistakes could still be made. Shit happened, whether it was your fault or not.

Hours earlier, a group of you went a few miles east of the prison; Daryl having spotted a little strip a few days prior, not too overrun that he thought might be loot-worthy.

It was a simple run really. Keep close, hit a few shops in and out, then head back home. That’s it. Follow the plan, get as much useful shit as possible, and get the fuck out of there. You guys had it down to a science at this point, runs becoming so second nature it was almost too easy to let your guard down nowadays.

“Hey D, I’m gonna go check the storage room back here. Might have something we could use,” you voiced to your partner a few isles down, still keeping your tone as low as you could.

“Gimme a sec, I'll come help ya,” you heard him say but you kept moving. You two had already cleared the main area, you could handle a walker or two if there actually was any behind the small door. You figured you would’ve heard something by now, some sort of banging or grumbling to announce their presence, but there was nothing, the coast presumably clear.

You should have waited.

Crossing the few miscellaneous isles you reached the back door, giving it a small rattle. Still complete silence, not even the faintest groan or shuffle. Knife at the ready, hand clamped over the cool metal handle, your heart rate picked up a notch as it always did before opening into the unknown.

“You got this, come on,” you muttered to yourself, before throwing the door open, bracing for attack. The door flew wide, only to reveal a dark, empty room. Squinting through the dimness, a few high, dusty shelves were visible, stocked with all sorts of canned goods. Fuck yea, that was certainly useful.

“D! Come look what I found!” you rasped, dropping your knife into its holster and shuffling in. You unslung your backpack from your shoulders, digging through it for a flashlight excitedly. It’s been so long since you’ve found this much canned food, surely enough to keep the group well stocked through most of the winter that was approaching. A loud creak from the left caught your attention as you sped forward. Hands finally finding purchase on the flashlight, you flicked it on, scanning across the room to the sound.

Dust caked the air, making the already dark room fuzzier and your eyes took a minute to adjust. You took a few smaller steps closer, peering wearily ahead and then you saw them.

Beady, soulless eyes staring back. A whole rickety staircase of them, heads turning one by one to the light source in your hand.

“Oh fuck.”

There had to be at least 10 of them that you could see, the top of the stairs pitch black and unrevealing.

Your feet stumbled backward, hands desperately reaching for the knife at your hip, dropping the flashlight in the process. It rolled and caught under your heels, knocking you on your ass as the corpses advanced, jaws snapping.

These were those moments. When you felt your heart in your throat, brain stuttering on action. Time moved so slowly that the fragments were almost visible and every thought screaming in your mind sounded like gibberish. You know you should move, is that what it was screaming?

The first one got to you, grabbing your leg trying to crawl up and finally, you were kicking, scrambling, grabbing onto the knife and slamming it into its skull with a loud squelch.

“Daryl!” you yelled. You needed him. Now.

3 more dropped before you, slinking towards you and you were trapped — the first corpse lying heavily over your midsection.

“Yea, yea girl. I heard ya,” you heard him respond, still sounding a few isles away.

No no no, this was not how you were gonna die. Not today. Please.

You kept stabbing, each kill taking everything out of you as you struggled against the body weight atop you. They just kept piling, you could hardly feel your legs anymore, the circulation surely cut off below your knees. And more were coming, a never-ending stream of hunger.

Another one landed before you and you had just enough time to catch its shoulders before it was inches away, snapping at your neck. Your arms burned, tears welling in your eyes as you realized this could be it. You didn’t know how much longer you had before they gave out and rotting teeth would be sinking into you, tearing you apart.

The walker kept snapping, so close you could see the layers of rotting flesh peeling from its face. You had been close to walkers before, had stared into the lifeless eyes too many times to count, but this was different. More were coming and the face in the reflection of its eyes was barely recognizable — terror painting every feature you’d known on you distorted.

The bones cracked in its left shoulder and it dislocated, dropping down to centimeters from your skin.

“No,” you sobbed quietly. Daryl wasn’t going to make it, you knew that. He was going to walk in and find his girl as dinner. You hoped he just booked it, and didn’t waste his time trying to save what would long be gone.

The walker fell limp in your arms and you flinched harshly, expecting excruciating pain to follow as it bit. But there was nothing.

“The fuck are ya doing! Get up!”

Daryl was suddenly right before you, ripping each body off your aching limbs and you were now acutely aware of the larger pile by the stairs, all with arrows and stab wounds littering their heads. When had he gotten in here?

You didn’t hear his words, adrenaline coursing so loudly through your system that all that could be heard was a loud, shrill ringing.

“Goddammit girl, wake the fuck up!” he shouted, grabbing you by the shoulders in an attempt to lift you. Your brain caught up then, as he harshly placed you on your feet. Walkers scattered the floor around you, and a grumble at the stairs announced it wasn’t the last of them.

Daryl reached down, grabbed your dropped items, and shoved them in your dumbstruck hands. “We’re gettin’ outta here, now,” he seethed, dragging you along and slamming the door behind you both, crossing the lines of isles quickly to the front entrance.

The fresh, afternoon air hit your nose in a gust and the last of the fuzz chipped itself from your senses slowly.

“Hope yer fuckin happy with yerself. Can’t ever listen to a goddamn word’a mine, can ya?” Daryl quipped beside you. His eyes were slits as they dug into you, so fuming you could see the heat radiating off his skin in the early autumn brisk.

He was angry at you, you knew that. But you also knew it was because he was scared. Hell, you were fucking terrified to stone back there, but if you wanted to calm him down at all, you knew you had to act unfazed.

Gathering any remaining wits about you, you took a deep inhale, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting them.”

He didn’t respond, wouldn’t even look at you anymore as he began to pace the graveled parking lot.

“Hey don’t stress Dar. I’m alive, we’re good,” you attempted to soothe further.

“Don’t stress? Yer a real piece a work, y’know that! Always fucking up everyone’s shit cause ya don’t wanna use yer brain, huh?”

Well, that did not go as you expected.

The rest of the group had started shuffling out of the other shops around you, making their way to the vehicles.

“Jeez, you need to lighten up,” you brushed past him, head high. You couldn’t let his words affect you, not with all the other emotions coursing as well. You didn’t understand what he meant. You had never put anyone other than yourself in danger, how could you possibly be fucking over everyone else?

You decided to wait in the car as the rest of the group went back for the cans, tag-teaming whatever walkers remained. The loot had decently filled both trunks and everyone was happy to call it a day and head back.

Your eyes followed Daryl as he jumped into your car, eyes trained on the windshield, “Ya alright at least?” he muttered glancing at you briefly while shifting the car into drive.

“I’m good, you big grump,” you huffed with a tight-lipped smile. “That much food will last us a long time. I believe a thank you is in order, don’t you think?”

You were not good. Not at all, but there was no reason to worry him anymore, putting him through enough today as it was. Your hands were shoved tightly under your thighs, so he couldn’t see the tremors racking through you.

You had smelt death so many times it didn’t bother you much anymore. Today you had smelt your own. Saw your life in that walker's eyes, mere seconds away from demolition. It was safe to say you were shaken to your core.

The journey back was silent, both not in the mood to chat for very different reasons, and the whole time you were trying to keep each breath of yours steady.

You helped unload as much as you could, before slipping away discreetly to your cell. You didn’t want anyone to see you like this, you felt kind of pathetic honestly. This was life now, it had been this way for a long time now, you shouldn’t be so shaken up as you were but the terror just wouldn’t leave your body.

Panic washed over you once again as your eyes hit your dim cell. Your mind was quickly slipping back into those last moments, the darkness and dust all too similar. The fear you had felt coating your veins icily and your breaths started to become agitated. There was nowhere else to go though. If you left the cell someone would see you.

Subconsciously, you backed yourself into the corner of the room, crumbling down to the floor with your head in your hands. Deep down you hoped your hyperventilating would knock you out. You didn’t want to think anymore — see it anymore. Tears were burning the back of your throat as you held down sobs, feeling the walker's hands and weight atop of you all again.

A small yelp escaped you when the hands became real. Pressure on your shoulders and waist and your head snapped up from its hiding spot, reflexes already prepared to fight whatever presence was with you.

“It’s jus’ me, hey, hey,” you heard through your panic, his blue eyes just recognizable through blurry tears. “S’okay, relax.”

You couldn’t calm down this time, vicious sobs finally breaking their way out of your frame. Running was your first thought; you didn’t want anyone to see you like this, Daryl or not. Emotions were never a strong suit of yours and would always find yourself dealing with them in private, away from sympathetic words and pitying eyes. But Daryl was never like that, he drew you in and held you tight, uttering no more words other than the ones to confirm it was him. If you asked him to say more, he would, but he knew this was what you needed. Someone to ground you back onto Earth and out of whatever images tormented your head.

So that’s what he did. Held you for hours as your body expelled all its terror and lingering adrenaline. He’d give quiet coos through each wave of shakes, grabbing a blanket to warm you through the cold sweats. And finally, once the fear faded to exhaustion, he scooped you up off the stiff concrete and into your soft cot.

“Stay with me?” you rasped, throat parched and raw from crying.

It wasn’t a second thought for him. He was never truly angry with you, and he knew you knew that. He needed you safe with him.

“Always.”

[simphornies]

AAAAAAAAAAA I LOVE YOUR VOX CONTENT SHDKSJSJSJ- The skrunkly TV man is fr my latest obsession hahahaha! If you don't mind, I'd like to request a Vox x fem!reader where reader just loves messing with Vox(leaving sticky notes all over his things just saying the cutest stuff, lipstick marks all over his monitor and not saying anything until everyone but him notices, teasing him at work, etc.)

- 🖥️ Anon

A/N: I love writing stories where the reader teases and messes with Vox. Please do send more when requests open back up!

Word count: 1.3k (1,311)

Warnings: suggestive behavior and ending

Distraction - Vox x F!Reader

Vox squinted at everyone that looked at him funny today. Which was everyone. He didn’t understand why he kept getting looks from his employees. It wasn’t until Velvette took a selfie with him before running off that he realized he’d been walking around all day with his screen covered in kiss marks. And he knew exactly where the culprit was.

You lazily sat in Vox’s office chair, aimlessly scrolling through your phone. You looked up and saw blue electricity making its way towards you. You leaned over his desk, head resting on your palm with a sneaky smirk on your face. “Hey Vox!”

“Y/N! You know I love you but why the fuck would you send me off for the day with my screen like this?” He screamed before leaning close to your face. You giggled in response, giving him another kiss that left a mark.

“You didn’t ask.” You grinned, winking at him, “And how else am I supposed to let other people know that you’re mine?”

Your words made his face turn red, “Th-that’s—” He cleared his throat after it cracked, “That’s nonsense! You don’t have to prove anything, you know I’m yours and you’re mine. Any sinner stupid enough to test their boundaries will learn.”

You hummed as you wiped his face clean of lipstick marks, “Not good enough for me.” After his face was nice and clean, you got off his chair and gestured for him to sit.

He sat down and you immediately climbed on his lap. “You’re going to be the death of me.” He sighs, kissing the back of your neck softly.

“So dramatic.” You giggled.

.

Vox wasn’t too busy the next day so he mainly stayed in his office, lazing around. It didn’t take long for you to happily waltz into his office. He was drinking his coffee when he looked up at you and immediately spat it out. “What are you wearing?” He coughed, “You didn’t walk around my building like that, did you?”

You laughed, “Heavens no! I came straight from my room to you. Do you like it?” You gave him a twirl, showing off your outfit with a wink. The outfit in question? A keyhole turtleneck with your laced bra peeking through. A laced bra he knew too well. It was your lingerie. You paired it with a skirt not too revealing but definitely hugged your curves perfectly with a small detail at the bottom that read ‘Vox’ with a heart.

He just stared at you after he recovered from his near death experience via coffee. “It’s…I like it.” He stuttered out. You walked around his desk and bent down to him.

“From how your eyes lingered, I’m going to safely assume you recognize something, huh?” You tease, “The powerful overlord wrapped around my finger all from a simple detail, how cute!”

“Pff! You’re the one wrapped around my finger.” He confidently says, his claw tracing his name on your skirt, “I’m free for a couple hours if you’re down for—”

Before he could continue flirting with you, you put a finger up to his lips. “I have a meeting to attend with Velvette, sorry babe.” You gave him a quick kiss on the lips before running out of his office.

He blinked, taking a little bit to process that you were indeed going out like that. He ran after you but you were long gone, already with Velvette. He groaned in frustration, jealous that other sinners will see you like that.

.

You sat by his feet in his security room, on your phone once again and bored out of your mind. You looked up at Vox, admiring how focused he was when he was working. “Vox?” You softly spoke.

He reaches down and rubs the top of your head, petting you. “Hold on, baby. I’m working.” He muttered, attention still on his screens.

You huffed in response, wanting attention from him. He’d been so busy all week that he’s been ignoring your…needs…as of late. Your eyes wandered from his face down to his pants. You grin mischievously and slowly drag your hand up his thigh, feeling him tense up underneath your palms.

“Y/N? What are you doing?” He looked at you.

“Hm? Oh nothing. Don’t mind me.” You looked at him with innocent eyes. “Nevermind that. What’re you looking at?” You get up and sit on his lap, purposely positioning yourself to tease him.

“I’m…” His hands held your waist, “I’m looking at how the stats are from this show compared to that one. I need to see which one’s losing revenue so I can switch it up.” He explained, his focus faltering.

You nodded in response and pushed up on him, “Ah. I see. How about you take this show off? Not a lot of sinners talk about it online and I haven’t seen any recent reviews on it.” You shifted to turn your body so you can look at him, your movement creating friction where he wanted it the most.

“Uh. Sorry what? Can you repeat that?” His grip on your waist tightened. You caught his attention.

“Hm?” You smirk at his reaction, getting up and relishing in the disappointment in his face, “Oh. This show. No more of this show. I think I’m…distracting you. So I’ll be taking my leave. Love you, honey.” You leave him with a kiss. You were already out the door before he could protest, leaving him with a different kind of distraction.

.

“Um. Sir—” A sinner spoke up behind him. He turned around, irritated.

“What is it?” He asks, his impatience clear in his voice making his employee nervous.

“Um! You have…you have sticky notes…on your face.” He nervously stated before running away at the sight of his reaction.

Vox zapped to the nearest mirror and saw the multitude of notes on his face.

“Property of Y/N” clearly written on one of them. The others were little doodles of the two of you along with little hearts. He blinked, confused and wondering when you had the chance to do this. Then it clicked.

You were very touchy earlier that day, constantly caressing his screen while he was deep in his work and peppering him with kisses all over. You didn’t wear lipstick so he didn’t think that you’d left anything on his face. How foolish of him to think you weren’t up to something.

“Y/N!” He screamed loudly down the hallway. You quickly get up, “Val! Don’t tell him I’m here!” You said as you hid in his gun closet.

Vox swung the door open, looking around the room. “Val. Where is she?”

Valentino squinted at him. He leaned closer to make sure the little blobs of yellow on his screen was exactly what he thought it was. When he realized they were indeed sticky notes he burst out into laughter, further flustering Vox.

“Quit fucking laughing and tell me where she is! I know she’s in here!” He yelled, screen a bright red.

Valentino took a picture of him and sent it to Velvette. “You look so fuckin’ hilarious.” He wheezed out as he gestured to your hiding spot.

Vox stomped over to his gun closet, swinging it open. You looked up at him, a nervous laugh escaping out of you. “Haha…Hey Vox!” You smiled.

He picked you up bridal style, walking to his room to punish you for being a little brat as of lately. Before he could make it to his room, an employee ran up and began to walk beside him.

“S-sir? You have meetings later tod—”

“Can’t you see I’m busy? Clear my schedule for the rest of the day.” He snapped at him and slammed his door.

Safe to say you got the attention you’d been begging for all week. And you definitely needed help to walk the day after.

[thatfandomslut]

Date Me, Not Him

Karen Shetty x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Trigger Warning: nothing but fluff

Request:

could you please do Karen Shetty x fem reader where she gets jealous and it leads to a confession?

Mean Girls request are open.

There were three topics that Karen Shetty was exceptional at: relationships, the internet, and parties. Then, there were class subjects that (Y/n) helped her at least keep a 'B' average in. Her parents had hired (Y/n) during their freshman year to tutor (Y/n). It gave her an into the semi-popular crowd, and it kept her from being bullied despite her 'nerdy' status. It was how she was able to attend several parties alongside Karen, who seemed to cling to her at events. This was something that did not go unnoticed by Regina George, the HBIC or Queen Bee of North Shore High. The relationship between Karen and (Y/n) caused Regina to step in when anyone thought to mess with (Y/n). After all, Karen has admitted how important the girl was to her.

However, there was one person who slipped through Regina's feelings at a party. Perhaps because she observing Cady and Aaron rather than keeping her eyes peeled on whether Jason or (Y/n) were sticking to Gretchen and Karen. (Y/n) had almost jumped when the boy appeared behind her with a confident smile. "Hey, (Y/n)," he leaned against the wall in front of her. This action blocked her from getting to Karen and Gretchen who had just arrived at the party. Additionally, this action caused Karen to stare at (Y/n) and the boy with an unfamiliar feeling in her chest.

(Y/n)'s forte was homework, and she was oblivious to the flirting that came her way. That was why she didn't process when the boy in front of her was trying to hook up with her. Instead, she was taking his compliments as if he wanted to be friends, laughing at his jokes. Karen on the other hand was pouting with Gretchen staring in between her and (Y/n).

"You could always tell her how you feel," Gretchen reminded Karen. She has been trying to convince Karen to ask out (Y/n) for months. Especially with the prom coming just around the corner. She even offered to help her in various ways. For example, Gretchen was able to have a deep conversation one day during their shared physics class. They were lab partners and often had discussions when doing their worksheets. She learned that (Y/n) enjoyed roller skating, something that Karen had in common with her. So, she told Karen, who didn't catch what she was trying to do. "Then, you wouldn't have to worry about guys like Ben Frasier."

Gretchen was right, and Karen knew it. For someone who could play matchmaker with the entire school, she never was good at getting into a relationship herself. Mainly because not many people respected her. However, (Y/n) always treated her like a human. So did Gretchen and Regina, but it was different. She never treated Karen like she was dumb, and she always believed in her. That was something that Karen always came to appreciate in the long run. So, in a rush of bravery, she decided to go for it.

"Hey, (Y/n)," Karen smiled, taking (Y/n) hand in her own. This was something that Ben noticed, looking in between the two skeptically. Noticing the way (Y/n)'s cheeks brightened, he realized he didn't have a chance. "You look so great in the outfit." Her voice was its usual airy tone, but this time it held an edge. She looked over at Ben as if she didn't notice him the entire time. "Oh, hi, Ben."

Ben wasn't one to keep advancing when it was obvious that the person he was pursuing wasn't into him. He respected that, and even though he was attracted to (Y/n), he realized she was not into him. "Hey, Karen," he waved politely. "I should get going, but it was great finally meeting you, (Y/n). You two have fun tonight." He winked before walking away. Karen could feel herself grow triumphant at his exit from the conversation.

The action thoroughly confused (Y/n), but she was still too aware of Karen's fingers wrapping around her own to comment. Instead, she just glanced over at the girl with a nervous smile. She made no move to take her hand from Karen's, but she did turn to the girl with a questioning look on her face. "Is everything okay?" She squeezed Karen's hand, breaking the girl's stare that followed Ben's retreating figure. "Did you want to talk to Ben? I can call him back over if you need me to." (Y/n) would've been disappointed if Karen said yes, but she was unsure of what was happening between the two right now. Karen had never grabbed her hand. She had never gotten so close to (Y/n) that she made the girl feel dizzy.

Karen's brows furrowed, trying to figure out what she wanted to say exactly. "I didn't like him flirting with you," Karen said simply, making it sound like the conversation was done. But (Y/n) could tell by how deep in thought that Karen was that she wasn't done with her thoughts. So, she waited patiently, wanting to allow Karen the time she needed to think and process those thoughts. "I want you to date me, not him. I want you to be my girlfriend." Karen finally confessed, her eyes meeting (Y/n) confidently. She was proud of herself for finally telling (Y/n) what she wanted.

(Y/n) smiled a bit as she leaned up to give Karen a soft kiss. Karen smiled into the kiss, her arms wrapping around (Y/n)'s shoulders. As (Y/n) pulled away, she couldn't help but feel giddy. "I want you to be my girlfriend, too, Karen. Was this your way of asking to be official?" (Y/n) wanted to make sure she was right about Karen's statement rather than assume that they were official. When Karen nodded with content, (Y/n) bit her lip to hide her smile before giving her a quick kiss again.

From the background, Gretchen smirked at the couple, proud of Karen finally stepping up. "So, they finally happened?" Regina asked as Cady stood beside her with red lipstick stains on her cheeks and lips. They were planted there by Regina. Gretchen gave them a nod with a smile. "Finally," Regina crossed her arms. "I thought Karen would never confess. (Y/n) may be smart, but she was too oblivious." She commented as they watched the two girls begin to dance to the music.

[balteredsworld]

negotiations. gregory house

🥼🩺 | house would rather fight you, but negotiates a date to a gala for a truce.

masterlist : greg house n all

tags/warnings! house being house, lawyer!reader, drugs, not enemies per say but there's def something there, reader is stacy's apprentice of sorts | gifs by @propertyofjameswilson

author's note: this was one of the first requests i got in my inbox! i accidentally deleted it omg but i hope this finds you <3 lemme know what you guys think!

"if this is an ethical boards issue, file the report over there," you spoke, eyes never leaving the monitor screen.

you already knew it was house from the way a constant thud crept its way to your office. that, and you could see his figure from your peripheral, so really you didn't need to look up.

"it's adorable that you automatically know it's me," he noted, obviously humoured. "if i didn't know better, i would've pegged you down as a secret admirer."

still, that didn't inspire much of a reaction from you other than a short glance. the two of you have been veering on this lane since you replaced stacy seven months ago. you were much colder than she was, and so much less accommodating to his devious needs.

house often wondered how stacy even took a liking to you, but then again she was also ruthless when he first met her. by that logic, you didn't fall from the tree. you were your mentor's very picture, but oh were you much icier. it was annoying, but he liked drilling you.

unfortunately for him, you were several inches thick. so he considered you worse than cuddy in that regard. at least she entertained his whims, but you... you didn't care nor bat an eye.

you said all the appropriate, correct and right things.

"well?"

"i need you," he admitted ominously.

your brows knitted, "right...?"

a silence broke between the two of you, causing you to finally look up and meet his eyes.

"house, if this is an ethics question, you have cuddy to advise you," you sighed. "i only deal with court and legal processes."

he shook his head. "i need you."

you sent him another worrisome look, before finally giving in. "what for?"

"tonight's the gala. i need a date."

:..don't you have hookers for that? i'm sure they would like the pay," you told him, voice and tone slow, still unsure what the gimmick was with this request.

if you had learned one thing in your seven months here at princeton was that everything involving house was some sort of mind game. you'd dealt with him enough times to know that, and seen him through three excruciating court appearances because the man couldn't and wouldn't shut up.

house was stupid in the way he was careless.

he plopped himself on your client chairs, hands wrapping the knob of his cane like he was considering some great philosophy or debate in his mind, surely one about the manmade idea of a god.

"hmm, good point. hookers do have their perks-less backtalk, more enthusiasm," he hummed, pretending to think, brows raising as he offered the explanation to his request. "but, hey, i figured slumming it with you might be an interesting change of pace."

despite his nonchalant closing of the question, he was still there. the proposition hung heavy in the your silence, piercing through the airy creak of the floorboards from the wobble of his cane.

you cocked your brow, asking, "so you want me to be your entertainment?"

at that house scrunched his face.

"entertainment? that's putting it generous," he remarked, looking at you with incredulous eyes as he leaned on the chair's backrest to take a vicodin. "i was thinking more like a reluctant accomplice in a dull evening. but who knows, you might surprise me."

he wanted you to bite. if you were cameron, then maybe you would've then and there, and entertain house's wild fantasy of taking you to the gala to stir up hospital gossip. but you still didn't know the caveat to your compliance, not to mention the sea of paperwork you'd been made to deal with due to his merry malpractice.

it was like this every other week, somehow piling larger because you had to justify house's forgeries on paper.

"well, i'm flattered at your proposal, but alas i'm swamped from your court hearing last week," you straightened up, gesturing to the piles and piles of folders and legal binders littering your desk. "i have you to thank for that i believe."

your dry remark elicited an impatient huff from house, all but crass and lax about administrative affairs of his hospital job.

"the perks of my charming personality. you're welcome for the excitement," he told you, leaning back toward you to flick through the papers on your desk.

"what's the gimmick?"

"no gimmicks. just you and me surviving the god awful gala, and you can have tickets to whatever show you want. what do you say?"

he looked at you innocently.

"there's always a gimmick with you, house. it makes your puzzle for your team to figure out. so what's the puzzle here?" you query, locking your hands together.

more than anything, this was negotiation. anything was negotiable with house: rules, conduct... the law.

anything was remotely subjective was up for his objective debate, all to prop himself up with more advantage to do whatever he wants in the hospital. even though he makes up for it with his rightness, it's made up more work for you

"you on my arm; i need to quiet down cuddy," he finally reveals, pursing his lips. "she's antsy about our squashbuckling. personally think it's great pr, but mommy says otherwise."

you let out a breath, considering the argument. he was right, of course. the times the two of you went to court, you looked like you could barely control your client even with your stern voice and threats. your threats were empty in house's books. so long as he proved himself on principle, consequences were an afterthought to him.

his integrity made him a man easy to admire, but he would rather ruffle your feathers to see how far you'd go. it infuriated and vexed you. but, if this was really a chance to call an armistice, then his proposition was more than an attractive offer.

"okay," you agreed.

house bobbed his head, appeased with your agreement, "great."

"but i don't want tickets."

he edged his head, encouraging you to go on. eyes wary, nonetheless.

"i want the next case without a pile of files for me to review."

a beat.

he blinked.

then he uncontrollably laughed. the fucker laughed.

"that's cute, y/l/n," he chortled, sinking into the backrest completely. he was smug, face dancing with amusement and disbelief like you believed he could really do that.

"let's see, you want me to diagnose a complex medical case discarding my process and adhere to standard protocol. wow that's really cute."

"well, fine then. appease cuddy another way," you waved him off, letting your eyes fall to your monitor to go back to work.

sensing this, house groaned a sigh, exchanging his previous amusement for your veering annoyance. he took his fingers and massaged the bridge of his nose.

"alright, you want a break from my malpractice masterpieces? fine. i'll keep it clean the next time. but if i manage to save a life without a single piece of paper, you owe me more than the gala."

you stared back at him, mildly bewildered, "are you asking me out on a date, house?"

"my diagnostic powers deserve more than a gala."

so it was a yes, then. part of you wanted to beam, but that would betray your icy façade. so instead you settled for cool nod, won by the whole proposal. you knew he wouldn't resist a challenge if you posed one, and if it meant less work for you, then you'd let house take you out.

house also owed you more than a date after the last seven months of putting up with his shit.

"wear a nice suit," you accepted, weathering a ghost of a smile. "pick me up at my apartment at 8."

[bobacupcake]

Can you do one about the Sea of Thieves water?

OK

so . there was a biiig long talk about this at siggraph one year!! you can watch that here if you'd like . in the time between me getting this ask and me fully recreating the water, acerola also released a great video about it . the biiig underlying thing they do and the reason why it looks so good is they are making a Really Detailed Ocean Mesh in realtime using something called an FFT (fast fourier transform) to simulate hundreds of thousands of waves, based on a paper by TESSENDORF

WHAT IS AN FFT - we'll get to that. first we have to talk about the DFT - the discreet fourier transform. let's say you have a SOUND. it is a c chord - a C, an E, and a G, being played at the same time. all sounds are waves!!! so when you play multiple sounds at the same time, those waves combine!!! like here: the top is all 3 notes playing together, so they form the waveform at the bottom!!

now if someone handed you the bottom wave, could you figure out each individual note that was being played? how about if someone handed you a wave of One Hundred Notes. you would think it would be very hard. and well, it would be, if not for the Discreet Fourier Transform.

essentially, there is a way to take a bunch of points on a waveform comprised of a bunch of different waves, add them all together, do some messed up stuff with imaginary numbers, that will spit back out at you what individual waves are present. i made a little test program at the start of all this: the left are the waves i am putting into my Big Waveform, the top right is what that ends up looking like, and all the little rainbow points on it are being sampled to spit out the graph at the bottom right: it shows which frequency bands the DFT is finding (here it is animated)

this has enormous use cases in anything that deals with audio and image processing, and also,

THE OCEAN

tessendorf is basically like, hey, People Who Are Good At The Ocean say that a buuuunch of sine waves do a pretty good job of approximating what it looks like. and by a bunch they mean like, hundreds of thousands to millions. oh no.... if only there was a way we could easily deal with millions of sine waves..........

well GREAT news. not only can you do the DFT in one direction, but you can also do it in REVERSE. if you were to be given the frequency graph of a noise for example, you could use an INVERSE DFT to calculate what the combined wave graph looks like at any given time. so if you were to have say, the frequency graph of an oceaaaan, for example, you could calculate what the Ocean wave looks like at any given time. and lucky for us, it works in two dimensions. and thats the foundation of the simulation !!!!!

BUT WAIT

as incredible as the DFT is, it doesn't scale very well. the more times you have to do it, the slower it gets, exponentially, and we are working with potentially millions of sine waves here

THE FAST FOURIER TRANSFORM here we are . the fast fourier transform is a way of doing the discreet fourier transform, except, well, fast. i am Not going to explain the intricacies of it because its very complex, but if you want to learn more there are a ton of good 30 minute long videos on youtube about it . but essentially, due to the nature of sine waves repeating, you can borrow values as you go, and make the calculation Much faster (from exponential growth to logarithmic growth which is much much slower, and scales very well at higher numbers). it's, complicated, but the important part is it's so much faster and the diagram kind of looks like the shadow the hedgehog story plot

so if we use the inverse FFT on a graph of a rough estimate of what frequency of waves in the ocean (called a spectrum, basically tells us things like how many small waves, how many big waves, how different waves follow the wind direction. sea of thieves uses one called the phillips spectrum but there are better ones out there!!) now we have our waves !!!!!!! we can also use another inverse FFT to get the normals of the waves, and horizontal displacement of the waves (sharpening peaks and broadening valleys) through some derivatives . yayy calculus

OK MATH IS OVER. WE HAVE OUR WAVES!!! they are solid pink and look like pepto bismol. WHAT NOW

i cheated a bit here they look better than not being shaded because i am using the normals to reflect a CUBEMAP to make it look shiny. i think sea of thieves does this too but they didnt mention it in their talk. they did mention a FEW THINGS THEY DID THOUGH

FIRST OFF - SUBSURFACE SCATTERING. this is where the sun pokes through since water is translucent. SSS IS REALLY EXPENSIVE !!!!!! so they just faked it. do you remember the wave sharpening displacement i mentioned earlier? they just take the value where the waves are being sharpened and this will pretty naturally show off the areas that should have subsurface scattering (the sides of waves). they make it shine through any time you are looking towards the sun. they also add a bit of specular ! sss here is that nice blue color, and specular is the shiny bits coming off the sun. the rest of the lighting is the cubemap i mentioned earlier, i dont know if thats what they use but it looks nice !!!!!

then the other big thing that they do is the FOAM !! sorry i lied. there's more math. last one. you remember the wave sharpening displacement i Just mentioned. well they used that to find something called the JACOBIAN and well im not even going to begin to try and explain what it means but functionally what it does, is when the jacobian is NEGATIVE it means waves are clipping into eachother. and that means we should draw some foam!!! we can also blur and fade out the foam texture over time and continuously write to it to give it some movement, and bias this value a bit to make more or less foam. they do both of these!!!

YAYYYYY !! OK !! THAT'S SEA OF THIEVES WATER!!!!! THANKS FOR WAITING ALL THIS TIME. you can see my journey here if you would like to i have tagged it all oceanquest2023

thank you everyone for joining me :) i had fun